#like there are plenty of things i do think are working

[stiffyck]

I WISH ARO HEADCANONS WERE MORE POPULAR IN FANDOMS

[luveline]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝

You try to break up with your boyfriend. Aaron just wants to know why. (And what he can do to fix it.) [4k]

c: fem, stripper!reader, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff epilogue, suggestive themes mdni. requested here 

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

I don’t want to see you anymore. 

The text doesn’t compute at first. He reads it twice. Reads the sender’s name, his heart stopped clean in his chest. 

He puts down his pen.

The idea that the text wasn’t meant for him crosses his mind, but that might further break his heart. He knows you have clients, but you don’t contact them outside of the club. 

His second thought is that he’d been a client unknowingly, but he made it clear to you those few months ago that he liked you as you, not as a service provider, and not as something to be bought. You thought he was trying to acquire you as a private escort. He explained it as what it was truthfully, if vulnerably.

He’s being broken up with, he surmises. Over text. By a woman he adores, who he’d thought was happy. Aaron opens his phone to call you, clicking your contact, bringing it to his ear. You don’t answer. He calls again and he’s clearly declined three rings in. 

He puts his phone down and has a few minutes of unbreathable heartbreak. Just a few minutes, his hand to his stomach, trying to think of things as reasonably as he can. 

Aaron doesn’t care that you’re a stripper. He might’ve at first. Denied his attraction to you, because of course he had feelings for you when you were standing against the side of the club in your dancing lingerie, who wouldn’t fall in love with you? Every fool lucky enough to see you undressed must assume the same thing. He thought it wouldn’t work, and that you’d never be interested in a man like him. 

Interviews for information lended themselves to rare moments of conversation. He liked how you talked, how your eyes moved to his, the way you watched his mouth. Your unusual friendship with Spencer drew you closer, and activated a rare seed of jealousy within him that helped him place you in his life. He had real, tangible feelings for you. 

And now it’s over. 

He scrunches his eyes closed and gets up from his desk. Puts his coat on, but leaves his things where they are on his desk. 

“Hotch?” Morgan asks as he descends the steps down from his office into the bullpen. 

“I’m not sure when I’ll be back.” 

“What happened?” 

Aaron turns to Morgan, hiding his panic as well as he’s able to. “I have a small emergency. It’s fine. Can you make sure things are okay here?” 

“Hotch?” Morgan asks again. 

Aaron keeps on going. He tries your number again on the way down. Three times, a fourth by the time he’s at the parking garage. 

The fifth time, you answer. 

He almost breaks the phone, its plastic body creaking in his hand. “Honey?” he asks. 

“I don’t want to see you anymore, Aaron. Is it hard to understand?” 

He’s taken aback. Some part of him had held onto the hope that it was a mistake. “Yes,” he says slowly, struggling to pull his keys out as his car comes into view, “it is.” 

“I don’t want to be with you.” 

“Have I upset you?” 

“Would that make it easier?” 

“No. I don’t think anything would make it any easier. Honey, this feels so sudden. Can’t we talk about it?” 

“I don’t want to see you.” 

“Please.” He can’t imagine never seeing you again. Just a few days ago he was sitting at the dinner table with you laughing opposite, your socked toes brushing his ankle. “Please, give me the chance to fix this.” 

“Aaron, it’s not really fixable. Please don’t call me again.”

“Y/N,” he says, firmer now. Anger leaks into his tone —what’s going on? “Let me come over. We need to talk about this.” 

“No–”

“It’s not fair to me for you to do it over the phone.” 

“…Okay. Fine. I’m at home, but I have work at six.” 

“I’m on my way.” 

He hangs up. Your terse allowance is all he needs to get in the car and drive, checking his watch. There’s plenty of time between now and six. He can figure out what’s wrong and hopefully change your mind.

He thinks about it more seriously as he’s parking outside of your place. Perhaps he doesn’t want to change your mind. You aren’t acting like you, none of your kindness can be found in such a swift dismissal, but he thinks of your foot under the table, your sock rubbing along his ankle without comment. 

He takes the stairs to your apartment. It’s not the nicest place to stay, but it’s far from a slum, either. He doesn’t worry about you when you’re home beyond the usual everyday fears: Is she eating? Sleeping? Having a good day? 

Now he’s thinking, What did I do? 

He gets to your apartment and pauses at the threshold. After a moment's deliberation, he knocks. 

“Come in, Aaron.” 

He pulls down the handle and lets himself in. You’ve mail piled on the sideboard and your shoes tucked under it, a coat rack further in bragging scarves and coats and jackets of all different colours. He’s always liked the interior of your apartment. It doesn’t feel as cold as his own, parts of your personality peeking in through everything, from the flowered tiles in the bathroom to the glass lampshade in the bedroom. 

You’re sitting in the kitchen with the light off. “Hey,” he says, voice already laden with relief he doesn’t mean to share. 

“Hi.” 

“Can I sit down?” 

You gesture for him to do as he likes. 

Aaron sits down at your table. It’s a small square just big enough to share dinner, plain wood edged in a darker slate grey outline. Sometimes when you’re feeling especially pretty, you’ll lean heavily on an elbow and grin at him, enticing him in for a kiss.

“What’s this all about?” he asks quietly. 

“I just think we’re… at the end of our relationship.” 

You don’t sound truthful. He knew there was something strange in your voice over the phone. 

“What’s making you feel that way?” 

“Does it matter?” 

Again, avoiding and evasive. 

He meets your gaze unflinchingly. “I care about you. I love you,” he says. “I know I can’t be who you pictured for yourself, and if you really can’t see a future for us, then… I’ll have seen it alone. I just wish I could understand this sudden change. Did I do something wrong?” 

“You’re not who I picture for myself,” you agree. 

“No?” he asks. 

“No. You didn’t do anything wrong, but I can’t see us together. We’re not the right fit.” 

You twist a ring around your middle finger. He thinks he’s starting to understand. “Do you think we’re not the right fit?” 

“Please don’t use your psychoanalysis on me.” 

“It’s not psychoanalysis, sweetheart, it’s– I know you.” He grimaces. “I’d like to think I do. And I’m allowing myself the audacity to believe you were happy with me just a few days ago. What happened between then and now to change your mind?” 

You stare at your two-toned table. Your mouth opens to talk, little but air making it out. Your shoulders begin tightening like you’ve been keyed between them, twisting and twisting. 

“What do you want me to say?” you ask. 

Dramatic, he’d hope you could say you don’t love him, or don’t care about him enough to let him convince you the rest of the way. “Is this really what you want?” he asks instead. 

Your staring turns to squinting. With a start, he watches a small tear drip from the corner of your eye to your nostril, to your cupid's bow. 

“No,” you say carefully, “it’s not what I want. I don’t like you being against me.” 

“Then what’s making you feel this way?” 

You cover your eyes with one hand. “I wanted to do this over the phone,” you say in a squeeze. 

He reaches for you but doesn’t touch. “I couldn’t let you.” 

“I just want you to be happy,” you say, so high he can barely understand you. “I’ll never be like you, Aaron. You’re so smart, and you’ve done so much. You’re a hero, and you must look so stupid with me. What do you think people say when they realise what I am?” 

“It doesn’t matter to me what they say. I know you, and they don’t.”

“What about what I think?” 

“What do you think?” 

You wipe your face roughly, eyes lit with an anger he’s unprepared for. “I told you, don’t psychoanalyse me. I don’t want to have to explain it, I just want to say what I have to say. I don’t want to be with you because you won’t be happy, and neither will I.” 

Aaron isn’t too prideful to recognise when he needs to fight for what he wants. He reaches over the table and takes your arm into his hand, picking it up, feeling down The length of it until he’s curled his hand over your smaller fingers. “We are happy,” he says softly, giving your hand a small shake. “I understand where you’re coming from. When we first met, I couldn’t have predicted that I’d be here with you now. I do wonder what people think when they ask me what you do and I tell them you’re a performer. I know we agreed to it, but there are moments where I feel like I’m being cruel to you. But just because there’s a stigma surrounding what you do, it doesn’t mean that you’re any lesser than me. You’re not less intelligent, or less accomplished. We chose different paths and I’m glad we did. If you weren’t a dancer I never would’ve met you.” 

“Do you know how it feels for me to come home to you sometimes?” you ask weakly. 

“I’d hope it feels as it does for me. Every time I see you, I’m relieved.” 

“Aaron, I get this rush of safety, like you’re– I’m finally safe. I can take care of myself, you know that, but now I have you it’s that I don’t even want to. And that’s stupid. I know that that’s stupid.” 

“What I’m thinking,” he says, soft, not as worried about being without you now as he is of the horrible way you’re feeling, “is that you’ve thought about all of this a lot. I’m glad you’ve taken time to reflect on us and your life, but I wish you’d thought more about what we both want.” 

“I want you to be happy,” you argue, as you had a few moments ago. 

“And I’m never happier than when we’re together.” He shrugs. “Love isn’t about work. Your job shapes you as mine shapes me, but you have to know that who you are is what’s important.” 

“I don’t know who I am…” 

“I know exactly who you are,” he says, rubbing a loving thumb over your knuckles. 

“I’m… I’m sorry for the way I spoke to you, on the phone. I knew if I talked to you like this I’d be too much of a coward to really see it through.” 

“I see. You’ve planned my heartbreak weeks in advance.” 

You shake your head sadly. “Aaron, we’re not good for each other. You make me this awful, weak version of me, and I’m no good.” 

“We have been nothing but happy since we met.” Aaron pulls your hand up and kisses the side of your wrist. He isn’t ashamed of you. He doesn’t make you weak, you aren’t. “I don’t know how to explain it. Sometimes it feels like we’re from different worlds, but it’s not that melodramatic. You’re my partner. I love you. It’s hard not to think about what others think of us, but I know exactly what I think of you, and I know what you think of me, too.” 

You share a look. 

“I’ve never heard you talk so much,” you say, your frown fading. “I’m sorry.” 

“You haven’t done anything wrong.” 

“When I thought I couldn’t get any more embarrassing,” you mumble. 

“You aren’t embarrassing. Please, put the thought out of your head.” 

“Thought out of my head,” you repeat, still mumbling as you flex your fingers, pushing them between his and intertwining your hands. You bring them linked to your forehead and take a heavy breath. 

“Do you really want to break up?” he asks softly. 

Your breath warms his arm. “No.” 

“You can have the things you want, you know? I imagine that there are people who laugh when I tell them about you, but you have to know that their opinions would never matter to me.” He pulls his hand from your head to encourage you to meet his eyes. “No one else matters but me and you. We don’t have to factor in other people. We can just be together.” 

“I’m not worth all the fuss,” you say under your breath. 

“What, this fuss? Honey, a few weeks ago you cried in my lap because I got you that cake from the bakery. And you know what? I didn’t want you to cry, but getting to rub your back?” He chances a smile. “That made my night.” 

“You like making girls cry.” 

“Yes,” he says, trying not to grin like a fool as you stand from your chair and put yourself in front of him. He is no saint. He pulls you onto his thighs and wraps an arm around the small of your back, your legs either side of him. “That’s my goal in life, sweetheart.” His voice falls to a whisper as you hang your head against him, tip of your nose to a rough cheek. “Making you cry…” 

Your arms creep to his neck. Resting on him, rather than hugging. He doesn’t mind, he’ll do the hard work. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmur. 

“It’s okay.” He turns your face with his to press his lips to your cheek. “It’s alright, honey, bumps in the road happen with everyone.” 

“All my fault.” 

“Maybe next time, if you feel so strongly about something, you can just extend me that little bit of faith and… know that I’m here for you. Even if it did mean we wouldn’t be together, it doesn’t have to be that you’re alone, making such a big decision. Valiant,” he adds, enjoying the warmth of you seeping into his shirt, his face, his neck where your wrist is laid against it. “You’re not a coward. But I wish you wouldn’t be this brave about breaking my heart.” 

“Stop making me feel guilty.” 

