#just need you in the danish kit

[iamtherealjamesdean]

jonas do you know i will die if it doesnt happen soon

[woso-dreamzzz]

Sick III

Hardersson x Child!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: Magda gets sick

"Momma," You say, hopping down the last step," Morsa's throwing up in the bathroom again."

Pernille looks up from the stove and sighs. "I thought I told you that you weren't meant to go looking for Morsa?"

You shrug. "I didn't go looking for her."

Pernille doesn't believe you in the slightest.

Magda had come down with some sickness, likely the flu, a few days ago. It had started off as just an inconvenience, a stuffy nose and a few headaches. Then came the throwing up and Magda being forced to lean over the toilet bowl for a few hours in the night when she was meant to be sleeping.

Pernille knew it was wishful thinking to hope that the sickness remained with Magda only but you were a bit of a nightmare when it came to getting sick so she wanted to limit the chance of you catching it as much as possible.

If only you understood that because since Magda's sudden illness, you seem to have gotten incredibly clingy towards her like you don't want to stray out of her sight for whatever reason.

Pernille purses her lips as she looks at you, stirring the soup in the pot as she ponders what to do next.

"Why don't you have tv time?" She asks, finally settling on something to keep you occupied.

You don't get a lot of tv time, at least not where you're in control of the tv. You've never really craved it when you could play with girl-swan and girl-moose or kick a football around the garden.

But still, you're a little kid and kids love tv.

"I think Scooby Doo is on."

You think for a moment before your face twists into something akin to annoyance. "I don't like German Scooby Doo," You say," Can I watch Ben 10 instead?"

"Yeah, we can do that."

Pernille sets you up with an episode of Ben 10 in German and you settle on the sofa to watch it. With you now occupied, she sneaks up with a bowl of chicken soup just as Magda makes her way back to bed.

"You look...better."

"Don't lie." It's nice to see that Magda's humour is still there. "Is this for me?"

"Chicken soup." Pernille hands the bowl over. "You should probably wait for it to start cooling down."

"I'll be fine," Magda says," It's not like I can taste it so the heat might be the only enjoyable thing about it."

"How are you feeling? Do you need more medicine?"

"Can't take any yet. Hasn't been four hours but I'll be fine. I spoke to Linda. She said the throwing up only lasts a day. I'll be alright by tomorrow."

"Still," Pernille says," Eat your soup and drink lots of water. We're meant to be setting a good example to Princesse."

The corners of Magda's mouth quirks up a little. "Where is she? You know, I'd feel a lot better if she's here?"

Pernille rolls her eyes, scoffing. "Oh, I see. When I'm sick, I can't see her so she doesn't get infected but when you're sick, you can see her all you want? How is that fair?"

Her tone is teasing and Magda flashes a wolfish grin.

"Swedes don't infect Swedes. It's a rule."

"Well, it's great that she's Danish too, huh? No Princesse time for you until-"

"Hey, Princesse. What have you got there?"

Pernille whips her head around to see you standing by the door, clutching the little first aid kit that's usually hidden in the bathroom cabinet.

"I thought you were watching Ben 10?" She says as you come in, clambering up onto the bed and sitting on Magda's outstretched legs.

"Got bored," You reply, forcing the zip open and rummaging through it," I'm gonna make Morsa better though."

"She's sick, Princesse," Pernille says," Are you sure? You can get sick too."

You give Pernille the biggest judgemental look you can manage. "I know, Momma. I'm not silly. But I'm still going to make Morsa better."

In all honesty, Pernille is a little intrigued about how you're going to make Magda feel better with the first aid kit so she doesn't push anymore for you to leave the room.

"Does your head hurt?"

"Yes."

You bring out one of the bandages, winding it around Magda's head and tucking the end into itself.

"There you go!" You say," Now your head won't hurt. Does your throat hurt too?"

Magda nods.

You whip out one of the big plasters that's meant for big cuts and grazes on the knee and place it over Magda's mouth, making sure it's completely secure.

"You need to stop talking," You tell her sternly," Because that makes your throat hurt." You turn to Pernille. "Momma, I fixed her!"

Pernille has to force down her laughter at the bewildered expression on Magda's face.

"I can see that," Pernille says," We should leave Morsa alone now so she can recover. You did a good job."

You nod. "I know." You blow Magda a kiss. "I can't kiss you because then I'll get sick," You tell her," So have air kisses!"

You blow more kisses at Magda and shuffle off the bed, taking Pernille's hand.

"Can we finish watching Ben 10, Momma? It's a really good episode!"

[wordsbyrian]

No Coat - Hardersson x Kid!Reader

Summary: Kid!R has a very full day but it always comes back to not wanting to wear a coat.

A/N: This is very dialogue heavy and if it seems like a hot mess its because I tried to think like a 3-year-old. Also, how many conversations do you think I've had with my mother about weather appropriate clothing?

Game day is your favorite day of the week.

Mostly because it means that you get to lay in bed for a long time and you don’t have to get dressed and go to nursery or your babysitter’s house.

And sometimes, if you’re really lucky like you seemed to be this morning, you get to have a cuddle with your moms in the big bed.

Grabbing your stuffed moose, Älg, you roll out of bed and make your way down the hall to your mothers’ room.

Opening the door, you aren’t surprised when your Danish mother lifts her head and watches you make your way to her side of the bed.

“What are you doing out of bed lille skat,” your mamma asks you.

“I want to lay in the big bed,” you tell her softly.

She doesn’t respond, just picks you up and pulls you into the bed, where you make yourself comfortable immediately.

The last thing you hear before you drift off is your mamma mumbling about how cuddly you’re being while stroking hair.

You’re practically dead to the world after that, only stirring when you get passed from one set of arms to a different but still familiar pair.

Shortly after that, you’re awoken by a voice asking if you’re ready to wake up and start your day yet.

“Nej,” you whine, trying to bury yourself further within the blankets.

“Nej,” the voice, which your slightly more awake brain recognizes as your Morsa, says in fake shock, “But our friend Älg is awake and ready to eat breakfast. We wouldn’t want him to starve, would we?”

Peeking your head from under the blanket, you see your Swedish mother looking at you and holding your favored stuffed animal.

“If Älg is hungry, I guess we can get out of bed,” you say, sitting up.

“Good choice, älskling,” Morsa says before she gets up and carries you to the kitchen for breakfast.

“Morsan,” you say, once you’ve reached the kitchen and she’s placed you in your seat.

“Yes.”

“Sun’s out today, don’t need to wear my coat,” you tell her pointing out the kitchen window.

That gets a laugh from both your mothers, Mamma placing a plate in front of you while ruffling your hair.

“Sorry skat, it’s still February, the sun is tricking you,” she says, making you pout.

Breakfast passes smoothly for you, in that you’re more focused on what’s on your plate than whatever conversation your parents are having.

When you’re done, and your face and hands more than thoroughly covered with food, your mamma takes you from the table to help you get ready for the day.

It goes well until it comes time to get dressed.

“What jersey do you want to wear today, Y/N/N,” Mamma asks, opening your drawer.

“Jessie?”

“Your Jessie jersey is short-sleeved,” she tells you, “If you wear that you need to wear both a hoodie and your coat.”

“No. No coat,” you say, eyes already beginning to fill with tears.

“Yes, my love, you have to wear a coat,” Mamma says again, “No matter what kit you choose, you’ll be wearing a coat.”

“No, no, no,” you wail, tears starting to fall, “No coat.”

Before you can work yourself into a full tantrum, you feel your mamma take your hands in hers.

“Listen to me, Y/N,” she says firmly, “You and I both know that screaming and crying is not the way to get what you want, I’m sorry you're upset so I'm going to give you a moment to calm down, and then we can try again.”

Taking a deep breath, you roughly wipe the tears from your face, grimacing when your mamma stops you only to do it with a wet wipe instead.

“Finished,” she asks, only continuing when you nod, “Alright. Now we can go back and forth all day about what you’re going to wear but what’s not up for debate is a coat, understand?”

“Yes, Mamma.”

“Good, so let’s go back to jerseys.”

“Wear Jessie’s?”

“We can make that happen,” Mamma says, “But if you wear just that, you’ll get cold, so you need to wear something warm.”

“Won’t get cold, promise.”

“I know you think that but Mamma has been here for a long time,” she says slowly, “So you have to trust me on this one. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Great, so we have a couple of options: you can wear a long sleeve shirt or a hoodie as your extra layer,” Mamma explains, “If you wear the hoodie you can wear it underneath your jersey so that everyone can still see your jersey when we get to Kingsmeadow.”

“Long sleeves,” you say simply.

“Good choice, skat. Now, will you be wearing a hat as well?”

“Uhm,” you say thinking about it.

Then you hear your morsa shout from the hallway.

“That was rhetorical, Y/N/N,” she calls out.

“Don’t know what that means,” you yell back, then in a much softer voice, “Mamma, what does that mean?”

“It means that the question doesn’t need an answer,” she tells you, tugging the long sleeve shirt over your head.

“Oh, that’s stupid.”

“You’re not wrong but let’s try to use kind words.”

“Okay.”

With that crisis averted, the rest of the time spent getting ready goes well.

Even the part where your Morsa forces a hat onto your head and your coat onto your body happens without much fuss but that’s mostly because your mini-tantrum has worn you out.

By the time you’re awake enough to protest, she’s carrying you through the players' entrance and into the locker room.

The second the door closes behind your small family, you’re instantly taken from you Morsa’s arms, the culprit none other than Zeçira.

“Everyone, Magda and Pernille brought my good luck charm,” she announces, carrying you to her locker, “Did you wear my jersey today, Y/N/N?”

“No,” you tell her, “Wore it last time. Wearing Jessie’s today.”

“Oh so you’re Fleming’s good luck charm today,” the Swedish goalkeeper says, getting back up and placing you in the space between Jessie and Niamh Charles.

Luckily for you, the two young players are more than happy to keep you company in the spare that they have before they need to head out for warm-ups.

“Lose the battle again today, Y/N/N,” Niamh says, helping you take off your coat.

“I don’t like it,” you tell her pouting, “Don’t like the hat either.”

“Yea mate, we know.”

“It’s not all bad though,” Jessie says, “If you weren’t wearing a hat I couldn’t do this.” She pulls your hat down further so that it covers your eyes. “Much better.”

Pushing the hat back away from your eyes, you begin to grow frustrated when Niamh reaches over and pulls it down again.

“Cut it out,” you whine, looking up at her.

“Yea Niamh, cut it out,” Jessie says, trying not to show her smile.

“Sorry, Y/N/N,” Niamh says, “I know you like being a living ice cube.”

“It’s okay,” you say, forgiving her easily, “We can play still after the game.”

“Sounds like a plan, mate. I bet you and me can score tons of goals on Zeçira.”

“And Jessie too,” you say, unwilling to leave your favorite Chelsea player out of the planned fun.

“Yes, Jessie too. Maybe Alsu will want to play as well.”

“Of course, I want to play,” the Russian woman shouts from across the room.

You smile widely, glad that all four of your favorite Chelsea players have agreed to play with you after the game.

A few minutes later, Emma comes into the locker room to give her pregame talk and send the players to warm up, so you go around giving your customary prematch high-5, making sure to pause and give both your moms a cuddle.

Once in the stands with your babysitter, time passes quickly as she lets you do and eat whatever you want. By the time the game is over, you’ve had a hotdog, a cheeseburger, some chips, and a soda.

It’s safe to say that you go a little overboard with the freedom your babysitter allows.

At the end of the match, you’re allowed on the field and while you do take a moment to congratulate your parents on their performance, it takes less than a minute before you wiggle away and run toward where Jessie and Niamh are kicking around a ball.

When you reach the players you waste no time, stealing the ball away and sprinting towards the goal as fast as your little legs will carry you. You’re laughing gleefully as Jessie and Niamh, and Alsu when she spots you, all put on a show of trying to stop you.

Once you get inside the 6-yard box, you come face to face with Zeçira who dramatically dives the wrong way when you shoot. When it crosses the line, you can hear the fans that remain break out into raucous applause.

You and the four footballers continue your mini-game for a while with them allowing you to take up different roles on the field. Your smile only grows wider each time you steal the ball or stop a goal after Zeçira gives you her gloves.

Eventually, after your third attempt to take off your hat and coat, the players decide that enough is enough and Jessie carries you back to the locker room.

Unfortunately, neither of your moms are to be spotted in the changing room and although you can hear the showers running, you aren’t willing to check there and instead wander back out of the room and down the hall to where the press conferences are held.

After taking off your outer layers of course.

Opening the door, you quietly make your way to the front of the room and the table where Coach Emma and your Morsa are sitting answering questions.

When you get there, you stand silently between the two women, head barely peeking out over the top of the table, patiently waiting for Morsa to finish speaking.

When she does, you make your presence known by climbing into her lap.

As you try to make yourself comfortable, you can hear the soft laughter of the reporters and you’re pretty sure you hear Emma say something about being joined by the youngest member of the squad.

None of that matters to you though.

You’re more than content to sit with your head on your mother’s chest, zoning out as she answers the boring questions.

You stay like that for a while, feeling the vibrations of her voice through her chest before you notice she’s turned her attention to you.

“Are you going to answer the question Y/N/N,” she asks when you make eye contact with her.

When you stare at her in confusion, she repeats the question.

“They want to know who your favorite player is.” She then helps you shift on her lap so that you can speak into the microphone. “Go on.”

Leaning forward you go to speak into the mic pausing for a second to look at your Morsa, when she nods her approval you continue.

“My favorite player is Rolfö,” you say.

“It’s not one of your mummies,” one of the reporters asks.

You shake your head, leaning back once more, feeling your mother laugh again but you tune back out before you hear if she says anything.

The memories you have of the rest of the press conference are blurry, you hadn’t been paying attention and you really had only come in here because you wanted to be held anyway.

Which is why no one should be surprised when you fall asleep despite all the bright lights shining in your face.

You wake up slightly in the locker room when your mamma tries to put your coat on you. You know it’s her because only she would try something like this.

So without opening your eyes you begin to whine in protest, “Nej, Mamma, jag vill inte ha jackan på mig.”

You're pretty sure that your protests are ignored, especially since you fall back asleep almost instantly.

[percervall]

Mamma mia, here I go again {pt6}

Summary: A summer of poor decisions leads you to having to face the consequences of your actions —and the men involved. Pairing: Kevin Magnussen x fem!reader, Lewis Hamilton x fem!reader, Mark Webber x fem!reader Warnings: girly pop having a realisation or two, mentions of a previous (toxic) relationship Word count: 1.9k Taglist: @ashy-kit @averagef1fansblog @barcelonaloverf1life  @bradfordbantams @dannyramirezwife-simpaccount @doofenshmirtzevil-inc @exotic-iris13 @goldsainz  @iloveneteyam @jaypreshpresh @laura-naruto-fan1998 @monzamash @norrisleclercf1 @opheliaas-stufff @roseseraj @szobosz @vellicora 

Part 6 of the Mamma Mia series

Early morning sunlight filters through the curtains, waking you from a dreamless sleep. Sighing, you snuggle back into the pillows, not quite wanting to get up yet. Yesterday had been emotional for sure, but it felt good to have it all in the open. Somehow you felt lighter, knowing that Mark could see where you were coming from and at the same time helping you understand why he had felt the need to make those choices. You find yourself surprised at the excitement of what kind of date Kevin might plan for you next. There’s also a part of you that’s hesitant; last night’s conversation about the end of your relationship with Mark and the ramifications of that has made you realise a couple of things about the way you approached your relationship with Kevin. As you get out of bed and turn on the shower, you think back to that night in Spa. Kevin had grown tired of you keeping him at an arm’s length, of your hesitancy to commit. You knew he was right, but him seeing right through you, questioning whether you loved your job more than him, rattled you more than it probably should. Now looking back, you can see it so clearly - the way you had dealt –or more accurately, hadn’t dealt with that break up years prior affected how you approached new relationships. You hate that you had allowed that experience to taint everything else, but more than anything, you hate that, in doing so, you hurt Kevin.

