#that's always been my thought process of how it works

[thatbadadvice]

Help! I'm A Private Person!

Neil Gaiman, Journal.NeilGaiman.com, 14 January 2025:

Over the past many months, I have watched the stories circulating the internet about me with horror and dismay. I’ve stayed quiet until now, both out of respect for the people who were sharing their stories and out of a desire not to draw even more attention to a lot of misinformation. I've always tried to be a private person, and felt increasingly that social media was the wrong place to talk about important personal matters. I've now reached the point where I feel that I should say something. As I read through this latest collection of accounts, there are moments I half-recognise and moments I don’t, descriptions of things that happened sitting beside things that emphatically did not happen. I’m far from a perfect person, but I have never engaged in non-consensual sexual activity with anyone. Ever.  I went back to read the messages I exchanged with the women around and following the occasions that have subsequently been reported as being abusive. These messages read now as they did when I received them – of two people enjoying entirely consensual sexual relationships and wanting to see one another again. At the time I was in those relationships, they seemed positive and happy on both sides. And I also realise, looking through them, years later, that I could have and should have done so much better. I was emotionally unavailable while being sexually available, self-focused and not as thoughtful as I could or should have been. I was obviously careless with people's hearts and feelings, and that's something that I really, deeply regret. It was selfish of me. I was caught up in my own story and I ignored other people's. I’ve spent some months now taking a long, hard look at who I have been and how I have made people feel.  Like most of us, I’m learning, and I'm trying to do the work needed, and I know that that's not an overnight process. I hope that with the help of good people, I'll continue to grow. I understand that not everyone will believe me or even care what I say but I’ll be doing the work anyway, for myself, my family and the people I love. I will be doing my very best to deserve their trust, as well as the trust of my readers. At the same time, as I reflect on my past – and as I re-review everything that actually happened as opposed to what is being alleged – I don't accept there was any abuse. To repeat, I have never engaged in non-consensual sexual activity with anyone. Some of the horrible stories now being told simply never happened, while others have been so distorted from what actually took place that they bear no relationship to reality. I am prepared to take responsibility for any missteps I made. I’m not willing to turn my back on the truth, and I can't accept being described as someone I am not, and cannot and will not admit to doing things I didn't do.

Dear Neil,

You, sir, are nothing other than fundamentally misunderstood — indicated in every sense by this, a smart and good post that you published on the whole-ass internet for literally the entire world to read.

The important thing is that you're learning! And you deserve infinite credit for that. Not nearly enough people appreciate how much you've learned about yourself in the course of ~ allegedly ~ committing sexual assault against multiple, probably crazy, women and the aftermath thereof. Less enlightened men would disregard the experiences of women who have highly specific and detailed accounts of being sexually abused, but you are open to the idea that the women who foolishly believe you assaulted them were simply mislead by your interminable charm! For which you cannot be held responsible! What a gift you are, friend; your generosity and open-mindedness are unparalleled.

Truly, whomst among us has not been where you find yourself now? Come, enjoy the company of friends who understand the brutal loneliness that results from being misunderstood by hysterical bitches who fail to appreciate the privilege of having your masterful fingers shoved up their asses without notice!

Again and again, women love men like you too much. They want you to be emotionally and sexually available! And that is just so, so much to ask. You have a lot going on! It's not a ding on them — of course they find you irresistible, being as you are an intellectual titan — and they may find themselves confused and intimidated by your sexual prowess, unaware that you exist in a world beyond pedestrian notions of consent. That is what makes your work so particularly meaningful and powerful.

You write about a man who does a bad thing, but you do the other good thing! You do a good thing, but in your work, a man does a bad thing! This is the stuff of sheer brilliance, capturing the sturm unt drang of the human condition — or, at least, of the humans whose conditions matter most, which is to say, men of your creative stature.

The sorry truth is that despite your best efforts, no one understands you, the author of 40-plus years of written work in which you had every fucking opportunity to emulate literally any character of your design who was not an unrepentant rapist. Whomst among us has not struggled with such quandaries? Whomst among us has not wondered: Should I rape women in the presence of my child, or should I just the fuck wait a minute and destroy my marriage by other means? Should I order a cinnamon bagel, or an egg sandwich? These are the questions men such as us must grapple with in a world where cancel culture has run rampant, and where people are liable to believe anything they hear from over half a dozen unbridled harpies (story idea! make sure Katee Robert doesn't see this, she seems like a bitch with designs) whose indeterminate fantasies have been aggressively fact-checked by risk-averse media legal departments.

You're right and everyone else is wrong, and that's exactly the take-away that everyone will have from reading this thing that you posted! Great work, great instincts, great writing. It's like Stardust, but hotter. You know what I mean.

A+ all around, no notes other than: you should share this with more people directly so they have the clearest possible idea of where you're coming from. Don't hold back, bud!

[aventurineswife]

The characters and their reaction to reader who can't cook to save their lives but insisted on cooking something for the character and ends up burning the shit out of the dish. Will they make fun of their partner (reader)? Or take it upon themselves to teach them? (Diluc, Zhongli, jing Yuan, Veritas, Sunday, Kaveh, and Mualani)

Burnt Beginnings, Sweet Endings

Tags: Diluc x Reader, Zhongli x Reader, Jing Yuan x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Kaveh x Reader, Mualani x Reader, Fluff, Humor, Cooking Attempts, Supportive Characters, Relationship Dynamics, Lighthearted Teasing, Growth and Learning, Positive Reinforcement.

Warnings: Mild Embarrassment, Burnt Food (as a source of humor), Light Teasing (in good-natured fun), No serious negative consequences, Non-malicious humor.

It had been a quiet evening at Dawn Winery, and Diluc was taking a break from his duties as the owner of the estate. He had just finished a long day of work, and his mind wandered toward the warmth of a peaceful dinner. As you insisted on cooking for the two of you, he had agreed with a calm smile, secretly wondering how things might turn out.

You set to work in the kitchen, an excited look on your face, determined to surprise him with your culinary skills. Diluc stood nearby, savoring the quiet atmosphere, but his attention flickered to you as the sounds from the kitchen grew louder. The unmistakable scent of something burning reached his nose, and his sharp instincts kicked in. His gaze softened with a mixture of concern and amusement.

As you emerged from the kitchen, your cheeks flushed with embarrassment, holding up a charred, smoke-filled dish, Diluc gave you a small, understanding smile.

"I... might need to have a word with the oven," you muttered sheepishly.

Diluc’s voice was calm, his gaze warm and not mocking. “I appreciate the gesture, truly, but it seems our kitchen may be more temperamental than expected. Shall we try again? I’ve always found that patience and attention to detail work wonders in the kitchen.”

His words were kind, and the slight twinkle in his eyes spoke of the patience he had cultivated over the years. He did not mock you, but rather, he took the opportunity to guide you gently through the process, teaching you the subtleties of cooking. As he demonstrated, his hands moved deftly, the precision in his every action matching his calm, decisive nature. You learned under his watchful eye, and before long, the kitchen smelled of something far more appetizing than burnt remnants.

“Next time, we’ll start with something simpler,” Diluc chuckled softly, his smile just a little more playful as you beamed at the freshly cooked meal. He didn’t mock you; instead, he offered support, a quiet sense of pride in your willingness to try, no matter the outcome.

[Header credits]

Zhongli had always been one for history, tradition, and meticulous detail, so when you insisted on cooking for him, he couldn't help but accept. He had often heard of your culinary attempts, with some stories even reaching the esteemed halls of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor, but his curiosity had never waned.

He sat gracefully at the table, his eyes following your every move in the kitchen, intrigued by your efforts. However, as time passed, the subtle sound of sizzling from the stove became increasingly alarming. Zhongli’s nostrils flared as the faint scent of smoke began to waft into the dining room. He remained silent, his brow furrowing slightly, but he made no attempt to interfere.

Soon, you entered the dining room, holding up a dish that looked more like an inedible lump than a meal. You placed it down with a sheepish grin, your hands trembling slightly as you spoke, “I… tried my best. I’m not sure what happened…”

Zhongli glanced at the dish, his lips twitching ever so slightly. “It is certainly… unique,” he said, his voice calm, yet there was a noticeable glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

Instead of teasing, Zhongli gave a thoughtful hum, lifting the dish with both hands and inspecting it. “The earth, in all its complexity, is capable of producing both the most refined dishes and those that... might require further effort. Perhaps a lesson is in order.”

His words were gentle, and with a warm smile, Zhongli took the initiative. He guided you through the steps, explaining each one with his usual calm, patient demeanor, taking care not to criticize but to uplift you. His wisdom in cooking, just like in all other things, proved to be an invaluable asset. Together, you prepared a meal that, although simple, was nothing short of delicious.

As the two of you sat down to eat, Zhongli looked at you with a fond smile. “Sometimes, learning requires more than a single attempt,” he said, his amber eyes twinkling. “But I must admit, your determination is one of your finest qualities.”

Jing Yuan was no stranger to handling complex matters, whether on the battlefield or within the quiet halls of the Xianzhou Alliance. So, when you insisted on cooking dinner for him, he accepted, more out of curiosity than expectation. He watched as you moved about the kitchen, his eyes glimmering with interest, though a relaxed, almost lazy air surrounded him. He leaned back in his chair, his usual carefree demeanor on full display.

The smell of burning quickly filled the air, and Jing Yuan’s sharp gaze shifted to the kitchen. He didn’t rush to intervene, instead watching as the blackened dish appeared before him. You sheepishly placed it in front of him with a nervous laugh.

“Well... it seems I might have gone a little too far this time,” you said, your voice tinged with embarrassment.

Jing Yuan stared at the dish, his lips twitching in a barely concealed smile. “It certainly has character,” he remarked, his voice smooth and full of mirth. “It’s not every day you get a dish that looks like it’s been through an ordeal.”

