#that the woman writing in is very likely doing way more of the childcare than her male partner

[wild-at-mind]

I'm still cranky about the advice column where a pair of friends drifted apart due to pandemic + the writing in friend having had a baby, which resulted in the writing in friend not being able to be there for the other friend as during bereavement as much as they should have been. The writing in friend was white and the other friend was black so the advice columnist did a lot of privilege dynamics talk, but completely failed to acknowledge how much work a new baby is a single time.

[eggcompany]

Starlight Boy

Little Hannibal Lecter, a kid looked over by nanny Will Graham. They go to the park, they eat, they take naps together. However one day Hannibal's parents drink and drive and crash, perishing in the blink of an eye. From then on it's Will and his little Starlight, Hannibal. By the time Hannibal was in highschool he knew he could never want anyone the way he wants Will. He holds out until one day soon after his 19th birthday. Threats of tearing himself apart pushing Will to finally give the boy what he wants. Sex. But what if it makes him finally realized that Hannibal truly really loves him.

“Hannibal, this is your new nanny. Will, this is Hannibal.” Said the modestly dressed older woman as the boy sat at his work desk writing. Standing behind her was a teenaged man, not very tall, wearing a pair of cheap tan slacks, a blue flannel button up, he had thick black rimmed glasses, and had a plain brown canvas backpack on his back. 

“Say hello Hannibal.” The woman prompted and the boy quickly stood up and stuck his hand out, hair gelled back perfectly and nearly like a robot he held his hand out and looked Will dead in the eyes. Will noted he had very beautiful eyes, nearly red. 

“Hello Will, it’s nice to make your acquaintance.” Will smiled and crouched down to shake his hand lightly. The boy had little hands, warm little hands. 

“It’s nice to meet you too Hannibal, I’m glad we’re gonna be friends.” Will answered and the boy nodded and went back to his desk. 

Will had been looking for another job. He already worked at the lab at night, cleaning. He just needed a little bit more a month and he wouldn’t starve, he’d be able to take some days off sometime and rest. 

He found an ad for ‘Nanny needed, experience in childcare, tutoring, and must clean. Trustworthiness will be tested regularly.’ Will had looked into it, sent his resume, talked to the old nanny, talked to the mother, and after a week of background checks and such he had a week to win over the boy. 

Hannibal was an easy boy to take care of. He likes having his hair combed for him but he could do it himself. He likes bubble baths and he doesn’t like being washed, he can wash himself but he likes when Will sits in the bathroom with him and reads books to him. He likes eating fine food from glass only, but he also loves laffy taffy that he ‘sneaks’ from Will’s backpack. He likes being held for a bit before bed, curling up into Will’s side and staying snuggly warm. He likes when Will picks him up from school and they go eat snacks on a bench that oversees the dog park. He likes when Will lets him run around the house in his pajamas, but only when mommy and daddy are away. And he really really really loves Will Graham. 

“Willy! Look, I stacked them all up! Aukštas bokštas!” Will would come over, trying to think of what the Lithuanian word meant. Hannibal was being brought up with three languages, English, Lithuanian, and Danish. Sometimes the little boy would get words all swapped up. ‘ A Tall Tower! ’ Is what the boy had said. 

“Yes! Very very tall, good job Hanni.” Will always called him Hanni when they were alone. He’d gotten chastised when he’d called him ‘Hanni’ in front of his mother. The boy liked when Will called him that. He liked that Will was… different than the other kids he’d met. Will wasn’t very stuck up and he was… free thinking and fun. 

Everything was perfect, fun and happy and Will was getting paid enough he gained weight and bought new shoes. He played with Hanni during the day, and left for work and night classes at six. It was perfect.

------

That was until the day Hannibal lost the last of his family. He’d already lost a sister when she was born, and that day… he lost everyone else. 

“I’m here for the Lecters, I’m their nanny. The boy, Hannibal, where’s the boy, he's my ward” Will said frantically as he ran up to the ER counter. People were rushing around and the nurse looked at him solemnly. 

“I’m sorry sir but that crash caused two casualties. Mrs and Mr Lecter both perished at the time of the crash, I’m so sorry.” The nurse said but Will was confused. He’d just gotten the call from the hospital saying Lecter’s were in a crash. 

“Two? No, there were three. Miss and Mister Lecter and Hannibal. There should be a young boy. He’s six. He’s in kindergarten. He was wearing a pair of shiny black shoes and a cashmere sweater he likes- he likes wearing cotton undershirts. He had on a blue cotton undershirt.” Will explained, he felt dizzy, like he was gonna barf. Or pass out. Or that his heart was gonna stop. 

“Sir there wasn’t a child. Only two adults. No children were brought in from that scene.” The nurse said and Will felt like ice traded places in his veins. 

“No, no, you guys didn’t find him? He’s only a baby! You don’t have him! Fuck! Where is he? Is he still there?” Will said and started to panic as he ran back to his unlocked car. He hadn’t even parked it right but that didn’t matter cause he was already racing to the site. 

Damnit Hanni, where are you? Will thought as he hit his palm against the wheel a few times. He’d dressed the boy for the dinner party before he’d left for class. 

---

Will was frantic as he shoved the key into the door and ran in, turning in circles for a sign. He ran looking for any sign. 

“Hanni! Hanni, come here! Hanni are you here?” Will screamed at the top of his lungs and heard a small thud and ran to the library. The phone was dangling off the desk, the wire holding it just above the carpet. 

“Willy?” Asked Hannibal who was dressed in his little white nighty with his white slippers on and his head covered in a nightcap. 

Will ran to him and fell to his knees to hold the boy in his arms. Will felt tears roll down his cheeks. The baby was okay, the sweet poor little baby was okay. 

“Oh Hanni, I was so worried.” Will said and held Hannibal tightly against his chest. 

“What happened? Why’re you sad?” Hannibal asked and looked at Will’s face. He didn’t like when Will was sad. Hannibal rubbed at the tears rolling down Will’s face, little hands clumsy. 

“Oh Hanni, I’m so so sorry. Mommy and Daddy got in an accident. I’m so sorry sweetheart but they aren’t coming back.” Will said and watched the boy scrunch his eyebrows and cock his head to the side a bit. 

“N-never? Mummy’s never coming back?” Hannibal asked, his hands shaking and his lip quivering. Will shook his head and sat down, crisscross, and pulled the boy into his lap. 

“No Hanni. Mummy’s not coming back.” Will told him and Hannibal grabbed ahold of Will’s button down. Hannibal hiccuped as tears welled up and his nose became leaky. 

“But- but where am I gonna go? Wha’s gonna happen?” Hannibal said through tears and snot and the heaviest of sadness and fear. 

“I'm gonna stay with you. We’re gonna be okay, you’ve still got me. We’re gonna stick together okay? Just like always, me and you.” Will reassured him and rocked back and forth, one hand holding the boy around the middle and the other petting at Hannibal’s soft blonde hair. The little boy started to sob, little body shaking. 

“Don’t leave Willy. Please don’t leave.” Hannibal begged as they both sat together on the cold library floor, crying over parents who were never there anyway. Hannibal was crying for his own loss and Will was crying for the boy who was being left alone just as he was so long ago. 

---

Will was appointed guardian, the Lecter’s will made it that much easier by giving Will power over the assets and the boy. Which helped because for six months and eight days, Hannibal Lecter was a wreck. Six months and eight days is what it took for him to get in counseling, back in school, and for Will to get guardianship and move in fully.  

Hannibal never wanted to let go from Will. He was always hanging onto a pant leg or thrown up on the man’s hip. He often stayed up all night crying or worrying, nightmares rattling through him, so he was usually found sleeping in Will’s lap anytime the man was sat down. 

Will took time away from school and the job. He threw himself into getting Hannibal stable. He brought his things into the Lecter house, he chose the room at the end of the hall, he made it his own. Well, somewhat. 

-----

“Willy?” Said a small voice from the tiny crack in the door. Will woke up and sat up, his hair sticking to his forehead. He felt groggy, his eyelashes stuck to each other. 

“Yeah Han?” Will grumbled and wiped the back of his hand against his eye as he clicked on his yellow lamp. The golden glow from it reached out from his bedside to show where the little boy was standing in the doorway, nighty pulled to one side and his hair a mess. Will looked at him for a moment. Hannibal had stopped wearing his cap claiming they were for babies and he wasn’t a baby anymore. 

“Willy can I um- may I- I had-“ stuttered the small seven year old. He looked down at the floor, hands picking at the front of his nighty. He’d gotten into the habit of picking at one spot near his belly button to the point Will had put little patches on some because the boy had picked a hole all the way through. 

Will sighed and gave a pitiful smile and waved the boy closer. He pulled back his blankets, he was usually too hot to actually get under them. 

“Oh come here Star, you can come lay down with me.” Will said and tapped the side of the large bed that was empty. The boy crept a little closer but looked nervous as he fiddled with the seam on the pocket of his nighty. 

“Are you sure?” Hannibal asked and stood beside the bed. 

He was always nervous when it came to touch. His parents never touched him. His last nanny never touched him. Willy was the only one who did and he did a lot. Will gave him hugs and carried him and ruffled his hair and would put his hand on Hannibal’s shoulder and held his hand when they walked and and well Hannibal still couldn’t ask for it. 

“‘Course Hanni, we all need some contact every once in a while. Especially special little starlights like you!” Will said and smiled as he lifted the boy to lay down next to him. The boy giggled and kicked his feet a bit before he was laid back down next to the man. Hannibal liked Will’s nicknames for him. Star, starlight, those were his favorites. 

Will laid back down and Hannibal curled up closely resting his head on Will's shirt clad chest.

Will wrapped an arm around him and rubbed at the boy's boney back. He didn’t know why Hanni was skinny, or why he wasn’t really growing as much as the other kids. Those kinds of thoughts flooded his mind as he clicked the light off  and Hannibal let his small fingers play with the ribbed fabric of the undershirt’s neck. 

Will kept a smooth, gentle rhythm with his hand on Hannibal’s back but the boy started to sniffle. 

“Mommy never let me sleep in her bed…” Hannibal mumbled and sniffed his nose, Will could feel his shirt getting wet. 

“Sh sh sh, it’s okay Hanni, it’s alright baby. I’m right here and you can always come sleep in my bed. Just try to sleep, Starlight, get some rest, yeah?” Will whispered and kept rubbing the boys back as he sniffled and let out small sobs. Hannibal never really got upset, never let himself lose control like a usual toddler, so his crying was so stressful on him. It was hard to calm him down from it. Except one thing. 

Will sang to him, an old lullaby his mother used to sing him. It was filled with Cajun French that Will never fully picked up but knew enough of. The lullaby hummed deep in his chest. 

Hannibal slowly stopped his sobs and soon was drooling lightly on Will's chest. Will pulled the blankets tightly around them and made sure the boy’s face was uncovered and that he was warm. 

“My special baby, we ain’t goin anywhere, just me and you.” Will whispered and let himself fade to sleep. 

-0-0-0-0-0-

“Cmon Hanni we’re gonna be late! You still gotta get ya shoes on!” Will yelled as he did up his belt that was for some reason in the laundry room. He grabbed Hannibal’s lunch box that the thirteen year old had made himself the night before. 

Hannibal was in eighth grade already. He’d taken half a year to complete third grade so he was caught up with his age group. Will was substitute teaching and working on getting his degree in forensics and taking care of Hannibal and well… It was a lot some mornings. He had to make sure he had everything and that Hannibal had everything. Hannibal had lacrosse and track and cooking classes, and Will had no time to run back home so everything had to be had then . 

“Coming Will, give me a second. I couldn’t find my hair gel.” The boy said as he walked into the entryway and sat down and pulled his little loafers. Will checked his backpack and threw it on his back and then put Hannibal’s lunch box and backpack next to him on the little bench he was sitting on. 

“Well we’ll have to make sure to put it back in your bathroom next time we do my hair.” Will said and smiled at the way Hannibal nodded and grinned at him. Hannibal’s smile was something wonderful to Will. Wolfy and bright. 

Will just looked at him for a moment as he gathered his things and double checked himself in the small mirror by the entry. 

He was nearly as tall as Will. Growing into a handsome young man, even more handsome than his father. Tall and strong and handsome and so helpful and sweet and smart. Such a different boy than the thin little thing he was before yet when Will looked at him he was just the same baby boy. 

“Willy? Why are you crying? Are we that late already? I’m sorry I’ll go get in the c-“ Hannibal said worriedly as he watched his guardian tear up and cry. 

Will pulled him into a hug and kissed his forehead. 

“You’re such a big boy and you’re getting so grown. I remember when you were so small and now you’ve grown into such a handsome young man and I love you so much.” Will said through his tears and hugged Hannibal’s solid strong body tightly before letting him go and holding him at arm's length. 

“Thanks Will, you look very handsome too. I like the scruff” Hannibal said and scratched Will's cheek which just caused more tears. Hannibal giggled and gave him a kiss on the cheek. 

“Oh you evil little boy, stop being so nice.” Will said and playfully shoved the boy’s hand away and headed for the door. 

-0-0-0-0-

Will got sick. Not much after Hannibal started highschool. It started as some nausea and body pain, and then fatigue and vomiting and headaches, and then hallucinations and fever and having to have some help walking. 

Encephalitis. 

Brain scans and many days in the hospital, Hannibal stopping by every evening, and it came down to it. Encephalitis. Take it easy, rest, take your injections, take your pills, and don’t irritate your symptoms. 

Will did most of those! He rested… some. He gave himself his injections, he took his pills. 

But life kept moving. Hannibal had track meets and practice, he played soccer with his friends on the weekend, he had a full schedule. Will had classes but he’d managed to get most of the notes sent to him and he only went in for tests and labs. He cut down on the days he substitute teaches down to once or twice a week. 

----

He fell asleep a lot. Everywhere. And Hannibal, tall, strong Hannibal, always carried him to bed. 

The boy was taller than Will now, much taller. He was broad and strong and smart and loves to cook. Hannibal still took cooking classes, advanced cooking classes at the college now, and he was on honor roll for the third year now that he was a junior. He was the star hurdle jumper on the track team, and did well in long jump. He went to all sorts of cooking courses around the state, often driving himself since Will had lost his license. 

He loved Will. More than anything in the world. He never felt love like it for anyone else. He craved Will. When Will got sick… Hannibal had started having panic attacks, he was nervous, he didn’t want to go to school, he didn’t want to leave the hospital. He wanted to be beside Will taking care of everything. 

When Will got home two years ago Hannibal had… changed. 

He did everything for Will. 

He cooked, cleaned, drove when he could, he went to appointments with Will and took notes, he was everywhere Will was. He carried Will and put him in his bed, when the older man fell asleep elsewhere. He would sit and watch Will sleep sometimes. He would hold Will when he had seizures, he held Will after the seizures, he held Will’s hand every time they walked anywhere. He wanted to crawl into Will’s skin and hold his heart in his hands. He wanted to be more than close with Will. 

-----

Will was like a proud Grandma when it came to Hannibal’s sports. He was always right there, front row, hat on, dressed as nicely as he dressed, backpack sat next to him, shouting for the world to know. 

“Yes! That’s my boy! Woo! Hannibal! Good boy! Good Job!” Will screamed and stood up only to get dizzy and sit back down, fists raised in the air. It was a very important meet, championships for their district. And Hannibal was the best . 

The blonde waved and jogged over to where Will sat, behind the wall. He was sweating like crazy, hair sticking to his forehead in a mess, jersey a shining white and deep blue, school colors, and his shoes still squeaky from being new. 

“I’m so proud! Star, you're so amazing! Tell the boys we’re having a pizza party at the house, I don’t care what you tell the parents, I’ll go along. Doesn’t even matter if you win! Hanni, that was your record! I’m so proud, baby!” Will ranted and Hannibal laughed and leaned his hands on the short wall, catching his breath. Will threw his arms around his boy, not caring if he stank or if he was sweaty. 

“Are you sure? I’ll take care of everything, you’ll need to rest when we get home.” Hannibal said and hugged Will back and kissed his forehead. Will smiled and shook his head, sitting back down taking a drink of his hydration drink. 

“I’ll admit, today’s been hard on me. This was your last event right?” Will asked, he was sweaty too, he hadn’t eaten all day and was feeling a bit fevered. Hannibal smiled knowingly and nodded. 

“Yeah, I just have to wait for medals. Why don’t you go home and call in the pizza? I’ll tell everyone else we’re having a homemade Italian night.” Hannibal suggested and wished Will was back in his arms. His mind raced with how it would feel to kiss the other man right then, kiss him and hold him and touch him and- these shorts show everything he reminded himself and thought of gross stuff like mcdonalds and 7-up. 

“Course. I love you, I’m so proud of you, be careful.” Will said and hugged Hannibal again, kissing him on both cheeks and then the forehead. 

“I love you, Will.” Hannibal said as Will walked away… man he looked good in those jeans…

-----

“Be quiet. Will’s sleeping. Just shut up for a second, lemme put him to bed.” Hannibal snapped quietly at the laughing and joking boys behind him. They’d all come over in the promise of cheap greasy pizza and nasty movies in Hannibal’s room. They were rich kids, cheap pizza was like gold . 

“Okay, mom .” 

“Yeah, alrighty mom ” 

The boys heckled him but kept it quieter as they caught scent of the pizza, bags being slung into the coat closet in the entry hall. 

Hannibal made it to the living room where Will often fell asleep reading his textbooks. Sure enough, Willwas in his chair, curled up under a blanket, book spread on his lap. Hannibal closed the book and sat it on the side table, on the stack that was there already. He then just looked down at Will. His hair was shorter than usual, he just got a haircut a few days ago but it looked so soft… Hannibal indulged himself and let his fingers skim over his hair… but then they drifted down to his rough stubble and the soft crest of his cheek and then across his soft pink lips… Hannibal swallowed thickly as he let his fingers run across Will’s bottom lip. The older man’s mouth was open slightly, breath creasing warming in a smooth rhythm. He pushed that soft bottom lip down, showing Will’s teeth, and pulled his hand back when he felt all the blood rush south, he was wearing a pair of tight pants, he didn’t need to be heckled for a boner. 

Hannibal bent down over Will, wrapping the man in his blanket, and picked him up. One arm under his back, one under his knees, making sure Will’s head laid on his shoulder. It was a practiced thing, he’d carried Will like this a thousand times. It was muscle memory as he made his way up the stairs and into Will’s room. 

“Into bed, sweet Will. Into bed.” Hannibal whispered as he placed Will down on his mattress, blankets tossed over to the side. He pulled the blanket that had bunched up around his waist to lay nicely over him. Over his socked feet all the way up to his neck, over his hands, and made sure his head was on the pillow. 

He just stared at Will. So beautiful. So soft, so sweet, so pretty, so warm… So his. 

“I love you. I do, I love you Will. I want you.” Hannibal whispered to Will who slept on, exhausted from the day. Hannibal sighed and left the room to go celebrate with his friends. 

-----

Will got better. Will gained a little bit of his weight back, he had so much more energy, and he looked incredible. Hannibal was often staring at him, head resting on his fist, drool practically dripping from his mouth. He often stared at Will’s handsome face when he wore his glasses, so focused on doing work or studying or reading. He often stared at Will’s butt, he gained ten pounds and his ass was so plump and practically begging to be bitten into like a ripe peach. And he was very very often staring at Will when he was out doing yard work, something he’d banned Hannibal from doing after he cut his hand with rose clippers. Hannibal would sit in the paved driveway and watch Will. He made the excuse that the sun was good for him but he just wanted to stare at Will as he stretched and sweated and oh wear those little shorts and flip flops and Hannibal would waddle back into the house claiming sunburn or ants and jerk off in the shower. He’d turn the water on, just warm, not hot. He’d be so worked up he’d barely get his pants off and a hand on himself and he’d be ready to bust. 

Just picturing Will, his body, his face, feeling up and down his solid body, kissing his lips, slipping his tongue into Will’s wanton mouth. Imagining how Will would sound as Hannibal fucked him, how he’d beg and whine and whimper sweetly. How Will’s ass would look as he fucked it, how Will’s body would move full of cock, how how- 

“ Will ” Hannibal would moan into the tile and spend the next ten minutes standing under the water thinking how mad Will would be if he knew Hannibal came thinking of him. 

---------

It all came to a head when Will broke up with his bar fling named John and Hannibal had nearly drowned in the school showers because he was blowing two guys at once and they thought it would be funny to turn the shower head to spray over his face. They were Juniors and he was a senior, they assumed he could ‘take it’... He beat them up before he left. 

Neither wanted to talk about why they were sad and pissy. 

Hannibal was huffy in his room, watching all sorts of bad porn and jerking off just to be unsatisfied and then kicking dirty clothes around his floor just to dig under his bed again and look at a pair of Will’s underwear he’d snatched from the laundry room. 

