#that moment has literally stuck with me for over a decade

[retquits]

there's something about characters who never show any vulnerabilities, any gaps, any weaknesses, any exhaustion, being shown sleeping. there's just SOMETHING about it

[pixelateddragonet]

Hate that the sick 12 year old is the most reasonable person in the house rn

[smystermy]

𝐤𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐨𝐬

tags: geto suguru x you; gojo satoru x you; set before the star plasma vessel incident; senpai x kouhai; first meetings; “koi no yokan” (literally, 'premonition of love'); you've been childhood friends with gojo and utahime.

warnings: Love Triangle. she/her pronouns have been used for the reader.

word count: 1922.

oneshot, loosely related to 'peel your heart like a pomegranate'.

The first time Geto Suguru meets you in person, it’s on a quiet, cloudy afternoon at the edge of a cursed village.

He’s seen you before, yes, though only in passing—fleeting moments that didn’t really give him the chance to form an impression. There was that one time you trailed behind Gojo with a lazy smile, hands tucked casually in your pockets, letting him do all the talking. Another, when he saw you quickly swept away by Utahime, who muttered something about not having time for your “backtalk today.”

Those moments had been brief, however, no more than glimpses of who you were. This, though—this is different. This is the first time he’s going to meet you properly.

Although, Gojo has made it impossible for you to be anything but familiar already.

“She’s insane, Suguru,” Gojo had said once, sprawled on the steps of the school’s courtyard, his arms flung dramatically over his head. “I mean, precision doesn’t even begin to describe her. She’s like... like someone who’s been fighting curses for decades, not someone who’s just fifteen. No hesitation, no wasted movement—it’s kind of beautiful to watch.”

Geto had snorted, tilting his head at the exaggerated praise. “Beautiful? You sound smitten.”

“No, no, it’s not like that.” Gojo sat up quickly, a rare flush creeping up the back of his neck. “I just mean... well, okay, yeah, she’s beautiful too. But not in that obvious, in-your-face way. It’s more like... you notice her once, and then you can’t stop noticing her. Every time you look, it’s like she’s just... prettier somehow. And it’s not fair, because she doesn’t even have to try.” He waved a hand helplessly, as if the words were stuck on the tip of his tongue. “It’s like... everything about her just fits. Like it was always supposed to be that way.”

Geto had raised an eyebrow at him, amused. “So now you’re a poet?”

“Shut up, Suguru. I’m just saying, she’s... something else, okay?” Gojo’s voice had turned soft near the end, the kind of softness he rarely let anyone hear.

It was then that Geto knew: Gojo was a goner, even if he didn’t realize it himself.

Utahime, for her part, had offered her own take, though hers was more grounded.

“She’s blunt as hell,” she’d said one evening while grading papers, her tone filled with fond exasperation. “The kind of girl who’ll tell you exactly what she thinks, whether you’re ready to hear it or not. It’s refreshing at first, but after the third or fourth time, you start to wonder if she’s ever heard of tact.” She paused, tapping her pen against the table. “Still, she’s got this weird way of making up for it. Like, she’ll say something sharp and then do something thoughtful, like making tea or apologizing in the most awkward way possible.”

Geto had smiled at that. “Sounds like she keeps you on your toes.”

“She does,” Utahime had admitted with a small laugh. “But honestly? It’s hard not to like her. She’s a pain in the ass, but she’s got heart. She reminds me of an annoying little sister—the kind you complain about but would still fight for without question.”

Between Gojo’s glowing admiration and Utahime’s begrudging fondness, Geto had formed a picture of you in his mind. A sharp, confident girl with no patience for pretense, someone who could command a room without even realizing it. But standing here now, watching you from a distance, he realizes that picture doesn’t quite capture you.

You’re leaning against a crumbling torii gate, arms loosely crossed as Haibara recounts a story, gesturing animatedly. Nanami stands nearby, his expression unreadable as usual, but there’s a subtle shift in his posture that suggests he’s listening.

“You’re calling me too critical now?” you say, your tone sharp but edged with playful defiance. “I’m just saying, you wouldn’t have ended up on your face if you’d dodged faster. It’s not that hard.”

Haibara groans, but his grin stays firmly in place. “Easy for you to say! You didn’t have a cursed spirit throwing rocks at you!”

“Because I was busy dealing with the other three,” you retort, shrugging one shoulder. “What, you want me to do everything for you?”

Nanami sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You could’ve at least warned him about the second curse.”

“I’m not a babysitter,” you reply matter-of-factly. Then, with a crooked smile that softens the bluntness of your words, you add, “Besides, he survived. Didn’t you, Haibara?”

Haibara laughs, and even Nanami exhales a quiet breath that might almost be a chuckle.

Geto lingers for a moment, observing.

You look younger than he had imagined, yet there’s an unpolished ease to the way you carry yourself—a confidence that feels entirely genuine. You’re sharp, just as Gojo and Utahime had described, but there’s an undeniable warmth that follows you, slipping through in the curve of your smile or the quick wit of your jokes.

Finally, he steps forward, making his presence known. “Looks like everyone’s warmed up,” he says, his voice cutting cleanly through the conversation.

All three of you turn to look at him, but it’s your reaction that draws his attention.

Your eyes meet his, and for a brief moment, your expression freezes—a fleeting pause, like something inside you has stirred, but you can’t quite pinpoint what. It’s subtle, almost imperceptible, but Geto notices: the slight softening of your sharp gaze, the way your stance shifts, almost imperceptibly, as though you’re recalibrating yourself.

“Geto Suguru,” he says, his voice calm but commanding as he offers a polite smile. “I’ll be leading this mission.”

“Oh,” you reply, almost under your breath, a touch of surprise in your voice. It’s as if you weren’t expecting him to look the way he does or sound as he does. For just a second, you seem caught off guard—like something about him doesn’t align with your expectations.

But then, just as quickly, you regain your usual composure. “Right. Good to meet you, Geto-senpai.”

Your voice is steadier now, but something in it has changed—softer, maybe, though not in an overly obvious way. It’s the kind of change that lingers just beneath the surface.

Geto notices the way your eyes brush over him, subtly studying the way his sleeves shift as he folds his arms, the ease in his stance as he surveys the group. You don’t seem aware of it, but there’s an undeniable attention in the way your gaze lingers—faint, persistent, like a shadow that follows his every move.

The mission begins shortly after, and if Geto had any doubts about your abilities, they’re quickly put to rest.

From the moment the first cursed spirit appears, you’re in motion—sharp, precise, as if the battlefield is an extension of you. Every strike lands with pinpoint accuracy, every technique executed with the kind of fluidity that comes only from years of practice. There’s no hesitation, no wasted effort. Gojo’s words echo in his mind: "She’s incredible. You should see her fight."

And Geto finds himself in full agreement. You move like it’s second nature, almost instinctual, and he watches in quiet admiration. Gojo wasn’t lying about that, not for a second.

But what surprises him more, what makes him lean in even closer to the scene, is the way you carry yourself during the battle. You’re fierce, no doubt—but you’re not reckless. No impulsive moves, no brashness. It’s as if you’re constantly measuring your energy, reserving your focus for the most critical moments. Your blunt personality is evident in your style: no unnecessary flourishes, no grand gestures. Every motion is deliberate, calculated—a perfect blend of raw skill and careful control. It’s not flashy—it’s effective. And Geto can’t help but respect that.

What catches his attention, though, is the subtle, almost imperceptible way you keep glancing at him in between moments of combat.

It’s not often, but it’s there—when you’re taking a breath, when you’re regrouping after a fight. Your eyes flick in his direction, lingering for a fraction of a second too long. At first, Geto wonders if it’s just a coincidence, but as the mission wears on, he realizes it’s deliberate.

It’s not the wary, calculating gaze of someone sizing up a threat. Nor is it the casual curiosity of a teammate just checking in. No, it’s something else—something deeper. Your gaze holds a kind of quiet intensity, as if you’re trying to understand something about him, something you can’t quite put into words yet. Geto can’t place it, but there’s a pull in it, an awareness of him that feels... different. And it catches him off guard each time.

The mission concludes soon after, and with it, the weight of the battle begins to lift from the air, even though its remnants still linger.

Nanami is discussing the finer details of the exorcism with precision, analyzing what went well and what could have been sharper, his tone professional. Haibara, on the other hand, is cracking jokes—his laughter a welcome contrast to the grim task they just finished. His voice is easy, his energy infectious, and for a moment, the tension of the mission seems a distant memory.

You, however, stand a little off to the side, slightly closer to Geto than to the others. It doesn’t seem to be a deliberate distance, though; more like a quiet choice on your part, as if giving the moment time to settle inside you. You don’t seem upset, just... reflective.

Your usual sharpness is tempered, and Geto notices the subtle tension in the way you adjust your gloves, the way your fingers fiddle with the fabric—something that feels unlike you. Normally so direct, you seem quieter now, your focus turned inward, as if trying to channel the lingering energy of the fight into something more.

He wonders, though, if your mind is still locked in battle mode, processing what just happened, or if something else is at play—something that hasn’t quite settled for you. He watches for a beat longer, noticing the way your eyes flick to him before quickly darting away—

“You did well today,” Geto says, his voice low but purposeful, drawing your attention. He glances down at you, a rare softness in his tone, which he quickly masks with his usual calm demeanor.

You look up at him, blinking as though his words caught you by surprise, as if you hadn’t been expecting him to speak directly to you, or maybe... something else.

For a brief moment, there’s a flicker in your eyes—a shift that only lasts a second—but it’s enough for Geto to notice. Then, just as quickly, you shake it off, nodding in response with a faint smile tugging at your lips. “Thanks, Senpai. You too.”

He chuckles softly, amused by the sincerity in your voice, your straightforwardness that never seems to waver, even when it’s softened by something else. It’s not a display of emotion—just simple acknowledgment, honest and to the point. There’s no pretense, no artifice, and it’s one of the things Geto appreciates about you. It feels real, grounded in something genuine.