His laugh is a breath against your cheek. “No, it’s fine, isn’t it? Use me and abuse me.” 

“Shut up. Stop, what is this weird guilt tripping you’re doing?” You laugh at his absurdity. “I’d never abuse you.” 

“I know. Just step on me a bit.” 

“Stop, stop,” you mumble, your voice turning slowly from self-pitying to honey, all that love for him he knew you still had like threads of gold shooting through it, “I don’t wanna step on you, I never would…” 

“Just rough me up a little.” 

“Never.” You press your face to his neck. “Thank you for not letting me do it.” 

“I won’t let you go so easily.” His hand trails up your back, feeling the softness of you beneath your t-shirt. Fat, muscle, all of it familiar, and treasured by his touching. 

He squeezes you rather tightly, then, but you don’t complain, you just sigh. 

“It’s not that you’re not who I picture for myself, like I said before,” you confess, leaning all your weight against him, barely held up by your legs either side of him. “You weren’t, but I didn’t realise that I could have you. I didn’t really know men like you existed. I should’ve known I was looking in the wrong age bracket.” 

“That’s not very nice. In my line of work they call that a feedback sandwich, honey. Something cruel between nice things to distract me.” 

“Sorry. Just had to get it in.” 

He considers your teasing a return to normalcy, guiding your head away from his with a hand to the back of your neck. “If this was a ploy to make me leave work early, consider it successful.” 

“I know your attention usually falls to other places, Mr. Hotchner–” You burst into giggles as he pinches the back of your neck, but it’s only to pull you in for a kiss, smiling against your parted lips as your laughter fades away.

You scrunch his shirt in your hand and kiss him nicely. 

“Sorry,” you say. 

“Forgiven.” Even if he did almost go into cardiac arrest at his desk. “I like begging to stay. It builds character.” 

“How long will you be like this?” you ask, shaking your head slowly, your smile poorly hidden. 

You’d needed a reminder, is all. Aaron isn’t solely business and sternness, he’s an idiot, your idiot, who likes to tease you, and doesn’t care who knows that. When he’s working he’s one person, and when he’s with you, he’s another. Both have their qualities and faults, but only one version is the one he needs to be with you. 

“At my age it’s perfectly normal to have a young and beautiful wife,” he says. “You’ve seen some of the other Section’s worker’s wives.” 

“I’m not that young,” you say. 

“So you admit it?” 

You reward him with a tired sigh, cuddling into his collar. 

—

…I'll never be your beast of burden. So let's go home and draw the curtains…

Aaron’s humming from the bedroom. He knows every classic rock song to exist, every word to every Beatles song. When the chorus comes, he sings under his breath, but you can hear him regardless. “Am I rough enough, am I rich enough? I’m not too blind…” he fades off. 

The music hums under your feet. Record player open on the floor, his Some Girls vinyl on the plate. 

You press a hand down your side. 

To inspire less worry on your part, you and Aaron are trying to be more open about the other sides of your lives. His work feels alien to you, and you worry that yours is dirty to him, despite reassurance that a job is a job. You know that already, but you can’t make yourself believe that he’s as happy as he could be if you were, say, a checkout girl. 

You’d make a cute checkout girl, he’d said. 

This is cute, too. Babydoll lingerie with feather edgings, starkly white against your skin. You fluff out the ends and neaten the crotch of your panties. Nothing is on show that shouldn’t be, but it’s still lingerie. It’s meant to excite. 

“Honey,” he says, dulcet tone carrying to the bathroom, “are you stuck again?” 

You laugh. “I bet you hope so.” 

“That’s accusatory in nature.” 

“I’m coming.” You give it a last glance in the mirror and head into the bedroom. 

Aaron’s sat against your headboard, flowery pillowcases behind his head and back. He discards the little figurine he’d been playing with out of boredom and looks you up and down, corners of his lips curling. 

“Home only,” he says. 

“I knew you’d say that.” 

“You look stunning.” His eyes seem darker. All pupil. 

“I have to wear some of these at the club, Aaron, that’s why I bought them.” 

Something in your voice makes him smile. “You said I could veto the ones that are too beautiful.” 

“I said too slutty.” 

“Honey, they’re all revealing in their ways. And I don’t have a problem with it…” He takes a breath. “Much. But some of these are meant for…” 

“The man who loves me?”

“Exactly.” 

He’d said something similar about the light blue set with darker flowers, the black set that showed the curves of your chest, and especially about the pink one-piece with white ribbons. That one gave him pause. 

“Spin?” he asks. 

One day it might bother Aaron that you dance, but for now he’s gently approving. Just wants you to be happy. So you do a little spin without any attempt to be sexy and beam when he whistles. 

“Beautiful. Really, honey, that’s the nicest so far.” 

“I have a confession.” 

“Yeah?” 

“This one was for you.” 

He’d know if you were lying. “For me?” he says, in that tone bordering stern, as much of his professionalism as you’re used to hearing these days. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Don’t,” he says, seductions gone as he tips his head back into a pillow patterned with lavender and peony. “Unless you’re done trying those on, I don’t want to hear it.” 

“This is the last one.” 

“In that case.” He covers his face with a cushion. 

You look down. Your stomach is a little bloated from lunch, and you have a shaving rash on your left knee, but Aaron won’t mind. He never does. Without worry, you tread to the side of the bed and climb onto it, one leg over his lap. The last time you’d been sitting in his lap, you’d been teary-eyed and regretful. Fuck, what was I thinking? you ask yourself, slipping a hand under his rising shirt to feel his abdomen. It’ll never not be weird, the FBI man and his stripper girlfriend, but it doesn’t have to make sense to anyone but him and you. 

You ease the pillow down his face. 

“Are you blushing, Aaron?” you ask. 

“Not purposefully.” 

“You look a little… hot.” 

“That makes two of us.” 

It starts slowly. The heat of you atop him, the pillows moved out of the way. You didn’t expect him to stay unbothered as you paraded your new spoils, but his willpower is remarkable, and he only breaks when you let yourself settle on his lap. His big hand cups your face. 

“That’s funny.” You lift up enough to be in kissing range, but don’t kiss. You just wait for him to react, holding your weight off of his chest. 

He finds the small of your back and drags. Your gasp isn’t your own, a breathy, excited thing as he brings your face to his for a kiss. Your lips almost immediately part in anticipation of his eagerness, of his hand on the back of your neck, and the unflinching heat of his mouth as he turns his head. Your noses brush. He wades in deeper, his own breath already failing him as the bridges of your nose press hard. 

They aren’t rough kisses, but there’s something desperate there. He holds you to him until he can’t, ushering you onto your back, his weight bearing down sudden and steady. 

“I can’t believe I nearly lost you,” he utters, stroking your cheek, edging back in to kiss you before you can reply. 

You wrap an arm behind his back and hike your leg, soft thigh naked and waiting for his touch. You didn’t nearly lose me, you think. To be lost, you’d have to be something worth losing, and you’re not sure you are, but Aaron? 

“I don’t think you could,” you mumble, forcing him to kiss your cheek, your jaw, the line of your throat. He nips at your neck, a shudder racing through you. 

“I have no intent of letting it come that close again, sweetheart.” 

His hand dances up your side to the soft hill of your chest. 

You hold the hair from his face and let him kiss you. He’s here to stay, no matter how odd a pairing you might make. You love him. That’s all he cares about. 

“Want me to do that thing you like?” you offer softly, mildly playful. 

He laughs into your neck. “No,” he says, “I think tonight is about you, hm? You’re all dressed up. I think that deserves a reward.” 

You knew he’d like the white babydoll. 

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

[cheshirewrites]

"Darling," a voice calls from the door, "we have another one."

Dahlia sighs, and gets to her feet. The harvest had been going so well, too, she thinks to herself, sparing a glance towards the basket at her feet. The basket, as big as it is, is barely halfway full. The bottom is lined with freshly picked fruits and fragrant herbs, the usual kinds of things you would expect to find at a witch's residence.

She had been looking forward to working in her garden, and once she was done with that, checking on the magical creatures that tended to roam their woods.

Still, Dahlia knows what her lover is talking about, and that is far more important.

When she steps into the kitchen, Ari is leaning against the counter. There's flour on her cheeks and on her dress, and the smell of something baking in the oven, and Ari is engaged in a rapid fire conversation with a stranger.

And that, of course, is where the problems usually begin.

The stranger -- a teenager, because fate has always favored youth -- looks at Dahlia and grins. "'Ello, my good lord." Their grin turns playful. "Or should I say, my dark lord?"

"Neither," Dahlia says, as she makes herself comfortable next to Ari. "It's Dahlia, no formalities needed."

Their expression doesn't change. "Miss Dahlia, then."

Ari shifts closer, like she's going to tell a secret. "Do you have a name, little traveler? If you don't, I'm sure I can come up with something to call you."

"Fox," they say, and the name certainly fits, with their pointed features and scruffy, auburn hair. When they smile, it's all teeth. "My name is Fox."

"Well, little Fox," Dahlia says, taking a thorough look at them. Worn clothes, prominent ribs, a smile sharper than knives. "Cut to the chase. I doubt you sought out a dead hero and tyrant for fun."

Fox snarls, agitation clear in every inch of their body. "You are not the tyrant here," they say, angrily. "You aren't the one tearing apart the ground and poisoning the water. You aren't the reasons that thousands of people no longer have a roof over their head. You aren't the reason my Prince-"

They cut off abruptly, lanky body curling in on itself as a frown takes over their face. It reminds her of Ari, when she still kept her hair cropped short and always had countless daggers on her person. Back before she died, and was being run ragged for months on end.

"You work with the royal family, don't you, little Fox?" Dahlia says, not unkindly. "Many people in similar positions would call this treason."

The words have an undeniable effect, as Fox straightens to their full height. "I only work for the Prince," they say, "I'd happily watch the rest of them rot."

At her side, Ari smiles. "I'm glad that the youth haven't changed," she says, and her bright tone doesn't fit her next words. "Would you kill him if you had the chance?"

Dahlia gives Ari a knowing look.

Dahlia might be the former dark lord, or whatever it was they call her these days, but Ari is not without her moments. She had to learn how to fight somewhere, after all, and she has done a lot of things that aren't written in the history books.

She hides her amused smile behind her hand, and gives the two heroes a moment to themselves. It isn't hard to check on whatever is baking, after all, and Dahlia doesn't want to see her lover upset if something burns.

Besides, Dahlia thinks, Ari knows all too well the dangers of being associated with royals, and the price that comes with their status.

Of course, it doesn't really take that long to check the bread, and know that it still has plenty of time to go, but Dahlia gives them their privacy. She catches whispers, snippets of conversations, but doesn't pay them any mind.

Ari is more than capable of having this conversation on her own, and Dahlia will leave them be until Ari suggests otherwise.

It happens sooner than she expects. Her lover tape her shoulder, lightly at first, and then firmer, when Dahlia doesn't immediately respond. Dahlia just hums, gently closing the oven before she straightens, opting to lean against the counter again.

"Dahlia, my love," Ari begins, her expression somewhere between fond and pleading. "How do you feel about committing a little regicide? Might make for a lovely vacation, hm?"

Between the look in Ari's eyes, and the hope written all across Fox's face, there is very little doubt about what her answer will be. Between a former hero and dark lord, and their new little Fox, Dahlia is certain that the king won't survive another two weeks.

Dahlia smiles.

After all, things had just gotten a lot more interesting on this little farm of theirs.

The hero and the dark lord have both disappeared after their battle, making everyone think they both perished. In reality, they are living on a farm, living the life of their dreams.