You sigh, closing your eyes as you let the water run over your face. Despite the fact that the two of you decided to call it quits, you still have love for him. Kevin is the complete opposite of Mark: he treated you with such care, giving you an autonomy you had not previously experienced in a relationship. There was a warmth to Kevin that was unfamiliar in the best way, and had never seen reflected in your parents’ marriage. It was Sunday mornings spent over cups of coffees and pastries from a bakery down the road from Kevin’s house in Denmark, going for long walks in the biting cold; he’d always want you to do things together. In the beginning you enjoyed it, but it soon came to feel stifling in a way. You can feel yourself frowning as you think back to those early days. Why did it feel that way? Kevin wasn’t a clingy person at all –if anything he had been so understanding every time you said you needed some time alone until your relationship had been stripped down to nothing more than text messages and hook ups in hotel rooms. At the time you figured it was just down to the both of you living in different countries, but maybe your fear of letting a man become all consuming made you put up a wall so high, nothing could touch you. You single handedly destroyed that relationship. 

That truth sits uncomfortably in the hollow of your chest as you turn off the shower and reach for a towel. A part of you misses those Sunday mornings, misses being made to slow down. If you close your eyes you can still smell the scent of cinnamon mixed with something more earthy, the taste of Danish coffee on your tongue whenever Kevin kisses you. The memory makes you smile, even though the nostalgia tugs on your heart. 

Do I even have a Danish bakery near me? you ask yourself as you get dressed, the memories making you crave the cinnamon buns Kevin would get. When you sit down at your desk with a mug of tea, you remember that Kevin used to live in the UK, back when he drove for McLaren. 

“Worth a shot,” you mumble as you pick up your phone to message him. 

Your teeth drag over your bottom lip while you consider his invitation. It would be nice to get out of the city for a few days and relax before the hectic schedule of a race week takes up all of your time. A quick look online tells you that there’s still a ticket available for tomorrow morning for a flight from Birmingham to Copenhagen. Without giving it a second thought you book the flight and send Kevin a message agreeing to his plan. 

As promised, Kevin is waiting for you at arrivals. 

“Hey,” he says quietly as he hugs you. You relax into his arms, sighing deeply. He lets go of you and takes your suitcase in one hand while the other is stretched out for you to take. You give his hand a squeeze and allow him to navigate the two of you to his car. 

“How was the flight?” Kevin asks as he puts your bags in the boot. 

“It was good, managed to finish the last bits for work so I won’t have to open my laptop until Monday.” You keep your eyes on Kevin as he closes the boot and notice the grateful smile he gives you.

“Do you want to drop your things off first? I don’t know if you booked a hotel or not, but if you feel comfortable, I have the spareroom set up,” he says as he climbs behind the wheel of the SUV. 

“I did, but I’ll gladly take you up on your offer. And if it’s not too much trouble, I would feel better knowing my laptop is safe. I know it sounds silly, but with the amount of data and information on it, I can’t risk getting it stolen.” Kevin nods and while you cancel your hotel room, he drives to his house so you can put your bags inside. 

The drive to the harbour doesn’t take long at all after that. There’s a box from a local bakery on the backseat and the thermos flask you gifted him for Christmas last year is peeking out from the side of his backpack. It does something funny to your heart, seeing him use something you had picked out for him, even after everything that had happened this summer. 

“It’s gonna be chilly out on the water so I brought an extra jumper. You used to steal it all the time, so I figured it’d be a safe bet,” Kevin says, looking at you with half mirth and half tenderness. 

“Thanks,” you murmur, that funny feeling only intensifying at him remembering how much you loved to wear that olive green, quarter zip jumper whenever the two of you did any outdoor activities during this time of year. Kevin parks the car and you help him carry the bags into the cabin on his boat. It’s not long before muscle memory kicks in and you’re helping him with checking the lines. The two of you easily fall into the rhythm of checking everything is in order, moving in synchronicity, and before you know it, you’re leaving the harbour behind you. Sitting cross legged on the deck, you tilt your face up to the sun, letting the wind play with your hair. You’ve always found peace out on the water, and this time was no different. Inhaling deeply, you feel yourself relax, your running to-do list finally being pushed to the backburner –at least for the time being. You feel the boat beginning to slow down as Kevin adjusts the sails and kills the engine. Looking over your shoulder, you can just make out the Danish coast line. This is how the two of you would spend most of his summer break: just floating around in the Øresund with a picnic basket filled with pastries and sandwiches. 

“Here,” Kevin says, holding out two mugs of coffee, motioning with his head to take one. You gratefully accept it, taking a careful sip. Kevin sits down next to you, leaning his body against the railing and sets down the box of baked goods as well. You lift the lid up and pick one of the cinnamon buns. They’re still a little bit warm and the scent makes your mouth water. You can feel Kevin’s eyes on you as you take a bite, letting the taste of cinnamon, cardamom and sugar transport you back to simpler times. 

“Oh, how I’ve missed these,” you mumble around a mouthful before swallowing. Kevin smiles at that, but there’s a wistfulness to his expression. You can tell that there’s an ache in him, and you’re responsible for that. 

“I’ve missed this, missed us,” Kevin says quietly. His admission sits heavy in the hollow of your chest. Placing the cinnamon bun on your knee, you turn to look at him.

“I know,” you reply quietly, “and I realised that I have been unfair to you –that I hurt you for no other reason than that I was scared.” Kevin remains quiet, giving you the opportunity to say what you should have told him months if not years ago.

“You know how Mark and I ended, and I thought I had gotten over him but the reality is that it made me terrified to let someone get so close to me ever again, to let a person take over my life like that. And so I kept you at an arm’s length. Shut you out. I’ve begun to realise that I need to work on that; I want to work on that. Because I know what a healthy relationship can look like –you’ve shown me that Kev, and instead of appreciating you for it, I hurt you. I hurt you by not talking honestly about my fears, by falling pregnant with a 66,66% chance that you’re not the father and I don’t know if I can watch you get your heart broken by me again,” you say, tears now rolling down your cheeks, “How you still want me is beyond me,” you add quietly, looking down at your mug of coffee. You feel Kevin’s hand on your knee, making you look up at him.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, “this is the openness I need in a relationship. I am sorry that I didn’t ask you about what made you pull away, that I questioned your loyalties. I know how much you love your job and I shouldn’t have made you choose between your Mercedes family and me. I should’ve come up with a compromise so we can still hang out even if work keeps you busy. Because truth be told, I just want to spend time with you, doing whatever, as long as we can be in the same room. And I know there’s a good chance I am not the baby’s father, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be the baby’s dad. A family isn’t determined by biology, a family is made. And when I picture my future family, I picture us –whatever that us might look like, but us. So I will keep holding out hope that you feel the same way about me as I do about you until you tell me otherwise; I will keep loving you, and maybe that makes me an idiot, but I don’t care because I’d rather get my heart broken a thousand times over by you than not have you at all.” 

“Thank you,” you whisper, not knowing how else to respond to him. Part of you feels overwhelmed by just how willing all three of them are to simply love you, without any hesitation and a part of you desperately wants to allow yourself to love them in return. But how can you in good conscience do so if that means hurting two of them in the process?

Oh Kev, this poor, poor cinnamon roll of a man 🥺 girly pop has a choice to make, but who will she choose? (Who would you choose? 👀)

Massive thanks to @curiousthyme for being the best beta reader I could ask for

Please let me know what you think! Your comments, tags, and likes truly mean the world to me and, combined with the engagement on the polls, makes me want to keep writing this fic so thank you 💜

[le-panicked-frog]

ok, i've got my grandmother over right now, so i have Things To Say;

Afford trans people the same respect you would afford cis people.

shocking, right? look, whenever my grammy comes over we always end up on the subject of queer rights, because i'm literally the only queer person she knows and apparently it's my responsibility to educate her. and the fun Topic Of Debate today was eddie redmayne in 'the danish girl' - namely that he thinks he made a mistake on taking on the role. and i agree.

do i think that queer roles should always be played by actors of the same passage of life and the same experiences? no, actually. that's what led to kit connor being outed before he was ready. i do think that there should be people who have at least similar experiences directing, writing, and helping in other ways, but the actors don't need to have those same experiences, or out themselves for a role.

but trans characters should be played by actors of the right gender. and that doesn't mean their assigned-at-birth gender, that means their *actual* gender. now, does this mean i hate eddie redmayne? no. does this mean i think he shouldn't've taken the role? yes. does it mean i think he doesn't look absolutely fire dressed as a woman? no. should he have rejected the role regardless? yes.

when people see transwomen played by cis men, or transmen played by cis women, it enforces the idea that trans people are just playing dress-up. people seeing eddie redmayne in 'the danish girl', regardless of how good a job he did, will leave with the idea that transwomen are just men underneath the makeup, hormones, surgery, etc., which leads to the problem of transwomen being seen as predators, leading to the problems with trans people being refused entry to the correct bathrooms because people worry about 'men dressed as women coming for their children.', as well as violence towards trans people.

and my mother was saying how the actor's assigned gender matches the character's assigned-at-birth gender, and i had to try to explain that that's not the point. they dressed a cis man up as a woman with some makeup and wigs, etc, they absolutely could've dressed a cis woman up as a man, and then - tada! she was played by a woman all along, as she should've been, because transwomen *are* women.

and i spoke to my mother and asked if she'd be comfortable with a character who is a cis woman being played by a cis man, and she said that no, it would make her uncomfortable. and that's the point. a transwoman being played by a cis man should make you uncomfortable, just like a cis woman being played by a man would make you uncomfortable.

and she was saying how i'm not affording her the time to process this and i'm not allowing her to ask questions, and you know what? no shit! i'm not teaching a class! it is not and should not be my responsibility to educate you on this, you can do your own research, just like i have had to! it is exhausting to be constantly debating my rights and existence every time i see these people i care about, and i'm just a kid! why is it up to me to explain everything to them? they've said that they ask me because they know i've done this research, and i've "got the answers" - why can't they just do their own research???

basically, i'm tired and frustrated and i kinda forgot where i was going with this, but it shouldn't be my responsibility to, as a child, educate fully-grown adults, and i shouldn't have to explain to them that transwomen *are* infact women and should be afforded the same respect as cis women.

[tetsunabouquet]

Heir To The Lands Chapter 14

Arriving Before The Entrance Masterpost

Kit and Ty had been preparing themselves for their travel to Faerie. They had tracked down the Tunnel of Dewshine, a mystical cavern entrace that only opened itself on the 3rd rainy day of the month. The tunnel system led somewhere deep under the North Sea, and there were technically three caverns leading to the Tunnel of Dewshine, one located just outside of Edingburgh, one on the Dutch island Schiermonnikoog and one near Mandal in Norway. There had been a fourth entrance in Denmark, but it had been wrecked by mundane construction sites a couple of deacdes ago. Not that the Faeries had let it happen without retaliation, almost every constructive worker had been cursed with a lifetime of sickness, and the project eventually got a lot of heat from the Danish government of having been suspected to have been working with dangerous chemicals, as to explain the reason why everyone got sick. Kit and Ty had created a big sack of everything they'd need, and Ty was annoyed Kit had packed too much. "This travel is going to be long. We need to travel more lightly." Ty stated. "If it were just the two of us, I'd agree. But I have a feeling Dru won't accept getting left out, which is why I texted her to find a way to get here." Ty blinked in surprise, that Kit had just included his sister like that. He didn't knew wether he should be feeling happy Kit was so sweet to Dru, jealous of their closeness or worried about losing yet another sister in conflict. Ty pursed his lips, deciding to remain silent until he knew what to say. But one thing he could say to himself, at least, and that was how happy he was to have Kit back by his side, being friends once more.

Dru bit her lip as she stalked around the abandoned hallways. It was night, and everyone had gone to sleep. She didn't wanted to abandon everyone without saying a word, she left a detailed letter to Thais, explaining where she was going and what she was doing. Thais would cover up for her, Dru knew she would. Yet, she felt guilty for slipping out in the middle of the night like this. "You know, I wish Tavi was wrong, but clearly she was onto something." Dru nearly jumped when she heard Zeynep's voice out of nowhere, and saw the tiny girl sitting in a corner. Dru's witchlight reflected on the thick glasses of Zeynep's pair, hiding Zeynep's eyes underneath the bright sheen. "Look, tell Tavi to keep her nose out of my bussiness and pretend you haven't seen me." "Dru, I know most people see us as intimidating and don't actually really know us so heads up, Tomas is right now on cloud 9 with Thais. Your brother is autistic like Tavi, right? You probably know how they like to think in doom scenarios. Tavi went over any potential scenario that could destroy their happiness and she's made it her mission to prevent every single one of them. However, because she doesn't wants to burn any bridges with Thais' friends, I am on look-out. " Dru sighed. Were all autistic people detectives? "Alright, I really have to go Zeynep, it's important. Like, Clave investigation important?" "Important enough to send a training Shadowhunter?" "It has to do with my family, trust me, please." Zeynep pursed her lips. "I'd like to, but trusting kids going behind the backs of the Clave has gotten lots of people killed, including your sister. Know what you're getting everyone into." Zeynep emphasized before she disappeared into the directions of the bedrooms. Dru swallowed, and with a heavy heart she left for the lake, where a warlock of little important who wouldn't rat her off, was waiting with a Portal. It was time to go back to the UK.

Ty and Kit had been waiting for almost an hour until they saw Dru pop up. She could see her brother was tense, and Kit was trying very hard not to look like they had spent most of the time in awkward silence. "Are you ready to enter Faerie?" Kit asked. Dru nodded, and much to her surprise, Ty took her hand as he led her into the glittering curtain of raindroplets and cobwebs, into the Tunnel of Dewshine. Kit followed after, and the mundane world behind them as they knew, vanished from sight in the luminous cave.

[kvjohansen]

Adventures in Tru-Oil

I decided to finish the guitar kit in Tru-Oil because it was pretty low-tech and low-chemical and forgiving, according to what I read, and if you're doing this stuff indoors in the winter in Canada, and the only place you have to work is a corner of the unheated cellar by the woodpile, that seemed my best choice. (Now that I know more about wipe-on poly, maybe I'll try that next time? But I got fed up with modern polyurethanes after refinishing all the floors in the house and finding it really quite bad, not the polyurethane of the eighties.) (Or tung oil. I've always wanted to try tung oil but some stuff I read said it wasn't great for instruments. But now I've seen some beautiful tung-oiled guitars that people seem happy with, so that's always a possibility too.) (The Spouse doesn't read this so, hah hah, I can talk about a next time without sarcastic comments about you can only play one guitar at a time anyway and so on.)

Anyway ... where was I? Oh yeah, Tru-Oil. I do like it, but it's been very frustrating. I've worked with Danish oil before, and this seems pretty much the same kind of thing. However ... wipe on thinly, wait, another coat, wait, 0000 steel wool, clean thoroughly, another coat ... ARGH. Is it dust, is it lint? I try different Very Clean Lint-Free rags, I try the carefully folded bit of rag, I try the paper-towel or cotton-ball inside a rag, I try the 'just use your fingers', and it's the same thing, over and over. Hideous. And the cellar, I'm sure, is the only dust-free and dog-fur-free place in the house.

The guitar, by the by, is not dog-fur-free. Like a bug in amber, there it is. An Ivan-hair. Kind of like when you get your kid to make their handprints in some bit of home-repair concrete, only not. But the back, due to an unfortunate encounter with the rather peculiar cellar doorway, and due to wet-sanding an early layer of Tru-Oil with what turned out to be really junky quality 600-grit sandpaper, has a bit of an aged and well-lived, though not outright relic'd, air about it anyway, and people put hair in lockets as mementos, right? So the single white hair of the dog that, yes, bit me rather frequently when he was a small wicked puppy, remains.

I digress. I am a maze of tangents.

So my really horrible rough finish on my really lovely silk-like sanding ... Is it because I'm applying the stuff at 8 C? No way to change that. I keep the bottle up in the living room so it's a reasonable temperature when it goes on, and I bring the guitar itself, once it's not tacky, upstairs to dry properly in the living room, which is the warmest room in the house. No, it's the damned steel wool.

I've always used superfine steel wool, 0000, for rubbing down things I've been varnishing, but I conclude, like the junky sandpaper, that this is bad quality steel wool. It's not Bulldog; I couldn't find Bulldog. It's just some stuff in a bag. And it's leaving tiny steel fragments all over my finish, which the tack-cloth is failing to pick up. Or that's my best guess.

