#the gendered cards are definitely going to make me miserable

[newfavheadcase]

obligatory birthday art

[papakhan]

good sir, may i ask for eighteen, four (anyone of your choosing), and twenty (understandable if twenty is too personal though so no pressure), and a twenty one if you feel up to it? happy pride ^^

From this!

18. Do you prefer to give your ocs specific labels, or keep it unspecified? Why? If applicable, do you change their labels depending on circumstance?

Kind of depends on the character like Most of them I do give specific identities and labels for my own organisation but some of my smaller background characters I leave open until I decide to develop them more.

4. Is your oc's environment supportive about their identity? How does this impact them?

For Fleabag the wider Khans are supportive like the people in charge like Jack/Diane Papa and Regis but their immediate family and circle being reactionary New Khans are not. Fleabag didn't want to leave them but kind of had to for their own peace.

20. Have your ocs helped you in self discovery? How?

YES well maybe not my ocs but imagining Papa being trans definitely did help me out and also having ocs who are bi just made me feel more confident. In general yeah they helped me a lot esp when I was going through some shit that made me feel like my identity was evil and ruining my life having funny little guys in my head or in my sketchbook who were the same as me made me feel better

21. Free ramble card wee

Hmmm this is less of a ramble more of a rant but I think more people should have fun with gender in the wasteland because there's a lot of potential for fun and new weird gender experiences when the government has fully broken down, and the gender presentations that might arise when you can just assume a new identity and move cities and start again and there's no government sticking a F or M on your licence. I don't know about you guys but the government is the one stopping me from transitioning the way I'd like and if they got blown up alongside traditional societal expectations I'd present myself differently. And I understand the merits of ""making this trans character experience the transphobia of our world because that's what I go through"" Obviously because I have Fleabag and other characters who do go through the rough family relations I go through. But I think some people are sooo dedicated to making the ENTIRE wasteland miserable where EVERYONE is transphobic and there's no HRT anywhere and there's not a dissection of the transphobia it's just misery for the sake of misery like "oooh doc Mitchell says 'not the name I'd have picked for you' as a microaggression against your transgender courier" is the worst take I've ever seen and I'm just tired of it. It's just not fun. Why is it funny to make characters transphobic now? Sure there's factions who'd obviously be transphobic in the wasteland like the Legion or BOS or NCR frontlines but does it HAVE to be EVERYONE? good grief The way I write the Khan's development regarding trans people and is partly a spiteful kickback of all the "realistic transphobia" I see in so much fallout art/writing about trans characters. Tbh it had gotten a lot better lately but I do remember the big argument everyone had on here a few years ago. Something about autodocs making transition "too easy" or something. In my lore the Khans only survived because of the queer community hidden in the New Khans. Transition was hard for Fleabag due to their poor support circle and I like to explore their internalised struggle and how they learnt to be themself and love themself and it wasn't easy and it didn't go to plan and they still don't have closure about their dad but they did it.. I guess people still do give me shit for making Papa trans but I don't care about that. Anyway I encourage people to have more fun with wasteland gender and be weirder about it. If Khans pick a new name when they go through their initiation rite then why not pick a new gender too? The Followers what are they doing they're anarchists they're talking about the gender spectrum! BUTCH KINGS!! What about ghouls how do people hundreds of years old perceive their gender? OR SUPER MUTANTS.. there sooo much potential with super mutant gender. I want Vault Dwellers who escape the rigid gender structure of their vaults and discovering a beautiful world where yes life is harder but you can be yourself. Intersex people aren't forced to have surgery and just live their lives. I want raiders who don't care about gender and only care about being cool and dangerous. I want drag in Vegas. I want implants from Dr Usanagi that deliver HRT into my bloodstream long-term. I want the Followers to have an empty box on their paperwork for their patients to explain their gender. I want genderfluid super mutants. Do you understand my vision? Peace and love on planet earth <3

[thesimpsbasement]

𝔻𝕠𝕟'𝕥 𝕓𝕖 𝕞𝕪 𝕧𝕒𝕝𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕖!

__________________

Sorry this is like, a month overdue but sickness decided to pay me a visit so I just felt too miserable to write so uhm yeah,March ver a Valentine's day fic,this is also lowkey self indulgent sorry not sorry

 ________________

Fandom:The disastrous life of saiki k

Characters: Kusuo Saik

Author: Mod Betty

Warning/tags:platonic,reader's sexuality is not mentioned,Saiki talks telepathically to the reader,kinda goofy ngl it's saiki k we're talking about

Reader is gender neutral 

Word count :1,256 words

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    Valentine's day,the day where high-schoolers go heart-eyed for everyone they see,chocolates,red and pink cards filled with hearts…the teenage dream,but it isn't so lovey dovey ,why? Simple.Rejection. The utter despair when your crush doesn't share your feelings of love and affection, truly sad but not Saiki's problem. He didn't understand the Valentine's craze,all his friends seemed to disagree, all fantasizing about their dream partner giving them the sweet box of heart chocolates.Well almost all his friends, the exception was you.You often shared his feelings when it came to stuff like this,you hated it as much as he did.You knew of his problem of girls fawning over him and he knew how you also had a similar issue,classmates not getting your hints about not liking them in that way and they're surprised when you are forced to reject them in person because they were too blind to see you weren't interested.It was a pain for the both of you,the unwanted attention was honestly tiring and with the holiday all about love coming tomorrow you both knew your days will be just awful. So during a class where you didn't feel like paying attention to,you heard Saiki's voice in your head 'Got any ideas for tomorrow?' He asks trying to figure out how both of you can escape from it 'Nope,just thinking about it is giving me a headache' you respond ,this wasn't the first time you both talked telepathically, it was easier and it wouldn't cause attention or rumors about you two dating or something. 'Guess we'll somehow have to leave the situations if we can't avoid them' Saiki said ,pondering on any escape plans that wouldn't involve him directly using his powers such as teleporting in front of them 'Just like the stuff you pulled on Chiyo?' You tease ,turning to him to see his face,annoyed at your comment 'Don't remind me' is all he said.

        So the day has arrived,both you and Saiki were a tad bit nervous, hoping there wouldn't be too many suitors for each,it's not like they're Teruhashi or some harem anime.But as they stepped on the school premise they get ready for their "avoid all nuisances at all costs" mission to begin.

    First period was…rough… to say the least.You definitely weren't expecting chocolates and flowers on your desk already,at least not this many anyway.You definitely knew they were watching you,waiting for your reaction.You pretended to not see them,and when you blocked the view of the chocolates,they were gone! The suitors looked away for just a second and it's gone!? Did they accidentally place it on the wrong desk!? Surely not they could've sworn they placed it on your desk.Said flowers and chocolates ended up on Teruhashi's pile,there were so many anyway,one extra wouldn't be noticed 'Thanks for the help' you say in your mind,hoping Saiki could hear you through the noise of other people's thoughts 'Don't thank me yet,this has only just begun' He responded staring at his empty desk,he got lucky,he was quiet,never talking to people so his classmates didn't really notice him as much as people noticed you since you at least talked when interacting. 

         Saiki has heard that one of the girl's wants to confess to him later today.He immediately went straight to you,telepathically of course to let you know of the situation so you can make a plan to get him out of the conversation. Surely enough after the second period,the girl came to him.She seemed nervous, biting her bottom lip,cheeks already red.Saiki was already feeling awkward being there,he just wanted to leave. "Uhm Saiki I w-was wondering if you could be my-" before she could finish her sentence you ran up to them, after panting from running you look at Saiki "Hey Saiki a teacher is asking you come to their ,something about wanting to talk about a grade" you lied,hoping your performance was believable. Saiki nodded before heading in to the supposed teacher when in reality it was just his next class ,thankfully this girl wasn't from his class so there wouldn't be any awkward moments. The girl sighed in defeat looking at the floor as she walked away,you had to admit you did feel bad for her but eh that's what rejection does to a person. You watch her go to whatever she was headed before heading towards your own destination. 

      Lunchtime was pretty tame,most people being focused on eating rather than confessing, besides no one would risk getting rejected in front of the whole school in the middle of the cafeteria.  However this peace wouldn't last for much longer. So far it was all clear,the next class went smoothly without any instances. However when you decided to go outside for some fresh air,that peace was ruined.Someone you didn't even recognise came up to you smiling before saying "well since it's Valentine's day I feel like it's only right I say this ____ I've admired you since I first saw you,you were like an angel that has come from the sky,your beauty is something that could rival anyone else" they began to say,not showing signs of being finished.Saiki wasn't nearby so you began to worry when suddenly you welp a gust of wind suddenly appear out on nowhere and somehow ,the handkerchief from your pocket flew out causing you to turn around and watch it fly into the distance "uhm sorry but I gotta go get this,see you later" you say as you ran for the now practically flying handkerchief till you reached a secluded area only to see a certain pink haired boy." So it was you" you say,knowing that it wasn't windy at all today,he simply shrugged acting like he had no involvement.'Looks like it's 2 encounters with you and one for me' He says "don't jinx it because I'm not sure how to save you this time" you joked before checking to see if the area is clear before both of you walked back in the school. 

           The day ended and both of you thought it was finally over,you both went to your lockers to put your shoes away when suddenly two people walked up,some towards saiki and the other towards you,shoot! How were you two supposed to get out of this!?You both were nervous, preparing yourself for doom then you both heard a voice "Saiki! ____" it was Toritsuka! Seeing as you two were probably friends with the medium,they slowly backed away,apologizing before walking away.Oh Toritsuka you miracle of a man you are! You saved both of them."uhm what's up with your faces,looks like you just got out of a tight situation" he asks,confused look on his face "because we did" you signed astou changed your shoes,Saiki following suit.The three of you went home,Toritsuka teasing Saiki about he's a playboy for getting all the girls despite him indirectly rejecting all of them. Eventually you get home and both of you flop on your beds. You look up at the ceiling of your room sighing,before smiling "I owe Kusuo a coffee jelly" you think to yourself, not knowing the same boy is thinking the same about you."I owe ____ a coffee jelly".

[demi-shoggoth]

Portrait of the Artist as a Young Enbie

This is going to be a Very Personal Post. You have been warned.

I have not had an easy life. I went to graduate school, thinking I wanted to be a research scientist. I got suckered by a con-man who could see that I was smart but that I was naïve, and that he could use me. Turn me into an absolute slave. And he tried. And he got really close. But he failed.

One of the reasons he failed was because of the woman in my life at the time. She was a childhood friend, and we played games together for years. We had drifted apart, and then drifted back together, and were so happy with each other. And she helped me realize that that bad scientist wasn’t going to control my life.

But she had had a bad life too. Worse than mine. She was basically Cinderella, forced to act as the sole responsible member of a household by an abusive parent whose parents had abused her. And she, my girlfriend, realized that she liked being in charge. And that I was weak, and that she could take advantage of that.

When things were good with her, they were very very good. But when they were bad, they were Awful. We liked to play games with each other, right? But those games now had a nasty edge to them. She always had to win. Always. And that included at games like “who’s right about what happened six months ago?” “Who does more chores?” “Who gets to make all of the decisions?”

And she had a trump card she could always use. My sexuality.

I’ve always been a weird kid into monsters and magic and stuff, and as my sexuality blossomed, that interest became an erotic one. The first time I got erect, it was to a picture in a Monster Manual. The first time I realized that you didn’t have to stay a boy? Was by accidentally putting on a Girdle of Sex Change in Baldur’s Gate. And on some level, I think that she recognized that I was genderqueer and didn’t know it yet. So that was something she could hold over my head. She controlled me with gaslighting, and she controlled me with bullying, and she controlled me with sexual shame.

But I got out. Thank goddess. It was hard, and it took literally a year of living apart before I realized that I never never never wanted to live together again. But I did it.

And the next year? I openly admitted that I was nonbinary to one of my coworkers. After crying in a staff meeting and she was the only one who noticed or cared.

I was doing better by that point, but I was still sad. I thought that maybe I was a bad teacher who didn’t deserve to have a good job, and I took the first job that was offered to me the next year because it seemed Good Enough.

It wasn’t

The commute was miserable, for one thing. And the pay very low. Low enough that it didn’t cover everything I needed it to. Some weeks it felt like I was pouring my entire paycheck into my gas tank, and had no time for anything but work, drive, sleep, repeat.

And the people there. There were definitely a few good people there? But they were outweighed by the bad. Petty little crooks who made you feel like a wretch when you tried to assert yourself. Teachers who casually made transphobic jokes and thought that gender neutral bathrooms were a stupid idea. I was bullied there. I was bullied by my bosses, by my coworkers, and even by my students.

I turned to alcohol to help me sleep, to help me cope. I always like trying new things, so I experimented with what beers I liked best. And, like any mad scientist, I drunk too deep and started changing myself. In bad ways.

It got so bad that I realized, I want to kill myself.

Not “it might be better if I were dead”. Which I had done before, with the bad boss and the bad girlfriend. But “I could make that happen”

And I realized that that was a bridge too far.

There’s a version of this story that ends with me drinking myself to death. That’s what happened to one of my grandfathers.

But you know what happened to my other grandfather? He got out of a bad marriage, found a good one, and was happy for decades.

So I realized that actively wanting to kill myself was an important decision in the Good End/Bad End version of my life, and I got out of that Bad Place.

It was hard. My medical insurance made it as annoying for me as possible. I had panic attacks about missed appointments and phone trees. But I eventually found someone. A psychiatrist, who was also a weird queer woman, just like I was trying to deny that I was.

She told me, as soon as she walked in the door and looked at my blood work, “so it looks like you’ve been binge drinking”

And I could have turtled up. Gotten defensive and lashed out. But instead, my response was, “really? Tell me more”

And she did. And the prescription she gave me wasn’t for pills, wasn’t for drugs. It was for apple cider vinegar and for Vitamin B-12. “This will clean out your liver,” she said.

And I thought that that was a little woo woo. But I did it anyway. Because I felt like I could trust this woman

The apple cider vinegar was tasty. I always liked sour flavors, and I could experiment with how much vinegar to water I could push myself with before I didn’t like it. And, doing all that kept me from buying and drinking so much beer. Vinegar is much cheaper than beer, which meant I could afford more gasoline, and I was able to keep from going broke while working at a shitty job. And so even though it was very clear that that my bosses were just looking for excuses to fire me, I was a good teacher until the day I walked out the door. And the lesson I tried to teach as many people as possible before I left?

You have choices. Don’t make the easiest ones. Make the right ones.

Here’s how the biochemistry of this all worked. Because I am a scientist, after all, even if I don't have a PhD. The liver processes many things, including signals from the bacterial community of the large intestine, and drugs and toxins. Alcohol is both a drug and a toxin, of course. Having so much beer awash in my guts and awash with my blood was changing the bacteria inside me. Only the gut bacteria who could survive regular doses of poison were hanging on. And to deal with that poison, my liver cells were prioritizing making smooth endoplasmic reticulum instead of any other job. And my DNA was being modified, just a little, with epigenetic markers that helped it make more smooth ER and survive the constant alcohol poisoning.

That’s what fatty liver disease is. There are healthy ways to be fat, and unhealthy ways, and fatty liver disease is one of the unhealthy ones. Fatty liver disease is when liver cells have so much smooth ER that they don’t work right. And if that kills too many of them, it eats holes in your liver. Your liver is pretty durable, but not infinitely so. And your liver falls apart. It’s called cirrhosis.

But by drinking apple cider vinegar instead of beer, I was not only reducing the amount of poison, but also reintroducing critters into my guts. My microbiota was stressed and scared, and had a lower diversity. Diversity is strength,  on every scale. By drinking apple cider vinegar, I was bringing in new bacteria to my guts. Fermented foods have living critters in them. And as my guts became less hostile and my liver was better able to do its job, some of those friendly little monsters stuck around. And started pushing out the weedy bacteria to a safer, lower, population level. Turning a vacant lot into a beautiful meadow.

And my liver responded in turn. Making less smooth ER and more enzymes and signals that would help it talk to that meadow, and take care of it. And the Vitamin B-12 helped to lock those changes in place. Vitamin B-12 is what the body uses to make methyl groups, which are used to turn off parts of the DNA that the body doesn’t need right now, in that cell, in that tissue, in that organ.

And I lost weight, and I started sleeping better, and my skin improved. And I didn’t want to kill myself. And I got more comfortable with my sexuality, and my gender, and started telling people I was trans and now just thinking about transitioning. And when I got a bad girlfriend again? Another weird gamer with trauma who wanted to lash out? I made it very clear that she couldn’t manipulate me, and she was in and out of my life in six weeks. Six weird weeks, with some good sex. But I realized that I could do better, both from a romantic and a sexual perspective.

When I went to see that psychiatrist again, she told me that, looking at the latest blood work, I had the liver of a teenager. And then she told me about herself.

She was an immigrant. And queer. And she thought that the United States would be a land of acceptance, and her homeland wasn't. So she left the homophobia there and she found racism in Reagan’s America. And the AIDS pandemic. And she was sad, but she coped. And then helped people survive racism, survive Reagan, survive a pandemic. Helped people with AIDS die better in a loving environment, and help the survivors deal with their trauma.

And now she was happy

Seeing a Cool Weird Science Witch who fought through hard times and survive inspired me. She was a role model, even if I couldn’t admit it to myself.

I nearly killed myself, the easy way or the hard way, but I got out of it with the help of understanding my own biology, my own desires, and my own goals.

I found the love that I needed and deserved.

And I want to share that with you. 

[skeppsbrott]

Unfortunately the post you reblogged about the perception of autism as something only cool people have was written by a terf. (I agreed with the post so I checked out op’s blog, got bad vibes, searched “trans” and found ugly stuff real fast)

Hi there anon!