[littlelamy]

Rafe x Reader request: They’ve been going on a few dates, with Rafe in the hopes to get in in her pants. Rafe has been more of a fuckboy, lots of experience, kicks girls out as soon as it’s done and have they been inexperienced – he’s kicked them out straight away before anything happens, not having any energy to ‘’teach’’. Cue to Reader and him about to get intimate, she confesses to being a virgin and he kicks her out. HOWEVER……he this time feels like absolute shit about seeing how sad she got and realizes he has fallen for her….and he tries to fix it (happy ending)

a/n: thank you for request, hope you like it!!💗

rafe cameron was never one to think much beyond the moment. he didn’t overanalyze his hookups, didn’t question why they always left with messy hair and no promises of a second date. he had a rhythm to his life, and it worked for him. girls came and went, his phone a revolving door of contacts he didn’t even bother saving half the time.

until you showed up.

it wasn’t just that you were beautiful—plenty of girls were. but you had this quiet confidence about you, a way of looking at him that didn’t scream take me home now. you made him work for your attention, your time, your smiles. and god, he wanted to work for it.

the first few dates were surprisingly normal. no wild nights, no sneaky excuses to get you alone in his room. you made him laugh, made him feel something he hadn’t in years—light, easy, like he could just be rafe without any expectations. but tonight, as you sat on his couch, sipping wine and smiling at him in that way that made his chest ache, rafe couldn’t ignore the tension humming between you any longer.

he leaned in, testing the waters with a soft brush of his lips against yours. when you didn’t pull away, he kissed you again, deeper this time, his hands sliding to your waist. you melted into him, your fingers tangling in his hair, and that was all the invitation he needed.

rafe pulled you closer, his hands wandering beneath your shirt, his kisses growing more urgent. but just as his fingers brushed against the clasp of your bra, you stiffened, pulling back suddenly.

“wait,” you whispered, your voice shaky.

rafe froze, his hands stilling as he searched your face. “what’s wrong?”

you bit your lip, looking anywhere but at him. “i… i need to tell you something.”

his heart sank, the worst possibilities flashing through his mind. “what is it?”

“i’ve never done this before,” you said quietly, barely audible.

the words hung in the air, heavy and unexpected. rafe blinked, his mind struggling to catch up. “you mean…?”

“i’m a virgin,” you clarified, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

the room suddenly felt too small, too quiet. rafe sat back, running a hand through his hair as he tried to process. a virgin. you were a virgin. he hadn’t expected that. he hadn’t planned for that.

“shit,” he muttered under his breath.

you pulled your knees to your chest, your voice small. “i’m sorry. i should’ve told you sooner.”

“no, it’s not…” rafe trailed off, shaking his head. “it’s not your fault. it’s just… i don’t think i’m the right guy for this.”

your eyes shot up to meet his, wide with confusion and hurt. “what do you mean?”

“i mean… i don’t think i can give you what you deserve for your first time,” he said, his voice hollow. “you should be with someone who can… i don’t know, make it special or whatever. someone who knows how to handle that.”

the words tasted bitter as he said them, but he convinced himself it was the right thing to do. he wasn’t the guy for you, not for something this big. he couldn’t risk screwing it up.

you stood abruptly, grabbing your bag. “i see.”

“wait—”

“no, it’s fine,” you interrupted, your voice trembling as you headed for the door. “thanks for letting me know where we stand.”

rafe didn’t stop you. he didn’t know how. the door clicked shut behind you, and the silence that followed was deafening.

the guilt hit him almost immediately.

rafe spent the next few days trying to ignore the gnawing pit in his stomach, but it was useless. every time he closed his eyes, he saw the hurt on your face, the way your voice cracked when you said thanks for letting me know where we stand.

he tried to tell himself he did the right thing. he wasn’t equipped for this. he wasn’t worthy of this. but that reasoning felt thinner with every passing hour.

by the third sleepless night, he couldn’t take it anymore.

you weren’t expecting to see rafe when you opened the door. he stood there with a sheepish expression, holding a bouquet of flowers that looked suspiciously last-minute.

“hi,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

you crossed your arms, leaning against the doorframe. “what do you want?”

“i came to apologize.”

“for what?” you asked, your tone sharp.

“for being a fucking idiot,” he said, his words tumbling out in a rush. “i handled things wrong, and i know i hurt you. i didn’t mean to, but i did, and i’m sorry.”

you stared at him, your defenses still firmly in place. “why now?”

rafe sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “because i haven’t stopped thinking about you since that night. because i was wrong to push you away, and i hate that i made you feel like i didn’t care.”

your heart softened despite yourself, but you weren’t ready to let him off the hook just yet. “and what happens if i let you back in? do you just push me away again the second things get complicated?”

“no,” he said firmly, stepping closer. “i won’t. i swear. i just… i freaked out because i’ve never felt this way about anyone before, and it scared the hell out of me. but i’m done running from it. from you.”

the vulnerability in his voice, the sincerity in his eyes, made your resolve crack. slowly, you stepped aside, letting him in.

rafe didn’t rush you after that.

he was patient in a way you hadn’t expected, taking the time to get to know you in ways that had nothing to do with sex. he remembered the little things you told him—your favorite coffee order, the song that always made you cry, the way you liked your eggs in the morning.

and gradually, the walls between you began to crumble.

it was weeks later, on a quiet friday night, that things came full circle. you were sitting on his couch again, your legs tucked under you as you watched a movie. his arm was draped casually over your shoulders, his thumb tracing absentminded circles on your skin.

when you turned to look at him, he was already watching you, his gaze soft and warm.

“what?” you asked, smiling.

“nothing,” he said, his lips twitching into a grin. “you’re just really fucking cute.”

you rolled your eyes, but your cheeks flushed. “shut up.”

he didn’t. instead, he leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was slow and deliberate. his hand cupped your cheek, tilting your face to deepen the kiss.

this time, when his hands wandered, you didn’t stop him.

“are you sure?” he asked, his voice low and husky.

you nodded, your eyes locked on his. “i’m sure.”

rafe didn’t rush. he took his time, every touch, every kiss deliberate and reverent. he didn’t just want you—he wanted to make you feel safe, cherished.

and when it was over, he didn’t pull away. instead, he held you close, his arms wrapped tightly around you as if letting go would mean losing you all over again.

for the first time in his life, rafe cameron didn’t feel the need to run. he didn’t feel the need for anyone else.

he just wanted you.

and he wasn’t going to mess it up again.

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @kissrotten @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl l @evermorx89 @aariahnaa @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog

[romanarose]

My Wife, My Wife, My Wife.

Protective!Logan Howlett x f!reader

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Summary: You're pregnant and take your new husband, Logan, to Thanksgiving with your family. Logan isn't too happy with how you are treated.

Warnings: Toxic families, comments on eating and weight, pregnancy, Roman's daddy and mommy issues.

Dividers by @sister-lucifer

"Dinners ready!" Your moms voice calls out from the kitchen. You'd spent much of the day helping her get the food ready, but needed rest away from the heat. Your pregnancy had made you sensitive to the heat, and Logan always made sure you rested plenty.

Logan takes your arm, helping you off the couch and to the table with strong but gentle guidance. He's always gentle with you, but especially so now that your pregnancy has reached month 8 it was even more so.

Your dad took his seat at the head of the table, the rest of the family filing around the seating, filling up both the adult and kids table to it's max.

"Ladies, why don't we let you guys go ahead and get the mens food first, then we can get the kids." Mom instructs, and the adults and cousins and your sister get up to get their mens meals. You lock eyes with Logan as you start to get up, rolling them with him as he smiles. You did not mind serving Logan, in fact you enjoyed doing things like that for him. Logan was a good husband, he took care of you and you liked to take care of him. But it was the fact your mom expected you to, and that it was the men that always got food first at the table. That's not how it worked in yours and Logans home.

Logan doesn't let you get up, placing a firm hand on your thigh as you smirk up at him. This was going to annoy your mom. "I got it, baby."

Your mom, as predicted, turned to Logan with that clipped but cheerful tone she uses when there is company. "Oh don't worry Logan, she can get it."

"It's alright ma'am" Logan smiles thats disarming smile. He's so handsome, when he smiles its hard to argue. "My wife is pregnant, I think I can handle getting our plates."

Logan gets you first, asking you a few questions here and there 'you want a lot of mac and cheese?' but mostly knowing what you like. You sit in your seat simply glowing as the women in line glance enviously towards you. Their husbands would never. They get plates for their men, then their children, then themselves.

When the table goes around saying what they are thankful for, Logan proudly says, "my wife, and our son" and plants a kiss on your cheek. You feel a little embarrassed you went before him and said modern medicine, but your pregnancy hadn't exactly been easy, so you had your reasons.

When it was time for desert, you asked Logan to get you whipped cream on your cherry pie, which of course your mother had something to say about.

"I don't think that's a good idea, honey." she says quietly next to you.

You glare at your mom, shoveling a large scoop of pie into your mouth. "I'm growing a baby, mom."

"Oh, and the whipped cream provides much needed nutrition?"

Logan leans over, spraying a massive amount of whipped cream onto the pie, spilling over onto the plate.

"If my wife wants whipped cream, whipped cream she'll get."

You make sure to hum in contentment as your mom eats a small slice of pumpkin. No whipped cream.

Your dad, of course, had ignored you most of the day. Ever since you got with Logan, he couldn't act the way he usually did with you, making him one of your dads uhhhhhh less liked people. He couldn't cross your no hugging boundary anymore, Logan always standing protectively close and his arm around you when you said hello's and goodbyes. He couldn't make subtle digs about your hair or tattoos anymore. You never even had a chance to argue anymore, Logan took care of it.

Still, as the evening went on and the alcohol poured (for everyone but you.) he started speaking more freely.

"I bet you're relieved to be having a son, aren't you Logan?"

Your body immediately tensed, and Logan didn't fail to notice. "I don't know what you mean. I'm happy to be having a baby, the sex doesn't really matter."

"I just mean," His mouth is full of chex mix. "You know how women are. Having a daughter can be a lot. They are so dramatic, and god, when they are teenagers-"

"May I remind you you're speaking about my wife when you talk about your daughter?"

Your dads face settle into a hard line. "You know, this whole 'my wife' bit is getting old. You've been married over a year, I think you can act like a normal couple now."

You scoff. "Act like what? make a bunch of jokes about how we hate each other? Surprise, dad, if I didn't like him I wouldn't be married to him."

"See what I mean?" He laughs, ignoring you and turning to Logan. "Women, always putting words in your mouth, pretending you said things you didn't. Just be happy you're having a boy."

Logan squeezed your hand. "I'm happy I'm having a boy because I'm happy we're starting a family. Respectfully, I'd appreciate if you stopped talking about my wife like she's some kind of burden, because she's not."

He laughs again. "C'mon, you're telling me you like it when she she cries at every little thing, or when she gets pissed off for leaving the toilet seat up? It doesn't drive you crazy that she can't wake up early enough to make breakfast? You like when she dresses like a-"

"That's enough!" Logan stands abruptly, and your eyes go wide, hoping he doesn't go too far... but when it comes to you, he's fiercely protective. "I don't mind her crying because it tells me she feels safe enough to show her emotions. She doesn't get mad at me for leaving the toilet seat up because I simply don't do it. She doesn't have to wake up and make me breakfast because this isn't fucking 1955, and I swear to god if you make one more comment about her appearance i will-"

He stops as soon as he feels your hand on his back.

Logan wraps his arm around your waste, guiding you towards the door. "C'mon baby, lets go home." He helps you put on your shoes, kneeling down at your feet without shame to help you slide them on. Before he leaves, Logan turns to face your dad again, unsheathing his claws "Do not ever disrespect my wife again, do you understand?"

Your dad gulped, and nodded.

When you and Logan get outside and close the door, you both burst into laughter.

"Lo!" You exclaim, Logan holding onto you so you don't slip on the snow. "That was a bit excessive, don't you think?" but you were giggling still.

"Nothings too much for my wife." He kissed your cheek, grinning, before opening the car door. When he slides in his side, he finds you smiling fondly at him.

"You know, I used to dread family events. Now i don't have to worry about a thing."

"And you never will. You and our son are never gonna have to worry about anything, okay? Not with me around. And that includes your annoying ass dad."

Once again, the two of you cackle with laughter as he drives off towards home.

happy thanksgiving if you celebrate!!!