Will was being sad and eating ice cream curled up in the living room watching romcoms and telling himself John was just using him for notes and test answers. Then knowing John wasn’t even in the same classes and crying again. He was so horny and so bad at dating. 

Hannibal just kept going around his loop, trapped, Will moved on but Hannibal couldn’t. He kept feeling more and more edgy and aggressive. He felt like a balloon blown up too far. 

And then he did something irrational. Irrational and irreversible. 

--------

“Hannibal, what are you doing!?” Will yelled as he stared at the boy who was kneeling in the middle of the living room, back to the roaring fireplace. He was kneeling down low, knees spread wide, chest uncovered, his robe flowing around him held up by his arms still being through the sleeves. His chest and shoulders were bare, all the way down his toned torso, down passed the neatly trimmed blonde happy trail, down to his pink cock and the veiny hand that was wrapped around it. His other hand was holding him up from where he’d bent back, head thrown back, exposing his muscular neck. 

Will was in shock. His baby boy. His kiddo, His Starlight. Putting on a goddamn show. 

“Will, I want you. You’re the only person I need. Please Will, the other boys aren’t nice to me they hurt me, they won’t treat me like you do” Hannibal begged as he let his head loll back forward to face Will. It made him feel a bit less confident when he saw Will’s shocked face. 

“What do you mean? What are you doing? Hannibal, we have neighbors!” Will said and rushed around to close the curtains that were thankfully mostly closed. What was Hanni doing? And when did he get so… grown. They had just celebrated his 18th birthday but still when did he get so big and and strong and handsome and since when did he have such… When did he act like this?

“Will, please, please, take care of me. Like you always do…” Hannibal said in a grumbling rolling way with a little innocent smile on his lips and he held his cock in his hand. He was looking at Will over his shoulder and he moved so the back of the robe dropped down to cover nothing . His back and ass on display. Will stared at him and felt a wave of heat hit him. 

“Hannibal we can’t. You shouldn’t do this.” Will said and came up behind the boy and pulled the robe up to cover his back and pulled it closed in front of him. 

“We can’t. You don’t want to.” Will said and Hannibal felt something break in his chest. He slumped, confidence gone, he held the robe closed as his cock softened quickly. He sat down on his butt, crossing his legs and covering himself. He stared at Will who was rubbing his eyes and who let out a loud sigh. He looked like he was so… upset. 

“Take me Will, take me apart, touch me, Will please, please I can’t take another day.” Hannibal begged, shamelessly as tears welled in his eyes, his chest hurt. He felt tears starting to roll down his cheeks and Will turned around with that we-can’t-kill-someone-for-being-rude lecturing kind of look. 

“Hanni-” Will started but Hannibal snapped, yelling. 

“I’ll kill myself. I’ll tear my veins from my flesh, I’ll flay myself open and hang myself up.” Hannibal screamed, opening his arms to show Will his long perfect arms, making his point he stared right into Will’s eyes. 

“Hannibal…” Will said calmly and put his hands out to calm the boy down but Hannibal jerked away, crying loudly, sobs wracking his body. Will felt himself losing his restraint.  Hannibal was his. Since the second he’d seen him, Hannibal was his . 

“I can’t take a moment more. I love you Will, I love you, I love you, I need you I can’t can’t take-“ Hannibal broke off sobbing. He looked so defeated, sitting naked on the floor, crying like a baby. Will smiled. 

The older man knelt down and shoved away tears with his thumbs and held Hannibal’s sharp beautiful face in his hands. 

“My little starlight, you evil little boy, you mustn’t do this again. There’s far too many windows. And now you’re mine. No one else’s to see.” Will whispered to Hannibal who’s eyes seemed to be blood red in that moment. 

“Wi-” Hannibal had started but was cut off with a powerful long tongue filled kiss. They both could taste his tears, neither cared much though. Hannibal’s hands caught Will’s neck and pulled him down. 

“I love you.” Hannibal gasped when they pulled away, he meant to pulled Will down and fuck him right there but Will pulled away and pulling Hannibal up to stand, robe opening. 

“Not on this floor, not on a floor, my room, now.” Will said and pulled Hannibal down to kiss him again. Hannibal was getting whiney, hating to wait to have what was finally his. 

“Slow” Hannibal bit out as Will moved to kiss down his jaw. Will pulled back to say something but Hannibal already had him from behind the thighs and was hualing him up to carry him. Will squeaked which made the young man smile a big wolfy grin as he made the memorized walk to Will’s room without stopping their deep kissing, Will’s hands pushing the offensive silk off Hannibal. The blonde let it drop from him the second Will was thrown onto the bed. 

“Hannibal, my star, when did you become so…” Will said as Hannibal crawled up over him on the bed, unbuttoning his shirt and grinding down on his lap. Hannibal looked up at him, breathing heavily, eyes manic and hazed. 

“Such an animal.” Will finished and Hannibal grinned and pulled Will’s belt from its loops, slightly picking up the man for a moment. He let Will wiggle them down his hips before yanking them off, pulling Will’s legs straight up in the air. Will let out a surprised noise as Hannibal shoved his legs apart and leaned back down to kiss him. 

“Mine, Willy, You’re mine.” Hannibal growled as he ground down, his cock covering Will’s completely. The brunette let out a moan as he grabbed at Hannibal’s shoulders and back. Their lips met again, teeth and tongues clashing this time, Hannibal taking over and throwing Will’s legs up, one over his shoulder and the other around his hip. 

“Hanni…” Will whimpered and pushed his hands down to stroke the boy’s heavy hard cock. God that would feel so good inside…

Hannibal was moaning, long and low, right into Will’s neck where he was hiding his face. Will kept on stroking, not even being able to reach the base. 

“Hanni… is this what you want? Me to only touch you like this?” Will asked as he let his thumb run and rub gently at the perfect crown of his star’s cock. 

“Wanna fuck you, wanna, wanna fuck you” Hannibal stumbled through. Will smiled and let his nail lightly graze the fever hot skin, each movement causing Hannibal to let out groans. His little starlight taken apart from prim and proper to begging messy little slut. 

“I’ll let you fuck me. My way only. You little beast.” Will whispered and let go of Hannibal as the boy sat up, eye’s wide, smile playing at the corner of his lips. Will stretched his arms above his head, showing himself off, and squeezed his leg that was around Hannibal’s hip, pushing the boy to thrust against him. Hannibal moaned, lips making a beautiful little O. 

“Willy, please, please, please” Hannibal begged as he thrusted against the older man, cock slipping beside Will’s to rub in the crease of his thigh. Precum tracing lines into Will’s short brown pubes. Will shushed him and tried to straighten his thoughts. 

“Baby, calm down, sit back. Can’t jus fuck me, Star. Gotta get ready.” Will explained and pushed Hannibal’s shoulder so he’d sit up. Hannibal growled and kept thrusting for a moment before Will had his hand in his hair, pulling him back. 

The boy let out a whine and sat back on his heels. He pouted, bottom lip poking out a bit and gave Will the biggest pair of puppy eyes. Will laughed a little bit and reached over to his bedside and dug around for a long moment before finding the probably expired condoms he had and the small thing of lube that he rarely used. He preferred lotion of jerking off, but lube was best for this activity. 

“Do you know how to do this or do you want me to show you?” Will asked as he held up the foil packet and small bottle. Hannibal stared at him and shook his head. He’d never done it to someone else… himself sure sort of and a girl one time but that wasn’t- they weren’t nearly as precious as Will. He’d cut his own hands off if he hurt Will. 

“Lemme see your hands.” Will ordered and Hannibal held them out, palms forward, which made Will giggle as he turned them around to look at Hanni’s nails. Short and smooth. Will held Hannibal’s hand open, fingers spread a little with one hand and popped the top on the bottle, pouring some over his three fingers. 

“Will? I thought you were going to do it…” Hannibal said curiously as he pinched his fingers together just to spread them apart. The lube was thick, cool but warming quickly, and felt oddly like film on his skin. Will huffed and scooted up on the bed, getting into a comfortable position. He wasn’t a young man anymore, he was 37, he could keep up. Just needed to make sure he was in the right spot. 

He laid his head on his pillow, grabbing the other on and shoving it under his hips. He shuffled for a bit and decided he needed more behind him and wadded up his blanket and stuffed it behind him so he was curled up a bit, hips up, shoulders up. 

“You’re beautiful.” Hannibal whispered and watched Will huff and wiggle his shoulders against the blankets. Will looked at him and shook his head. Course his little starlight would say that, of course he’d have the mind to compliment even when his cock was drooling and cherry red. 

“Star? Do you know how to do this?” Will asked, his voice dropping, dragging itself from his throat as he let his hands wander over his own body. One hand staying up at his chest to rub into his chest and pinch and pull lightly at his nipples, the other roaming over his flat stomach, pulling a few times at his cock, and down to handle his balls for a moment before moving lower to run a dry finger over his hole. Hannibal was staring, his eyes focused exactly where Will was circling, he nodded, his eyes not leaving the show. 

“You know you need to be gentle right? You gotta use one finger… then another… then another. So big, I need three. Then you can fuck me.” Will said in a sultry way that had Hannibal’s cock jumping up as he moved in closer so his cock was nearly touching Will’s hole.

Slowly one of his sticky slick fingers started doing circles like Will’s had been and then pushing around and then finally slipping in. All the way in, and rubbing right across Will’s prostate. 

“Fuck! Oh Baby, baby, don’t touch there yet. Don’t don’t turn your fingers up. Keep em straight. Can’t cum more than once, honey. Wanna cum with you. Don’t be rubbing on me like that.” Will panted out, little shivers racing through him. Hannibal nodded, unable to tera his eyes from where he was inside . Even just his finger. He was fingering Will. 

It was slow, Will telling him when to add another, when to speed up, when to spread his fingers, and soon Hannibal was spreading his three fingers inside Will, spreading his rim. 

Hannibal was dizzy, his cock was so hard and had been for so long. And Will was making such amazing sounds, whimpering and panting, his hands leaving their positions playing with himself to hold his legs up and open, gripping behind his knees. 

“No more, fuck me. C’mon baby, fuck me like you wanna.” Will bit out, tears welling in his eyes. He was ready and Hannibal was such a good boy. 

Hannibal hastily rolled the condom on his cock, it was a little uncomfortable because it was a little snug but it wasn’t gonna make him stop. 

He leaned over Will, letting his ankles rest on his shoulders, and guided his cock to Will’s slick messy little hole.  He was barely pressing in, he didn’t wanna hurt Wil-

“You fuck me right now or I’m gonna do it myself.” Will said and grabbed two handfuls of hair on the sides of Hannibal’s head. He had a crazed look in his eyes, and Hannibal couldn’t resist letting himself go, matching that look. 

He slammed into Will, hips slapping the backs of fuzzy thighs. And he didn’t stop. Shoving his face into Will’s warm neck, feeling each one of his moans, he fucked Will like he wanted to. He fucked him hard and fast, grunting and whining, hands sliding under Will’s back, holding him close, lifting him up from the mattress. 

“Star, Star, Hannibal! I’m gunna cum. Oh god, Hanni, good boy, good boy, cmon keep going, baby don;t stop, so close! So close!” Will begged, his hole tightening around Hannibal’s cock. His hand moved to jerk at his own drooling cock as Hannibal, kept thrusting as hard and as fast as he could. 

“Willy, Willy, I love you. I love you Will, I love you.” Hannibal whined as Will moaned out louder and louder, Hannibal was holding on but he felt like he was going to explode before Will came. 

Will pulled his legs to wrap around Hannibal’s waist and pulled him in, yelling out, cock spilling out over his belly. He grabbed onto his boy, who was still fucking him roughly. 

“C-cmon sweetheart, my pretty, precious little star. C’mon baby, cum for me” Will whispered into Hannibal’s ear. He was sweating, hair sticking to his forehead, grunting each time he slammed into Will’s hole, he looked up at Will with wild eyes. 

Will was crying, it was too much, way too much. He smiled and pulled Hannibal down for a kiss. Hannibal let out a little strangled sound as he shoved as far as he could into Will’s body, his hips twitching and his cock jerking where it was deep inside Will’s body. 

Hannibal panted as his arms shook, he dropped down to lay on top of Will, who automatically carded his hands through Hannibal’s blonde hair. 

“Starlight, so good to me. How could I have not noticed? I love you Hannibal.” Will said as he caught his breath and pet down Hannibal’s back and pushed his fingers through his sweaty hair. Hannibal kept holding him, face smushed into his shoulder. 

“Of - ew- ill” Hannibal said into Will’s skin, ‘Love you will’ . Will laughed and kept on petting till Hannibal had his fill and then they went to the bathroom to bathe together. 

-0-0-0-0-0-

“Welcome home Will.” Hannibal said from the kitchen as Will walked through to set his briefcase down and kick his shoes off. 

His hair greying at the edges, his scruff gone grey in patches too. Hannibal found him even more handsome even in his very thick glasses. 

“Hello Star, what are we having for dinner? I’m starved. I worked through lunch.” Will said as he wandered over to his husband, wrapping his arms around Hanni’s middle. 

“You shouldn’t do that Will, you’ll get weak.” Hannibal said, chastising Will for his self neglect. Will nuzzled in between Hannibal’s shoulder blades. 

“You fret on me too much, I had a granola bar and an aspirin.” Will said and let his head rest against the broad strong back in front of him, loving the strong beating of Hannibal’s heart. 

“We’re having long pig and I made fresh gelato. Chocolate with brownie bits, you’re favorite.” Hannibal said and Will groaned, squeezing his love. 

“I love you Hanni” Will said and moved to pull Hannibal down by his neck. 

“I love you too Will, forever.” Hannibal answered and pressed a loving kiss onto Will’s soft lips.

[cordycepsfem]

the linchpin of the subordination of women, the impetus and structure of women’s gendered status as second class, is sexuality, socially gendered through sexualized misogyny. We are placed on the bottom of the gender hierarchy by the misogynistic meanings that male dominant societies create, project onto us, attribute to us, which, in my observation and analysis, center on women’s sexuality. This has nothing whatsoever to do with biology

This has nothing whatsoever to do with biology, but somehow society has always known who can be raped, who was prized for their reproductive abilities, who was to be prostituted or sold off or enslaved, who was to be aborted before birth or killed shortly thereafter.

It has nothing whatsoever to do with biology, but - *gestures at all of human history.*

Not necessary, because not only are trans women living women’s lives—often much the worst of that life—but the transgender women I know, anyway, embrace womanhood consciously, are far more woman-identified than a vast swath of the women assigned female at birth (so-called “natal women” sometimes) whom I also know, many of whom have been trying to escape womanhood their whole lives for real reasons, yet often defend rape of other women as just a bad night and disidentify with women in every possible way short of their own transition, which is a lot of trouble and takes real courage. Trans women are, politically, women. They are our people too.

What does "living women's lives" mean? My mom's a woman. She and I don't live the same life. My sister's disabled. She lives a very different life than many women. There are billions of women in the world who all live different lives. Whose lives are trans women living, and how do they know they're women's lives?

And transgender women who "embrace womanhood consciously" - what the fuck does that mean? They're male, so they have no "womanhood" to "embrace." Does MacKinnon mean they wear heels and dresses and makeup? Is she equating "womanhood" with "femininity"? How droll and dumb. She should expand her definition. Femininity is so narrow and unnecessary in regards to being a woman. You just have to be female and an adult human!

Oh, she goes on to say they "are far more woman-identified than a vast swath of the women assigned female at birth" - who we just call women - got it. So somehow these males are more women than actual women. Leave it to a woman to tell a man he's the best at everything, including skinwalking as a woman. Like, are you going to take the bread out of your mouth too, MacKinnon, if a man says he's hungry?

How can a male be more of something he is not than someone who actually is that? How did MacKinnon write this sentence and not immediately fall over from how parody it was? Was she drunk? Does she owe some people money?

And trans women are not women politically. Otherwise they'd be affected by things like an abortion ban, a restriction on birth control, changing laws around maternity leave and childcare and pregnancy in regards to employment. They'd be standing up to help actual women fight these issues that are affecting women, politically. But none of them were affected by any of that, and none of them seem to have the time to do jack shit to show solidarity with the women whose lives, according to MacKinnon, they are literally living.

But let's not worry about the women who have been "trying to escape womanhood" or the reasons why they might have done so. Let's instead praise men who've decided they are women, and focus solely on their issues. Surely this is the way to achieve freedom from the patriarchy for women and girls. Surely! How can focusing on men, which we've been doing for fucking ever, ever be wrong? It's gotten us this far!

the linchpin of the subordination of women, the impetus and structure of women’s gendered status as second class, is sexuality, socially gendered through sexualized misogyny. We are placed on the bottom of the gender hierarchy by the misogynistic meanings that male dominant societies create, project onto us, attribute to us, which, in my observation and analysis, center on women’s sexuality. This has nothing whatsoever to do with biology, which serves, however powerfully, as sexuality’s after-the-fact attributed naturalized rationalization and supposed ratification. Sexualized misogyny merges synergistically with myriad inequalities: it sucks up and incorporates age-based specifics, takes on every racialized and caste and class guise. In other words, I reject the “single-axis” notion argued by what is currently inaccurately being called “gender-critical feminism.”

[…]

Transgender feminist theorization and realization, emerging into view but begun long ago—in a brilliant literature from Sandy Stone to Julia Serano to Esperanza—embodies a politics of its own but also sheds new light on feminist politics. All this suggests to me that “woman” is a combination of sex and gender, such that sex can be a sufficient condition for being considered a woman but has never been a necessary one. Sufficient, because most women so assigned at birth do not affirmatively identify with all women and women’s interests, or even as women really (seeing oneself as part of any group with men in it has more dignity); many (even most) are not critical of male supremacy; but all are constrained to live women’s lives, whether they see it that way or not. They are our people.

Not necessary, because not only are trans women living women’s lives—often much the worst of that life—but the transgender women I know, anyway, embrace womanhood consciously, are far more woman-identified than a vast swath of the women assigned female at birth (so-called “natal women” sometimes) whom I also know, many of whom have been trying to escape womanhood their whole lives for real reasons, yet often defend rape of other women as just a bad night and disidentify with women in every possible way short of their own transition, which is a lot of trouble and takes real courage. Trans women are, politically, women. They are our people too.

[…]

I take away two overarching lessons from these thoughts in progress. One is that feminism has not yet sufficiently changed the social meaning of gender around us for everyone to be safe and free and equal in gender terms, no matter how strongly we have confronted it or expanded it or bent it or transcended it or worked to abolish it. A lot of people still think it is biologically based. This much is truly obvious. Naturalism, that gender flows from sex in the sense of chromosomes and genitals and reproductive biology and so on, still exercises dominion over the world we all live in. Two, the feminist anti-transgender position is built on and reinforces, rather than challenges, that ideology. The notion that gender is biologically based—the philosophical foundation common to male dominant society and anti-trans feminists—is core to the reason why trans people know with their lives that they have to change their bodies to live the gender of their identities. Trans people do not need to make or defend a progressive contribution to gender politics to be entitled to change the way they inhabit gender. But trans people, in addition to all else they do and are, highlight feminism’s success—gender’s arbitrariness and invidiousness was our analysis originally—and feminism’s failure, or better our incomplete project—as the world is still largely stuck in what feminists oppose and fight to change, and trans people are determined to escape.

Babe wake up new MacKinnon essay on trans rights and feminism just dropped!!

[ijustwant2write]

Causing A Fuss-Anthony Bridgerton x Reader

(GIF credit to @hvitserkk​)

Masterlist

Requested by @elennox03 : Can you write an imagine where Anthony’s wife is pregnant and she’s at the very end of her pregnancy and he is trying to make her stay in bed and rest but she refuses and she’s somewhere in the house and she goes into labor and Anthony freaks out and then after the baby is born a little cute dad Anthony fluff?

Characters: Anthony Bridgerton x Reader, Hyacinth Bridgerton x Reader (sister-in-law), Violet Bridgerton x Reader (mother-in-law)

Meanings: (Y/N)=Your name

Warnings: Pregnancy side effects, labour, mention of blood, fluff fluff fluff

                                     *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Anthony's strides were quick as he explored the house, desperately seeking his wife. Members of staff were ambushed with questions, startled by his tone. When he didn't get the answer he wanted, he would huff and storm off again. Where was his beloved? She wasn't where she was supposed to be.

(Y/N) laid back on the sofa as Hyacinth fanned her, the pregnant woman also fanning herself. She was just too hot, she was tired and her feet felt like they had been hit with a hammer. Her shoes were on the floor, it was far too painful to be wearing them.

"Thank you so much darling." (Y/N) said to her sister-in-law.

"Is it really that bad?" Hyacinth asked.