As the team prepares to head back, though, something about you continues to linger in Geto’s mind. It’s a feeling he can’t quite name, something that tugs at the edge of his thoughts. Quiet, subtle, like a whisper he can’t quite catch, but it’s there…

As you walk ahead with Haibara and Nanami, laughing at something one of them said, Geto finds himself watching you more intently than he expects—all the while wondering why.

general masterlist || geto suguru masterlist || gojo satoru masterlist

[podiumackles]

the moments that stay (they turn out all wrong)

In which the man she could never forget suddenly turns up at her cell, but he has no remembrance of the woman in front of him. And the moments that stayed with her for decades, turn out to be her memories only.

series masterlist

CHAPTER 1

A/N: New fic? New fic! This man has me in a chokehold, I'm not even going to lie. I will try to actually finish this one. promise. English isn't my first language!! apologies in advance.

Outlines: After being his sidekick in Payback for years, you-better known as your supename Fury-ended up on the same end of Soldier Boy's violence as every other person. What you didn't realise, however, was that your old team had set you both up for betrayal, right when you thought you were helping them in getting him. After decades of being stuck in Vought's testing lab, you heard Soldier Boy got out. But the man who appeared in front of your cell wasn't the man you knew.

Warnings: not much in this chapter. hostage holding, mentions of being a lab rat, violence, swearing, soldier boy (yes, this man should be considered a warning). possibly wrong storytelling in lines of the canon events. I'm not that good at remembering, guys. and the boys was just kinda complicated. forgive me.

Solitude. Besides the regular visits from the scientists, you hadn’t seen a single person in over thirty years. Or was it forty? In all honesty, you had lost count after the first ten.

The bright light flickered as you leaned against the cold, metal wall of your cell, memories swirling like ghosts in your mind. Once, you had been a soldier. A person with a voice. But all that was ripped away when Vought was done. When they handed you to the Russians. When they completely stripped you of your identity and ripped you from your life as a hero.

Your train of thought was interrupted by a loud clamp, the creaking of a metal door, followed by heavy footsteps. There was no access to time in your cell, but it wasn't hard to recognize patterns and count the hours you were up for the next experiment.

And now was not that time.

As the door creaked open, a shadow fell across your cell. You squinted against the harsh light to focus on the figure standing there, face illuminated by the LED lights above him. Your heart rate picked up slightly, and you unwillingly tugged against the restraints keeping you chained to the floor.

Memories flooded back — laughter shared in the trenches, the camaraderie of battle, the promise of loyalty. But that was before Vought twisted everything into a nightmare. Before he got rid of all that was between you.

As Soldier Boy stepped closer, you realized it was only a shell of the man you once knew. His eyes, once filled with the tiniest bit of kindness towards you, were now clouded with confusion.

With force, you tried to speak up, but quickly realised you hadn't truly uttered anything except screams in a while.

“Well, if it isn't the man who got away.”

Ben looked around before he approached your cell, the glass door the only separation between you. You took the opportunity to look at him properly. This certainly was the man you had once fought alongside, but even if he had been held captive for decades, his features hadn't changed much. His auburn hair was now slightly longer, and a neatly trimmed beard covered the lower half of his face.

“Who the hell are you?” His words stung like a knife, and for a second, you felt like he might as well have hit you with his heavy shield.

“Right. They made you forget,” you murmured as you tore your gaze away from him, head leaning back against the cold wall. “Typical Vought.”

“I’m asking you one more time, lady,” he shot you a daring glance, as if trying to project his dominance despite the fact you were literally locked up. “Who the hell are you? Are you Vought’s newest lab rat?”

“Don’t call me a damn lab rat.” You spat shortly, pointing at nobody in particular.

Ben furrowed his brow, his confusion deepening as he studied you, the spark of recognition failing to ignite in his eyes. The man you had once known—had once fought beside—was buried beneath decades of manipulation, both of your bodies now broken artefacts in Vought's collection.

“They told me you got out, you know,” you started as you realised he wasn't going to speak up first. “Hell, they let me feel that you escaped the labs.”

Ben's face twisted, the sharp edge of suspicion cutting through his once-confident demeanour. He narrowed his eyes as if searching your face for something he should remember but couldn't grasp.

“I don’t care who they told,” he took another step forward, his boots echoing in the empty hallway. The only view you’ve had for decades. “Especially not if they told some rogue kid.”

“Read my fucking sign, Ben. My date of birth is literally there.” You spat, emphasising on his name. Of course, he wasn’t aware you knew of that. Nobody did. Except for his team. Except for you.

“What the fuck did you just call me?”

Before you could even answer, another set of heavy boots entered the room.

“Oi.”

Ben's eyes darted to the newcomer, who emerged from the shadows at the doorway. The figure was stocky and imposing, his gruff voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

The bearded man couldn't resist looking at the sign, whereas Ben chose to ignore it. “Fury,” he stated matter-of-factly as he took his place next to Soldier Boy. “They told everyone you died, you know? But then again, Vought is very good at convincing.”

The name felt foreign to you now, like a relic from another life. Fury—back when you had a purpose. When you weren’t just an experiment trapped in this cold prison of time. But the name still held power. It connected you to a past they had tried to erase, a past Ben was now seemingly detached from.

You studied the newcomer. His presence exuded dominance in a way that Soldier Boy’s arrogance couldn’t touch. Where Ben was brash and impulsive, this man seemed calculating, like he could snap you in half with a flick of his wrist but would choose not to—for now.

"Who are you?" you rasped, your voice a broken shadow of what it once was. You didn't recognize him, but there was something about him that made you wary.

"Name's Butcher," he replied, his gaze not leaving you. “And we’re here to retrieve you.

Butcher’s cold stare seemed to cut right through you, his posture rigid and alert as if he expected you to lash out at any moment. The way he carried himself was different from anyone else you had seen in these halls. He wasn’t afraid of Vought—or of you.

After the words had left Butcher’s lips, Soldier Boy seemed to snap, and he was not afraid to show it. The way he grabbed the collar of the man next to him made you flinch. It wasn't like you've never seen Ben lash out before, but it never failed to make you tense just the tiniest bit. Being brought back to the time when you were on the receiving end.

“What the fuck are you talking about, Butcher?”

Butcher didn’t flinch as Soldier Boy grabbed him, his face betraying nothing but a cold, calculating smirk. He met Ben’s glare head-on, the tension between the two men growing thicker with each passing second.

“Easy there, mate,” Butcher said, his voice as casual as if they were discussing the weather. “You’re all pent up, I get it. But this ain’t the time for a bloody tantrum.”

Ben’s grip tightened, his nostrils flaring as he leaned in closer, his breath hot with barely restrained rage. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, Butcher, but I’m not here for your shit. What the hell do you mean ‘retrieve her’? We were here to retrieve information on how to take down Vought.”

Butcher’s eyes flickered toward you, and he spoke as if you weren’t still bound in chains, trapped behind glass. “Vought’s been keeping her under wraps for a long time. You want to take down Vought? There’s your information. And now we’re here to pull her out. Simple as that.”

You shifted uncomfortably in your restraints, your wrists raw from years of confinement. "What do you want?" you asked, your voice low but steady, trying to hold onto whatever strength you had left.

Butcher’s lip curled slightly, his eyes narrowing as soldier boy set a couple of steps back reluctantly.

"What do I want?" he echoed as if amused by the question. "I want the same thing you do. To watch Vought burn to the ground.”

“What’s in it for you?” you only dared to ask. Butcher chuckled darkly, his gaze sharpening as he locked eyes with you.

"What's in it for me? Oh, love, let's just say I've got a personal stake in seeing Vought crumble into dust. But I ain't here for a heart-to-heart. I'm here because you and him, Fury, might be the key to blowing this whole bloody operation wide open."

His words hung in the cold air of the cell, heavy with promise and menace. He wasn’t just some random mercenary or someone acting out of charity—this was personal for him. Soldier Boy, still tense and bristling beside him, seemed less convinced.

“You’re saying she’s got intel on Vought? Enough to take them down?” Soldier Boy’s voice had a sceptical edge to it as if he didn’t quite believe this was worth the trouble.

Butcher shot him a sidelong glance. "More than intel. You and her are living proof of what Vought’s done in secret for decades. And Fury here—she's one of their finest projects."

The way he said “projects” made your skin crawl, reminding you of the years spent under Vought’s control, your abilities twisted, and exploited. But you pushed the feeling down, focusing instead on the conversation.

Butcher leaned in closer to the glass, his voice dropping low. "Vought’s been running a program, a little something they like to keep off the books. Soldiers, supers, experiments—the whole works. They’ve been breeding killers, Fury. And you—you’ve been in the belly of the beast long enough to know exactly what they’ve been up to."

You clenched your jaw, old anger bubbling to the surface. “They don't tell me anything.” you admitted, your voice rough. You didn't want this. You didn't want to be back with him.

But most of all, you just wanted out. You didn't care who you had to betray to make that work.

“But I picked up enough.” It was a simple lie you had told. Of course, you knew what Vought had been up to. You and Ben had been living proof of it. But you knew better than to turn against the people who experimented on you in the first place. You just wanted revenge on the reason you were here.

Butcher’s smile turned vicious. “That’s all I need to hear. You tell us what you know, and we’ll make sure Vought pays for every bloody thing they’ve done to you. To all of us.”

Soldier Boy crossed his arms, clearly still on edge. “And what makes you think she’s gonna play along? She’s been locked up here for god knows how long. Might be more Vought’s weapon than you think.”

“So were you, mate.”

You locked eyes with Ben, a flood of bitter memories surging up as you spoke. "You really don't remember, do you?" The weight of your words hung heavy between you.

Butcher interrupted, his voice cold and calculating. "Whether you like it or not, we could use ‘er. You might not remember, but I reckon she’s got more to offer than just bein’ another lab rat."