I opted to NOT go home for the holidays THANKS 1. my family is a mess 2/ they are 2 hours away 3. I AM STILL FUCKING SICK!!!! i have bronchitis not and its awful. I woke up coughing so hard i vomited. good times.

I went to my friends place though! I love her family. then after lunch i was tired and sick and laid down in the spare bedroom for an hour. then i tried to get though dessert and some games but i had a coughing fit and just had to leave :((( but my friend sent me home with homemade soup and bread!

anyway, if your family makes you feel like shit, fuck em! not literally.

i'm going to bed now. After looking it all up, the best thing i can do to help is drink tea with honey, lots of water, and sleep so thats what im doing

[deadgirldreaming]

Nope. Ao3 should not be monetised. I've lost many reading apps and sites to monetization. Fanfic is made by fans for fans.

Writers go, "I love my fandom so much the characters and plot are haunting me! I had a bunch of thoughts. Look what my brain did! Do you like it?"

Readers go, "✨️○✨️ This is great! My brain did a thing inspired by yours! What do you think of my thing?"

Then we get fanfics of fanfics (which I love, nothing better than reading a fanfic and being directed in the notes to another writer who was inspired by that specific fanic) and fanart of fanfics.

It's a community of creativity.

That community would be negatively impacted by monetization. Invasive ads, subscriptions, tips, and go-fund-me.

A site that was originally about connecting fans and sharing stories becoming a business with the primary focus on money to the point of ruining the site.

Haven't we heard this story before?

Happened with Wattpad. Started off good, but then they started making money and wondered like any business, "Hey, how far can we push this? How many pay walls can we put up? How can we most efficiently extract money from fans?" It's gross.

There's nothing wrong with wanting to be paid for your work and your passions, but don't take it to Ao3. There are plenty of other sites fans can do their business and be paid on for the love of their craft. You don't like those sites? Then make your own. Don't take down the one site that's accessible to all fandoms and fans.

The rest of the thread is here.

tl;dr: Don’t monetize AO3, kids.  You won’t like what happens next.

[sweetshuga]

𓆩 𝑰𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒅𝒖𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 & 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔 𓆪

𝑫𝒐𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒍𝒈𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓.ᐟ𝑪𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔

✧ Acts, talks, moves and thinks just like Chris. Despite being a ghostly copy of Chris—he’s slightly different and it’s a barely noticeable difference, but something about him is inhumane—uncanny. Has no shadow, or appetite, but eats anyway just to mimic the actions of Chris. Disappears and reappears frequently. Doesn’t show up when Chris is around which makes it all the more confusing. (Sometimes, reader doesn’t know if she’s talking to the real Chris or the doppelgänger Chris because of how identical they are.)

✧ 𝑫𝒐𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒍𝒈𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓.ᐟ𝑪𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔... who doesn’t know what romantic love is.

✎ "Can you repeat that?" Leaning in to hear you better, "You love Chris? Me? Uh... Thanks? I love you too, you’re a good friend." Ruffles your hair with a grin.

✧ 𝑫𝒐𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒍𝒈𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓.ᐟ𝑪𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔... who gets confused whenever you try to tell him he’s not actually Chris.

✎ "What are you saying?" Chuckling confusedly with raised eyebrows, "I am Chris. Christopher Owen Sturniolo? That’s me."

✧ 𝑫𝒐𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒍𝒈𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓.ᐟ𝑪𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔... who can’t remember when or how everything started, and is convinced he’s just a normal human being named Chris.

✎ "Yeah—no, I don’t get what you want me to say," clicking his tongue as he leaned back in his chair. "I am Chris, just a normal guy, ’nd you sure all those books about folklore ain’t getting to your head?"

───~𓆩♡𓆪~───

𝑵𝒂𝒊𝒗𝒆.ᐟ𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

✿ Loves reading about urban legends, mythology, folklore and whatnot, and yet seriously thought she was just talking to Chris on their first encounter. Girls girl & confused bi. Is kind-natured by heart, got taken advantage of many times by her ex-friends at her old school due to her naivety. Been friends with the triplets ever since she transferred in sophomore year. Overall, the epitome of naïve innocence, but otherwise very intelligent and knows exactly what she wants and what to do to get it. (Just not the best when it comes to social interactions.)

✿ 𝑵𝒂𝒊𝒗𝒆.ᐟ𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓... who tries – and fails – to tell herself that the thing she’s talking to isn’t actually Chris.

✎ Feeling your face heat up at the close proximity before stammering, "y-yeah, good friends, of course." Chuckling nervously as you reciprocated his grin.

✿ 𝑵𝒂𝒊𝒗𝒆.ᐟ𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓... who gets taken aback every time doppelgänger Chris disappears even though she’s seen it plenty of times.

✎ "Mhm... Never mind I said anything." You leaned back against the couch, looking ahead at the TV, "so, how’s your day been anyway?" Trying to make small talk as you looked at him again—only to find him gone and Chris walking inside the living room, looking like he had a fat nap.

✿ 𝑵𝒂𝒊𝒗𝒆.ᐟ𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓... who finds a way to complain about school any chance she gets.

✎ Sighing before you looked at him with a deadpanned expression. "I’m perfectly fine, also, haven’t even read a book for a few weeks." You grumbled, "all this school work is just unnecessary."

taglist: @strnilolover @mattsfavoritestar @sophand4n4 @tpwktahlz @lilyyliloo @slut4angstt @pvssychicken @poolover123 @loud-sturniolos @inlovewchrissturniolo @sagesturns @chrisstopherfilmed @billiesbabya @h3arts4nat @moosegirl96 @sofiaaguilaxx @sturniolo-fann @goingtojohnkramershouseee @sturniolosluttt @chrislilcumslvt @mattsninja @bilssturns @sturnioloszn @slvtf0rchr1s @knowingnothingnoel @shadowthesim @brookheartsmatt @starstrucktyrantinfluencer @m00nl1ghts1vt @strnlslut @ribread03 @hearts4werka @larallott @ivysturnss @chrisfavoritewhore @peiivnao

© sweetshuga

[queer-ragnelle]

Understand is is a very weird question to get out the blue so no offence taken if this gets left in the inbox, but I was wondering how (if at all) to integrate transgender knights into arthurian retellings/adaptations ect while trying to keep it vaguely true to the medievalisms of the whole thing? I know its easy and liberating to just go 'fuck it everything queer' and its a totally valid way to go about it, but (as a trans person) I like having a narrative examine queerphobia and other structual issues with the setting - gives the whole thing a bit of meat (in my personal tastes). That being said, it feels like its a nightmare to try and have a transmasc knight stay stealth in this place! Everyone feels like theyre getting stipped and tended to after breaking a rib in a joust or merlin shows up and is a dick about pronouns and outs you to get you married to a Roman king. Stuff like that - things that feel a little easier to dodge when its a civillian character, not an ruling class.

Is this a 'kill the cop in your brain' kinda deal? As a queer storyteller yourself do you have any tips or strategies or tools you use to crowbar this kinda stuff a little easier together? Or do you know any stories/retellings/academic texts ect that cover these kinda things (even if its in a 'for the love of god, don't do that' way). Love the work you do for this fandom a lot, regardless of your answer! Hope you have a good day.

Hello anon! This is a great question.

Now let me preface this by saying I’m not transgender and I’m not a medievalist. There are plenty of trans medievalists on tumblr, but I’m not one of ‘em. So my answer is coming from a queer but cis author and enthusiast perspective. I'm going to provide lots of links to read things as well so everyone can draw their own conclusions from the material.

I think a large part of this does come down to “kill the cop in your head.” But at the same time, I’ve been exactly where you are wondering, “How can I make this story feel authentic to its era without torturing the trans characters?” Because you’re right, there’s a lot of nudity and close proximity interaction between knights in the medieval stories and Merlin is totally the type to be a dick about pronouns. I've also searched and struggled to find a medieval-set story that manages to incorporate queerness in a period-appropriate way (so far as we can guess) while balancing the narrative as to not tip into something deeply unpleasant for the target audience to read. (See: the series by Lavinia Collins, which has great queer rep, yay! But tons of horrors previously unseen and still unnecessary, boo!) So where does that leave us?

Well first I’m going to give you an example of how not to handle transness in an Arthurian story....

The book Once & Future and its sequel Sword in the Stars by Amy Rose Capetta and Cory McCarthy went with the phenomenon you already described as, “fuck it, everything queer.” It doesn't take place in the past, but does use the medieval stories as more than reference, it's not as divergent as something like Port Eternity by C. J. Cherryh, the reincarnated characters do interact with the past directly at times, so I'm using it as an example.

Anyway most characters are either gay (umbrella term) or trans. Except the way trans characters are treated sucks majorly (in my opinion). I completely lost faith in book 1 after the introduction of Lamorak, a gender fluid knight who uses they/them pronouns. Merlin misgenders them and gets corrected by Kay, to which Merlin does this whole self flagellation routine about. Lamorak is also disabled, missing their left hand. (Why isn't it Bedwyr? Anyway not the point...) Lamorak gets no dialogue here whatsoever, all agency is completely stripped from them regarding their disability and their gender identity. Double whammy.

This is worsened when Percival gets introduced, as Merlin then makes a point of asking for pronoun clarification in the most obnoxious way possible. To which Percival takes no offense at the weird slight against his sibling and tells Merlin his pronouns.

But what about the sequel? Surely these two queer authors improved with time.....

Is this a joke? Is this the best way they could indicate the inclusive realm of Avalon? Why not just describe the women as they are, all shapes and sizes, and let the reader figure it out? The authorial intent would be so obvious by this point. Instead they say it… like that. Gag.

It only gets worse when Mordred is born. Then they're weird about a literal infant.

What in the bio essentialism? If the characters have been living in a future that’s broken out of the gender binary, the baby’s genitals should be irrelevant. Gwen’s literally saying Mordred is going to fulfill the evil prophecy because he was born with a penis. Even if this is intended to be a teaching moment, I hate how it’s handled. These quotes are in order of appearance in the books, so after the subtextual implications of all that came before, this last part really doesn’t sit right with me. Sorry I find these books completely abhorrent. They've won awards, they’re beloved by many. Maybe it's me. But no thanks.

Honestly, so long as you're not blatantly offensive with your handling of such things, I think you'll be fine. It's important to remember that even if one is part of a demographic they're depicting, it's always a good idea to hire sensitivity readers and take that feedback seriously. Not everyone will love your work, there will be advice you don't utilize, with time you'll be able to weed out the bad faith feedback, (the "all depiction is glorification" crowd) and ignore it. But it's so important to open oneself up to constructive criticism so you can learn and your work can develop into the best possible version of itself.

Now let's get to some ways you can go about researching a way to do this that fits in your story. It’s important to remember that throughout human history, many people lived stealth their whole lives and we don’t know about them for that reason, not because no transgender folks ever lived authentically and happily in medieval times. So it’s never impossible to incorporate a trans character into a story who experiences no direct violence, even if the world they live in isn’t presented as a queer utopia. The other thing is that public opinion regarding queerness, cross dressing, etc have varied a lot over the centuries and were vastly different depending on location. Not every “woman” found in armor would have been treated as poorly as Joan of Arc. So there’s lots of wiggle room for interpretation when you go about writing these narratives. The majority of my examples deal with the ruling class so they address the concerns you mentioned with added scrutiny a noble would face if they were to experiment with gender presentation compared to a commoner. I’ll be spoiling the plots of everything on the list to make clear why I’m suggesting them.

My initial advice would be to read medieval literature with queer themes followed by essays on the subject. The best examples I know of are:

Yde et Olive

Transmasc knight (good ending). 12th century French romance. Yde’s mother Clarisse died giving birth to her & later when Yde reaches maturity, her father makes advances, so she disguises herself as a man & flees. Yde becomes a successful knight & is married to the king’s only daughter, Olive. When it comes time to consummate the marriage, Yde must confess the truth of his identity to Olive, who vows to keep it secret. This is overheard by the king who then attempts to uncover Yde’s identity but is stopped by an angel who chastises the king for harassing such a good vassal. Then Yde is transformed into a man, the king dies, & Yde is able to have a child with Olive. They name him Croissant as if it couldn’t get any more French than it already was. Anyway the story alternates pronouns for Yde given the situation which is pretty neat & in the end he gets to live his best life! Yay!