So I've been waffling back and forth about how to reply to this but here is (sort of) where I have ended up:

Terfery is bogus. I don't need to elaborate on this. Terfery was embarrassing, destructive, self-cannibalising and reactionary when I first encountered it in like, 2012. In 2023, amidst a quite frankly astounding and terrifying backlash, even moreso. Socially isolating terfs from fellow feminists, activists, and (possibly) queers is a legitimate tactic of activism and I think it is a quite effective one. You treat our siblings, friends and allies like that while calling yourself a feminist? Go take a long walk off a short pier, mate.

And yet...

I do not really want to recieve messages like this.

I understand the impulse and I think the fact that you go out of your way to send me this underlines something important - we have a culture on this corner of the Tumblr that terfs ain't got no friends. It is not controversial to be like "yo fuck feminists that oppose trans liberation and have a gender-essentialist worldview" and that's unequivocally a good thing. I am glad that you trust my politics enough to send me this. I am glad that my politics shine through enough that I would obviously support your anonymous suggestion (except it is not a suggestion, you just gave me this information to, idk, fill out a bingo card and draw my own conclusions with, but nonetheless).

And yet, I do not really want to recieve messages like this.

I gave up social media activism many years ago. It made me miserable. It made me miserable to be around. It made my spaces of respit miserable and it meant I was always fucking on and I am not saying I am a great activist now but at some point you realize you'll just burn yourself out on that shit when instead you could like, idk, talk kindly to young queers who haven't worked out their internalised shit yet and help people come out of their freshly cracked eggs and support your older queer friends in their quests for parenthood in this wretched world. Make sure that anyone in your social circle knows that if they fuck around with gender essentialism they'll find out real soon but not because you make a big deal out of hating terfs but because you are loud and proud about having declared the old ways of doing gender over and done with. Hopefully?

I don't know. If you are my friend or you've followed me for a long time or we're mutuals or whatever and you see me behave in a way that makes you feel unsafe on my blog I think it is fair to reach out. "Hey, Skeppsbrott, this person you reblog a lot of art from is a quite vocal terf on their main blog and I really wish you wouldn't". "Hey, Skeppsbrott, I think you are being way too charitable to the debate happening on that post you just reblogged. This is my read, I hope you'll reconsider."

That seems actionable to me. Like yeah I probably should pay attention to the politics of people who very often end up in my reblog chains! I definitely should pay attention to the changing rethoric used by gender essentialists! I do not, however, want to spend energy wondering whether every post I reblog might possibly be made by a terf and feel guilty if I perhaps missed one. I also struggle with the anon ask as something that demands a response but which also demands it publicly. Would you have noticed if I removed the post but never replied to your ask? Would you get suspicious if I never DID reply to your ask? I guess part of why making it an anon ask is that the act of condemning terfery in an ask is more potent than removing a jokey and a little mean but nonetheless fair post about autism that got like three hundered notes. No one really suffers from that post, that's kind of the conundrum here. Either way, I am not here to scorch the earth, but then again -

"Hey, Skeppsbrott, this person you reblogged a post from is trying to become a tumblr funnyman so that they can infiltrate more people with transphobic propaganda"? Yeah. I guess that is not so different from what I commented above.

Perhaps at the end of the day I am just really, very, terribly equipped for social isolation tactics. I just can't really bring myself to do it. Call it trauma or poor constitution or whatever. It just brings me this great, deep sadness, where I look at who I was and can't help but wonder what I would have gotten lost in if there hadn't been people who looked me sternly in the eye and said "that's fucked up. Get out now before I too grow to hate you".

Or maybe I am just a coward. That is entirely possible as well. Even quite likely.

Thank you, anon, genuinely. I appreciate it. But maybe next time, don't?

xx

[kerwynlar]

Apple Crumble by KerwynLar

A couple of people liked Fire Alarm, so I’m continuing the story of Birch and Cal. You don’t have to have read that one but it will make this one make more sense.

Birch and Cal’s first date has an indulgent end.

Birch was reading on the couch when there was a knock on the door. They marked their place in the book and went to look out the peephole. They smiled when they saw it was Cal and quickly opened the door. 

“Hi!” they said cheerfully. 

“Oh great, you’re home!” Cal gave a relieved smile. 

“How are you feeling?” Birch asked. 

“One hundred percent better, thanks for asking. I just needed to digest. Actually,” Cal held up the tote bag he was carrying, “I came to say thank you.” Cal pulled a pretty bouquet of flowers out of the bag. “I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I got you these,” he handed Birch the flowers and pulled a fancy-looking bottle of wine out of the bag, “and this,” he handed over the wine and pulled out a box of chocolates, “and these. Feel free to re-gift any or all of this.” 

Birch laughed. “Oh my gosh, Cal, this is too much!” 

“Are you, like, allergic to chocolate or flowers or wine?” Cal asked. 

“No, no allergies.” Birch smiled. “I like all of this, thanks!” 

“No, thank you,” Cal said. “I was so miserable last night and you really, really helped me.” 

“I’m glad,” Birch said warmly. “I’m very glad I could help.” 

“Um,” Cal rubbed the back of his neck, “would you still want to grab dinner with me sometime?”

“Yeah,” Birch said eagerly. “I would love that.”

Read the rest below the cut or on AO3.

Cal had picked a restaurant a couple of blocks from the apartment that was nice but not too fancy. The food was very good, as were the cocktails that they both had. Birch discovered that Cal was only shy before he was comfortable with someone, and Birch’s help the night of the fire alarm had definitely made him comfortable with Birch. Cal was animated and engaging, as well as an excellent listener. He seemed genuinely interested in everything Birch had to say and asked thoughtful questions. 

They talked about their names. Birch told Cal about how part of their process of coming out as nonbinary was agonizing over what to change their name to. Their deadname was completely gendered and they had always hated it. Ultimately they settled on Birch because they liked the association with nature and how it sounded. Cal said the name suited them and Birch blushed. 

Cal told Birch that his full name was Henry Calvin Peterson III. He was largely estranged from his family and the idea of going by his given name left a bad taste in his mouth, so he had picked his favorite syllable and went with it. 

They talked about their jobs. Cal sheepishly admitted that he really only used his library card to download e-books and audio books, and Birch assured him - as a librarian - that that was fine but did encourage him to check out some of the events the library put on. 

Birch took some convincing that Cal’s job as an accountant was interesting, but the way Cal’s face lit up when he talked about it was hard to deny. 

“All of my clients are small businesses,” Cal explained. “I get to help them balance their priorities and make decisions that set them up for success. Tax season sucks, but otherwise I really do love it.” 

“What do you do for fun besides reading?” Cal asked as they were finishing their meals. 

“I love cooking,” Birch smiled. “Trying new recipes is so much fun. But my favorite thing is cooking for other people. The look on someone’s face when they enjoy something I’ve made is the biggest high in the world for me.”

Cal cleared his throat. “Is this an awkward time for me to mention that I love eating and washing dishes?” 

“Bullshit,” Birch laughed, “no one loves washing dishes.” 

“I do, I swear!” Cal said. “I find cleaning in general really soothing.” 

“There’s got to be a connection to enjoying being an accountant there,” Birch said, resting their chin on their hand. 

Cal chuckled. “Probably. I like putting things in order.” 

“You said you like eating, do you like cooking?” 

Cal shrugged. “I can cook. Like I can competently follow a recipe. But it’s not really something I enjoy spending time on. When I cook for myself it’s always pretty basic.” 

“You’d rather do the washing up,” Birch said with a grin. 

“Kind of!” Cal smiled back at them. 

Birch sat back and pushed their mostly empty plate away from them. “Do you have room for dessert?” 

“Mm hmm,” Cal took the last bite of his dinner. “I - uh - can put away a lot of food. Definitely room for dessert.” 

“I had some apples that were about to go bad, so I made an apple crumble this morning. It just needs a few minutes in the oven. Want to come back to my place?” 

“That sounds amazing,” Cal enthused. 

“You don’t have to answer this,” Birch said as they were walking back to the apartment building, “and I probably shouldn’t be asking, but do you know what caused your stomach ache the night of the fire alarm?” 

Cal grimaced and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, I do.” 

“You definitely don’t have to tell me,” Birch said quickly.  

“No, I don’t mind,” Cal said. “It was kind of the fire alarm.” 

“Your stomach reacts to loud noises?” Birch tried. 

Cal chuckled. “No, my stomach reacts to hustling down three flights of stairs when it’s really, really full. I had eaten a … very big dinner. If I had been able to just lie on my couch for the night like I had planned it would have been great. As it was …” he shrugged, “I’m just lucky that you saw I wasn’t feeling well and decided to help. Obviously I wasn’t going to die or anything but I would have felt a lot worse without you.” 

“Hm,” Birch mused, “we’ll have to figure out a way for me to cook you a big meal and you to do the washing up without upsetting your stomach.” 

“I’m sure we can figure something out,” Cal smiled. 

“Oh wow, that smells incredible,” Cal said, his mouth starting to water, as Birch pulled the large rectangular baking pan of apple crumble out of the oven. The crumb topping was perfectly golden brown and a few wisps of steam rose from the pan. 

“Looks incredible too,” Cal said, watching Birch scoop a large portion into a bowl and top it with vanilla ice cream. 

“I hope the taste lives up to it!” Birch said, serving themself a smaller portion. 

With his first bite, Cal closed his eyes and let out an “mmmm.” The apples were soft but not mushy. The crumble was not overly sweet and added just enough crunch while the syrup was the perfect combination of sugar and cinnamon. The heat of the apple crumble balanced with the cold sweetness of the ice cream made it the perfect mouthful. Cal quickly took a few more bites before looking up at Birch. 

“This. Is. Amazing,” he said. 

Birch chuckled. “It’s just apple crumble.” They blushed. 

“It is the best apple crumble I have ever tasted,” Cal insisted, taking another bite. “What’s the little bit of tartness?” 

“Ooh, sensitive palate,” Birch beamed. “There’s a touch of lemon juice in there to keep it from getting too sweet.” 

“Perfect,” Cal said, tucking back in. 

“Oh my god, I could eat this whole pan,” Cal moaned as he finished a second helping of the apple crumble. 

Birch chuckled. “I would love that.” 

“Wait, really?” Cal looked at them wonderingly. 

“I mean … yeah,” Birch’s brow furrowed, “Wait, were you serious about eating the whole thing?”

“I could be,” Cal said. 

“Really?”

“I have a lot of stomach capacity and I really like feeling full.” Cal eyed up the pan. “Eating this much after dinner would be a lot, even for me, especially because it’s sweet, but I could do it. And it’s so good, I want to do it.” 

Birch’s cheeks had taken on a bright flush. “You … you want to stuff yourself on something I made?” 

“Yeah,” Cal said, holding eye contact with them, “I really do.”

Birch’s breath hitched as they pushed the pan towards him. 

Two-thirds of the way through the pan, Cal put down his spoon and sat back, rubbing a hand over his stomach.

“Done?” Birch asked, smiling brightly but fighting down a twinge of disappointment that they knew was ridiculous. The man had eaten an incredible amount of the dessert. Saying he would eat it all was probably a boast, and a sweet one. Birch knew that they should appreciate that. 

Cal burped into his fist a couple times, then patted his belly, which was starting to look a little rounder. He gave Birch a lopsided smile. 

“I told you I was going to eat it all,” he said. “Just taking a breather.” 

“Oh!” Birch said, feeling their cheeks flush again. “Great!” 

Birch and Cal had been chatting as Cal ate, but as he approached the end of the pan and seemed to be struggling a little, Birch let the conversation trail off, preferring to watch with rapt attention as Cal lifted each bite to his mouth, chewed and swallowed. Birch was certain that every time Cal leaned back for a breather his belly looked a little rounder. When at last Cal took the final bite and sat back with a huff, his belly was pushing heavily against the buttons of his shirt.

Cal closed his eyes and rubbed his belly with a groan. “Oh that feels good. That was so delicious, Birch. I feel amazing.” He covered his mouth as he burped. “Excuse me.” 

Birch knew their eyes were wide and they were probably blushing all the way up to their ears. “You really ate it all in one sitting!” they breathed. 

Cal burped again. “Mm hmm.” He opened his eyes to look at Birch then rubbed his hand in a wide circle over his rounded belly. “Every bite tasted fantastic and it feels wonderful and warm in here.”

“Does … does your stomach hurt?” 

Cal considered this. “Sort of? But it’s the kind of hurt that feels good if that makes sense.” He paused for another burp. “I love this feeling.” Cal patted his belly with a sleepy smile. 

“Could I rub your belly?” The question left Birch’s lips before they could stop themself. 

“Oh my god,” Cal chuckled. “Feeding me the most amazing apple crumble I’ve ever tasted and then rubbing my tummy? Careful, you’ll never get rid of me.” 

“I’m pretty sure I’ll never want to.” Birch took an alarmed breath and looked at Cal’s face. That was almost certainly way too forward a thing to say, it was way too soon. But Cal just gave them another sleepy smile. 

Swallowing, Birch pulled their chair up beside Cal’s and tentatively placed their hand over the area where Cal’s belly swelled out from under his ribs. They thought they could feel some gurgling movement within and they started to rub a gentle circle. They were transfixed. Cal’s belly was swollen with something they made. Birch had just made it as an afterthought to try to use up some fruit before it spoiled but Cal had liked it enough to eat every bite of it until his belly was round  with it. 

Birch came back to themself as Cal put his hand over theirs and guided it a little lower down on his belly. 

“A little pressure there, if you don’t mind,” Cal said quietly, and Birch quickly massaged the spot, realizing that the muscles felt tighter there. 

Cal leaned his head back against the wall behind his seat and gave a quiet, relieved groan. “Perfect, thank you.” 

Birch felt a bubbling gurgle under their hands and Cal quickly turned his head away and covered his mouth before belching deeply. “Excuse me,” he said. 

After that Birch used both hands to seek out tight spots over the swell of Cal’s belly, producing pleased sighs, burps, and relieved groans in equal measure. 

“This is heaven,” Cal murmured eventually, “but I should really get home.” 

“Do you feel ok?” Birch asked. 

“Incredible,” Cal smiled at them. “I feel incredible.” 

“Is walking to your apartment going to make you feel not incredible anymore?” 

Cal noticed that Birch got a cute line between their eyebrows when they worried. “After that belly rub?” he grinned. “Nah, I’m all set. And I’m taking that pan with me.” 

“What?” Birch’s look of worry turned to confusion. 

“The pan that the crumble was in,” Cal paused to burp, “I’m taking it back to my apartment with me so that I can wash it for you and return it tomorrow.” 

Birch rolled their eyes. “You don’t have to do that, Cal.” 

“I want to,” Cal insisted. “Returning it will give me the opportunity to ask you out again.” 

[writing-in-april]

Helping Hands

Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral Reader

Summary: After a bad case Spencer needs help shaving after getting injured, he gets help from the least likely person to help in his life.

A/N: Day two of my 750 follower celebration is here! This was totally supposed to be a blurb and ended up being so much long lol. Thank you @imagining-in-the-margins for this idea and letting me write it! And thanks to @spencers-dria for helping me out as always! This fic wasn’t originally going to be Gender Neutral I just ended up writing it that way on accident which is cool, I want my blog to be as inclusive as possible! I’ve had someone check it over for pronoun mistakes but please let me know if you spot any! This is also my first time writing in second person for Spencer!

Warnings: 18+, Enemies to lovers, Knife kink (use of a straight razor), Dry fucking, Humiliation, ONE slight nick to the skin- there’s just a very small bit of blood

Main Masterlist Word count: 1.68k

Your friendship with Spencer was shaky at best, the truth was you two were barely able to work together without biting each other’s heads off. It’s not that you wanted to butt heads with him almost every day, but when he picked apart everything you said constantly you always felt the need to bite back.

Emily just had to put you as roommates for this case so you guys could ‘work out your issues.’ Of course the case then ended up becoming one of your longest cases all year. The tension between you and Spencer ran high throughout the entire case, the petty arguments grew in rate as the team got less and less sleep each day. The case combined with the sleeping arrangements was definitely making you feel miserable.

Unfortunately these hellish two weeks didn’t even end with a completely good outcome. We had caught the unsub, but not before one of your own had ended up injured. Spencer had been securing the perimeter around the suspect’s house when the suspect (who ended up being the unsub) attacked him. Luckily, you hadn’t been that far away from him and were able to help him apprehend the man. You may butt heads with him almost every working day, but he was still a part of your team. You would never want him to be seriously hurt or worse. His knuckles ended up getting bruised and bloodied from his unexpected scuffle with the unsub today although he insisted he was fine.

The sight you were looking at now directly contradicted his words. His fingers were shaking badly as he tried to move his straight razor along his jaw that was coated in shaving cream. When he let out a frustrated grunt when he couldn’t get the right angle you decided to try and lend a helping hand. He seemed to get even angrier when you walked into the hotel’s bathroom, this wasn’t new however, he always seemed to get more agitated when he sensed your presence.

“Let me help you.” You snapped while reaching forward to grab the razor, your movements were in stark contrast to your words, only doing that softly as to not cut the both of you.

“Why do you want to help me?” He snapped back with just as much bite in his tone and jerked his hand away so you could not reach the razor.

“Does it matter? You need help and I’m offering to help. So sit down and let me help.”  The real reason that you wanted to help didn’t have to be known by Spencer, he didn’t have to know that you felt guilty. His injuries were from no fault of your own however, you could not help a little bit of guilt pool in the bottom of your stomach. You may not like him very much, but again you did not want to see him hurt.

He finally acquiesced to your request sitting down on the edge of the tub that just had enough of a ledge so he could sit rather comfortably. You reached out and gestured towards the razor letting out a little sigh of relief when he handed it to you, glad that he was finally letting you help.