"Shut the fuck up," Ben snapped, his voice wavering with frustration. "If I don’t know her, I don’t care. End of story."

But it wasn't the end for you.

It would never be the end for you.

You took a deep breath. "Let me out," you demanded, the last ounce of your strength fueling your voice. "And we take down Vought, together."

Ben shot you a look, his expression hardening. "Why should I trust you?"

You met his gaze, unflinching. "Because, like it or not, I’m the only one who remembers who we really are."

A tense silence filled the room as the weight of your words settled in. Butcher crossed his arms, a crooked smile tugging at his lips. "Well, then. What’s it gonna be, Soldier Boy?"

“I don’t fucking care. Figure it out.”

His words were sharp. Short. And not a single ounce of caring outlined the roughness of them.

With that, he straightened his back, tightened his grip on his shield, and left the room.

“So,” Butcher said, his voice cutting through the lingering tension. “How about we get you out of those bloody chains, and you tell us what Vought’s been hiding all this time?”

You didn't dare to have hope. But you dared to feel the slightest bit of fury.

A/N: i know she's short. and i know this might probably not make a whole lot of sense?? but i try. it's been so long that i've written that it still feels kinda foreign, so feedback is greatly appreciated!

thanks for reading <3

[whiskeyghoul]

Green green dress || [Spencer Reid x F!Reader] Pt.1

A/N: watched tick tick boom again and this song has been stuck on repeat in my mind so please enjoy the ramblings of a woman possessed. 

Read pt.2 here

Tags: Established relationship, female reader, no y/n, fluff, mentions of smut? more like alluding to smut, BAU reader, tick tick boom reference. MDNI.

Wordcount: 1.4K

Your hands smoothed over the non existent wrinkles of your dress. Dark, emerald green and velvet. It hugged every curve of your body just right, complimenting your natural shape so well. Emily, JJ, and Penelope had convinced you to buy it on one of the few girls days you had together. One where dress shopping was necessary for your evening out in a bar. It had been a risky pick, different from your usual attire and the plunging neckline was something you hadn’t dared to wear before. It was just a bit too out there to be worn casually, so it had hung in your closet, waiting for the perfect opportunity to wear it.

What better opportunity than an end of year party at the Rossi house hold? Where the Christmas lights would still be up, creating the perfect ambiance with the soft music that carried throughout the house. The decadent food, expensive wine, and the perfect atmosphere. With Spencer as your date you were more than excited for the evening. 

You picked up the dark plum lipstick that sat on the vanity with your other makeup, applying a quick swipe to your lips and pressing them together. “Are you almost ready?” Spencer called from down the hall. You could hear his footsteps move closer to your shared bedroom in his apartment. He’d given you the space to get ready while he sat and read one of his many books. “Almost, love.” You called back, placing the lipstick back down and fussing with your hair a bit. Trying to get it to fall just right. Perfectly effortless wasn’t as effortless as you had hoped. The door creaked open, Spencer walking in and stopping in his tracks in the door opening. 

You turned your head, looking at Spencer who stood frozen in place, hands stilled as he had been fixing his tie. His eyes focussed on you, almost entranced as he took you in. “Spence?” You asked, wondering if you had perhaps gone too out there. Like you had overdressed for some reason. You didn’t think you had. Now, a bit unsure of yourself, you got out of your chair, walking a bit closer. “Wow…” Spencer breathed out. Relief washed over you. “You had me worried for a second.” You admitted, a nervous smile playing on your lips. “Worried? You look stunning. I think you literally took my breath away just now.” Spencer rambled as he finally found his voice again. Eyes lingering on your body, taking you in as you move closer to him. His hands reach out, pulling you towards him by the waist. “I thought I overdressed.” You added, hands landing on his chest and smoothing over his suit jacket until you laced your fingers behind his neck. The hairs in his nape brushing against your skin. 

Spencer seemed to think for a moment, “Maybe you did, I think we should just stay home. It would be embarrassing to outshine everyone.” He stated, pulling your body against his. Seemingly completely enthralled by your look. A small laugh escaped you. The underlying motive to his words was clear enough. He’d rather forgo the party if it meant he could be the one taking off your dress right now. “Oh no, I did not take all that time to get ready to not be seen.” You scolded gently, playfully even. “I see you.” Spencer quickly retorted. He leaned in, quickly capturing your lips with his own to stifle any protest you would throw at him. You melted into the kiss, tightening your hands to hold Spencer closer. His hands tightened in the fabric of your dress, causing it to rise slightly exposing more of your stockings. 

You pulled away slightly from the kiss, hands moving down to cover Spencer’s. “We’re going to be late.” You whispered, lips ghosting over his lips. He breathed out through his nose, his grip loosening on your dress. “Let's be late for once.” He whispered. His eyes were filled with lust as he looked at you. You trailed your right hand up his arm, to finally reach his face, gently swiping your thumb over his lips to remove the lipstick you had left behind. His lips parted slightly, almost involuntarily before he kissed the pad of your thumb. His eyes are big, looking at you pleadingly. “Please?” he said. It was hard to say no to him, especially when he sounded so sweet. You’d give him anything he wanted if you could.

“I’ll do anything you want when we come home. We can’t miss this one, everyone will be there.” You said, not wanting to give in to his every whim. It was going to be a special evening after all. You didn’t want to miss it. You didn’t want to miss Rossi’s cooking if you were really honest. “Anything?” Spencer raised his brows slightly, you knew there were millions of things running through his head at that moment. “Anything.” You repeated with a grin. He released your dress, seemingly content with your promise of anything he’d desire, just later in the evening.

You quickly leaned up, pecking his lips in a quick kiss. Leaving another dusting of plum lipstick on his lips. “Let’s go, before we’re too late.” you added, turning away from Spencer and leaving the bedroom. His footsteps followed you to the front door, where your heels had been parked and waiting for you. Quickly sliding them on with practiced ease. Spencer held out your coat, ready to slide it on for you like he often does. “I still think we should stay home.” Spencer commented as you moved your arms into the jacket sleeves. He pulled it over your shoulders as you laughed in response to his comment. “We’ll stay home all day tomorrow too. So please, let’s have this dinner.” You said as you took his hand, lacing your fingers together, leading him out the front door and to his car. 

Arriving at David’s house went smoothly, you were a bit later than you hoped and saw the multitude of cars already parked in the driveway to the house. Lights lined either way of the walkway up to the house where the deck was lit up with twice as many lights as usual. The smell of pork and greens wafted from the house signaling dinner was being made. You walked up with Spencer, his hand on the small of your back as he guided you to the front door. Before you could even knock the door swung open with David in the opening, welcoming and ushering you inside. “Sorry we’re late.” You apologized, it was only 10 minutes after the agreed upon time but you still felt slightly bad. “Don’t sweat it, I’m sure you had to take some time to get ready. Would you like something to drink?” David immediately offered, guiding you to the living room after you hung your coats away.

Spencer’s hand was back on your waist, holding you closer to him as you walked. It was different. Yes he was often quite touchy with you but this was an unusual amount of affection. The chatter from your colleagues came from the living room, the lights were dimmed to enhance the cozy atmosphere. The two of you entered the room, the warmth inside put a blush on your face. “Finally you’re here!” Penelope exclaimed from her spot next to Derek, getting up and pulling you in for a hug. “You say it like we made you wait an hour.” Spencer chuckled before greeting the others. “It felt like it.” Penelope chided before she finally let you go. “Look at you, in the dress and everything! Gorgeous!" She complimented and took a step back. “You too, Pen. Gorgeous like always.” you smiled as you looked at the quintessential Penelope outfit but dialed up to 11.

David handed you a glass of red wine while informing everyone of how long the wait would be for dinner to be served. Pulled along with Penelope she seated you between her and Emily. Spencer sitting next to Derek, just out of reach from where you’d rather have him. You caught his look at you, the way his eyes flicked down to your legs as you sat down, dress riding up ever so slightly.

For someone surrounded by profilers he really didn’t try to hide what he was thinking about.

End note: I am working on pt.2 and is already over the length of pt.1 and I haven't even gotten to the good part yet. send help.

[rambleonwaywardson]

10/10

A To the Moon and Back "drabble"

Author's note: My lovely beta reader hit me with a pickup line today, and then I wrote this for the gay space boys. The same silly line, over a decade apart ❤

---

It’s about 11pm on October 10th, and Gale has been at his desk for hours. Literally. He even ate dinner at his desk sometime around 8:00, and he hasn’t gotten up since then either. Bucky managed to sneak a couple pieces of pizza out of the dining hall for him after he didn’t give into the pleas of “Come on Gale, just take a break for thirty minutes.”

Gale doesn’t particularly want to know how Bucky got the pizza out of the dining hall without being seen by the staff, or what said pizza may have touched in the process. It wasn’t much, and it was cold by the time Bucky made it back, but it made Gale’s stomach stop growling enough to get back to work.

He’s had to pee for a while, but he keeps just kinda forgetting to actually get up and walk down the hall to the bathroom, too focused on the equations running through his head. He’s sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest, his toes curled over the edge of his dorm-standard wooden chair, his sweatshirt sleeve pulled over the hand he isn’t writing with and a pencil gripped too tight in the other. Crumpled pieces of notebook paper litter the floor around him.

He’s jumped from task to task over the last several hours: fighting with C++ in Programming for Aerospace Systems to cramming for his Modern Physics exam to solving a problem set for mechanics II. That’s just how midterm season is.

Gale, for some fucking godforsaken reason, decided to throw himself into one of the most demanding majors the university has to offer, and that means that he doesn’t actually have a “midterm season” or whatever. His midterms start about three weeks into the semester and end about two weeks before finals, with a rise in intensity during October. Like a bell curve, where the median represents the peak of Gale’s exhaustion.