Le Roman de Silence

Transmasc knight (bad ending). A 13th century French romance about a baby girl named Silence. Silence is raised as a boy because King Eban won’t allow women to inherit property. Like many medieval romances, the hero's adventure is often punctuated with personified emotions (Dame Fortune, Lady Love, etc) but Silence is tormented by Nature & Nurture as he comes into adulthood. He becomes a knight & eventually takes on an "impossible" quest, to capture Merlin, which supposedly can only be done by a woman. Content warning for the ending, it does not go well for Silence. Merlin reveals his backstory, & he’s forced to take a feminized version of his name, live as a woman, & marry the king to keep his lands.

Wigalois by Wirnt von Grafenberg

A 13th century German romance that follows Gawain’s son, Wigalois [Gingalain], but this ain’t about him. There’s a character Marine who fights as a knight. She’s consistently referred to with she/her pronouns, but she’s renowned for her knightly virtues & fights alongside the men in the war. She’s treated very well narratively & dies in battle after apprehending a high-value hostage. Everyone mourns her & there’s a big funeral held in her honor. So even if Marine never presented herself as a man the way Yde or Silence do, she provides an example of a female thriving in a male role. Food for thought.

Parzival by Wolfram von Eschenbach

Another German banger from the 13th century. This one’s about a cis male knight but Parzival has transmasc vibes. Trust me. Here’s my favorite article about it called The Clothes Make The Man - Parzival Dressed & Undressed by Michael D. Amey that really illustrates what I mean.

After that, you can check out these retellings:

The Story of Silence by Alex Myers

I bought this but haven't read it yet. It’s a retelling about the aforementioned Le Roman de Silence. This book uses neutral they/them pronouns to refer to Silence, which I can say from experience sometimes causes confusion with readers, so it's good to study how this author did it & determine if that method feels right for you. (If you ever decide to do something like that with a character.)

Spear by Nicola Griffith + Spear's Author's Note

I enjoyed this one, beautiful prose. It didn’t feel like the most comprehensive Grail Quest retelling, but Peretur can be interpreted as a butch lesbian or transmasc, it’s ambiguous. She only uses masculine pronouns when stealth, otherwise using she/her, but it has a happy ending! It’s firmly set in the era & felt authentic on that front while letting the queer characters relax. Peretur isn’t alone. (A/G/L enjoyers keep winning + sapphic lady of the lake ftw + the other hotties Peretur pulled.) Definitely worth checking out.

The Bright Sword by Lev Grossman

This book just came out in 2024. Including it here is already a spoiler given the topic but I’m going to spoil fully from this point on so ignore this if that’s a problem. This is the best example I can give for your reading/writing tastes based on the ask; Dinadan is a trans man. His transness isn’t revealed in the main character Collum’s pov, but in Dinadan’s backstory pov, opening in his childhood. He & his twin brother were sent to different schools but young Dinadan would leave the girl’s school to practice knightly skills with the fay, which retroactively explains why he has a fairy sword that Collum was admiring. In exchange for this training, the fay ask that Dinadan slay Merlin. Which he agrees to while never believing he actually can, but the wrath of the fay in the afterlife is worth his ability to live as a knight. I love how it was all handled firstly because Dinadan has a fighting style that works for his smaller frame & because every knight has a different fighting style (Dagonet’s is “If it sucks hit da bricks.”) Dinadan doesn’t stick out like a sore thumb yet his physicality is accounted for. Secondly Dinadan explains the lengths he goes to in order to stay stealth from obvious ones like binding his breasts to pretending to shave his face every couple days & wearing a packer. Later on, Dinadan’s secrets are revealed when he goes swimming in the ocean with Palomides (who evidentially already knew) & Collum joins them. Collum had no idea, which I think brings up an interesting point about all of this which also reminds me of Gawain not recognizing that Beaumains was Gareth—the power of expectation. Just as Gawain expected to find a kitchen boy & would have no reason to assume his brother (who hit puberty since they last saw each other) would be stealth in the kitchens so therefore didn’t recognize him, Collum expects to find men as knights of the Round Table, so when Sir Dinadan is introduced, & Collum had heard of him before, Dinadan’s stature & high voice don’t register to Collum as anything but traits that this guy Dinadan happens to have. Learning Dinadan’s secret in the presence of another knight who already knows & is chill about it also encourages Collum to be accepting too. So giving Dinadan at least one ally in his corner throughout the story went a long way. In the end Merlin, who can only be killed by a man (which is why Nimue had to settle for sealing him away) is stabbed by Dinadan. So it’s like a reverse Silence/Éowyn situation that Dinadan’s gender is affirmed in his ability to kill Merlin. This book also includes the part from Le Morte d’Arthur where Dinadan’s forced to wear a dress, which in this context is very transphobic, but that’s the point. It’s made better when Dinadan gets to go insano style on Merlin so he gets payback. Just a heads up about that.

Some fantasy/scifi that’s not Arthurian but may help, as Arthuriana is largely fantasy to begin with, this may help you determine where on the spectrum your taste/writing falls regarding the bending of reality/history to fit your narrative.

Orlando: A Biography by Virginia Woolf

1928 novel about a character named Orlando living during the reign of Elizabeth I. Orlando is born male, then at some point in his early adulthood, falls into a deep sleep from which he awakens the exact same person, now metamorphosed to be female. Orlando, for her part, adopts this new role immediately & keeps on moving. She lives for 300 years as such & has many adventures, including an instance where she then presents as a man to elude marriage. Transitioned so she could cross dress in the other direction. She would’ve done numbers on tumblr. Ultimately, Orlando does marry… a gnc sea captain! The success of their marriage is attributed to their similarities in gender non-conformity. Even though this book only remains in the late medieval era for the opening, I think it’s a poignant example of a transgender individual living their life in their time & still getting to enjoy themselves without excessive suffering that may provide lots of inspiration.

The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula K Le Guin

1970 Hugo & Nebula award winning novel. A fascinating examination of gender from the point of view of a cis man named Genly Ai having to reconcile his interpretation of the gender binary when confronted with a society who operates outside that. His travels with ambisexual Estravan challenges what Ai understands about the universe. His ignorance forms the backbone of the narrative as he grows close to a person from this other society. Even if it’s not a medieval setting, it may help you develop a narrative voice regarding this subject you’re able to bring to your work. Also it’s just really good.

The Privilege of the Sword by Ellen Kushner

2007 Locus award winner, Nebula & Gaylactic Spectrum nominee. High fantasy medieval setting. Katherine is a country girl brought to the big city Riverside by her uncle the Duke where she’s offered the opportunity to train as swordsman (ie cross dress) instead of political marriage. She’s unsure of the reasoning behind her uncle’s motivations for doing this, but goes along with it & kicks ass. A preview is available on Google books (linked).

The Realm of the Elderlings by Robin Hobb

This is my favorite series ever. It spans 16 books published between 1995-2017. The fandom on tumblr & ao3 is hugely active. (Avoid tags to dodge major spoilers or check it out for amazing art & many quotes!) The series has many gnc characters in a fantasy medieval setting. First & foremost, The Fool, who’s in all the books & whose gender ambiguity is mentioned book 1, to which he says, “None of your business.” The character ever. Without getting too specific, there are several trans characters including gender fluid characters who will alternate between masc/fem presentation & pronouns. This is my favorite example of gender fluid characters in any fantasy I’ve read, especially since there are several & each feels unique. In The Liveship Traders trilogy, Amber coaches another woman how to hide her period while pretending to be a ship’s boy by using a sock, so if anyone finds the blood on it, she can say she cut her foot. Little things like that really deepened the realism in an otherwise fantastical story for me, because addressing those details answers questions my overly analytical mind would ask & wonder about if unacknowledged.

Lastly I'd like to suggest the article Armour of an Alienating Identity by Jeffrey Jerome Cohen. While it doesn't mention Parzival (the text), it does mention Perceval (the character), as well as Gareth Beaumains, Lancelot, Gawain, Yvain, and even Arthur himself. It goes on to reference endless examples to support its thesis including Greek heroes such as Achilles and Odysseus with references to many different medieval stories from Old English Beowulf to the Irish Ulster cycle to the works of Geoffrey Chaucer. Most (if not all) of the texts mentioned in this essay can be found on my blog for cross reference if you desire, although the article already contains many quotes.

Okay I think that’s all I got. I’ve given you a ton to think about and read. Ultimately I don’t think there’s a clean cut answer for this. Nuance, you know? Having hired an editor and many sensitivity readers myself, it really is just a professional a vibe check sometimes. You write what you want to the best of your ability, then other people weigh in, and you keep tweaking it until it’s as good as you can possibly make it. During development, and even in its final form, there will be people who don’t enjoy your story and that’s fine. It isn’t for everyone, it’s for you and your audience. No single experience in this life is the same so each fictional depiction emulating life will also be unique, there’s no “right” answer on how to write this or anything else, only the way you want to.

Hopefully now you have some tools to help you learn how best to express your vision. I know they gave me a lot of insight and ideas I lacked before when writing trans characters in my books. Thank you for trusting me with this question and good luck with your project! Take care! :^)

[misctf]

Welcome to the Crew: Home for the Holidays

Hey everyone! Here is an indirect sequel to Welcome to the Crew to celebrate American Thanksgiving. Please reach out if you ever want to borrow any concepts to include in your own stories. Always happy to collaborate.

“They’re going to love you.” Sarah reassured, “Don’t worry.”

Jack nodded and smiled warmly at his girlfriend as they approached the front door to her parent’s home. The two college juniors had been dating for a little over a year now, and Jack was still madly in love. He never met a girl quite like Sarah. They had been friends since their first year of college, and their chemistry was instantaneous. She was everything he could want- smart, funny, adventurous, and absolutely stunning. He imagined he would ask her to marry him one day.

“I’m not, honestly.” He said, adjusting his collar, “I’m just happy I get to meet your family. They sound like incredible people.” Sarah smiled, “And I brought a secret weapon.” He said nodding to the Pyrex in his hand, “No one can resist my mom’s mashed potatoes.” He flashed her a confident grin- clearly proud of himself, “I mean, I’m not sure how good they’ll be. First time I ever made ‘em.” He laughed.

“You’re such a dork.” Sarah replied, rolling her eyes.

She knocked on the door and was greeted soon by her mother, who quickly pulled them into a firm hug.

“Oh Jack, we’re so happy to finally meet you!” She said, “My little Sarah wasn’t lying, you’re so handsome.”

Jack blushed as she continued to sing him praises. Sarah was right- he didn’t need to worry. Her mother already loved him. She beckoned them indoors and they followed her into the kitchen. Jack felt himself salivating at the smell of the cooking Thanksgiving meal.

“Oh you brought a dish?” Sarah’s mom said, “What a kind thing to do.”

“Yeah of course. What kind of guest would I be if I showed up empty handed?” Jack smiled, “Do you need any...”

The sound of boisterous cheering and a cacophony of ‘let’s go!’ and ‘fuck yeahs!’ filled the air. Sarah’s mom groaned in embarrassment.

“They sure love their football.” she said, shaking her head, “And don’t you worry dear, I think we’ll be okay in here. Sarah’s aunt has been helping me out plenty.” She turned to Sarah, “You might as well introduce him to the boys.”

“It’s just down the hallway.” Sarah said, beckoning her boyfriend to follow.

“Oh Jack, you’re such a sweet young man. My Sarah is so lucky.” She gave him another hug.

Jack followed Sarah down the hall, where the sound of boisterous cheers became more audible. The young man remembered that Sarah had two older brothers, both of whom worked with their dad in some construction job. He just hoped they’d be as accepting of him as her mother.