The handle of the razor was simple in design with no ornaments adorning it and it was made of a dark wood, perhaps mahogany. The simple design of the handle and blade did not mean that it was inexpensive, the weight in your hand alone was a testament of how finely made it probably was. You suspected it might have been one of the only things Spencer splurged his money on.

Soaping up his cheeks again, you then straddled his thighs so you could get as close as possible to him. He squeaked a little in surprise at your sudden willingness to be close to him. In all honesty, you didn’t really want to be that close to him, but you had promised to help him, this just was the only way you could get the correct angles.

Besides the initial squeak the fell from his lips Spencer had become strangely quiet as you got to work shaving off his stubble.

His silence was then replaced by something else, the inability to sit still. Each time you started to scrap the razor against his jaw his hips shuffled under you, making it extremely difficult to get a close enough shave.

“Stop squirming.” He of course felt the need to again not listen to you and he continued to squirm underneath you. You ran your fingers through his hair then tugging on the stands to crane his neck backwards so you could get full access to the underside of his jaw. He defiantly squirmed again, causing you to falter with the razor again, this time accidentally nicking the underside of his jaw.

Instead of hissing and pulling away from you would expect; Spencer threw you for a loop when he let out a loud moan while jutting his hips up into your own. A look of mortification came over Spencer’s face at his actions, he looked like he wanted to be anywhere else, but with your body straddling him he couldn’t quite escape your grasp so easily.

You weren’t going to lie, Spencer was an attractive man, your favorite part of his looks being his fluffy locks and the scruff he left behind after shaving. You weren’t going to pass up the opportunity of having an attractive man underneath you and begging. Experimentally you reached up with your free hand to brush up against the small nick that had only let out just a little drop of blood. Pushing down slightly on it you then rolled your hips to grind against his hardening cock in his slacks. His response to your actions pleased you, his slacks becoming more strained and another moan left his lips, this one much more high pitched.

“Are you ok with this? I won’t be gentle.”

“Yes, please do whatever you want.” You were pleasantly surprised how quickly a plea fell from his lips. It was going to be so easy to ruin him.

“Tell me if you want me to stop. You may infuriate me, but I do not want to make you uncomfortable.” He nodded quickly in understanding before tentatively moving his hands to rest on your hips lightly to make sure you were ok with his touch and so that his hands didn’t suffer from any unnecessary pain.

You were right, it was extremely easy to ruin him. It only took a few short minutes of grinding your hips into his own before you could tell he was getting a little close to his release.

“Is this all it takes for you to get off? That’s a little pathetic.” The humiliating words only made Spencer’s moans louder though at this point they had devolved into high pitched pitiful whimpers. You were glad he was keen on the idea of some light humiliation and decided to continue with some more harsh words, “I haven’t even gotten a chance to use it anywhere near any more exciting places yet. You’re so needy, Spencer.” The evil smirk that made its way onto your face at the thought of getting to use the razor in more, exhilarating places, made Spencer visibly gulp hard.

You shifted a little forward which brought more pleasure to you, enough to push you to teeter on the edge. As you felt your release begin to wash over you surged forward to mark up Spencer’s neck with a hickey to go along with the other slight mark you had left. The rocking of your hips sped up as you worked yourself through your blissful release. Spencer may have been one of the most infuriating people you knew, but you couldn’t deny that even with a few swirls of your hips together he gave you a stronger orgasm then most men ever had. After a few gasps of your breath into his neck after your release you began to focus on his own. You could just leave him hanging and force him to take a cold shower to alleviate the straining in his pants, though you couldn’t deny how good he had been for you.

“Beg me. Beg me to let you finish.” Carding your fingers through his hair once more you yanked hard so you could get to catch a glimpse of his gorgeous neck again. You brought the razor up to rest at the underside of his jaw close to the previous cut you had accidentally given him.

“Please!” Even though his begging was only one word, you were satisfied with how desperate he sounded for you. You had completely ruined him without even taking off a single article of clothing.

“Cum for me Spencer.” As soon as the words of permission fell from your lips, his hips started to meet yours with more vigor. His groans came impossibly louder as he neared his finish, so you surged forward to capture his lips with your own for the first time. Immediately you slipped your tongue into the cavern of his mouth, swallowing all of the noises that tried to escape. He rocked his hips forward once, twice, three times before feeling the front of his slacks dampen with his own release.

When you had both calmed down and slightly processed what you had both indulged in you separated from him to help clean up the nick on his jaw and to grab him a pair of sweatpants to change into. You returned to help him finish shaving making sure to leave the little bit of scruff you liked. As you finished he moved to rub slight circles into your hip, you didn’t let him do it for very long until you made sure that it wasn’t hurting his hands too much. You were both extremely content with your current position. Maybe he wasn’t as infuriating as you once thought. In any case you had enjoyed lending him your helping hands, maybe you could help him again if he was willing.

——

Tag list (message me if you want to be added):

Spencer Reid/CM taglist- @calm-and-doctor @destiny-tsukino @safertokiss

Sub!Spencer taglist- @thatsonezesty13- tags are not working for you for some reason!!

[thebestworstidea]

The Green Knight’s Lady (4)

Sequel fic to “The Witch and the Green Knight” (on Ao3)

Warnings: undeserved redemption arc, graphic imagery and as of this chapter violence against minors.

Chapter 1: In which Rowan has Unexpected House Guests

Chapter 2: In Which They Try to Figure Out What the Hell is Going On

Chapter 3: In Which Remus and Rowan’s Stupidity Escalates to Treason (sort of)

>-<>-< ——————-<>——————- >-<>-<

Chapter 4: In Which Life is Difficult

>-<>-< ——————-<>——————- >-<>-<

     The winter waned in a sloppy miserable way, kicking out with a few snowstorms like the flailing of a dying animal. Despite not really being bothered by the cold, D.N. practically hibernated, most often found in a window seat in the library, going through Rowan’s Mother’s books and being snarky about bad information about fairies. Rowan was fairly sure it was just a way to safely lash out. She dug out an old laptop and gave him access to the Netflix account. If nothing else it kept him distracted. Something Rowan had learned was that the fair folk did, as legend said, love stories. 

And apparently, soap operas and romcoms.

Like herself, Remus seemed out of sorts in the late winter, though more in the way of someone who had woken up long before they wanted to. He’d gone into the woods and returned dressed in his more normal attire, also having brought back a few changes of clothing that was closer to D.N.’s size, and of a finer make than anything in the Baker house, despite Rowan’s sister’s cautious attempt to find a fabric the fae child would like. For the most part, the rest of Rowan’s family treated D.N. with cautious courtesy, and a certain level of ‘not be alone in a room with him’. Remus, by contrast, was treated more as a benign nuisance, though not without kindness.  Frankly, that was more understandable than Rowan’s blase attitude. That didn’t stop a certain level of speculation as to why ‘Leif’ and his friend were staying with them.

     “I’ve figured it out!” 

Rowan balled a pair of socks and tossed it in her sister’s basket across the table. They were sorting the laundry by owner, and Rowan had made it her mission to find as many pairs of socks as she could. 

“Figured what out?” 

“What’s going on with Leif and the kid!” 

“Have you now?” Rowan said dryly and a little nervously. Her sister nodded. 

“It’s pretty obvious if you think about it. The kid is the spawn of the last fairy king.”

“What.” 

“Look, it’s obvious that Leif served him, right? And we know he’s dead. So then Leif disappears for months and reappears with a kid? With scales? We know that Leif’s traveled outside Wickhills before- so clearly he knew where the kid was, maybe he was even the one who took him away, probably more of a Cronos eating his kids thing than a Arthur sent into hiding thing, and now he brought him back.” She pursed her lips. “You know, I bet Leif can change genders like a frog.”

Rowan started laughing. 

“Leif might even be the mother-” she went on. 

“Definitely not.” Rowan choked. 

“But he is related. I’ve connected the dots.” she said smugly.

“You haven’t connected shit.” Rowan retorted throwing a pair of pants at her.

“I’ve connected them.”

     As spring burgeoned forth, Remus agitated with the need to leave the house. It was clear he wasn’t used to staying in one place, even for a few weeks like this. Rowan could always tell when Remus had gone wandering in the night, because D.N. didn’t come down from the attic until he’d come back. It wasn’t as if D.N. was avoiding his so-called hosts, so much as he was totally avoiding the humans in the house as much as possible as if by pretending they weren’t there he could pretend none of this was happening. 

When spring officially arrived Rowan made them clothing, a shirt of heavy green broadcloth for Remus, and a more delicate shirt of the finest white linen she had for D.N. The shirt he generally wore was made of undyed silk, and Rowan feared that the substance had come from the shroud- or rather bag- she’d sewn for the bones of the Serpent King. It was tricky to give them, as D.N. certainly wanted no gifts from her, and Remus wanted to gift her in return. But it was simply tradition, that for the first day of spring everyone had a new garment. So her green brother and erstwhile guest needed something new too, for luck. Honestly, Rowan thought he could probably use all the luck he could get.

     It was a fine warm day in mid April, when leaves were finally starting to show, and only the most stubborn bits of snow were sticking around in the darkest shadows, when Rowan was working in her garden.

“Little tree! You’re wearing pants!” 

The whippy rose vine Rowan had been arguing with slipped out of her hand as the twist tie sprang from her other, and she took the momentary break to glare at Remus, who had appeared in her personal bubble with no warning whatsoever.

“I wear pants all the time.” she retorted, giving him a half hearted shove. 

“Yeah, but usually you have dresses over ‘em.” theatrically, he collapsed to the scrubby grass outside the garden and sprawled in the sun. 

“Well, I learned that arguing with rose bushes in a dress doesn’t end well for the dress.” She grabbed hold again with her gloved hand, and pulled a fresh tie out of her apron pocket, lashing the thorny vine to the wrought iron trellis that kept most fae out of her garden. They could, in theory, pass under the iron arbor that faced the wood, wreathed as it was in plants, but until Remus it hadn’t been much of a problem. “How are you doing?” she asked quietly. He was looking better. He’d been kind of wan, a sickly sort of green rather than his normal healthy hue like a ripening acorn. 

“Starting to feel my oats.” He responded, tipping his face into the sun. “It’s a good spring. I’d say that spring was happy about something.” in the distance, a door opened and closed.

“Seasons do seem to have emotions.” She agreed, and had to step delicately over him to get to the next bush, pulling clippers from her pocket and studying the bush thoughtfully, before pruning a few branches, and returning to tucking them in safely so they wouldn’t grab passers by too badly.  That done she carried the trimmed branches away. D.N. emerged from the widdershins side of the house, having exited the front door and walked so he didn’t have to pass the rowan tree, even if he could do so under the protection of the porch. He glared down at Remus with frustration. 

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

“Having a kip?” Remus suggested, as Rowan stepped over him again to get back to the rose bushes. 

“You should tell me as soon as you come back from the forest.” he said grouchily, not making eye contact. 

“Well, not much is going on, so there’s nothing to tell you.” Remus shrugged. 

“That’s good right?” Rowan asked. 

“A secret unsaid is a secret kept.” D.N. muttered, not addressing Rowan at all. “What are you doing out there anyway?” 

“Favors.” Remus sighed. “So many favors. I’m not exactly a favorite right now. People don’t want me to do favors for them, but I need the currency. Also fixing up my house.” he rubbed his hands over his face. “It’s kind of out of the way, so it might be safe enough. It’s nice enough to visit with my little tree, but…”

“We can’t stay here forever.” D.N. agreed. “It buzzes.” 

“Yeah.” Remus nodded. “So I’ve got some improvements to make, and gotta reassert my territory. No one got near the tree, but I don’t have much around it.” he clicked his tongue “Fun and all, but I’m in a hurry.”  he made a kissy face at them both. “But I’ll always hurry back to you.” 

Rowan snorted, and D.N. rolled his eyes. He crossed his arms and cocked his hip, glaring down at the green-clad fae. 

“I’m sure whatever you stay in is better than this.”

“Hey, owch. It’s a good house. We finally got the roof fixed last year.” Rowan glared, waving her clippers at him. D.N. leaned away. 

“Well it’s hardly the hovel I’ve seen other witches live in,” he sneered at the Victorian style house. “But it isn’t anywhere I would choose to stay.” 

“Sorry for not being a magical house.”

“Oh it’s full of magic alright. Human magic, thick and inelegant, like mud on the bottom of a pond.”

“I like mud.” Remus commented, popping up and bracing himself upright on his hands. Rowan noticed that his knuckles were reddened and split. Putting her clippers away again, she dug into her other pocket, coming up with a small, shallow clay pot, closed with a wide cork. She crouched down and grabbed one hand, dabbing the ointment onto the wounds. Remus obligingly offered his other hand when she was done. 

“Why was this in your pocket?”

“It’s better to get the ointment on big jabs right away, and I’m doing lawn work.” she shrugged, and went back to her work. 

After a while, Rowan finished her discussion with the rosebushes, and headed back inside without saying anything. Shortly after that, a car drove up hidden by the bulk of the house. Another short while later, it drove away again. Rowan returned to her garden, hooking her apron over her head again.

“Bloody busy-body is what she is.” Rowan grumbled to herself. “No need to come by every time, her tea hasn’t changed in over a year, if I wanted everyone coming by and bothering me all the time I’d start up a tea room in town and read palms and cards. It’s what I get for being helpful and offering to do a unique blend.” 

“Can you tell the future?” Remus asked, popping up on the other side of the hedge wall of rose bushes, making Rowan yelp and clutch her rake. 

“Like the weather.” She retorted. “Which is to say, not really worth anything.” 

“You’re a useless kind of witch, aren’t you?” sniffed D.N. who had taken up a seat in an Adirondack style chair they had acquired somewhere, and everyone in the Baker family hated, which is why it wasn’t on the porch.

“Yeah, kind of.” she didn’t rise to the bait, and watched him stare at the woods. “You could go, you know.”

“What?”

“Nothing’s keeping you here if you wanted to leave.”

“Little tree-” Remus said, sounding hurt. 

“Not you, you’re welcome any time. And for that matter, if he wants to go for a bit and come back, that’s fine.”

“I can’t actually. I have to ‘stay here’ until further notice.” 

“Oh right. Fairy parole officer.” Rowan sighed. “Well you could probably get as far as the property line, or where our ‘official’ lot meets up with the woods.”

“It isn’t as if I’m desperate to wander in the woodlands, Witch, I just don’t want to be here. At all.”

“Boy, do I hear that.”  she sighed deeply, pausing to look into the woods herself. The small leaves were misting the tips of the trees with color, and there was a smell of wet and rot in the air. It looked like a storm was building in the west.  It would probably hit the before nightfall, gathering the dark in the clouds and making the night come that much faster in the growing spring day. Better to get her gardening done before it hit, so she’d only have to repair the damage it did, not do that and the maintenance. The plants were being especially springy this year, and she was tempted to put this down to Remus’s presence. 

D.N. continued to watch her, as though she was some sort of reality TV show, while Remus sprawled in the scrubby grass next to his chair. 

When the first cold wet gust hit, all three of them headed inside.

     The storm was really having fun, so they were in Rowan’s room instead of the loft. Remus liked to hang out with both of them, so Rowan coming to work on whatever she was doing -some sort of project involving embroidery floss at the moment- and sit with Remus while Remus would root through her work basket, or bring out a pouch and do something himself- embroidery, or sharpening knives, occasionally woodcarving. Sometimes he’d sit behind Rowan and brush or play with her hair, braiding it into elaborate arrangements that she’d have to ask for help to undo.

Sometimes Danger Noodle would use Remus as a cushion or a backrest as if he was staking his claim. That night however, he’d pulled the beat up floral armchair Rowan kept next to one of her windows to a different window (further away from the dancing limbs of the rowan tree) and settled down with a book.

Rowan noticed that he would raise his hand and rub the back of his neck occasionally as if it were hurting. She nudged Remus’s leg and inclined her head at D.N. He shrugged.

“Are you in pain somehow?” Rowan asked, startling him into dropping his book.

“Kindly mind your own business.” Danger Noodle sneered. 

“Are you cold?” Remus asked. “You do-” he rubbed the back of his neck “lots.” 

D.N. growled under his breath, picking the book up. 

“It isn’t important.” He told them. 

“But it is a thing.”

“You never used to.”

He sighed, explosively. “Are you two going to leave me alone about this?”

“Well now I’m curious.” Rowan admitted tipping her head with a smile on her face that reminded D.N. far too much of Remus’s mischievous expression. If it weren’t for her obvious humanity, he would think they were siblings. “If you’re cold, I could get you a blanket, is all.” 

“I’m not cold.” he rolled his eyes. “I’m a winter.”

She looked unimpressed. “So what’s with the lounging in sunbeams?” 

Danger Noodle sneered at her, scales glinting in the lamplight. 

“It's just a feeling.  It’s like a cold hand on the back of my neck, it’s not squeezing but it’s there.” D.N. spread his fingers over the back of his neck.  “Like something’s watching me, constantly.” 

“Huh.” Remus and Rowan said in unison, heads tipping to the side. Danger Noodle glared, there was no way they weren’t doing that on purpose. 

“Might be something?” Remus asked thoughtfully, looking at the corners of the room. 

“I’d want to keep an eye on him, if it were me.” Rowan admitted. 

D.N. sighed again, exasperated, then Remus perked up digging in one of the many pockets inside his vest.  After a search he came up with a bag, tied firmly shut with cord. He climbed off the bed and went to kneel next to the armchair instead. 