His own handwriting is starting to swim in front of him now. There’s too many variables on this damn piece of paper, and he’s the one who neatly wrote them beneath the problem that he copied down from the textbook. The stepped shaft is subjected to cyclic bending due to a transverse shear stress varying from neg to pos 3.5kN. He has a sketched drawing of the problem on the paper in front of him, with diameters, radii, and forces labeled. He needs to determine the safety factor, which means he has to find the moment of inertia and the bending moment of the cut in order to find the nominal and maximum bending stress – sigma nom and sigma max – and then he has to use those to find…

Fuck. 

This should not be that hard. It’s not that hard. He’s done this kind of problem dozens of times now. He’s got it drawn out. He just needs to… he needs to… fuck what even is ‘k’???

Maybe Bucky was right when he told him he needed to give it a rest an hour ago. He feels like his head is stuck in quicksand and he can’t even remember how he got as far into the problem as he has, and his brain just doesn’t like what he needs to do next and he can’t get himself to write out the next equation.

He flicks his pencil out of his hand so it rolls to the back of the desk, knocking into a framed photograph of him and Marge, and he drops his forehead onto his knee with a thunk.

He feels so fucking stupid.

“Hey Buck?”

“Mmm?” Gale doesn’t even look up at the sound of Bucky’s voice. His roommate – wait, boyfriend, now. John is his boyfriend now – has been sitting on the twin bed opposite Gale’s, watching a movie on mute on the too-small TV set up on top of their mini fridge.

“Are you today’s date?”

Gale sighs and lifts his head, looking at Bucky with an unamused arched eyebrow. He is not in the mood for jokes or unnecessary questions. But Bucky’s smile is bright, and it makes that little ‘I have a boyfriend!’ piece of Gale’s heart flutter despite himself.

“What?” he asks.

“Are you today’s date?” Bucky repeats. “‘Cause you’re a ten outta ten.”

Gale blushes and looks shyly away from Bucky, wrapping his arms tighter around his legs even though the position is becoming uncomfortable. He hides his smile against his knee.

Bucky isn’t deterred, though. He throws himself off the bed and kneels on the floor in front of Gale, movie forgotten. He’s shirtless, even though it’s freezing in their dorm right now, and his curls are a mess. Gale knows that if he looks at him his blush will only get brighter. But Bucky brushes back Gale’s hair and urges him to look at him anyway. “Get it?” he asks, flashing that dorky smile.

Gale rolls his eyes, but he leans into Bucky’s touch, warm fingers pressed to his cheek. “Yeah, John. I get it.”

“Good,” Bucky says. And he kisses him.

—

It’s about 9pm on October 10th, and Gale has been sitting on a stool next to the pool table for a good hour now. Jackie mixed him some non-alcoholic drink that she called ‘the Cleven,’ something special since he’s getting married tomorrow, she told him. He doesn’t even know what’s in it, but it’s damn good, and he’s on his second glass of the night. The whole wedding party is in town, even their old Air Force buddies, and everyone is gathered at the Hundred Proof. Gale, John, Marge, and Curt argued at length about whether or not they should have two separate bachelor parties – Bucky referring to Gale’s as the bachelorette party the whole time – but since their attendants are all about equally good friends with both of them, they decided to bring everyone together for the night instead.

A decade of friendships and found family consolidated into one, cacophonous room.

Curt, Brady, John, and Rosie are playing pool, Gale having played a couple games himself before losing interest. It’s a game his dad loved – a bit too much just like everything else – and therefore a game that Gale himself never cared for. But being able to shoot pool is basically a requirement of the USAF and JSC families, so he’s learned to like it well enough.

The guys have all had a few drinks, and their technique is getting messier the more games they play. The other wedding attendants have been rotating in and out; Marge and Helen really gave Murph and Crank hell last game. As usual, people are playing darts behind Gale or gathering around the pool table to watch the game, dancing to the music playing through the bar or snacking or drinking or just talking and hanging out. It’s been nice to catch up with the guys they haven’t seen in a while.

Sitting on the stool, Gale leans back against the wall behind him and laughs as Rosie completely misses a shot, collapsing forward onto the pool table in embarrassment. Inwardly, though, Gale’s feeling increasingly nervous as the night goes on, and he’s a little mad about it. He was talking to Croz and Alex, but they headed off to get more drinks from the bar, leaving him to his own devices as he watches the others descend further into mild chaos. He mindlessly wipes his thumb over the side of his glass, smearing the condensation.

He’s getting married tomorrow.

He’s getting married tomorrow.

To a man that he’s been in love with for half of his life.

And then his new husband is launching himself off the planet.

To the moon.

He’ll be the first man to step on the moon in 50 years.

And Gale will be… here. Just… hoping nothing goes wrong.

There’s too many thoughts running around his head, and he almost wishes he were halfway to drunk like everyone else just to clear them out. He’s getting married tomorrow. That’s nerve wracking enough on its own even if he’s been looking forward to this day for the better part of a decade. And add onto that the whole moon thing? What if something happens to Orion? What if something happens to Starship? What if something happens to John’s EVA suit? What if…

“Hey angel!”

“Mmm?” Gale blinks at the sound of Bucky’s voice cutting through the grime of his catastrophizing brain. He rubs a hand tiredly over his face and looks around.

His boyfriend – no, fiancé, nearly husband – is at the other end of the pool table, leaning against it with the end of his pool cue resting on the floor beside him like a staff. He’s putting more chalk on the tip, but his eyes are right on Gale. “Are you today’s date?” 

Gale sighs and crosses his arms, resting his half-empty glass against his bicep. “What?”

“Are you today’s date?” Bucky repeats, handing the chalk to Curt. The other guys all stifle a laugh. “‘Cause you’re a ten outta ten.”

Gale rolls his eyes, but he can’t stop the blush that colors his cheeks or the way the corner of his mouth pulls up into a smile. He tries to hide it behind his drink, taking a sip of whatever concoction Jackie’s given him. But Bucky’s dorky, love-struck smile is the same as it’s always been, and the ‘I’m getting married tomorrow!’ part of Gale’s heart jumps a little bit.

“Get it?” Bucky asks as he wanders over towards Gale, leaning the pool cue against the wall so he can use both hands to pull Gale up off the stool.

Gale doesn’t protest when his fiancé’s hands find his waist, and he lets the touch ground him. “Yeah, Bucky, I get it.”

“Good,” Bucky whispers. And he kisses him.

[kazthisnuts]

In that one SG Luffy sketch it looks like his hat was made from sunlight. Does he literally have a “sun” hat? Or is it still the one from Shanks? If so is there some passive aggressive father fude now? Since the hat is designed to shade your fave from the sun so it’s harder for his father to see him now? I am also loving this AU 🥰 thank you for sharing!

[DAILY SKETCH 57]

thanks for the ask <3

this is the perfect moment for me to rant about his parents, since it's quite hard to put it into a drawing

i have to say i have NOT THOUGHT OF THE HAT HIDING LUFFY AWAY!!! idk why. it just never came to my mind!!!

let me go in order and rant about his parents a little 😁

SO the sun hat you saw is actually just sun rays. they can quite literally rest on his head because he's sunlight with a physical form!!

it's just the sun's way to play with luffy :))))

[for anyone new check the masterpost for more!]

[the light hat is actually inspired from a fic. it's cute and short! give it a read :)]

more under the cut!!!

i would think it's because the sun is directly connected to nika. the hat obviously has a deeper meaning which we don't know fully BUT!! we do know it was one of joyboy's possessions

you get it? i hope 😋

said that I don't THINK Sun would be upset about shanks giving Lu his hat. most likely bc he could feel luffy was supposed to have it

+ (and I'm thinking of it just now) the shadow over his face would most likely weaken him, seeing as he needs light to have a physical body

the hat would probably just sit on his shoulders! unless I think of something else.

I've mentioned it before but right now the timeline is right after meeting Ace. just a few weeks later! I still have to brainstorm what happens right after shanks

(this is definitely self indulgent but i see shanks seeing luffy as his son and luffy just being like. "youre not my father but i still love you like one" yk? Sun knows that and he's probably a little jelly but playfully so)

his mother, on the other hand, is forced to not love him anymore due to the devil fruit

and i think this little drabble by @airiervessel describes it perfectly

Oh, my sweet boy.

The Sea never intended to love her child. The Sun was interested to see if they could create something together, if they could imitate the creatures spread across their world. Those were made by Something Else, and neither the Sea nor the Sun know anything real about that, but the Sun wanted to see if they had that kind of power together.

The Sea turned him down at first on principle — she’s never really liked him, even if she needs him.

But his words stuck with her, whispers seeming to come from the Wind fluttering over her waves. She held out for a few decades or so, successfully ignoring him every time he’d try to ask again. Then one day…

Well. The man in the straw hat comes later.

So the Sea finally gave in. She never intended to love the thing they made — it was just a passing curiosity. She couldn’t get the Sun’s words out of her mind because he’s annoying like that, because no being of the earth or the heavens can push her buttons like he can. That’s what she told herself, anyway. She’s never loved anything; she barely even feels anything for herself. She’s always known that she doesn’t have a heart.

But now — with her sweet boy about to eat one of those terrible Fruits — the Sea finally knows what it is to love.

She learns that she actually does have a heart, because it’s breaking. She can love, because she loves him — her perfect boy, who was created so perfectly in their image that the first thing he decided to do was join humanity — is eating one of the Devil’s Fruits.

She can never hold him again. He’ll never know just how much she adores him, because whenever he touches her she’ll have no choice but to pull him down, to destroy her beautiful son in her own depths.

For the first time in her eternal life, the Sea cries. Islands around the world suffer from massive monsoons and hurricanes as she rages and storms out her infinite emotions.

Everywhere, that is, except for a certain corner of the East Blue.