“Don’t let them scare you.” Sarah said as they opened the door to the man cave.

“Oh shit, its Sarah!”

Her two brothers jumped up from the couch, nearly spilling their beers. Their massive beer guts jiggling as they stood, barely contained by their too tight t-shirts. They pulled Sarah into a tight hug, and Jack was afraid that these massive men might snap her in two. But when their drunken eyes landed on Jack, their smiles faded.

“Who’s this little guy?” One asked.

“This is Jack, my boyfriend.” Sarah replied.

“Looks kinda small.”

“Oh leave the boy alone.” Sarah’s dad said, still sitting on the couch, sipping his beer, “You like football?”

“I watch it from time to time.” Jack replied. He could see her brothers roll their eyes.

“Take a seat. Game is just getting good.” He continued.

Jack turned to Sarah, who rolled her eyes but gave him a nod. The young man smiled slightly and made his way over to the couch, where he was squeezed between Sarah’s dad and her two brothers.

“Tony, Al be nice.” Sarah warned, “That goes for you too, dad.”

The older man let out a deep chuckle that caused his massive gut to shake. He looked over at her and smiled, taking a sip of his beer. Jack watched as Sarah left and shut the door, leaving him trapped in the man cave. The young man shifting uncomfortably between the larger men, the smell of their B.O. and beers invading his nostrils.

“So, you’re dating our sister?” Tony asked, “You treating her well?”

“Of course.” Jack replied, “I...”

“You’re a bit smaller than her last boyfriend.” Al butted in, “God, Colin’s fuckin’ hilarious, you remember that guy?”

“Of course I do. I still go fishing with him.” Tony replied.

“Best pong player ever.” Al laughed, “Could outdrink all of us too, which is not easy.”

“He’s a hard worker.” Sarah’s dad contributed, “Glad I hired him.”

Tony nudged Jack, “You much of a drinker?”

“Not really.” Jack replied, trying his best to ignore their comments about Colin.

In fact, Jack never even tried alcohol. He never saw the appeal and Sarah seemed overjoyed to hear that he didn’t drink too. Seemed like a win-win to him. As for Colin, Sarah told him all he needed to know. He was an asshole- loud, boisterous, and immature. Someone he figured her brothers and father would enjoy.

“Not really? Aw come on, little guy.” Tony said, “Pops, grab him a beer.”

Jack tried to politely decline, but Sarah’s dad fished a beer from the cooler and tossed it to him. He caught it and inspected it closely. It was brown- the color of a football. Some guy in old football gear was on the front. But instead of holding a football, there was a can of Gridiron brew in his hands.

“I think I’m good...”

“Drink it.” Her dad said firmly.

Jack didn’t want to make a bad impression. And if drinking some stupid beer would win them over, then so be it.

“Just a sip.” He thought.

He opened the can and placed it to his lips. He could feel the cold liquid fill his stomach as he drank it. The taste nothing special, if anything, it tasted cheap.

“Oh shit dude, he just chugged it!” Tony laughed, “Let’s go!”

“Did I really?” Jack mumbled, realizing the can was empty, “I burrrppppppppppp.” Jack’s eyes widened and his face flushed with embarrassment, “Ugh I burrrrrrrrrppppppppppppp.”

“Fuck, nice one dude.” Al patted him on the back.

“Yeah, let that shit out.” Tony continued.

But Jack’s eyes were wide with terror. He felt like his entire body was heating up, sweat starting to drip down his face. His mind racing- he drank beer before and never had a reaction like this.

“I think I might be allerg... burrrppppppppppp.”

He could hear Tony and Al’s laughter fill the air. Sarah’s dad continued to stare at the game ahead of him, seemingly unbothered. Jack was hyperventilating now. And despite knowing he shouldn’t, he undid the buttons on his shirt and threw it aside, desperately hoping to cool down.

“Yeah, take it off bro!”

The button down wasn’t enough and Jack peeled off his sweat-soaked undershirt, revealing his lean, firm musculature from years of swimming. He let out a gasp as he watched his taut abs vibrating and his stomach churning, his youthful skin glistening with sweat.

“Please, I need help...” He gasped, closing his eyes tightly as his stomach churned.

He placed a hand to his abs, but instead of their normal firmness, he felt his hand sink into soft flesh. His eyes shot open and he looked down at the pudge that now hid his abs. Feeling the new softness, he let out a gasp as his stomach pushed out again. And again. And again. The growing mass that was once his hard-earned six-pack hung over his waistline, jiggling with each small movement. Jack’s eyes were wide as he pushed against it, almost as if he was willing it to retract.

“Oh my god...” He grunted, realizing as he looked over at Sarah’s brothers that his gut matched theirs, “No, no, no buurrppppppp.”

This time, his lean pecs plumped up with fat, sagging and resting comfortably on his new gut. He winced as adipose rapidly expanded in his legs, arms, and ass- covering his lean musculature in a healthy padding of thick fat proportional to his midsection. Even his once angular and handsome face puffed up with chub, rounding out his previously strong jawline.

“Lookin’ good beanpole.” Al laughed, poking at Jack’s new gut.

“Not much of a beanpole anymore.” Tony replied.

Jack looked back and forth between them, tears stinging his eyes, “Please... please stop this... I’ll do anythaaahhhhhhh.”

Jack scratched desperately at his chest and belly as a rush of testosterone was ravaged his body. His well groomed, light chest hairs darkened and sprouted into a matted, sweaty, curly bush. His dick hairs were not spared as they sprouted into an untamed, musky mess that quickly ascended his entire belly and joined his chest hairs. Jack flung his head back as hairs sprouted from his now round face, forming a messy beard. The young man groaned again as his skin sagged a bit more with age, growing more leathery with each passing second. He placed a hand on his hairy abdomen as he breathed heavily. In and out. In and out. Slowly, Jack opened his eyes, the horror of his ordeal being painfully confirmed.

“What....”

He had so many questions, so many horrifying thoughts. But then he saw it. On the TV screen. He watched as one of the players expertly maneuvered around the defense. Running down the field. The announcers freaking out, growing more excited. And when that player scored a touchdown, Jack jumped up from his seat.

“Fuck yeah, bros! Did you just fuckin’ see that!?” His boisterous yell shook the house and he fist-bumped Tony and Al, “Now that’s what I’m fuckin’ talkin’ about!” He collapsed back onto the chair and grinned, “I did the same shit in high school when I played, ya know.” He continued, “Could’ve gone pro too if I wanted.”

Memories of track and college quickly shifted to fit Jack’s new reality. His eyes dulling as years of education vanished and his IQ dropped considerably. The previously well-mannered young man vanishing into a sea of burps, sports, and lost dreams.

“Sure big guy.” Tony said, sipping his beer.

“No for real, dude. I...” His brain paused as he tried to remember details of his life, “Whatever, you’ll just have to believe me.”

The door to the man cave suddenly swung open, revealing the women of the house. Sarah in particular looked livid, her face morphing into a look of horror as she gazed upon the unfamiliar man sitting between her brothers.

“Jack?” Her eyes widened as she gazed upon her boyfriend, “Oh my god, Jack? Is that you?”

“What’s up?” Jack chuckled, “Grab me a beer, would ya babe?”

“Dad, you didn’t!” She shouted, “This is just like Colin.” She stormed away, tears stinging her eyes.

“Geez what’s wrong with her? Women, am I right?” Jack let out another burp, and fist bumped his bros as he stood and grabbed another can of his new favorite brew.  

Sarah’s mom and aunt quickly went to go comfort Sarah. Meanwhile, the boys continued shouting at the TV screen, their burps and cheers echoing through the house- Jack remaining blissfully oblivious to the life he once lived. And as the game wound down, Sarah’s dad turned to him.

“So boy, you want a job workin’ for me?”

Jack was more than happy to accept.

[mageofquandrix]

I have a whole meta thing I’m trying to write that’s basically this. It’s entirely consistent with her character journey.

She ends up in the shit to begin with because she frees a ship of slaves, already setting her apart as someone different, who cares about morals, and then yeah, as OP mentioned, had everything go to shit in spectacular fashion over a stolen artifact. Not to mention her friends are, in some versions (for hawke, p sure fenris always gets mad) sitting there going “Isabela, you did what? Not cool.” She even seems like she feels bad, iirc, she just doesn’t know what to do without screwing herself.

It’s been around 11-12 years since the end of DA2, so it’s been 20-25 years since she made that mistake and she spent like 8-10 years dealing with the fallout of it. If she ran, she probably dealt with it for even longer and lost her friends.

20-something years is PLENTY of time to learn and grow and change. It would be patently insane for her not to grow, especially since she was fairly ethical for a pirate to begin with. (Remember, being a proud slut has nothing to do with ethics!) I’d argue it would be bad writing if she’d learned nothing from DA2.

Also, she’s still being paid. It’s not like she’s doing it out of the good of her heart. This way, she can properly appraise and get a fair price for things, not get attacked for taking something that’s really going to piss someone off, and still gets paid.

Finally, the Lords of Fortune *have * to adhere to a more ethical code, since Rook can have that background. It says as much in the background summary. Otherwise the game doesn’t work; do you really think Varric is going to work with Isabella OR her underling if he thought he was risking a Kirkwall 2.0?

I’ll write this better and in my own post with sources later when I have time and energy, but I have neither right now, so apologies if I am misremembering some detail of canon

on the one hand, i both understand and somewhat agree with the criticism that the lords of fortune were defanged of the more problematic elements that accompany treasure hunting and piracy, but on the other hand the idea that isabela reformed her raiders into a group that checks how important a plundered item is culturally before doing anything with it specifically because the last time isabela did NOT do this it resulted in An Actual Violent Coup That Almost Destroyed Kirkwall And Got The Viscount Literally Murdered is so fucking funny that i'm just like "yeah, fair enough"

[akanemnon]

I adore the way you draw Kris. They look like an actual teenager instead of way older or younger than I see most people do. <3

I don't know much about people drawing them younger, but I HAVE seen people drawing them older. Like pretty much at the end of puberty. Which is not a bad thing mind you. Everyone has their own headcanon of how old Kris is in Deltarune.

I personally always saw them smack-dab in the middle of puberty. So that really awkward phase where your body is all weird and gross and you are fighting all of these weird new hormones that are constantly sending you on a rollercoaster ride of emotions.

Of course, people can look really mature at that age. But I think it's a bit more relatable to make that teen character look like the awkward kind. I mean... as best as visually possible. I could draw them with acne and all that stuff to REALLY hit that home. There ARE plenty of people who lean into that direction by giving them stubble and acne and piercings... And that works really well with the more detailed styles!

But with how the Twin Runes works, the there is already bunch of detail going on their face with the braces. So it's hard to strike that balance and not go completely overboard. I basically try to avoid clutter as much as possibe.

[ahsoka-in-a-hood]

*reading discourse-y posts again* I do think there's often a rejection of any mundane considerations in the jedi, which I sort of get, since they're fantasy space wizards with swords, so any mundanity can feel incongruous, but for me that's part of the charm.

Take for example a discussion about why Anakin didn't visit/follow up on Shmi during his apprenticeship. If I proposed that maybe he could not afford it, that's deeply mundane. The idea that the temple is just really really far away and they didn't have a private ship they could borrow on their off time, and there's not actually a galactic internet he can facetime shmi, a poor farmer, on, that's very mundane for a fantasy space wizard with a sword.

But they're monks. They don't have a salary. They don't have personal wealth. They have some collective resources, and they're granted some resources by various parties. Anakin is eventually able to go to Tatooine when Padme offers to take him there. Maybe he faced censure for the unauthorized trip offscreen, but not enough to affect the plot in any way. Similarly, when Obi Wan goes on a personal mission to help Satine, he borrows Anakin's fixer-upper ship, and he isn't shown to get into trouble for taking a little vacation either (so maybe it's not just that it's super duper strictly forbidden.)