(Y/N) wanted to say yes. Despite pregnancy being an extraordinary feeling, the emotions and connections you made with your unborn child were confusing, there were quite a few downsides; the sickness, the tiredness, not being able to fit into your dresses or shoes, as well as feeling every single type of emotion everyday. But after seeing the young girls scared face, she knew she couldn't be entirely truthful.

"No, of course not." (Y/N) smiled, sitting up slightly."It can just get a little tiring sometimes. Have you ever held a baby?"

She nodded.

"It was heavier than you imagined, hm? Well, my baby is a little heavy right now. But they will be here soon."

"I'm very excited to meet them. I can't wait to be an auntie!"

(Y/N) melted at that."You'll be an amazing auntie."

"Here you are." Anthony entered the room, relieved to see (Y/N), until he saw what state she was in."What is wrong? Hyacinth, why didn't you fetch for me sooner?"

Anthony rushed to his wife's side, snatching the fan from his sister and fanning his wife. (Y/N) was irritated whenever Anthony was like this, it was sweet that he cared, but her fuse was short. She was resting, not bed ridden.

"I am not returning to bed Anthony. I do not wish to bicker with you." (Y/N) made it clear."I am just hot, that is all."

"The doctor advised that you stay in bed for most of the day-"

"Anthony, I cannot stay cooped up all day, laying down and doing nothing. I would go simply mad. And I have spoken to friends who are or have been pregnant, none of them did that."

"They are not professionally trained."

"That doctor has never carried a baby."

"(Y/N) said it isn't that heavy." Hyacinth spoke up.

Anthony slowly turned his head to his sister. "This is a matter for the grown ups. Go and...play somewhere."

Hyacinth knew better than to argue with Anthony, rolling her eyes before leaving. (Y/N) pursed her lips at her husband's behaviour.

"Did I ever mention how amazing you are with children?"

Anthony smirked."Well, it's a bit late to be getting lessons on childcare, isn't it?"

(Y/N) giggled, taking Anthony's hand and placing it on her bump. Anthony loved touching her growing bump. It had been strange to see his wife changing shape before his eyes. He was so used to her body having run his hands over every angle, seeing it every day from the time they were married. But it made him fall even more in love with her, if that was even possible. Anthony could write a hundred pages expressing his love for his wife, and it would still never be enough.

"I still can't believe we're having a baby." he breathed out.

(Y/N) scoffed."Are you saying I've always looked like this?"

Anthony laughed."Of course not. But no matter how much you talk about such a thing, no matter how much preparation you do, it just seems surreal."

(Y/N) hummed in response, putting her hand on top of his."I've loved carrying them, but it is time for them to come out into the world."

"Still not saying whether it's a boy or girl?"

(Y/N) shook her head."I just don't feel one way about it. Not that I care about that, as long as they're healthy."

"I still say boy."

"You would."

"You just said you didn't care."

"I don't."

"(Y/N), please can you just promise me one thing?"

"Anthony, I am not staying in bed-"

"Stay by my side as much as possible. The baby is due soon and I want to ensure you are safe when the time comes."

"Oh, Anthony, I'm with you for a majority of the day anyway."

"I know but, if there are moments where I am not present, I want to have a sound mind that you are in safe hands, such as family or a member of staff."

"Well, you know I'm not going to be leaving the house, much to my annoyance. So I will be guarded all day and night."

"You're making it sound like you're a prisoner."

"I'm just being dramatic. I just want to meet our child now."

"Well, I can't deny either of those statements."

Anthony wasn't exaggerating when he said he wanted (Y/N) beside him at all times. From then on, they were seen with each other anywhere they went in the house. Anthony didn't go out as much as he did, and he instructed there always be staff in every room and corridor. She didn't mind it, however, as her due date grew closer, the more nervous she became. Unfortunately, that meant her temper was shorter, she became more snappy and tired, and she didn't want everyone constantly reminding her that she was about to give birth. (Y/N) tried so hard to not take it out on her husband, but because he was the one always beside her, he was the only person she could lash out at.

"Anthony, I'm sorry but I just need a few moments alone. I'll return soon, just...let me calm down. I'm sorry." she apologised as she walked away from him, having screamed about how frustrated she was.

She didn't hide her deep breathing as she waddled down the corridors, passing by staff that worryingly watched her. (Y/N) wanted to calm her heart rate, try and clear her mind. Feeling too many eyes on her, (Y/N) escaped into the nearest room, slamming the door shut behind her.

"(Y/N)?" Hyacinth said behind her.

(Y/N) sighed. Would she ever be alone again?

"What are you doing in my playroom? I thought you would be with Anthony."

She was playing with her dolls, three propped up in mini chairs, as was she, as they indulged in an imaginary afternoon tea. (Y/N) couldn't help but smile at that, envisioning her child playing in this room.

"Sorry darling, I just...I needed some time away from the grown ups."

"Oh, alright. Would you like to join us for tea?" she gestured to the chair beside her, causing (Y/N) to laugh.

"I don't think I would fit in that chair, even if I wasn't with child. I'll take the rocking chair. You carry on darling, I'm sorry for the interruption."

Her aching feet carried her to the chair, cautiously lowering down onto it. She rocked her heels back and forth, though did so slowly in case it caused any nausea. Hyacinth continued her game as if (Y/N) wasn't there, but kept her voice quiet to be respectful. (Y/N) closed her eyes, finally feeling the stress lift for just a moment when a jolt of pain in her stomach startled her. It made her let out a cry, clutching onto her bump as she leaned forward. Hyacinth jumped at the sudden noise, suddenly frightened at the way (Y/N) sounded and looked.

(Y/N)'s breathing got faster and deeper, yelling out as an unbearable feeling coursed through her. Her hands wrapped around her torso, willing the feeling to stop. A shocked noise escaped her when she felt herself go wet in the chair, liquid dripping down her legs.

"Hyacinth, get Anthony!" (Y/N) groaned, thankful a staff member rushed in. Hyacinth didn't have to be told twice, running as quickly as she could to fetch her brother. She had never seen anyone in such a state, no one had ever mentioned this pain when having a baby. Tears were in her eyes as she finally found Anthony, who was standing with her two other brothers at the staircase.

"Hyacinth, what's wrong?" Benedict was the first to notice the little girl running towards him.

She immediately grabbed Anthony's hand, gripping tightly onto it."Quickly!"

"What's happened?" Anthony asked her her fretting.

"(Y/N)'s having the baby!"

A second of silence passed before Anthony sprinted in the direction his sister came from. He only had to follow the sound of screaming to find his wife. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen, she was meant to be upstairs in a comfortable position, surrounded by women staff that were prepared. He halted in the doorway when he saw her clutching onto the servant's arm as she struggled to stand from the chair. He snapped an order at another servant who followed him. The doctor had to get here as soon as possible, and the other students needed to prepare immediately.

"It's alright my love, I'm here. The doctor is on his way." Anthony reassured her as he took her other arm.

"I'm in so much pain Anthony." she wept."I can't do it, I can't do it, I don't have control over my own body. I'm frightened!"

Anthony's heart was shattering into a million pieces seeing his wife like this. He couldn't do anything to help. He couldn't ease the pain. If he could, he would take all of the pain she had and endure it himself. Anthony was a mix of emotions; fear for his wife, excitement to meet his child, terrified at (Y/N)'a reactions and noises. It was all too much, nothing would have prepared him for this.

"Anthony, you must leave!" Violet suddenly appeared.

"Mama, I can't leave her-"

"You wouldn’t want to see this Anthony. Go wait for the doctor, we all know what we’re doing here.”

Anthony knew of the steps to take in this event, it was not proper for a man to be present during the ordeal of birthing. But the love for (Y/N) was urging him to stay and protect her, that was what he was supposed to do as a husband, not abandon her. They went through everything together. Now he was being told to leave because of societies rules.

Benedict and Colin were able to pull away Anthony easier than they thought, due to him being frozen and confused about what he should do. He only registered that (Y/N) was calling for him after they left the room. Fighting against his brothers hold, he ignored their please for him to stop. They didn’t understand. They weren’t married, they had no idea what it was like to be bonded with someone in this way. However, he knew they were right, he had to stay away. All he could do now was help her from outside of the room.

“Where is the doctor?!” he demanded to know from the nearest servant.

“H-he has b-been called upon, Lord Bridgerton.” they stuttered.

“As soon as he arrives, he is to be brought here, quickly! Gather pillows, as many as you can, and blankets, we must ensure my wife is as comfortable as she can be. She should have been giving birth in a bed!”

Benedict and Colin stood back in silence, shocked by the quick turn around in their brother’s behaviour. They didn’t dare say anything in case they were snapped at. 

(Y/N) was clinging onto Violet’s hand as she screamed, hating the way her body had taken over and she couldn’t take back control. Violet remained calm, knowing that (Y/N) could do this. She had birthed all of her children with no complications, she knew how much women had to endure, so Violet was equipped with the necessary grit and vigour to help her daughter-in-law. (Y/N) was grateful to have Violet there.

A gruelling eight hours passed, filled with (Y/N) screaming, crying, cursing, pleading and begging for Anthony. It took every ounce of his willpower to not dash back to her, he would never forgive himself for this. He wished he could change the rules so he could be beside her. He paced with a strong drink in his hand for those eight hours, his brothers sitting down, trying to support him. However, it was getting late, and they found themselves struggling to keep their eyes open. Anthony had got rid of his jacket, sleeves rolled up and shirt buttons undone as he got warm, fretting over what was happening to (Y/N). 

“Lord Bridgerton!” a servant exclaimed as they entered the room, trying to stay composed. 

The men perked up, suddenly awake. Anthony noticed the servant was smiling, which made him relieved.“What is it?”

“Lady Bridgerton has given birth.”

Anthony didn’t need to hear anything else. He instantly ran to where his poor wife had been in labour. Hyacinth would never step foot in that room again. He pushed past anyone that got in his way, halting at the open doors to the playroom. The first thing he saw was blood, a lot of it, alarmed at the sight. But as he entered the room, it was forgotten about when he saw (Y/N)’s grin aimed at the baby wriggling around in her arms. His steps were slow as he approached, scared that he would disturb the peace that had finally fallen in this room. 

“Anthony.” (Y/N) breathed out, clearly exhausted. 

“I’m sorry.” was all Anthony could manage, eyes still fixed on his child. 

“For what?”

“For not being here.”

“You’re here now, and I understand darling. Now come meet your son.”

Anthony’s eyes widened.“I-I have a son? We have a baby boy?”

The doctor who had been crouched beside (Y/N) smiled at the Lord, standing to give the couple their space.“Yes, Lord Bridgerton, you’re now a father and have a son, who is very healthy, just like his mother.”

Violet also backed away, beaming down at her eldest son. She had never imagined him married and settled down so quickly, she expected to have many more years of her son fooling around with women not of a certain standard. Once (Y/N) waltzed in, Violet had seen a change in Anthony, and hope was restored in the Viscount.

“He’s finally here.” (Y/N) smiled as Anthony sat beside her.

“He really is.” one of his arms wrapped around her shoulders, whilst the other supported her arms holding the baby.“You’re amazing. You did this (Y/N).”

“We did it.”

“No, no, you did this all by yourself. I’ll be with you every time form now on.”

“Every time? How many are you planning to have?”

He chuckled.“We’ll discuss that later.”

(Y/N) giggled, gently kissing the top of their baby’s forehead. Anthony couldn’t stop smiling, repeating (Y/N)’s actions to her. He had never envisioned this, he didn’t want to be trapped in this life at first. He had so many responsibilities dumped on him after his father died, he wanted to make sure his family was secure and have the freedom for himself; until he met (Y/N), and suddenly, he could see his entire future planned in front of him with this woman. He never fathomed that his heart could give anymore love for anyone else in this world, and he had been proven wrong. (Y/N) was the love of his life, as was his son, and he would protect and cherish them for the rest of his life. 

[spac3-em0]

Hi due to some things happening I’d like to say a few things about the webcomic The Glass Scientists because I keep seeing lies about it.

First off, if you don’t know, TGS is set in VICTORIAN LONDON because it’s a mad science fantasy comic with a dark academia twist. This is extremely important to the story, considering how easy it is to set things on fire, how the two of the three main characters have a shitton of Victorian repression, and how Hyde, the other main character, came to be in the first place.

Now, I’ll be talking about Hyde’s actions/what happens to him throughout the comic, the way Sabrina, the author represents POC, the two white main characters and how that’s not a bad thing, the claim that it’s a bad representation of D.I.D, when consuming problemactic media becomes a problem/why problematic media is needed, and finally what is and isn’t a lie. And, spoiler warning for the entire comic.

Edward Hyde’s Actions and the Plot Points Surrounding Him

Edward Hyde is the on and off narrator for TGS, and is also, in my opinion, one of the main characters. His actions have greatly befitted the plot, from when he manipulated Jekyll into letting him go free for a night so he could visit Blackfog, when he set a third of London on fire on accident, when he started using “nightmares” to torture Jekyll into letting him out to go to Blackfog again, him discovering he could take control of Jekyll’s body, becoming what my friend and I call Green Eye, and finally Rachel and Hyde’s relationship which started before the comic even began. These are just the ones off the top of my head, but there are more.

I’ll talk about Rachel and Hyde’s relationship first, because it’s used as a plot point multiple times. At first glance, it could appear that Rachel is abusive towards Hyde. One could make that arguement, and I only slightly agree. The reason for Rachel’s actions towards Hyde is because her deceased little brother, Eli, looks an awful lot like Hyde. Rachel blames herself for Eli’s death, and believes if she was there for Eli more he wouldn’t have died. This is explained by Rachel’s older brother, Patrin, to Hyde. I don’t believe Rachel is trying to be abusive, commonly people don’t realize their actions are, in fact, abusive. That gives others time to show them the error of their ways (However, there are people who know they’re being abusive, and that is not a good way to view the world). Rachel is not intending to abuse Hyde in any way, she simply believes that she can “rescue” Hyde from a life of crime and thievery, doing what she couldn’t with Eli. This, in and of itself, is not bad. Their relationship is only slightly toxic. If Rachel can get over Eli’s death, and stop blaming herself for it, I’m sure their relationship will be less toxic.

Now onto the things Hyde does. Hyde is meant to be a bad person. Hyde is everything Jekyll’s repressed, and clearly Jekyll has had some nasty thoughts. It’s also good to keep in mind that neither Hyde nor Jekyll are a full person. Jekyll drinking the HJ7 split his personality in two. Both Hyde and Jekyll are missing important parts of themselves, so, in my opinion, neither of them could be classified as a full human, but they are the same person. I bring this up because Hyde relied on Jekyll to take care of maintaining looks, paying bills, and other responsibilities that Hyde didn’t want to deal with. And Hyde has been shown hating the idea of being trapped. So, what does Hyde do? He manipulates Jekyll into giving him what he wants. But we run into a problem when people expect Hyde to be perfect and a saint. That isn’t his character at all. His character is supposed to be considered evil by Victorian society. So he’s not going to be unproblematic. He’s based off the book Hyde, who literally trampled a little girl and committed murder. The explanation I just listed is the reason behind most of Hyde’s actions throughout the story, and they commonly carry the plot forward.

Sabrina’s POC Representation

I’d like to go on record and say that the representation in TGS is nice to see, however I am white myself. I’ll be going off of what I’ve heard other POC say about the representation, and my own personal opinions. The main criticism I see is Lanyon and Lucy being portrayed as black stereotypes. Except they aren’t. First off, Lanyon isn’t even a full black man. He’s biracial (half white half black). I’m not too sure about Lucy, but given the fact she is darker than Lanyon I believe she is a full black woman. Neither of them play into stereotypes. Now you could say that Lanyon is the gay black best friend, except that would be diminishing him to half of his racial identity, his sexuality, and his relationship with Jekyll. The comic is good at showing that Lanyon doesn’t fit that mould perfectly, or in fact at all. Lanyon’s actions are fueled by the want to keep the Society for Arcane Sciences afloat, and keeping Jekyll alive and well. His sexuality also plays a role in the plot because before the comic started, it’s shown that Lanyon and Jekyll clearly have a history, and as you read further you can infer that it was sexual in nature. Why would a straight man in Victorian London sleep with a man?

Now, onto Lucy. We don’t know a lot about Lucy, but we do know that she was poor as a child, and was able to create an empire of thieves and provide housing, childcare, and income to a lot of women. Now, tell me how that’s playing into a stereotype for black women. Or, really, black people in general. From what I’ve researched, a lot of stereotypes about black people are rooted in racism and slavery. You could argue that because Lucy’s a thief, it’s negative and racist. But if Sabrina was racist, wouldn’t Lanyon also be a thief instead of being well off? And wouldn’t Lucy not have been able to create something of this magnitude, because the entirety of London knows about her empire.

Another criticism I saw is the fact that Rachel’s name doesn’t fit her race. And that Eli being a thief is a negative stereotype. As far as we know, all of Rachel’s blood-bound family is Romani. But here’s the catch, we don’t know if Rachel’s parents are immigrants or not. They could have very well have been raised in London themselves which is why Rachel has her name to begin with. I’m not entirely sure about the Eli stereotype, but I know it wasn’t meant to be like that. Eli is meant to be like Hyde, and Hyde has problematic traits and does problematic things. It’s supposed to be a parallel between the two, which is why Rachel acts the way she does with Hyde.

Why Having Two White Men as Protagonists Isn’t a Bad Thing

I know I’ll get backlash, but not every piece of media needs a POC main character. Especially not when it’s set in Victorian London. However even with my first statement, in TGS there is a biracial gay man as a protagonist. And even though Hyde and Jekyll are white and are men, they aren’t straight. Jekyll is bisexual and Hyde is pansexual. So there’s still some representation for the LGBTQ+ community, which I am a part of. I’m a transgender man and bisexual myself and I like seeing bisexual men be represented.

Why Jekyll and Hyde Isn’t the Thing You Turn to for D.I.D Representation

J&H was never meant to be D.I.D representation. And even if it was, it was written in the times where people were sent to asylums for briefly thinking they heard something when they didn’t /not serious, joking. As someone who has two systemmates, I can assure you that J&H isn’t meant to be D.I.D representation. And if people are trying to claim it is, you should maybe just try and talk to them to see where they’re coming from.

Problematic Media

Consuming problematic media doesn’t make you a bad person. Creating it doesn’t make you one either. It becomes a problem when the person or you creating it tried to romanize certain toxic behaviours, or claim problematic actions are perfectly okay. We need problematic media because we don’t know the story behind it. The person making it could just be venting and trying to heal, or if they write a success stories, like I do, it creates a well of hope in them. Because they believe if this character can do it, then so I can I. Now, how does this tie into TGS? Characters in the comic have shown behaviours that are problematic. Rachel, Hyde, Frankenstein, Moreau, and even Jekyll to an extent. However, their behaviours are framed in a way that puts them in the wrong, but they aren’t bad people, aside from Moreau.

What is and isn’t true?

TGS is not a “yaoi uwu gay soft bois” comic.

Characters are allowed to be problematic because no one is perfect.

No one’s sexualities have been the butt of any jokes.

No one has been sexually assaulted within the events of the comic or what has been shown.

Lanyon and Lucy are not black stereotypes.

Hyde and Jekyll being white and men aren’t a problem.

[stillness-in-green]

Thoughts on Chapter 314 (and surrounding events)

Being a loose summary of several things I thought about in relation to the leaks, what they say about the series as a whole, a bit of new operating headcanon on the Peerless Thief, and a dash of how fandom is responding to the revelations. Spoilers, obviously.

This chapter makes it quite clear that the HPSC absolutely would have gone in and eliminated the PLF quietly, lethally, and wholly unlawfully if Hawks hadn't reported back the numbers that he did. The only reason the raid involved non-Commission-affiliated heroes at all is because the PLF's manpower was simply too much for the Commission to deal with via their usual methods. I'm both appalled that the disregard for human rights in HeroAca Land is somehow even worse than I thought it was and smug that that tiny little piece I recently posted criticizing the PLF's treatment has turned out to be totally justified and supported by the canon.[1] (Note that this does not absolve Horikoshi of the responsibility to, himself, treat the PLF better than paper dolls tossed into the incinerator of Plot Irrelevance when they cease being convenient to his story.) The fact that the Commission was forced to involve heroes might mean Re-Destro, Mr. Compress and the others are somewhat safer than might otherwise be the case. Because of the involvement of the unsuspecting stooges law-abiding heroes, and because the botched raid became such a huge disaster, there’s far more public scrutiny on this than would otherwise be the case. Of course, "accidents" can still happen,[2] especially in a chaotic environment, but the factors above (combined with Clone!RD murdering the bejeezus out of the Lady Prez) do, I think, suggest that there probably isn't an organized push for quick solutions going on behind closed doors.