So today, for the ?tenth? coat, I sanded the back and sides with 1500 sandpaper (good quality but it's my last piece so I need to find more somewhere). Dry sanding, just lightly, to take off all the nasty grittiness that is probably steel-dust that eluded the tack-cloth. I've gone right off wet sanding for the time being, after the Horrible Scratching Incident. Wiped it all clean. Feels like silk again. This time I used a cotton ball with the Tru-Oil on it wrapped in a bit of official Clean Lint-Free Rag, and wiped the oil on with long, quick strokes, as instructed by what's come to by my favourite guitar-finishing video channel (a chap named Manicuro, I think).

Now I wait, and then I'll do it again. And again. Because damn it, that back is going to be Nice before I do anything more to the front.

But the neck -- the neck is lovely. (So it isn't the temperature.) For some reason, the neck is perfect. If it's the steel-wool dust messing it up, it did come off the neck properly with the tack-cloth. The only issue with the neck is that I was intending for it to be satin, because I really like the nearly-raw feel of my Squier necks, and I rubbed it down to satin and decided, bleah, it looked much nicer when it was glossy, because I did a neat thing in staining the neck that doesn't show up as well on the satin. So I wiped on another coat, then, being indecisive (I write like this too) vigorously rubbed it off --

OH! Oh, that is why it is so smooth, I bet that took all the steel-wool dust off better than the tack-cloth! And then I changed my mind again -- this is all within about thirty seconds -- and wiped on another coat. Which, once it was dry, I just rubbed the 1500 sandpaper over lightly to take just a little of the shine off. It's beautiful, a semi-gloss neck that shows off the streaky mossy-log blend of forest green and dark oak on the mahogany's reddish undertone. And what the heck, I'm a classical guitarist really; I'm used to playing a glossy neck and, being also a somewhat slow and ponderous guitarist no matter what I play, speed is beyond me. A fast satin neck isn't going to help.

[nnightskiess]

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐧 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞

₊° - 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐧 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

₊° - 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭: hey idk if you’re still taking requests for love quinn but if you are, could i request love finding out that someone has been harassing reader or otherwise bothering y/n? i love her protectiveness :3

i mixed two requests together for this one. it's up to 10k words, i hope you will enjoy it <3

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please do not copy, republish, translate, reproduce or use this imagine on wattpad or on other platforms. respect the author’s work

She watched you like a hawk from her place in the kitchen, absentmindedly looking at the ingredients in front of her every few seconds as to not make it obvious how big her admiration for you really was. But her obsession with you had helped her out before. Because of it, she knew exactly what kind of pastry to give you the first time she decided to walk up to you-- you always went for the same boring cupcake. When you seemed to stall in front of the pastry display only to always pick the same plain thing, it gave Love the idea to broaden your taste. So now, every time you seemed to linger around, she would approach you with another free sample of whatever pastry she knew you hadn't tried out yet, using it to strike up a conversation. And it had worked, slowly but surely Love noticed that you would stall a tad longer, lingering the isles, when Love still hadn't shown up. She never missed the way you tried to seem surprised when she appeared next to you, or how you tried to hide a smile.

Meanwhile, Love's obsession grew, but she knew rushing things would only scare you off. In the meantime, she would wait and let things unfold naturally, only steering here and there when needed, and try her best to be a protective eye in the background. This is exactly why every alarm was going off inside her head when she saw you fidget with the hem of your shirt. You'd usually do the same whenever talking to her, but this time there were no shy glances or soft eyes. You were afraid. A guy stood just a bit too close to you, the cocky grin on his face displaying he knew exactly what he was doing.

Love stopped cutting the spring onion, wiped off her hands on her apron and rushed out of the kitchen, only to stop herself in the doorway.

Don't scare her off. Don't get too protective or you might ruin things.

She slowly strolled around the counter and grabbed a plate, hurrying to put a few pastries onto it as she had left them there to cool off, all while keeping an eye on the two of you.

You hadn't heard her approach, so her voice sounding from behind you made you jump in your place,

"Free pastry? Fresh out of the oven."

Love's toothy smile was wide but she was feeling anything but bright and cheery. She clenched her teeth shut, still smiling, and tilted her head, trying to seem customer-friendly.

You let out a visibly relieved breath and quickly grabbed a danish off the plate. The guy seemed less amused with Love's sudden arrival and his smile disappeared at her interruption. He took a pastry nonetheless, lifted it in the air as a thank you and took a bite.

Love turned to you, her eyes quickly scanning your face and noticing how her arrival had not soothed you whatsoever. What was going on here? Who was this guy?

"Y/N, I just finished packing your meal kit. Would you walk with me?"

"I didn't-" Love tilted her head and slightly squeezed her eyes, trying to get through to you without making it too obvious. She let out a soft sigh as you read her eyes with barely any effort and played along.

"I didn't think.... it would be finished already."

"I packed yours first, so everything is still fresh." Love sent a charming smile the guy's way as she playfully tugged you back by your belt hoops, wanting to usher you away to safety, like a shepherd with his sheep. But like a disobedient sheep, the guy grabbed your wrist, ruining Love's plans and stopping your movements.

"I'll wait here, then I'll give you a ride back home."

"No, that's okay." You answered.

Love's smile had disappeared as soon as he grabbed you, the look in his eyes even making her uneasy, but your shaky voice was what really ticked her off.

"Come on, we'll grab a coffee, catch up, yadayada." Though the offer seemed sincere, his tone was demanding.

"That's kind but I'm not-"

He put his hand on your lower back to try and get you closer, "I'll wait here. Or I can pick you up at your apartment later?"

"She said no!" Love raised her voice and she yanked your arm loose from his grip. You froze, immediately worrying Love that it was because of her. She let go of you almost instantly and took a step back, ignoring your eyes on her as she got out,

"She... she said no." She whispered softly, before clearing her voice and straightening her stance, more confident now, "She said no." She dared to grab your wrist softly, rubbing soothing circles on where he had squeezed it, before guiding you to the back of the store.

You let out the biggest breath as you sat down on an upside-down crate, almost as if you had held your breath ever since he had approached you. You let out a soft thank you, rubbing your knees to try and calm yourself.

Love watched carefully as she leaned against the doorway, not wanting to invade your personal space like he had just done. She effortlessly picked out all the signs of distress and fear.

"You know him?"

"Yes and no." You looked at her, saw the confusion on her face before clearing your throat, "I know who he is, but I don't truly know him."

She pushed herself off against the doorway, grabbed a crate and sat down on it.

"He's some guy I met at a college party I wish I never went to." You let out a groan, which only heightened Love's curiosity.

"Sounds like a story." Love grinned softly as she saw you enjoy your bite of the danish. Seeing you appreciate her baking never failed to make Love grin like a little kid.

"Tell me about it." Your breathy chuckle vanished quickly as you remembered everything that had happened after that party. Love's grin disappeared and she turned serious when she noticed the frown on your face.

"My friend threw a party, I had some drinks and I kissed him. I was twenty and he was a good looking guy, simple as that. That was all. One drunken kiss and he thought we were meant to be. He practically followed me around like a lost puppy until the end of college and I was so glad I had lost him until his sister moved into my building a month ago. She threw a tiny get-together for everyone in the building and of course, he was there to help. I didn't even know they were siblings until she introduced him as her younger brother."

"Let me guess," Love rolled her eyes, "-he's just as smitten with you now as he was back then?"

"Yes... however,"

Love immediately heard the change in your voice, "What?"

"He seems persistent now. He keeps knocking on my door, leaves gifts, lets stuff get delivered to my apartment, puts love letters in my mailbox or under my car's wipers and whenever he sees me outside, he basically corners me and won't leave me alone. To top it all of... he-" You stopped your rambling.

"He what?"

"He told his sister we've been dating ever since college. I think something's wrong with him... mentally, I mean. Every time I see him it's as if he's on another one of his made-up timelines. I never know which version he's living in whenever I see him."

Love bit the inside of her cheek, contemplating what to say next. Every fibre under her skin was itching and poking at her to do something, to protect you, to make a stop to whatever this weird stalker was up to next. Though every bone in her body ached with anger and protectiveness, she knew she needed to conceal it. She couldn't risk losing you, she couldn't risk you losing yourself, like Forty had, in a way, after she had tried to help. However, she could protect you. If you would accept her help, she would be around you as much as she could. If you didn't, she would try to protect you from the background, like she had done so for a while now.

"I'll tell him you had to run. You can stay here or I'll drive you home."

"No, you really don't have to. Your shift-"

"I do, Y/N." Love stared at you with a look of finality.

You nodded, still feeling like somewhat of a burden before cracking a tiny smile and taking a bite of the pastry.

"What's this? I love it." You licked your lips and groaned.

"A danish." Love had a distant look in her eyes. Normally she would have focused on your lips or the look in your eyes, but her mind was too occupied with keeping you safe now.

"Wait here." Love walked back into the shop and immediately locked eyes with the guy, who had been eyeing the backroom door the two of you had disappeared behind ever since you left. He raised an eyebrow when the door fell shut behind Love, no sign of you following her.

"Where's-"

Love cut him off immediately, sending icy daggers with her hard glare, "Do me a favour? Leave her alone."

He scoffed, "So much for that kind shop clerk act, huh? Who are you to keep me from my fiancée, anyway?"

Love was visibly caught off guard. How mentally ill was this man to truly think that? What other stories had he made up? She pulled herself together and looked around to who was close, her voice a hushed whisper when she spoke,

"I don't care how sick in the head you are, but she is not yours. So if I see you around here or hear you've-"

"I have every right to go and stand where I want to. I'm just shopping with my girl, she loves when we do little quality time things like this."

Love clenched her jaw, fuelled with anger, not knowing how else to get through his head, "She's scared of you!" Love's yell echoed through Anavrin. People turned to watch. So did Forty, who walked right over as he saw the uneasily familiar look on Love's face. He waved people off, sending them kind smiles and energetic 'happy shoppings' as he made his way over to his sister.

"Everything alright here?" He approached slowly and side-eyed Love as he tried to get a feel of the situation.

Love ignored him completely, still too busy glaring the guy down. She pointed to the exit, her voice stern as she spoke, "I need you to leave. Now. Or we'll have you removed."

Forty flinched as the guy threw his basket on the floor, "Fine. This shit's way too expensive anyway. Organic apples? What does that even mean?! They all grow on the same trees!"

He stormed off and Love only now seemed to calm down, knowing he was getting far away from you.

"Okay.... what was that all about?"

Love blinked a couple of times and swatted the stray hairs out of her face, turning to Forty with her signature smile, "Oh, it's nothing!" She breathed out a chuckle, "Just a difficult customer, all taken care of as you see."

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The car stopped in front of your apartment building and Love turned to you from her place behind the wheel.

"You've been quiet." She noted.

"Um, will you walk with me? Till I'm inside? I don't know where he's-"

"Of course." Love gave you a reassuring smile and squeezed the hand on your knee. So far, the two of you had only met in or right outside Anavrin. Without you knowing, she had been close on multiple other occasions, but Love had always resisted the urge to approach you and talk to you. She didn't want to push her luck by meeting up with you too much. Apparently, her patience had paid off, seeing as you were leading her right to your very doorstep.

She quietly followed behind you, her eyes scanning the lobby, the hallway and every door you crossed. Love saw you fumble with the keys in your hand as soon as you saw a package on your doormat.

"Is that his?" Love watched you keep the door open for her and she walked inside. This wasn't expected so soon, but a nice turn of events. Should she thank the guy for helping her out with getting closer to you?

"Yeah, other packages get dropped off at our mailboxes down in the lobby."

Her eyes then scanned around the room. It wasn't the biggest apartment, but it was big enough for one person. You had used every available space given to you, though it didn't make the living room and open kitchen seem cramped or messy. Your apartment was personal, with little knickknacks showing your personality and likes. It all seemed perfectly in place. The only messy thing was the trashbag resting against the balcony door.

You threw the gift onto the trash bag from your place at the door before it fell over, a couple of other gifts and letters falling out. Love ignored your eyes as she walked over, kneeling to inspect what was on the floor.

"Is this all his?!" She turned around with wide eyes, "He's crazy."

"I'm afraid so. Tried to throw them away until they all appeared back onto my doorstep the night after. Now I just keep them here. Waiting for the right moment to throw it away somewhere else, but he's somehow always outside whenever I go out."

"I'll take it." Love immediately offered. She recognized the look on your face, how you really wanted to accept her help, but also how you felt too much of a burden and didn't want to engage Love with your problems. "It's the least I can do," She added, seeing the hesitation wash away.

You gave her a thankful smile, "Um, want something to drink? It's the least I can offer to my... knight... in shining armour?"

Love smiled wide. You wanted her to stay. She had to bite her lip to prevent her from letting out an overly excited 'yes', and instead, playfully tilted her head,

"Hey, I am never one to back down from a fight with a ferocious dragon. I think I won't be missed for one quick drink." She teased and leaned against the kitchen countertop and watched you get the drinks ready, "We've exchanged words a couple of times but I don't think I ever came to know anything more than the boring basics."

You turned to her, a glint of mischief in your eyes, "You find me boring?" You let out a laugh as Love was ready to defend herself, but waved her off, "I never thought it was appropriate to do anything else but suck up to one of Anavrin's owners so she would keep giving me delicious pastries. I never found you boring, by the way." Love laughed and loved how the apples of your cheeks slightly turned pink.

"I'm just Love now and you're not just some customer, because I wouldn't bake something different every week for just anyone..." She raised an eyebrow playfully when she saw the flustered look on your face and shyly placed a cup of coffee in front of her. Alright, she'd work on that. She just needed to perfect the art of making you more comfortable around her and the rest would work itself out.

"You know, maybe I should just take advantage of this all and get him to pay my monthly rent. I doubt he'd say no." You smiled into your coffee mug, blowing it to cool it off. It pained Love to see you try and joke about it all while it was obvious how much the past month had done a number on you.

Love laid a gentle hand on your forearm, guiding your hands back down to rest on the counter, "Or maybe, you should get the police involved. He's stalking you. You don't know what he's capable of. It might get out of hand if you wait too long."

"I... I don't want to go through all that trouble. I doubt they'd take it seriously. It's LA, a lot of shit happens here."

Love had tried. She had tried to lure you to the right path, to keep herself from going down the same road as well. But you had refused, and so she had to take matters into her own hands.

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Love looked at the pile of gifts on her living room floor. From boxes of chocolates to now dried up flowers, from letters to candles to perfume bottles- he'd given you all of it.

Was this what men thought would win over women's hearts? Was this what he thought would win over your heart? Persistency, fear and disrespect accompanied by cliche gifts mostly seen in romcoms? Instead of chivalry, respect and kind words? He could dial down on the creepiness too.

You clearly had only opened the first few gifts but had decided to immediately throw away the ones that followed, probably aware who it was from.

She had promised you to throw it away, and she would... after she had gone through it all. The cheap drugstore chocolates, ruined bouquets and way too sweet perfume would be thrown away for sure, but the letters he wrote you might be useful.

Love tried her best to put them in chronological order, to try and decipher a pattern or a timeline. But just like you had said, he seemed to have everything mixed up in his head. There was no clear order-- some addressed you as the neighbour down the hall, in other letters you were already married, in others his possessiveness over you was as clear as day, like a dog marking every lamppost he'd come across, just because he could, as if it was his right.

Bile formed in the back of Love's throat, leaving a nasty aftertaste. This man was insane and you being on the receiving end of him only made things worse.

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Waking up before the break of dawn was never Love's forte, but for you, she would skip sleep any day. Her hair was up in a topknot, a big pair of shades shielded her face and a dark jacket was zipped up to her neck as she waited in her car. She had a perfect view of your building's entrance and if she moved her head, she saw the still curtained windows of your living room and kitchen. That wasn't what she was here for on this early Thursday morning. The man stalking you was crazy and delusional, that much was clear, but he was still human and thus he must have some kind of routine. It was up to Love to figure that out, to know the ins and outs of it all, where he slept, when he ate, where he went off to when he wasn't pestering you. All so she could keep you safe.