“I made this for you.” Remus opened the intricately tied knot, and from inside the bag, produced a scarf. It looked like heavy silk of some sort, dyed a beautiful saffron yellow, covered in single-thread embroidery. Vines twisted and twined along it, with a snake hidden among them.  D.N. stared at it for a long moment, then recoiled. 

“Are you out of your mind? Wait, never mind I retract the question.” 

“I made it for you a while ago but…” Remus admitted. “You wouldn’t have taken it.”

“I’m not taking it now.” He stood up, tossing the book on the chair. “What makes you think I would even want it?” 

“You’re not as strong now-” 

Danger Noodle hissed, flashing sharp teeth, pupils narrow. 

“-so I’m going to protect you until you’re stronger.” Remus finished as if  he hadn’t just been threatened. 

“I am still stronger than you.” the young fae said disdainfully, drawing himself up to his full, unimpressive height.

“Are you though?” Rowan asked, setting her project down and watching them. 

“I am certainly more powerful than you.” 

“Oh, that’s not even a question.” 

“So what this looks like is Remus is offering you his favor to wear, showing that you’re his...  I’m going to say ‘ward’, because you’re a kid.”

“I am not a kid!” D.N. retorted, stamping his foot like a child. 

“And therefore under his protection. Displaying a connection.” 

“It’s a little more complicated than that, but yeah.” Remus agreed. 

“Which is why I’m not interested.” 

“I don’t have to give you an oath to give you my favor.” Remus pointed out, he just stared up at Danger Noodle entreatingly.  The room was silent except for the storm outside, and the faint sound of someone watching a movie elsewhere in the house. D.N. rubbed the back of his neck again, and Rowan shivered, like a gust of cold air had made it through the window. Her eyes shut and she saw dead branches against a milky sky. Blinking the vision away, she got to see D.N. throw his hands in the air. 

“Uugh enough with the eyes. Fine. I’ll take it, but it doesn’t mean anything.” He accepted the scarf and looped it around his neck, spreading the folds upward to the base of his hair. 

“It means you’re wearing something I made you.” Remus pointed out and rose up, gathering Danger Noodle into a hug, to which he submitted, to Rowan’s surprise. “Which makes me happy.” 

“Mmgnh. Fuck off.” D.N. mumbled, face pressed to Remus’s bicep. 

Rowan decided not to comment on how cute it was.

[iamthenightcolormeblack]

Pride and Prejudice 1940: "When Pretty Girls T-E-A-S-E-D Men Into Marriage"

Made during the Great Depression, this classic black and white film is loosely based on Austen's novel and is set in what is likely the 1830s rather than the Regency Era (late 18th century to early 19th century). It is an escapist piece which capitalizes on nostalgia for a simpler time by transporting its viewers to a chocolate-box vision of the past, while paying homage to Austen's social satire by delivering plenty of laughs along the way.

Overall Thoughts on the Film:

The first time I watched this movie, I was confused because the plot as well as the setting was revised significantly (the events after Darcy's first proposal are changed to hasten the happy ending; Darcy's letter and Elizabeth's visit to Pemberley are not included in this movie). This changing of plot points makes the 2005 movie a much more faithful adaptation in comparison with this version, in spite of the creative liberties both take with the novel.

Production Design:

The movie is a typical example of Golden Age Hollywood productions, with beautiful actresses and melodramatic flourishes added to increase the drama. Some of the lines are delivered very quickly, in keeping with the comedic style of the time.

The music: definitely not historically accurate. A lot of sentimental, "ye olde timey" string arrangements that emphasize emotions or fast-paced waltz music for balls/parties.

The 1830s costumes are beautiful; it seems as if no expense (or quantity of fabric) was spared in making them. The bonnets are way taller and have more decorations than typical 1830s bonnets. Some of the patterns/fabric choices are very 1930s, and the costumes are exaggerated in such as way as to make the wearers look like fancy turkeys.

Hair and Makeup: very 1930s, with finger/sausage curls, plucked eyebrows, lipstick/lip makeup, and long lashes.

The sets: the dollhouse-like interiors are lavishly gilded and made to look as opulent as possible. Outdoors scenes are lush, with lots of flowers and bushes; the garden in which the second proposal takes place is gorgeous. The set design transports the viewer into an idyllic vision of the bucolic English countryside.

The Lead Actors:

With the exception of Laurence Olivier, the majority of the actors are American, since this is a Hollywood production. Many of the characters in the film's imaginary vision of pastoral Britain speak American or make clumsy attempts to imitate British English.

Greer Garson: while she is definitely too old for the part, she perfectly conveys Elizabeth's intelligence, outspokenness, and sarcasm. Her facial expressions are killer as well; with the arch of an eyebrow along with a snarky side eye, she captivates us all. All in all, Garson effectively shows off Elizabeth's impertinence through her nonverbal acting (this reminds me strongly of Jennifer Ehle's Elizabeth Bennet).

Laurence Olivier: he effectively conveys Darcy's pride while hinting at his deeper feelings beneath the surface (I can see why Colin Firth spoke so highly of Olivier's portrayal of Darcy). Most importantly, the film emphasizes Darcy's intelligence; he is certainly Elizabeth's intellectual equal. While this portrayal of Darcy is very accurate to the book, Darcy's pride does go away pretty quickly (he and Elizabeth form a tentative friendship early on) and his social awkwardness isn't immediately obvious thanks to his charm. Also the unflattering hairstyle with the greasy hair and painted on sideburns makes me sad.

Key Scenes:

Opening scene: The title card appeals directly to the audience's nostalgia for a sentimental, romanticized past: “It happened in OLD ENGLAND (this was actually capitalized), in the village of Meryton…” The Bennet women are at a fabric shop, where they gossip with aunt Phillips about the rich people moving into Netherfield Park.

The carriage race: this scene, which isn’t in the original novel, represents the rivalry between the Bennets and Lucases. The mothers both want their daughters to be the first to snag the rich bachelors.

The first ball: There is a historical anachronism as the music is a waltz by Strauss, who became popular in late 19th century, specifically the Gilded Age; far too early for the Regency Era or 1830s England. Other changes from the original novel include Elizabeth meeting Wickham before Darcy; other events from Aunt Phillips’ ball (which isn’t included in this movie) and Wickham and Darcy’s confrontation are included in this scene.

Elizabeth’s impression of Darcy at the ball: she puts on airs and mocks his casual dismissal of her as tolerable (definitely a parallel with the 1995 version, where Jennifer Ehle does the same, but privately with Jane).

Great comedic change: Darcy introduces himself to Elizabeth after calling her tolerable and asks if she will dance with him (this originally takes place at Mr. Lucas' ball). Right after rejecting Darcy, she instantly agrees to dance with Wickham; in a humorous moment, Darcy evacuates to a corner of the room to sulk while seeing Wickham dance with Elizabeth.

The “Accomplished woman” scene: the dialogue lifted directly from the book for the most part. Darcy, in a departure from his trademark seriousness, shows off his playful side when reacting to Caroline Bingley's "turn about the room." I particularly like this added repartee from Elizabeth Bennet to Darcy, which is clever but also foreshadows her prejudice: “If my departure is any punishment, you are quite right. My character reading is not too brilliant.”

Elizabeth can't stand Mr. Collins: After twirling about his monocle, he pronounces that: “It might interest you to know my taste was formed by lady Catherine de Bourgh.” The best part of this scene is when Elizabeth plucks a wrong note on her harp when Collins gets really annoying.

The Netherfield ball (which is now a garden party):

Elizabeth running away from Mr. Collins: She looks rather ridiculous, almost like an overdressed turkey, in a white dress with puffy sleeves as she runs away from an overeager Collins. Then she hides in the bushes while Darcy helps her to hide, telling Collins he doesn't know where she is. It's fun but most likely not something a proper lady and gentleman would do (two people of the opposite gender out alone, shock!).

The archery scene: Darcy attempts to teach Elizabeth how to shoot a bow and arrow, even though he doesn’t hit the bullseye. She goes on to impress him by perfectly hitting the bullseye every time; Darcy learns his lesson: "Next time I talk to a young lady about archery I won't be so patronizing." Caroline Bingley, very passive aggressive as usual, shows up for her archery lesson right after and it's absolutely perfect.

Mr. Collins attempts to introduce himself to Mr. Darcy: Laurence Olivier captures Darcy so perfectly in this scene (really set the precedent for Colin Firth). When Mr. Collins starts talking (inviting Elizabeth to dance with him) Darcy tries to keep himself well-composed but has a pained expression on his face as if he’s about to pass out. Olivier masters the way Darcy can look so miserable but also disgusted and proud at the same time.

Mr. Collin's proposal to Elizabeth: I like the added touch of Mrs. Bennet pulling Elizabeth back by her skirt when she tries to run out of the room. The dialogue is taken directly from the book, and the scene is made even funnier when Collins holds on to Elizabeth's hand desperately and doesn’t let her get away. My only quibble is that Elizabeth isn’t indignant enough when Mr. Collins doesn't take no for an answer.

Elizabeth and Darcy at Rosings: I like that Olivier subtly indicates that Darcy is clearly affected upon seeing Elizabeth at Rosing, hinting at deeper feelings beneath the surface. I also like how the scriptwriter emphasizes that Darcy indirectly praises Elizabeth and enjoys their conversations, while she remains convinced that he hates her. Sadly, the original dialogue of the piano scene is not included, which is unfortunate as it allows Darcy to reveal his introvert tendencies, calling into question Elizabeth's assertion that he is unpardonably proud.

First proposal: The famous opening lines are mutilated with awkward punctuation: “It’s no use. I’ve struggled in vain. I must tell you how much I admire and love you." While the rest of the dialogue matches up closely with what happens in Austen's novel, both of the actors aren’t emotional enough; instead Elizabeth cries very daintily, and Darcy remains serene, which conflicts with the book's description of both of them being very angry and defensive at each other.

THE SCRIPT:

The first half of the film up to Darcy's first proposal follows the events of the original book closely, though certain blocks of dialogue are moved elsewhere and other events such as Mrs. Phillips' party are skipped over. The most significant changes, besides updating the setting to the 1830s, are made to the second half of the book to squeeze the key events of the story into the movie before delivering the inevitable happy ending.

Brilliant Quotes:

Mr. Bennet's reaction to Mrs. Bennet's despair over the situation of their 5 unmarried daughters: “Perhaps we should have drowned some of them at birth.”

Darcy insists Elizabeth cannot tempt him: “Ugh. Provincial young lady with a lively wit. And there’s that mother of hers.”

Darcy is an arrogant snob: “I’m in no humor tonight to give consequence to the middle classes at play.” (Technically the Bennets are part of the gentry; they just are less wealthy than Darcy).

Elizabeth's reaction to Darcy pronouncing her to be tolerable at best: “What a charming man!”

Elizabeth rebuffs Darcy's offer to dance after overhearing his insult: “I am afraid that the honor of standing up with you is more than I can bear, Mr Darcy.”

Elizabeth favors Wickham after witnessing the bad blood between him and Darcy: “Without knowing anything about it I am on your side.”

Mrs. Bennet's comment after she sends Jane to Netherfield under stormy skies: “There isn’t anything like wet weather for engagements. Your dear father and I became engaged in a thunderstorm.”

Mr. Bennet's reaction to Jane's fever: “Jane must have all the credit for having caught the cold…we’re hoping Elizabeth will catch a cold and stay long enough to get engaged to Mr. Darcy. And if a good snowstorm could be arranged we’d send Kitty over!”

The sisters' description of Mr. Collins: “Oh heavens! what a pudding face.”

Caroline Bingley at the Netherfield garden party: “Entertaining the rustics is not as difficult as I feared. Any simple childish game seems to amuse them excessively.”

Darcy reassuring Elizabeth after helping her escape Mr. Collins: “If the dragon returns St. George will know how to deal with it.”

Darcy learns his lesson after Elizabeth beats him at archery: “The next time I talk to a young lady about archery I won’t be so patronizing.”

Elizabeth comments about a curtain: “Oh that’s pretty. It’s a pity you didn’t make it bigger. You could have put it around Mr. Collins when he becomes a bore.”

Elizabeth on Kitty and Lydia: “2 daughters out of 5, that represents 40% of the noise.”

Elizabeth sees Lady Catherine for the first time: “So that’s the great lady Catherine. Now I see where he learned his manners.”

Lady Catherine's attitude towards philanthropy: “You must learn to draw a firm line between the deserving poor and the undeserving poor.”

Darcy takes Elizabeth's advice: “I’ve thought a great deal about what you said at Netherfield, about laughing more...but it only makes me feel worse."

Elizabeth and Darcy have a conversation with Colonel Fitzwilliam: “He likes the landscape well enough, but the natives, the natives, what boors, what savages … Isn’t that what you think, Mr. Darcy?” With a smile: “It evidently amuses you to think so, Miss Bennet."

CHANGES FROM THE BOOK:

The first half of the film up to Darcy's first proposal follow the events of the original book closely, though certain blocks of dialogue are moved elsewhere and other events such as Mrs. Phillips' party are skipped over. The most significant changes, besides updating the setting to the 1830s, are made to the second half of the book to squeeze the key events of the story into the movie before delivering the inevitable happy ending.

With the exception of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, the portrayals of the characters are (generally) true to the book.

As I said earlier, the film neglects any sort of historical accuracy when setting the story in romanticized "Old England," where genteel people pass simple lives that revolve around dresses, tea parties, social gossip, and marriages. A lot of Austen adaptations present an idealized vision of Regency life, where people are dressed immaculately, flawlessly adhere to "chivalry," and find love in the ballroom. This contributes to the misconception that Austen's novels are shallow chick-lit books with flat characters who live for lavish parties and hot men, instead of stories of unique, complicated women who happen to be well-off but aspire towards love, respect, or independence instead of being content to make economically advantageous marriages. Austen's novels are character novels and she doesn't waste time writing about dresses or tea parties; balls, while exciting, are just another part of daily life for her characters rather than some Extremely Big Special Once In a Blue Moon Event.

Austen's multifaceted view on marriage turns into a game of matchmaking. She recognizes it as necessary for women to survive in the patriarchy, since they cannot provide for themselves unless they marry well, but at the same time, presents marriage as a means for freedom if it is a loving partnership between two people that respect each other. In contrast, marriage is a game of manipulating the partners into wanting to marry (ex. Lady Catherine and Darcy's trickery). Also, it seems to be a given that Elizabeth will marry for love, unlike in the book where it is uncertain whether she will achieve this.

Kitty and Lydia's antics are viewed much more sympathetically as those of young people having fun; in the book, their behavior harms the family's social reputation, reducing the chances the Bennet daughters have of making good marriages.

Louisa Hurst, Georgiana Darcy, and Aunt and Uncle Gardiner are not in the movie.

Wickham is introduced much earlier than in the book; he is friends with Lydia from the very beginning. Interestingly, he doesn't begin to trash-talk Darcy until Bingley leaves; in the book he does so much earlier, before the Netherfield ball.

Darcy is more considerate towards Elizabeth at the Netherfield party (ex. rescuing her from Collins), until he overhears Mrs. Bennet scheming to get the daughters married. Elizabeth forms a tentative friendship with him until finding out that he separated Jane from Bingley.

Jane is more obviously heartbroken over Bingley's departure than in the book, where she keeps her pain to herself. In the movie, she runs away to cry, which is uncharacteristic of her.

Collins is a librarian instead of a clergyman. I dislike this change because some Austen scholars/fans think that Collins being a clergyman is a deliberate choice as part of Austen's social criticism. Collins is representative of how hypocritical the Church is, since he worships Lady Catherine's wealth instead of God, and preaches moral lessons instead of actually using religion to help people. My theory is that the change was made because of the Hays Code, which led to the censorship of movies for "unwholesome" or "indecent" things; the religious criticism could have been offensive.

Elizabeth reacts rather too kindly to Charlotte marrying Collins by showing concern for the loveless marriage. While she does worry about the lack of love in the marriage, initially she is extremely surprised, outright shocked, and confused.

The scene where Darcy tries and fails to talk to Elizabeth (the "charming house" scene in the 2005 movie) just before the proposal is removed.

Darcy's letter is skipped over and Elizabeth overcomes her prejudice of Darcy very quickly, as shown when she tells Jane she regrets rejecting his proposal. This is contrary to the book, where overcoming her prejudice is an emotionally exhausting and slow process that continues all the way up until the second proposal.

The Pemberley visit is removed; instead, Elizabeth returns home to the news that Lydia has eloped. Visiting Pemberley is very important as part of Elizabeth's re-evaluation of Darcy's character and provides an opportunity for Darcy to show Elizabeth that he has changed for her. The visit is key in increasing Elizabeth's love for Darcy, and removing it means that the characters have less personal growth (also wouldn't it have been great for the audience to be treated to another gorgeous estate of "Old England?"). Instead, Darcy visits Longbourn on his own and offers his help in finding Lydia. When the news comes that Wickham accepts very little money in exchange for marrying Lydia, it isn't as shocking as it is in the book because Darcy had already expressed his intentions of helping Elizabeth earlier.

Here's the change that bugs me the most: Lady Catherine becomes good; though she is a busybody, her main priority is Darcy's happiness. Her confrontation of Elizabeth is a scheme hatched between her and Darcy as a test to be certain of Elizabeth's love. This does not make sense on so many levels: first, Darcy insists that "disguise of every sort is my abhorrence," so why would he resort to trickery, however well-intentioned, to find out if Elizabeth still loves him? Second, Lady Catherine is a social snob and objects to Elizabeth's low connections; also she has an arranged marriage planned for Darcy. Third, in the book, because Elizabeth likes Pemberley and gets along really well with his sister Georgiana, Darcy would have had some evidence that Elizabeth, in the very least, cared for him. And the added claim that Lady Catherine approves of Elizabeth because she likes rudeness and thinks Darcy needs a humorous wife irritates me further because the marriage of Elizabeth and Darcy is revolutionary since it was made in defiance of societal rules!!! Why, why, why in the name of comedy did they have to do this?!