I don't think Nagant has been around for a terribly long time or that there was an uptick in vigilantism in recent years—I think the scene where she mentions vigilantes becoming accepted as heroes is just in reference to the early history of heroism. It's in keeping with what Tsukauchi Makoto described in Vigilantes, and forms the basis of the current system—the current system that Nagant was a single cog in a big machine grinding away to preserve.

Speaking of Nagant and the system, it's interesting to me that one of the groups Nagant apparently targeted at the HPSC's behest was corrupt heroes—those who colluded with villains or specifically goaded/incited civilians into using their quirks illegally, thus turning civilians into capital-V Villains in the eyes of the law. One might easily say that targeting corrupt heroes (albeit using a much broader definition of "corrupt") was Stain's whole shtick, but it actually puts me more in mind of the Peerless Thief, Harima Oji. Harima punished greedy or corrupt heroes with theft, and presumably with a measure of declaration and exposure,[3] then distributed their money back to the streets. Someone who ridicules those who abuse their power, and gets away with it for long enough to build a reputation: that right there is a recipe for a folk hero. The HPSC, in whatever form they existed at the time, obviously couldn't let that go on—such repeated humiliations would weaken peoples’ faith in (and obedience to) the system the HPSC was trying to build. At the same time, though, it would also weaken faith in the system to openly acknowledge that system's flaws, to acknowledge that some pretty awful people had found their way into the heroics business specifically for the power and ability to abuse it that the title of Hero afforded them. Public trials would make it a matter of record that some heroes—and, accordingly, heroes at large—did not deserve the public's unquestioning faith. Obviously in a system that was built from the ground up on faith, that was unacceptable. And so Harima was branded a supervillain for exposing the system's flaws, while the corrupt heroes who embodied those flaws to begin with were—and continue to be—quietly disposed of at the HPSC’s discretion.

There's a lot of talk around about how Lady Nagant is stupid, or hypocritical, or delusional, or whatever other dismissive adjective people want to use, because she expresses a preference for AFO's rule over the HPSC's. Firstly, I think it's dubious Lit Crit to fault a character for not being a Paragon of Rationality, especially when they're under the cascading stressors Nagant has been under since she was, what, 13? 14? Forced to live this dichotomy of smiling gallant hero and ruthless covert assassin, had her life threatened by the man who'd taken her in,[4] probably dumped in Tartarus until such time as her trial could be held,[5] and kept in those ghastly, dehumanizing conditions for who knows how long? How shocking, that her objectivity might be somewhat compromised! Secondly, it's not like she's saying that AFO's rule would be a sunny walk in the park. The kanji she uses doesn't even mean "better"; while it can mean serene or tranquil, her more likely meaning is clear/transparent. Her phrasing indicates that she's aware it would be pretty bad; she's simply of the opinion that at least his rule wouldn't be a sham, a pretty lie. It would be bad, but everyone would know it. No one would have these comforting illusions they could lose at any time; if you stepped out of line and got shot in the head by an assassin, well, at least you would probably know you that being defiant was running that risk, rather than never seeing it coming because you'd been told all your life that Heroes Didn't Do That To People. Again, this is a woman whose life was shattered no less than three times by the duplicity of the highest acting authority in this comic.[6] She doesn't have to be Objectively Correct By The Standards Of Ethical Utilitarianism—nor do you have to agree with her choice that because she doesn’t want to live in the Matrix, no one else should get to either—for her opinion to make sense from her own perspective! Thirdly, while I think it's fair to say that the HPSC and AFO actually use fairly similar methods to recruit followers and punish dissenters, we have no idea how much Nagant herself knows about AFO's recruitment tactics other than her own brief experience of it. And while AFO is a controlling and manipulative bastard, at least in his case it's coming from a man who openly styles himself as a Demon King, not an organization positioning itself as lawful regulators of the protectors of society at large while secretly training child soldiers to flagrantly violate every law protecting the human rights and due process of that society's people.

Overhaul's presence is delightful, and yes, he is a victim of Hero Society, if only because Hero Society could have put him in some kind of prison-based rehab facility after Shigaraki was through with him, but chose to dispose of him in Tartarus instead, for absolutely no justifiable cause. I suspect it's only due to Horikoshi not being very interested in the harsh realities of the trauma caused by enforced isolation[7] that Overhaul is the only Tartarus escapee that talks to himself and has dissociated from reality almost completely. Overhaul's maiming was not the fault of Hero Society, nor did Hero Society force him to torture Eri and repeatedly commit cold-blooded murder. But his madness? Yeah, I'm pretty comfortable laying that one at Hero Society's feet, actually. I can’t wait for Deku to have to face the victim that Chisaki Kai has become due to levels of systemic cruelty and negligence that really ought to be criminal—and which, if this were real life, would be.

--------Lately, footnotes are really popular with us!--------

[1] Lady Nagant: *talks about how the Hero Society everyone believes in is illusory, a thin fake over a brutal reality, and that returning to the false simplicity of that status quo will only cause history to repeat itself* Me, two weeks ago: Hero Society will never stop creating its own villains so long as, every time it fails people, it does nothing but shrug and write off the victims as unavoidable, inevitable sacrifices for the greater good.

[2] Yes, I'm still highly suspicious of the "Destro committed suicide in prison" claim.

[3] Compress tells us Harima “preached reformation,” but regardless, you don’t dress up in a modified kabuki costume and waltz midair through nighttime cityscapes raining cash out of the sky if you’re trying to keep your activities a secret.

[4] And her family situation couldn't have been much better than Hawks', if she was targeted by the HPSC to begin with. I would guess she was an orphan in the childcare system, easy to move from whatever alternative care arrangement she was in, be it an orphanage, a group home, or simply mature enough despite her relative youth that she lived alone on government support payments—that kind of thing isn't as unbelievable in Japan as it is in the U.S.—to the HPSC's care.

[5] And given what we learned between this chapter and 297, I doubt she was even allowed to be present for it. Japanese law states that everyone by default is supposed to be present for their own trial, but as in the U.S, that right can be waived if the defendant proves themselves to be a threat to the safety of the judge, court staff and other attendees. And of course, what a threat the HPSC could have painted her as being!

[6] At least until Hori deigns to show us a damn Diet session.

[7] To say nothing of the physical consequences of spending six months stuck in a tiny room with no natural light while frequently being strapped into a straitjacket, of which there should also be several.

[floraone]

The King’s New Clothes

So I wrote this for @nari20 because it happened, lol! (And the reason it happened is because Nari is currently doing a compilation of Mamoru Makeover Art over on twitter because she is a gift to this world and there is a MANKINI IN IT and TUX UNDERWEAR and I am LIVING and how do we deserve this woman in our midst making our days So Entertaining lol?!)

Anyway. Talking about Mamoru fashion ended in some mutual prompting so. Enjoy some Fabulous Fashionable Kendy tumblr short!

---

Utopia had taken a surprising amount of time to adjust to, and no one had had a harder time with it than the new queen of the world.

Especially in the beginning, she'd bottled it up and painted a smile over it. But Mamoru - King Endymion now, or so his official royal name, and what the fuck that would need some getting used to - had been with his wife for long enough to see the tenseness of her shoulders, know what it meant when she gripped his hand so tight.

She'd been terrified.

The leaders of the world intimidated her. Not because she was someone easily intimidated, but mostly because some of them tried very hard to do so.

She gritted her teeth through glassy eyes when another old, bald man in a bland, navy suit tried to talk down at her, and stood her ground.

But afterwards, she'd tremble in his arms in the hotel room in any capital city of the world and try to breathe in deeply through her nose. When she'd started whipping out notebooks asking him all sorts of vernacular intentionally thrown her way because she could not understand it, thinking she had to learn and asking him to tutor her even though they’d done it all on purpose, he got mad in a way he started shouting for the first time in his life outside of life and death situations.

Not at her, mind you.

But they were trying to bring down his wife, not even realising the luck they fucking had to have someone with her heart trying to make them be compassionate and humanitarian and good. Someone so unwaveringly pure, someone with her unfaltering integrity. Someone so easily finding the good in others and bringing it out.

But they'd just fucking have to learn.

He'd hired a personal translator for her then, first thing in the morning. One of what was to be one of many. Someone who'd take these terms fired at her in foreign languages and usually translated just as haughtily and arrogantly to her, and instead explain them without shrouding them in pomp and circumstance. 'Habituation' in the end, was only 'getting used to something over time', after all, for a good translator.

They might have tried to hit her at her flaws, but Mamoru was determined, at Neo Queen Serenity's side, to show off where she was better than any of these assholes combined. The world lacked love, not fancy words. Usagi had him for the fancy words.

And so, even though it all began in endless work hours that tore at Usagi, in stuffy rooms half-way around the world at any point in the year, slowly, she grew into it. If Usagi was good at one thing, it was finding positivity and joy in all manner of circumstances, and this was no different.

The climate treaty negotiations in Brussels might have been mind-numbingly infuriating, but she'd snuck them out during lunch hour to a Belgian chocolate vendor nearby who'd been making paradise for the tongue for over 300 years in their little family run-store, and Usagi's eyes lit up like this had suddenly turned into the best fucking day. She might have to try and wrangle power-hungry men, but she could also buy a restored French carousel from 1872 and put it in her sitting room, and yes, she had. And yes, she rode it.

But even those worldly pleasures that made it all more bearable for someone who struggled with having to concentrate for a minimum 60 fucking hours a week most of the time, those pleasures that had the power to balance out the fact that Tsukino Usagi did not get to sleep in anymore at all, ever, were sometimes turned sour for her.

The second time he'd shouted outside life-and-death situations, he'd found her crying over a tabloid as she emptied hanger after hanger of extravagant dresses from her wardrobe.

One of those pleasures that made it all worthwhile for her? Fucking extravagant dresses. Even when Usagi was 14 and had only just learned she'd one day be fucking queen of the world, she'd started to look at couture differently. Started collecting moodboards and clippings. She'd been looking forward to that. A teenage girl's dream of the glamourous life of being Queen.

But now that she was, this life was more work than glamour. The only glamour she got was the one she made for herself. Like carousels in sitting rooms. Like Paolo Sebastian Autumn/Winter 2018 and George Chakra Autumn/Winter 2016 and Isabel Sanchis Spring/Summer 2020 and Ralph & Russo 2017 and Dior Spring/Summer 1992.

The tabloid was horrid. 'Neo Queen Serenity: What a Little Girl Looks Like Who Mistakes Leadership for Playing Dress-Up. Is the Future in Good Hands?'

Underneath it, a spread of Usagi in glittering, sparkling, over-the-top dresses. Everywhere from cutting ribbons at the newly minted Crystal Tokyo Center for Free Childcare to sitting in week-long conferences somewhere in New Brunswick.

Sometimes, he wasn't so sure if the world even deserved her.

He'd personally hung back every hanger into this wardrobe himself, cancelled their meetings for the day much to Ami-chan's organisational horrors, and took her shopping in disguise.

That day, something profound had changed.

"This one," Usagi had said with a flushed giggle. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes were dancing. And really, if it took playing dress up for her, no garment was ridiculous enough to not be worth it.

He stepped out the dressing room in the brightest floral-patterned shiny pastel suit the world had ever seen. Baby blue and pink roses over rococo gold embroidery to bright baby blue patent leather loafers. He looked like a chandelier had fallen into fresh paint and then rolled around in confetti. And his Queen loved it.

"Well, then," he'd winked, and she'd giggled again. "Let's take five."

If they were going to make fun of her choice of clothes, he'd just have to top her game, Mamoru decided.

And really, it made so much fucking sense.

Back when he was a boy with a glimpse of he's future, he'd always wondered how the hell THAT happened. And with that, he'd of course meant something quite specific, and not the fact he'd somehow made it on a throne.

A lavender colored tuxedo that had made him frown into the night for a long, long time. A lavender colored tuxedo that had yet not found its way into his possession. One he'd begun to doubt ever would.

Of course, Mamoru had always liked the more dramatic of clothes. So far, so unsurprising. His favorite attire was a tux and cape that he could flap like no other, after all, and then came a color-blocked puff sleave shirt he'd worn until it fell apart. He'd always liked color. One didn't get married to Tsukino Usagi if they didn't adore a colorful world.

But that?

And yet the royal world they'd found in their future hadn't looked satin and lavender when they'd finally made it there. It hadn't happened. It was navy suits and etui dresses with leaded hems to they wouldn't blow up, covered shoulders and skirts that absolutely had to be no smaller than knee-length, and he supposed it had made sense. After all, the Windsors didn't run around in see-through shift dresses and tiaras, either.

He'd even been a little relieved. He liked blending in. He'd told himself, when he first saw that lavender tux when he was fucking 18 and his mind was blown with too much information he should not have had, that he wasn't gonna do it. No matter what.

Now? Now it made so much sense. Really, he should have known. Of course, this was what was gonna do it.

Someone criticize his wife? They gotta go through him.

If protecting his wife's happiness while she made the world a better place meant Lavender Suits and Capes, then this was what it'll take.

Now, he was gonna fucking do it. Of course, he was.

So no, the Windors still wore unicolor, leaded costumes in the future.

His wife wore skin-tight chiffon, silk and satin.

And he wore mermaid-colored sequined-dinner jackets. He wore heels with flamingo-patterned trousers, complete with a tuxedo stripe at each side. He wore shimmering, metallic athletic wear, skin tight. He wore fake fur collars and thick embroidered velvet robes to black leather gloves. He owned a mankini. A hot pink leather jacket he wore over men's pastel evening wear. The green jacket was jealous somewhere in a closet. Maboroshi no fucking fashion sense.

Nobody ever wrote something offending about the Queen's new clothes once he'd grooved himself in.

(Minako loved it perhaps most of all.)

---

(ANYWAY NARI *ILLUSTRATED* THIS IN THE 50 MINUTES THAT IT TOOK ME TO WRITE THIS AND YOU GOTTA SEE HER ART. LIKE WHAT THE FUCK HOW DO YOU DO MAGIC SO FAST, NARI?!)

[anogete]

Watch me vomit up my thoughts

It’s been a while, hasn’t it?  I’m sorry I’ve disappeared on everyone.  It’s been... a year.  I think that probably goes for everyone, not just me.  If you’re interested in a personal life update, then read on.  If you’re looking for an update on my writing then I regret to inform you that I haven’t written a single thing this year.  Maybe next year, though.  There is always next year, right?  I think I saw a blurb that we’re getting Sam and Bucky back in March.  And Loki shortly after.  Maybe that will be my inspiration.

I’m fortunate enough to have a job that lets me comfortably work from home.  I’m also fortunate enough to own a home.  And my last blessing is that I don’t have kids, so I didn’t have to figure out the nightmare of childcare and home schooling like some of you.  My library on the second floor of the house has been my office since mid-March.  I’ve been transitioning into the Associate Financial Advisor roll this year and that has been going well.  I’m supporting the clients I’ve worked with as an assistant for the past nine years, so it’s been easy-going.  I’m able to order my groceries for pick up to avoid going in the stores and I live in an neighborhood where it is easy to get delivery from restaurants.  I’m incredibly lucky to have all these things going for me and I am thankful every damn day.

I fell into a bit of a funk this spring and early summer, but managed to pull myself out of it in August.  I started planning my meals, walking 2-5 miles every day, and exercising on the Peloton bike I bought a year ago.  I also started reading again and zipped through almost 50 books between June and now.  By November, I was feeling strong and healthy.  I felt like I had found a balance between work and activity and self-care.  I was still coming to terms with my grandma passing in March of last year and with Ferguson (my sweet doggo) passing in September of last year.  But I was trying and things were getting better.  I felt like I had my feet underneath me.

Lemme stop you here if you don’t want to read about death and some general medical stuff.  Because that’s mostly what you’re getting from here on out.

On November 21st, my mom texted me at 5:30am.  I got it right away because I usually wake up around that time, alarm or not.  She said she had dropped my dad off at the hospital because he was having difficulty breathing.  Apparently, he’d been feeling bad for a week, but insisted to everyone that it was just his sinuses draining.  I called her and began questioning her like I was cross-examining a star witness.  I was able to piece together a really fucking shitty story.

My dad always went to a friend’s house on Friday evenings to have a couple beers and hang out.  We’d all warned him since March that he needed to stop, but he insisted it was fine.  He bought into a lot of the cavalier attitude that the Trump fans have over this virus. Plus, he was 64-years-old and didn’t take any medication so he probably thought it was no big deal.  He spent a few hours at his friend’s house on November 6th.  Unbeknownst to anyone at the time, he received a call from that friend on November 11th that the friend and the friend’s wife had tested positive for COVID.  He didn’t share this info with my mother, my brothers, or my uncle, all of whom had been near him.  By November 15th, he was coughing but insisted it was drainage when my mom suggested he take something for it and go to the doctor.  By November 18th, he was worse and admitted to my mom that his friend had tested positive but that he hadn’t seen him for almost two weeks so his problems were just sinus-related and not COVID.  My mom hates confrontation, so she accepted this and didn’t tell anyone, including me and my brothers.  By November 19th, he had a fever and was having trouble breathing along with a persistent cough.  He finally agreed to take some cold medicine, but refused to call his doctor’s office despite my mom asking him many, many times.  At 4:30am on November 21st, he woke my mom and asked her to take him to the hospital because he couldn’t breathe well.  She dropped him off and returned home to text me since they wouldn’t allow her in the building.  She also texted my brothers, who admitted that they felt like they’d had a cold for several days.  I live 4 hours away and haven’t traveled since March, so I hadn’t seen any of them.

A nurse called my mom a couple hours after she dropped my dad off to tell her that he was positive for COVID and pneumonia and they were admitting him to put him on a bipap.  From what I understand, that’s the oxygen mask that pushes air into your lungs.  Later that day, the health department called my mom and told her to quarantine for two weeks.  My mom cooperated and gave them my brothers’ phone number (they live together), my uncle’s phone number, and the name and number of the person we suspected my dad was infected by (his friend).  My brothers opted to get tested and were positive.  They quarantined for two weeks and had mild to moderate symptoms (brief fever, very tired, cough, drainage).  My mom had virtually no symptoms with the exception of some drainage that she took Mucinex for.  She didn’t get tested, but she lived and slept in the same bed with my dad for a week while he was symptomatic.  If my brothers got it from 30 minutes in the same room as him, surely she got it as well.  My uncle and his son got tested, but they were negative.

My dad was cooperative with the doctor and nurses at first, but as the first day wore on he became irritated.  He’d been without his chewing tobacco (yes, I know: eww) for several hours and was going through nicotine withdrawal, but wouldn’t admit that to the nurses or doctor.  The next day he was put in ICU, still on the bipap, and even more unruly and rude to the staff taking care of him.  They called my mom to ask her to talk to him and convince him to cooperate.  They said if he couldn’t recover on the bipap and required a ventilator then “things would be very bad.”  My mom tried to talk to him by text and he just continued to insist that he was well enough to come home.

I used to be close to my dad when I was a kid, but we’d grown apart over my adulthood.  Over the past 20 years, my dad morphed into someone different.  Everyone around him, especially my grandmother, told me they saw this happen the same as I did.  The result was that my dad became someone I didn’t like and didn’t want to spend time with.  He also didn’t seem to know how to talk to me anymore.  To be fair, I didn’t give him much help in that regard.  I texted him to see how he was doing and the conversation quickly devolved into him complaining about the care and insisting he was well enough to come home.  I tried to reason with him and appeal to his love for my mom by saying that my fear was him coming home and giving her the virus.  He told me that he’d decided he was no longer contagious and this was just a bunch of bullshit.  This conversation via text continued through Monday and Tuesday (November 23rd and 24th), but it took a turn for the delusional.  The doctor can only assume that the virus and the lack of oxygen had resulted in hallucinations and delusions.  My dad told my mother and I that he was in an office building owned by a man named Mr. Pritt.  He said he was the only patient and that this man was having his workers experiment on him and that they would eventually kill him.  He demanded that we come get him immediately so he could recover at home.  When we told him he’d die if he came home because he was too sick, he insisted he wasn’t sick at all and became very angry with us.  He accused both my mom and I of conspiring to kill him because we wouldn’t help him.  One day he told me that I’d confirmed what he’d known all along.  I asked him what that was and he said, “That I always loved you more than you loved me.”  This really hurt because even though I knew he was loopy, I also knew that he’d probably actually had that though before.