[WHICH IM GONNA SAY AGAIN IM ABSOLUTELY IN LOVE W UR WRITING THANKS THANKS THANKS]

even though she's forced to hate him, she still tries her best to keep lu safe.

even after he sets sail, for some reason, the waters are almost always calm around the ship.

doesn't mean she can't get angry with him at times!! she's still a mother, after all

the rest is still a work in progress :3 it'll come out eventually as i figure things out

[narwhalandchill]

how are we feeling about this project amber update

assuming this is in relation to childe bc who the fuck else JWDJWJKDJKW anon im so sorry if not. also so so sorry for how out of hand this got. i am simply unwell about him.

But! Well. there certainly are thoughts

(obviously 4.6 datamine of arle SQ and her voicelines; This Will Not Spoil Anything Abt The Main SQ Plot, i only discuss the relevant parts. also some p Heavy negativity towards fanon ooc at the start youve been warned dont @ me)

(i mean i didnt even read anything of the SQ but The scene w childe so idek the main plot of the quest rly either lmao. tho go at ur own risk if u wanna check the dialogue out; its the 2nd quest log but it does hint at the greater story)

TLDR: how i feel abt his appearance in a vaccuum? quite solid despite the briefness, actually. accounting for the way fanon is 100% likely going to be reading into this and turning it into the Lets Infantilize Ajax Even More 2024 championship? conflicted.

in other words; a certified labyrinth warriors moment - theyve expanded on childes character in a very interesting and quite a compelling way and while i Do like the potential in what im seeing from hoyos end theyve also done it so that its going to be misinterpreted to hell and back by fanon so i kinda have an immediate jaded love-hate moment going on JJWJDKJDKJWJDWKJ

its literally just labyrinth warriors flashbacks - that event has some of my ALL TIME favorite insights into who ajax is and how he views the world and himself but when the event came out all everyone cared abt was to warp it into baby boy stuck in scawwy paper boy dungeon dehumanizes himself by calling himself a weapon and doesnt love himself he is such a sad trauma meowkitten 🥺🥺so yeah

bc like lets look at this properly for a bit; okay he went back to fontaine to look for skirk still somewhat injured and waa waa my 286 month infant baby cannot Make decisions like that!!!!!11! which is to say. i am tired of him getting this shit every time.

is it smart of him to get on the move immediately with just the bare minimum of rest? no. do i like that hes straining himself before proper recovery? not particularly no. do i feel the particular need to psychoanalyze this grown man and feared warrior whos 100% survived Way Worse in Way More Extreme Situations for it? hell fucking no.

while not at all the course of action a medical professional would approve of. from childes POV its perfectly logical hes priorizing going back for skirk when its literally the FIRST TIME shes showed up in like. a Decade. when hes been looking for her all this time are you kidding me 😭😭😭 but fanon must keep fanoning for their widdle baby girl so what does a hater like me know

anyway. seething and venting over im gonna try to avoid bringing up how much i hate this kinda infantilization of ajax now im sorry for bringing it up so much on ur innocent ask anon KJWDJKWKJDJDKWJKD. neutral discussion moment. i Promise

so it seems that theyre going for the pulcinella-is-shady-about-ajax (and prolly his family) angle for good and like. personally for me as long as the only real source of that claim was scara (a cynical edgelord who doesnt believe in non-exploitative human relationships, mind you) i was rather skeptical towards just instantly drawing that conclusion, but well. with the scene in arles AQ it appears to be sth theyre building towards

i actually really fucking loved that scene bc while theres outsider perspectives (scara obvi; and even arles line for him has that vibe. and ppl still take that shit face value 💀💀) and a lot of fandom assuming childes like. completely clueless and naive and ignorant towards the potential risks involved with trusting pulcinella. this is actually a very clever demonstration of quite the opposite? and showcasing how despite his aversion towards schemes and lies hes still intelligent and knows the kind of people hes dealing with when it comes to his fellow harbingers

like. childe has a negative opinion of arle based on what pulcinella has told him about her because at face value many of her deeds are in heavy conflict with his values of loyalty and family. and because he does not have the further context behind her actions and what the HotH under her is really like. Obviously hed hold a very hostile and wary view towards arlecchino

(ESPECIALLY when with all this biased intel hes still going to run into kids from the house!!! and then hes going wtf? these are good kids. what the hell is that knave doing with them??? blink twice if you need help i will start a civil war for yall like thats how he is with kids!!!!)

so YES. pulcinella has given him if not false then at least misleading intel based on the political tension between himself and arlecchino and the wider HotH. and childes taken that at face value! sure! he is close with pulcinella of course he would!

BUT. THEN. he returns to fontaine and seeks arlecchinos help looking for skirk. and observes her behavior and modus operandi for himself as well as the kids. does he go "nah she must be just hiding the crazy evil shit i would never distrust pulcinella" and leave it at that when reality doesnt completely match his expectations?

NO. because when offered the opportunity through the traveler asking about the HotH childe immediately capitalizes on the opportunity to prod for answers and see if pulcinella is lying to him!!!!

and hes so fucking smart with the way he does it too???? i LOVE his intelligence. the entire thing is so simple yet elegant; it Completely relies on his reputation as the kinda gullible harbinger whod Never scheme or hide Anything to indirectly affirm or deny his suspicions. he doesnt Need to Pretend to care about the possibility of arle betraying the kids bc he genuinely does!! and when she pushes back against the accusation he doesnt Need to fake admitting to her that well, actually, its all just rumors so he could be completely wrong. and so on. like he navigates the entire thing so effortlessly. and whats the end result?

childe has Confirmation of pulcinellas possible ulterior motives in action AND that arlecchino is a much more reliable ally than he initially assumed. all the while appearing as just The Straightforward 11th. like obviously id need to hear it voiced first to be sure but in text it v much gives the impression hes almost kinda just. playing up the threats towards arle and being "dumb" on Purpose?? to get the answers he wanted out of arle without appearing like hes fishing for anything particular. and i just hhhhhhhhhhh

i love when he does this so muchhhh!!!!!! 😭😭 he doesnt need to become some machiavellian schemer to be able to strategize !!!!!! he avoids scheming bc he Dislikes it not bc hes incapable of it like this has Always been the case Since Liyue AQ and i love whenever they show that side of himm . my Beloved

so anyway. while i do still think the like "pulcinella is bad and has his family hostage" is still kind of a generic plotline and i hope the writing regarding the whole thing wont ultimately turn out to be sth That simplified and black and white. its p clear theyre doing Something with pulcinellas motivations and as they are. im Really glad theyre letting it show that childes not just some completely passive party being manipulated in this all. he Is thinking abt this stuff and his position among the harbingers. ig we shall see where it goes - not the greatest fan of the concept still, but canon text supports it becoming a thing way more than when it was just scaras word we had for it. hope theyll surprise me positively w how they go about it!

then briefly for the rest uhh

also loved arle and childe just shittalking the rest of the harbingers it was amazing. i wasnt expecting this kinda dynamic between them at all but its great lmao. also i wanna see childe hang out w the HotH kids

as for project stuzha; so we dont really get anything solid on it other than being summoned back to snezhnaya for it is apparently a Big Deal. but still very interested. let my man have his endgame significance Trust

childes appearance was obviously v brief ultimately but that was clear from his leaked linecount to begin with - i am pretty satisfied with what they seem to have done w him. like its not The Best but also i wasnt expecting his lore to get some massive expansion in another harbingers SQ . the worst i feared was that it was just going to be a flashback of arle returning his vision which did Not happen so massive W. i am super hyped to hear this scene voice acted proper and happy to see him again, i really hope he gets to appear at least once more in an interlude or dains quest or something before going on hiatus again but idk if thats too much to ask LKKWJDJWDJWD

also: i am never changing my namecard after this patch drops. oh my godddddddd its So Fucking Beautiful 😭😭😭😭

But. Yeah. lots of good stuff. unfortunately lots of it will get misinterpreted and fanon will get obnoxious about it. but i still love getting to see him again and i am speedrunning that namecard day fucking one mutuals and/or followers in EU please add me (UID 711090267) ill need coop buddies for the world bosses

thank youuuuuuu for the ask i hope this monstrosity of a monologue doesnt scare u off 💀💀💀

[lcdrarry]

LCDrarry 2024 Round-Up Post | Week 4

On Sundays during our posting period, we won't post a new work, instead you have time to catch up with the works that posted during the week and hopefully leave lovely comments for our creators.

Happy reading, commenting and sharing! ;)

~Your LCDrarry Mods

PS: Please have a look at the author notes and tags on AO3 for additional information. Thank you!

PPS: Please share far and wide! Thank you!!

***

Podfic

***

"My Big Fat Weasley Wedding" by slyth_princess

Prompt: “My Big Fat Greek Wedding”, 2002, Joel Zwick Written by: slyth_princess Narrated by: Anonymous Podfic Length: 07:17:21 Rating: Mature Warnings: None

Summary: A decade after the war, Harry Potter is lost. There was a time when he knew exactly who he was, where he was going, and what he wanted. He is not that man anymore. Until one day he decides he is done. No more wearing clothes that don't fit, stuck in a job that was meant to be temporary, and simply coasting through his life. He has a plan. And, unsurpisingly, every single Weasley and honourary Weasley seems to have an opinion about it. But it's fine. Harry knows he is doing the right thing.

What he didn't plan for, however, was to find love in the most unexpected place. And with the most unexpected person. Still, it's going to be fine. Like he said, he has a plan. Weasley opinions be damned. He's got it all under control. Doesn't he?

Featuring a million Weasleys, a daft labrador, and a whole bunch of people just trying to figure out their lives.

Listen to it now on AO3.

***

Fic

***

drag the past out into the light

Prompt: "Se7en", 1995, David Fincher Prompted by: MoonyEmilie3017 (ao3) Author: Anonymous Word Count: 20,796 words Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence

Summary: There's a serial killer stalking magical London. The murders are gruesome, bizarre, and somehow connected to the Voldemort wars. Auror Harry Potter is paired up with an analyst from the Department of Mysteries to piece together the clues in the killer's unsettling game before they kill again.

The good news? This analyst is the best one on offer. The bad news? It's Draco Malfoy.