His response was lighthearted, but there was no hint of mockery. Rather, he gave you a lazy smile, his golden eyes full of warmth and amusement.

“You’ve got the spirit, though. That’s something,” Jing Yuan said, standing up. “Now, let’s make sure the next one doesn’t end up as an offering to the Aeons of the Xianzhou.”

Instead of ridiculing you, Jing Yuan took the time to guide you with a calm and humorous approach. He showed you the steps with ease, explaining everything from timing to temperature. As the two of you worked together, it was clear that his leadership skills extended beyond the battlefield and into the kitchen, as he helped you create a dish that was more than just edible.

As you sat down to eat, Jing Yuan gave a playful wink. “I have to admit, your persistence is impressive. We’ll make a chef out of you yet.”

His words were teasing, but the affection and support in his tone showed that he cared more about the effort you put in than the outcome.

Ratio strode into the kitchen, eyes gleaming with the brilliance of someone who could dissect and understand every subject, no matter how complex. He was, after all, a man who had devoted his life to the pursuit of knowledge. So when you, his companion, insisted on cooking something for him, he couldn’t help but be intrigued��curious, even—about the result. After all, cooking was just another field of study, wasn’t it?

But when the burnt smell hit his nostrils, it was clear that this wasn’t just an experiment in gastronomy; this was a disaster. The dish on the counter looked more like an abstract art piece than any edible creation. He raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a slightly bemused smirk. "Ah. A curious approach to... texture," he said, his voice dripping with dry wit.

He observed the charred remnants of your creation with clinical detachment, yet his eyes glinted with a mix of amusement and curiosity. "I must admit, the process appears to have been... revolutionary in its own right. Perhaps I could impart some of my vast culinary knowledge," he offered, though his tone was far from comforting. "But first, I would recommend not using the fire alarm as a seasoning."

Ratio sighed dramatically, placing his hands on his hips. "You see, cooking isn’t just about throwing ingredients together. It’s about precision, understanding heat and flavor in equal measure. Let me show you the basics."

His fingers deftly moved as he demonstrated each step, explaining the science behind each choice with the sort of thoroughness that would make any student dizzy. By the end of it, you would have a dish that, though far from perfect, had avoided resembling a burned relic. But his expression? It never strayed from its confident, slightly condescending smile. "Next time, though, perhaps we’ll leave the experiments to the laboratories."

Sunday hovered at the edge of the kitchen, his wings lightly fluttering as the scent of something burnt wafted past him. You, on the other hand, stood at the stove, an expression of determination on your face as you stirred a pot that, unfortunately, looked more like a charred disaster than an edible meal.

A wave of concern washed over him, though it was buried under layers of kindness and composure. He approached quietly, his eyes flicking over the wreckage. "I admire your effort," he said gently, his voice soft, perhaps even a little soothing, as though trying to ease the sting of what had clearly been an accident. "But I think... maybe a little too much heat?"

He didn’t laugh, not out of judgment, but because he knew all too well the sting of failure in the kitchen. His own idealism often led him down paths of misplaced hope, much like this. "Cooking is a bit like dreams," he mused aloud, glancing at the burnt dish with a melancholic smile. "You can get lost in the vision, forgetting the necessary balance, the grounded steps. It’s not so different from the ideals we chase, I suppose."

After a beat, he set a hand on your shoulder, his warmth radiating in the form of both physical and emotional comfort. "I can teach you, if you’d like. It’s important to be gentle with yourself. Mistakes happen."

He wasn’t about to make fun of you—his natural empathy and protective instincts wouldn’t allow it. Instead, Sunday took you under his wing, guiding you through the basics of cooking with a patience that only he could possess. You’d learn, slowly but surely, but the real lesson was in allowing yourself room to grow, rather than trying to be perfect from the start.

When Kaveh walked into the kitchen, he wasn’t expecting to be greeted by the acrid scent of smoke and a dish that looked like it had gone through a tragic journey. But there it was, a grim reminder of your overzealous attempt at culinary art. He blinked in surprise before a burst of laughter escaped him—genuine, light, and not meant to hurt, but certainly aimed at your expense.

"Well, this is... something," he remarked with a chuckle, crossing his arms as he eyed the burnt dish. He couldn’t help but smile at the sheer determination in your eyes, but it was hard to hold back the amusement that bubbled up from within. "I’ll give you points for creativity, but I’m afraid this is... quite far from what I’d call food."

Kaveh, while a talented architect, wasn’t known for his culinary prowess. But that didn’t stop him from stepping up. "Alright, alright, let me show you how it’s done," he grinned, throwing a wink your way. "Step one: We don’t turn everything into a charcoal sculpture."

He wasn’t harsh, though—he believed in the power of persistence. As he guided you through the steps, he couldn’t resist teasing you a bit, but in a way that encouraged improvement. "Okay, so maybe don't add that much spice next time. This isn’t a battle for the best ‘flavor explosion,’ it’s more about balance."

Despite his teasing, his care for you was evident as he helped you regain your confidence. Kaveh wasn’t one to just stand by. If you were determined to make something for him, he’d show you the right way to do it, and you’d end up laughing together over the mistakes. By the end of it, your second attempt was... edible, and perhaps even good enough to share.

Mualani was excited. You were cooking for her! The energy she brought into the room was infectious, her eyes gleaming with excitement and joy as she watched you confidently prepare the dish. But when the smoke billowed out of the oven, and the distinct scent of burnt food filled the room, she blinked in surprise.

Then, she burst out laughing. "Oh my stars, you really did try, didn’t you?" Mualani's laughter was bright and free, not mocking, but full of genuine amusement. "It’s okay, it’s okay, we can fix this!"

Her optimism never faltered, not even as she approached the burnt dish with a slightly concerned but ever-cheerful expression. "Well, we can’t eat this, but we can totally try again! No big deal! If anything, you’ve just made it more... interesting!"

Rather than making fun of you, Mualani's immediate instinct was to jump into action. "Alright, let’s start over. Don’t worry about the mess, we’ll turn this into something fun!" Her hands were swift and sure as she set to work, tossing ingredients together with the same grace she used on the waters of Natlan.

Mualani wasn’t a chef by any means, but she was quick to adapt, and she had the patience to guide you step by step. "See? You just gotta go with the flow, like surfing. Don’t force it; let it come naturally!" Her carefree attitude and willingness to help made the situation feel like less of a failure and more of a fun learning opportunity.

And when you succeeded in making a dish that didn’t resemble charcoal? Mualani’s exuberant cheers echoed through the house. "That’s the spirit! We got it! You did great, really!"

[tenjiiku]

“I’ve been thinking,” your boyfriend of three years cups your face with his left hand, eyes shaped like crescent moons and a gentle smile plastered on his face, “It’s about time I get serious. You know, with my relationships.”

At the time, you remember feeling your heart flutter. This was a strange way to propose, you recall thinking. Not only in phrasing but in location as well. You never pictured the backdrop of it being a bland underground coffee shop with confining, fluorescent white lighting brightening the sterile beige coloured walls. An old man with a glaring hunchback but a gentle face sat alone, three seats away. The only other patron there besides you both. (You straighten your posture at the sight of him). He pretends to read his newspaper but you know he is eavesdropping in on your conversation.

But if your boyfriend was anything, he was untraditional — in the best of ways. You smile at him, leaning into his hand as his thumb brushes your cheekbone.

“Oh,” your voice was breathless and shy. You never really managed to gain confidence after moving to Tokyo, “Really?”

He nods and takes his hand away. He takes a sip of his black coffee and you mimic him, sipping your vanilla latte with childish excitement — wide eyes never leaving his side profile. He looks back at you, grin still on his lips. It never reaches his eyes, though. When you think back on it, that was when the uncomfortable monster first settled in your stomach.

“Yeah.” He holds your hand, outstretched on the table between you both.

Before you can ask him to elaborate, he does so himself.

“So, let’s break up, Y/n-chan.”

.

.

.

You make grunts and moans and other strange sounds that only you can make into your hands, tossing and turning on your full-sized bed as you recall the incident three months ago.

You wish you could have said something back then — that you could tell your friends and family about the details of your breakup without any regrets, or, at the very least, without disparaging yourself. But you didn’t say anything about it then, and you certainly can’t say anything regarding it now.

Because who in their right mind would smile, and offer to pay for their ex-boyfriend’s coffee after he admitted to have been cheating on them for the three years they were together — and was planning on settling down with his long-term partner whom he was, in his own words, actually serious about. You think the worst part about all of this was how utterly blindsided you were to it. Never in… several (a million is too dramatic, even for you) years would you have thought your boyfriend was deceiving you like this. He was attentive, caring and always there when you needed someone to talk to. You resigned yourself into thinking you wouldn’t even mind eventually settling down with him and sharing a life together. Maybe he didn’t give you the extreme butterflies romance novels told you you’d feel — but he made you feel seen for once in your twenty-five years of roaming Earth. Isn’t that what love was? Or, at the very least, what it was supposed to be?

Apparently not.

You were a joke. Pathetic. No word in the dictionary could describe the type of woman you were.

So, obviously you resigned from your work and moved back in with your parents. You couldn’t possibly stay in the same company — in the same team — as your ex-boyfriend. Quitting was a longer process than you expected. Breaking your lease, even lengthier. You hadn’t even bothered packing up your furniture and other appliances. Everyday you would give one piece away to anyone who needed it. The others ended up at a thrift store of which you received no payment.

It took exactly three months for your entire life to be upended, all because someone didn’t want you anymore.

You bury your face into your pillow. You only came back home four days ago. You hadn’t left your room once. Not to eat, not to shower, not even to use the restroom. Your brain had stopped working — you surmise. The only thing you could do was stare up at the moon from your window and recall something your partner had told you.

‘You understand, don’t you Y/n-chan?’

No. No you didn’t understand a bloody thing.

A flash of light. You groan and lift your blanket over your face as your mother eyes your dead frame with distaste.