Darcy kisses Elizabeth (in a stagey and melodramatic way) after she accepts his second proposal. Seems a bit uncharacteristic of him.

All the sisters get married at the end. Happily ever after.

CONCLUSION

This movie certainly was not aiming for faithfulness to Austen's novel; it ignores her detailed portrait of Regency era society and its attitudes and focuses on the "light, bright, and sparkling" aspect of Pride and Prejudice that gives the story its timeless appeal.

All in all, this comedy of manners is definitely a classic thanks to the clever dialogue and jokes within the script, along with some great acting.

@appleinducedsleep @dahlia-coccinea @princesssarisa @colonelfitzwilliams @austengivesmeserotonin

[melancholymaz]

Enceinte (3)

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader 

Summary: Now at 16 weeks in your pregnancy, The avengers have been taking the Uncle and Aunty role with pride, With your nursery being built and painted. But it’s game night and what better way to do that than have the avengers have a sleepover? 

Warnings: Sad!Nat turns into Soft!Nat and couldn’t help but end it in domestic!Avengers. Swearing and Bucky and Steve cheating at Uno. Also talks of parents disowning their child.

Y/S/P = Your sexual preference 

A/N: Here’s part 3! I am so deeply sorry it’s taken this long! Enjoy!

Deciding to live in the compound while pregnant has been both a blessing and a curse. Unfortunately with your parents having disowned you when you came out as Y/S/P, you didn’t have very many people to tell, besides a few friends and cousins, To which they were ecstatic. 

The positives are that Nat doesn’t miss a thing as her and the team have decided to only go on missions unless necessary. So now they can be there for milestones or help if you ever need it. Even Carol has decided to stay until her niece or nephew is born. You and Natasha have both been reading pregnancy and baby books and even Tony had the two of you sleep in a spare room temporarily as him and the team combine your room with the vacant one next door for the baby’s nursery which is now ready to decorate. In about 3 weeks you’ll be having your gender reveal, as you and Nat had agreed you were far too excited to wait to see if your baby was a boy or a girl. Despite it being your first pregnancy, Your 16 week baby bump was very much noticeable, and now  you didn’t look like you ate too much the night before, like you did when your bump was first starting to grow.

You’ve been keeping as active as you could, doing mild workouts during the day to keep as fit as you can. You’ve noticed your skin has become a bit more clearer, as the ‘pregnancy glow’ makes it’s mark.  Sometimes you’ll have random blood noses, which is normal as Dr Cho had to convince Nat a hundred times, but it didn’t make them any less annoying. Warm baths and back massages had become your best friend as your bump starts to grow, If your back pain is bad now you dread the pain that is to come. You’ll even become dizzy at random points during the day, and it’s handy having the avengers around to easily catch you if you start to sway. 

You’ve started wearing maternity clothes, to which Nat loves. Your choice in bras have become different thanks to your ever growing breasts, and she loves finding new ways to take them off as fast as she can. The only thing she loves to pout about is the fact you’ve started sleeping on your left side, as now it’s rare she gets to see your face as you both lay in bed together. That doesn’t stop her from rubbing and talking to the baby every night though. 

Finishing up in the gym for the day, you wipe your forehead to rid the sweat and take a swig from your drink bottle, taking a breather before you say goodbye to Steve and Bucky who are both training together. Making your way to Your’s and Nat’s bedroom, you pass Wanda and Carol in the hallway, who asks you how you were feeling and if you needed anything, much to your gratitude.

As you enter your room you immediately notice somethings wrong. You hear a sniffle before a soft cry, and you notice it’s coming from the nursery. A frown settles on your face as you walk in and you can’t help the feeling of your heartbreaking a little. There Nat sit’s in the middle of the empty room crying, staring up at the half finished Winnie the pooh themed wall mural Steve has started, making sure to leave a spot blank to paint the baby’s name when you and Nat have decided on one. 

“Babe? What’s the matter?” You ask, slowly coming up behind her, placing your hands on her shoulders, softly peering at her face. Her puffy eyes look up at you and she gives you a small sad smile. “I thought I was the one that was supposed to be emotional.” 

“I’m sorry, I just came in here to see the mural but then I couldn’t help but think how surreal all of this is. I mean I never would have thought 2 years ago that you’d be my girlfriend much less pregnant with our first child. I mean all my life I thought I’d never have kids much less a partner. I used to have nothing, and now I’ve got this job... and this, family that couldn’t love us any more.” 

“It does seem a bit crazy doesn’t it.” You say softly, lightly massaging her shoulders as she lets a few more tears fall. You know the best thing right now is to just comfort her and let her have her moment. 

“I am so incredibly lucky to have the team, and you, and especially our baby. Everything I’ve ever wanted right here and I don’t know how or why I deserve it.” 

“To be quite honest with you my love I think we’re the lucky ones. To have someone so loving and forgiving like you is definitely rare. Beans going to have the most protective and playful mama, and I think I can speak for the team when I say there’s no one that could ever replace you. You deserve all of this, The team, the family and most importantly me and our baby.” You tell her honestly, placing her hand on your bump. 

“You think so?” She asks with so much uncertainness. 

“I know so.” You smile, to which she returns. 

“Have I ever told you how much I love you?” Nat replies, the soft smile on her face as she looks up at you. 

“Yeah, multiple times.” You smile. “Now come on, we’re gonna go have a shower and go see the team, It’s game night.” 

“Yes Ma’am.” 

-

“This game is bullshit!” Sam screams, slamming his uno cards on the table before standing up and kicking his chair. “He’s cheating!! There is no way he can win game 5 times in a row!! He just picked up 4 cards!” 

“Stop being a sore loser.” A smug Bucky says, taking joy in his friends rage. 

“Stand up and clean out your pockets.” You demand, also annoyed at your friend. Bucky does as you say with a smug smile on his face, pulling his pockets from his shorts and jumper, proving he didn’t cheat. When he sit’s down however, you catch something in the corner of your eye and you shake your head with scoff when Steve subtly high fives Bucky under the table. Nat must have seen it to, because she too shakes her head and speaks up. 

“Steven, my lovely captain.” Natasha says albeit too sweetly. 

“Yes Nat?” He replies, probably too quickly to come off as nonchalant.

“Would you like to stand up and empty your pockets too?” I finish instead, smiling at the blonde who looks at Bucky then stands and does the same, which ends in him pulling out roughly 10 cards from his sweatpants pocket. 

“Are those Bucky’s Cards?” Wanda asks, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. 

“...no?” Steve replies. “They’re mine?” 

“Steve is that or is it not Bucky’s cards?” Carol asks this time, her face stern, which you know is making Steve slightly panic. You see Bucky staring at Steve, almost daring him to lag on him. 

“Okay fine. Buck and I made a deal that I would help him win because he always loses and he’s sick of Sam and Y/N always winning.” Steve confesses ashamedly, Bucky’s eyes widening in betrayal. 

“I KNEW IT!!” Sam yells. Nat just stares dumbfounded, meanwhile Tony, Rhodey and Bruce just watch things unfold shaking their head in disappointment, Wanda and Carol stand up and start packing up the Uno cards as they both know no one will want to play after this. You, however, stare at Bucky with betrayal and hurt. 

“You always say you want me to win! This is discrimination against pregnant women.” You joke, to which Nat laughs behind you. 

“I think he wanted you to win so the baby will be named after him.” Rhodey inputs. 

“Definitely won’t be now.” You say to which Bucky frowns. “Sorry pal lost your chance.” 

“What-” 

“Yeah because we all know the baby’s gonna be named after me.” Tony interrupts Bucky, pouring himself a drink at the bar. 

“Jokes on all of you, we’re not naming the baby after any of you.” Nat replies, smiling matter-of-factly after nearly everyone looks at her offended.  “You all suck.” 

“Besides me.” Carol says, sticking her hand up. 

“No definitely you.” Is Rhodey’s reply, causing Carol to throw the uno cards at him. Everyone begins to move into the common room, deciding to chill before someone picks a movie. 

“Speaking of the baby, what’s the update?” Steve walks in, handing Wanda the chip bowl, who thanks him quietly. 

“Well, Bean should be starting to hear sounds now hopefully, muscles are getting stronger and should be having coordinated arm and leg movement.” You explain, the team listening attentively. 

“And Bean is now the size of an apple!” Natasha quickly adds. 

“Seriously can’t wait to be an uncle.” Tony says, scratching his greying goatee. “How are you wanting to do the gender reveal?” 

“Well so far it’s just gonna be all of us, Pete, Clint and his family, Fury, Sharon and Maria. Thor too if he’s back in time from Asgard. We’ll get Dr. Cho to put the respective colour in a big balloon and we’ll have like mini games and just have a fun time with all of us.” Nat explains. The team nods, and you can see Tony’s gears in his head rolling, probably just promoted himself the event planner. 

“There is to be no one invited without our permission.” You direct to Tony, who just nods. 

Just an hour later you and the team have all set up mattresses and blankets all over the common room, deciding to have a sleepover all together. Bruce and Rhodey as an exception as they believe they’re “too old” to have sleepovers. You and Nat set up on the end of all the mattresses, in case need to go toilet during the night. You’re surprised everyone agreed to do it, considering they’re the earths mightiest heroes. 

-

As the end credits of the fourth movie rolls around, you look around to see everyone but you and Nat have fallen asleep. You move back down and start to wiggle around to find a comfortable spot, but end up failing miserably. 

“You okay babe?” Nat asks, lightly rubbing your back after you groan for the third time. 

“Just can’t seem to get comfortable.” You mumble back, trying to fall asleep. 

“Would you like me to go get your new pregnancy pillow?” She asks laying her head on your shoulder, to which you nod softly. Nat gives you a kiss on the cheek before she stands and steps over you to go get your pillow from your shared room. When she comes back a few minutes later, she helps you position yourself and when you finally find a comfortable spot, you can’t help but sigh in relief. 

“Thank you my love.” You mumble, already drifting off. 

“Go to sleep Malysh, I’ll try to not keep you awake while I say goodnight to Bean.” Nat whispers, already moving down to talk to your bump. You hum in goodnight before you drift off into a deep slumber. 

Malysh = Baby

[satsuma-saturn]

Lemon - Beelzebub x Reader

A/N: I haven’t written fanfic in years, so apologies if this is poorly written :’)) I just wanted to get back into the scene and I hope Beel isn't too ooc, since I’ve never written him before. I hope y’all enjoy :’))

Reader is gender-neutral, unless otherwise specified

WC: 2174

Warning(s): Reader deals w/ depression

Fic below the cut :)

Lemons were sour, a no-brainer. You remember sucking on a lemon as a dare when you were younger, your friends laughing at the puckered face you made when the sour juice made contact with your tastebuds. After that, you’d sucked down an entire glass of water, in an attempt to rid yourself of the taste, yet it lingered. Another time, you were preparing fresh lemonade to sell at a lemonade stand, but when it came to tasting, it was horribly sour. Your grandmother gave you the advice to scoop some sugar into the lemonade, as it would sweeten it. She was right.

You laid in your bed, staring at your ceiling. It was dinnertime and you hadn’t left your room in...you didn’t even know how long. Some time earlier, Beel had popped his head in your room, letting you know that it was time for dinner. After his announcement, he remained in your doorway, seemingly waiting for you to walk with him to the dining room. With a small sigh, you had told him you’d be downstairs soon. He had frowned, like he didn’t really believe you, but he was hungry, so he stepped out and closed your door behind you. That was around half an hour ago and you hadn’t budged an inch. Your head hurt and you felt...empty.

Like the taste of a lemon, the empty feeling lingered inside you. It grew stronger the longer you laid there, staring at your ceiling in the dark. You squeezed your eyes shut, curling up in the fetal position. Your fingers ran up and down your sheets as you tried to take deep breaths.

“One...two...three…” Your eyes burned and you rubbed them with your fists, trying to wipe away the hot tears that threatened to spill out. Too late. A sob that welled up inside your chest escaped your throat, sounding akin to a dying whale. Fuck. Why were you like this? Why were you crying? You clenched your fists, your nails leaving behind crescent-shaped indents in the palms of your hands. Shaking, you slid under your blanket and rolled up in it, as if you were a human burrito. Hiding away in a blanket burrito was safe and warm, but you knew you couldn’t hide away forever. Someone would come to get you. If not that night, then they would the next morning, since you had school. Would Lucifer let you stay home if you claimed to be sick? You did feel sick, after all. Even if you weren’t physically sick, there were still physical symptoms.

When your door opened and a towering figure silently stepped in, you didn’t notice. In fact, you only noticed his presence when your bed suddenly shifted, rolling you into him. Sniffling, you peeked out from your blanket. It could only be Beel.  Who else was the size of a fucking tree? He must have come back after waiting for almost an hour for you to come back downstairs. You did tell him that you would be downstairs for dinner, only you hadn’t actually moved from your bed, so he was probably worried about you. Oops. Maybe you should have waited until after dinner to cry yourself to sleep.

“You’re crying,” he mumbled, as if you didn’t already know that. The room was dark, but you could feel his violet eyes drilling into you, waiting for you to speak, to say anything. You were silent for the longest time, though, unsure of what to say. What could you say? Sure, you could just be honest and spill your guts, but you weren't positive he would understand. It wasn’t that you thought he was dumb, because he wasn’t, but demons were decidely different than humans. Still, Beel was more emotionally intelligent than any of his brothers, so even if he couldn’t empathize, perhaps he could sympathize.

Wiping your nose, you sat up and reached over to turn on your lamp. The light scorched your eyeballs, since you’d been sitting in the dark for who-knows-how-long. When your eyes adjusted, you focused on Beel, who was watching you expectantly. You still owed him a response. Swabbing your tongue on your dry lips, you thought of what to say, how to explain how you were feeling that would make sense to him.

Swallowing, you finally found your voice. “Yeah, I am crying. I’m just...not feeling very well right now--”

He interrupts you, his voice laced with concern. “Are you sick? Do you need medicine? I’m not really sure if we have medicine here that humans can stomach, but I think we can figure something out. Do you need a cold pack? Or maybe a hot cloth?”

If you didn’t feel so miserable, you could’ve cracked a smile at his million mile questions. “No, Beel. I don’t need any of that. I’m just sad, that’s all. You don’t need to worry about me.” Your lips curved up in a small smile, but your eyes remained melancholic. That was bound to worry him even more, but you were still thinking of ways to explain it in your head. The cogs in your brain were rusted, though, refusing to budge.

His jaw tightened, his eyes boring into yours, as if he was thinking of how to respond. After several moments of silence, he took your hand in his and leaned in to speak, his voice low. “You’re sad? Did someone make you sad? If so, I’ll make them pay. Or was it me? If it was me, I…,” he swallowed, “I’ll do anything to make it up to you, promise.” You loved this man (demon?), but he was never going to need another leg day from all the jumping to conclusions he was doing.

“Beel, let me talk.” You paused for a second, waiting for his affirmation before resuming. “No one is making sad--”

“So why are you sad?”

“You’d find out if you stopped interrupting me every two seconds,” you say, your tone tinged with annoyance. You didn’t mean to get annoyed, but he wasn’t listening when you were trying to tell him something important. A sigh escaped you before you continued. “I’m just sad just to be sad. There’s no rhyme or reason behind it, but that’s just how my brain functions. Sometimes, I get headaches and nausea from it, like right now. It causes me to want to isolate myself and just generally sleep and cry a lot. Does that make sense?” You tilted your head, silently watching his face. It was your turn to wait for a response.

Slowly, he nodded. “Yeah, that’s depression, isn’t it? I don’t know that much about it, other than what I’ve read in one of Satan’s books. I got bored, though, because reading about the human brain hurt my brain.” He carded a hand through his ginger locks, sighing softly. “So, that’s what’s going on? Why didn’t you say that before? You were really starting to worry me, pumpkin.” Pumpkin. That little pet name he gave you always melted your heart when he said it. Pumpkins were stupid because you couldn’t even tell if they were a fruit or a vegetable, but you liked hearing him call you that.

“I‘m sorry,” you mumbled, hugging yourself and bowing your head. You felt ashamed. Ashamed that you were alone in your room, crying. Ashamed that you hadn’t gone to Beel when you started feeling that way. After all, you didn’t want him thinking that you didn’t trust him. He was one of the most important people in your life and you didn’t know what you’d do without him. Your shoulders shook as a sob wracked through your body. You were so stupid.

“Hey,” Beel said, softly. “I’m not mad at you. I was just worried, I guess. I should’ve known something was wrong the first time I was up here, but I was too hungry to pay attention to anything else, other than getting to the dining room for dinner. I’m still hungry, actually.” Right on cue, his stomach growled and he frowned. “Everyone else is done with dinner, so we can go to the kitchen to get something to eat. Maybe Mammon’s left some cake in the fridge or something. Let’s go check.” He held out his hand and you quickly wiped your eyes before taking it.

Somehow, none of the other six brothers spotted the pair of you sneaking to the kitchen. It wasn’t very late, so they were all still definitely awake. Well, most of them were definitely still awake. A certain twin was probably fast asleep somewhere in the house. You trudged behind Beel as he raced towards the fridge, desperate to find something to eat. Seating yourself on the counter, you watched him rip open the refrigerator door, pulling out random food items and muttering to himself. He wasn’t above eating his brothers’ food, but you knew Mammon’s would be the first to go if it came to that, especially after the Custard Incident, which left you without a wholeass wall.