He began refusing treatment on those days and wouldn’t accept the steroids they were trying to give him and raised hell when they tried to take him for a chest x-ray.  He also told them he didn’t want to be placed on a ventilator even though he had agreed to one when he was admitted.  He was texting all of his friends and telling them he needed a ride home.  He attempted to get up and leave the hospital twice, falling in the floor both times because he was so weak from lack of oxygen once he took the mask off.  He also told my mom and I that he was secretly removing the mask when the nurses couldn’t see to prove to them that he wasn’t sick.  He was taking and sending blurry pictures to us of the room as “evidence.”  He told my mom to forward the pictures to “the feds.”  The pictures were of his hospital bed, the whiteboard with his nurses’ and doctor’s names on it, his IVs, etc.  By the morning of Wednesday, the 25th, I was getting some off-the-wall texts from him.  He was begging us to come check him out of the hospital at that point and we were trying to play along and tell him we were getting everything in order for him to come home soon.  Eventually, he told me that he wasn’t getting out of there alive and that he loved me.  I told him I loved him too and begged him to do whatever the doctor said because the doctor wanted to help him get better.

A few minutes later, the nurse called my mom and asked if she’d been on the phone with my dad.  My mom said she and I hadn’t spoken to him by any way other than text since he arrived at the hospital.  The nurse said he had been on the phone with a woman, trying to convince her to come get him.  The nurse made him put the call on speaker so she could tell the woman that he wasn’t well enough to leave.  Because she was concerned that her message didn’t get through before my dad hung up, she called my mom to make sure he hadn’t convinced my mom to check him out against medical advice.  My mom assured her that we had no intention of breaking him out of the hospital, but she didn’t know who the woman was.  It wasn’t her or me.  We called a long-time former co-worker of my dad’s that I’ve known since I was a kid and she said she hadn’t talked to him.  We called his best friend and asked if he’d called and spoken to the man’s wife.  Not her either.  More on this later.  I’m sure you know where it’s going.

We were stumped, but didn’t have time to deal with it because the nurse practitioner called and told my mom that my dad was delusional and could no longer make his own decisions.  They said he had no chance of survival if they didn’t put him on a ventilator immediately.  My mom called me.  I told her to agree to it.  The nurse called her back and gave the phone to my dad.  He had agreed to the ventilator as well and wanted to tell my mom that he loved her and me and my brothers and his dog.  His speech was slurred and muffled from the bipap mask, but she at least heard that.  They intubated him right after the call.  He was on a paralytic for a week.  When they backed off on the paralytic, they had to increase his oxygen.  A week later, the nurse tried to kindly tell us that he wasn’t getting better and his chances of survival were low.  She suggested we start to talk about turning off the ventilator and letting him go.  We did talk about that, which was very upsetting for everyone, but the doctor said he’d been on the ventilator for two weeks and we’d give him one more week to see what happens.  By this point, he no longer had pneumonia. But the damage COVID did to his lungs couldn’t be repaired.

The ventilator was on full blast (highest pressure, highest oxygen) just to keep him somewhat stable.  The days were ticking by and he still wasn’t making progress.  Any step forward was followed by a bigger step back. My mom would call and get the update from the nurse most days, but I did call myself a few days.  When I’d call and talk to the nurse, I’d get a grim picture that my mom didn’t seem to get or understand. I talked to her on December 12th and asked her if she was trying to protect my brothers and I or if she really thought he was going to get better.  She admitted that she’d had a feeling for days that he wasn’t going to get better.  We decided to just wait for the doctor to call.  The nurse called my mom on Monday, December 14th and told her that my dad’s blood pressure was all over the place and they were struggling to keep him stable, that the ventilator was turned up to the highest settings and it was barely enough to keep him going.  My mom texted me and told me she asked them to call me.  The doctor called me within about 20 minutes and basically told me that my dad wasn’t going to make it.  They’d had him on a ventilator for 19 days and within a couple days his throat tissue would likely become necrotic from the pressure of the cuff keeping the tube in place.  They could only continue the ventilator if they could put in a trach and he wasn’t stable enough for that.  In addition, he needed more support than the ventilator could provide.  I was told he was either going to go into cardiac arrest while on the ventilator and die or they’d be forced to take him off the ventilator because of the damage to his throat.  The most damning thing he told me was that he’d removed the sedation but my dad didn’t wake.  He wasn’t responsive, wouldn’t squeeze their hands, wouldn’t flinch when they tested his reflexes, nothing.

I was told we could come sit with him and say goodbye when the ventilator was removed.  I asked when and the doctor said soon.  I live 4 hours from my parents, so I told him I’d leave right away and have my mom call to make arrangements for me to come to the hospital.  I called my mom and told her all this and asked her to let the hospital know.  I packed a bag and rushed out the door.  On my way out of town, the doctor called me back and asked if I was on my way.  My mom had told them that we’d come by the next morning and he was worried my dad wouldn’t make it through the night.  So, I had to have a shitty conversation with my mom about how we couldn’t schedule my dad’s death for 7am on Tuesday, that it needed to happen at 8pm on Monday.  I do not recommend these types of calls.

I got into town around 7pm and picked my mom up because she’d decided she wanted to come with me.  My brothers said they couldn’t handle it and decided to stay at my mom’s house.  My mom and I were taken to the COVID floor, given gowns, and gloves, told he was COVID positive so we’d need to continue to wear our cloth masks (no medical mask, is that safe?!), and escorted to his room in the ICU.  Guys, he looked so fucking tired and so sad.  It was heartbreaking.  The nurse said their ICU was full and most of the patients were in the same shape as my dad.  We talked to him for a few minutes, held his hand and all that shit.  He didn’t respond in any way, so I don’t know if he was even there.  We stepped out of the room while they removed the tube and gave him some medicine.  When we went back in, his breaths were labored and it looked like he was gasping for air. My mom almost lost it because she wasn’t expecting that.  I told her she could go wait in the hall and I’d stay with him until he passed.  The nurse was kind enough to give him a little more medicine to make it less dramatic, but it was still difficult watching him breathe in that way.  My mom sat so she couldn’t see his head to make things easier on herself.  We sat there with him for about 40 minutes before he passed away at 8:32pm on Monday, the 14th.

I stayed with my mom last week and helped her arrange a private graveside service and the burial.  She wanted to do a funeral and I thought that was the worst idea, so we agreed on doing a celebration of life next year when things are a little better (hopefully).  To my knowledge, I haven’t had the virus.  I operated under the assumption that my mom and brothers had it and were immune for now and wouldn’t transmit it.  So, I was able to be with them without mask, but I did wear a mask when anyone else was around.  I can’t say the same for the fucking funeral director and the locksmith’s employee who opened my dad’s safe for us, though.  I live in a bigger city and mask wearing is pretty wide-spread here, but I saw so many people in my hometown (a more rural area) who didn’t bother with them.

Anyway, while all these graveside preparations are going on my mom goes through the bag of personal items from my dad that the hospital gave us.  She tossed his clothes in the washer and placed his two rings into a bag to give to the funeral home so he could be buried in them.  She also pulled out his wallet and his cell phone.  His wallet has a picture that was obviously cut from an old driver’s license of a woman named Deb.  Apparently, this woman lives in Florida and had attended junior high school with my dad.  About two years ago, my parents took a trip to Florida and visited with her for several days.  She even friended my mom on Facebook.  So, the old driver’s license picture of her was very weird.  What was even more disturbing?  His wallet also contained a plastic bag of hair that very obviously is not my mom’s.  And there was a piece of paper with three phone numbers on it.  His phone was locked with a PIN and was set to wipe itself after 20 incorrect tries.  I did tried to break into it, but wasn’t successful.  My mom admitted that she suspected he’d been talking to someone on his phone for years, but she never directly confronted him about it.  She’d just make comments about him always texting on his phone and being secretive.  Two Christmases ago he bought her a ring at a store that she has an online login to.  This particular store posts the receipts for all purchases linked to the customer’s account to the website.  She saw that my dad had purchased two pieces of jewelry even though she only received one.  My dad has never in his life bought me a Christmas present without my mom assisting, so she knew it wasn’t for me.  She still didn’t confront him, though.  She just told him that she could see the itemized receipts online.

I sympathized with my mom because I’ve experienced the infidelity of a partner in a relationship and if I were her then I’d want to know.  But I also told her that I don’t know digging into it will make things any better and may not even give her the truth.  He’s gone and there is nothing that can be done about that or anything else.  While I was running errands for her the day before the graveside service, she messaged Deb in Florida and asked if she wanted her picture back.  She also called the three phone numbers in his wallet.  One went to Deb.  The other two were the cell phone and work phone of my dad’s best friend’s wife, Anne.  The same friend and wife who likely gave the virus to my dad.  My mom told me when I got back that she’d done this and admitted she’d always felt like my dad was talking to Anne and might have an inappropriate relationship with her.  I suspect my mom is right.  Gut instinct is usually accurate.  She said she didn’t think anything physical was going on with Deb, but she did think my dad was carrying on a flirtatious relationship with her via text.  In both cases, he tried to hide it.  And if you hide it, then you know it’s wrong.  That night Deb messaged my mom back and said she had heard about what happened to my dad and was very sorry.  She said that my dad was always clear that he was married and nothing went on that was inappropriate, but that he gave her someone to talk to when her husband was sick and dying five years earlier and they’d always kept in contact.  Again, I don’t think my mom can count on anyone to give her the full story without spin or deceit.  A couple days ago, she texted me a picture of a receipt from my dad’s truck.  It was from last Christmas from a department store.  It had two pieces of jewelry on it.  She looked them both up using the UPCs listed and found the necklace he gave her last year and a ring she doesn’t recognize.  We don’t know if he was giving this jewelry to Deb in Florida or Anne, his friend’s wife.  Or someone else we don’t even know about.  And we’re probably never going to know.  Do I want to call Deb and Anne and tell them I want to full story?  Fuck yeah.  Do I think it will fix anything?  Fuck no.

TL;DR?  I finally found some balance in my life late this summer.  This balance was destroyed when my dad got COVID and died after three weeks in the hospital.  And when you’ve already got a not-so-great relationship with your dad, you get all kinds of feels when he dies in a traumatic way and then you find out he’s been screwing around on your mom.  I also have lots of anger toward him for knowingly exposing my other family members to the virus simply because he didn’t want to own up to getting it after doing something we’d all told him to stop doing.

Health-wise?  I think I’m okay.  It’s been almost ten days since I was with him in the hospital and seven days since his graveside service.  I haven’t had any symptoms yet and I think most people show symptoms by now.  Regardless, I’ve been at home since I returned last Thursday evening and I intend to stay home until January 2nd.  My boyfriend is also home and will be here until January 2nd as well.  Just to be safe.  My brothers are mostly recovered, but both still have a bit of a cough.  My mom never had much in the way of symptoms and seems fine.  My dad was 64 and overweight.  We found out once he was admitted to the hospital that his regular doctor had told him he was a diabetic and my dad insisted on “treating” that with cinnamon instead of actual medicine.  Other than those things, he didn’t have any health concerns.  Be careful, ya’ll.

[gofancyninjaworld]

watching ONE write women

One of the joys of following a writer for a while is that you get to follow how their ideas develop.   One of the things that ONE brought up in an interview (annoyingly I’ve lost the link) was that he didn’t think that he wrote women particularly well. 

I was thinking about that.  When ONE says that, what comes across to me is that he has no problem writing a female character as an individual rather than a role.  All the girls and women he’s written so far have their own voices, own their problems, and have something to do within the story that would be noticeable if they weren’t there.  Quite frankly, that alone is over and above what various tests of representation (such as the Bechdel test) ask for.  

What he’s not so good at is appreciating what being female brings to a character’s experiences and outlook.  But he’s not just left it at that.  More on what he’s been doing in a bit (and under the cut).

“...the law forbids rich and poor alike to sleep under bridges...” -- Anatole France

With his sharp eye and talent for exploring the implications of whatever he posits, ONE has brought up some issues are not inherently gendered, but usually are. 

A: Childcare

Metal Bat appears to be the main, if not sole, carer for Zenko.  How it affects him is fascinating.  He’s one of the longest-serving heroes in the Hero Association, being there before Class S was formed, literally within the first six months of its establishment.  He’s been extremely loyal and is highly trusted by the HA -- they put Narinki’s life into his hands without fear.  His battle strength is literally praised to the heavens.

Metal Bat makes Zenko a priority, structuring his availability around her school schedule and being present in her life. He gets very angry if these times are threatened without overwhelmingly good cause.  His reward is to be perceived by the Hero Association as less committed and so they under-recognise him in terms of ranking, and since rank and pay are linked, under-pay him as well.  It’s a story all too many women can relate to.  But that’s not all.

Because ONE writes so simply yet conscientiously, something else comes up and has a peek: intersectionality. It’s the concept that we often have multiple social disadvantages that interact and compound our problems.  The first is sexism.  Regardless of whatever childcare policy the HA has, the sexist assumption that only women care (for the record: this is bullshit) makes it unlikely for them to ask Metal Bat.  Second, social capital. The fact that he’s Zenko’s sole carer means that he has low social capital, that informal network of people around you who can help out -- or tell you where to find help and what things to say in order to get that help. [Aside: this is why programmes to help people, unless they reach out aggressively, tend to disproportionately attract those who need it least.]  Metal Bat doesn’t have the knowledge.  The third is the challenge brought by his being a 17-year old boy.  He’s quick to perceive challenge as threat, and threat as something to be met by anger.  Witness him threatening to smash the HA headquarters if it turns out that he’s missed Zenko’s piano recital for nothing -- completely not useful to anything. [Another aside: the importance of learning to disambiguate emotions and do useful things with them even if it means being vulnerable as a part of growing up as a man is the whole point of Mob Psycho 100.]

What do the Neo Heroes do?  They ask Metal Bat if he wants help with childcare AND HE JUMPS SHIP PRONTO.  If that’s not an indictment of the Hero Association, I don’t know what is.

B: Emotional Labour

Saitama has been delegating more and more of the day-to-day work to Genos.  What started as an act of service to express his gratitude, respect and love for Saitama is increasingly turning into a second job for Genos.  It’s not just the cooking and cleaning and the shopping and the bailing Saitama out if he’s forgotten his wallet again, it’s also the worrying about Saitama, sometimes at inappropriate times.  Has he drunk enough water?  Has he clean clothes in good repair? What sales is he looking forward to? Have they been marked on the calendar?  It’s honestly not doing Genos any good, and it’s one of those things all too many frustrated wives and girlfriends can relate to.  This doing the practical and emotional work for another is not intrinsically gendered, but funny how often it breaks that way.

It’s not doing Saitama any good either.  He’s using this freed up time to fritter his life ever more aggressively away, playing games with King and finding pointless competitions to enter, all while complaining about feeling less and less connected to anything (if you don’t address the problem, it doesn’t get better, duh!).  Worse, he’s started to take that gift of service for granted, witness him airily telling King how he’ll just have Genos go clear up the mess of monsters he’s left outside the flat.  I was heartened to see what happened when Saitama went a little too far and asked Genos to go cook and instead of jumping up, Genos gave him the the evil eye and let the awkwardness hang there.  That was good -- there’s hope for this guy yet.

Speaking of Genos, he also over-functions for something else Saitama struggles with: advocating for himself.  He tends to have Genos be the ugly one so he doesn’t have to be.   You can see just how bad he is at self-advocacy when Forte and friends could invite themselves into Saitama’s house at will despite his protests -- and it stopped the instant Genos showed up.

In a sense, it’s not surprising that Genos can do that. When you’re differently-abled (and for once, this is not a euphemism) as he is, being able to clearly ask for what you want and need is life-and-death necessary. If Genos was shy about it, he’s long since had to discard that.  But!  Let me point to a nuance the story touches on.  How pushy you can be without being punished for it depends a lot on who you are, intersecting strongly with race, gender, social status, etc (remember my mentioning intersectionality before). What’s called assertive in a man is called bitchy or sharp-elbowed in a woman.  Even taking gender and race out of the equation, there’s still a noticeable difference in the way the world treats Saitama and Genos.  You don’t need to be Sigmund Freud to understand the way the short, ugly Dr. Kuseno sweats making sure that Genos positively radiates youth, beauty, wealth and power. That’s part of his right to ask and be taken seriously.  You can see how drastically different it is for Saitama, even from his middle school days.  Genos notices, and makes sure to leverage his social power for Saitama. 

What I love about these examples are that by not automatically heaving a woman into these characters’ roles, ONE’s brought a less frequently seen angle that illustrates the problems they deal with are not ‘womens’ issues per se but are rather inequities that disproportionately affect women -- which is at the heart of what feminists keep saying.  When you read Makai no Ossan, you can appreciate that ONE could have gone with female characters and done a great job, but his choosing not to has brought a very welcome dimension to the story.

Women proper

“I’m not like other girls”

Still, bit by bit, ONE has been working more women into his stories.  After his interview, the next thing he worked on was the single-volume sequel to Mob Psycho 100,  Reigen.  He took his challenge head-on by making the POV character Tome and putting her in an all-girls’ high school.

Throughout the story, we see Tome thinking of herself as special, better than her fellow classmates, whom she sees as vapid and shallow.  The denouement comes with Tome being humbled as she gets to know her classmates better and realises that  they pursue interests just as varied and weird as hers -- only they’re also practicing being socially adept on top of that.

It’s a gentle story, but it’s still a great side-swipe at self-internalised misogyny, the idea that it’s shameful to be like a ‘girl’ and it’s something to distance oneself from.   Fortunately, Tome can laugh at herself and grow up.

“Ha ha ha”

For a long time, the only (named) women we had in OPM were Tatsumaki and her younger sister Fubuki.   We’ve gotten more women both good and bad: in particular, it’s been very gratifying to find that one of the most dangerous, story-shaping villains in the story is Psykos.

In the webcomic, ONE’s pushed even further.  A recent Tweet featured him talking about how hard he finds it to draw women. And he’s added several.   No same-face for him!    I’ll talk about the new heroines he’s added, but first, let me draw your attentions to something most artists don’t realize they do: massively skew the gender distribution of crowds, even when it is incredibly illogical to do so.   With ONE, even drawing the crowds at the fair who gaggle at Amai Mask, he’s got a far more even balance of women and they’re not all young and pretty -- which is much more true-to-life.  He’s in the business of drawing people.

ONE has featured microaggressions before, particularly in the way Fubuki can have perfectly sound things to say and be totally ignored,  but he brings it properly to the fore with Suiko.  No one calls her incompetent, but the little put downs she gets when she puts herself forward for the hero test in lieu of her brother, oh they’re well-observed The look on her face just makes it.  I love the way she shut the recruiters up subsequently. 

  Let’s conclude this tour with a look at Webigaza’s lonely figure.  We have another mono-manically focused cyborg in the story.  Genos has been called a lot of things -- determined, obsessive even, but crazy? Never. Notice who it’s been reserved for instead.  It’s no slip of the tongue.

Wrapping Up

I’m of the impression that ONE really wants to try to capture as much of the human experience as he can in his stories, however whimsical or fantastical the stories themselves are.  I’m disarmed by his humility in accepting that he’ll never have the lived experience of half the world’s population but he sure as hell can put some effort into learning how to to writing well-realised, believable, female characters.  

I watch ONE’s continued development as a writer with interest.    

[nessabear05]

A Day To Remember, a Nea x Yui Oneshot

#2k21BVryKnd

#SilverRescueTeam

#SRT

This is a commission collab I did with my friend Fizzie! Basically, we came up with the idea that we give each other characters and a third or first-person POV to go off of, and we write a story just based on those. She posted hers a day or so ago, so go check it out and give it some love!

Fizzie’s Story: http://aminoapps.com/p/u8pxte

Keep in mind…she doesn’t know the plot ;) But I decided with the number of characters she gave me, I would do an AU where they just have a girl’s day! She gave me Nea, Yui, Laurie, Claudette, and Meg to work with! Hope you enjoy girl!

Also uh....had to add a little side ship of your OTP since I know how much you like Quendette :)

Word Count: 1,929

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The weather was perfect today. The sun was shining, no clouds to be seen...it was just a great day to get out and do something. And that’s exactly what this group of friends was doing. But they weren’t going out just as a last-minute thing, this was all planned out months in advance. And it was going to happen no matter the conditions.

Why so dead set on going out? Well, today was an extremely special day for two girls, in particular, those girls being Nea and Yui. The two had been dating for...well what seemed like forever. But they had been dating for around four years maybe? Ever since the beginning of college. And well...within the next couple of days, they were going to get married. And who else would be a part of their wedding if not their group of friends they had been with basically since they were children?

Now, things weren’t always great for this group of girls, but honestly, it always worked out in the end. And today would hopefully be no different. The five of them were just supposed to go out and get their nails done, then go to lunch afterward. And it was all supposed to go according to plan, but you know, nothing could ever go perfect, especially not with this group.

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It had all started this morning, and can you guess who the first one to screw up was? If you guessed Nea, you would be correct. The girl had forgotten to set her alarm the previous night, and Yui had gone to spend the night with some of her old friends from Japan that had flown down to America for the wedding of their friend. They had stayed at the hotel, but they weren’t coming with them to get their nails done today. Since it was just going to be the two bridal parties together.