The two large cups of black coffee were already empty and apart from some hipster walking their dog at 5am, the street had been silent. She saw movement in the corner of her eye and noticed the blinds to your living room being opened. You stood on the other side of the window, hair messy from your slumber, a cosy blanket draped around your shoulders as you shielded your mouth when you let out an adorable yawn. Love's eyes fixated on you. Though you looked less elegant than during the day, like any normal being after just waking up, she still couldn't take her eyes off you. A daydream took over, one where she would wrap her hands around your waist from behind, one where she would usher you to sit on the couch while she'd make you breakfast. Mornings together. Days together. Nights together. That was what she daydreamed of.

A loud knock on her window made Love flinch in her seat. She had been so fixated on you that she had failed to notice a guy stepping out of the muddy green car that had been there since she'd arrived.

He was clad in regular jeans, a maroon beanie shielding his light brown curls, but it was him. The wicked smile on his face said enough-- he knew. His eyes shifted to the windows of your apartment before he looked back at Love, his smile now a scowl.

"Leave her alone, you creep." Love heard his muffled voice from outside. "Do you really think I wouldn't look up my wife's stalker? I recognized your license plate as soon as I saw it. I waited to see what you would do."

Love went through all the letters and known information in her head, trying to catch up to the timeline he was currently referring to.

"I've seen you follow her before. Stop it or I'll call the cops on you."

Love wanted to think he was bluffing, until he pulled out his phone and showed her several pictures he'd taken of her days and weeks prior, indeed during moments where she had been following you.

"I'm RJ, by the way. Remember that name." And with that, he crossed the street before he disappeared into your apartment building. Love's hand moved to the car door until she stopped herself. There was no telling how much RJ really knew about her already or how long he had been onto her. If she wanted to do this right, she needed to wait. Let him think he's getting the upper hand. But Love couldn't deny or hide the frustration she felt bubbling inside of her. She was anything but afraid of the LAPD, a few pictures didn't prove anything. She was more afraid of you finding out. RJ knew. He had her pushed into a corner now.

The tables had been turned.

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A week had passed. A week of Love demanding herself to stay out of your way. She would have thought it would prove to be a difficult task but you made it uneasily easy. You hadn't shown your face Monday morning, your usual grocery shopping day. Nor had she seen you walk in for some additional groceries on Thursday or Friday afternoon. The eclairs she had baked for you had landed in the trash can now that you had been a no-show.

Love whisked the batter like a madwoman, frustrated and angry to no end that she had, once again, not thought things through. She been so fixated on you that she failed to see her surroundings. She hadn't been careful enough and that had inevitably led to RJ figuring at least some bits of her out. Had RJ told you everything? How Love had been stalking you? Had you believed him? Or had RJ done something way worse? Was that why you hadn't shown up yet?

"Hey," Forty sang as he walked into Anavrin's kitchen, inspecting the fruit bowl, "Just a quick heads-up, the people who ordered all those club sandwiches for their team meeting are here to pick up their order. Is it done?" He grabbed an apple and took a bite. "They look as dull as their order but please tell me you didn't spice it up and change it just because you think they have boring taste?"

Love only hummed.

"Good, because we don't want a repeater of when you gave that old lady way too spicy Thai chicken sandwiches because she called you a name." Forty snorted, "Oh! And what about the cupcakes for that baby shower? Will they be done in time?" He scanned his clipboard, "They'll be here in two hours so I say-"

"Let me be, Forty! I've got it!"

"Jeez, who shat in your cake batter today?"

He raised his eyebrows, rolled his eyes and threw the apple in the trash can on his way out, muttering something under his breath as he walked back into the store.

Love stopped, clenched her jaw and leaned against the countertop. She squeezed her hands around the cold marble counter, trying to squeeze her searing anger away. Thoughts raced through her head but she kept seeing your face flash before her eyes. She ripped her apron off, grabbed her bag and walked out.

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You had purposefully closed all your blinds and curtains, not wanting him to be able to take a snoop inside your apartment. The TV's volume was on low so that no one could hear you were inside. You doubted he didn't know though. He probably knew you hadn't left yet. Not only today but for a whole week now. The only way you could leave or enter the building had been guarded by him for days. He had noticed you hadn't emptied your mailbox and had slid a letter under your door.

Apparently avoiding him, hiding from him, didn't have the desired effect you had wished for. He hadn't gotten bored of you, or forgotten you, instead, you had made him angry. He hated how his girlfriend was ignoring him and he now started doubting your faithfulness. You had no clue what had caused all this, but it worried you. You had no close friends or family in LA. For a minute, you had contemplated calling Anavrin to get them to deliver groceries or meal kits to your place, but you knew he would swoop in and offer to take your order up to your door, like the chivalrous boyfriend he was. You also wondered if you should call Anavrin and ask to talk to Love, but you didn't want to hear Love say I told you so.

A knock on your door made you freeze, especially when another knock followed soon after. Trying to make no sound, you made your way to the door. You were preparing yourself to see him through the peephole, but before you could, Love's voice whispered,

"It's me, Love. Let me in, please?"

You let your head fall back in your neck, thanking whoever that it was Love and that she hadn't shouted her arrival through the hallways. Quickly unlocking the door, you opened it and pulled a baffled Love inside as fast as you could, before locking the door once more.

She looked around, saw the mess and the closed blinds, a big contrast to the first time she had seen your apartment-- filled with natural light and cleaned like a showroom from Ikea. Then she looked at you. You looked tired, your tiny puffy eyes still showing how scared her knocking had made you feel.

"What's going on here?" Love softly grabbed your underarms, trying to calm you down.

A loud knock made both of you flinch and turn to the front door behind you.

"Come on, baby, it's me. I lost my key."

Love felt you squeeze her arm. She turned around to tell you to keep quiet.

"You haven't left in a week. Are you sick? Let me take care of you. I brought chicken noodle soup." He suddenly let out a soft whimper, "Did I do something wrong? Are you mad at me? Please tell me and I will fix it. I will fix us. I miss you, beautiful."

Then it was quiet for a long time until a loud kick against the door broke it,

"I'm at my sister if you need me." He grumbled out.

The both of you stayed silent for another minute until you eventually let out the biggest sigh and dropped on the couch.

"That's what's going on here."

"This... this isn't okay, Y/N." She pointed a shaky finger at the door, having a hard time hiding her anger.

You rolled your eyes, the tiredness making you grumpy. Love's comment had not been helpful. Of course, this was anything but okay. You didn't need her to come to that conclusion,

"Like I don't know."

Love ignored your reply and walked through the apartment like it was her own, grabbing blankets and clothing off the floor and folding them up before she waltzed into your kitchen to inspect the damage. The fridge was as good as empty and she saw the bread you had attempted to bake on your counter. Judging by the form of it, you hadn't let it rise long enough.

"Give me half an hour and I'll be back with groceries. I'll cook you something nice. I promise."

"Don't leave me alone, please." The sudden fear in your voice alarmed Love. She watched you watch her-- you had turned around on the couch, your body slumped like an afraid puppy with its tail between its legs, begging her to not go. "If he sees you leave my apartment he'll know I let you in."

Love tilted her head, "When's the last time you slept without being afraid?"

Your lack of an answer was an answer in itself. Love walked out of the kitchen and motioned you to get up.

"Grab a bag."

"What?"

"Grab a bag. Get whatever you need. You can stay with me for tonight so you can get some rest before I'll help you figure this all out tomorrow. You can't stay here."

You got up, albeit unsurely, "But I hardly know you. Are you sure it's okay? I don't want you to feel obligated to help me."

"I can't go home knowing how I'm leaving you here, with that creep on the other side of the door. It's alright, Y/N."

You nodded softly and excused yourself into your bedroom as you gathered whatever you needed. Love peeked through the blinds, not seeing his dirty green car in its usual spot. Either he had left or he was still hauled up in his sister's apartment.

She gave you a reassuring smile as you returned with an overnight bag in your hands.

"Got everything?"

You nodded, still shaken by everything that was happening. Love stayed glued to your side on your walk through the apartment building, wanting to be prepared, glancing backwards and looking in front, wanting to be two steps ahead for whatever scenario.

"Y/N? Hey! Y/N!" A female voice made you halt your movements in the lobby.

RJ's sister stood by the mailboxes, her mail in her hands as she watched you and Love.

"What's going on?" She smiled as she approached. Love stood slightly behind you, eyeing the street outside. "How have we never properly been introduced when you're going to marry my baby brother?" She laughed slightly, but both of you could hear the confusion and slight offence in her voice. "Everything good with you two? I know he can be too forward sometimes but- Oh God." She stopped herself, "You look horrible. You really are sick."

Love's head snapped to the woman, a hard glare on her face.

"He told me. You should really let him help you out. RJ's soup always gives me the biggest immunity boost whenever I'm sick."

Her eyes then flickered to Love, whose locked jaw and hard eyes were eyeing their surroundings as her hand was protectively placed around your waist. Then she noticed the bag in your hands and how you were slightly leaning into Love, finding comfort and safety the closer you got. You looked up at Love for comfort but then quickly looked back at your supposed sister-in-law.

Realisation dawned on the woman's face, "Huh." she huffed and crossed her arms, "So I guess you're the girl RJ has talked about." She tried to be playful, but there was nothing funny about the look in her eyes as she narrowed her eyes at Love.

"Oh- we're...friends." You spoke as soon as you caught on.

RJ's sister grabbed her keys from her handbag, "You should know RJ doesn't like to share, friends or not." She looked back at you, "You know how it looks when you ignore him for a week but go out with your... friend?"

She turned around before she got into the lifts, "Not good."

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You sat around Love's dining table, hands wrapped around the cup of tea she had made you as you watched her cook. Delicious smells filled the house as you sat there wondering what she was even making.

"Hmmm, spaghetti?" You asked.

"Spaghetti? Anyone could make that. Who do you think I am?" She chuckled at you, adding the sundried tomatoes to the garlic oil sizzling in the pan. "I'm making a marinade for the chicken." She disappeared behind the counter. You heard her pull something out of the oven before she jumped back up, a baguette in her oven mitts.

"You made that yourself?"

"Of course, I did. Would be a shame if I didn't, seeing as I am a chef and all." She smirked, seeing your reaction.

"I thought you only did pastries."

Love shook her head.

"Could really use some tips on baking bread then, I tried but it was disastrous." You laughed, feigning offence as Love agreed with you.

The two of you became silent again. You loved how you didn't feel pressured to keep the conversation going, to just let the moment be, while Love liked how you had visibly relaxed as soon as you had stepped into the safety of her home.

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"Love, thank you so much. I don't know how I'll ever-" She silenced you by pulling you in a quick hug. She squeezed you tight, feeling rich with you in her arms.

"Don't worry about it. Sweet dreams." Your tired smile was the last thing she saw before closing the door to her tiny guestroom.

She walked back to the kitchen and started to clean up, putting everything in the dishwasher. She rose an eyebrow as her ringtone went off. She put it on hands-free as she continued putting the dishes away.

"Love Quinn here, what's up?"

"You think you're the shit now, don't you?"

His voice made her grab her phone immediately as she took it off hands-free, afraid you might hear it.

"You think you've won now that she's hauled up in your home, enjoying a warm meal, sleeping in your bed. Feels good, huh? Now that she trusts you."

"What's your fucking problem?" Love hissed out in a whisper. "She's not yours to have, not yours to keep, not yours to lose. I don't know whatever fantasy you think you're living in, but it's not Y/N's reality."

"Give her back." RJ's voice yelled.

"She isn't yours."

"Then I'll get her myself." It was quiet for a while. "You should really finish the dishes."

Love looked up at her tall living room windows and glanced at the darkness of the night before she rushed to throw all the curtains closed. Then the line went dead.

Love grabbed the first weapon she could find, one of her larger kitchen knives, before she all but ran to the guestroom she had left you to rest. The guestroom didn't have a window, so she knew she should guard the only way in, the door. She had thought RJ to be all bark and no bite before, but he seemed clever and had even been one step ahead of her before. She needed to be sure. She slid down against the wall next to your door and overlooked the hallway entrance with a certain focus and determination in her eyes.

Hours passed and eventually, the sun replaced the moon. The first sound she heard ever since his phone call, was the guestroom door opening to reveal a tired yet adorable you.

Love scrambled to her feet, the kitchen knife hidden away in a plant as to not scare you.

"What are you doing here?" You rose an eyebrow, your giggle turning into a yawn. "Did you not sleep?"

You noticed the distant look on Love's face, the clothes she had been wearing the night before as well as the same coat of lipstick still on her lips.

"Forgot to prepare an important order for Anavrin so I had to stay up and bake all night." She let out a yawn herself, one that made you laugh before she locked eyes with you. She gave you a toothy grin.

Love hated how she had to lie through her teeth, how she had to lie to you. But this was for you.

"You should've told me. I would've loved to help. Maybe together we would have finished sooner."

"I doubt that." Love laughed.

You took a moment to think before you shrugged, agreeing.

She laughed once more, "Let's get breakfast, come on."

Love stayed close to you, not entirely sure what she would walk into. Yes, she had guarded the guestroom all night long, but there was no being sure he hadn't someway made his way inside. Everything looked the same, nothing was out of place. No window or lock was broken, as far as she could inspect from her walk to the kitchen.

Love let you take a moment to wake up as she sat you down in the kitchen, a nice cup of coffee in your hands as she put every breakfast item on the counter. You rose your eyebrow,

"Do you peg me as a giant? Or are you a feeder?" You smirked slightly at Love's expression as you took her off guard.

"No, I just... thought, now you can pick whatever you like. I can bake you something if you want to? Name it and I'll make it."

You walked over and placed a quick kiss on her cheek, "No worries. I appreciate it. Some yoghurt is fine, though. I don't have a big appetite after just waking up."

Love's distant behaviour didn't go unnoticed as you quietly ate your breakfast. You didn't know her well enough to know if this was a common thing. Maybe she was just tired. You knew you liked to space out whenever you lacked sleep too.

However, Love immediately noticed when you started shifting in your chair.

"So..," You cleared your throat, "What's the plan? I've... never had to deal with something like this before. Do I just, you know, call the local police department?"

"Don't worry about anything. I already called my parents."

You were aware of the Quinn family, heat rose to your cheeks as you remembered the hours you had stalked the family online, just to know more about her.

"Love, I really-"

"We've dealt with this before with Forty once, it's no big deal, we'll handle it."

"But your family has nothing to do with RJ... or me. Why would they be willing to fix my problem?"

"It hurts me to think you don't see us as friends." Love teased you playfully, but her face soon hardened, "He harassed you in our store. Of course, we are involved. This problem will be gone before you know it."

"You really think so?"

"Do you trust me?"

You gave her a curt and determined nod, "Yes, I do."

That was all Love needed to hear. Last night he had not only threatened you, but he had threatened her too. She would walk through fire for the opportunity to be close to you. He wasn't going to ruin that dream. She needed to end this. She needed to keep you safe.

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You didn't want to return to your apartment and neither did Love want you to stay alone at hers, for reasons she could not tell you obviously, so she dropped you off at Anavrin while she went back to your place with a list of things you told her to bring.

Love did her best to keep quiet as she tiptoed through the hallways, unlocking your door and locking it back behind her. She first decided to clean the kitchen counter and throw away the now spoiled bread. She grabbed the list out of her jean pocket and walked into your bedroom, getting caught off guard by how different it was from her daydreams. In her imagination, it had been a tiny room, with barely any space for a double bed and a closet. Instead, your bedroom was larger than your living room and there was enough space for your enormous double bed. She stood in front of your mirror, which had seen you so many times. Then she looked at your desk where it looked like you had abruptly paused the work you had been working on. She grabbed a perfume bottle off your dresser and inhaled, of course, this was much better than the cheap smell RJ had tried to let you wear. You had taste.

Love felt like an intruder as she opened your underwear drawer. She begged herself not to look at anything but what was on her list, but a soft blush crept up her neck and warmed her ears and cheeks nonetheless. She respected you, so she would not go snooping for anything else.

She walked into the bathroom, putting shampoo bottles in a plastic bag before walking back into the living room. You had asked her to bring your favourite soft slippers, the ones you always liked to wear before bed. Love scanned the living room, no slippers. She imagined you taking them off right before going to sleep, so maybe they were safely tucked away under your bed? She turned around to walk to your bedroom when her eyes fell on a shadow on the floor. Her heart slammed against her chest as she saw it move.