Read it now on AO3.

***

Count On Me

Prompt: "Put Your Head On My Shoulder", 2019, Netflix Prompted by: Anonymous Author: Anonymous Word Count: 23,044 words Rating: General Audiences Warnings: fake dating, forced cohabitation

Summary: University students Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy run into each other one day. Literally. On bikes. After that, they can't get away from each other, no matter how hard they try. And then, it seems, they might not want to. Based heavily on the C-Drama "Put Your Head On My Shoulder" on Netflix.

Read it now on AO3.

***

Theme and Variations

Prompt: "Rush", 2013, Ron Howard Prompted by: @sleepstxtic Author: Anonymous Word Count: 24,890 words Rating: Mature Warnings: brief mentions of (canonical) child abuse

Summary: Draco had fucked him over, yet again. Harry was sick of it.

With music swelling from the orchestra below, lights beating down on him hard enough to break a sweat before the first variation, the audience rapt with attention, this should have been the greatest moment of Harry’s life. But it wasn’t. Of course Draco fucking Malfoy had to ruin this for him too.

Harry took a shaking breath and began to dance.

Read it now on AO3.

***

Happiness Seems to be Loneliness

Prompt: "Saltburn", 2023, Emerald Fennell Prompted by: @themiddleofwonderland (Amazuppai on ao3) Author: Anonymous Word Count: 29,811 words Rating: Explicit Warnings: Unhinged Harry Potter, Dark Harry Potter, Obsessive Harry Potter, Character Death, Animal Death, Fat Shaming, Minor Character Death, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Inspired by Saltburn (2023), References to Frankenstein, Necrophilia, Off-scene suicide (mentioned)

Summary: Fucking Pansy was like fucking a fish. or Drarry meets Saltburn

Read it now on AO3.

***

Love Will Abide

Prompt: "The Last of Us", Episode 3: "Long, Long Time", 2023 Prompted by: @somethingveryodd (newskyillusion on ao3) Author: Anonymous Word Count: 39,547 words Rating: Explicit Warnings: Major Character Death, Suicide

Summary: Harry and Draco survive the apocalypse. This is what happens after.

Read it now on AO3.

***

White, Blonde & British

Prompt: “Red, White & Royal Blue”, 2023, Matthew Lopez Prompted by: Moon_Peach Author: Anonymous Word Count: 40,058 words Rating: Explicit Warnings: Mentions of death, drug and alcohol use and abuse, homophobia, racism, discrimination

Summary: Prince Draco Malfoy is known all over the world as “The Modern Day Prince Charming”, ask anyone - well, anyone except for Harry Potter, first son of the Indian president and (self) sworn rival of said stuck-up, snobbish prince.

Read it now on AO3.

***

Please help promote the fest by sharing your favourite submissions, so more people can enjoy all the amazing new Drarry works of LCDrarry. Thank you!

Creator reveals are on 15 June.

[rivetgoth]

I have definitely talked about this song before on here but I've been having a bit of a Greater Wrong of the Right moment. Oldschool Charheads know that this is one of my all-time favorite albums and has been for the better part of a decade, but I genuinely feel like Goneja is like, one of the top 10, maybe even top 5, Skuppy tracks ever, which I think (?) is a pretty esoteric opinion, since the post-Doomsday stuff doesn't tend to get nearly as much love.

Buuut it's just so good man. It's like, for lack of a better word I'd call it the thesis of the album. This might be a kinda scattered "analysis" but I think GWOTR is an album that reflects a lot of growth and maturity from Ogre (and cEv, but I'm talking lyrically right now so sorry lol)--That isn't to say that the pre-Doomsday stuff is "immature," but I think there's a kind of normal timeline of human experience and psychology present in the evolution of Ogre's lyrics and demeanor over time, with the early Skuppy stuff being much more proactive and angry, and later Skuppy stuff being much more reflective. Like, lyrics that go from "This thing sucks" to "What can be done about this thing, how do we react to it, what does this say about the world."

Anyway, I think GWOTR spends a lot of time reflecting on this change as lyrics span across a bunch of the songs about sitting there, literally sitting, and sort of acknowledging or not acknowledging the horrors of the world: "Sit and feel absolutely zero suffering / A condition worth denying," "In the place of safety I am fortunate to be alive." A lot of this is (and the album title evokes this too, and the stage show) implicitly about the state of international affairs in the US at the time, post 9/11, the Bush Administration, and the horrors taking place overseas by hand and dollar of the US militia. Reflecting on the helplessness of being within the country of origin, far away from the actual traumas taking place. To return to what I said above about that "proactive and angry" vs "reflective" statement, consider the lyrics of songs like VX Gas Attack or Second Tooth versus lyrics like Use Less or DaddyuWarbash, where we shift from talking about the war itself to talking about being a citizen of the country propagating it: "Doesn't concern me / Under a flag free / Are we all completely useless?," "We remove ourselves from the war / Looking from a distance, sanitized / Wash your hands and feel it / The dirt is down the drain."

I also don't think it's coincidence that this album and all that it represents and speaks on was the first Skinny Puppy album since both Ogre and cEvin got clean from harder drugs and got more into weed. I think this album sonically has this sort of long, winding, whirring sound I'd associate specifically with a weed high, and obviously Goneja by name is a play on ganja (though as a SoCal resident I used to try to read it as go-neigh-ha until I realized, LMAO), so it's asking you to be aware of the presence of marijuana within the song and the album as a whole. So I think Goneja kind of is a coalescence of the impact weed has on the album and the larger themes of the lyrics of the album, and serves as probably the most personal, or introspective track on the album, with this kind of dreamlike, erratic sound, simultaneously slow and mellow but with scattered, jumbled, almost-nonsense lyrics that shift into one another as the song progresses. I always felt the song was representational of getting way too high and way too stuck in your own head, and the way your thoughts start to warp, and you start thinking about all of these terrible things, and all of these dark moments in your own life, and these dark moments in history, and become wrapped up in how weird and fucked up the world is. "I wish I wouldn't live in newspapers" is one of the final statements of the song and I think THAT is kind of the thesis of the album right there. That feeling trapped by the world, the news, the information being fed to you, all of the horrors, how much bigger it is than you, how helpless and oppressive it feels. For Ogre, he'd spent, what, 20 years at this point making a career of speaking on all of those horrors? And to what end? Has anything changed for the better? Is there a point to this at all? Are we all completely useless?

[defilerwyrm]

Oh, Alcohol.

Barenaked Ladies saved me from a life (and possibly death) as an alcoholic.

Let me explain:

My first official, tax-paying job as as a mutuel teller at a horse track in the mid aughts. I worked for $8.15/hour most of the year and during live season (when races were taking place at my track) they bumped it up to $8.50. During live race nights, I could easily pull in $100 in tips in a night.

You would have thought that a nearly-homeless college dropout trapped in a relationship he didn’t yet fully realize was extremely abusive would have squirreled that away to make a better life for himself, but no. My coworkers (including The Ex From Hell) liked to go drinking at the restaurant/bar across the highway from the track after live race nights—twice a week—and I, being starved for company and having TEFH as my only ride home, went with them.

It was always a jolly old time. I drank so many mudslides & flying grasshoppers and ate so many mozzarella sticks you wouldn’t believe. My regular bartender and I (and that phrase should set off alarm bells in your head already) developed a new drink! It’s still one of my favorites. Here, let me share it with you:

AQUA VELVET 2 parts blue curaçao 2 parts Midori (melon liqueur) 1 part pineapple juice spritz of Sprite Shake with ice, strain, serve cold in a hurricane glass.

Fucking incredible drink.

But yeah. I drank pretty heavily every night we went out. Drank until I got loose and loopy and extremely homosexual. Drank until I didn’t care about the dysphoria I was trying to ignore and the mental illness & traumas I couldn’t afford to get help for. Until, for just a few hours, I was happy.

And then one night as “Closing Time” by Semisonic played on the speaker system and I received my solo bill, I really looked at it and realized I’d spent literally all of my tip money for that day’s work. I spent over $100 on alcohol in one sitting—in 2007 or 2008 money, on an $8.50/hour wage. Moreover, I’d drank over a hundred dollars worth of booze specifically for the goal of getting drunk and staying that way.

As a sidebar, one of the many things wrong with me is moderate/severe OCD. My most intrusive symptom is endomusia—music stuck in my head…every…waking…moment. As in, I can tell when I’ve woken up because that’s when the music starts. (In a fascinating twist, my father and brother both suffer this, too.) Any little thing that I see or hear or think about could set off a new song playing on repeat in my head.

And in that moment, looking at that staggering total on my receipt for the night, I heard Barenaked Ladies jamming their way through a syncopated bridge:

I thought that drinking just to get drunk was a waste of precious booze

Had it not been for that song, I would not have known that drinking to get drunk on a regular basis was a classic sign of alcoholism. But because I knew and loved that song, and because I had that moment of crystalline clarity at something like one in the morning, I realized that I had a fucking problem and I needed to stop.

I am immeasurably lucky that I came to this realization before my alcoholism developed into an actual dependency instead just of a deeply stupid bad habit I did for fun twice a week. I don’t take for granted that it could have been the end of me if not for that single moment. As much horrific shit as has happened to me in my life, holy fuck have I ever gotten some lucky breaks.

I don’t drink much nowadays, and haven’t for almost a decade. I don’t really like how it makes me feel most of the time. I just finished a top shelf margarita before writing this, in the safety of my own home, and it’s—I think the second alcoholic drink I’ve had this year.

So yeah. Music saves lives, y’all.