And as anyone could have guessed, Yui was not that happy to find out that Nea had forgotten an alarm on a pretty special day. But, Nea had apologized profusely as she ran around the house quickly getting changed into sweatpants and a t-shirt, all while their three friends Laurie, Meg, and Claudette giggled at the couple’s antics. The lack of Nea being prepared did not make them late though, so that was a little bit of a bonus to the shitty beginning of the day.

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When they arrived at the nail salon, everyone was no doubt, excited. Nea was talking with Meg and Claudette as they walked in, trying to decide on a matching color. Since the two were her bridesmaids, she wanted to make sure she picked out something they all liked. In the end, they had decided on a pretty light pink color. Since Nea’s dress was white, sticking with the traditional way of things. Well, as traditional as you could get with a lesbian wedding that is. The pink would match really well with the bright white gown.

Yui on the other hand was supposed to wear a white kimono, sticking with her traditional Japanese ways. She had a pink and white floral uchikake for the reception afterward, something her grandmother had worn at her own wedding, a garment Yui absolutely adored ever since she was a child. Now….she would get to marry the love of her life in it.

Laurie was her bridesmaid, being closer to the older woman than Nea’s two other friends. And they had both decided on a beige color for their nails, thinking it would look good with the white and the pink. Which, funny enough, were the colors for the decorations the two women had decided to be their main decor of the ceremony.

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As they walked inside the salon, there weren’t a lot of people there, maybe like….two others? Since it was still pretty early, but since they were getting both nails and feet done, they didn’t want to be there super late in the day when more people would start popping up. Common decency at its finest.

They were lead to sit down by a worker after picking out a polish from the walls, deciding to get acrylics for their hands with gel polish instead of normal polish, so it would stick on longer. And...quite a few of them had short nails, mostly because of their jobs. Yui was a mechanic since she always loved bikes and cars, things like that. Nea was a painter, but not a normal one. She got paid to do graffiti art on bridges and such, something to make the town more lively.

Meg was a semi-professional athlete. She wasn’t too well known, but she made a pretty good amount of money. Laurie was a childcare worker, working at a school and her nails broke easily around young children, she had come to learn that the hard way. And Claudette was a doctor, and she didn’t want to accidentally be poking people with her nails all too often through the gloves she wore. So needless to say, they didn’t get to have nice long nails like some girls a lot of the time and wanted to make sure they stayed on for the amount of time they could have them.

━━━━━⊱✿⊰━━━━━━

They were sat down in the chairs to get their toes done first, one of the workers bringing over five glasses of champagne for them, one for each girl. And since they were all over twenty-one, they accepted it gratefully. Claudette wasn’t much of a drinker, but she would make an exception for this. It was a pretty special day after all, and she had taken off work for the next two days for the wedding.

Honestly, most of them had forgotten what it was like to just...be pampered like they were. It was honestly something they weren’t able to do often, being adults and such now with jobs to worry about. So it was relaxing while they just chatted, laughed, drank, and got their nails done. They did have a little incident where Meg almost kicked the nail stylist because the red-head was very much ticklish, but it didn’t seem to phase the person working on her. Only waving it off with a chuckle and saying it happens all the time.

━━━━━⊱✿⊰━━━━━━

They were there probably around….three and a half hours? Mostly because despite the early time of day, a lot of people seemed to come in quickly, and the girls had to wait to get their hands done. But, nonetheless, it was worth the wait, and the five females were very happy with how everything turned out.

Though they didn’t condone drinking and driving, Claudette didn’t really like the champagne, and only ended up drinking two or so sips before she couldn’t do it anymore, finding the taste too strong without a chaser. And Nea was more than willing to finish it off for the smaller girl.

This also meant Claudette was now their driver for going off to lunch. So, they all piled into Laurie’s car, Laurie in the front with Claudette while the other three sat in the back, Nea and Yui sitting beside each other holding hands while Meg stared out the window, asking where they were going for the thousandth time since they left the salon. And the answer was the same each time. It was some little small-town restaurant that Claudette’s boyfriend, Quentin, owned. So not only would they get a discount, but he made pretty awesome food.

━━━━━⊱✿⊰━━━━━━

It didn’t take long to get there, the place only slightly packed for the rush hour of lunchtime. And they quickly got out of the car, heading inside while chatting, obviously having to tease Claudette about coming to the place her boyfriend worked at.

As they walked inside, they spotted the curly-haired brunette behind the diner immediately. He had on his usual bright smile, his smile only growing bigger when he saw the five walk in, but it was definitely aimed towards Claudette.

“Hey, guys! Welcome in and have a seat wherever you want. I trust you guys to not take any unneeded space,” he said, more concentrated on the plates of food he was currently trying to carry. Quentin had changed a lot since high school. He wasn’t as shy as he used to be, and he had grown a lot taller almost six feet, and his hair had grown out a little longer. Needless to say, Claudette made a really good choice when she decided to start dating the nerdy kid.

The five took a seat at a booth, Meg, Laurie, and Claudette on one side with Nea and Yui on the other sitting beside each other. They chatted as they waited patiently for Quentin to come over to take their order, the boy handing off the plates of food to his co-worker, and ex-girlfriend Nancy. They had ended off on good terms, Quentin finding out he was into Claudette. And Nancy was totally fine with that, considering she and Quentin had been friends since childhood.

When he did come over, he let his customer service facade drop, his smile still there but seeming just a little less fake. He leaned down to press a quick kiss against Claudette’s cheek, causing the girl to giggle quietly and her friends to coo at her, “Alright….I’m guessing you all want the usual? Tea for you babe, water for Laurie, Sprite for Meg, iced tea for Yui, and a coke for Nea?” he asked, earning nods and smiles from the five girls. He wrote it down and walked off quickly, not before giving a quick congratulations to Yui and Nea. He hadn’t had much time to see them running his diner. One that his friend Steve had said he should open and most of his friends had pressured him into it. It was one of the best decisions of his life if he was entirely honest.

━━━━━⊱✿⊰━━━━━━

They sat and chatted for an hour or so, eating the food that was paid for by Quentin, despite the objections of everyone at the table. But, the brunette was kind that way...even if he was a little more than annoyed when he saw the tip left for him by the five women. Since the day was over, Claudette was going to drive everyone home with Laurie’s car, and Quen would pick her up when he was done with work in a couple more hours.

Nea and Yui were the first to be dropped off since their house was the closest, the engaged couple giving hugs and promises of seeing them tomorrow bright and early to go to where their wedding ceremony was supposed to be held. And after the goodbye’s, waved as they watched their three friends drive off down the road.

Nea turned to her smaller fiance, a small smile on her face as she slipped her arms around the woman’s waist, pulling her closer and pressing a kiss against her forehead, “I ever tell you how much I love you?” she asked with a small tilt of her head, and Yui could only giggle at Nea’s antics.

“You say it all the time darling....but I guess there’s nothing wrong with hearing it again..” she told her as she leaned up, arms wrapping around her shoulders to kiss her properly, lips pressed firmly against Nea’s. If this is what she was getting for the rest of her life, well, then she got pretty damn lucky.

[mostweakhamlets]

genuine question: why is staged cringe?

I want to preface this by saying that I loved Staged initially. I thought it was a super cool concept with actors I’m fans of. I still think that it is a really cool concept! I think it’s great that these actors hatched this idea of acting from home over video chat. I love it when people are experimental. I love it when people break the status quo with art. 

However, I think that this is one of the downfalls with Staged. There’s so much potential there, and you really notice how much of that was squandered when you start noticing the things about the show that don’t sit right with you. At least, that’s how I felt. 

It really is a matter of, “I feel like this show aged poorly. For the love of God, make series two different.”

I have a lot to say about this, so I’ll put it under the cut and in sections haha

Superwomen

This was my biggest peeve with Staged. I felt like the women (mostly Anna and Georgia) couldn’t just exist. It felt so unnatural and so forced. Like “Look, these women are just any women.” 

I know that Georgia Tennant already has this sort of public image of being this super productive mom (which I have more feelings about but won’t go into it here). I think that’s awesome! But Staged hammed that up. I know that it was supposed be a satire version of her, but come on. She’s Supermom to the point that her husband is incompetent? That he really can’t make dinner for his own children? That he has to just reheat something she made that week? 

We see Georgia as the perfect woman—helps a friend with childbirth, writes a book, she apparently does all the cooking and cleaning (judging by how surprised she looks when she notices all the laundry folded and put away when she returns from the childbirth), and is the perfect mom and wife. And I know that she had little screentime, but why couldn’t we see any actual flaws? Why does she have to be Supermom every time we see her while her husband seemingly dicks around on Zoom all day? 

And then there’s Anna. She’s much more private than Georgia is irl, so she doesn’t already have this crafted public persona. We see less of her in Staged. The Tennants have more of a story than she and Michael do. And with that time, they really made sure to make… smart. I guess you could call it that. 

It felt like there was an attempt to make her smart when she had all this information about—what was it? Italian fascism?—on the top of her head. But it definitely felt “smart” in the way that men often think people are “smart.” They can just regurgitate facts rather than actually say anything constructive. It felt like she had just played Trivial Pursuit a lot or binged watched every single episode of QI. I’ve no idea why they felt the need to just awkwardly shoehorn that in when there are so many other ways to show that a woman is intelligent. 

It makes me wonder what the creative team thinks of women—at what point is a woman valuable in front of a camera? Could a character like me, who doesn’t know a lot of trivia or isn’t an exceptional cook or can be a birthing partner, earn screentime in a production by these men? Are women allowed to be flawed beyond “Haha yeah I’m eating cake while watching yoga videos” and agreeing to put recycling in someone else’s bin? 

Is there an oversaturation of the male ego in Staged? Kinda. It was all about three men’s shit show while girlfriends and wives stood in the background as flawless house partners. It feels like that bland brand of feminism that’s like, “Women can do anything! And that includes compensating for their male partner’s shortcomings!” 

Covid Insensitivities  

Back in March, we were all different people! We thought we saw a light at the end of the tunnel. We were watching TikToks and staying home and supporting essential workers. But things got very much worse. As an American, I’m terrified of what’s going to happen in my country alone. Much of the world has been hit hard, and government leaders all over are proving to be incompetent. 

But early summer/late spring was a different time. And when they filmed Staged, they had a Covid subplot with Michael’s neighbor. At the time, it felt fine. But now it feels icky, in my opinion. It feels wrong for rich people, safe in their homes, to craft a storyline where a fictional woman has Covid, and “It really affects me, Michael Sheen. I’m worried about this.” 

At the time, I felt like, “Is this really the angle they should have taken with such a serious global issue?” And now I feel like, “This is definitely not a subplot they should have gone with. Oh my God, I physically cannot watch Michael Sheen fake crying while on the phone with a doctor.” 

Their hearts were probably in the right place, but it aged terribly. I really hope that they don’t return to subplots like that in series two.

Which brings me to my next point: 

The Oh So Relatable Lives of Celebrities

The Covid-neighbor subplot felt wrong for another reason: it felt like a misguided attempt to look relatable to an audience who is probably a bit more exposed to the virus than these people sitting in their massive homes. 

I won’t go into this much because I don’t see it as a major issue. Again, at the time it felt fine. We thought we were all in this together, and these rich people really did get the common struggles: dealing with childcare, being cooped inside all day, etc. 

But again, things changed. 

I’m honestly tired (and a bit bitter) of seeing rich people trying to pose as having the same set of problems the rest of us do right now. Sure, it must be hard to raise five kids right now. But when this is over, the Tennants get their nanny back irl. Yes, it’s hard to stay inside all day with little outlets. But Michael Sheen irl 1) has actually been acting quite a bit during this, as we’ve seen now, with plenty of press and 2) has a huge garden and a magical little park he could always walk to. 

I can’t help but feel bitter as I sit in debt, unemployed, watching very well-off actors get irritable over lockdown. 

In General 

In general, Staged was fun at the time. It was cute, and I enjoyed watching it when it came out. It was during the “hopeful” stage of the pandemic, as I like to call it. Loans payments and rent payments were paused. Eviction was illegal. People who could, stayed home and watched TikToks. But now we’re in a different stage. 

A lot has happened, and a lot of places are refusing to shut down states/countries again for the sake of the economy. People are starting to realize how little their individual livelihoods matter to our governments. There are tense elections all over the world. There’s no relief being provided for people who desperately need it. 

I think that the sort of quirky Covid stories like Staged aren’t going to be necessarily enjoyable right now. Really, the last thing I want to see is rich people pretending like they’re struggling in their huge homes and with their presumably unlimited resources. 

I’m really holding my breath with series two. I hope that they go in a different direction than they did last time, or it’ll be a completely tone-deaf show to me. 

Like I said, there is so much you can do with a setup like Staged, but I think that they dropped the ball so many times that it just feels like someone else should take over this format. 

I’d completely understand if people disagree with me. These are just my criticisms of the show.

[blackscarabfilmz]

You Never Know What Someone Is Going Through by Michael Gleason

Another story based on a prompt, this time it was:

Write about a character who can suddenly see through another person's eyes — literally.

It's a well-known adage that “You never know what someone is going through”, usually used to encourage people to be kind to everyone. It's not a bad cliché, but it's not completely accurate either, as I can attest to. I'm not always the nicest person, and I admit that freely and openly, but I've taken strides to become nicer, although not for a totally altruistic reason.

You see, I've been afflicted with a strange curse, after a stressful interaction with an old woman whose slow walking was making it so that I missed out on getting the closest parking spot to my office that I'd seen in weeks, in which I used some choice words that I slightly regret.

“Get out of the way, you old crone! If you can't make it across the street, you should be in a home!” I'd shouted from behind the wheel of my BMW as I tried to swerve around her.

She just glared at me and seemed to mumble a few words, but I didn't stick around long enough to really notice, nor did I care. Afterward, I found that I'd gained the ability to literally see through another person's eyes.

I first noticed it right after arriving at the office that day, after getting a spot in a lot two blocks away, and I noticed that my secretary, Janice, was late for work – again. This was the fourth time that week and probably the fifteenth time this month, and I was pretty annoyed with her.

“If she wants that raise she asked for, she'd better start showing up to work on time. What else could be more important?” I thought to myself as I unlocked the door to my office.

Almost immediately, I was hit with the strangest sense of whiplash, because when I walked through the door, I wasn't in my familiar office, I was in somebody's bedroom.

“What the hell?” I turned around, but saw only a hallway behind me, and not Janice's desk.

The room looked fairly normal, and as I looked down at my hand for my briefcase, I instead saw something disturbing. It wasn't my hand! My hand was usually large and hairy, this was small and dainty, with painted nails.

“Nail polish? But...” I inspected the hand closely and realized I recognized the bright red color.

I rushed across the room, nearly tripping and falling as I also realized I was wearing heels, towards a vanity and looked into the mirror. Gazing at my reflection, my fears were realized and I was staring back at Janice's face. Thankfully, she was fully dressed and seemed to be getting ready for work. My eyes dropped slowly towards my, or rather Janice's chest, and I hesitantly reached a hand towards her blouse.

But I was taken out of my shock as I heard a baby's scream and the bedroom door suddenly flew open, revealing a haggard-looking man with a disheveled beard carrying a screaming child, who couldn't have been more than two. That was right! Janice had been pregnant when we hired her, and she'd had the baby not too long afterward. She came back to work pretty quickly after her maternity leave so I never really thought about her home life after that, her performance in the office was all that matters to me.

Janice's husband definitely didn't look like he was getting ready for work, so that explained why she was bucking for that raise. I made enough money for my wife to be a stay-at-home mom by choice, but my kids are almost fully grown, a daughter in college and a son in high school, so my wife's day can't be nearly as stressful as Janice's husband's.

“He's crying again! What am I supposed to do to get him to calm down, again?” Janice's husband asked as he held the baby out to me.

“I... Uh,” I stuttered, I didn't know the first thing about calming down a baby, that was my wife's department, I hesitated to reach for it. Not to mention hearing Janice's voice coming out of my mouth was off-putting, to say the least.

Suddenly, a dog rushed into the room, one of those small yappy ones, and started barking. The noises were incessant, the baby's crying, Janice's husband's whining, and the dog barking, it was driving me crazy. I clutched my hair with both hands, closed my eyes, and took a deep breath, before shouting from the top of my lungs:

“PLEASE, EVERYONE JUST SHUT THE HELL UP!” I shouted, in my own voice, and noticed that everything went silent.

I opened my eyes to see my office in front of me, and murmurs started up from the other members of the office staff behind me. I quickly rushed into my office and shut the door behind me, slumping down in my chair as I tried to rationalize what had just happened to me. I felt so real, but it had to have been a hallucination, right?

I quickly sat down at my desk and tried to clear my head, but my mind kept playing back what I'd experienced. I started working on what I'd needed to get done that day, looking over expense reports, and before long, I heard a gentle knock on my door.

“Come in!” I shouted, looking up to see Janice sheepishly walking into my office. “Glad to see you've decided to grace us with your presence.”

I noticed that she was wearing the exact outfit that I'd seen in the hallucination, but that had to be a coincidence, right? She'd probably worn that exact outfit dozens of times, and that's why my subconscious chose it. I think that's how dreams work, anyway.

“I'm sorry, sir. I really tried to get here on time, but my husband was having trouble with the baby, he was being very fussy today, and things have been really tough juggling that, especially with me working,” Janice explained.

I remained stone-faced, but that was more because her explanation directly mirrored the experience I'd had. But she took my silence as a challenge, to her, I was silent because I was dissatisfied with her punctuality.

“I know that it isn't any of your concern, but if I got that raise I asked for, I could afford to hire a nanny and that would take some of the burdens of childcare off of my husband and me, and I would be able to focus all my attention on my work here.” Janice declared. “It's not greed, and I really do love my job, but I can't be everywhere at once, and it seems like the universe needs me to be.”

After what I'd seen, I believed her, but I couldn't buckle to it immediately. I had a reputation to uphold, besides, a change of heart that drastic might cause people to question things and I don't want anyone to know I'd been in Janice's head.

“I'll consider it,” I said, flatly. “Now, get to work.”

“Yes, sir.” Janice turned on her heel in a way that shocked me, given I'd nearly killed myself simply walking in them, and walked out of my office, closing the door on her way out.

The rest of the morning passed without incident, and I thought that the entire experience was a one-time thing. By lunch, I'd figured out that it was probably tied into that old woman in the crosswalk, but assumed that I'd learned my lesson with Janice, and everything would be normal from then on out. And then later that afternoon, my phone rang, a call from my wife, Diane.

“Hey, honey! What's up?” I asked. “Is something wrong?”

“You bet there's something wrong, Clark! I got Nathan's report card in the mail today!” Diane replied.

“Oh, Christ...” I muttered. “How bad is it this time?”

“Nothing above a C- and most of it is D's and there's an F this time.”

I took a deep sigh and put my face in my hands.

“We are going to have a very long discussion about this when I get home. Is he home yet?”

“Not yet, he's at after-school tutoring, for all the good it's done...” Diane said.

“Make sure he knows he's grounded and won't be playing video games or watching T.V. until we figure out what to do about this,” I grumbled.

“Got it. See you when you get home,” Diane said. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” I said, ending the call. “What the hell am I going to do with that boy? Can't he just apply himself?”

As I turned my attention back to my desk, I again found myself in another location entirely. Although this time I recognized the room, I'd been in there enough times for parent-teacher conferences to know that this was Nathan's math classroom. I looked down at the desk and could vaguely make out a reflection, one that I recognized as my son's face.

“Not again...” I whined, in Nathan's voice.

“What was that, Mr. Wilson?” I looked up to see Nathan's math teacher, Mrs. Snodgrass, standing over me.

She was an austere woman, a very old and traditional teacher, reminded me of some of the teachers I'd hated when I was in school, but as a parent, I liked her style. It kept the kids in line. Of course, I liked that personality a lot less more when it was directed at me.

“Nothing, ma'am.” I looked back down at the desk and spotted a math worksheet sitting on it, half-filled in.

“Have you finished the assignment yet?” she asked.

“Not yet, I'm working on it.” I picked up a pencil and started to work on the problem.

Math was my best subject back in school, but the way they were teaching it now was... strange. I didn't understand what it wanted me to do! I did my best and finished the sheet, handing it to Mrs. Snodgrass. I was alone in the room, save for her, which made sense given that tutoring is usually only for those who are truly struggling.

I stood near the desk, waiting as she looked over the sheet. My face fell when she signed and rubbed her forehead with her wrinkled hand.

“Mr. Wilson, did you pay attention at all to today's lesson?” she asked.

“Well, I...” I started to reply. I didn't actually know if Nathan paid attention.

“I don't know what else I can do. I think we're kidding ourselves with the tutoring, it's clearly not doing anything, and I've exhausted all my methods. I'll discuss that with your parents at the next conference, but as for now, you may go.” Mrs. Snodgrass said.