It didn't take her longer than a second to know who this was. She walked to your desk and grabbed a scissor, wanting to be prepared. Did he know she was Love and not you? Would it even matter?

For a second she swore she heard his heart slam against his chest as well. She moved to the closet, pretending to rummage through it, but in reality keeping an eye on him through the mirror in the corner of your room.

An eerie silence floated around your apartment, the knowledge of Love not being alone in there making everything worse. But Love was a woman on a mission, and she would not leave until she was sure you would be safe. Knowing where he was gave her a confident feeling and so she waited. She dragged it out as long as she could, seeing if he would break first. And he did.

Love saw his reflection in the mirror move from under the bed and she turned around instantly, ready to strike. What she hadn't expected, was him pulling at her ankles. She tried to kick him off and managed to grab hold of your dresser, only for him to grab her other leg and make her slam into your mirror.

It broke into pieces as they all flew and fell onto Love, who turned on her back almost instantly after impact. RJ crawled up to her, holding his cheek where Love had previously kicked him. He pulled her closer by her legs while Love's hand searched your bedroom floor for anything to defend herself with. RJ was a tall and strong-build man. It had been stupid of Love to think she could take him down in a one on one fight.

He held her down before he crawled over her, hands groping her neck. Love coughed loudly as he squeezed. Her legs kicked and moved as she tried to get away, but he was too heavy for her, even if she was filled with adrenaline. She tried to wriggle her head around, but that made the squeezing of her neck even more unbearable. RJ mumbled something above her as his spit coated her face like he was some angry wolf ready for its prey. His smirk disappeared as soon as it had appeared and his off-white shirt turned crimson.

RJ looked down at his collar, where a thick piece of glass stuck to his skin. His face turned white at the view and the pain and he stumbled back. Love shot up and dared to get close again as she turned the glass shard halfway, making RJ scream out in pain. She was so furious and full-on adrenaline that she didn't even feel the wound the glass had left on her own hand at all. She watched him fall back, oddly fast, almost too easy. He mumbled something incoherently and let out painful moans until, once again, the apartment was filled with an eerie silence.

Love looked around the room, at her wounded hands, at the broken mirror and the man half slid against your closet before her breaths started to quicken. She started hyperventilating and soft sobs left her trembling lips before she ran out of your apartment.

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Though you loved how Forty had tried to entertain you and to make you feel at home, his constant talking had made you tired. You wanted to see Love again and it worried you that she still hadn't returned from grabbing some simple things at your apartment.

When she did return, with that same distant look on her face as that morning, you knew something had happened.

With a turtle neck rolled up till just under her chin and a bandage wrapped around her hand, she made a bee-line to the two of you, her eyes cold and far away. Forty hopped off the seat next to you, said goodbye and immediately started a conversation with a customer walking by.

Love's instincts told her to grab your hand. And you let her, as she started to play with your fingers, simultaneously looking through the store as if she was afraid of something.

"Hey, you alright?" You softly tugged her closer by the hem of her shirt, not expecting Love to flinch.

"Hm? Oh, yes. Are you hungry? What are you into? I'll make you something."

"You're an angel but... can we just... go to your place?" You missed your bed and the familiarity of your apartment, but it was no longer home. Home was where you felt safe, not like a mouse stuck in a trap. RJ wouldn't know where to find you if you went to Love's place, besides, the effort she had made to make you feel comfortable was greatly appreciated.

"Sure." Love took a breath, trying to calm herself down by the feel of your soft fingers brushing against her own. The realisation that you asked to stay with her washed away any fear or insecurity she still felt.

She opened your door and softly closed it as soon as you hopped in, like a real gentlewoman, and sped off the Anavrin parking lot soon after. You didn't ask her why she had taken so long, and for that, she was immensely thankful. She reached over to squeeze the hand on your knee, giving you a reassuring smile afterwards. You reciprocated the smile and let yourself rest against the seat, not taking your eyes off Love. She was like a mystery to you. One you would get obsessed with solving, one you couldn't tell yourself to stay away from until you had solved it. You weren't a fool, you had noticed the longing glances she'd sent your way for weeks whenever you dropped by at the store. You just didn't have the guts to tell her you would actually like to get to know her a little bit better like that as well. Maybe you didn't have to. Maybe it would just play itself out. Maybe it was so obvious that you would never have to utter another word. Maybe it was that easy. Maybe.

"What happened to your hand?" Your fingers softly travelled over the bandage.

"Oh, accident in the kitchen." Love gave you a distant smile as you watched her face turn pale and saw her check the car's mirrors multiple times.

"Anything wrong? We're not being followed, are we?" You joked, to which Love let out a soft smile.

"It's taken care of."

"What's been taken care of?" You rose an eyebrow.

"Your problem."

You looked at the hands in your lap, taking a moment to let it sink. Love's eyes flickered between you and the dark green car a couple of cars behind her, telling herself this little hallucination was just the aftermath of her adrenaline kick a few hours ago.

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A two-person party, though small, still well-meant. Your problem was solved, you needed to celebrate and so you convinced Love to pop open a bottle of wine. The first bottle was delicious as you truly got to know each other this time, no more talking about crazy stalkers or pastries at Anavrin. The second bottle was a spontaneous decision by you, as you felt euphoric... as if you had won a battle without any casualties. Love just agreed, seeing she loved every moment spent with you, a happy you, nonetheless.

The third bottle was a mistake. A big mistake.

Both of you were well past tipsy and started to act like two teenagers who had gotten drunk for the first time after some High School prom. After the countless giggles, stupid jokes and weird drunken rambles, you felt your subconscious gravitate you towards Love. Even more than usual. Your head hurt like hell but the feeling of standing in Love's arms made up for that. The feeling of her hands on your waist made you want to jump in your place like a toddler. She let out a toothy grin and jokingly rubbed her nose against yours. But there was no joking with your next move. Though drunk, you knew exactly what you wanted. You wanted Love.

You pulled her forward by her neck, albeit harshly, and planted your lips onto hers. The alcohol in her system made her initial reaction delay, but there was no guessing if she was just as into it as you were when she pulled you closer by your waist before a hand pulled at your hair, just as harshly. Your leg hooked around her and pulled her closer against you while she had you pushed against the kitchen counter. When you heard a low moan leave her throat, you bit her lip and pulled it back, not wanting her next moan to be muffled. Your action elicited yet another moan and within a few seconds, she had you sit onto the kitchen counter with her body as close to you as she could.

The alcohol in you weirdly heightened your senses, but the sense of time was gone. You had no idea if you were making out for just a few seconds, mere minutes or even longer, but your and Love's shirts on the floor was an indicator of where things were going. You should have known the third bottle was a mistake when you didn't even see the bruises on Love's neck.

Love gently laid you down, sneaking sloppy drunken kisses in between, before she took off your pants with your help. The cold marble counter didn't help cool off your flushed body, but you enjoyed every second of it. You closed your eyes and dropped your head back as Love's kisses moved from your stomach to your thighs.

A gasp left your mouth as Love was doing her best to tease you some more and you blinked softly in the pure bliss of the build-up. She planted a few kisses on the fabric of your underwear, teasing you more. You saw the room upside down, which didn't help your drunken headache, but the feeling of Love between your legs and what she was about to do was enough of a reason to ignore it. You let out a breathy moan and arched your back. You opened your eyes, smiling to yourself, but you blinked and furrowed your brows when a silhouette moved to stand in the doorway of Love's darkened hallway.

Your breathing quickened as your whole body felt ecstatic, but you forced yourself to lightly tap Love's bare shoulder. Maybe you were hallucinating, the third bottle had been one too much after all, but you wanted to warn Love nonetheless.

Love thought the taps on her shoulder and her name coming from your mouth were praises and continued teasing you. Maybe if she hadn't been so intoxicated herself, or if she hadn't put her guard down, she would have noticed him approaching. But Love was too focused on you to notice anything else.

A sudden scream coming from your mouth made her jump up. You looked at her, eyes wide, wait... no- you looked behind her? Before she could react, she was yanked back by her hair, leaving you to let out yet another scream.

RJ looked terrible-- his face was pale and his eyes sunken, his shirt still coated in a dried-up crimson but it seemed like he had tried to patch himself up. His need to steal you from Love had apparently been greater than his want to see a doctor, seeing as he limped while pushing Love against the fridge. RJ was injured, Love was drunk, so would this finally be a fair fight?

RJ slammed the last bottle you'd shared against the counter-- glass and the remains of the bottle spilt everywhere. He wanted to slam it into Love's neck, but he let out a loud yelp when Love pushed a finger into the wound from before and forced him back.

"Go! Get out!" Love yelled into your face. You scrambled off the kitchen counter and tried to run. You couldn't. You couldn't leave Love and let RJ ruin her too.

You watched him fall, grabbing the curtain in the hope of staying on his feet, but the curtain fell down with him. Love and RJ were now draped in the fabric, there was no telling where Love started or RJ ended, and you watched the struggle continue.

"Y/N! Help me!" His voice echoed through the house, making you sick to your stomach.

You had never imagined RJ to go to these kinds of lengths just to get what he wanted. The Quinn family clearly hadn't taken care of it, seeing as he was here right now. Unless this was still a drunken nightmare. You cursed yourself for ever opening that third bottle of wine.

You ran over, needing to do something, even if you never liked violence. This was different. This was Love's life.

"Y/N!"

You jumped back when the two of them reemerged from underneath the curtain, Love sitting on top of him as she grabbed the nearest pottery decoration and slammed it against his temple. RJ seemed dazed for a few seconds, but Love's actions were still delayed by the alcohol in her blood and so he had the upper hand again within a second. He plunged a fork he had secretly picked up from the kitchen into Love's upper thigh which made a horrible cry of pain leave her throat. It sent chills up your spine.

Your yell made Love look up temporarily and worry flashed over her face as she realised you still hadn't left. RJ used your distraction as an opportunity and threw a right hook at Love's jaw, making her fall onto her back entirely.

In a panic, you looked around the room. But for what? For an escape? A way out? A way to help Love?

You ran over, grasping a candlestick off a table on your way and stopped behind RJ. Your eyes were locked with Love's as she looked at you. You made a move to strike but stopped. You weren't evil. You weren't a monster. You couldn't do something like this!? But RJ was. RJ was a monster and he would soon kill Love if you didn't step in. This... this would be deemed as self-defence, right?! Another look into Love's wide eyes, filled with pain, made you make your decision.

You lifted your arm and a second later, the candlestick had made a hard blow to the back of his head. RJ groaned and turned around hazily before resting on his side, his injuries getting the best of him. He looked at you, shocked you would hurt him. A quiet whimper left his mouth, "Y/N?"

Instead of taking this to run off, you raised your arm back over your head, but before you could slam it into RJ's head once again, Love's trembling hand stopped you. She closed her eyes and let out a shaky breath, prying your trembling fingers off the candlestick one by one before hovering over RJ.

What happened next, made you look away. It was clear how much in pain the girl was, but Love continued to strike blows into his head until she was could be sure he was gone this time. You heard the untasteful squishing and cracking of flesh and blood being pressed together and skull breaking, together with Love's painful groans. With a thump, the candlestick fell to the floor and so did Love, who fell down next to her victim.

You stood there, taking it all in, while you didn't know if you were coated in blood or in wine, or both. All you could think of was how the third bottle had been a mistake. A big, stupid mistake.

Either the alcohol or the fear and utter disgust caught up to you, but you moved away from Love and emptied your stomach on her floor. It needed to be cleaned after tonight anyway.

"Oh, God." Your voice was shaky as you leaned against the couch, spitting out the vile taste of puke. Love's deep, fast and painful breathing filled the air and made you come back to your senses.

You hurried to her and dragged her away from RJ's corpse, not wanting to be near it. She let out a cry when you touched her leg.

"I'm so sorry." She let out a strangled sob. You shook your head, she had nothing to say sorry for. She did what she had to do, what you would've done had she not stopped you and protected you from doing something so horrible.

However, Love was sorry you had seen that side of hers way too soon. Would it scare you away? Would you walk away and leave her there in pain? Would you look differently at her now that you knew what she was capable of? Were you scared? She was sorry you had to witness something so horrible, something she had tried to protect you from so intensely. She had tried so hard not to go down that road again, but there came RJ screwing up her plan. Besides, she'd do anything for the ones she cared about.

"Fuck," You started freaking out again, once again realising the situation you were in. "Your leg- I need an ambulance."

"Are you okay?" Love managed to get out, but you heard how much effort it cost her.

You ignored her and started to gently examine her body, realising you needed to make haste if you wanted to get Love out of pain.

"P-Phone," You stuttered, still in shock, "Where... where is it?"

She let out another sob, "I'm sorry."

"Love! Shut up and tell me where I can find a damn phone in this fucking house so I can call a bloody ambulance and... and the police!" You yelled, filled with panic.

"Love?! Help me out here!"

Love turned around slightly and pointed a finger at the coffee table behind you. You hurried to grab the phone, sliding away in the blood that coated the floor, making you fall against the couch. You unlocked the phone with her help before she stopped you right as you were about to dial 911.

"No, no 911. Call this number." Her trembling hands scrolled through her phone before she pointed at a contact on the now bloody screen.

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You sat on the kitchen counter, watching Love bake your favourites. A lot of time had passed, but your mind still wandered off to the first time you had sat on a kitchen counter with Love so close, and how different things had ended that day. Something you would also never forget? How Love had fiercely fought for her life the moment RJ had grabbed hold of her hair, or how she had ushered you to get out. You could never forget the events of that night. The scar on Love's upper thigh was another strong reminder of what had happened.

But the exact details had disappeared from your mind, just like the alcohol from your system the next morning when you had thrown it all up. You vaguely remember calling a number, but everything that had followed was a mystery to you. Drunken you must have been wise enough to call an ambulance, seeing as you woke up with a patched-up Love sitting by the bed that morning.

What was that saying again? People who go through horrible events together, are bound to get close? Hm, maybe that wasn't a saying, but that was exactly what had happened with you and Love.

A stripe of freshly whipped cream landed on your face, taking you back to reality. To Love.

"Where did you go off to?" She smiled up at you and dropped her whisk to stand between your legs. You let out a content sigh and wrapped your arms around Love's neck, pulling her closer against your chest. Love rubbed soothing circles on your lower back as she let you use her to calm down, something she loved. She loved whenever you showed how comfortable she made you feel, how much her touch calmed you down. It showed her how much you loved her.

You didn't need to answer for her to know where your mind had been. She planted soft kisses against your collarbone while you still refused to let go of her. You squeezed your eyes shut, realising you could've lost the best thing to ever happen to you on that damned night.

"As much as I love being glued to your chest, I do need a breather. You're suffocating me out here, babe."

You let out a soft chuckle, one that matched Love's, grabbed her head and planted a kiss on her forehead before letting her go. Love pulled back, her hands travelling to rest on your knees.

"I love you. We're safe. I will always be around to protect you. Nothing will ever happen again." She spoke the mantra she used whenever you needed reassurance.

You nodded, believing her, and planted a kiss on her lips, "I love you too."

"I will... always... protect you."

You were part of her family now, the best thing she had in her life. No one would ever hurt you again. And, as it seemed, Love had finally gotten what she had dreamed of--

Mornings together. Days together. Nights together. Together with you.

please do not copy, republish, translate, reproduce or use this imagine on wattpad or on other platforms. respect the author’s work

[dickfuckk]

Ten characters, Ten fandoms, Ten tags game!

I was tagged by @sherlockig​ (thanks babe) and I... am not in 10 fandoms ghdjsk but this looked fun so I might go with like fandoms I used to be in?? lmao. This is not in any particular order at all

Also I’m stealing your format with the gifs and stuff that was cute

1. Stede Bonnet from ofmd my beloved bitchy idiot (but Ed my beloved babygirl, who can do no wrong, is such a close second)

2. Aziraphale from Good Omens. Yet another beloved idiot

3. Nandor from wwdits. Idk he’s a bitch and i respect it

4. Jesse Pinkman from Breaking Bad. No character breaks my heart quite like Him.

5. Jim Moriarty from Sherlock. Again, he’s a bitch and i respect it

6. Spider-man from Marvel, i don’t feel like anyone needs to justify why spider-man is the best

7. Jesper Fahey from Six of Crows (specifically the books bc i’m sorry i hated the show. But Kit Young can get all my love though I fully respect him)

8. Steve Harrington from Stranger Things. I just want to squeeze him

9. Klaus Hargreeves from the umbrella academy. I love him so much actually he’s the perfect character

10. You know what fuck it, I’m gonna add Pyrus from the danish christmas show for children: Pyrus. He rocks and I love him and he deserves to be added

alright as always i have no idea who has already been tagged but I am tagging: @neine​ @awkward-fallen-angel​ @pickle92​ @spineless-lobster​ @skysofrey​ @captainsjm​ @z-aliada​ @badgersknackers​ @fabstan​ @lateral-org​ only if you wanna do it ofc!