“Hmm...Levi’s got something here, but I don’t trust anything from him,” you heard him say, as he searched, which was valid. “Ooh, pudding!” His tone was excited as he pulled his head out of the refrigerator, narrowly missing slamming his head. “Looks like it’s...mine!” His voice was excited as he grabbed a spoon and opened a container. “Here, take a bite. Food always makes me feel better and I thought we could share this. You’re the only one I’d share with, though.” He brought the spoon towards your mouth and you took a bite, but it was hard to swallow. Your appetite was nonexistent, but you were willing to humor him.

“Mmm, thank you. It’s good,” you said, flashing him a small smile, but he returned it with a frown. Why was he frowning? You weren’t lying about it tasting good.

“You’re still not happy. Am I doing something wrong?” He asked, taking a bite of the pudding. Even as he worried about you, his hunger could not wait. Something about that was endearing, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

In response, you shook your head. “No, you’re not doing anything wrong. I just need some time to deal with my emotions, but we can still eat pudding together,” you replied, leaning towards him. He took that as an opportunity to capture your lips in a kiss, wrapping his free arm around your waist. You could taste the pudding on his lips as the pair of you kissed, and it was sweeter than it had been before.

After a few moments, he pulled away from your lips, still holding onto your waist. “You taste like pudding. I could eat you up,” he mumbled, burying his face in your shoulder. Normally, ‘I could eat you up,’ was something cute to say and it would’ve made you blush, but hearing it from Beel was mildly concerning. “I’m not going to actually eat you, don’t worry. I mean, I could, but I’m not going to.” His voice was muffled by your shoulder, but you were still able to make out what he said. It didn’t really make it any less concerning.

“Okay, well, we have some actual pudding to eat here, and I’m surprised you haven’t already inhaled it yet,” you quipped, picking up the bowl. Beel yanked the spoon out of the bowl, thrusting it in your direction. You were confused about the mild aggression, but you shook your head, raising your hand to block the spoon. The one bite of pudding had been enough.

“Eat.” He held out the spoon, waiting for you to take a bite. “You didn’t eat dinner and you can’t go to bed hungry. That’ll just make you more sad. I know I’d be sad if I went to bed hungry.”

Shaking your head again, you said, “I’m not hungry, though. You can have the res--”

“Pumpkin,” his voice was firm, but not angry or mean. It was strange, as you’d never heard him like that before. “Even if you’re not hungry, you still have to eat. I love you and I don’t want you to get sick.” Love? He loved you? Sure, you were seeing each other and he obviously liked you a lot, but you didn’t realize that he loved you.

“You love me?” You made eye contact with him for the first time that night, your heart feeling like it was going to thud out of your chest.

His eyes widened, as if it had just occurred to him what he’d said. Maybe he wasn’t planning on telling you yet. Oh well, too late. You knew. “Uh, yeah, I do love you. I love you like I love food, which is a lot.”

You cracked a smile, a real smile, for the first time that night. “I love you too, Beel.”

Depression lingered like the sour taste of lemons, but the warmth of Beel’s love softened the blow, just as sugar sweetened the taste of lemonade.

[lullivy]

Some advice for new students (uni)

Hi all! So this definitely isn't my usual field since this is an art blog, and my word definitely isn’t the be all end all! That being said, with this being uni acceptance time I thought I’d give some advice to new students. I’m going into my third year of uni as a Biology major so I’ve got *some* knowledge :P. This might not get very far but I hope it reaches a few people. 

University and Highschool are two very very different beasts. On one hand, I’ve found that the way university is scheduled I have more social time than I did in highschool... on the other hand, the value of what I’m doing is so much higher that it is much more stressful.  So here it goes

1) I don’t know about everyone elses high school experience... but mine was... odd. I had so many teachers saying they were doing so and so to prep you for university. While your teachers know things... they aren’t always right! (and neither am I!) One thing that was drilled into me in highschool was that I should take detailed long notes, and asking for deadline extensions was very taboo. neither of these held true for either of the unis I’ve been too (more on that later...) chances are in some of your lectures your profs will talk FAST. you’re not going to have time to take super detailed long notes. your going to have to write messy and fast and shorthand. save the detailed notes for later. Don’t get roped into the studyblr aesthetic. and before I get swarmed. I don’t mean no one should do that. I mean if it works for you, go for it! if it doesn’t.... dont do it for the aesthetic. I tried it and it didn’t work for me! So i make copious amounts of cue cards on quizlet and I teach others and quiz myself!

2) Don’t EVER be afraid to ask a teacher for an extension or a way to boost your grade. If you’re professor cares, they’ll do what they can to help you. the worst they can do is say no. And if they're rude about it.... you can avoid them for future courses. I’ve only had one professor say no to an extension... and he had been on academic probation for two years.

3) I know everyone says this but its so so true. You NEED social time AND time for yourself. even if you’re an introvert. Take this from someone who had a mental breakdown in the middle of her school year. You need it, even if you’re an introvert and think you don’t. Make the time. Even if it’s just an hour once a week. I promise you it will help. 

4) Don’t be afraid to transfer schools if you aren’t happy. My first year I went to a school out of province. and I was miserable. so so miserable. but I denied it for ages, until I couldn’t anymore. transferring was one of the scariest decisions I made but I am so glad I made it! Now I go to a school closer to home, where I have my friends and I am so much happier! 

5) Experiment with courses! It’s really tempting to stick to what you know but branching out is good. This year I branched out and took a few courses I didn’t think I’d like. Writing by Women, Women and Gender studies, and Sociocultural Anthropology.  I hated two of them... buuuuut now I’m minoring in anthropology! Plus even though I didn’t like the other two, I still learned some new valuable things! 

6) PLEASE for the love of all things holy, be a good group worker. I don’t care if you HATE group work, I do too. Just... be good with it, do your share, don’t leave your group hanging. There is nothing worse than carrying a group of 4 people. 

7) This one is for the science majors : Learn how to write a lab report. a properly formatted one. I cannot tell you how many people are taking their 7th or 8th science course with me and still can’t write a formal report. Third person, past statements, (mostly) passive voice. 

8) Use your academic advisors, they’re there to help you! I was really nervous about going in the first time. “they’re going to think I’m dumb if I go in...” they wont. I promise. They helped me figure my shit out a couple times. 

9) go to profs office hours. its... awkward. But if you ever decide to do an honors program, that relationship with a prof is going to be a BIG help. But remember... there’s a fine line between being a kiss-ass and being a dedicated student. (not saying dont be a kiss-ass.... there are times for it... just be... tactful)

Anyways I know that was longwinded and these definitely aren’t going to work for everyone! This is just my takeaway from two years of dedicated studying! Happy school!

[velvett-darling]

Stay?

Pairing: Mammon x reader (gender neutral)

Fandom: Obey Me

Genre: Fluff? I think?

Word count: 2.4k

Warning (s): Spoilers from chapters 19 ahead!

Note: I haven't been writing for ages and I'm warming up to it. This is literally my first OM fic and ngl I'm pretty nervous to post this. This fic is (heavily) inspired by chapter 19 because it got me sobbing 😔

--

Emotions.

He wasn't unfamiliar to them. In fact, he had experienced them all - ranging from the fear of Lucifer's punishments, to the happiness he felt everytime he uses his beloved credit card, which he had named as Goldie. How about love? He wasn't unfamiliar with it either, but Mammon couldn't care less to pursue it. He was happy enough with his own company and his credit card.

All is fine in the life of The Avatar of Greed. Well, that was until you came along.

Words couldn't describe how utterly annoyed he was when Lucifer ordered him to babysit a student from the human world that day. A powerless, weak human who was randomly picked for the exchange program at RAD.. How dare the ravenette ordered THE Mammon, who is known as one of the seven rulers of Devildom, the second strongest demon among his siblings and The Avatar of Greed himself, to care for a pathetic human like you.

As if having to babysit a human exchange student wasn't bad enough, he had to deal with your personality. Everything about your personality clashes with his and both of you were always found headbutting againts each other. It's not that the other brothers were complaining though. Watching the priceless expression Mammon had on his face when you talked back to him was quite entertaining. Your snarky and sarcastic remarks towards him were the icing on the cake.

He remembers the way you glared at him on your first encounter in the assembly hall. That dirty look you gave him was enough to get him on his nerves, but then again, he couldn't really blame you for it. You were still stuck in confusion with the whole exchange program when he literally just barged in and yelled at you.

If he was fire, you would be ice. If he was oil, then you're water. Mammon was infamous for being a loudmouth - the moronic demon who didn't think things twice before acting on it. He was nothing but a troublemaker and the source of entertainment for his other brothers.

You, on the other hand, was a quiet and level headed person who wouldn't want anything to do with an overly outgoing demon like him. You had always held a calm and collective composure around the others and would prefer burying yourself with books rather than being an accomplice of Mammon's stupid schemes. 

Judging from the fact that the two of you were the complete opposites of each other, there was no way you could get along - let alone fall in love with each other. Or at least that was what Mammon had thought of everyday, especially after making a pact with you.

Why would he like you anyway? You're just a weak human with no powers whatsoever. He's far more superior to be compared to you. As if that wasn't enough to convince himself that you're not someone that he would have a crush on, you're too uptight and boring. Hell, you even reminded him of Lucifer sometimes.

There's no way he would like you. Not even in the slightest.

However, if that was really the case, why does his face gets warm everytime he sees your genuine smile? Why does he feel uneasy whenever any of his brothers gets too close to you? Why was he so caught up with the way your eyes sparkled when you were looking at the stars from the planetarium? 

The adorable, stern look on your face when you were trying to focus on something? That was something that he would want to remember for the rest of his life without him even willing to admit it.

Mammon couldn't shake off the memory of how worried he was when you were almost killed by Leviathan after that small TSL pop quiz competition. When he was tending to your injured wrist, he tried to be as gentle as he could. Even though he wasn't good enough with bandages, he tried his best to handle your injury.

There was also another time when you were almost killed by Lucifer for trying to protect Beelzebub and Luke. The second when you passed out, Mammon was more than worried for you. He stood by your side as your unconscious figure was safely tucked into Beel's bed, waiting for you to wake up. His heart was racing too fast out of worry but of course he wouldn't admit that. 

He got too worried to the point where he had to step out and head off to somewhere else just to take a breather and calm himself down. Little did he know, the second he stepped out was the time when you finally woke up with an unexpected question to leave your lips; "Where's Mammon?"

Despite how different the two of you were, both of you do work well with each other. You would always be the one who would try to keep or help him out of trouble, while he would pull you out from your shell to join his troublemaking schemes - like that one time when he forced you to eat Beel's custard, only resulting with the kitchen getting destroyed. The crazy thing is? You didn't even refuse to join him that night, despite knowing damn well that you'll get yourself into trouble for eating the custard.

There was another time when you found him hanging from his side as a punishment from Lucifer. He was left alone and crying, causing a strong pang of worry and sympathy to strike in your chest. Your heart almost broke at how miserable he looked at that moment, which then led you to your next crazy thing; releasing him by yourself. 

You knew that Lucifer would be really mad at you if you're caught releasing Mammon but you couldn't care less at that point. You hated the way Mammon was left to suffer on his own when everyone else was resting in the comfort of their bed. You would feel guilty if you did nothing to save him from his punishment this time.

Maybe both you and Mammon have grown attached to each other without even actually realizing it. Neither two of you would outrightly admit this, but being around each other gave the sense of joy and comfort. After all, you were the only one who didn't bully him as much as his brothers would, despite having constant arguments. Mammon felt more appreciated when he's around you and he likes that.

"Let's go this way!" You exclaimed as soon as Mammon told you to run away with him from Leviathan. You were walking at the hallways when the demon had stopped you and told you to hang out with him earlier. That was until the third brother interrupted your little moment with Mammon. As usual, he was in trouble with Levi for not paying back the money he borrowed. Typical Mammon, you thought.

Despite the situation both of you were currently in, Mammon couldn't help but to notice the wide grin on your face as you began picking up your pace to run from his third brother. The almost playful tone in your voice as you lead him towards the other direction to escape from Levi doesn't go unnoticed as well. You were definitely different from the way you used to be when you first got here.

Your attempt in escaping Leviathan has brought the two of you to hiding in Mammon's car trunk that was kept in his bedroom. Why was it there? You had no idea, but at least it was a good hiding place. It was a little cramped in there, yes, but now that you think of it, that was one of the last chances for the two of you to be physically really close with each other. 

It was your last week at Devildom and the thought of leaving ripped your heart into million pieces. Of course the demon brothers could easily visit you at the human world whenever they wish, but would it feel the same? 

The distance between you and Mammon will drastically increase once you leave Devildom. Would the distance affect what you had with him? Will the both of you eventually drift away as a result of not being around each other much anymore when time passes? 

"Damn he almost caught us. We're still not safe yet. Levi's a persistent bastard and if we stay here, he'll find us. How about we head outside." Mammon said as soon as the two of you climbed out of his car trunk, shaking you off from the trail of questions in your head. Before you even know it, he was already leading you out from his room to hide from the otaku.

Standing at the balcony of RAD, both you and Mammon were exhausted from all the running. The demon was wheezing and panted before proceeding to speak. "Alright, we should be far enough away that we're safe now.." There was a wash of relief through his senses as he straightened up to regain his composure. You, on the other hand, were already distracted by the beautiful view from the balcony.

The sky of The Devildom was never bright, resembling the night sky of the human world. Stars were sparkling magneficently, illuminating the almost tenebrous view. Colourful lights from the other buildings completed the scenery, making everything look more gorgeous than it already was.

You returned your attention towards Mammon as soon as he started laughing, before joining in as well. Who would've thought that running away together like this was fun? While you were laughing, the silver haired demon slowly stopped his laughter to silently admire the cheery look on your face. You looked so happy, with light blush covering your cheeks - oblivious of the way he was currently looking at you.

Damn he was smitten, and this time, he wasn't even trying to deny himself.

"Hey, Levi was totally watchin' from up on the second floor as we ran outta the house. Man, did you see the look he had on his face?" He said before laughing again. You were already dying of laughter at this moment.

"That was hilarious!" You exclaimed, pausing to wipe off a stray tear from your right eye for laughing too hard. It took some time for the laughter to reduce and once both of you were no longer laughing, Mammon looked at you.

Your eyes came in contact with each other and there was something in his eyes this time, that had caught you slightly off guard. His gaze on you has softened, as well as the smile that he had on his face. You weren't sure if Mammon even noticed himself doing it, considering how much of a 'tsundere' the demon could be most of the times.

"Y'know what? I've gotta say, I really have a lot of fun when I'm with you. When we're together, it's like I'm always smilin', always laughin'." You stood there as you listened, your heart pounding in your chest. You couldn't hold back the smile that was threatening to show up on your now slightly reddened face.

His words pulled out an unusual feeling from the depths of your heart and it wasn't unpleasant at all. It was a feeling that you had never noticed it being there before. It almost felt like your heart was doing acrobatics and you couldn't even stop it.

"Listen, why doncha just stay here from now on? Who needs the human world? Don't go back there." Oh how you wish you could stay here in The Devildom, with Mammon by your side. If only it was possible, you wouldn't even hesitate to stay. The look on your face turned apologetic, your smile slightly transitioned into a sad one. 

He saw the way your face changed and wasn't hesitant to continue his words. "I want you right here in The Devildom. I want you here with ME, all the time." You noticed how his voice softened at the end of his sentence. He wanted you and you could barely process the fact that he was actually saying this to you.

THE Mammon who prides himself as The Avatar of Greed, the one who hated you so much when you first got here, is telling you that he wanted you to stay and be with him all the time?

You knew that you were awfully silent than usual at the moment but honestly, was there even anything left for you to say? Your tongue was tied as your mind scrabbles for any reasonable response for him. Was it even possible to come up with anything at this point?

While you were trying to think of a response, Mammon leaned in closer towards your direction. Your eyes slightly widened at his sudden action, especially after seeing the unusually serious look on his face. His face was only a few inches away from yours and you would be lying to say that you weren't struggling to hold yourself together.

Maybe all this time, just like him, the only thing you had ever done was just denying your feelings towards the demon. You lied to yourself - telling yourself that you don't want him, when you actually do. Hell, you wanted Mammon more than anything right now. Your gaze flickered over his soft lips, the temptation to kiss him was growing stronger and stronger as time passes by.

Risking it all, you finally made a move on him and closed the distance between the two of you. Your kiss was short yet sweet, while at the same time you were anxious for the outcome of your action. Would Mammon hate you for kissing him? Will things change for the worse after this kiss? Have you done a big mistake?  

The silver haired demon was caught completely off guard with the kiss, his eyes widening while his tan cheeks hinted a shade of red. He looked at you with disbelief, his mind trying to process what just happened. It took him a couple of good seconds to finally give you a response.

"What're you thinking', doin' that outta nowhere.. Though, uh, on second thought, I'm gonna need you to do that again. Once isn't NEARLY enough!"

Your lips stretched into a wider smile as soon as you heard his response, with him gently wrapping his arms around your waist to bring you closer. "Come here.." His soft voice melted your heart, as you brought your arms to hang loosely around his neck. With your forehead resting againts his, your lips were almost touching when Leviathan's voice interrupted the scene.

"Found you!"

[make-it-mavis]

Homesick (Entry #35)

(cw: discussion of addiction) ----------

01/23/88   4:02 PM

Hey.

So. I’d admitted that I was an addict. 

Which was, as I’d realize in the days after, not just a sentence you could say and be over with. It was an admission to so many things, many of which I’d been trying so hard not to believe over the course of my addiction. That it really was that bad. That it wouldn’t just go away with time. That I could not stop of my own free will. That I couldn’t fix myself alone.

That counselling really was my one chance at beating this thing for good. 