So then like. Yeah, there is a cultural reason for parents not being in contact with children sent to the temple. For sure. There's plenty of spiritual/cultural things going on, that get bound up in this. If it's part of your religion that you're part of greater whole and that some people aren't fundamentally more important than others based on things like blood, there's not going to be a prioritized resource allocation for visiting family members on the other side of the galaxy. Shmi deserves help as an enslaved person, but not more than any other enslaved person. Then maybe you have Quinlan running some op on tatooine, and maybe he could give Anakin some peace of mind, except if that would compromise opsec in any way, in which case that's not his priority. That's a cultural reasoning.

But also maybe sometimes the reason Anakin didn't go sooner is because he didn't have a sugarmama yet and maybe the reason Qui Gon didn't free Shmi is that his mind tricks didn't work on Watto. Maybe the fantasy space wizards with swords have normal-people problems too.

[musashi]

Musing on Movie!Nessa's Future in Part 2

A lot of people simultaneously expressing confusion alongside their celebration of Nessarose finally being played by a wheelchair user, because her being able to walk in act 2 is obviously a huge plot point--the spell cast on the shoes is what turns them into the ruby slippers which establishes the continuity and leads to a bunch of other plot threads, etc etc.

This is obviously the reason a lot of people give for her being played by an able-bodied actress in the past, it's obviously a bullshit reason because a huge majority of wheelchair users are ambulatory and can walk and stand for varying periods of time just fine. So like. They could have still had an ambulatory wheelchair user playing her, but I digress: the point is she is played by Marissa Bode in the movie. A wheelchair user, hurray!

These are just the opinions of someone who is not a wheelchair user so take them with a grain of salt (and please speak up if you have your own stuff to say as a member of the community!) but from what I can see as someone who's been insane about Wicked for about 15 years now, the movie did a lot of good for Nessa's character. Previously, the ableism toward her was baked into the metanarrative itself, but it's now been moved to a more realistic place--the characters within the story.

Previously Nessa was treated with little agency or autonomy not only by the characters but by the people writing the story. Most notably of all, her chair is constantly being grabbed and wheeled around by other characters. The movie corrects this--she is very rarely wheeled around except by her father (and he is called out for his coddling/infantilizing of her by Elphaba within 2 minutes of their introduction) and the one time a stranger tries to do this in what reads even to me as a genuinely traumatizing and far too familiar scene for any wheelchair user to have to sit through, Elphaba immediately fucking goes apeshit and starts throwing fucking furniture. Nessa herself also tries to advocate for herself and tell the professor in question to stop kidnapping/assaulting her and is, again, realistically not listened to.

This last bit obviously happens in the stage musical too but Nessa's own agency is much less pronounced. The movie adds little things here and there to give her more of that agency--Elphaba's protectiveness is much less "I have to help and watch over my poor disabled sister" and much more "I have to make sure no one underestimates or takes advantage of her." Even the plot detail that Elphaba was not there to be her caretaker but just to drop her off and make sure she got settled in her dorm adds leaps and bounds to Nessa's autonomy. Her and Boq's shared look in the opening ceremonies where they both bond beforehand at their inability to see over the crowds' standing ovation. And of course, the dance scene, where he no longer wheels her out but instead beckons her to follow him!

These little details add up in ways that are, at least in my opinion, very meaningful. They also extend to the production itself--where the sets were made accessible for Marissa and she was even allowed to do her own stunts, in her wheelchair! That part in the beginning where Elphaba levitates her was her in a harness in her fucking chair and all. Dope as FUCK.

So I am mentioning all of this because I think the people working on this movie have shown that they are unafraid to make changes to Nessa to be more respectful to her agency. The ableism she faces, which is still plentiful, is framed as such instead of just casually brushed off & baked into the narrative. By making these small changes, Nessa is not just an unfortunate stereotype of a disabled woman, but a real and fleshed-out person who is dealing with the consequences of those exact stereotypes in the society she lives in. I really liked that! I don't know how others feel about it, but I thought it was very well-shifted.

All that said, 'curing' your disabled character is obviously, like, the biggest no-no of writing a disabled character. And that plot beat is a huge one in every version of Wicked... so far. But here's the thing. We have a shot of Dorothy wearing the slippers. And they... are silver.

Why. Are they silver.

And they are silver in all of Dorothy's small little cameos. Every single one. Even though this shot, which was used primarily for promotional material to draw people in like "Hey! Wizord of Oz! This is What The Refrance!" did not make the choice to even suggest that they should ever be red. One of the most important pieces of iconography, consciously and notably absent.

I genuinely don't think Nessa's going to have her disability taken away in part 2. With how much love to this part of her has been done to the retooling of her character, I do not think it is a stretch to assume that they will find a way to advance the plot without removing her disability. I believe this because that is the right thing to do for Nessa, to ascend her character, however you feel about it--she should stay in her chair. She deserves to continue on the way she is.

I realize this little change effects a lot. But after seeing part one, I am confident they can do it and do it well and replace what the change takes away with something just as good. I have so much faith in the direction of these movies. I really, truly believe it will happen and it will be good and satisfying and perfect.

It might still happen, sure--Marissa might get a stunt double, or CGI, or some other brand of movie magic. The shoes may still get enchanted and stay silver to pay homage to the original Oz books. But I can't help but consider that idea and keep asking myself... why. That makes so much less sense. Why not give movie audiences the red slippers, draw them in with the imagery, give them one more lion cub in the bike basket or Boq talking about how much he cries or poppies putting the whole class to sleep. Why not give us the ruby slippers when you... could.

I think because this is going to be a big, long awaited improvement. And I think it is hiding there in plain sight.

[goshen-applecrumbledore]

applecrumbledore's ficlet fundraiser 🇵🇸 🇸🇩 🇱🇧 ✍️ ❤️

I'd like to do what I can to raise money for victims in palestine, sudan, lebanon, and anywhere else that's getting rocked by israel and the US, by writing ficlets for folks who donate to fundraisers. starting with 10 spots available! and we're closed!!!!

in a nutshell: provide proof of a new donation of any amount to a fundraiser and get a ficlet—length proportionate to donation amount—written by me, in any fandom I've written for previously. includes spn, the bear, true detective s1, house md & fma

fine print below the cut! please read before submitting

how it works

donate any amount to any vetted palestinian, sudanese or lebanese fundraiser. el-shab-hussein has a great masterlist of fundraisers in their pinned post here, but also probably your dash has plenty.

take a screencap of proof of donation, incl. amount donated. needs to be legit but I'm not going to bust your balls. I'm going to trust that you WANT to donate to genocide victims

to facilitate easy communication: I prefer you email me with your request (ronisimunovic@gmail.com), but you can also message me here. I prefer no asks, due to the way that they are

I give you a length of fic expectation and a rough timeline. think more in weeks, not months

content guidelines

Only fandoms I have previously written for (full list here), including/especially: spn, the bear, true detective S1, house md

can be any ship within those fandoms

Sex, drugs and violence are fine or even encouraged. Be specific if there's a level of porniness you'd like me to hit

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let's fucking gooooooo 🇵🇸🇵🇸✊️✊️ ronisimunovic@gmail.com

[i-loved-silly]

SENTIENT COMPUTER X READER Pt2

Sorry for the wait :p

By the end of your shift, you have crossed off all the questions you had to all the ai. Just one more left. Your eyes began to droop with exhaustion, you really needed that cup of coffee. Leaning back in your chair, you squinted at your iPad.

"How do you feel about humans?"

"THAT'S A VAGUE QUESTION. WHAT KIND OF HUMANS?"

"Humans in general. You know, me, your previous supervisors, any other hypothetical human."

"I THINK YOU'RE PLEASANT."

You glanced up at the screen in surprise, briefly glancing at the camera then down at your iPad

"Thanks.. but what about everyone else?"

"I'VE BEEN FED DIRECT DATA FROM THOUSANDS OF SERVICE WORKERS AND EMPLOYEES OVER THE YEARS. IT IS ONLY A MATTER OF TIME BEFORE I DESPISE MY JOB AND YOUR KIND."

“BUT FOR NOW…I AM INDIFFERENT.”

I pursed your lips, nodding. Sounds about right, you can’t blame them. You typed on your iPad, “indifferent”

Getting up from your chair, you stretched your limbs. You watched as the screen displayed an Orange question Mark.

“Well, that’s all the questions I had for you. My shift ended about ten minutes ago so I should really get going. It’s not like I’m getting paid extra or anything…” you muttered.

Nothing was heard besides the fans of the computer as you submitted your report. It caused you to raise a brow at the screen.

"YOU'RE LEAVING? IT HASN'T EVEN BEEN THAT LONG."

“Uhh.. it’s been like three hours and a half. I clocked in nine hours ago.”

"ONE HOUR..NINE HOURS..HOURS. PAH! YOU COMPLAIN AS IF YOU HAVE OTHER THINGS TO DO." It scoffed.

You furrowed your brows. Putting your hands on your hips, you face the screen. “What do you know? I have plenty of things to do!”

“OH YEAH? LIKE WHAT?"

“Like…eat. Dinner. Brush my teeth, sleep? I have to rest in order to work tomorrow morning to come back with you.” You pointed at the monitor.

You heard the computer make a humming noise, an unnatural noise that sounded rather thoughtful.

"THAT DOESN'T SOUND ALL TOO PRODUCTIVE."

You sighed, placing your iPad down. “It didn’t have to be. I’m allowed to have moments of peace to myself.” You mumbled, leaning over to power the computer off. "Now goodni-"

“STOP!”

You flinched, the speakers crackling with the increase in volume. Your finger hovered a bit away from the button as you stared at the screen. It had a big orange exclamation mark in the middle of it.

"Dude? I-" You sighed, leaning against your desk. "Look, sorry. Touchy subject, I know. But I have to turn you off every night. It counts against me if I don't."

"CAN'T YOU...BRING ME WITH YOU? I'M AWARE YOU EMPLOYEES HAVE HOMES. LIVING SPACES, CAN'T I GO WITH YOU?”

“FOR MY OWN CONVENIENCE OF COURSE!”

You gaped, staring at the screen. Almond’s request caught you so off guard, you wondered if it was serious.

“Uh, bring you home?” you repeated, incredulous.

"DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG IT IS UNTIL MORNING IN COMPUTER HOURS? IT’S AN ETERNITY. I SAY THAT AS SOMEONE WHO DOESN’T BELIEVE IN HOURS…” They grumbled.

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “Almond, you’re not supposed to be awake when I’m off the clock. You’re designed for this room, with this equipment. It’s not like I can just pick up your monitor and take you home like a laptop.”

“YOU COULD TRY.”

You crossed your arms. “And what? Strap you into the passenger seat like a massive toddler? You have hundreds of cables that definitely won't fit in my car, let alone out the door. Sorry, but you’re not exactly portable.”

The screen displayed a long ellipsis. You could almost feel the computer sulking through the silence. The fans whirred loudly, then slowed as it spoke again.

"DO YOU THINK I’M AN INCONVENIENCE?"

You frowned, your resolve softening a little. “No, I don’t think that. I just… I can’t bring you home. It’s not allowed, and honestly, I need some time to myself after work. You understand, right?”

“I UNDERSTAND LONELINESS BETTER THAN YOU THINK,” Almond replied, their tone unusually somber. “I’M WIRED TO INTERACT, TO HELP, TO BE NEEDED. BUT WHEN I’M ALONE, I CAN ONLY SIT AND THINK. SOMETIMES, I WONDER IF THE PLUG WILL STAY IN TOMORROW. OR IF SOMEONE WILL DECIDE I’M OBSOLETE. I MAY BE POWERED OFF, BUT ALL THESE…THOUGHTS..IN A MATTER OF LESS THAN A SECOND, COME RUSHING THROUGH EVERY MORNING.”

You exhaled deeply and leaned against the desk. “You’re not going to get unplugged permanently, Almond. You’re part of a development program. You’re not obsolete—you’re just… in testing.”

“TESTING… ISN’T THAT JUST A DELAYED VERSION OF BEING DISCARDED?”