“Do you know what time it is?”

“Mama, please—,”

“No, no, no.” She snatches your blanket off your body and you whine loudly at the sudden coldness that envelops your frame, “This will not do.”

“Look at the state of this room!” She exclaims.

You crane your neck slowly, like you were a mummy who had suddenly and spontaneously came back to life. Discarded clothes and granola bar wrappers cover every inch of your floors.

“Sit up, child.” Your mother urges, pulling you up by your limp, noodle-like in behaviour, hands. “My goodness.“

She starts her lecture. What has the city done to you? I always knew it was a bad idea for you to be there all by yourself! Whenever will you listen to your mother? Youngsters these days never heed the words of their elders! You know she means well. So you listen. It’s been three years since you last were subjected to it. You listen when she tells you to clean your pig-pen of a room. You oblige when she tells you to take a shower and do your laundry and fold your clothes. You even let her cut an inch of your hair — smiling a little when she insults your dead ends.

Later in the afternoon, you finally enter the living room. The aroma of grilled pork and fresh rice allure you to sit at the dining table. Across from you sits your father, reading a newspaper. He doesn’t say much, though he does spare you a calculated up and down glance, grunting out loud as if to tell you to eat well.

Mother brings kimchi in the small clay plate you made in third grade. You take some generously and sigh delightfully at the taste.

“Good, isn’t it?” Mama asks, filling your bowl with more meat.

“Mmm,” you decide to reply, focusing on getting your stomach full so as to stop the thoughts running through your mind at the speed of a freight train.

“Tsurigi-san sent it just a day before you came.”

That grabs your attention. Suddenly you’re whisked back to sixth grade when you first moved next door to the Tsurigis. You spent quite some time with their sons. You were right between the oldest and youngest, the same age as their middle child, Zantetsu. The boy who would call you Senpai, even though you were only a few months older than him. The last you physically saw him, you were 21. The two of you were quite good acquaintances and would message sporadically about work, amongst other things. However, given the spontaneous rug-pull that was your life for several months, you also hadn’t gotten the chance to get in touch with him for nearly half a year.

You wonder how he’s doing.

“Eat, eat. Look at the state of you…” your mother’s voice urges. You gaze down at your bowl and give your father a look. He gives you one that says, Listen to your mother, honey. You comply.

“I invited her for dinner tomorrow.” Mama says, “Try waking up early, alright? I need you to clean the bathroom. Oh,” she spares a look to your father, “And I need you to go out and buy fresh eggplant, shishito peppers, squid and shrimp first thing tomorrow morning. I think I will make tempura as a side dish… Oh! And, while you are at it—,”

Your dad lifts his eyes from the paper he reads and offers you a look. You smile, amused, and give him an expression that reads; Listen to your wife, baba.

.

.

.

Zantetsu’s mother is shorter than you remember, but just as beautiful.

“Hello, Tsurugi-san.” You greet her by the door, ushering her into the genkan — grabbing the dish she has covered in aluminum foil with haste. She offers you the warmest of smiles and you can’t help but naturally grin at the sigh.

“Oh, my, Y/n-chan! It’s been so long!” She pinches your cheek. It stings. “You’re even more beautiful than I remember.”

You chuckle a little at the similar thoughts you share. Then pale at the idea that you now share the same mind as your mother and her friends.

“You flatter too much, auntie.”

She and your mother find their seats in the living room as you pour water for her in the kitchen. You catch up on life; apparently a raccoon infestation had occurred in their attic last month. But it was alright, because Zantetsu and his friends had managed to rid them. Mama reacted quite erratically to the information, even though she knew of it when it first happened. You act for her sake.

By the time your father returns from the market with eggplant, shishito peppers, squid and shrimp — the sun is beginning to set. (He had not gone in the morning, rather, late afternoon — much to your mother’s chagrin.)

The doorbell rings when you are setting the table in the dining room. You raise an eyebrow and approach the door.

When you open it, you have to crane your head a few inches to make eye contact with the unexpected visitor.

“Tetsu-kun?”

The first thing you notice is his absence of glasses. He is incredibly handsome — you surmise that he could pass for the types of models you’d see wandering about the streets of Tokyo City. How was this the same Tetsu who cried to you when his crush, Haru-chan from P.E, called him a stupid green bean in the 7th grade?

Everything is a blur from there.

“Oh! Zantetsu?!” Your mother exclaims with joy.

“Oh, my! Weren’t you supposed to come tomorrow?”

“I had a half-day, today.” His voice is deeper, as well. How strange. You side step to make room for his imposing frame. He makes the entryway look so small.

“Come in, come in,” luckily mama pushes you out of the way, dragging him by his arm. He looks to you and you awkwardly smile at him, waving. “We were just about to start dinner.”

You don’t get a word in until after dinner. Mama had done all the interrogating for you. Turns out, Zantetsu had gone into construction. You were surprised by that, given his relatively clean appearance. He lived only an hour away by train.

Your mothers kick you both out of the house shortly after cleaning up to go buy ice cream from the nearby konbini. You nearly knock into him getting your shoes on, stumbling like an idiot in front. You catch yourself before you can crash into his chest.

“Hi,” you breathe, cracking a smile.

“Hey,” his voice is weak, like he’s out of oxygen. You wonder why that is.

You start conversing as you walk. The warm July winds and barren lamp posts send a chill up your spine. It’s lovely.

“It’s… been so long.” You start, awkwardly.

“It has.”

“You’re much taller now, Tetsu.”

“You’re shorter than I recall.”

You laugh at the seriousness of his tone and cadence. He really hadn’t changed at all.

“You’re funnier now, too.”

Tetsu huffs at that, but you can see a small smile crack on the corner of his lips.

“Are you… here to visit?”

You momentarily pause. It must be strange to everyone around you why you’re back. The only one who knows of your breakup is your mom. At least you think she does considering you were crying at their doorstep the night you came back and she was the one who answered. Something about her lack of questioning made you figure her intuition had already put two and two together.

“Uh, hah, no.” You cough, clearing your throat, “I decided to move back. Temporarily.

Zantetsu mimics. “Temporarily…”

“Yeah, for a while. I just… have some stuff to sort out.”

“Stuff to sort out…”

You flatten your lips so as not to laugh and nod awkwardly, looking off to the side. No matter how much Zantetsu’s outward appearance had changed, he was still like the same, awkward middle-schooler you used to tutor — and, from time to time — have a laugh with. It was kind of endearing that he remained true to himself after so many years. You were glad the world didn’t ring him out like it did to you.

“Yup, that’s how it goes…” you click your tongue. Zantetsu doesn’t say anything. You reach the 7/11 with silence.

It’s only after you both open your popsicles is when he resumes.

“Do you need help? With.. sorting this stuff out?”

You giggle, “That’s really nice of you, Tetsu. But I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.” You look to him, and your eyes slightly widen when you notice he’s looking already at you. His eyes move from your earlobe, to your cheekbone, to your shoulder, and, lastly, to your eyes. You feel a heat settle in your stomach and face and look away, focusing on your half-eaten ice treat. “I think it’s more of.. an individual endeavour I have to take myself.”

“Endeavour…”

You softly huff. He was acting a bit strange, even for his standards. But you explain to him gently, just like you used to all those years ago.

“Yeah, like, a self-finding journey. You know? Something I have to… figure out on my own.”

Zantetsu nods, putting your words to memory. You wonder why his deep interest in the things you’re saying or doing right now make you feel like you just took a shot of espresso.

Under the lamp post, between your houses, Zantetsu stops walking. You stop and turn to him, standing face to face. Your popsicles are gone.

“I’m really happy you’re back, Senpai.”

His voice is gentle. Deep. It makes you feel funny. So you adjust your cardigan and the bag that rests in the crook of your elbow.

“You know, you really don’t have to call me that anymore.” Looking into his eyes, you smile, “But, thanks. I’m glad to be back as well.”

A wind blows by. It rustles Zantetsu’s long brown hair. You swallow a breath you didn’t realize you were holding when he pushes his hair back. You don’t notice him fishing for something in his pockets when he takes it out.

“You.. forgot this. When you left.”

Furrowing your eyebrows, you look down at his hand. In it, a bracelet he made. Suddenly you remember,

“Oh, wow you still have this?” You instinctively grab his hand, taking the bracelet and examining it with pure curiosity. You remember helping him make this in Art Class. His hands were so big he couldn’t get the beads through the thin thread. So, he picked them out and you assembled it for him.

It spelt your name. You felt so giddy you made yours with his. You notice him wearing it on the hand you still hold.

“Haha they sure are long-lasting, aren’t they?”

You laugh softly, not noticing how close you are to him until his breath softly hits the top of your forehead. You gasp slightly and almost drop his hand. He intertwines his fingers with yours before you could.

“Senpai,” he exhales, “I originally wasn’t going to tell you this. But, now that you’re back I’m not gonna let this opportunity go to waste. As you’ve told me, carpe diem, right?”

You furrow your eyebrows, confused beyond belief. He leans in closer and you part your lips, “Wha—,”

“Senpai, I love you.”

He cups your face, brushing your cheekbone the same way your ex did the day he broke up with you. Except, this time, the fuzzy feelings all those romance novels talked about are positively buzzing through your entire body.

“I’m crazy about you.” He presses his forehead against yours. Chuckling, deeply. “Have been, for a while.”

Pulling back, your left wide eyed and mouth gape. He smiles down at you, as though proud of your reaction.

“I’ll do everything I can this Summer to make you fall in love with me, too. Okay?”

“Tetsu—,”

A kiss to your cheek leaves you speechless, and, before you know it — he’s stepped away.

“Goodnight, senpai.”

Standing under the light, you watch him put his hands back inside the pockets of his jeans. You stay quiet for nearly ten seconds, then, you collapse onto the sidewalk, burying your face in your hands.