Which, in itself, was a scary thought. If it was my last chance, I could not screw it up. And I’ve always loved screwing things up. It’s so, so important that I get this thing right, and it’s been really hard at points to picture myself doing that. Even as early as the second step, I felt doomed to fail.

The second step, of course, is Hope. 

Hope that a higher power could save us from ourselves.

Yeah. It’s not that I don’t believe in the Devs. I do, unfortunately. It’s just that I’ve always believed they’re fickle dickwads who don’t give a crit about any of us. They’ve only ever been a source of pain for me. Honestly, I outright hate the Devs. So being faced with this idea that if I didn’t find faith, I could not complete this extremely important counselling, I was understandably more than a little stressed. I didn’t get why that had to be part of the deal. So many of the steps are built around this faith. It’s integral. I had to beg the question: Do only Devout deserve saving?

Fix-it’s response to my spirited rants was to suggest that it did not necessarily have to be the Devs, just a higher power. Something bigger than him or me, some deeper meaning to life, something I truly believed in. Like he, himself, while he is a practicing Devout, places more importance on ‘duty’ than anything else. ‘Duty’ informs his actions, ‘duty’ colors his lens of the world. I probably don’t need to tell you the jokes I made out of that. He didn’t seem to get it.

That widened things up, I’ll give him that. But it widened them too much. I could either pick the Devs, or pull something out of my ass and make a religion out of it. The latter sounds like something I’d only enjoy doing while high, for cuss’ sake. I’ve never been too big on philosophies in general. Partying hard had always been enough of a philosophy for me, but then I went and partied too damn hard and wound up the mess that I was. A junkie with no rhyme or reason.

Step two was looking even more depressing than expected.

On the night before my third session, Fix-it brought out a surprise that he thought might help me relax or cheer up or what have you. He laid down a tarp, a few blank canvases, and gave me an assortment of tubes of paint and scraggly, used brushes. I was a little taken aback. I so rarely use normal, boring, non-magical paint. I was worried that using it would just make me feel worse about my brush still being on the fritz, but I was drawn to the naked canvases anyway. Fix-it sat at the table and watched as if he had put down food for a feral raccoon and wanted to give it space. Having him watch may have bothered me at one point in time, but he had done a genuinely pretty cool thing for me. I’d deal.

And let’s be real -- I am a feral raccoon.

It didn’t take me long to decide what to paint. The one thing that had been consistently on my mind: Revenge on Worluk. All in various gruesome ways. In one painting, I’d ripped her throat out with my teeth. In another, I crushed her with a giant fly swatter. The last one, which was my favorite, showed her dismembered and built into a chair that I was sitting on.

Fix-it said they were all beautiful, and they’d look so good on the shelf in the broom closet. I argued for a place in the kitchen, but no, he insisted that they’d look better in the closet.

As I worked, as I painted the gnarly details on that bug’s face, I couldn’t help but wonder what she had done for step two. What was her higher power? What could she possibly turn to for peace after what she had done to me? The Devs? Duty? Or are there just some things you can never make peace with? That is, if she even felt remorse for it at all. I couldn’t imagine a remorseful pixel in her body.

And then that led to me thinking, of course… What about me? What could ever really bring me peace? I knew for sure that I felt remorse. I definitely wished I had not gone down the path I did over the course of… well, ever since you left. I’d seen and done some really awful things. There was Tapper, there was that poor sap I threatened for a hit of GC, there was… everyone else I’d come in contact with, really. My actions had taken a darker turn than I’d ever gone down before, even in my past pits of depression. My mind was so haunted by then, I didn’t recognize it anymore. Relentless, nightmarish thoughts plagued me all the time. Trauma, guilt, hopelessness, existential questions without answers. Your death, and the blame I placed on myself. My Dev-given, meaningless lot in life. Hatred from what felt like the entire arcade over a crime I didn’t commit, enough to nearly get me killed. All this weighed down on me. It had trapped me. And the only escape I could ever see was in buffs. The thing that I felt the most fondness for, the thing that I had come to long for above all else, was a mind-numbing high. Buffs could save me from my mind, even if they ended up killing it in the process. 

That was my argument in favor of the addiction.

I had to find something, anything, that would bring a counter-argument strong enough to hold up. My guilt for hurting Tapper, while it was very deep and genuine, would only have so many legs to stand on. I even remembered my weird, buff-induced conversation with the river, wherein I realized I owed my own survival to you… and to myself. That had been a groundbreaking epiphany at the time. But it was not enough. I knew that.  Because I remembered what it felt like to be in the thick of my addiction, and I remembered how no one around me mattered anymore. Nothing I owed to anyone else would make a difference to me if I relapsed and fell back into that state of mind. Neither would anything I owed myself, certainly, not with my self-preservation offline. And in the face of all those facts... I was scared.

I didn’t feel safe. I felt like the floor beneath me could have broken at any moment, and I’d lose control again. I needed something to hold onto that could actually bear my weight, because I had become quite heavily burdened. But I had no idea what that thing could be.

It was so frustrating, nearly enough to bring me to tears as I painted. I kept remembering what Wreck-it told me when we fought, about how I didn’t actually want to get better, how I just wanted to keep using everybody, so there was no use helping me. That in particular stuck with me. I didn’t understand why at first. Maybe that was true when he said it. But it wasn’t anymore. 

I didn’t want to be miserable anymore. I didn’t want to be a plague on everyone around me, not really. I wanted to get better. But the means to do so felt like a cruel puzzle I couldn’t solve. Like a battle I had already lost.

Fix-it went to bed, but I stayed up into the night painting and pondering. Even after I was done, I took one of the paintings and began slowly and idly covering it with lazy patches of color. I did some serious soul-searching that night. I tried to harness whatever it was that drove me as a living being. Whatever it was, it must have been old. Older than my knowledge of the Devs, even. I tried to cast my mind back to my very first days and remember what inspired me then, before the Devs’ gospel tainted my life. But I couldn’t come up with anything substantial. Fun, mischief, laughter, all very important things, but no solid foundations for philosophies. Philosophies that could keep me away from substances, mind you.

It seemed hopeless. But I tried to relax with my painting. I took deep breaths and let the color flow, creating no image in particular. Just beautiful, abstract motions that felt self-soothing in the cleanest way I had attempted in a while. It really did feel great to have access to a full spectrum of color again, even if it was real, physical paint and not magical like mine. I so deeply missed having full functionality of my tools. All that time without it, I’d felt like I was hobbling around with a missing limb. I need my color. It’s just embedded in who I am. Always has been.

My very first coherent thoughts after being plugged in were about the color pulsing inside my code.

I froze.

Was that it?

Could that even work?

The force bigger than me, the deeper meaning to life, the one thing that had been with me since the very first second I remember entering consciousness… well, that was color. I see it and feel it in all things, and always have. It inspires me. It does guide my actions, in a sense. 

But color? It felt too obvious, almost. It was one of the most important things in the world to me. But could I really pull a philosophy out of it?

I felt cold, but not in a bad way -- more like a refreshing breeze on a sweaty day. But that breeze also felt hundreds of miles high, with me suspended on this one new idea that I had to strengthen before it could break. What if there was something even bigger than the Devs? Something that ignored games, roles, class, age, gender? Something that, if I played my cards right, could free me from the life I felt trapped in?

Something strong enough to weaponize against the Devs’ presence in my mind?

Even kill it for good?

I remember bursting into Fix-it’s room and scaring the bits out of him. I leapt onto his bed and stained the blanket with my paint-splattered hands.

“Color,” I said firmly.

Fix-it stammered, reaching to turn on the lamp. “Wha-- Wha-- What’s-- Mavy?”

“Color,” I repeated. “That’s my higher power. I think. The thing I believe in? I think it might be color.”

He was quiet for a second, his hands raised cautiously, his mouth open in hesitation to speak. “Mavy-- Mavy, settle down, now--” he said, not really registering my relatively controlled demeanor after my very aggressive entrance.

“Don’t tell me to settle down,” I told him. For some reason, I was shaking with adrenaline. I was so unsure. I wanted to be right, but I barely felt like I had an idea.

“Oh, it’s-- It’s just that last time you started goin’ on about color, you went and stabbed your hand with a fork, so, I just wanna make sure you’re not gonna--”

“Oh...” I said, the memories blowing up in my brain. “The kaleidoscope. In my dreams-- trips-- whatever-- the kaleidoscope… Me becoming color…”

I held my sticky wet glove to my forehead, my mind connecting more and more wires. Every thought and memory coming into my head was telling me that I was right. I stared past Fix-it, feeling my heart pound. “That can’t be a coincidence. There’s no way. That all has to mean something, right?”

“C-Color?” 

“Yes!” I jabbed him in the shoulder, at which he groaned in pain. “That’s it! My stupid higher power homework. I think I’ve got it!”

I heard him give vague and confused murmurs of encouragement as he sank back down to the pillows. “That’s great, Mavy, that’s wonderful… I’m so… so happy for you...” And he was out like a light, even with the light still on.

Whatever, I thought. Maybe he didn’t understand, but I… sort of did. That was what mattered.

The following night, though, I’d have to put that thought to the test. I went into my third session of counselling with a nervous sweat. I would have to explain my revelation to the group in words, when so much of it was just… how I felt. I’d been running through my speech again and again up until the moment I sat in that circle of chairs, and as I did, I began to doubt myself more and more. I don’t know anything about making solid philosophies, or if what I made could even be considered a philosophy. Maybe my idea was actually garbage, and they wouldn’t accept it. It was so vague. I hadn’t even worked out all the kinks in it yet. I just hoped I would understand it more as I said it out loud.

Stage fright has never been a problem for me. I’m a born performer. But this was not a performance. This was real life. I had trouble opening up like that even to you, and now here I was in a room with sprites I barely knew, including one who tried to kill me. I definitely didn’t like the idea of showing vulnerability in front of her. I didn’t want her to know anything about me.

But I knew the drill. Just deal with it.

When the turns eventually came to me, I introduced myself as an addict, and told everyone that I’d done some work on step two. There were a couple claps and nods.

“Except,” I told them, “I, uh, didn’t pick the Devs as my higher power. That’s not against the rules, is it?”

“No, no, of course not,” Clyde told me. “We have a few others here who also picked their own.”

“Charity,” someone said, waving slightly.

Another piped in, “Honor.”

Then, to my shock, the raspy voice of Worluk chimed in, with just about the most unexpected word I could think of.

“Friendship.”

Yeah. That threw me off. I tried not to raise my eyebrows so obviously at her, but I had to glance at least. I found her still not quite looking my way, but without a hint of shame in her body language. Who the hell was this chick?

I told myself to shake it off. The spotlight was on me, and I had no time to be tripped up by murderous mosquitoes. 

“What about you?” Clyde asked me. “Would you like to share?”

I swallowed. Now or never. “Sure. I picked, uh… color.”

Clyde’s featureless brows raised a bit, making my stomach clench in embarrassment. “Really? Well, that’s one we haven’t heard of before. What does color mean to you, Mavis?”

I looked out at the expectant faces. Except Worluk, who was still not looking, which I tried not to read into and just carry on. She could not ruin this for me. I had to be strong and confident, like I know I am. All I had to do was say a few words. It seemed like a simple thing to do, but I felt so damn seen, and I didn’t like it. I saw some impatient frowns from sprites who still didn’t want me there, I saw some eyes full of curiosity over what I’d say, but the rest just looked… neutral. Like I was just another part of the process. Like it didn’t matter to them either way if I fumbled or stuck the landing. 

Normally, I’d hate that. But in this context? It seemed to take so much pressure off. It wasn’t about them. It was my step to take, and they were just witnesses to it.

So I took a deep breath, and I just started talking.

“Color is… everything. I mean, it’s what I do, but it’s also who I am. Y’know, inside. Color is the first thing I remember from the moment I was plugged in. I don’t just see it, I feel it. And it’s… I mean, it’s in everything. Almost all of our games have color. That’s all we are at the end of the day, just blotches of color behind screens, and that’s… that’s kind of awesome, when you think about it. It’s something everyone has in common, no matter what game or role you’re programmed into. That makes things a bit simpler, y’know, to think of yourself not as a Good Guy or a Bad Guy or an Easter Egg, you’re just… a living splash of color.”

I wasn’t sure if I was actually making any sense, but to my surprise, I saw quite a few receptive faces even leaning in a bit to listen. They were intrigued, which was encouraging. So I took it a step further.

“As far as philosophies or things to live by, well… It just got me thinkin’ like... I’m an artist. And artists know that every color is useful. Any color can be mixed, or painted over, in any shade, in any shape. And usually…it takes a lot of different colors and shades to make a beautiful painting. So when you’ve been using the same color again and again, just monochrome, or even analogous, like I have… you’re not gonna be happy. There are so many things I’ve believed, so many things that I’ve thought to be absolute truths that have led me to take buffs. Like… I’ve never been into the whole Easter Egg thing. And I thought buffs were the only thing that could save me from that. But… maybe they’re not. Color, to me, feels like…”

I sighed, trying to pull the words out of myself. “...Flexibility. Possibility. An open mind, I guess. A new color is like a new way of thinking. And... there’s always another color. There’s always another way. And… y’know, it’s probably high time I started acting like it.”

There was silence for a moment. 

But then I saw smiles, and I heard claps, even some small words of encouragement. They were congratulating me and thanking me for sharing. Even some sprites that had given me standoffish looks before were giving me grudging nods.

I… did it. I did it right.

I could hardly believe it. I felt like I’d just spilled out some of my ugliest, most confusing guts, but they loved it.

I wanted to run. I wanted to scream. It was too heavy. I was too vulnerable. 

But all I could do was… grin.

“Mavis,” Clyde said, “thank you so much for sharing. That’s just fantastic to hear. You’re gonna do great things here -- and remember that even when you stumble, it’s that faith of yours that’s going to lift you back up again. You’re going to have to hold onto it from here on out. Don’t forget that.”

“Yeah,” I sighed so hard, it made me dizzy. “Yeah, of course.”

There was a bit more discussion, and the meeting carried on as usual, as if I hadn’t just done something incredible (for me, anyway). But I had a feeling I was going to have to get used to that. Bending myself in unnatural ways to reach this lofty goal of sobriety, and then carrying on as if everything was normal.

Because that was going to be the new normal, after all.

And my first night in that new normal, I tried to find ways to embody my colorful philosophy in whatever small way I could. I looked around at everyone in the circle, and I asked myself to examine the colors that each of them made me feel, beyond what I could see. Specifically Worluk, the one who had been giving me so much trouble, making me so much more nervous than I already was.

To me, she felt… like a toxic yellow. Barely touched with green. Just bright, garish, nauseating and impossible to ignore. While everyone else just blended into each other’s vague, muted tones. It became very apparent just how much I had been ignoring the rest of the group and honing in on her.

Surely, there was something I could do about that.

I wasn’t sure how effective it would be, but I dared to challenge myself with this: If I could not mute Worluk’s color in my mind, maybe I could at least let the rest of the group grow brighter.

[mr-kamiyama]

A Word for Zoomers Who're Told They're "Making Up" Genders and Orientations.

I'm an Xer.

Well, actually I'm in that b.1977-85 throe where no two people can agree what I am. I'm Post Dankai Junior in the old country, but I was too old to be a kid for Pokémon, Harry Potter, I caught Digimon 02 during its premiere US run a rare Saturday the firm I worked at, that normally had Saturday hours, was closed. I met Windows Millennium Edition because a housemate, as back then, I'd realised I wanted to live with company, wanted to upgrade our computer to the newest version of Windows (and I promptly made AMVs using GIFs and lost them to the sands of time all before YouTube even existed) So that gives you an idea of my age.

I came out for the first time in high school. I came out as bi.

In Japan, transness, like here had different words we no longer use, but unlike here, wasn't a secret.

If I'd stayed in Japan just one more year, in '95 politician Kamikawa Aya began advocating on NHK for trans rights.

Maybe I'd've learned that transition *to* male and actual medical treatment like HRT to make that possible existed a whole lot sooner.

But I didn't. And so, I didn't realise it was actually something I could *do* and I wasn't doomed to be stuck until about 2010.

I claimed "bi" in the '90s, and mistook "you're a really cool person and really nice to me when few people are and so I really like you in a platonic sense" +aesthetic attraction for crushes of a romantic and sexual nature.

The SAM model was developed by bi people in the '70s, but where and when I was, there weren't exactly highly visible LGBT centres where I could learn this. So I thought any orientation had to be "x-sexual"

And I only knew about straight, gay/lesbian, and bi.

Which, the term "laaaaaaaabelllls" was coined by biphobic people my age. See, we weren't like people today, who literally can't live because of unfettered crony capitalism. You could get a nice studio on the nice side of town for eight days' work at minimum wage (of course, being POC, you had to find the right realtor), which back then was under four dollars an hour. You could get a 2br/1.5ba rowhouse for about two weeks' worth, which is half a month, but these days, that much work will get you a barely-studio in shoot-you-in-the-face-in-broad-daylight territory.

But we were still plenty suspicious of marketing. So queerphobic Xers went "don't make me acknowledge your filthy non-mono sexuality! What if I told you naming what you are is dehumanising, like labelling a jar of mayo, and you're the product!"

Which is no different that queerphobic Millennials claiming "Queer is a slur uwu call it gay because cisgay and cishet are the only valid IDs uwu Gay has never ever been used as a pejorative uwu"

Which is also bunk because back in the '90s, if one young man did ANYTHING another didn't like, the other one could call it and him "gaaayyy" and that would be a homophobic attack via toxic masculinity on the first young man. Heck, I don't listen to much grunge, though I did at the time, but it's used this way in some Nirvana song. I just can't remember which one.