She was giving up on my son like that? If he's not understanding the material, the teacher should be making damn sure she tries everything! Usually, I had the confidence and bravado to stand up to teachers like this, but in Nathan's body, my confidence evaporated, so all I managed to squeak out was a thank you, and I quickly collected his bag and headed home.

Already this experience had lasted longer than my time in Janice's body, and I was eagerly awaiting it to end. I figured it might end when I got to the front door, but it didn't. I walked into the house and found Diane standing, arms crossed, in the foyer. I knew why she was angry, and I averted my gaze.

“Your report card came in the mail today,” Diane said. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“I know it looks bad, but...” I started. I wanted to tell her what I'd witnessed from the teacher, but she wouldn't let me speak.

“Wait for your father, he's on his way home now.” she pointed towards the living room.

I took Nathan's backpack off and sat on the couch, waiting for a few minutes until I heard my car pull into the driveway. I sat up, partly wondering if perhaps Nathan was in my body since I was occupying his, but one look at my face as I walked through the door, and I knew that it wasn't the case.

It's strange to see yourself from the outside, I don't think of myself as threatening, but clearly, Nathan did. His heart began racing as I took off my suit jacket and hung it up by the door. The other me, the me in my own body... “Clark”, he walked into the living room after greeting Diane and taking the report card. “Clark” sat down in my favorite chair, and Diane took her customary flank position next to me.

“What the hell are we going to do with you? Do you enjoy failing?” “Clark" asked. “I mean, look at this! Do you think you can get into a good college with grades like these?”

I couldn't believe it, would I really say something like that? Have I lost sight of empathizing with my son? Diane just stood by “Clark” and nodded along with what he said.

“The lessons are really hard, especially math!” I defended Nathan.

“If the lessons are hard, you've got to buckle down and study your butt off! I struggled in school too, you know what I did? I worked hard to not struggle! This is important, it's your future! Why can't you be more like your sister? She never had less than a B!” “Clark” shouted.

I was utterly speechless, not just because “Clark” wouldn't let me get a word in edgewise, but also because I could feel just how powerless Nathan felt, with his father, the person who's supposed to be on his side, chewing him out mercilessly. If this really was how I'd been treating him about his grades... that had to change.

“And don't even think you'll be seeing the outside of your room or a classroom until your grades improve. Now go to your room and hit the books!” “Clark” finished.

I felt tears welling up in my eyes and I stood up and ran towards Nathan's room. As I slammed the door, I felt myself crash back down to Earth as I rocked slightly in my chair. Diane put her hand on my shoulder.

“Are you okay, Clark?” she asked, concern in her voice.

“Yeah, I'm fine...” I replied.

“Are you sure you weren't too hard on him? I know his grades are bad, but...” Diane started.

“Yeah, I was a little too hard on him...” I sighed. “I'll handle it.”

I stood up and walked up the stairs, waiting outside Nathan's room. After a few minutes, I knocked on the door.

“Go away!” Nathan shouted.

“Nathan, I've... had some time to think, and I'm sorry. I just... I want you to succeed, but if you're struggling, I need to take the time to help you figure out the problem, not yell at you until it goes away.” I heard the door unlock.

I reached forward and opened the door, Nathan was sitting on his bed, wiping tears from his face.

“I guess I'm just stupid...” Nathan muttered.

“You're not stupid, we just have to figure out how you learn the best. If this tutoring isn't working, maybe we try something different. Say, I was pretty good at math when I was your age, maybe after dinner, I can look over your homework with you. You'll just have to teach me whatever this “new” math they're teaching you is,” I chuckled, and Nathan laughed as well.

“I'd like that, Dad.” Nathan said.

It was a strange experience to be sure, but it taught me something, that I had to be more empathetic and kinder to those around me, particularly when it comes to things outside of their control.

In the weeks following, I've made a lot of strides into being more understanding. With Janice, my other employees, my kids, and even my wife. Seeing things through her eyes is an experience that I've gone to a lot of trouble to avoid. But the curse hasn't gone away, either, because sometimes I'll find myself running out of patience with a cashier or a barista and suddenly I'm seeing things from their perspective. I guess the moral of this story is, “Be kind. Because you never know what someone is going through”.

And trust me, you really don't want to find out.

[wittyvitale]

Never Truly Gone (A Netflix Castlevania fanfic)

Summary:  Sypha is 9 months pregnant and has just received word that her grandfather is dying. She asks Trevor to take her to the Speaker caravan so she can say her final farewells. Background Sypha/Trevor. Sadfic, minor character death, fluff and angst.

Sypha had received news from her caravan that her Grandfather’s health had taken a turn for the worse. It was unlikely that he would survive another night. Sypha was 9 months pregnant with her third child and was due to give birth at any moment. But she couldn’t just stay home when she knew that the man who raised her was dying. So she demanded that Trevor take her to the caravan’s site by wagon so she could say her final farewells.

Sypha had trouble with her mobility these days. With the baby inside her almost fully developed, it was hard for her to do something as simple as standing up. When Sypha and Trevor reached the caravan site, Trevor helped her off of the wagon, arm around her waist to steady her.

“I can make it the rest of the way,” Sypha said with a somber tone, the gravity of the situation settling on her shoulders now that she was here. “It’s only a few steps to the tent. And this is something I need to do alone.”

Trevor nodded in understanding. “Take all the time you need. I’ll be right here.”

Sypha nodded gratefully and hugged Trevor before she trudged towards the tent. When she opened the front flap, she was greeted by the 10 Speakers, looking just as somber as Sypha. The faces of everyone slightly brightened upon seeing their dear sister. Sypha was greeted with hugs, cheek kisses, and a few strokes on her pregnant belly.

“Is that my Sypha?” a frail, familiar voice called from the corner of the tent. Sypha saw her grandfather lying on a makeshift bed consisting of straw and furs. She felt her eyes fill up with tears at the sight of him.

“Yes, Papi, it’s me.” Sypha choked out, doing her best to hold back her tears. She felt a hand on her shoulder.

“We’ll leave you two alone,” Arn said comfortingly. “We’ll be right outside if you need anything.”

With that, the Speakers exited the tent, leaving Sypha and her grandfather alone. Sypha walked over to her grandfather and carefully lowered herself to sit on the haybale by his bedside. She immediately took his hand and held it gently.

“Oh Sypha, I’m so happy to see you,” her grandfather started. “How are you, my angel?”

“I’ve been well, grandfather.” Sypha said, forcing a small smile.

“And how are the little ones?”

“Growing up too fast,” Sypha answered with a small laugh. “Sonia is 7 and Christopher is 2 now. They’re both so much like their father, in both looks and personality. Trevor’s started teaching Sonia how to use a whip and she’s already a natural. And little Christopher is entranced by their training sessions. That boy is filled with energy and can’t stay still for a minute. But when he sees his papa and sister whip training, he sits down with his mouth wide open.”

Her grandfather laughed. “Such spirited great-grandchildren I have. What a blessing they are.” He slipped his hand out of Sypha’s and rested it on her stomach. “And how about this little one?”

Sypha looked down with a soft smile. “Very energetic as well. I’ve been kicked nonstop for the last few weeks. The midwife says I will give birth before the week is over.”

“What wonderful news. The birth of a new life is one of the most beautiful things in this world.”

“There’s something else about this baby…”

“Hmm?”

Sypha’s smile became wider. “I think this child will be more Belnades than Belmont. Since the day I could feel it kicking, I felt something I never did when I was expecting Sonia and Christopher; magic. This baby has potential to become a great magician, I can just feel it. I can’t wait to teach this child, to pass down my own knowledge and skills.”

The Elder began to chuckle. “I had almost this exact same conversation with your mother when she was expecting you.”

Sypha’s eyes widened. “I think that’s one story you never told me.”

“Really now? Well, why don’t I share it with you now; a story about your mother as my final gift to you.”

Sypha felt the tears welling up in her eyes again and swallowed the lump in her throat.

“As you know, your mother, my beautiful Alma, was a very skilled magician. She could control the elements flawlessly. When Alma learned that she was pregnant, she was so anxious. She was in constant consultation with our healers and other women in our caravan who had experienced childbirth. She scoured the libraries in each town we visited and read through all the books about childrearing. But the more she read, the more nervous she became. She was convinced that she would be an unfit mother, that she would be unworthy of you.”

Sypha listened to the story intently and wordlessly encouraged her grandfather to continue.

“And one day, Alma came to me in tears and shared all of her fears and worries about motherhood. You see, Sypha, she already loved you dearly. She wanted to do her best by you, but she was scared that her best wasn’t good enough. So do you know what I told her?”

“What did you tell her?”

“I told her to stop focusing on the things that she didn’t know and to focus on what she did know. I encouraged her to focus on the child in her belly and asked her what she felt. When Alma had calmed her mind and focused on the unborn child, she realized that a strong presence of magic was within the child. She realized that her child had the potential to be a great magician. Oh Sypha, your mother was so excited when she realized this. She started listing all of the spells and all of the secret knowledge she wanted to teach you. She had calmed down considerably. The other women in our caravan taught her about the more basic knowledge of childcare while Alma figured out what she wanted to teach you. And 3 months later you were born, kicking and screaming at the top of your lungs, wanting the whole world to know that you had arrived.”

Sypha laughed; she had always been told she was a “little spitfire” as a child.

“And she did,” Sypha started. “Mother taught me everything she knew about magic when I was just a little girl. I learned so much from her, and that foundation helped me become the magician I am today. But… but then that day came when mother and father were taken and I-“

“Shhhh,” the Elder interrupted, putting his hand on Sypha’s cheek. The Elder looked over his granddaughter’s face carefully and smiled. “You look so much like your mother. And you are just like her too; brave, strong, intelligent. She lives through you, you know. Nobody who leaves this earth is ever truly dead. Our spirits go on living in different forms and watch over the ones they love. Your mother and father have always been with us, have always been with you. I know they are proud of the woman you’ve become.”

Sypha couldn’t hold back anymore and tears began to fall down her face. Her grandfather gently brushed her tears away.

“And I am so proud of the woman you’ve become. You’ve saved countless lives across this country. You’ve not only defended the vulnerable with your strength, but you used your kindness to bring aid and comfort. And now you are continuing to do this while raising a beautiful family. You and Trevor are good together. Your children are growing into fine human beings. I’ve no doubt you will nurture the child within you as you have done with your other children. I love you so much, Sypha.”

Sypha’s tears flowed even stronger as she wrapped her arms around her grandfather’s neck and buried her face in his chest. “I love you too, Papi.” She choked.

Grandfather and granddaughter stayed like this for a few minutes, Sypha crying into her grandfather’s chest while he gently stroked her hair. Sypha slowly lifted herself up and swiftly brushed the tears out of her eyes before taking her grandfather’s hand in hers again.

“It’s time, Sypha.” the Elder stated.

“I know.” Sypha answered with a sniffle.

“Continue to live, my Sypha,” the Elder said. “Continue to walk the path of true light and righteousness. I will always be with you. And I will always love you.”

Sypha brought his hand to her lips and kissed it. “I will, I promise. I love you. And… and thank you, thank you for everything, Papi.”

Sypha held her grandfather’s hand until it went limp in her own. She no longer saw his chest rise and fall, and it was then that she knew he was gone.

Sypha walked out of the tent with her tearstained face and all of the Speakers turned in her direction. She confirmed their assumptions with a simple nod. All at once the Speakers gathered around Sypha, crying, hugging, and comforting one another. Once Sypha had finished embracing every last member of her family, she walked over to the wagon where Trevor was waiting.

“Is he…” Trevor began.

“Yes.” Sypha confirmed, tears flowing down her face again. Trevor wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in for a gentle hug.

“I’m sorry.” He said softly as he rubbed comforting circles on her back.

Sypha began to sob, the grief finally overtaking her now that her grandfather was truly gone. She held onto Trevor tightly and cried into his shoulder. Trevor continued to hold her and gently rocked her. They stayed like this for a long while until Sypha had run out of tears and was ready to go back into the wagon.

Trevor helped her onto the seat and Sypha spent much of the journey home in silence, her head resting heavily on Trevor’s shoulder. Today she would grieve. But she kept her grandfather’s last words in her heart; she would continue to live, to defend and bring comfort to anybody who needed it. And she knew he would never really be gone. He would continue to live in her, to watch over her for the rest of her life. And though Sypha was heartbroken at this loss, these thoughts provided a little bit of comfort.

Endnotes:  I honestly don't know what prompted me to write this, maybe it's the increased depression I've been feeling since in lockdown and being forced to think of my own family losses. But I'm actually happy with how this turned out. It's been awhile since I wrote a sadfic. And I'm thinking of writing another fic as a companion piece that focuses on the birth of Trevor and Sypha's 3rd baby. We'll see if inspiration strikes. Thanks for reading.

[yndigot]

Question: do you have any headcanons/a personal favorite explanation for how Branson could have possibly wanted to return to Downton after being in America? I've been going in circles with his character and what is/isn't shown on screen, but I feel like something major must have happened for him to travel back after being away.

I wish I had really good thoughts instead of just long, rambly thoughts. But my best idea that isn't re-writing the stuff I wish Julian had done with more care is to over-analyze what Tom says and try to wrestle it into something that makes sense!

Like, the straightforward answer is that I think NOTHING Julian gives us justifies this. I'm kind of not sure why he brought Tom back. Don't get me wrong. I want Tom there because I like him and I like the way he interacts with the rest of the family, but Julian didn't seem to write him very consistently re: what he wants out of life, especially after Sybil dies. And not in a way that reads to me like a "grief is making him directionless" deliberate choice. More like "idk what to do with a character like this if he's not shit-stirring, so now that I've integrated him into the family, I don't know where to go next."

I think Julian has a real problem writing working class characters and showing them having desires that don't either a) serve to uphold the aristocracy or b) get painted as sinister in some way. Thomas vacillates wildly between the two -- his ambition to have a life outside of service is often cast as sinister, and then his "redemption" is being the good servant. (Don't get me wrong -- I think if Thomas has to stay in service, he's probably much happier running the place than taking orders, but he gets "rewarded" by having his place in correct order confirmed.) See also: the way Julian seems to treat Anna's "friendship" with Mary as though it's entirely sincere and devoted and uncomplicated by the fact that she depends on Mary and the family for her salary, her husband's salary, housing, and childcare. (I don't have trouble believing Anna would have a certain fondness for Mary after many years, but I find things about the way their relationship is portrayed as though it's uncomplicated and transcends class to be uncomfortable.) And Daisy's ideas about wanting better rights and questioning the monarchy are played for laughs and come across kind of childish. Basically, I do not trust Julian for one second to try to get into the head of someone who, the first couple series establish, is an Irish republican and socialist. Because as much as I enjoy it, I believe Julian writes Downton to glorify institutions that early Tom would want to dismantle, which means he's either a source of trouble, or he needs to be watered down and neutered. We get the first for the first three series and the second going forward from there.

Tom going to Boston feels to me like Patrick Gordon and the endless murder trials -- a storyline that I think got away from Julian and then had to be wrapped up without changing the status quo, even if it was a waste of our time in the process. (I swear I really enjoy the show, I just think it has a lot of flaws!) I just don't think there's a lot there to build on. I went back to check, and the stated reason is that he didn't like starting over again in a new country and didn't like taking Sybbie so far away from family. That's fine? I guess. I loathe that he comes back saying that American capitalism is somehow better than European capitalism and he's kind of digging it now. That's just uncalled for. (I do appreciate that the greater social mobility of the US might appeal to him in that it strips the absolute top layer of society in the UK which is determined exclusively by birth, but I prefer a Tom who wants to dismantle the class system, not just escape the aristocracy and live in a class system that is slightly more permeable to people who get lucky. Julian's bullshit about "American capitalism is all down to hard work so that's why it appeals to someone like Tom!" makes my skin crawl.)

I can think of some things I wish happened in Boston! I don't think they're headcanons in the sense that I think they almost certainly having nothing to do with what we're actually given (and may in fact lowkey contradict some of it), but I'd love to see (or write, if I ever get off my ass) fic that actually deals with what it's like for Tom to be in a job and a life that isn't tied up in the aristocracy anymore for the first time in years (even when he was in Ireland with Sybil, I feel like it would have hovered over them) and confronts what he likes about being in business with his cousin -- and what he doesn't. I know it's 0% supported by canon and even contradicted by it and his new love of sucking capitalist dick, but I like to think of Tom seeing his cousin's purely capitalist enterprise and beginning to form the idea of starting his own business based on a cooperative model. Is it believable that Talbot & Branson has any elements of the cooperative model in the way it's run? Probably not, but I like to pretend. I think, despite the fact that he says he gets on great with his cousin and there wasn't any bad blood between them when he left, it would be interesting if there were some ideological differences about the business.

The absolute most interesting thing that could have happened to him in Boston would have been to see him re-introduced to radical politics, but canon pretty clearly contradicts that and in fact has him become less and less radical as time goes on. Unfortunately. But I'd read the hell out of a fic that explored the way the Irish in the US were funding radical movements back in Ireland and Tom getting sucked into that. I'd also love to see him involved with the GAA or Gaelic League in Boston (or in Yorkshire, tbh -- I want more Tom and the expat community in general). /tangent

Genuinely, working with what we're given, my actual headcanon is super boring. Again, I do think that Tom's life/career drift after Sybil's death is at least as much a product of Julian not knowing what to do with the character as it is a conscious choice to show him lost and grieving (though we do get hints of that), BUT let's go ahead and interpret it as Tom feeling lost and directionless after he's lost his wife and the life the two of them planned together in Dublin. (Let's also set aside whether he'd actually be able to return to Ireland following the establishment of the Free State -- he's working under the assumption that he's lost his wife and his country in the space of a few months and can't get either back.) That's a huge loss and a lot of grief, and the two are compounding each other, and he gets into kind of a rut at Downton over the next few years. I think it's reasonable for him to think "Maybe I can just move and start over, and it will shake up my life, and this lost, listless feeling will be fixed!" And then it turns out that, actually, depression and grief and mourning for your wife and the life you planned together doesn't go away when you go to a new country! It doesn't fix things, it just takes away a lot of the support system he had in Yorkshire (the family generally, but mostly Mary tbh, and Isobel a bit, and maybe people at his church if we look outside what Julian lets us see). I think when he says that starting over in a new country all over again was too much, maybe that's what he's getting at. He may be writing to his cousins and keeping in touch, but presumably he hasn't seen this cousin face to face in years. He may have a few other contacts in Boston in the immigrant community. He can find a church and a community with the GAA and/or Gaelic League and other organizations like that. But these aren't people who've been in his life in a meaningful, daily way for a long, long time. He relied really heavily on Mary (and Matthew for the first year or so) and whatever the rest of his community in Yorkshire looked like at a very vulnerable time in his life, and I think maybe he underestimated how hard it would be to leave that and start over. For all that I whine about the way Tom's written later on in the series, I actually really like his friendship with Mary and Matthew and the way he and Mary seem to drift together after Sybil and Matthew die. I think it works very well and is very believable that, despite the fact that Mary wasn't jumping to welcome him into the family, they would become incredibly close.

Starting over is hard. He's probably trusting Sybbie to someone like his cousin's wife or a woman recommended to him by the local church while he's at work in Boston, and at Downton he was leaving her with the nanny while he worked, but she was in the family home, with her grandparents and aunts in and out of the house all day, and being with a stranger in Boston may have been hard on Sybbie. Also, to go from having a relationship with George that was probably more like siblings than cousins to being separated was probably difficult. Part of the problem could be that Sybbie was having trouble adjusting. And he fell into being the agent because the position was open, and he was drifting after Sybil died, and he needed an occupation, and it feels like he fell into the thing with the cousin because he felt like he was in a rut and wanted something different, and that's what was offered. I'm not sure stumbling between things that are available is the same as making conscious choices about what you really want out of life. Looking at it that way, maybe it's not so surprising that whatever he had going on in Boston never quite gelled. That doesn't necessarily make me think it makes tons of sense for him to come straight back to Downton -- I can think of other choices I'd make for him if the initial plan with the cousin doesn't work -- but for all that he disapproves of aristocracy, I do think he loves the Crawleys and regards them as family by the time he tries moving to Boston.

All that feels unsatisfying. I'd love a good take that had something big happen in Boston, though. Old girlfriend from back in Ireland has also immigrated? Old boyfriend? Is he lying when he says he and his cousin didn't have a falling out? Did he manage to get himself into politically related legal trouble again? (I can't quite make that last one work in my head because while he doesn't seem to mind destruction of property, he seems disinclined to participate in anything that might lead to people getting hurt, and I think he'd be very hesitant to put his neck out in a big way once he's Sybbie's only living parent, but it would be interesting if someone could come up with something. Labor organizing goes sideways, maybe? Even though he seems to be leaning into capitalism more than I like...?) You definitely make me want to come up with something better than the hints we get.