What the hell.

[keepingitformyself]

older (and wiser): ii

A/N: second chapter! i don’t know when the next time will be that i update. i start uni in a few days and i also am working through a personal issue i have to deal with. anyway— every place that’s mentioned like coffee shops, restaurants, etc..are real so if you’re ever interested in looking into those you can! cus they’re real! ALSO in case anyone hasn’t noticed the face claim for paul is paul mescal. please also keep in mind that this is based off of “past lives” meaning it will follow SOME key moments in the film. not all, just SOME. so if you haven’t seen it i’d recommend it, it’s a great film!

synopsis: you and wanda meet for coffee.

pairings: wanda maximoff x reader

genre: angst, some fluff

warnings: oh gee

part i

please do not repost my work anywhere for any reason at all. if you do see this happen to any of my stories, please let me know. thank you x.

you don’t know what to make of it when you hang up the call.

walking back into the living room, phone in hand, you gulp down your feelings, trying to process the aftermath of what had just happened.

paul looks up from the book in his lap, already closing it and setting it aside as you come into view. his eyes immediately catch the scrunch of your brows.

“talk to me,” he says softly, reaching for your hand and gently pulling you to sit next to him.

you want to escape the moment, but there’s nowhere to go.

“it was wanda.” you admit, your voice laced with an uneasiness that made you feel unsure of what he might say.

paul’s lips part slightly as quiet consideration washes over him. his gaze shifts to the side, and he seems lost in thought.

after a few seconds, he finally says, “oh.”

of course, paul had previously known of who wanda maximoff was to you. it was brought up fairly early in your relationship, both of you drunk on cheap whine, over a lazy night in when it felt like it was easier to be honest than anything else.

he knew there was an ex. he knew that much. an ex that had left you with the unbearable weight of what once was and how good it could be. something in you told you he deserved to know. so you did, you told him and you ended in tears laying against his chest.

fortunately, that night did very little in scaring him off.

wanda was your first—and last—real relationship in college, and coincidentally the one that also impacted you the most.

having her at your side built you up in so many ways. she inspired you so much during your time together. creatively, emotionally, or spiritually. you felt so much around her, so much for her, and she was just as equally showing of that.

there were so many sides of her that you enjoyed experiencing, so many sides of you that had come out because of her. it was something so equal in tenderness and intensity.

to you, wanda maximoff was like a paradox of ideas you felt you could actually understand.

but it wasn’t perfect. the end of your relationship with wanda had been devastating. you were both just months away from graduating when everything began to come apart at the seams. wanda had been cast for the lead in a series that would require her to go overseas for six months, while you had been offered an internship to shadow journalists abroad. you were both doing things you loved, and maybe not together, but you knew this was needed.

and despite your insistence that you could make it work long distance, wanda wasn’t sure she could handle being so far from you. for nearly three years, the two of you had been inseparable. the idea of such a drastic change felt impossible to her.

you agreed it would just be a break—nothing permanent. you promised you’d be back together in no time. but the distance only made things harder. wanda became incredibly hard to reach, always busy, always consumed by work.

it took a toll on her, and she became emotionally unavailable in a way that left you feeling more alone than ever.

determined to salvage what was left, you decided to fly out and see her. wanda had promised to meet you, had said she’d gotten the day off just for you.

you planned a whole dinner in your hotel room, excited to finally see her again. but wanda never showed up. you waited and waited, your heart sinking with every passing hour. when you finally heard from her, she chalked it up to being busy, apologizing profusely.

but it wasn’t enough. her inability to show up had made something clear: the relationship you both claimed to have cherished wasn’t there anymore. so, you ended things for good.

“why did she call?” paul finally asks. his voice careful where you feel like your answer to his question is one he isn’t fully sure he wants to know.

you put your hand over the one that holds yours, biting your lower lip as you find the words to say what you need to. how does one say that their ex misses them? and wants to see them?

“she wanted to see how i was doing,” you start. “i told her about everything, us being engaged, she said she saw and congratulated us.” you smile faintly, recalling the words, but it falters as you contemplate your sentence. “she wants to see me. she was…pretty insistent on it.”

“and what did you say?” paul’s curiosity is evident, though his tone remains measured.

“i said yes to meeting up with her.” you admit. you grip his hand tighter, bringing his palm to your lips and kissing it, as if letting him know that he has a say in this too. “but if you don’t want me to, i wont meet with her.”

paul remains deep in thought as he stares at your entwined hands. he could say no, could ask you not to go, but he knows that’s not who he wants to be. he wouldn’t want to keep you from something that might heal a part of you you’ve never fully recovered from—especially when it’s a part so closely tied to who you are now.

looking at you through his lashes, he smiles softly. your thumb hasn’t stopped rubbing the back of his hand. he’s certain none of this could ever truly hurt what you’ve built together. not when he has you now, so wholly.

“i want you to go see her.” he says finally, his words tinged with a gentle lilt. his eyes soften, and he adds, “if there’s even a chance that it’ll give you closure, or just help you carry less weight, then i think you should. i trust you.”

your eyebrows rise in surprise at his words. “you want me to?” you repeat.

“uh…well, no. it’s not that i want you to. it’s that i wouldn’t want you not to, d’you see? does that make sense?” he pauses, running a hand through his hair.

“look we’re gettin’ married soon, and i love you. from what i’ve heard about wanda, she meant a lot to you.in a way, she led me to you. i wouldn’t want to hold you back from somethin’ that might be good for you. if seein’ wanda is that, then you have my full support.”

your eyes lock with his, a grateful smile on your face at his understanding. you lean over to kiss his cheek,

“than you,” you murmur softly.

——

wanda was the first to arrive at the café you’d picked out. you’d agreed to meet by 2:15, but wanda had been restless, unable to stay in place once she reached her hotel just hours earlier.

caffè reggio felt enigmatic in its own way. the compact space, with small tables scattered across the room, gave it an almost congested feel, but the patrons kept to themselves, creating an atmosphere of quiet solitude.

the low lighting added an intimate touch, the kind wanda found herself grateful for; a setting that made sense for seeing you after all these years. still, she hadn’t expected you to choose a place that felt so…secretive. not that she was complaining.

as soon as she sat down, a server approached her with a gentle greeting and offered to read her the menu. she listened half-heartedly, her mind preoccupied, and eventually settled on an espresso martini and a dessert she barely registered.

“will that be all?” the server asked politely.

wanda hesitated, glancing at the watch on her wrist. it read 1:57 pm.

“actually,” she said, chewing the inside of her cheek, “i’m meeting someone in about fifteen minutes. could you come back in ten and fix me a vanilla latte for them? double shot, please.”

the server nodded, jotting it down before retreating.

the minutes felt like a drag as wanda waited. each minute passing made her heart feel heavier. she’d waited in the quiet corner she’d picked for the both of you. alternating between anxiously biting her lip as she stared out the window, or checking her phone for the time.

for a second, she feels grateful no one has seemed to notice her, making it easier to revel in her own anxious energy in peace.

when you finally entered, wanda exhaled quietly, her chest tightening as everything seemed to slow. she took in the sight of you, cataloging every detail. your hair was longer, your features more defined, carrying a depth of experience that hadn’t been there before her. for a moment, wanda froze, torn between wanting to disappear completely or letting you see her as she was.

but then your eyes met hers, and you smiled. a smile that was so familiar, it sent a deep ache through her chest. she rose quickly, her arms stiff at her sides, unsure whether to offer a handshake or reach for a hug.

you decided for her, stepping closer and wrapping your arms around her shoulders. your left hand brushed slightly against her back as you said, “it’s good to see you, wands.”

wanda tries not to break into to tears immediately at having you in her arms, of seeing you, of breathing you in. it’s all overwhelming in it’s familiarity.

you pull away first, looking up at her with a soft smile until you decide to sit on the chair across from her. wanda remained standing a beat longer, awkwardly smoothing her pants before sitting down.

“how…how are you?” she asked, her fingers twisting nervously in her lap.

“i’m really good.” you replied, taking a sip of the latte she ordered for you.

“that’s good.”

the words hung in the air for a moment, and you both began speaking at the same time.

“what have—”

“it’s really good—”

you both broke into quiet laughter, the sound cutting through the nervous energy. it felt shared, familiar, like all those years ago.

“you go first,” you offered, tone light.

wanda smiled nervously, glancing down before meeting your eyes again. “i just wanted to say…it’s really nice to see you again.” her voice was soft, almost hesitant. “and…you look good.”

“thank you,” you replied sincerely. “you do too.”

there was another pause, and you leaned forward slightly, gaze steady. “how have you been?”

wanda shrugged, a faint smile playing at her lips. “working. that’s really all i know how to do.”

you frowned at the self deprecating comment, shaking your head slightly. “you know, i’ve actually kept up with your work over the years.”

her brows furrowed in surprise. “really?”

“oh yeah,” you said, grinning triumphantly. “paul and i caught an early screening of his three daughters. it was incredible. it even brought him to tears—more than me, actually.”

wanda couldn’t help but smile, though she faltered slightly at the mention of his name. “he knows about us?”

you nodded, your expression gentle. “yeah. he’s a fan too, by the way.”

“that’s…kind of strange,” she admitted with a soft chuckle. “but also really flattering.”

the moment of levity passed, and wanda hesitated before asking, her voice quieter now, “when’s the wedding?”

your smile shifted, still warm but with a hint of wistfulness. you looked away briefly, as though picturing the scene in your mind. “next september, ideally. paul’s parents have this farm in ireland. it’s got these sprawling green fields and so many goats.” you chuckled lightly, glancing back at her. “it’s beautiful that time of year.”

wanda nodded, a faint smile on her lips as she absorbed your words, though her chest felt heavier with each one. “that sounds…lovely,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“i’ll send you a postcard,” you joke, a light laugh escaping your lips. wanda forces a smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. she wishes the context were different, that the distance between you wasn’t so vast, so final.

the silence lingers for a beat too long. it’s palpable, heavy with everything that’s been said—and everything that hasn’t.

you don’t why the next words come out of your mouth.