[one-blaze-of--glory]

very interested in hearing more about hungarian rent!!! were there any notable bits you liked about it? id love to see rent performed one day, so jealous!

this is probably gonna be long I'm sorry but I've been wanting to rant (pun not intended) about this since sunday

so first of all i feel like i should mention this isn't the first time there's been a hungarian production of rent. they did a run in 2003, which even got a cast recording, it just simply wasn't? very good? like i wasn't even born yet so i didn't see it but I've listened to the songs and the translations ranged from fine to just straight up atrocious and questionable (such as accidentally implying that Mimi thinks her dad has hot hands and almost completely removing the love part of seasons of love which feels like it would be the entire point??) i think most of the problems stemmed from a random older hungarian guy doing the translations. i doubt that man was qualified for a show like rent in anyway

but flash forward to 2024. the redemption. the miracle. on december 14th and december 15th, they performed rent in hungarian for the first time in over a decade and i happened to be there on the latter of the two performances (important to mention hungarian theatres will not play a show every day, you have to check for specific dates so it's normal that they only performed it twice so far)

I was completely blown away. it felt like it was done by people who fully understand what rent is. I couldn't even tell you one favorite part so I'm just going to praise this show for several paragraphs now.

first of all, my biggest issue with the first attempt at hungarian rent and my biggest issue with most hungarian shows: the translation. i never thought I'd hear a hungarian translation of a musical i love, let alone of RENT of all things, but i swear i don't have a single lyric to complain about. notably, the translator, Cseh Dávid Péter, also played Roger. btw something i loved is a lot of background workers such as the set designer and social media manager and etc were also in the ensemble, but the moment i found out Cseh Dávid Péter translated the entire show, after seeing his performance as Roger REALLY surprised me because by the way he's also a phenomenal actor and an even better singer. My mouth was literally agape during One song glory without exaggaration.

but I don't want to praise just him even though he quickly became one of my favorite actors I'm not going to lie, the entire cast was great. extra shoutout to Ekanem Bálint and Pásztor Ádám for the sheer amount of Collins-Angel chemistry they had because i swear, Collins was doing literal heart eyes anytime he looked at Angel it's SO adorable. I also want to mention that in an extreme white majority country they still managed to find a Black actor to play Collins and he was perfect, so I find that very cool, I never see actors of color in hungarian theatre normally. okay maybe one nitpick i have with the cast, Joanne's actress (can't remember her name rn) didn't quite hit all the high notes which left me a tiny bit underwhelmed but that's maybe because I love Tracie Thoms so much I don't think anyone will live up to her for me.

okay so here's some truly random bits that stuck with me:

Mimi cat coding has always been a big part of rent for me but in this had Maureen dog coding, which i guess there's a bit of in the original at the beginning of act 2 but this translation had more of that. like in tango Maureen, they call her a dog that's salivating for the bone as a metaphor for her promiscuity

I cannot stop thinking of this bit of costume design, after Angel's death, Roger was wearing a shirt that said "I believe in angels"

in contact, the last thing Angel does while dying is reach out for Roger and Mimi's hands and unites them

this isn't really a fun fact within the show itself, more just about it, but Gadó Anita and Cseh Dávid Péter, who played Mimi and Roger, are together in real life, which i think is really cool

when Roger plays his guitar in La vie boheme, instead of saying "that doesn't remind us of Musetta's waltz" Mark says "Puccini is rolling in his grave" which i found funny

i can't really think of more to add right now but yeagh hungarian rent good 👍👍👍 and it's really special that they even could do this show in hungary, given the current political climate around lgbt+ representation in media. they did an amazing job though, none of it felt toned down or censored at all, the lyrics were also as direct as in the original, it felt great

[redjademilktea]

Hello hello! This idea for an Imodna fic has been sitting in my head for *ages* now. I'm gonna be working on this first chapter later tonight, but I'm just kind of excited to share before I polish this thing up and post Chapter 1 to AO3!! It's a modern AU, set in Exandria. Imogen is a Ph.D. in Sociology at Dayal Hall University in Jrusar. And Laudna... well, let's just say this is an exes-to-lovers type of deal. Recent canon angst compels me I suppose. Anyway, please enjoy the snippet!

----

Imogen pinched the bridge of her nose between her eyes. She’d been staring at this damn screen all day and it was starting to strain her vision. Normally, she’d be arms deep in grading assignments, wrapping up last minute lecture notes, finishing up office hours, literally anything else other than staring at her now empty email inbox. An impressive feat no doubt, Imogen idly noted. She can’t remember the last time it had even stayed this clear. A testament to her sheer boredom in the moment.

When she glanced back again and her still empty inbox, she thudded her head against her desk. The confirmation email should have been sent hours ago. She should be already back in her apartment, well into packing for her research trip to the Heartmoor by now. But instead she remained stuck in her office at Dayal Hall University. Patiently – very patiently – awaiting the confirmation email from the assistant archivist from the Heartmoor Hamlet Folklore, Oddities, and Curiosities Museum to finally confirm her appointment time so she could forward it to her chair the Sociology department admin staff to confirm the start of her sabbatical.

She let out a pained groan as the page she had refreshed for the twentieth time in five minutes remained unchanged. Defeated, she glanced around her office, tapping a pen to her desk as she did so. In the left side of the office, the low coffee table surrounded by assorted seating and a lone bean bag laid undisturbed in the corner. The bright yellow rug and strategically placed lighting provided a warmth to help combat the harsh fluorescent lights above. While normally reserved for students during her office hours, her pending sabbatical rendered them empty for the time being.

Huffing out a sigh, her gaze shifted to the right side of her office. Large bookshelves filled with monographs across disciplines lined the shelves, though most of the titles remained firmly within the realm of sociology. Imogen passively noted the growing number of office plants that seemed to be appearing without her knowledge. At least one or two had made their way from the tops to the actual shelves themselves, obfuscating the books behind them as their sprawling leaves spilled over their potted houses.

On top of one of the lower bookshelves sat a framed diploma, reading:

Starpoint Conservatory

Department of Sociology confers onto

Imogen Temult

The degree of Doctorate in Philosophy

Below the ornate frame next to yet another potted plant Imogen did not remember acquiring sat several framed photos. While the majority of them were from her time at Dayal Hall – a mix of faculty photos, candid shots of university sponsored outings, and conference shots – one in particular pulled her drifting thoughts.

In the photo, a recently graduated Imogen stood, awkward smile and stiff posture unaided by the weight of various leis and her doctoral regalia, next to a woman with braided hair flowing over the shoulder of her tan blazer. The woman bore a striking resemblance to Imogen, but tired, sunken eyes belied her wary demeanor. It was the first time she’d seen her mother in over a decade. And it was the last time she’d seen her since.

Imogen wondered, then, what her mother – the renowned anthropologist Dr. Liliana Temult from the Aydinlan Seminary in Yios – thought of her career. Her mother’s focus on her career and work had driven a wedge in her family relationship to be sure. It was part of the reason Imogen chose a smaller university to establish her academic career in the first place. One of the only things her mother had ever really said to her on the rare occasion they spoke over the phone was to stay away from the academy and the rigor of it all. Ruefully, she was reminded of the sorry state of their relationship now, all communication conducted over formal channels, sent from Liliana’s university email.

Next to the frame sat a small, stuffed white horse. Imogen’s melted into a short-lived fondness over the plush before the edges of a well-trodden sadness began to seep in. She told herself she kept the plush to make her office feel more welcoming and homely. That her students could feel more at ease knowing she wasn’t just some hardass professor and that they could trust her.

But the unspoken truth remained. The horse – Flora, after her childhood horse in Gelvaan – remained there because of what it reminded her of. Of who it reminded her of. Being gifted the small plush was, of course, the last time she ever saw L-

A knock at the door shook her from her spiraling thoughts. Imogen shook her head slightly, as if to clear the lingering fraught emotions from her mind.

Imogen cleared her throat, “Door’s unlocked.”

At that, the door opened, the familiar gentle and deliberate turn of the handle bringing a small smile to her face. The door further opened as Orym made his way into her office. In his hand, a stack of books reaching well past his head was delicately balanced as he gracefully moved towards her desk.

“Got the books you wanted,” Orym said, placing the stack down with surprising ease.

“You didn’t have to bring ‘em all at once,” Imogen said, smirking

“I know. But I didn’t know how much longer you’d be here.”

“I’ll be here all night if I don’t get this damn confirmation email,” Imogen huffed, slinking down her office chair.

“They still haven’t gotten back to you?” Orym raised an eyebrow.

“No. Been starin’ at my inbox all day waitin’ for it. Thanks for these by the way,” Imogen tilted her head towards the tall stack of texts. She grabbed the book at the top and began thumbing through it. The cover read Home Under the Moonlight: Werewolves and the Queer Imaginary in the Gloomed Jungles.

“Any time,” Orym nodded. “And they probably just need a few hours. Sounds like a small operation.”

“Yeah,” Imogen sighed. “And this small operation is makin’ me regret my career choices with every damn minute they don’t send that confirmation.”

“Ooh I’m hearing something about regretting career choices.” Imogen looked up to watch as Fearne casually strolled into her office, moving around Orym to place the potted plant in her hands onto another shelf. “I hear so many professors say that. I think it must mean I’m pretty good at it since I don’t regret anything.”

“Pretty good at what, Fearne?” Imogen asked flatly, finally understanding the source of the growing garden that was supposed to be her office.

“At professoring,” Fearne wiggled her eyebrows.

Truth be told, Imogen never did figure out what department Fearne worked in, let alone if she was even faculty at all. Imogen had only just recently accepted her position at Dayal Hall when Fearne wandered in on her setting up her new office, vaguely alluding to some “professorly obligation” to introduce herself to “the hot new hire in the Soc department.” Despite the odd introduction, Imogen had been grateful to not have to start out so alone. Not after… everything. And Fearne and her became close quickly. Fearne helped Imogen get acquainted with Orym, the university’s head librarian, and the two have been indispensable to Imogen ever since.

Imogen eyed the new foliage adorning her bookshelf before looking at Orym, who simply shared a slightly bemused look with her. “Fearne, what are you do-,” Imogen started before realizing the futility of the question and changing course. “I’m gonna be on sabbatical, Fearne. I won’t be- I can’t take care of these plants if I’m not here.”