Anyway, so I claimed bi and spent the next 23 or so years fighting for it even against physical violence to make me claim something in the false straight/gay binary

All along, I thought "the mushy stuff squicks me because I'm a guy (insert ways I justified things before I realised that yes, I actually am male for prior to 2010)" which, yeah, I'm still sorting through the myriad manifestations of toxic masculinity and learning to spot them. What that actually is is romance repulsion.

I'm actually aroace.

To go further, I actually have very strong platonic affection feelings, and "idemromantic" is not necessarily my actual identity, but that, and at least some idea, if even wrong, that the other party was interested, was how I sorted whether I should approach the other person as "friend" or "potential partner" subconsciously.

Plus to further complicate things, I'm sex-favourable ace/cupiosexual, which meant that just hearing limited definitions of things like sex repulsion in aces didn't clue me in. It wasn't until discussing what sexual attraction was with a newly-realised gay first wave Xer last year that I realised I had no idea what that was and had never felt it, and was therefore asexual. Which after the discussion with that guy, I dove into readings by you all on Tumbler first.

And I only realised I'm aromantic last month, though I've been questioning for actually a year this month.

Now, I'd say my aesthetic attraction is definitely bi, and yes, I accept the redefinition made with the info we have now of two or more genders including your own" which *I read* as "but not necessarily all genders, and perceived gender is a factor" whereas pan seems to me like "perceived gender is not a factor in attraction" ??

Now, I still actually don't have an idea about my potential aesthetic feelings towards people who present NB. The men and women I feel it towards tend to have this or that decidedly masculine or feminine traits, and I may never, because people my age are less likely to come out.

Whether orientation or gender, people my age are products of a very binary 20th century. We were really all sorts of shape pegs, but many of us were and still are dodecahedrons and whatnot with choices of only square, circle, and mayyybe triangle holes.

Naturally, the dodecahedrons and the hexagons all tried to jam themselves in circle and square holes, whichever ones it looked like we could maybe wedge into.

This means plenty of us are going around thinking things like "I guess I don't like sex because I'm a woman" or "I guess I don't like the mushy stuff because I'm a man" or "I don't feel female so I guess I'm a man because I'm AMAB and that's all I got" etc.

Those most likely to come out are those with very strong NB/aro/ace feelings WHO BECOME INFORMED. And some may still not, or those with feelings they can't sort, because they've lived so long the previous way, they may at least feel they have too much to lose.

There's also people like me that need a lot of info to realise they were misreading their own feelings due to decades of amatonormative/heteronormative/binarist/toxic masculine brainwashing.

(I still don't like the term "toxic masculine" because I really want a term where we have more room to redefine "masculine" as decidedly masculine but wholly without the toxic stuff that's so married to "manliness," room to reject that stuff and revision manliness, but whatever)

THE REASON OLDER GENERATIONS DON'T HAVE THIS STUFF IS NOT BECAUSE YOU'RE INVENTING IT. IT IS BECAUSE OUR TIME DIDN'T ACKNOWLEDGE IT.

Yes, I think it's funny imaging how lost you'd be trying to use an 8-track player, or a library card catalogue actually made of index cards.

And had I not miscarried in December 2003 and had a sixteen year old, I'd have had them set up the internet TV device I got instead of three hours barely restraining myself from breaking it into pieces just like I was the only one who was able to figure out how to set the VCR clock and VCR+ timers when we got one when I was young. Which my difficulty with this stuff is more like a Boomer than an Xer. Most of my peers are pretty savvy. Sometimes my friends can tele-help me.

And I think new music,which I define as post-Y2K, stinks.

So I'm not hip and new. Plenty about me is just like your parents.

But no, you aren't making this up. And you're informing a lot of us. You're waking us up to how truly diverse humanity is. You're waking some of us up to who we really are.

And as for those of you who have crummy and even Karen parents, two things:

A. The Latino kids took me and the other Asian in in high school. There aren't many Asians in FL. (The "Another Chinese Family" bit on Fresh Off The Boat is so real) There are definitely some crummy Xers out there, and that's been true all along. There was even a right-wing youth org called "young republicans." There were Regean-loving racist queerphobes all along. They made my life miserable in high school, too.

B. There are also others like me that believe in you. That actually need you. You're bringing *back* a diversity that was smothered by colonial Europe. Historical precedent is actually on your side.

Thank you. I mean it. You're doing good, you're legit, and there are a lot of us who believe in you, too.

[haltandcatchfiretothemax]

FEMSLASH FEBRUARY 2020 #22: In which Cameron and Donna get dressed

[CN: gender non-conformity and related bodily discomfort with gendered clothing; non-graphic references to being harassed for gender non-conformity]

Ed’s note: @dealanexmachina sent me a prompt, and this is a follow up to the post it originally inspired!

(PREVIOUSLY)

Two nights before the gala, Cameron showed up to Donna’s house for their nightly work date carrying a garment bag. “Uh, is it cool if I leave this here? And like, maybe I could just show up early and get dressed here, before the party?” Donna eyed the garment bag with apparent interest. “I called Risa, and her partner, we went shopping, and I saw their tailor.” 

Donna’s face lit up. “So it worked out then? That’s great! Let me put this in my closet….” Donna got up and started toward her room, and Cameron went with her. When they got there, Cameron handed the bag over, and Donna hung it from a hook on the back of the door. Then, she asked, “Hey, can I look? I’m curious about what you wound up picking out.”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Cameron had said, uncertain.

Donna unzipped the bag, and when she saw the gray blazer inside, she smiled. 

Nervously, Cameron laughed, “What?”

“Nothing, it just reminds me of a blazer you used to wear when we first moved out here,” Donna said. “The one that fit you really well. You had some stuff back then that started to cross the line from ‘oversized’ to ‘it looks too big on her,’ but, you also had stuff that looked really nice on you.” Donna gently touched the blazer’s lapel, and without meaning to, imagined smoothing out the blazer while Cameron was actually wearing it, and Cameron smiling back at her as she did so. Face feeling warm, Donna zipped up the bag. “So how was it? Shopping, I mean? It wasn’t terrible, was it?”

“Eh,” Cameron sighed. “It wasn’t terrible, Risa actually came with me?”

“Aw!” Donna exclaimed. “I wish I could’ve been there!”

Looking very uncomfortable, Cameron had said, “It was a lot. It wasn’t just shopping, it was like…what I imagine therapy is like. And why I’m not interested in therapy.”

“Oh?” Donna frowned.

Cameron shook her head. “There was just, a lot of ‘why do you think wearing dresses and other women’s clothes causes you so much discomfort? Why do you think you’re feeling discomfort right now? What are you worried about, Cameron, why does this scare you?’ It was a long day.”

“Oh. Well, did it work?” Donna asked.

Tentatively, Cameron said, “I found something to wear, so, I guess?”

When Cameron showed up at Donna’s house, two days later, an entire hour before the gala was slated to begin, the only thing more shocking than her punctuality was how she looked: Donna, in a dressing gown herself, her hair already set in curlers, opened her front door expecting to find a delivery person or early guest, but there was Cameron, in a button down flannel shirt and her overalls, carrying her backpack as always, but with her hair clearly just washed, moussed, blow dried, and smoothed into place, and her (barely detectable) makeup already done. 

“Okay, the shocked look on your face? Is not a compliment,” Cameron snapped.

“It’s not shock!” Donna had protested. “It’s just…you look great.”

“Well,” Cameron pushed past her, “when I get back to the salon, I’ll be sure to let everyone there know you approve of my makeover.”

Haley and Vanessa had just sat down at the dining room table with Vanessa’s tarot cards and guide book. They watched as Cameron came in, Donna following her. Vanessa whistled, and called out, “Foxy lady!”

Cameron blushed, but then she stopped and turned to Donna. “See? That felt like a compliment.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Not that I came here like this looking for compliments.”

Vanessa and Haley looked at each other, and then back at Cameron and Donna. 

Unsure of what else to say, Donna defaulted to momsplaining mode. “So, Cameron is here, for the gala!”

“Gala tiiiime, excellennnnt!” Vanessa sang.

“Are those the same overalls you wore last year? When you fell into the pool?” Haley asked. 

“A fashion statement that’s bold in its casual whimsy,” Vanessa said.

“She’s got a more formal outfit to wear,” Donna said. “She went shopping with Risa.”

Voice full of sudden yearning, Haley said, “I wanna go shopping with Risa,”

“Can I also get in on that?” Vanessa asked. “Because I’d like to see that.”

“Would you, though?” Cameron squinted. Clutching at the straps of her backpack, she warned them, “Risa doesn’t let you just pick things out and try them on. She makes you talk about your feelings.”

In unison, Vanessa and Haley both said, “That sounds like her.”

“Well prom is coming up, right sweetie?” Donna asked. Haley gave her a look, and then Donna said, “There’s also graduation. Maybe if Risa wouldn’t mind, we could all go?” 

Flatly, Cameron said, “I love you all, but that still sounds like hell on earth.”

Vanessa and Haley laughed out loud, and Donna, struggling to suppress her own laughter, grimaced broadly. “Speaking of which!” she said. “It’s almost time. Wanna go get dressed?”

Haley and Vanessa looked at each other again.

Still feeling incredibly self-conscious and put out by the entire thing, Cameron said, “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Okay! You girls have fun, and, I guess we’ll see you later?” Donna said. 

“We will definitely be here,” Vanessa said.

Donna started toward her bedroom, and Cameron went with her. Haley watched them, and under her breath, she said, “God I wish Joanie was here to see this.”

Vanessa smirked at her.

In her bedroom, Donna grinned, “You really do look very nice. I know it’s different and that we’re teasing you about it, but it’s not because it didn’t turn out right.” She quietly closed the door most of the way without shutting it entirely. She turned back to Cameron, and said, “We’re mostly teasing you because you seem like you kind of hate it.”

Cameron shrugged off her backpack. Face scrunched, she said, “I do kind of hate it. I hate how it always feels like I’m dressing up for someone else, or some secret universal beauty pageant, even though I’m not really.”

Donna sat down lightly at her vanity. “Well, in that case, next year, change of plans. Instead of a gala, I’ll have a hayride, so you can wear your overalls, and I can wear my cowboy boots that still haven’t seen the light of day in this state.” 

Cameron smiled tentatively, arms crossed over her chest again. “I’ll invest in a new flannel shirt for the occasion.” 

Picking up an eye shadow brush, Donna said, “Your clothes are still hanging in the same spot in the walk-in, if you wanna get dressed in there?”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Cameron said. She looked around the room uncertainly, as if looking for directions, or maybe an excuse to do something else, and then she turned and went into the closet.

Donna swept some slightly shimmery taupe eye shadow onto her right eyelid, and then blended it out through the crease. She did the same to the second eye, and then picking up a black pencil eye liner, she awkwardly said, “So this is fun, huh…? Just…gettin’ ready together…having’ fun….”

As she unbuttoned her shirt, Cameron said, “Yes, my high school dreams of being best friends with the pretty, popular girls is finally coming true.”

Donna used a stiffer brush to smudge the minimal amount of eye liner she’d just applied close to her right eye’s lash line. She pictured Cameron, struggling to put on clothes she didn’t love for a party that she didn’t want to go to. “You know, I’m glad you’re here?” she called out. “I really hope it won’t be completely miserable for you, though.”

Pulling on her brand new trousers, Cameron said, “Well, there’s gonna be food, and you’ll be there. It’ll be like every night that I’m here, just with like 50 other people. I’ll manage.”

Curling her eye lashes now, Donna gazed into the mirror, and again, without really meaning to, imagined Cameron, on the other side of her closet door, carefully getting dressed for her gala, and was overwhelmed by a surge of affection. She felt herself start to flush, and then looked in the mirror, and saw her cheeks glowing red. She took a deep breath, and said, “Well, I appreciate it. And who knows, maybe you’ll even have fun, and meet some new people?” She moved on to applying her mascara as calmly as she could. 

Tucking her shirt into her trousers, Cameron grinned, “Stranger things have happened, right?”

Donna was tapping on some concealer when Cameron quietly stepped back into the bedroom a couple minutes later. She sat down on the bench in front of Donna’s bed, and pulled a pair of pointy black brogues out of her bag.

Donna glanced back over her shoulder. “Those look really nice.” When Cameron didn’t say anything, Donna asked her, “So, when Risa asked you what you’re ‘scared of,’ and what’s making you ‘uncomfortable.’ What did you say?”

Lacing the first of her shoes, Cameron said, “I told her that I’m scared of looking and feeling silly and like an alien, just like everyone else is. And then she was all, ‘No, be more specific. Dig deep for me, Cameron.’” It had been scary at the time, but Cameron grinned. She put on her other shoe, and said, “So I told her about how finding pants that fit me is really difficult, because they’re always too short, and usually, they’re either weird and baggy, or they’re too tight and show how skinny my legs are. To which Risa said, ‘Well my heart bleeds for you, every pair of paints making you look tall and slim must be a horrendous burden to bear.’”

Donna giggled so hard that she doubled over slightly, and had to put down the blush compact she’d just picked up. 

Cameron sat up, and was quiet for a second, as she listened to Donna, and watched her shoulders shake with quiet laughter. When she finally snorted and then made herself stop, Cameron continued. “Uh, I also realized that I’m weird about fabrics? It’s not just how fancy, formal women’s clothes are cut, the fabrics are like, itchy and weird to me, and like, just thinking about it makes me weirdly anxious?”

Sympathetically, as she blended out her blush, Donna said, “Some fabrics really do feel horrendous, and they don’t breathe well enough.”

Donna had just barely finished her sentence when Cameron blurted out, “When I was a kid people used to make fun of me for looking like a boy. When I was in high school I realized that what they were really saying was that I looked like, you know. Like I didn’t like boys, and that I must like girls.”

Donna looked up from the three lipsticks she’d been trying to choose from, and half turned back toward Cameron. “What do you mean, what people were saying? Did people actually say things about that to you?”

“People mostly thought it, I think,” Cameron said, hunching over in her seat. “There was this one guy I went to high school with who used to bother me about it, like, a lot, like it felt like he lived to bug me about it. My guidance counselor said that maybe it was because he had a crush on me. Which, the feeling really wasn’t even remotely mutual.”

Donna, both lost for words and still struggling to pick a lip color, didn’t say anything. Haltingly, Cameron added, “It took me a really long time to admit this, part of why it bothered me so much is that I wasn’t really interested in boys. And it felt like something must be wrong with me. And pretending that I was didn’t help, it just made me seem weirder, and more awkward, and, fake.”

Rolling her eyes slightly, Donna said, “ I wasn’t interested in boys in high school, either.” She finally decided on the deep rosy nude lipstick and swiped it on. 

Surprised, Cameron sat up. “Really?”

Donna scoffed into her vanity mirror as she started to pull the rollers out of her hair. “I mean, I dated some, in high school, and I fooled around with a couple of boys. But it wasn’t for them, it was for me, because I wanted to go out, and because I wanted to try things, and seeing what being that kind of girl was like. I didn’t really like anyone until college, I was on my own, I was studying what I was interested in, and I met Gordon, and….”

“Your astrophysicist?” Cameron finished for her.

“Yes,” Donna said quietly. She stood up quickly, raked her hair into place with her fingers, and said, “I’m gonna get dressed, though.” She disappeared into her closet, where she started to hyperventilate for a moment, before she made herself calm down and focus on putting on her dress, and stepping into her shoes, and going back out into her room. 

“Hey,” she said, trying to sound relaxed. “Uh, I’m almost ready, I’m just gonna put on some jewelry, so....” She hurried back to her vanity, where she put on a watch.

“Okay,” Cameron stood up. She started to pull her blazer.

Donna turned back to her as she was putting in the second of a pair of small gold hoop earrings. Momentarily forgetting what she was doing, Donna said, “Wow.”

She was wearing the blazer over a plain black crew neck top, which was tucked into her high-waisted gray pleated silk tweed trousers, which were being held up by a pair of plain black suspenders. As if on cue, the color rose in Cameron’s cheeks. “What?” 

“Nothing,” Donna shook her head. “You just do that so well.”

Cameron cackled as she smoothed out her clothes. “Do what well, exactly? Look confused about my gender and sexuality?”

Donna didn’t want to be overly serious, but she also couldn’t bring herself to laugh. “You look good, Cam,” she grinned. “Not every woman can carry that off.” 

Cameron slid her hands into her pockets. “Thanks.”

Donna stepped tentatively toward her bedroom door, and then she stopped to look in the full-length mirror that was hung there. Having worn a long, flowing, sleeveless, bright red dress the previous year, Donna had chosen to go shorter, slimmer, and darker for this gala. A deep wine red sheath with a slightly looser bodice and sleeves, the hemline fell several inches above her knee, and the neckline was high. Donna wasn’t typically one to second guess these kinds of choices, but she looked in the mirror, and worried that the dress was too short. She smoothed out the bottom half of the dress, hoping it would look longer, and then started to compulsively smooth her hair down.

Exasperated, Cameron joined her in front of the mirror. Firmly, she said, “Donna. You look fine.” She looked into the mirror so she could catch Donna’s eye, but then saw the both of them, standing next to each other. We match, Cameron realized. They didn’t literally match, but they looked like they went together. Cameron had never felt that way standing next to anyone else.

Donna looked at her, saw that she was looking in the mirror, and then looked into the mirror with her. I do look fine, she thought. And we really look nice together. Donna smiled at the mirror. 

“You look better than fine,” Cameron said, feeling mildly anxious. “You look really nice, as always.”

“Thank you,” Donna said. “Shall we?”

Cameron nodded, and Donna stepped forward and pulled open the door. She walked through it, and Cameron followed her.