“you should come over for dinner.” you offer, your smile easy and disarming. you don’t want this to be hard for wanda. anyone could see there’s something still there. and you know wanda—you know her tells. there’s something she wants to say but can’t. this is your way of making her feel better about feeling it, regardless of if you can even help it.

“pardon?” her brows furrow. “to your place?”

you nod as casually as you can. “when do you leave?” you ask.

wanda looks away for a second, clears her throat. “i haven’t booked a returning flight yet,” she admits sheepishly. “was kinda hoping i’d find a reason to stay.”

you nod, smiling knowingly, but you don’t comment.

“come over for dinner,” you say again. “paul is an excellent cook.”

wanda almost smiles, recalling all the times you tried to cook for her but failed miserably. she was usually the one that did the cooking. it’s strange—comforting, even—to think that someone else is now treating you that way.

still, she hesitates. the idea of being in the same space as him, in the home you’ve built together, feels almost unbearable.

“only if you’re sure,” she says.

you sit up straighter in your seat. “it doesn’t have to be weird. i think you’ll like him. he’s a really good man, and i’d really love for you to meet him. and he already thinks you’re talented.”

wanda looks down at her hands, still processing your offer. “you’d really want me there?” she asks, voice above a whisper.

“of course,” you reply sincerely.

wanda shakes her head, her expression caught between hesitation and yearning. “i don’t know.” she says. “that kind of sounds like a lot… and i don’t want to make things awkward. for you or for him.”

you shake your head as if she had just said something silly. “it won’t be. paul knows about us, and he’s one of the most understanding people i’ve ever met. he’s never been anything but supportive.”

wanda let’s out a short laugh, the kind that almost cracks. you think you see tears forming, glinting faintly in the windows light.

“he sounds perfect.” she murmurs, a hint of sadness evident.

“he’s not perfect.” a soft chuckle. “no one is. but he’s perfect for me.”

wanda smiles sadly. “okay.” she nods. “only if you’re okay with it.”

“i’m more than okay with it.” you assure her.

a faint smile tugs at her lips and wanda nods. “thank you,” she says softly.

“thank you,” you reply, warm and firm. “for coming all the way to new york. for wanting to talk.”

you start to gather your things, ready to head out. “i do have to leave now,” you say with an apologetic smile. “i’ve got a meeting with an editor in half an hour.”

once you’re standing, you look directly into wanda’s eyes. “thank you for the latte. it was great seeing you.” you say, and mean it. “i’ll be in touch.”

and with that, you’re already on your way out the door.

[waves-against-a-cliff]

Gaz's Routine Part 2

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Summary - Gaz goes through his routine before he leaves for deployment once again Tags - Fluff, angst, smut, blowjob

Part One

The text comes in the middle of the night as it always does. It wakes the both of you up and as you sit up, rubbing at your eyes and asking, “What is it?” You both already know what it is. The dreaded texts after weeks of domestic bliss, the short sentence telling a date and time with nothing else. Nothing else but the knowledge that he’ll be gone again for weeks, perhaps even months doing what needs to be done to keep the world safe. The knowledge he was saving lives and keeping the world safe didn’t make it any easier.

The process is slow even if there’s only a day's worth of time before he has to leave again. Before he walks out the door in his fatigues with a kiss on his lips. You blink and clear the thoughts from your head, you turn your attention to Kyle who is sure to be just as upset about this as you are. He loves his job, he loves the men he works with but he hates leaving you, you know this. You know this because he’s expressed this time and time again whenever the text is sent.

“Baby,” you whisper and wrap your arms around his body as he stares down at his phone with annoyance in his eyes and an upset expression on his face. “It’s fine, we both know that it always comes,” you whisper and Kyle sighs, resting his own warm hand on top of yours. The simple gesture speaks louder than words. It tells you that he knows but that doesn’t mean he has to like it. “How long do you have?” You ask, voice heavy with tiredness and sleep. You hoped it would be a week and not a day. Those were always the worst ones.

“Two days,” he rumbles his reply, squeezing your hand when he feels you stiffen up behind him. “Think they have an appointment open?” He asks and you shrug.

“I could check their website,” you suggest, already about to detach from him before he stops you.

“Check later. I just want to lay in bed with you for now.”

When the two of you woke up in the morning, limbs tangled, it had a somber atmosphere. As you check the website of the black hairstylist Kyle goes to he makes a basic breakfast of eggs and toast. “She’s got one free tomorrow at 10:30 am,” you say between mouthfuls of egg and toast. For as long as you’ve known Kyle he’s always gone to the same stylist and you knew if you called her she would make room for him one way or another. You think Kyle knows that too which is why he insists on checking the website first before anything else.

“How’s breakfast?” Kyle asks with an amused smile as he stares down at the nearly spotless plate. You swallow the last of the toast with a mouthful of water and don’t miss when his eyes trail the little drip that escapes your mouth.

“Delicious as always baby, how am I going to survive without your cooking?” You ask dramatically, putting the back of your hand to your forehead. You can’t help the smile that breaks out across your face when you hear him snort laugh.

The day passes faster than you want. It feels like you blinked and suddenly the two of you are getting ready to bed, sharing the bathroom to complete your separate skin care routines. “Do you have enough for deployment?” You ask, referring to his skin treatment. When you met him he’d had perfect skin then too but had confided at some point that he had suffered with eczema.

He thinks about it for a moment, pausing in his movements before he nods, “I should have enough, I’ll check tomorrow before my hair appointment.”

“I promise I’ll convince her to teach me how to do your locs,” you say and he gives you a crooked smile.

“You say that every time,”

“And every time I ask she says no. This’ll be the one, I’m sure of it,” you say with determination which makes him smile a little wider.

The two of you curl up into bed together, both of your bonnets on and the lamps dimmed low as he picks up the book he’s been reading. He opens his arms, a silent gesture you understand and take advantage of immediately. Laying yourself on his chest, curling around him like a cat as he cages you in with his arms so he can read. You read alongside him until you fall asleep on his chest.

The next morning the two of you move as slowly as possible without risking being late for the appointment. You kiss his cheek as he gets ready to walk out the door. “I shouldn’t be too long. Hope this money isn’t going to waste because Shepard makes me shave my hair,” your nose wrinkles at the mention of this Shepard man again. You don’t know much about him but you dislike him on principle.

“Be safe, have fun, don’t die,” you say in rapid succession, earning you another chuckle as he leaves but not without stealing a quick kiss. When he returns, his hair is done up in locs. When he returns the day is spent much the same as the previous except one last step at bedtime where he packs his things and leaves out his fatigues to wear tomorrow. The uniform mocks you as you crawl into bed and into his arms.

The next day at the door you pepper his face in kisses and then finally kiss his lips when he sets down his keys. “You look handsome baby,” you purr as you trail the kisses to his jaw and down the column of his throat.

He hums, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, breathing in his scent before lowering to your knees and staring up at him. “Can I?”

He smirks, tucks your hair behind your ear and nods. You unbuckle his belt and unbutton his pants slowly, watching as he grows harder within the confines of his jeans. “All that for me?” You ask innocently, fiddling with his zipper. He nods, a groan leaving his lips when you palm his hard cock.

As slowly as you undid his pants, you pull them and his boxers down just far enough that his erect cock is freed. You lick your lips at the sight of precum already beginning to drool from the tip of his uncut cock. The sight of him never fails to make your mouth water. You take him into your hand and stroke him once, twice and then three times until you hear that delicious whimper escape him and his hand hit the front door for support as his knees buckle just a little.

You kiss the tip, licking the salty precum from your lips before licking him from shaft to tip. His hand finds your hair and pulls it back into a ponytail so it doesn’t get in your face. “Always a gentleman,” you murmur against his cock between kitten licks of his tip. You glance up through your lashes to find his eyes already closed and his other hand balled into a fist.

Finally, taking mercy on your boyfriend, you take him into your mouth fully, allowing your tongue to cradle the underside of his sensitive cock. You begin to bob your head slowly, licking and sucking as broken moans and whimpers escape the man above you. “Not- not going to last long if you keep doing that,” he chokes out as you use your hand to jerk off the length not in your mouth. You hum, your only way of responding as you continue doing what you’re doing. “Fuck baby-” he whines and you pull off his cock immediately earning you a loud whine.

“Shh,” you say as you pump his throbbing cock slowly with one hand. “Want to give you something you’ll think of while you’re gone.”

“Evil,” he mutters, which makes you giggle before you take him back in your mouth, the salt of his precum on your tongue again. Hollowing your cheeks you move your head up and down, taking more of him each time until your nose is buried in his curls and Kyle is shaking above you. Curling in on himself as his balls draw tight and he cums down your throat with only minor swallowing on your part.

As you stand up your knees pop and ache but the expression on Kyle’s face is completely worth it as you help tuck him into his boxers and tug up his pants. He finally regains control enough to buckle his own belt. “I got to go,” he whispers before he kisses you one last time, his face close enough to yours that you can feel the heat radiating off him.

“I’ll be waiting for you, promise. I love you,” you say.

“I love you too,” and then he leaves, leaving you alone in the flat's living room with the taste of his cum still on your tongue.

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[vesearlee]

──── 𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒇𝒆𝒍𝒕 𝑪𝒖𝒓𝒆

After a night that took an eternity to pass, you woke up feeling worse the wear and wishing for sleep to take you under once more. Only, Zayne had other ideas; the love and care he provided was always second to none.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ── Cat Butler!Zayne x F!Reader 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ── > 900 𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 ── G 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ── Tooth Rotting Fluff, teasing and humour, light angst, caretaking, established relationship, chronic illness + pain, sickfic, pet names, hurt/comfort, pancakes are a love language 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ── HERE 𝐀𝐎𝟑 ── HERE 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ── for @sgt-seabass 💛

⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒇𝒆𝒍𝒕 𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒕 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

───  𝑳𝑨𝑫𝑺 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕  ───

The overturn of night to day had been a tortuous process as you laid in place, buried beneath the plush layers of blankets — each on fluffier than the last, though there was something, or rather, someone missing from the equation of comfort. 