“Oh it’s okay,” Fearne said, reassuringly. “I have a key to your office. Me and Orym can take turns plant sitting while you’re gone.” Fearne produced a key from her pocket, waving it at Imogen before slipping it back.

“How did- Fearne. You can’t have a copy of my office k-”

“Don’t worry, don’t worry. Geeze louise. Professors share keys all the time. It’s part of the pact.”

Imogen struggled to string together a response before a flash on her computer monitor caught her eye. Hurriedly, Imogen rushed to open the newly received email.

Hello Dr. Temult!

I’m so sorry for the delay! I had a few visitor sentiment surveys that demanded my attention!

Anyway, I am writing to confirm your appointment for next Grisson afternoon at 3 P.M. Look for me at the front desk!

Thank you,

Prism Grimpoppy

Ph.D. Candidate – University of the Heartmoor

Archival Assistant

“Finally,” Imogen muttered under her breath. She forwarded the email before slamming her laptop closed in relief. “Looks like I’m headin’ off,” Imogen said, turning to Orym and Fearne.

“Good luck,” Orym said. And then, carefully, “Just… let us know if you need anything while you’re out there,” Orym added, placing a gentle hand onto Imogen’s shoulder. Imogen winced slightly.

“I’ll be fine,” Imogen said, tensing her jaw. She knew Orym meant well. She knew. Fearne and Orym didn’t know every single detail. But they knew about the last time Imogen had done a big research trip like this. How she had a… tumultuous experience to say the least.

What they didn’t know was the depth and scope of the hurt. What they didn’t know was just how much pain, stress, fear, and loss she had experienced then. How she almost withdrew from the program, taking a leave to go back to Gelvaan for a year to reckon with the extent of her hurt. They didn’t know how much she withdrew into herself, wrestling with the scars left as she trudged her way through writing her dissertation and scraping past the finish line, battered, bruised, degree in hand. They didn’t know that it was when her and Laudna–

“Okay,” Orym said. “But just so you know. We’re here.”

“Thanks,” Imogen responded. A muted, but still fond smile grew on her lips.

“And hey,” Fearne added, “maybe you can take this time to do some personal research if you know what I mean.”

“Fearne,” Imogen rolled her eyes as she packed up her bag.

“What? Archives can be so romantic.”

[omgitsaime]

Movies I'll Probably Never Make: Open for Business

Three quirky best friends go against their principal's wishes and open up an anonymous advice column in their high school's dying newspaper.

Written: 2015-2016 (I was 14 and 15, y'all!)

If you liked these, you'll probably like this: Ferris Bueller's Day Off (1986), Sixteen Candles (1984), To all the Boys I've Loved Before trilogy (the books especially, given the time this script was written), Paper Towns (2015), Pitch Perfect (2012), Pitch Perfect 2 (2015)

Characters: Allie (14, Not Like Other Girls, always knows the right thing to say, aimlessly in love with Brad, clueless about Peter's feelings for her)

Peter (14, video game enthusiast and definitely smarter than you, fiercely loyal, always coming up with new ideas, has a crush on Allie)

Trevor (14, class clown, golden retriever boyfriend, the only things in life he takes seriously are Brianna, the advice column, and his friends)

Brianna (14, rich girl cheerleader with a heart of gold, fashion forward, always trendy, Allie's soon to be step sister, Trevor's girlfriend by the end)

Brad (15, popular football player of the junior varsity team struggling to find himself, well meaning but easily influenced, big heart, Not Like Other Jocks, redeems himself by the end)

Callie (16, lead writer of school newspaper, book smart, but not all that street smart, determined and not afraid to break a few rules to get what she wants)

Ben (17, editor in chief of school newspaper, quiet, reserved, a little more reluctant to break the rules, but will do anything to get into a good college)

Principal Cochran (late 40s, principal of the school (guys, it's been almost a decade, I don't remember the name of the school lol), stuck in his ways, overly strict, money obsessed, think Principal Rooney)

Why I stopped writing: I literally lost the script. I know I sent a draft to an old friend of mine, but that email has been lost to time, and now that I don't have the base, I can't remember which direction I was going in with the story before I stopped writing.

Themes from this story that appear in my other stories: Found family, platonic love, individuality, fighting manmade systems, lots and lots of 80s pop.

One interesting plot thread/character arc is that almost a full decade before the likes of Andrew Tate came onto the scene, telling young boys to be "alphas" and that they need to discard "low value women," Brad's plot was that he felt guilt over the prank he pulled on Allie to secure a spot on the varsity team, and over the course of the film, decides that being a man lies not in who he hurts, but who he helps. I was literally a fourteen year old girl writing this. I don't know what prophecy came to me in my sleep, but...holy shit.

Would I revive this story: Hell yeah! This is such a cute and solid story, with 80s influence, sweet moments, and honestly, the kids need a fun high school romp that is just about enjoying life and being 14. @sizzlingsandwichperfection-blog, I'm so sorry. I am so, so sorry for the abuse we put you through back in the day. We really took you for granted.

Fun Fact: The one and only surviving artifact of this film is the Spotify playlist. It is peak mid 2010s quirky teen comedy, and if you're old like me, this'll take you straight back to high school. I think you guys will love it.

Let me know if y'all think I should make this a series! I have a lot of scrapped scripts that I lowkey still think about lol

[crowgirlpictures]

The Dumbest Things My Boyfriend Said to Me This Year (2024)

Sometimes, you hear something so ridiculous, you just have to write it down to believe it happened. This year, my boyfriend has outdone himself in ways that range from laughable to downright infuriating. Here are the greatest hits of his... questionable statements:

The Second Moon Theory Apparently, the second moon we had earlier this year was going to fall out of the sky. (Spoiler: It did not fall out of the sky.)

He Can See Dust Mites According to him, his eyesight is so advanced that he can literally see dust mites. I mean, NASA might want to hire him?

Rock Reincarnation Equals Suicidal Tendencies When I joked about wanting to come back in my next life as a rock, he told me it was a sign I was suicidal. Uh... no. Rocks are living a soft life.

Hysterectomy vs. Having a Baby He genuinely believes that a hysterectomy is a more painful and bigger commitment than having a baby. I can't even begin to unpack this one.

My Reproductive Health Saga My reproductive issues, in his infinite wisdom, must be caused by an untreated STI that has somehow been dormant and symptomatic at the same time for over a decade. Makes total sense... if you ignore science.

Mental Health = "Not Enough Sex" According to him, my mental health struggles boil down to one simple solution: have more sex. (Because that’s how therapy and brain chemistry work, obviously.)

Hypnosis for Sleep Issues His cure for my sleep problems? Hypnosis. No, I haven’t tried it. Yes, he’s asked more than once.

THC Is a Cure-All Every problem I’ve ever had—physical, mental, emotional—could apparently be solved if I just used THC. Forget the family history of psychosis, and the data showing it triggers that, but sure I’ll eat some candy and be chill.

Autism Accusation He once asked if I “made my son autistic” because I’m considerate of his needs and differences. I still don’t know what to say to this one. That is not how autism works.

“I Didn’t Think About Your Son” He admitted that when making decisions that impacted all of us, he simply didn’t think about my son. And that, folks, was the moment I knew I couldn’t do this anymore.

Why I’m Writing This

This isn’t about shaming him—it’s about getting this off my chest. I’ve tried to hold it together, but I’m unhappy in this relationship. Just when I think it can’t get worse, it somehow does.

I’m realizing now that I deserve better. My son deserves better. We both deserve someone who considers our needs, respects our boundaries, and doesn’t make me question my sanity on a daily basis. Writing this is my first step toward reclaiming that clarity.

To anyone else stuck in a similar situation: you’re not alone, and you don’t have to stay where you’re not valued.

[snugsunresplendence]

Appreciation Post for aromantic spectrum awareness week 💚

Thank you for spreading awareness even when it's not always easy. If you weren't here I'd still be stuck in my bubble of amatonormativity and heteronormativity, wondering what's 'wrong' with me.

Over two decades I thought I was allo. Hm. Ouch to be honest. A lot of unpleasant things happened that hurt. Romantic relationships have already become a trauma for me. Luckily I realized that I don't have to do it at all! And with unimaginably but great satisfaction, I won't do that ever again.

The despair of not knowing what was going on was immense. I didn't even know what I could have typed into Google to find out what it could be (didn't even understand myself). Living in a bubble where no one is like you, no one to tell you what it could be because no one knew it. The society in which I grew up was so entrenched in its social and political construct that I had no chance at all. I was constantly pushed into this role that I could never fulfill. But social media saved me. At the time I was in a romantic relationship (at least I tried to be) with a (still) very important friend of mine. I was at a point again where the relationship was too much for me, I just wanted to run away. I thought it should have worked out with them because I felt comfortable so what was the problem?!

Suddenly there were terms like asexual and aromantic and my bubble got bigger. When I understood the term aromantic, something clicked. That was a tough pill to swallow. No matter who I tried it with, it would never work. Then came the absolute anger over the lie "at some point the right one will come". I wanted to puke so much, I was so SICK of it. I wanted to scream in the face of anyone who ever said that to me. Even now I'm irritable if someone ever says that to my face again. At the beginning, when you don't yet understand that you are aromantic, you get your hopes up. Thinking: Okay, yes, maybe you are right. Over and over again after every failed (romantic) relationship. It hurts when hope is taken away from you without you being able to decide. First it's hammered into you and then jerkily ripped away. Don't get me wrong, I don't want romantic relationships and I don't miss them at all but in the moment of understanding it hurts. Amatonormativity and heteronormativity fooled me for a long time.

I've finally been able to breathe properly for two years now. And again, I'm so grateful and happy that people are sharing information about this.

Don't stop what you're doing, it has literally made my life much more beautiful. And I think there are a lot more out there who think the same. Together you are less alone. We are the love.