[lia-jones]

Growing Together - Chapter Six - To Wish Impossible Things

It was the sweetness of your skin

It was the hope of all we might have been

That fills me with the hope to wish

Impossible things

The Cure - To Wish Impossible Things

It was a sunny Saturday morning, filled with sunshine and countless aromas coming from restaurants and food stands. Victor and I were visiting the bookshops in the old part of town, browsing for childcare books. Later that afternoon, we would be attending Diane’s baby shower, and despite already having bought a designer diaper bag as a gift, my mom had recommended some books that she swore would be helpful for the mother to be. And as a good friend, I would make sure Diane would get them.

I wish I could say that I was taking Diane’s pregnancy like a normal healthy person, but I knew I wasn’t. Being recently married, and knowing that I could never give Victor the child I was sure he wanted soured my soul, and all I could feel was jealousy and regret. I was happy for her, I really was. But I couldn’t help but also feel angry at the fact that this moment would never come for me, and mostly because of a lousy choice. Ten minutes was all it took to change my life forever, I concluded, as I let myself dive into a painful memory.

It was late in the afternoon when I called my mother on that nightmarish day, and even later when I went home to pack and go to my mother’s house. I had decided to leave Daniel for good, because of the child that I thought I was carrying. I wouldn’t allow him to beat me again, to reduce me to the nothingness he wanted me to be. Despite feeling incredibly weak and hopeless, I would choose strength for someone who couldn’t have it on his own, my unborn child.

However, after everything was packed, just when I was getting ready to leave, something came to mind. Bad person or not, Daniel was still the father of my child. It wasn’t right to just leave and take his child with me, without a single word. I took a pad and a pen and started writing him a goodbye letter, where I stated my reasons for leaving, and how he was still welcome in our child’s life, provided that he would follow some rules. Those ten minutes I spent carefully choosing my words and writing them down, that show of respect and kindheartedness, was the sealer of my fate. As I was getting up from our dining table, leaving the letter behind, the lock on the door turned, signaling Daniel was home.

“Is this the one you were looking for?” Victor questioned, showing me a book. I blinked at it, jarred with the sudden jump to present reality. “Are you ok?”

“Yes, that’s the one I couldn’t find.” I smiled weakly at my worried husband. “Come, let’s pay for it, I want to go get lunch.”

“Where do you want to have lunch?” Victor held my hand as we left the bookstore. “We could get some takeout sushi at that place you like.”

“You don’t care for sushi.” I smiled at him. “We can cook at home or take something else instead.”

“Alright.” Victor wrapped his arm around my shoulders. “Takeout sushi it is.” He gave me a sweet look.

It was evident that Victor knew what was going on with me, and since he was never good at talking about feelings, he tried to help me the way he knew how, by acts of service. His way to show me he loved me was to always make sure I was taken care of, and pampered in ways I never deemed possible. That entailed eating sushi he didn’t really care about, taking a morning stroll through stores when he could be playing tennis, and going to baby showers when he could just make an excuse and spend his afternoon watching one of his old movies or reading.

Back at home, we happily ate our sushi, Victor unusually doing most of the talking, trying to distract me. I listened to him intently, but couldn’t find any words to say. We hadn’t gone to the baby shower yet, and I was already exhausted.

“We don’t need to go if you don’t want to.” He broke through our shared pretense that everything was fine. “I can call Goldman right away and make an excuse.”

“I want to go.” I lied. “This is important to Diane, she wants me there.”

“Andy…”

“Will you clean up the table while I go wrap the books?” I changed the subject. “Diane will get mad if we show up late.”

I went to the office, looking for the gift bag I had bought for the books. As I was wrapping them in pink satin paper, one of them fell on the floor, open. It showed the picture of a mother breastfeeding her baby. I picked the book up, noticing the article about the benefits of breastfeeding and naming some curiosities about it, like, how the taste of the milk would change according to what the mother eats, which helps the baby starting to get acquainted to new flavors, even before getting other foods. Or how the milk adapts to the needs of the infant, some studies indicating that the milk carries more antibodies and white blood cells if the baby is sick, and more serotonin by the end of the day, to help the baby sleep better.

I was marveled at how a woman’s body was so perfectly designed to take care of a baby, chemistry and hormones and instinct creating the perfect caretaker, so all the baby’s needs are met. Being a mother, being able to create and nurture life was one of the things I liked the most about being a woman. It was miraculous. I was so distracted reading that book, venturing in all the facts that composed motherhood, that I didn’t even notice Victor leaning on the doorframe, watching me.

“Are you ready?” He was watching me closely, his gaze sweet and with a hint of worry.

I immediately closed the book, wrapping it quickly before inserting it in the gift bag.

“Yes, let’s go.” I grabbed the gift bag, bolting to the door.

Our trip to Goldman’s house was silent, Victor and I both lost in thought. When he finished parking the car, he turned to me.

“We don’t have to stay here all afternoon.” He offered, taking my hand. “I can give some excuse so we leave early.”

“It’s fine, I don’t mind.” I shrugged. I didn’t want to be that petty person who couldn’t be happy for her friend because she couldn’t have kids. And I didn’t want people to worry about me. I was a full-grown woman, I would be fine. Sometimes some things hurt, and that’s life. I just had to toughen up.

Goldman and Diane’s house was a big cloud of pink, with pink balloons, and diapers, and storks everywhere. The house was already full of people when we arrived, some from LFG, some being Diane’s and Goldman’s family members. Diane approached me with a big smile, her baby bump bigger than it was last time I saw her, a few weeks ago.

“Our favorite couple!” She hugged us both, Goldman coming right after to greet us. “Welcome! Make yourselves at home, we have plenty of food! Henry, get our CEO a drink! Andy, do you want anything?”

“Wanting to get me drunk already? Isn’t that how you made that child?” I teased, showing her my big bag with my gifts. “Here. To spoil the mom-to-be.”

“Thank you so much! It means so much to me that you guys are here!” Diane gave me a tight hug. And it looked like someone else wanted to join the party.

“I think Penny kicked me!” I smiled, charmed with her belly. “Can I touch it?”

“Of course!” Diane smiled. “She’s been excited all day, it’s like she knows there will be a party!”

“Or maybe it’s because of all the sugar you’ve been having.” Goldman offered.

I touched Diane’s pregnant belly with careful hands. Inside, there was a human being, sweet Penny, waiting to be big enough to come to this world. And she was indeed excited, jumping inside the womb, trying to poke my hands.

My husband was by my side, holding my waist lovingly, trained eyes on my hands, smiling sweetly. I couldn’t help but wonder if he was picturing that my hands were his, and Diane’s pregnant belly was mine. I felt tears coming, so I swiftly brushed the thought aside. The doorbell rang, diverting the attention from me, Diane busying herself with other guests.

“There are pink margaritas in the kitchen. Go help yourselves.”

As expected, the entire afternoon was baby-themed, from diaper changing races and sharing labor stories to the opening of gifts, and bestowing of best wishes to unborn Penny. Although I did try to have fun and relax, each activity only reminded me of what I couldn’t have, and I began to feel increasingly worse about myself. I was a bottomless pit of sadness and self-loathing: not only was I miserable because all those things were impossible for me, I felt bad for feeling that way, and not being able to fully enjoy this very important moment in my friends lives. I was a shitty person, and probably deserved everything bad that came my way.

To make matters worse, I could feel my husband’s eyes on the back of my neck, searching for any sign of distress on my part, ready to jump and act if necessary. Although I loved him to pieces for that, I was growing a little uneasy with it. If Victor was protective before, the marriage just magnified it even more. There was a part of him that was sweeter, more relaxed and open, but there was also another part of him that was borderline domineering, always wanting to know where I was, always scared to leave me to my own devices. And this time, although I knew I could count on him, although I knew he would always stand by me, I wanted to be left alone, and keep this ugliness of mine just to myself.

But this was Victor, and he was one of the most observant people I had ever met, especially if he was worried about something. After a while, he was by my side, checking up on me.

“Would you like to leave?” His hand rested lovingly on my shoulder.

I have to admit having him care for me felt good. Yes, I was admittedly a hypocrite.

I nodded, too emotionally tired to talk. Victor took my hand, pulling me from my seat.

“We should get going.” Victor apologized to Diane. “My aunt had a situation at the ranch, she needs our help.”

Despite what I predicted, knowing Diane Goldman AKA Momzilla, in less than five minutes and with only a few sentences, we were in the car, driving home. After a moment, Victor broke the silence.

“I don’t understand the need to share labor stories.” He commented, disgusted. “If anything, those should be cautionary tales, not things to share willingly at a party. I do not need to know how many stitches one can get in her… You know.” He shuddered.

Even with a heavy heart, I had to laugh at his honesty.

“That older woman was saying she broke two of her husband’s fingers while he was holding her hand.” He continued. “Everybody laughed. How on earth is that funny?”

“Imagine the birth announcement: Johnny Boy was born on day x, weighting y kilograms. Mother and baby are ok, father is severely injured.” I joked, making us both laugh.

“The whole thing was a parade of reasons not to have a baby.” Victor declared, looking shocked. “Parents not being able to have a full night’s sleep for years . Clothes being belched and puked on, poop that goes to the baby’s neck, babies peeing and spitting on their parents. How is that cute?”

“Cholics, sudden fevers, tantrums, teething.” I continued. “I remember my mother telling me that Josh and Cristina were on the verge of insanity at one point.”

“The labor itself is a mess. A woman’s vagina stretches to the point of passing a human head through it, tears, gets bloody and infected, and stitched up. Goldman is never having sex again.”

“And even if Diane is in the mood, they won’t have time for it. The baby will need them all the time.” I offered.

“In the meantime, we will be traveling, enjoying life to the fullest, and I’ll be making you scream my name in every penthouse of every luxury hotel in the world. Or in every surface or wall at our apartment. There are a few we haven’t tried yet.”

“You’re keeping count?” I chuckled.

“Who do you take me for?” Victor raised an eyebrow at me. “Of course I am.”

I laughed again.

“You know what, you are right.” I spoke with confidence. “Who says couples should have kids? Our life is pretty amazing. We both love our jobs, we have successful careers, we love each other and have amazing moments together. It’s no use to wish for impossible things. We should be counting our many, many blessings.”

“My point exactly.” Victor smiled.

I was putting the dinner’s dirty dishes in the dishwasher, back at the apartment, when the thought assaulted me again. I remembered Diane’s pregnant belly and Penny jumping inside it, trying to interact with the world outside. I imagined myself bearing that belly, and Victor’s hands caressing it, his eyes bright with joy. I pictured us putting together baby cribs, buying baby clothes, going to ultrasound appointments together. I imagined our faces as we watched our child inside me, playing with the umbilical cord or sucking her thumb. I could imagine Victor having a picture of that ultrasound next to the ones of us together on his desk.

And maybe during labor, I would hold his hand a little too tight, and end up a bloody stitched mess because of it. We would have endless stories of poop and pee, and dark circles under our eyes, but that wouldn’t matter, because every little milestone achieved in our child’s life would be like a Nobel prize to us, documented with the same pride. We would look at our child and find things from both of us, and we would love her for that. She would have Victor’s eyes or raven hair, and I would love her more because she reminded me of the man I loved. And Victor would look at her dark curls or prominent cheekbones and think of me, and he would love her more for that. She would be the testament of our love, the proof that Victor and Andrea Lee stood on this planet, and they loved each other.

Only when I saw my tears staining the black marble counter did I notice I was crying. I was wishing for impossible things, but I couldn’t help it. I wanted a child like I never wanted anything in my life, I couldn’t ignore it. And I wanted to fight for it.

I felt Victor’s arms circle my waist from behind. I turned to face him, my eyes filled with tears. He gave me a knowing look and pressed my face against his chest, silently telling me to cry it all out.

“I’m a hypocrite.” I confessed between sobs. “I do want a baby. I want to be a mother.”

“I know.” He spoke softly, tightening his grip on me, his hand on the back of my neck, caressing my hair.

“I don’t want to give up just yet.” I looked up to him, suddenly feeling steady. “I still have my ovaries, there is a lot that we can still try. Will you try with me?”

I couldn’t quite read his expression as he looked me in the eyes, pondering my question. A moment after he held me tighter again, pressing me against him again.

“Yes.” I heard his low voice rumble in his chest. “I will.”

[fletchphoenix]

Beginnings

I,,,,couldn’t help myself. I am very weak and needed to write this idea down as soon as I could. So, here you go gamers. <3 I love y’all and hope you’ve had the best day on earth!

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

Donella hasn’t expected for any of this to happen. She hadn’t expected to suddenly be launched into a parenting position, relying on the small, leather bound book that she’d hidden behind a panel in the wall of the workshop after hours of listening to Ulla ramble about her son. She’d secretly hoped that she’d be able to take care of the boy one day, alas it wasn’t meant to be, but she kept the book regardless. Either way, she hadn’t expected any of this to just...happen on the Thursday afternoon. But let's rewind, shall we?

  Walking through Pittsford was a hit or miss. One day you could be walking and it would all be fine and dandy, and the next, you could have a knife to your throat and someone demanding you give them your money. Luckily for her, it was one of the good days. No trouble going on whatsoever. Well, that’s what she thought was happening until she saw the motionless body of a scruffy blonde haired child against a wall.

  A frown painted her features as she strolled over quietly, glancing down at the boy with a bloody stump for an arm. He was a mess - hair covering his face with glasses, the frame snapped where his nose was and barely sitting on it with cracks all over the thick lenses. His pale, freckled face had an assortment of cuts and bruises, a particularly gnarly one through his right eyebrow separating the hair there. The shirt he wore was far too big for him, the white fabric hanging off his scrawny frame and coated in grime, blood and mud as though he’d never washed it in his life. His feet were bare, presumably sore and throbbing with pain from having to walk on the terrible quality cobbled streets of Pittsford’s lower class area. 

The worst part however, was the significant lack of a right arm. Blood had pooled on the rocks below him, no longer dripping from the stump as apparent from the dried up puddle underneath him and on his shirt. Colour had drained from his face, well, at least Donella thought so as there was no way a kid could be that pale and it not be from blood loss. He’d need to get that wound checked out before infection set in eventually, the arm severed from below his elbow. She should’ve probably been more worried about his condition and the fact that his arm was nowhere in sight, but considering the harsh punishments for thieves that were caught in Pittsford, it wasn’t uncommon for someone to lose an arm.

She lowered herself to his level, glancing over his small figure. “What should I do?” she thought as her eyes scanned over the curled up child. She could send him to an orphanage, but then they wouldn’t get him the help he needed with his arm and the orphanages were already full as it was, unable to feed all the kids in their care. He’d most likely die there if she sent him there. She could just leave him here, but...something stopped her. Maybe it was just something stupid, but all she could think about as she stared at the child was Ulla and how she’d talk about her son all the time.

  ...Could she be a mother?

  She pondered the thought for a moment. She’d made notes on everything Ulla would tell her about childcare, such as certain things her son loved and liked, and this kid couldn’t have been more than two years older than Ulla’s boy (Varian, was it? She couldn’t remember at this moment, more concerned about the scene in front of her). She could also make him a prosthetic if he needed it - scratch that, because he definitely needed it. Donella could take care of him if she really put her mind to it, but she wasn’t sure if she had the money to help two people. Surely she’d have to lower some wages to be able to provide for him and teach the kid how to survive out here. With a groan, she scooped the boy into her arms, him unsurprisingly light, as she carried him down the street. 

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  Blurry. Everything was blurry. 

  Hugo grumbled as he pushed himself into a sitting position, only for two strong hands of a grey haired woman to push him back down. Where even was he? And who was she? How long had he been out? He glanced over to his right, a metal prosthetic greeting him and sticking out like a sore thumb against the pale skin of his shoulder. He could’ve sworn that the stall owner only severed from his elbow down, so how the hell had he lost the rest of it? 

  “Good morning, kid. You’ve been out for three days since I picked you up and made your prosthetic.” the mystery woman muttered, placing his glasses in his hand. Upon closer inspection, however, they had new lenses with the middle of the frame crudely stuck together with some tape. He appreciated the effort though, carefully placing them onto his face and pushing them up his nose as he looked the woman in front of him up and down. “My name’s Donella. What’s yours.” 

  “Hugo.” his voice rasped and cracked. How dehydrated even was he? A table on the left of his makeshift mattress decorated with sweet sweet water and a loaf of bread. He stared at it, his mouth watering and, when Donella gave an approving nod, he lunged forward to scoff the bread down. It had been so so long since he’d eaten something this beautiful and heavenly - in fact, he can’t even remember when he last ate something like this. He gulped down the water and swore that Donella’s stone cold expression cracked into a soft smile as he indulged himself on the treat placed so graciously in front of him. 

  “Why did you do this?” Hugo whispered as he gazed at the arm, the sunlight peering through the window glinting off the metal. It looked like titanium, but that was incredibly hard to come by in these parts - or at least for him. Maybe aluminium? Or steel? Perhaps copper? Nonetheless, it was an impressive feat even though there was a slight pain in his shoulder and he couldn’t move it just yet.

  “Because you’d die otherwise, either from blood loss or infection and I didn’t want that on my conscience.” She shrugged and her cold stare fixed onto him, a shiver trailing down his spine at the sight. He bet that stare could make a grown man cry if he was being honest. “How did this even happen anyway?” 

  Hugo took in a sharp inhale. “I...tried to steal something from the vendor that sells mechanical parts. Look!” he declared as Olivia rolled out of his shirt pocket, the small mouse trailing onto his fleshy hand before he moved her to his shoulder, the cold metal lingering on his hand. “I wanted to make some improvements to her, but he caught me and the law said that...this was a suitable punishment.” Donella’s monotone expression shifted into a frown as she heard his story, the two in an uncomfortable silence as Olivia rolled happily on his shoulder. 

  “Impressive creation.” She muttered, her face conflicted as if she was making a difficult choice. Hugo could almost hear the cogs in her brain turning. “So kid, you’re obviously smart so I’m going to give you a choice,” Donella started, shuffling to sit on the end of the mattress, her knees bending awkwardly as she sat down, the mattress directly on the floor which seemed to be made out of concrete or solid rock. “You can either get sent back to the orphanage, or you can stay here with me. You can work for your keep and to pay off the debt for your arm, with a home to come back to. Which one?” 

  Hugo stopped eating for a second, his hands hesitating before he took another gulp of water. She was offering him a home. A family. A good life. He didn’t even know her and she was holding out everything he’d ever wanted as if it was nothing. Hugo searched her face for any sign of lying or false hope, picking up on nothing but genuine feelings as her eyes locked with his. “Okay.” he whispered, moving back in the bed as she rose to her feet. 

  "You need a bath, kid. Just to get all that blood off of you and all." she commented to him as she started to walk out of the door and down the hall. Hugo sat in silence, playing with his hair as he waited for the woman to come back for him. She...really was here to help him wasn’t she? She wasn’t going to double cross him and leave him back in the alley, or throw him back into the orphanage where he really didn’t want to go back. She actually wanted to be there for him. Wow. That was new.

  The woman - Donella - walked back in, an old, green tunic in her arms along with a jacket and some brown trousers with leather boots. “Okay kid. Here you go. It isn’t much, but it's the best I can do.” She stated as she guided him along the hall to the bathroom, which was a small room with a little wooden barrel for a bathtub. “Get washed and go to sleep, it's been a long day.” she declared as she turned around and left the room, closing the door behind her, leaving Hugo alone once again. 

  -----------------------

  As soon as she heard the boy leave the bathroom and his bedroom door creak shut, Donella strided down the hall to remove a panel from the wall. Inside the small alcove sat a leather notebook, already gathering dust and a pair of goggles from her former partner, Ulla. Keeping her footsteps as quiet as she could to not disturb the sleeping child in the room beside her, she made her way back to her room and sat on her bed, the object in question moaning under her sudden application of weight. 

  Her fingers trailed over the cover for a millisecond longer than it should’ve, the memory of Ulla lingering, as she shook her head and opened the cover to show parchment paper with ink staining their pages. Scanning over the text, she took in as much information as she could, the page illuminated by the small candle lit beside her bed. Scrawled across the pages were notes on Ulla’s parenting techniques for her little boy. She’d made them in hopes she’d at least see the boy and be able to look after him at one point, but that was a wish of the past. The pair had long since separated after the whole...library incident. Her hand drifted upwards to trace the scar trailing over her chin before she shook the thought away and continued to read.

  Hours later, she finally set the book aside and let herself fall back amongst the pillows, the sound of snoring from Hugo loud enough to carry itself down the hall. A smile slowly fought its way onto his face, before she shut it down immediately and covered her face. God, she already cared too much about this kid. Oh well, she could look after him.