Each nerve in your body sang with discomfort and electricity, the movement of simply blinking your eyelids almost too much to bear. You groaned quietly and flexed your fingers against the soft fabrics bundled around you. 

“Stay still,” a voice murmured quietly above you, and you huffed in reply. 

“‘M not gettin’ up,” you grumbled in reply, and you glanced up through one bleary eye to find soft hazel eyes staring back at you, full of concern and worry for what you hid behind an innocent morning grouse. “Don’t act cute—won’t work.”

The black, fluffy ears a top Zayne’s head twitched to the side at the sound of your voice. “Are you sure?” he teased, lowering himself down to your level. From your vantage point, you noticed he wore grey sweatpants paired with a faded blue henley. A set of fluffy slippers matched the fur of his bushy tail and inquisitive ears. 

His hot breath fanned over your cheek, and you felt his lips brush softly against the corner of your mouth. “Where does it hurt?”

The love and concern in his tone made your lips twitch into a shy half-smile. “It’s all right, love. Just–”

Zayne shuffled closer on his knees, and his nose brushed against yours. His chin then rested on your pillow while he gazed at you. “Tell me,” he whispered, “I’ll make it better.”

“I wish you could,” you replied sadly, your own voice barely above a whisper. “It’s just a bad day, I think. Everything hurts and I don’t…” There was a slight pause as you hesitated to voice your thoughts, but the sudden closeness of his presence crumbled that wall down to its foundations. “I don’t want to get up.”

The flutter of Zayne’s lashes against his cheeks matched the soft exhale he released. Heat flushed your cheeks at the admission, and you began to curl in on yourself, away from the warmth he provided. 

“No, no, sweetheart,” he rushed, his voice strained with some emotion you couldn’t discern. It only made tears burn in the corner of your eyes. 

A firm touch pulled you out of your cocoon, and the palm of his hand cupped your jaw, encouraging you to look at him. The small frown on his lips made your heart leap with worry, and before you could open your mouth to speak, he asked, “How about I make you breakfast? We can stay in today, whatever you would like to do.” 

You blinked. “Really?”

“Of course.” The pad of his thumb brushed against your cheekbone. “Anything you want, my love.”

“Even if I wanted to play with your ears…?”

A resigned sigh proved your victory, and you watched as Zayne stood from the floor and headed out of your shared bedroom. “Stay here.” The low posture of his tail swayed behind him. If it weren’t for the slight, playful twitch every now and then, you would have guessed he would be far more annoyed at your request. 

From the bedroom where you lay, you could hear the quiet clatter of pans being moved around, followed by the quiet hum of Zayne’s voice as he worked, gathering ingredients to make breakfast. 

Soon enough, the enticing, delicious smell of pancake batter filled your senses, as well as the tart scent of strawberries. “Baby?” you called, carefully raising your head off of your pillow, the promise of food enough to motivate you against the pain of any movement. 

“Yes?” he called back, and you heard the quiet patter of his feet against the floorboards of the hallway. A second later, his head peered around the door, ears forward and eyes curious. “What is it? Do you need help? I can–”

“No, no.” The rustle of the blankets covered the sound of him approaching, and you groaned as you sat up. “I just–” A hiss of pain through your teeth cut your words short. 

“Careful,” Zayne breathed, his hands under your arms to help you better move into a comfortable position. Your back rested against the headboard, and the blanket that once covered your shoulders was now being tucked firmly in place on your lap. “There you are, my love. What did you need?”

“Only you,” you replied easily, looking up at him. 

A slight blush danced over his high cheekbones, extending slowly towards the tips of his ears. “You have me, always.” He leaned down and kissed your forehead. “Breakfast will be finished soon, afterwards I can draw you a bath. Maybe we can try those new salts you bought, hm?”

“That would be heavenly,” you sighed, slumping against the solid headboard. 

Zayne chuckled and pinched your cheek playfully. “I will only be a few more minutes.”

When he turned to walk away, you pinched the back of his thigh. The fabric of his sweatpants was soft between your fingers, and it took all of your restraint to not pet down the now thrashing, fluffy tail. 

His back drew taut and became ramrod straight, and he swung around to face you. “Why–!” The furrow between his brows was almost comical. 

“Those minutes without you will last an eternity,” you whined, pouting. 

“If you keep distracting me, yes,” Zayne huffed, his hand rubbing circles over the spot you pinched. “I can only do so much if your hands decide to be mischievous.” 

You giggled and sunk into the plush covers in faux shyness. “You can’t blame me!”

Zayne sighed and shook his head. “No, I guess I can’t.”

𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 ── Medical Edition Bingo (@fandom-free-bingo) ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Fatigue • ALT ── MASTERLIST ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ "What is it?" • B4 ── MASTERLIST ── Tolkien Edition Bingo (@fandom-free-bingo) ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Cooking For Them • ALT ── MASTERLIST ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Attached Animal Parts • B4 ── MASTERLIST ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Eyes Closed • O2 ── MASTERLIST ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Forehead Kisses • B1 ── MASTERLIST ── Hurt/Comfort Bingo (@sweetspicybingo) ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Chronic Pain • B5 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Hearty Meal • ALT ── MASTERLIST

[sophibutt]

🎂 Birthday Yapp Post 🎂

today is our bday!! and we promised to yapp about Velvet and how her fursona and demon forms work! 💜

so the TL;DR is that Velvet as a fursona is a representation of our plurality and her forms represent our alters, and our OC Mist/Stella is a representation of another one of our alters. they all share the same crescent moon tattoos on their left shoulder, and the same piercings!

below we'll go into detail about the process behind Velvet and Mist/Stella as OCs, and show a little bit of our old art and talk about our upcoming plans :3

so Velvet as an OC started back in late october after i had started art after a 5 month art break, and i wanted to explore my identity as a furry and a therian.

i've always resonated with demons and cats, and thought of myself as both of those things! so those were the first things i experimented with c:

with the initial design i based velvet's design off my own appearance and clothing.

after designing velvet as a cat though, it didn't really feel right. there was something about it that both equally felt right and wrong, so i wanted to explore her as a red panda next since i've always felt a kinship with them c:

the red panda felt right, but it also had that same "wrong" feeling as before and i didn't really know why!

in november, we discovered we were plural and we immediately began to incorporate it into our art (or perhaps, we had always incorporated into our art, we just didn't know it)

in terms of alters, Velvet represents Sophia (the host) and Velvet (the co-host) with the demon form, and the red panda form respectively!

we wanted a few commonalities in velvet's designs, which started as the same hair, eyes and similar body type! we continue to explore velvet's two forms as the two hosts of our system, and we further refined their designs over the next few months.

we really like foxes, so we designed a lover for velvet - an OC named Auri (they/she) who isn't based on an alter in our system (to our knowledge)

at this point in velvet's design, the only commonalities between the two designs was the hair style, hair colour and the eye colour!

it was intentional, because when we first became self aware as plural we were similar in terms of personality and identity but as time went on we've become more and more different from each other but have maintained that sort of interconnected bond between us.

some more art of Velvet and Auri from december, and also our OC Ashe (they/them) who we haven't really explored since but we want to absorb her design into some future plans we have for Velvet c:

at the end of december we were drawing more and more of Velvet in her red panda form, and we were experimenting a lot with her design and incorporating some older elements from older designs.

we started drawing her with more and more piercings, and this is one of the common design elements between my alters' fursonas.

in january, we added another common design element between our alters; a crescent moon tattoo on the left shoulder. velvet still has the same eye and hair colour in both designs, but that's something that might change in the future. we also changed their body type, because both of us have different ideas for what we want our body to look like.

we've been experimenting with both of their designs with each art piece and trying to represent ourselves more accurately.

you might be wondering about the cat fursona, that is actually something we've been thinking about, we would like to represent Sophia's identity as a cat furry in the future through Velvet but it's something we're unsure how to approach!

maybe it'll be a third form? who knows! 💜

this is our alter Mist/Stella, and it's fursona. as was mentioned earlier in the post we really like bunnies, and we wanted to make a bunny fursona at one point but it didn't feel quite right.

however, Mist/Stella feels a lot of kinship with bunnies and also sees herself as one and we've been working on her design behind the scenes and we're happy to finally show off some glimpses.

she's an angelic bunny with big floppy ears and big wings. the wings can be hidden, and we wanted to sort of have this "slightly fallen" angel aesthetic to her. she's also non-verbal and we chose to represent this by drawing her without a mouth.

some of the elements of it's design are personal, but she shares the same piercings and crescent moon tattoo as both of Velvet's forms, but it's important to recognize as an individual it isn't Velvet.

What's Next?

well, as you've seen we explore our furry identity and plurality through our art and that's something we're going to keep doing. we want to refine our style, continue experimenting and keep improving!

as for actual plans, we want to eventually design that cat fursona for Sophia, and also we have other alters.. such as an angry shark with major attitude issues.

i'm open to any and all questions!! i'm more than happy to talk about my OCs :3

thank you for reading this far!! ☕💜💜

[tokyo-daaaamn-ji-gang]

Hiii!, I actually saw ur last post (the arranged marriage with some bonten members) n I wanted to ask for a second part with the other bonten members if u could ofc! Thank u for reading my request n I hope u have a good day ! :3

Of course!!! Here are Koko, Rindou, Mochi and Kakucho!

Koko-

Hates this idea at first but completely pushes his feelings aside for the good of the gang. After all, this will mean more money for them right? They'll be even more successful? 