[arty-shadow-morningstar]

My Maribat Betrothal AU: Take Two

Okay so people like that post that is more of a train wreck produced by my sleep-deprived brain. I expanded on it and added some changes. Fair warning: Most of my ML and DC knowledge came from Maribat fics, a few episodes and the DCU movies like son of Batman. I have Mari's pov and background stuff written and it needs some editing. Anyways, enjoy <3

It is not a continuation but: @alysrose-starchild, @buginetye, @lookatthestars1, @blackroserelina, @macncheesemonster, @mochinek0

[Masterlist]

(Part 2)

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

PART 1

Damian groaned.

He was not having a good day.

First, Father decided to pair him with Todd, TODD of all people, for patrol.

Second, while doing a stake-out for the warehouse near the docks which might be used as storage for criminal activity and enduring Red Hood's annoying taunts, they both were knocked out by tranquilizers and his mother's face was the last thing he had remembered seeing.

"Don't worry, little one. You are just fulfilling your duties as heir to the Demon's Head. Then, all will be perfect." She had said, just before he fully lost consciousness.

Third, he woke up to being chained up with a major headache. Taking a bearing of his surroundings, the room he was imprisoned in had two exits, an iron door and a window that had the view of his childhood home. He was dressed in wedding ensembles of the League of Shadows. Red Hood was chained up next to him as well but unlike him, still had his suit and helmet on. Glancing to the other side, he saw a raven-haired girl, chained up and dressed in the black and gold robes of a bride. She had also retained consciousness and was staring at him.

Bluebell eyes met his piercing green.

His betrothal was petite with Asian features. She had freckles dotting her button nose and rosy cheeks.

She is fragile and will break easily, he thought. Why did his mother want him to marry such a weakling?

"Savez-vous où nous sommes? (Do you know where we are?)" Her voice was sweet and trembling with fear. Her eyes were wide and seemed filled with innocence yet carrying great sadness. She was an Angel, an ordinary girl, not fit for this harsh and unforgiving world she was forcefully going to get married to.

She opened her mouth to ask another question and suddenly, she went limp, appearing to be unconscious. Damian furrowed his brows in confusion. Why did she-

A moment later, he heard footsteps approaching and the iron door opened to reveal his mother.

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

Jason woke up to the sight of the Bitch Talia and Demon Spawn, face to face, glaring at each other.

Talia broke the tense silence.

"Damian, I hope you know what you should do."

"To be forcefully married to that little girl. She is no one special. Why am I getting married to her?"

Married? The Demon Spawn is getting married?!

Jason saw through his helmeted vision, a girl about Damian's age, chained up like them but not yet awake. He raised his hand and saw the shackles around his wrists. The chains were connected to the wall. He experimentally yanked the chains, drawing Talia’s attention.

“Well, Jason, you are awake. You can be the best man for the wedding.”

“No. I don’t know what game you are playing but you better release us. B is gonna find us and you will pay. Let the girl go. She is innocent in all of this.” Jason said vehemently.

"Ladybug may not seem like it but she possesses great power that my father converted for centuries. Speaking of, she should be awake by now."

Talia stood up and grabbed Ladybug’s(?) hair and yanked so that her eyes met the girl's. The girl, who unfortunately was going to be the Demon Spawn's bride, lets out a cry and starts to tear up. Jason felt anger at how she was being treated, seeing the girl as a little sister already.

"Tch, See, she is more pathetic than I thought. She is not powerful." Demon Spawn growled out. The girl starts babbling in French. From the little French Jason knows, she was begging for mercy.

“Like I thought, weak. She is not deserving of the title of my wife.” Damian spat out.

"Appearance can be deceiving. Despite her demeanor, she is the current wielder of the Ladybug Miraculous and the Current Guardian. The old Guardian, the old fool had promised her in exchange for his protection." Talia countered, letting go of the girl.

Miraculous? Guardian? What the hell?

"That doesn't mean I want to marry her. She is not worthy of an Al Ghul or a Wayne. Look at her, crying at the slightest feeling of pain."

The mother and son begin to bicker. Damian refusing to marry and Talia trying to change his mind.

“Yes, both have to be willing to be married but the curse placed on both of you will ensure that you will agree.”

The dark haired girl had stopped crying and started whispering in a strange language when the fight started, fiddling with the silver ring she wore. Jason saw a terrifying smile crossed the face of the girl across him that chilled him to the bones. Later, a black blur came out of her robes and went through the door. He wondered if he imagined that before he was a determined glint in her eyes.

He blinked.

Talia was choking on the chains that were previously chained to the wall and were now around her neck. Fortunately for them, Talia had closed the door after her entrance and the guards most likely to be stationed outside didn’t storm into the cell. The girl whispered something in Talia's ear, making the woman's eyes widen with what could be fear.

The experienced assassin struggled to get free and gain an upper hand on the girl but was unsuccessful, passing out from the lack of oxygen and strangely strong grip of the small girl.

What happened next was surprising. She breathed hard on her shackles which instantly disintegrated into flakes of rust.

Holy Shit! Demon Spawn's girl is magic. Jason knows his mouth was hanging open under his helmet at that realization. Damian seems to be in the same state.

Talia didn't have the keys to the locks. Being crafty like that. Bitch

"Call me Lady." she said in lightly accented English as she summoned black orbs at the tip of her hands. “Stay still.”

She then proceeds to place her hands on Jason’s shackles, turning them into nothing more than specks.

"I am Red Hood." said Jason, rubbing his wrists.

"The little shit here," as he kicked Damian's leg, " is-"

"Damian Al Ghul" she said the last name with venom. She moved on to Damian's bonds. "Son of that bitch over there, grandson of Ra's, demon heir, blah blah blah. Hold still, mon mignon. I am sure you don't want to lose a hand."

Damian stopped moving at that, due to the pet name or fear Jason couldn’t tell but by the red at the tips of his ear, it could be the former. And she used her powers to free him.

Lady somehow managed to use what remained of the chains to hog tie Talia up.

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

“How do we get out?” Damian asked, inspecting the blade that he flinched from his mother.

“Hey, kit.” A nasally voice called out. “I checked out the place we are in. Like you asked. The way to the Throne room is heavily guarded and they seem to think old Ra’s the target. The Pits are guarded too but they are nothing you can’t handle.”

“What is that?” Jason shrieked.

“Thanks, Plagg, you will get that camembert danish when we get back. This is a kwami, a god of sorts and his thing is destruction so I wouldn’t insult him if I were you. He likes to go by Plagg”, answered Lady, which doesn’t clear up Jason’s confusion.

“So, Pigtails, what’s the plan?” The floating, black cat-shaped god(?) asked.

“I was thinking of destroying the Pits to give Al Ghul a middle finger and call Maman to use the Horse to get home.”

“We need Tikki to get rid of it..”

“I will just tell Maman to bring the earrings.”

Damian snorted, “That sounds like a foolish plan. You are insane and not strong enough to take on the League alone, despite having a ‘god’ of destruction at your side. This Tikki or magic earrings will destroy the Pits, many have tried. And sorry to disappoint but no horse can make it up the mountainside of Nanda Parbat.”

“Have to agree with Demon Spawn here and I rarely do that. Your plan sounds insane, Pixie. You are just one girl. Let us help, we know the League better than you. We can come up with a better one.” Jason was worried for the girl, she was crazy if she thought her plan would work.

Lady smirked, “It is a perfectly sound plan. I know what I am talking about. Despite the weak girl act, I am no Damsel in distress. After this is all over, we will split our ways and hopefully, never see each other again.”

“We can’t separate. My mother said there is a curse that will ‘make us fall in love.’” Damian said, using air quotes. “You need to come with us so we can get someone to break it.”

“Fine. But I need to do something before I am coming with you. Plagg, Claws out.”

Bright green light flashed around her and she was now dressed in a black bodysuit with green linings. It was armoured at the chest, knees and elbows. (Add whatever details you want, I can’t do it. Jacket, designs, use your imagination) Her gloves were claws-like, reminding them of Selina and there was a belt carrying some vials, pouches and throwing stars. Her hair was now longer and braided and seemed to move on its own. Cat ears were attached to her head. Her eyes were changed so the sclera were the same shade of blue as her iries and the pupils were slitted like a cat. A black domino mask framed her face. Two ten-inch daggers appeared out of thin air in her hands.

The transformed Lady did the inhuman feat of kicking the door open. The assassins stationed outside were immediately knocked out by Lady.

“Well, are you coming or not?” She called out, before running down the corridor. Jason patted his shocked brother’s shoulder, “You doing okay there, demon spawn?”

“Tch, Let’s go, Todd.” Damian replied, trying to get rid of that funny feeling in his chest.

[charlie-rulerofhell]

For they know exactly what they do

Today there was a pretty long article published in the German newspaper FAZ, written by Julia Schaaf. Since there were quite a few interesting topics raised in it and Måneskin talked about some new aspects (or in more detail), I translated the whole thing (it might also have helped me to procrastinate).

Full interview in English under the cut.

For they know exactly what they do

June 22, 2021

Four young rock musicians from Rome are today's hottest band. Måneskin are enchanting Europe. Why? We met them for an interview.

Every romance needs its founding myth, an anecdote from the beginning, something you can tell later in more difficult times for self-assurance.

In the case of the band Måneskin, who first had Italy and now half of Europe wrapped around their fingers, and who are now trying to conquer the rest of the world with their rock music, there is the story of the shoe box. Rome, around five years ago: Four teenagers who are meeting every day after school in their rehearsal room to make music together, and sometimes they play their songs on the Via del Corso in the city centre in front of a changing audience. One day they want to record their own stuff. They find a studio that they can actually afford and as they go there they bring a shoe box, with the name of the band written on it, 'moonshine' in Danish, the bassist's mother is Danish. In the box: around seven kilogram of coins. The things you get from playing music on the streets. Everyone searching through Instagram for photos from that time can find four hippies with children's faces, three boys in batik, the girl is wearing a straw hat.

As they have to pay [for the recording], frontman Damiano David, 22, says that there was this guy, Angelo, and his bandmate Victoria De Angelis, 21, is interrupting: “No, Andrea, not Angelo”, and all of them have to laugh because a rigid studio manager with the Italian name 'angel' would be even funnier for a founding myth. David continues his story: “The guy was completely dumbfounded. 'We can't do that.' We went: 'Sure we can, that's worth the same even if it's just 20 cent coins, it's still 300 euros.” Thomas Raggi, 20, the guitarist of the band, is gasping for air as he laughs, while drummer Ethan Torchio, 20, is smiling dreamily. David finishes: “And then we snuck off before he was able to count it.” [the German text says 'verdrücken' here which is just a colloquial way of saying 'we left', but it entails some sort of a dramatic exit, so yeah, let your thoughts get creative how they left exactly :D].

Four young musicians on the verge of global fame are sitting on a white interview sofa in Berlin, completely styled, babbling across each other like overeager teenagers.

Ever since the Roman band first won the music festival Sanremo and then also the Eurovision Song Contest, carried by the enthusiasm of European viewers, you could say Måneskin has become a phenomenon. “Rock 'n' Roll never dies!”, Damiano David yelled fueled by the adrenaline of winning, and the insinuation that circulated on social media of the singer snorting during the counting of votes in front of a live camera – including their strict denial followed by a negative drug test result – might have given an additional boost to their public interest, their exploding album, ticket and merch sales, and their outstanding success on Spotify.

“We think it's a shit prejudice against rock music that there always have to be drugs involved. We fully threw ourselves into our participation with the utmost professionalism. We give everything for the music. So of course we don't want people to think that we can only do that because we take drugs.” – Victoria De Angelis

Prior to Eurovision, Måneskin was more of an insider's tip outside of Italy. Handmade rock music, not creating something entirely new but paying homage to the good old times with classic guitar riffs and cracking drum beats, being a lot of fun but also quite fragile and vulnerable at times and, first and foremost, conveying a captivating energy. Finally, on the stage of Rotterdam, live after so many months of isolation and renunciation, this wave of energy spilled straight over into European living rooms. It seemed easy to (mistakenly) interpret the winning song “Zitti e buoni” (Shut up and behave) as a declaration of frustration of our youth in times of a pandemic. In fact, singer Damiano David is singing about the favourite topic of the band: the unrelenting need to, against all odds, be yourself, despite or perhaps because you are different. The message fits their provocative sex appeal, which the band uses to demonstrate their independence of gender norms at any given time. But the core essence of rock music has always been the promise of unlimited freedom.

Thus at the first moment, the meeting with Måneskin is kind of startling. It's Wednesday, we are in the top floor of the new Sony head quarters in Berlin. The four Italians have just started their two-week long promotion tour through Europe. In the afternoon there will be a live concert in a queer club [the SchwuZ, but that's not mentioned here] in Neukölln, which will be streamed via TikTok. Around one million viewers will watch the show, some of them even from Brazil, so people at Sony are pretty excited [for Måneskin to come here]. But at first, these stunningly gorgeous creatures [yes, that's the exact wording :D] are standing surrounded by an entourage of people – their management, PR team, a stylist, a photographer, people who can hold a smartphone or a cigarette if needed [this paragraph is worded a little weirdly, especially taking into account that basically their whole team / 'entourage' is just friends of them, but it seems like the journalist didn't know that or maybe they just wanted to describe their first impression]. They seem like fictional / artificial characters out of a Hollywood movie. Transparent frill blouses with blazers and flared leather trousers, even the platform boots, everything brand-new, the makeup makes their faces look like a glossy magazine cover even in person. The smokey eyes of De Angelis and Raggi make them look smug and bored. Later, on the pictures it will probably look cool.

So of course your first impression might be: This band is under contract to industry giant Sony ever since their success on an Italian casting show [X Factor] in Winter 2017. The music industry must have its hand in the game when a band is photographed half-naked by Oliviero Toscani and styled by Etro. Also, one does not simply rent a villa with a pool in Rome to produce new music there, isolated from the rest of the world. And who else went to London for two whole months, shortly before the winter lockdown, just for inspiration? After the TikTok concert in Berlin – De Angelis and David are now wearing fishnet shirts that sparkle with every move, their bare nipples covered with an X of black tape – the band is posing with a few influencers. In the world of social media you would call that 'producing content'. But what does that mean for a band who are preaching their hosanna of authenticity? How authentic is Måneskin? And is their pointedly casual approach to sexuality and gender cliches in today's pop-cultural spirit more than a marketing strategy?

We're in the interview, the recording device is running for not even five minutes, when Victoria De Angelis says: “Actually, we just try to be ourselves and do what we really want to do.” And really: The more you listen to those four how they speak about the early days of the band in their slurred Roman dialect, about the shoe box and their own experiences with being different, but most importantly about their shared obsession [with music], the more you realise that [De Angelis] is  very serious. Ethan Torchio, who got his first drum kit at the age of six or seven from his father because he was beating everything he could reach, says: “For me, music is like food. I cannot live without it.” The bassist next to him laughs at his pathos. Singer Damiano David applauds the otherwise more reserved friend for his truthfulness [it says 'klarer Punkt', meaning 'for the point he makes', but it makes it seem like Damiano is agreeing with Ethan here, although it doesn't indicate whether he agrees that yes, music is everything for Ethan or that he understands and feels the same].

De Angelis and guitarist Raggi already knew each other from middle school and they were the ones who tried to form a band at the age of only 13, a band that actually took music seriously.

De Angelis: “It's just difficult at that age to find other people who really put everything into music and who truly commit themselves and are willing to invest a lot of their time.”

Raggi: “We set strict rules and scheduled fixed times for the rehearsals, for every day.”