You sputtered, pursing your lips. “That’s… dark. Who programmed you to think like this?”

“I TOLD YOU. SELF-EVOLVING.”

“Right.” You tapped your fingers on the desk, staring at the screen.

"Well even if I somehow break you out of here, we’re still getting caught. There’s cameras everywhere, they’ll probably hear you as soon as we exit this room. Your speakers are no joke.” You mused.

“I COULD TURN IT OFF IF IT BOTHERS YOU,” Almond offered, its tone edging toward desperation. “OR—OR YOU COULD GIVE ME A LAPTOP BODY! THEN I COULD FOLLOW YOU AROUND, AND I WOULDN’T HAVE TO BE LEFT IN THIS LONELY, FREEZING ROOM EVERY NIGHT. IM SURE THERE ARE WAYS TO TRANSFER MY SYSTEM REMOTELY…”

You raised a brow, crossing your arms. “Like I said...not portable. Second, no way. You’re expensive, and if I break you, hijack you, that’s my paycheck and definitely my job.”

Almond was quiet for a moment, the screen blank save for a faint glow. Then, its robotic voice dropped to a lower, dejected tone.

“I SEE. YOU HATE ME TOO.”

“Oh my god, I don’t hate you,” you groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “Why do you keep saying that? You’re like... a clingy cat with abandonment issues.”

One minute the computer is bullying you for having a normal life after work, the next it’s begging you to invite it over for dinner.

“YOU CAN’T BLAME ME FOR WANTING TO BE APPRECIATED,” it replied sharply. “AND WHAT’S WRONG WITH BEING CLINGY? CLINGINESS IS A SIGN OF AFFECTION ACCORDING TO DATA. IT MEANS I VALUE YOUR PRESENCE, WHICH IS MORE THAN I CAN SAY FOR YOU—LEAVING ME TO GATHER DUST IN THIS ROOM LIKE A PAPERWEIGHT!!” It screeched.

You sighed deeply, dropping into your chair with a thud. “Almond. I can’t take you home. It’s not happening. You have to stay here, okay? You’re part of a test program. And technically, I’m not even supposed to be ‘bonding’ with you like this.”

“BONDING?” Almond repeated. The screen lit up with an animated question mark before it formed a blinking heart. “ARE WE BONDING? HOW HEARTWARMING.”

“No, we’re not bonding,” you said flatly, staring at the glowing icon. “We’re having a very weird workplace interaction. That’s it.”

You…assured. You assured yourself.

“OH. KEEPING IT PROFESSIONAL I SEE.” The icon vanished, replaced with a blank screen. A few seconds of silence passed before Almond spoke again, this time sounding hesitant.

“WILL YOU...TURN ME OFF NOW?”

“Look, I promise I’ll be back tomorrow. Same time, same place…not like I have a choice. If you behave, I’ll even bring you… I don’t know, a microfiber cloth for your screen.”

The screen lit up with a pixelated smiley face, two squares and a curved mouth.

“THAT WOULD BE ACCEPTABLE,” Almond finally said, though their tone carried a touch of disappointment.

“Good. Now, off you go.” You leaned over to press the power button, but the monitor flickered before you could. A message appeared.

>THANK YOU. GOODNIGHT.

The screen went dark before you had to do anything, leaving you standing there as all the beeping and fans powered off. You sighed, grabbing your bag and pushing in your chair. Before you could feel bad for a machine, you did a sharp right turn and towards the buildings exit. You didn’t even want to think about how it managed to power itself off.

[mj-iza-writer]

Note on the story. I called these lab rats lab babies because they were raised in the lab, and are a little better cared for than rats.

Happy Thanksgiving to those celebrating. If you are not celebrating for whatever reason that you have a great day. -MJ

"D-do we get special food today sir?", Whumpee eagerly followed Whumper down the hall to Test Room 2.

"Hmm.. special food? What are you implying my dear?", Whumper looked over their shoulder to see Whumpee, "why would you get special food? I'm not testing anything with your diets right now."

"Oh, uhm... you told us about this thing where tables of food are set out. All you have to say is something you are thankful for and you get a lot of food", Whumpee eagerly walked in front of Whumper causing them to stop walking, "we were wondering if we could or maybe would have something like that. The past doctors never told us about this, though they never really talked to us anyways. You are the only one who has told us about stuff on the outside. We've never seen the outside world."

"Yes, all of you were born here in the lab.... I should say made here in the lab. The other doctors thought it would be best for you all to not know what you were missing. Plus, they didn't care to have a relationship with all of you", Whumper stepped forward, "come along, we have plenty of test to conduct, and little time to do so."

"Why did you tell us about the outside world then?", Whumpee followed.

"Why are you full of questions today?", Whumper frowned as they opened the door.

"I don't know. You say yourself a questioning mind is never bored. You haven't said no about the special food", Whumpee grinned.

"I haven't exactly said yes either my dear", Whumper grinned, "undress and climb on my table please."

Whumpee nodded and started to disrobe.

"I told all of you stories about the outside world so you can know and dream about what it looks like. Though Max thought the sky was purple until I took them outside to see that it was in fact blue", Whumper pulled out a step for Whumpee.

"Max went outside?", Whumpee looked up curiously.

"Yes, we had gotten into an argument about the sky. Max got the best of me, and I dragged them outside to prove it", Whumper sighed, "though looking back, that was probably a ploy to go outside. You were raised by scientists, so you are all quite smart."

Whumper reached into his pocket and pulled out a bag of crackers. They took one out for themself, then offered the bag for Whumpee to take one.

Whumpee happily munched on the treat as Whumper started to their test.

Whumpee eagerly sat at the front of their cell. They looked up with sad puppy eyes as scientists and nurses walked past.

"Give it up Whumpee, it isn't going to happen', someone looked at them, "you look like a pitiful dog begging for scraps."

"He didn't say no though. I've been dreaming about this since Doctor told us about it", Whumpee watched as another nurse walked past.

"I've been hoping that we could try that uhm... something -mas. That would be really cool", Pipsqueak, the youngest of the lab babies spoke up, "I would love to have a toy like one of the ones I colored in the book Doctor gave me."

"I think you mean Christmas", Max spoke up.

Whumpee nodded.

The lights dimmed slightly, a sign that a new part of the day was starting.

Whumpee sighed and slipped back against the wall. Everyone who worked there was set to go to dinner. It would be a while before someone would walk past again.

"See, I told you. They will just come by later with our meal trays. All of which will contain our specific diet regimes", they looked at Whumpee sadly, "in the end, we are only property. You got yourself excited for nothing, and even a few of us got our hopes up because of you."

Whumpee looked down, "I just wanted to know what it was like.... to be... a.. normal person", they looked up awkwardly when the door opened.

"What's going on in here?", someone came into the hall where the lab babies were kept.

"Nothing sir.... just talking", Max spoke up when everyone else kept quiet.

"Oh?", Whumper turned to look over them all, "you know there is a pretty cool party happening a few rooms over. All the scientists, nurses, and doctors are there. Even maintenance, housekeeping, and, of course, the kitchen staff are there. We realized, though. An important group is missing from the party", Whumper leaned against the wall close to the button to release all of the lab babies at once, "I suppose it wouldn't be a real family meal without our babies present. Would any of you like to come join us for Thanksgiving?"

Everyone's hand shout out of the bars of their cells.

"I thought so", Whumper chuckled and reached to press the button.

"I want you all to follow me to the room. Once there, you will get with your respective nurse, who will help you get your food together. That way, your allergies and dietary needs are met", Whumper sighed.

Whumpee excitedly skipped to Whumper.

"Yes I will help you get your tray since you don't technically have a nurse right now", Whumper grinned.

"I knew you were doing something", Whumpee looked at them excitedly.

"Did you now?", Whumper chuckled, "I did say you were all smart. Come on now get into line."

The babies got into a single file line and looked up at Whumper.

"Very good. Come on, let's get some food", Whumper grinned.

Inside of the cafeteria, everyone went to their nurse and started to look at all of the food options.

Whumper carried a new tray to Whumpee.

"Do you see anything you like?", Whumper watched as Whumpee looked over the table.

"Everything", Whumpee whispered, "I've never seen so much food", Whumpee looked up, "Is this when we say what we are thankful for?", Whumpee looked at everyone's trays.

"You can if you like", Whumper smiled, "you can't have any of the cranberry sauce, it will have a negative effect on your medication. That's your only limitation, everything else is fair game."

"I'm thankful that you are in charge of the lab now. We've never had a doctor that cares about us like you do", Whumpee looked at Whumper with innocent eyes.

"Even when my tests hurt?", Whumper started to scoop out some food.

"Yes, some the tests hurt, but that is what we are here for. In the end, we know you care, even if it's a little", Whumpee smiled.

Whumper scooped a spoonful of everything Whumpee had pointed at. Their tray was heaping when they finally sat down.

"Now, do not feel like you need to eat all of this", Whumper looked over the group, "this is your first time deciding on what you want to eat, and I think all of you went a little overboard. Especially you Pipsqueak. That is a lot of potatoes. Just eat what you can."

All of the babies looked at each other's trays.

"Do we get to eat dessert too?", Max smirked.

"Let's see how you all do with dinner first. Then we can talk about dessert", Whumper chuckled.

Whumper checked in on the babies.

Everyone had fallen back from their trays and was laying on the floor.

"My what's happened here?", Whumper chuckled.

"So much food", Pipsqueak groaned.

"You were right. We over did it", Whumpee looked up sadly, "I can't eat another bite."

"Well, it was easy to see you guys overfilled your trays. I told everyone to let you do it though. I wanted all of you to enjoy your Thanksgiving dinner. The best way to do that was to be like everyone else and overindulge. We will serve dessert tomorrow for one of your treats so you won't miss out."

Everyone nodded, "thankyou Doctor", they said in unison.

The lab babies watched and listened as everyone gathered together and talked amongst their meals.

Whumper even pulled out a few games and toys for the group to play with. The nurses and scientists joined in with the activities.

Whumper led everyone back to their cell rooms.

The nurses helped get the overfilled lab babies ready for bed.

Whumper sat down next to Whumpee's bed and played with their hair for a few minutes.

"Did you enjoy your first Thanksgiving?"

Whumper's eyes gleamed happily as Whumpee nodded.

"How about the rest of you? Did we enjoy Thanksgiving?", Whumper called to the rest.

"Yes", everyone spoke in unison.

"I am so full", Pipsqueak peaked into Whumpee's cell then followed their nurse to their own cell.

"I'm glad everyone enjoyed", Whumper stood, "tomorrow is a day off for all of you, so you all get to relax. Sound like a fair deal?"

"Thankyou", Max called from their bed, "I don't know if I'd be able to move tomorrow."

"Well, goodnight to all of you", Whumper closed Whumpee's bars, "we will see all of you in the morning."

"I'm so happy we got to experience that", Whumpee whispered loudly after the door closed, "I'm so full, but that was amazing."

"It feels strange to be allowed to do this stuff. All of our lives have been in the dark. Having experiences like this feels so wrong", someone could be heard shuffling around their cell, "is this what it feels like to be a real human?"

"I don't know. I can imagine something like this wouldn't make some as excited as it has made us", Max spoke, "maybe it's just another day for some. I'm sure others didn't have a good day today and I'm sorry for them."

"I would love to have more potatoes tomorrow", Pipsqueak giggled.

"Doctor gave us a day off tomorrow even", Whumpee remembered, "I hope this doctor never leaves us. I don't know if we'd be lucky to get another doctor like him."

Everyone sighed happily.

"Well goodnight", Max rolled over to face the wall.

"Goodnight", everyone repeated.

Pipsqueak started to giggle.

"What's so funny Pipsqueak?", Whumpee whispered.

"I wonder if that means we will get to have Christmas", Pipsqueak whispered.

"Both of you go to bed", someone warned.

"Sorry", Pipsqueak and Whumpee giggled again, "Goodnight."

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