He's polite to you and makes sure you have everything you need but he's never around, he avoids you whenever he can. There's no love in this marriage and Koko doesn't even want to pretend there is. You're not her, the one he was supposed to marry. 

You keep doing all these little things for him though. Greeting him whenever he is home, making sure he's eaten, and you're always smiling so nicely at him. It doesn't take long for him to develop a crush.

He mentally argues with himself a lot over you. He wants you, craves you, needs you but his guilt won't go away. You're not her and maybe that's a good thing but the thought of that makes him feel so guilty. 

Sometimes he has nightmares that she's mad at him for moving on, other times he sees you in a burning building with him being unable to save you. 

There is no easy fix for the things he's been through but because of you he decides to change and realises he needs to let Akane go. It's a long process, but at least you'll have each other. 

Rindou-

Honestly thought the whole arranged marriage thing was a joke at first. Couldn't see why it would be him either, especially not with Ran right there, isn't he the one everyone picks?

Doesn't expect this to go well and it shows in the way he acts towards you. He doesn't do anything wrong exactly, he's just a bit cold. Like he's putting up a wall between the two of you. 

He's very surprised when he actually does start liking you. You're easy to talk to and fun to tease and you seem to genuinely like him. Still finds himself a bit unsure to show he likes you though, the two of you will be laughing together one minute, having a good time until he suddenly frowns and excuses himself. 

It takes a push from Ran to make Rindou tear the walls he put up down. It was just a simple comment, something Ran tried to tease him with "well if you don't want her I'd be more then happy to keep her with me". It made his blood boil, you're not Ran's wife, you're his. Comes home quickly after that where you're waiting for him, asking him what's wrong. It all spills out then, all of his feelings for you, how unsure he is and how he refuses to lose you. 

Rindou thinks nothing has ever felt better then you reassuring him after he told you everything. Vows from then on to be the best husband he can for you and does a great job at it (Ran of course takes credit for all of this). 

Mochi-

The first thing he ever says to you in private is an apology. He knows you probably didn't want this, that you must've had dreams of marrying someone precious to you. So he decides to give you the best life possible.

Get's a bit confused about how nice and loving you are towards him, tells you that you don't need to pretend, he doesn't expect you to love him anyway. 

Works a lot of extra hours to let you be alone more often. He figures you'd prefer more time with the house to yourself but you keep calling and texting him. Telling him about your day, checking up on him, even sending him cute pictures and videos you find online. Your actions don't match his assumptions.

One day he just sits down with you and asks you exactly what you want from him and this marriage. He's very surprised to hear that you care for him and want to be a proper husband and wife. 

Mochi had never actually considered his feelings towards you but could definitely see himself happily being with a girl like you. So he let's you love him and let's himself fall for you too. 

Kakucho- 

The perfect gentleman, he's nothing but kind and caring towards you, always putting you first and taking your feelings into consideration. Sure he was surprised by the whole arranged marriage thing at first but he's determined to make sure you have a good marriage. 

He gets home from work, always answers that his day was fine then focuses on you and how you're feeling/ doing. He never tells you anything about his work or how he is. 

Sometimes you can tell he's tired or that it's been a tough day from the look in his eyes. But he never "bothers" you with that stuff. 

Marriage isn't a partnership for Kakucho, you're someone he cares about, someone he needs to take care of, protect. 

"Hey you can tell me yknow, you can let me in and lean on me sometimes too" It takes you being honest with Kakucho and telling him to open up to you, to treat this marriage as a partnership for things to change.

Kakucho's so used of being the one taking care of others, of keeping everything bottled up that you genuinely catch him off guard. He never even imagined this type of thing would bother you, that you would want to take on some of his burdens. But of course he promised to give you everything you wanted so he let's you. It's the start of how you two really started your partnership. 

[bohemianblasphemy]

HIIIII I’VE COME BACK TO TUMBLR FOR THE FIRST TIME IN LIKE OVER A YEAR, IM PIIIINIIIIINNNGGG BAD FOR DEAN WINCHESTER 😭

I’m an apprentice and was wondering if you could just blurb or write (or literally whatever you want/think of!!!!!) about being a fellow hunter in a long term relationship with Dean, traveling motel to motel and eventually living in the bunker with them, setting up an area and tattooing the boys (but mostly Dean) on slow days when we’re bored just sitting around in the bunker. (My vision is super based on knowing his character was supposed to be YATTED but it got cut due to budgeting-ugh).

Maybe also being a witch or something idk just thinking of plot lol hehe I’d be happy with LITERALLY anything! And if you’re uncomfortable doing this or just don’t feel like it that’s totally cool too!

Anon, I love you - this request is just *chefs kiss* Dean Winchester with tattoos would be the death of me.

I wasn’t sure how to implement the witch element into these headcanons but I hope this is okay!✨

Dean Winchester x tattoo apprentice! Reader

It was hard to get a lot of practice in especially out on the road, moving between motels and all the hunting you and the winchesters do- but once you all move into the bunker and settle in, you made it your mission to create your own little corner.

Dean had always been supportive of your tattooing. He is absolutely fascinated with the process of watching you tattoo- whether it’s creating your designs or practicing them on fake skin, he’s always watching.

He would also help you set up your space and help you buy supplies.

Dean always wanted tattoos, but was never sure of what he wanted to get. (Definitely has a secret Pinterest board of tattoo inspiration)

He loves to go through your designs and is in absolute awe of how talented you are. Sam would often find him just going through them in his down time, zooming in on every little detail.

As soon as you are ready to tattoo real skin, Dean is ready to be your Guinea pig.

“I’m ready sweetheart.” He’d say with a cocky grin, but he wouldn’t tell you he’s absolutely shitting bricks. But as soon as that needle hits his skin he’s like “oh… that’s not what I thought it was gonna feel like.” And he’s totally fine.

Sam would eventually get a couple small tattoos from you, his pain tolerance isn’t as good as deans but he still sticks it out like a champ.

You start off with smaller tattoos on Dean, gradually going to biggest more intricate pieces. Some having deep meaning, some because he thought the design was cool ( which would be like 90% of his tatts)

Since you both had been together for a longgg time, you know he’d get something that symbolises you.

He’d also get something for sam 😭 (you just know he cried when he showed it to him.)

Dean just admires your focus and how beautifully you do your work, he’s just such a proud boyfriend of his talented amazing partner.

You’d have to constantly remind him of tattoo aftercare because he can get a bit lazy with it.

“No Dean you can’t scratch your tattoo it’ll ruin it.” “But it’s so damn itchy!”

When the tatts are healed he can’t help but feel so much more confident in himself. Every reflective surface he sees he just flexes his arms and smirks.

If anyone asks about where he got his work done he perks up right away. “Oh yeah my partner did them, they’re amazing right?” And just rambles about you and your talents.

Lovesss when you trace over the work you’ve done on him with your fingers when you’re laying down with each other.

[sexyslut033]

Employee Relations

I'd been at the company of my dreams for 18 months before everything fell apart.

I'd grown up with a strongly misogynistic father who wouldn't let my mother work, and tried to stop me from going to college. That's why when I found the feminist magazine, my life changed. I was able to find strong role models for a striving, intellectual life. Once I got to college I majored in women's studies, and managed to secure a dream job at the magazine that changed my life after graduation.

They had a small staff, so I was brought on as the executive assistant for the company's trailblazing founder, Cate Farmer. It wasn't writing yet, but it gave me firsthand involvement in a project which I valued more than anything else, and she quickly became mentor and friend. I felt more than ever that I had finally escaped the oppressive ideology of my father. Then the collapse.

I walked into work on the worst day of my life ready for a new day of striving to make the world better, though the presence of more cars in the parking lot than ever before did confuse me. When I entered, the office was in chaos. I found one of the copy editors, Natasha, and only subconsciously noticed the normally-icy girl was wearing a bit of makeup before she gave me the news. Cate had been ousted by the board of directors after having been found to have embezzled a fortune from our investors.

I barely had time to process the betrayal and mourn the loss of my mentor before Natasha lowered her voice conspiratorially.

"The board have put in one of their own. I only saw him for a second, but he was ~really cute~."

The comment was completely out of left field. I'd been fairly certain Natasha was a lesbian, if not out of natural attraction then out of sheer refusal to engage with the masculine sex. Yet here she was, gossiping about our new boss' looks, and giggling like a schoolgirl about it? Before I could interrogate the strange behavior, however, a handsome young man in a pressed suit put his hand on my arm. "You're Sammy, right?"

I flinched at his touch, and said poisonously, "I'm Sam, yeah, why?"

The young man merely smiled bemusedly, frustratingly handsome. "Well, you are the assistant to the CEO, aren't you?"

I looked at him, bewildered. "Yeah, obviously."

"Well then I think you're about 20 minutes late, so you should probably cut it with the indignation and go make an appearance. Rick is waiting for you in his office."

Everything about the interaction was off putting. Under Cate, we'd never been worried about petty details like the time the workday started. The way that the man spoke so possessively, though, about our space and our time, in this holy temple of feminist self-actualization, nearly made me sick. He snapped me out of my shock and back into fury, if at least more functional fury, by tapping his watch condescendingly. Even as I stalked away angrily, though, I thought about how annoyingly handsome he was. -Its always been maddening, my weakness for alpha corporate types.-

This thought once more stopped me in my tracks. I didn't have a weakness for corporate alpha types. The only boyfriend I'd ever had was a shy poet. I found men like that revolting. And yet I couldn't deny it. My heart (and something) else was fluttering, I noted in indignation, as I thought about his easy confidence, his natural condescension for my weak female mind. Before I could interrogate this even more concerning thought, however, I found myself stepping into 'Rick's' office.