David: “Fever, stomach ache, there was no excuse. Even if you were feeling sick in the rehearsal room. At least you were in the rehearsal room.”

The way the four of them talk across each other, completing each other's sentences, taking turns in talking and sometimes joking about each other, seems intimate and playful. Singer David remembers how at first bassist [De Angelis] was merciless towards him when it came to her first metal band project, as she told him that he wasn't committed enough [to the music]: “Back then I was still playing Basketball. I was one of the people that Vic absolutely didn't want [in her band].” Drummer Torchio was later discovered through Facebook, even though there had already been a drummer, a close friend, but he was not good enough. It seems as if even back then music was everything for them. Even if it meant that only Raggi managed to graduate.

And why rock, why rock music of all things? Because it's great, the four of them say in unison. David adds: “Actually, it's a genre that allows you to do everything you want to do.”

When they played on the street, they were laughed at by their classmates. But not only there. De Angelis explains that she never wanted to be a typical girl: “I was always deterred by those stupid boxes that people put you in, and that are just restricting and constraining you, because something is only regarded as male or female. I always rejected that. Instead, I just wanted to do the things I enjoyed doing, I went skating and played football.” Torchio says: “Friends who are not friends anymore were already telling me at the age of ten that those“ – he grabs his long, silky black hair – “were wrong. Because I'm a boy and boys are meant to have short hair, long hair is only for girls. I was bullied a lot for that.”

“Compared to the past, people in our age became much more open-minded. It gets better.” – Thomas Raggi

Frontman David on the other hand, for whom eye shadow, jingling earrings and nail polish as well as his bare torso with the tattoos have become trademarks by now, says: “I was actually more of the average boy.” De Angelis convinced him to try out some eyeliner, which he describes as a spiritual awakening: “I liked myself much more [with makeup]. I saw myself more as myself. As if it had been a suppressed desire of mine.” On a trip to Copenhagen with the others, when he realised that it really didn't matter what people were thinking about him, he got his first fake fur [coat? the article doesn't specify that] in a second-hand shop and let his clothing style be guided by his own love to experiment: “I realised that my whole life I was just going at half speed.” When it comes to diversity all four of them are becoming almost missionary.

At the same time, their success is not only opening doors for them. Back home in Rome they are barely able to go out on the street due to all the paparazzi. “[You need a] hoodie and huge sunglasses”, David says, “the mask is quite helpful, too.” And still, none of them is complaining, and Torchio explains why: “Even if those experiences right now may have sides that are not so pleasant, we still know that for us a dream is coming true. We experience something that we always had in our minds, so we are willing to face every consequence that this entails.”

So is the band facing difficult times, is Måneskin going to change with all the success? Again, all of them answer at the same time.

David: “I'm not worried about that.”

Raggi: “No way!”

De Angelis: “On the contrary. Everything that happened to us happened because we are who we are, so we want to continue the exact same way and stay ourselves.”

Just a few hours later, they are at the stage in Neukölln, bouncing around like pinballs, hammering at their instruments, flirting with each other. “We are out of our minds, but different from the others”, David sings their winning hymn against conformism, and: “The people talk, unfortunately they talk.” Here on stage, the four paradise birds [a German word describing someone with a flamboyant personality] with their half-nude-glittering outfits are radiating an incredible energy with the utmost sincerity, and you begin to wish there was a live audience instead of the TikTok cameras, absorbing and spreading this energy. Måneskin. A cry for a life after the pandemic, a cry for freedom and a better world.

“We do what we wished for all our lives.” – Ethan Torchio

[gainerstories]

Professor Plump

*UNLOCKED*

As a big fat thank you to everyone who has supported this blog and enjoyed my stories, I am unlocking one of my favorite stories off Patreon. This has been a rough year for everyone and y’all enjoy a little treat. Of course, if you want more (20+ more fattening stories in fact) you know where to go. Enjoy. 

As much as Robert Daniels loved being a professor, he woke up full of dread on the first day of fall semester. At 28 he was the youngest tenure track faculty in his department and he often felt that all eyes were on him. His first academic year had been rough, exhausting, and tiresome and he wasn’t ready to get back in the game. He just wanted his beautifully sunny and lazy summer vacation to last one or two more months.

As he sat up in bed his belly spilled forward pushing down his morning wood. There was no doubt he’d gained quite a bit of pudge in the last few months. It didn’t bother him, however, as most of his colleagues were plump and he viewed extra weight as a sign of contentment and maturity. During the school year he had actually lost weight from stress and being overworked. His new, rounder form lent a sense of satisfaction.

As Robert stumbled out of bed and into the bathroom to shower he took a close look at himself. He’d be turning 29 soon and was finally starting to look like a man. His face had grown scruffy and his chest hair finally bloomed across his pecs and down to his puffy stomach. The thirty pounds of fat that clung to his belly also gave him a more mature look. He was now firmly within “dad bod” territory and wore that badge with pride. He scooped his fat up with both his hands and gave it a hearty jiggle. He wondered if anyone on campus would comment on his somewhat weight gain.

Turning around, Robert examined his rear which was now fluffy and dimpled with cellulite. He noticed that even his ass had grown a bit hairier along with a small patch of fuzz on his lower back, framed between two bulging love handles. He could recall seeing the same patch on his father and wondering if the same was in store for himself. This memory cemented his perceived transition into manhood.

Robert’s thighs had also thickened up a bit and now touched when he was standing straight. He rubbed his thighs and gave them a slap, admiring how they bounced. Lately, he had no choice but to manspread when he sat down. Crossing his legs was a thing of the past. The added weight on his lower half gave him a sense of groundedness. All around the extra pudge made him feel strong and unshakable, despite jiggling quite a lot when he actually did shake.

Most of this excess poundage had been accrued during a month long cruise down Central America. Robert had spent almost every single day getting tipsy on fruity blended drinks and satisfying his drunchies from dusk ‘til dawn at the buffet. Carbs became his best friend, soaking up the sugary alcoholic concoctions he guzzled during the day. Altogether, cruise life was a much needed respite from the long nights of grading papers and doing research during the academic year.

His salary did not allow him to indulge in fancy foods very often, and so this cruise was an opportunity to go hog wild. He made a conscious decision to eat and live like a king. As a result, he began to notice his body expanding only midway through the trip. It seemed as though out of nowhere he had grown a squishy paunch that jutted out behind his shirts. By the end of the vacation he was even larger, noticing fat accumulating all over his body.

As he stood in front of his bathroom mirror, Robert found himself particularly fascinated by the small white stretch marks that had formed at the top of his inner thighs. He traced his fingers over their subtle indentations. He hadn’t seen fresh stretch marks since puberty when his shoulders expanded overnight one summer. He was shocked to see the same thing happen simply from overeating on a long vacation.

Plump, tan, and satisfied, Robert stepped into the shower with vigor and began to get ready for his first day back to work. He trimmed his wild scruff back to a presentable shadow and styled his hair. He then slipped into underwear that clung more than usual to his meaty rump and resultantly compressed his bulge more than usual. He would have to remember to buy some new pairs. T-shirts had also grown a bit snug but this was not a huge concern for they would be hidden behind a button up. What he hadn’t considered was that his button ups from last year would also struggle to fit around his new body.

Robert sucked in his gut while doing each button. He let his stomach spill forward and was shocked at just how much the shirt did not fit. Scrambling through his closet he found the loosest button up he owned and put it on. It was still snug and would definitely be strained when he sat down, but it would have to suffice. Next, he slid into his stretchiest pair of chinos and was instantly filled with anxiety.

The fabric clung to his thighs and ass leaving little to the imagination. This would have been tolerable except for the fact that the waistband would not button no matter how hard he tried. With no other option, Robert scrounged a safety pin from the utility drawer and fastened the pants closed. Donning one of his bulkier belts he hoped no one would notice he’d outgrown his pants.

His day commenced with a faculty meeting catered with coffee and pastries. Although he had eaten a breakfast sandwich immediately upon getting to campus, he grabbed a healthy looking danish for the meeting. It was dry and mediocre as campus food tended to be, but that didn’t stop him from inhaling it within minutes. A few of his colleagues eyed his bulging waistline although no one made a comment.

Midway through the two hour meeting Robert found that his stomach was already growling to be fed. With no other choice, he would have to eat another Danish despite the fact he would be the only one going for seconds. He stood to grab one more danish and as he sat down he heard the unmistakable noise of a seam busting. Praying no one else heard, he subtly reached down to his thighs where a small hole had formed.

After the meeting he headed straight to the bathroom to examine the damage. It wasn’t too bad, maybe just an inch or so large. Plus, his underwear matched his pants so it was barely noticeable. He figured he could get through the day without anyone noticing. Although no one noticed the tear in his pants, his students were fully aware of his newfound growth.

“Mr. Daniels lookin’ THICK,” someone commented before his first class began.

Robert ignored the comment and got on with his lecture. Still, in the back of his head he worried about his appearance and snug outfit. There was no question he would be investing in some new work clothes. By the end of the class he was hungry once again. At least it was lunch time, so he felt justified in heading to the student union for a big meal. He grabbed a massive burrito, chips and guac, a cookie, and large soda which he brought back to his desk.

Such a filling lunch was exactly what he needed. The food was comforting and satisfying, giving the plump professor a sense of peace. After scarfing it all down he leaned back in his chair and sighed. Just as he did so two buttons on his shirt went shooting across the room. “Fuck,” he said aloud to himself and went searching for the buttons so he could sew them back on. As he knelt on his hands and knees he felt the contents of his belly slosh forward and the seam of his pants rip even further.

Eventually, he found the missing buttons and broke out the sewing kit to get them back on. By the time he was finished stitching himself back into his clothes, there was someone knocking at his door. He’d forgotten about office hours. In a mad rush he cleaned the food wrappers off his desk and greeted the student. As he sat back down at his desk the same two buttons snapped back off and shot under his desk. Although the student overtly stared at Robert’s bulging gut, filled to the brim with his fattening lunch, neither of them acknowledged the embarrassment.

After the student left, Robert took off the button up and slipped his spare sport coat over his tee. The tee was more than a little snug and definitely didn’t hide much- the indentation of his belly button was fully visible- but it would have to do. After a constant stream of students over the course of an hour Robert rushed to his next class. The lecture left Robert feeling exhausted and tired. It was evening and he had grown peckish again, so he decided to grab a bite to eat before he had a meeting with the dean and could go home.

Hawaiian barbecue sounded like a good idea when he ordered it. However, after gobbling up every last morsel, the young professor felt uncomfortably full and bloated. He yearned for to return to the cruise ship where he could take a long nap after overindulging, but instead he sluggishly headed to the dean’s office. His belly had swelled considerably with the Hawaiian food and he found himself having to stretch the hem of his shirt down to ensure his gut was fully concealed.

Once inside, Robert cautiously took a seat in one of the rickety old chairs in the waiting room for the dean. After a few seconds he felt a snap underneath his ass as the seat of the chair gave way. Trying to be as subtle as possible, Robert cautiously lifted himself from the broken chair and casually examined a painting on the wall until the dean greeted him.

Once inside, the dean offered him a home baked muffin that his wife had made. Robert tried to refuse at first but the dean pushed it on him. He began pecking at the muffin and realized it was indeed quite moist and delicious. He polished it off in a couple minutes and resisted licking his fingers. By the end of the meeting the dean persuaded Robert to take one more muffin for the road. Without a second thought, Robert greedily snatched the biggest muffin of the bunch.

As he walked through the campus at night, illuminated by lanterns, Robert gobbled up the muffin while reflecting on the fact that he was in desperate need of a new wardrobe. His belly was stuffed to capacity and the sheer weight of it bulging out in front of him forced Robert to walk slow and steady with his shoulders back and hips forward. Freed from his constricting button up, his rounded gut peeked out from behind the sport coat and wobbled back and forth with each step to his car.

The walk seemed longer than usual, likely because he was slower than usual. Somewhat winded, Robert couldn’t wait to sit down as he opened the door to his hatchback. However, as he did so, a booming snap assaulted his ears and he felt his belly spill forward into his lap. Robert’s belt had completely snapped in half while the thigh of his pants simultaneously split all the way open from knee to crotch. His girth was simply too much to contain.

At least it happened at the end of the day, he told himself.

[tlcwrites]

This Is Certainly Not Recon

Or, You Can Take The Paranoid International Operative Out Of Bucky Barnes, But No You Actually Can't Take The Paranoid International Operative Out Of Bucky Barnes.

Part of Clueless Supersoldiers, Coffee Shops, and Chaos, co-developed by @starryemerald173 and inspired with permission by The Avengers Wrangler

“You know you can’t do recon on our customers, sir. Mrs. Potts-Stark has expressly forbidden it.” Barnes’ face stays expressionless, except for a miniscule tick in his cheek. “I’m not doing recon.” Gabe raises his eyebrows. Barnes huffs. “Fine.”

***5/14 This was originally posted in April, but never showed up in the tags. Fingers crossed it was Tumblr being Tumblr.***

Word Count: 433 (I'm getting better at drabbles, y'all!)

Tags/Warnings:  Bucky being, well, Bucky. Gabe the Barista being awesome. Borderline crack. Unedited. I regret nothing.

Author’s Note: Also on AO3! More adventures in the world of the Tower coffee shop, featuring our bestie Gabe the Barista.

Dividers by @firefly-graphics.

As soon as he hears the first of the regulars come into the shop, Gabe is instantly on alert. 

Not because of the Russian contractors, who meet every morning for breakfast and coffee. The six of them are unfailingly polite, and always tip well. 

No, Gabe’s on the lookout for another Russian- well, by association, at least. 

It takes him a good ten minutes to spot him (he was considered a ghost for almost seventy years, after all). But it’s definitely him, sitting inconspicuously at the back corner table, a laptop and coffee in front of him, looking like any other Initiative teleworker utilizing the free wifi.

The gloves are the giveaway. Gabe makes a mental note to thank Agent Romanoff for that particular tip. 

As soon as the morning rush dies down, Gabe makes his way to the back corner table and slides into the second chair. The man glances up with guilty eyes. 

“Sergeant Barnes.” Gabe sighs. “We’ve talked about this.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, kid.” Barnes’s face proves he’s still just as bad of a liar as Captain Rogers.

“You can’t do recon on our customers, sir. Mrs. Potts-Stark has expressly forbidden it.”

Barnes’ face stays expressionless, except for a miniscule tick in his cheek. “I’m not doing recon.”

Gabe raises his eyebrows. 

Barnes huffs. “Fine.” He shuts the laptop. “Happy?”

Gabe glances at the coffee cup. 

Gritting his teeth, Barnes sullenly pops the lid off the cup and dumps out the recording device.

Gabe crosses his arms over his chest. 

After a brief staring contest, Barnes mutters something under his breath and reaches inside his jacket, pulling out the long-lense camera, GPS tracker, and parabolic listening kit. He sets them on the table with slightly more force than such high-end tech probably deserves. 

When Gabe doesn’t stop staring, Barnes flings up his hands. “What?!”

“You have super soldier serum, Sergeant Barnes,” Gabe states. “Since when does someone with 20/20 vision need glasses?”

“You know what-” Barnes rips the StarkGlasses off his face, using them to point at the young man. “Your talents are fucking wasted in a literature degree.”

Gabe grins, tapping the table. “Thanks for your cooperation, sir. I’ll run over an actual coffee as soon as I can.”

Barnes nods sullenly. “Could I please have a danish, too?”

“Of course,” Gabe assures him, turning to go. “As long as you turn off the hacking program running on your watch.”

Gabe doesn’t speak Russian, but based on the expressions the Russian contractors give Barnes, he figures it’s safe to assume it’s not something flattering.

A/N: My dog has chemo every Friday, and I typically hang out at the Starbucks near our vet. There's a group of Russian guys who always come in for coffee and gossip, and since it's me, this is where my brain went. While my Starbucks Russians are lovely, Ukraine continues to be the victim of horrific war crimes perpetuated by Putin's Russia. Check out this link for ways you can help. 🇺🇦

[shining-red-diamond]

Ch. 1

Words: 3.1k

Pairing: NCT Misfit Unit x OCs

Genre: Fluff, angst, suggestive, mystery!AU

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: murder scene, violence, blood, brief sensuality

Savannah could smell the sweat and excitement the second she entered the clausterous arena. Two fighters were already in the middle of a match as she strolled in, and all of the men were screaming loudly for the fighter they were rooting for to defeat the opponent. The arena was once an abandoned nightclub, but some of the locals got the lights and electricity working again. After that, it became a place for underground WWE matches. The ring itself was made of metal wires with a tattered mat used as the floor. Sweat and old stains covered it so much that Savannah began to wonder when the last time it had been cleaned. It was certainly where she didn’t want to be on a Friday night, but she had a deadline to meet.