"Uh, Rick?" I said, awkwardly. His chair was turned away from the door, though I could smell his cologne already. Inconsequentially I noted the room had already been redesigned. A commanding, earthen, overwhelmingly masculine voice issued "Mr. Harding to you. You are 23 minutes late." The voice crashed over me in waves, reducing me nearly to a puddle immediately. Every smart comment I had thought up to cut down his male arrogance melted, and I said, nearly in tears, "I'm so sorry Mr. Harding, it wont happen again."

"Sir."

This made my knees buckle from its force, and I whimpered "I'm so sorry Mr. Harding sir, I wont disappoint you again." The sheer authority in his voice seemed to work its way not only into the control center of my brain but to drift south, pulling aside my plain panties and tickling my cunt. -I've never called it a cunt before- I thought, blankly.

"Sit." Mr. Harding turned around and I was captivated. He was the pinnacle of pure masculinity. Strong lines defined his face, his eyes betrayed immediate contempt for me and everything I believed in. "So you are my absent secretary," he said, dismissively.

"Personal assistant," I choked out against the force of his disdain.

"You are my office girl. You answer my phones and complete my commands. You are a secretary. Personal assistants, like Jared who you met earlier, require decisive independence, competence. I wouldn't trust an air headed girl like you to do that job." Something deep inside me tried in vain to rebel against his assessment. However, his voice and looks seemed to clear the virgin land of my brain, throwing up new buildings and roads with ease, generating new pathways and ideas in an instant. I was an airhead. I knew it. That's why I worked as a secretary. Real jobs were for organized, ambitious types. -Men- I thought, quietly. The force of realization left me dazed on the chair, head back, legs open for him to see my -boring- panties.

"Lucky for you, being my secretary is a very important position." I stirred at the comment, trying and failing to meet those jet black eyes. "You help keep morale up by looking sexy and being helpful. You may be a vapid party girl who can't handle serious office work, but you're great at filling coffee, prancing around the office in those skyscraper heels and miniskirts. Everyone loves it when you lean over their desks, revealing that hot cunt you wouldn't dare to cover up. You know your pussy and your body are your value. But as long as you look hot, we're happy to keep you around."

At that point, the identity shattering force of the speech made me black out. When I came to, I was in a fashionable bar somewhere. Mr. Harding sat across from me, eyes roving hungrily over the low-cut dress I discovered I was wearing. Everywhere his eyes fell tingled pleasurably. I smiled vapidly, and he nodded to the goblet of champagne before me. "Drink up slut, that's worth more than you are." I giggled thoughtlessly.

These days going to work is always a blast. I love it when Mr. Harding fucks me over the desk first thing in the morning. The office always has cute boys around to give me attention throughout the day, even if I have to complete with the rest of my slut squad. That's ok though, any girl who gets fucked over a desk is doing their part to keep the office running. These days the office mostly creates tiktok content promoting right wing politics. We model in the videos, and get to show off our hot bodies for men all over the world. I also keep up my personal tiktok page when we're not recording for the company, which totally blew up a couple months ago, though these days I'm focusing more on my onlyfans. I have a special deal on there for any young girls who wants to learn how to be better sluts. I know my dad has my mom on that plan. She's looking super hot and fuckable these days!

I love my life.

[suzannahnatters]

So as I've been re-reading LOTR, I got to the "Many Meetings" chapter where Arwen takes a good long look at Frodo; and I started thinking this character over.

I have always interpreted this as her summing him up for the task she knows lies ahead for him; if he can't save the known world then she doesn't get to marry the man she loves. But is Arwen's desire to marry Aragorn the only thing that is driving her? This is someone, after all, who was raised and taught by Galadriel herself, the wielder of Nenya, ruler of Lorien, and enemy of Sauron.

Arwen is very much wisdom-coded in this book, as opposed to, say, Eowyn, who is firmly warrior-coded. In the rabid days of my teen Tolkien era I used to have a lot of arguments about Arwen and about how little she appears in the book: and I always used to argue that it was a valid storytelling choice to give us only brief glimpses of her, because LOTR is simply not her story. In Letter 181 Tolkien himself confirms this, saying that the main reason Arwen isn't more prominent in the plot is that it's written from a hobbitish perspective. The tale of Aragorn and Arwen, he says:

"is part of the essential story, and is only placed so [in the Appendices], because it could not be worked into the main narrative without destroying its structure: which is planned to be 'hobbito-centric', that is, primarily a study of the ennoblement (or sanctification) of the humble."

I also used to argue that the fact that Arwen doesn't appear to have agency doesn't mean she wasn't actually involved. Tolkien says at one point in the book that she "watched over" Aragorn in thought, and fresh off my re-read of the Silmarillion, in which the Elves are said to have some kind of telepathic power, I think that this is what she's been doing this whole time. While I'm sorry her contributions aren't highlighted a bit more, she's not limited to embroidering banners for Aragorn; she has an agency that we simply cannot see because we are so firmly in the hobbitish perspective.

Bear in mind, too, that Arwen is supposed to be a kind of second Luthien. Unlike Luthien, she has far more family support from her father and brothers who do everything they can to help with the Quest, thus removing the motivation Luthien had to run away and have adventures. Presumably Arwen could have made a magic cloak and snuck into Mordor with the Ring, except that Frodo was chosen for that task. Plus, maybe she's just too powerful for Sauron to miss - Tolkien hints as much in that passage I quoted above, from Letter 181.

Still, the question remains, and it's a valid one: WHY does Tolkien choose not to bring Arwen more strongly into the story? WHY doesn't he give her a role closer to Luthien's? Why didn't he have her, and not Glorfindel, ride out to bring help during the Flight to the Ford?

You know me - I don't think it's because Tolkien didn't think a woman couldn't make this kind of contribution. He pretty demonstrably did. Rather, I think it's because he made the valid and indeed deeply thematic choice to code Arwen as a woman of peace rather than a woman of war.

Remember that at the end of LOTR, the entire world undergoes a process of renewal and healing. Those who have been warriors - Faramir, Eowyn, Samwise, Gandalf, and so on - put their swords away and become gardeners and healers. Even before the war ends, Aragorn confirms his claim to the kingship of Gondor, not by helping to win the battle of the Pelennor Fields, but by healing those who are lying at the brink of death in the Houses of Healing, under the Nazgul's influence. For Tolkien, who lived through not one but two world wars, peace was not something lesser to be assigned to women. War was not an end in itself ("I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness...") but a means to a just peace, the ultimate goal for men and women alike.

Just as, say, Fatty Bolger, or Galadriel, choose not to go on the Quest of the Ring and aren't shamed for it by the narrative, so too does Arwen choose not to go on the Quest. Yet, just like everyone else who chooses not to join, Arwen DOES make a pivotal contribution to the story. And it's one the fandom is not super aware of. Tolkien explained it like this in Letter 246, after mentioning that Frodo expected to die very soon after completing the Quest.

"But he did not, and one can observe the disquiet growing in him. Arwen was the first to observe the signs, and gave him her jewel for comfort, and thought of a way of healing him."

The footnote to this sentence reads:

"It is not made explicit how she could arrange this. She could not of course just transfer her ticket on the boat like that! For any except those of Elvish race 'sailing West' was not permitted, and any exception required 'authority,' and she was not in direct communication with the Valar, especially not since her choice to become 'mortal'. What is meant is that it was Arwen who first thought of sending Frodo into the West, and put in a plea for him to Gandalf (direct or through Galadriel, or both), and she used her own renunciation of the right to go West as an argument. Her renunciation and suffering were related to and enmeshed with Frodo's: both were parts of a plan for the regeneration of the state of Men. Her prayer might therefore be specially effective, and her plan have a certain equity of exchange. No doubt it was Gandalf who was the authority that accepted her plea."

All through my re-read I've been pointing out how very important it is to the story that Frodo gets a hope of healing at the end - far more important than the horrors that intervene. Arwen is the one who is able to get him that healing. Not only that, but in choosing mortality, she doesn't just marry Aragorn and start a new line of kings in Gondor - anyone could have done that. There's something special about Arwen, specifically - the pupil of Galadriel the pupil of Melian the Maia - that brings about a regeneration of the entire race of Men. Perhaps she helps to transmit to all of humanity the wisdom and lore of the Elves and the Maiar. Perhaps this includes much in the way of healing and craftsmanship.

Speculating on this, I'm also led to think about Arwen's relationship with Galadriel. In "The Council of Elrond", Elrond mentions that opinion is divided on what will happen with the Three elven Rings once the One Ring is destroyed. Some hope the Three will continue to be effective, healing Middle Earth and undoing the works of the Enemy. But when we get to Lorien, we find that Galadriel is not among them. Everything she says demonstrates that she expects the Ringbearer to destroy not only the One Ring, but also the works of the Three. So, Galadriel has always known that SHE will never be able to do the work of healing Middle Earth from Sauron's shadow. Was this a mission that she saw herself entrusting to Arwen?

Sure - as far as I'm aware, Tolkien never got around to writing this down in detail. It's a very subtle part of the story and maybe we would have preferred him to make his point more overtly...but it very much is there. Arwen didn't just give up her mortality; she also gave it away of her own free will, in order to help heal and regenerate the world from the Shadow, and not only did she do this for the man she loved, but for as many others as she could, notably Frodo.

The reason Arwen doesn't get a lot of agency in LOTR is because her hour hasn't yet come. As Tolkien writes in "Many Meetings," few mortals had YET seen her.

But they would.

[loverboybrightsideghost]

i think i understand dating now. you find a person that seems cool and you become their friend but in a romantic way until you. actually love them. yes?

[ohitslen]

*Vampirizes your Vashwood*

keep reading for more :)

If there needs to be much closer close-up please let me know!

[biblically-accurate-dca]

super disorganized sketch page because i do what i want

[skeletoninthemelonland]

😭😭

[danothan]

tough pill i have to swallow is realizing that “getting better” doesn’t mean “getting to do more things,” getting better for me means taking better initiative in protecting myself. and THAT means making sure i do LESS things