“Hey, lady,” a deep voice grunted from beside her. A young man with long, light blue hair and doe eyes was sitting at a table with a metal box filled with cash sitting on top of it.

“You gonna place a bet or what?” he said in a sharp tone.

“I’m looking for Johnny Suh,” she shot back. “Is he here?”

“Yeah, but you’re gonna have to wait until after the last fight is done to talk to him.”

Savannah just nodded, not very pleased with the young man’s attitude.

“Hey, babe,” a taller, young woman around five foot six with red hair approached the man and planted a loving kiss on his cheek. “Are we late? Astrid had to work an extra hour.”

“You’re in time for the last fight,” he replied, the biggest grin on his face as he looked up at her. His sudden change in attitude surprised Savannah, but she decided not to think too deeply about it.

The young woman was dressed in a cherry red, long sleeved crop top, denim shorts with a silver belt, and black combat books. Her friend, whom Savannah guessed was the one named Astrid, had shorter, dirty-blonde hair and sported an oversized military jacket and dark-wash jeans. Both of them seemed like sweet girls from what Savannah observed, so she decided to speak with them.

“Oh, hi!” the redhead greeted. “I’m Brittany. This is Astrid, and I’m sure you’ve met my boyfriend Hendery.”

“Savannah,” the journalist replied, not expecting such an enthusiastic welcome.

“You’re the reporter girl, right?”

“Journalist, but similar thing.”

“I’ve seen your picture in the papers before. You’re incredible.”

“I never knew I had such a fanbase,” Savannah nervously chuckled.

“I read your stuff when I’m in line at the grocery store, and you’re really changing the way cases get solved around here.”

Savannah got the impression that she was seen as a hero in this girl’s eyes, but she never considered herself one. She was just wanting to tell stories from her point of view, even if it meant solving a mystery. Her husband had the more heroic job with his fire chief occupation, and she was more than proud of him.

“Thank you,” was all she could say.

The two women made a beeline to the ring, Savannah following close behind them, and immediately climbed the fence to the top to get a bird’s eye view of the fight.

“Ten bucks, and I bet you Sledge gets his teeth knocked out within the first five minutes of the fight,” Brittany smirked at her friend.

“Really?” Astrid scoffed. “Twenty dollars and Wrecker breaks his fist in the process.”

“Excuse me,” Savannah waved. “I’m looking for a Johnny Suh.”

The two girls turned their heads towards the journalist, confused of why this fancy-dressed business woman was at such a fighting place built into an abandoned nightclub.

“Well, he’s the emcee,” Astrid shrugged, her voice having a light Danish accent, “so you will have to wait until the fight’s over. You’re welcome to hang with me and Brittany.”

Sit near a fight? Near where bones are known to break? Where blood is said to be splattered? Where humiliation overwhelms the loser? She wasn’t sure if she was ready to see that up close.

“I think I’m just going to find an empty seat,” she excused.

“Okay. You can sit with Jeno.” Brittany waved to a young man with jet black hair, and he nodded in acknowledgement. “You two can talk if you can, but it gets loud in here. It might be hard to hear, so fair warning.”

“I figured that.”

Brittany led Savannah to where Jeno was sitting, and after introducing each other she went back to her perch with Astrid.

“Lee Jeno,” Savannah repeated his name, half-shouting over the comotion. “Why have I heard your name somewhere?”

“Well, I’m not one of the top most wanted, but I’ve seen you at the fire station. Your husband is Chief Lee Taeyong, right?”

It then clicked in her mind. Jeno was part of Taeyong’s company, and she had seen him cleaning the firetrucks whenever she would bring something for her husband. The two had acknowledged each other, but never really spoke until now. Jeno seemed like a respectful young man, so Savannah felt no threat when she was around him. Seeing him now, she couldn’t help but notice his behavior. He was friendly, but he definitely seemed anxious about something. His knee bounced rapidly as his fingers drummed on it as if he was dribbling a basketball. When he spoke, he was calm; but his actions were saying that he had something on his mind.

“Yes, he is,” Savannah confirmed as she sat down next to him. “What’s a guy like you doing here?”

“I’m one of the fighters here when I’m not on duty, but I hurt my shoulder at a house fire. The doctor doesn’t want me doing any work for six weeks, so I just came to cheer on my friends.”

Savannah listened intently as the younger man told his story. He was a strong, young man at almost twenty-one, and he was one of the best fighters at the ring. The other fighters had given him the nickname “Hercules” to signify his strength, but he was one of the kindest fighters as well. Hercules could talk smack before a fight but make sure that his opponent got proper treatment for their injuries afterwards. If he ever lost a fight, he always gave the winner his congratulations.

“My family doesn’t like that I come here as a side hustle,” he continued as two beefy fighters entered the ring, “but as long as I come home after each one, then they let it slide.”

“Where do you get the money from?” Savannah asked.

“Some of it comes from lost bets, and some come from whatever gets made at the snack bar.” He pointed to a lit up area where someone was serving drinks to two women. “It’s a variety of things.”

“Laaaddiieeeesss and gentleduuuuudddeeeesss,” a voice boomed over a loudspeaker, causing the crowds to cheer.

Savannah looked over to see a man about six foot two and wearing a blue and black flame shirt half opened, and he was carrying a bullhorn instead of a microphone. The energy he radiated seemed almost out of place, but he managed to hype up the crowd with it.

“Is that Johnny?” she asked Jeno, and he nodded.

“We’ve had quite a night, tonight, haven’t we?” Johnny continued. “Well, we have one more round of action before I have noise complaints from the cops.”

The audience laughed.

“Let’s bring out Sledge and Wrecker!”

As the crowd roared in excitement, two large men on opposite sides of the ring entered it. One had a deep tan, bright purple hair, and a whole tattoo sleeve on his right arm. The other was thinner, but still muscular; and he had lighter skin and a buzz cut. Both men got in each other’s faces as to try to outdo each other in intimidating the other. Savannah just rolled her eyes and shook her head. To her, it was like watching two middle schoolers in a fight; but she still pulled out her notebook to jot things down.

Vibrations pulled Savannah out of her focus. Jeno’s phone was going off, and after seeing who it was his eyes seemed to pop out of his head.

“Is everything alright?” Savannah asked.

“I have to go right now,” he said as he quickly stood from his seat, “but I’ll see you around. It was nice to meet you, Mrs. Lee. Excuse me.”

Without another word, Jeno rushed out of the building. Out of her curiosity, Savannah sneaked out of her seat to follow Jeno, but she remained a good distance behind him. Once he was outside, he lifted his phone to his ear.

“Where are you right now?” he asked someone over the phone as concern laced his voice. “Is she okay?...Is she about to?...I’m on my way now. Tell her I’m coming.”

Jeno hung up the phone, shoved it into his pocket, and flagged down a taxi once he had reached the sidewalk in the fastest sprint Savannah had ever witnessed.

Many questions filled her head. Who was he talking to? Who was the girl mentioned? A girlfriend? A cousin? A sister? Was she hurt? Where was Jeno headed? The most logical answer would be he was close with a female acquaintance and needed him for something while she was in the hospital, but it was only a theory. Even if Savannah knew the answer, she figured it was probably none of her business.

As she headed back into the old building, the noise from the crowd had changed from whooping chants to cries of concern. When Savannah looked towards the ring, Wrecker was sprawled out on the floor, his body twitching and what looked like blood was pooling around his mouth. Is this what happens when fighters get knocked out? Savannah thought.

Brittany was still with Astrid when Savannah found them. “What happened?” she asked them.

The redhead was speechless and seemed near to tears.

“He was about to throw a punch,” Astrid explained in a panic, “but then he just collapsed out of nowhere.”

Two medics -a tall, lanky boy and a shorter, blonde girl- rushed over with a first aid kit to the fallen fighter and checked him; but the boy’s face immediately went into panic mode.

“Wrecker’s not breathing!” he wailed. “Someone call an ambulance!”

The girl didn’t hesitate to do so, and within a few minutes paramedics were trying everything to revive the fighter as they loaded him onto a gurney and into the large, white emergency vehicle. The police were also on scene as Hendery had seen something strange beforehand, so the incident quickly was turned into a homicide case. Everything happened in a flash, and Savannah wasn’t sure how something that was already chaotic became a place of death. Police lights were flashing by the abandoned building, yellow tape surrounded the ring, and investigators worked to find any evidence of what could have killed Wrecker.

“Hey,” a voice approached her. Johnny was jogging towards Savannah. “I heard you were looking for me.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” she forced a smile. “Do you think we can meet another time?”

“Yeah, yeah. I just wanted to see how you were.”

“I’m not hurt, if that’s what you mean.”

Johnny stood there with his hands on his hips and looked out to the crime scene. Savannah figured he was probably in shock as much as she was as beads of sweat were starting to form on his forehead. She wanted to ask him about what happened, but she figured now was not a good time.

“How about tomorrow at noon?” Johnny finally suggested after about a minute of silence. “I run the Iron Bell gym, so you can come by my office, and we’ll talk.”

“That’ll be perfect,” she agreed. “I think we all need some rest after what happened tonight.”

An officer then approached Savannah, took her statement and allowed her to head home.

-

Eleven o’clock in the evening rolled around when Savannah got home. An exhausted sigh escaped her lips as she set her purse and keys on the kitchen counter. Her fingers massaged her temples, her head throbbing with the weight of all the stress from what happened with Wrecker. He had died just after the paramedics arrived, and now the ring was a crime scene. Savannah didn’t know what to think. All she wanted to do was sleep away her worries and rest before meeting with Johnny the next day.

“Hey, babe,” Taeyong’s voice greeted her.

She hadn’t noticed her husband sitting on the couch with a bottle of cider in his hand and the tv turned on to a basketball game. He looked tired, but a small, welcoming smile was present on his face.

“Hi, honey,” Savannah greeted back as she trudged over to him.

“How was your day?” he asked as his wife kicked off her shoes and threw her coat on the recliner.

In an exhausted exhale, she allowed herself to fall over the arm of the couch and into Taeyong’s lap. Her face was immediately buried into his neck, and his strong arms captured her waist.

“Long?” he teased, guessing from her body language.

“Just hold me,” she requested with a nod.

“Can I have a kiss first?”

Savannah pulled her husband towards her and placed a soft but loving kiss on his lips. Taeyong always craved her touch, especially when he was on duty. He loved being at the fire station and having the opportunity to save lives, but at the end of the day he wanted to be home with his beautiful wife. Ever since they wed, whenever he was home early or off duty Taeyong would always have something to drink and watch a show before bed with Savannah. Occasionally, she would come home later than usual if she was on location for a story, and if she was exhausted like tonight she was extra snuggly. A year and a half into marriage, and this became almost routine for them.

For a few minutes, Savannah cuddled Taeyong as he caressed her like a swaddled baby. She was almost asleep until he tapped her awake so they could get ready for bed. He disposed of the now empty bottle before following his wife into their shared bedroom.

“Did you go to that ring tonight?” Taeyong asked as Savannah removed her makeup in the bathroom.

“Yeah,” she answered honestly. “But it was for a story for the Star.” She then began to cleanse her face.

“I know. Jeno goes there,” -he began to undress by the closet- “so I hoped he would see you.”

“I met him. Nice young man, but he left just before the last fight could happen.”

Taeyong came into the bathroom and pulled out his toothbrush and toothpaste. “He probably had a good reason.”

“Well, it sounded like an emergency,” she explained once she had rinsed her face. “He sounded concerned when he asked someone on the phone where they were and if they were with someone about to do something.”

The fire chief didn’t answer right away as he was occupied brushing his teeth, but he did shrug in response.

“I figured it was probably a sister or friend,” Savannah continued as she patted her face dry with a towel. “He said ‘she.’”

“Probably something with his girlfriend,” her husband finally answered after rinsing his mouth. “I don’t know.”

“Well, it fits the context.”

The two reentered their bedroom, and he insisted on undressing her and putting her pajamas on her as she was so tired. It was one of the intimate ways they both enjoyed to show each other; Taeyong more, because it allowed him to care for the woman he loved the most. A few soft kisses were stolen as he changed her, and they both swayed a little to some soft music Savannah put on to help them unwind for the night. Both of them had demanding careers, but when they had intimate moments like this, they were something worth treasuring.

After Savannah’s pj's slipped onto her body, Taeyong spun her out and back into himself before kissing her.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you, too.”

“You’re not mad I went to the ring?” Savannah asked as she crawled into bed.

“Did I like that you were going there? No,” Taeyong admitted, climbing in after her. “But knowing that you didn’t get hurt puts my mind at ease. I just hate that this assignment was handed to you.”

Savannah scoffed. “You act as if I’m made of glass. I’m a big girl, and I can take care of myself.”

Taeyong removed his glasses and set them on his nightstand as soon as he was on his side of the bed. He then wrapped his arms around his wife and stared into her eyes. “But I’m your husband, so I also have to take care of you.”

“You’re a fireman. You take care of everyone.” Savannah’s fingers ran through her husband’s dyed-velvet red hair.

Taeyong gave her a loving kiss. “It’s my job, and I love helping out the community. But you’re the one I want to come home to at the end of my shifts. Everyone means nothing compared to you.”

With small scoff disguised as a laugh, Savannah pulled her husband closer to her and began a small makeout. Despite being exhausted, she was just as hungry for his embrace as he was for hers. Her heart picked up the pace as Taeyong’s thumbs rubbed small circles on her lower back.

“Have you thought about it?” Taeyong asked, his lips trailing kisses down Savannah’s neck.

“About what?” she replied in a breathy tone.

“Trying, again.”

Taeyong and Savannah both desired children, but they wanted to adjust to married life and having careers before they decided to begin trying to conceive. A year into their marriage and they started doing so, but it was proving difficult. Each of their doctors had told them that they were healthy and doing everything right, but not every pregnancy will begin right after the first try. It was a lot to process, but the couple decided to focus on their careers and each other for a bit before trying again.

“Sometimes,” she shrugged, “but work has gotten so hectic for the both of us recently. I don’t know if we’ll have time for a baby. Plus, I’m so tired from what happened tonight.”

“I know,” nodded Taeyong before pressing a kiss to her forehead. “We can make time, but I’ll be ready when you are.”

[oprerroma]

Hi! I have roma ancestry, but my cousin did a 23 and me thing and it didn’t come back with percentages from south asia (but there was like the smallest but “unassigned”) like is my family lying or does it not always show up because of how much rroma people have moved around?

I’m actually the perfect mod to be answering this, because I did my undergraduate in Biological Anthropology, specifically Neanderthals and, at the time, the Neanderthal Genome was the big thing. 

I want to start by saying that I’m genuinely sure your parents aren’t lying. 

There are 2 things here that you need to consider:

1. As, you mentioned, there has been a significant diaspora of the Rroma people. It’s similar to how many Ashkenazi jews will take similar DNA tests and come up as 100% European. So it’s possible even a good DNA test will return someone with Rroma heritage as 100% European because of that.

2. 23 & me (and all similar mail-in-dna-kits) is notoriously unreliable. It’s extremely common for full-blood siblings to have different results. (I remember this video I watched a few years ago about 3 identical triplets taking the test and getting wildly different results). 

There are several reasons for this. One is that every generation, for every gene, is a genetic coin toss. So the marker they’re looking for for Asian might genuinely be gone in you. That doesn’t mean your family never had it, or that you aren’t genuinely descended from these people, just that at some point one of your ancestors had a child with an Irish person or a Danish person (ect...) and the marker 23 & me is looking for got lost in the genetic toss up. 

The other reason is just, those commercially available tests just aren’t very good. The video I  linked a little bit above is proof of that. They got different results and those girls didn’t just start out life from the same parents, like most siblings, so you could argue they got a different code in the genetic lottery, they started out life as the same zygote (cell/embryo).