#which means a lot of bad things compounding

[ohmeadows]

very tired.

[marc--chilton]

still losing my mind at the way houses relationship with john would have fucked up the way he sees being an omega. just,,, teen house, young and confused, experiencing these absoloutely brutal heats. not understanding why they are so bad and hard when theyre supposed to be a time where an omega feels good. already feeling broken and wrong, and then having to face john's anger and disappointment over him being an omega

like i can only imagine how it would affect him in heat, a time where he would be less able to think coherently. and constantly remembering how traumatic and horrible his heats as a teen were, the memory making him feel bad and in turn making him feel physically worse. just like,,, a constant feedback loop of remembering and feeling bad -> feeling physically worse in turn -> reminding himself even more of his childhood and feeling worse

i feel like after having to deal with his first few heats without a strong family net to acclimate to the changes, once house is outta there and doing his own thing he tries to never deal with his heats alone. he marks his cycle religiously, makes deals with alphas in med school to help him through them, or even finds street suppressants if he's especially desperate.

man. you just know john has put him outside for some of his heats, too. nothing to nest with, no scent blocking patches, just left him in the yard like a sacrificial lamb. it goes without saying how dangerous that is.

hell, once he's employed i wouldn't be surprised if he stole something from the hospital to bring home in case a heat comes up that he can't deal with, something that'll knock him out for the worst of it.

[oh-no-its-bird]

Obkk ghost marriage fic where after kannabi bridge, the Uchiha decide Kakashi can keep the eye but only if he agrees to marry Obito's ghost in a traditional ghost marriage.

(This also means he officially joins the Uchiha clan. Maybe lean into how he knows very little ab his own clan history, so there's like some minor complexes playing off of that as he ultimately takes up the Uchiha name and traditions, effectively abandoning his own -> which could also play interestingly into his negative views of his father at that age. This also means he moves out of his clan compound and into the Uchiha district— which is actually really good for his mental health)

Kakashi doesn't argue, he sees it as the ultimate atonement actually. He's incredibly dutiful but especially so at that age. He'd take it dead fuckin seriously and be the best ghost bride possible. Instead of constantly going to the memorial stone he has like a proper shrine to honor him in the house where he leaves his favorite foods n stuff

Like little 13 year old widower Kakashi w Rin as his witness rip

I'm not the biggest Rin fan bc her canon characterization feels like that usual boring "girl crush turned martyr" (naruto misogony strikes again rip) and I've yet to find any interpretations that really strike me— with one exception.

I don't remember the fic, and Rin only showed up for part of it, but I remember being rlly taken by her in it. It highlighted her being as struck by Obito's death as Kakashi, with her an official mednin working overtime in the hospital as the war ramped up. Also it gave her a smoking habit!! I can appreciate a well played addiction to cope in text. Idk I just read it and kinda went "woah she suddenly feels like a real person to me"

But like, that for Rin here. She's working triple overtime in the hospital, day and night. The war is getting worse and worse and some nights she comes home w her gloves still stained in the blood of her patients from back to back surgeries where her patients died on the table. They have her listed for eye trauma specifically after her successful transplant for Kakashi, and she's proving to be invaluable for the patients w eye based kekkei genkkai. She wants to go into specifically researching and healing for eye bloodline limits, but is struggling to convince the clans to allow her access to that information.

Kakashi's new home is closer to the hospital that Rin's parents, and stuff w her parents is starting to get... tense. It hurts them, to see their daughter struggling like this. To see her coming home with dulled eyes and bloodied hands. To be waken by her nightmares and then not know how to comfort her.

Rin slowly starts staying over with Kakashi more and more and after a while she's just kind of fully moved in, but neither of them actually really talk about it

Let them be best friends w a kind of codependency on eachother that would be concerning if not for how it's very clearly keeping both of their heads afloat as days go on and things get worse.

Queerplatonic besties Rin and Kakashi sharing the same bed so when they wake up screaming they can help eachother go back to sleep easier. Rin likes it when Kakashi summons his ninken to sleep w them. They sleep easier w eachother bc they feel safer knowing they're there to have eachothers back, just like they would on the field

Anyways, Kakashi moves out of his clan compound and into the Uchiha's. He's neighbors with a little 6 year old Shisui and is kind of picked up by the scruff by a lot of Uchiha who have really weird complex feelings ab Obito's death (many of them feeling bad ab not having reached out before to him / seeing him die so young, and then projecting that onto Kakashi)

Kakashi and sometimes Rin kind of accidentally becoming a babysitter for Itachi both bc of proximity and bc Mikoto is friends with Kushina

On that note -> Minato does not really get the ghost marriage thing. He's civilian born, and the practice is really old and hasn't really been used since like, warring states era. So Minato is kind of weirded out and very "uhhh. Are you SURE this is what you wanna do?" But Kakashi seems set, and like, if it helps him cope???

He is however very supportive of getting Kakashi out of the fucking tomb of his father's house and into the much more populated and lively Uchiha clan compound

Minato makes Kakashi ANBU and designates him as his home guard specifically to keep him off the battlefield. He lowkey does the same to Rin (minus the ANBU part) positioning her in the hospital and making sure she's getting that good good mednin education. If pressed on why she doesn't go out as a field medic, he insists it's because she shows too much promise as a healer to risk— not now that they've lost Tsunade. If Rin can grow to be even half as good as she is, it'll be worth keeping her away from the fighting.

Neither Kakashi nor Rin feel very good about this decision (tho hypocritically, they agree w it when it comes to the other, bc ofc they do)

Rin doesn't die bc I say so and Obito does a comedy spit take when he inevitably learns he's legally married to Kakashi under the eyes of the Sage, Amaterasu and all.

[snickerdoodlles]

can we really? because that's not been my experience in this fandom.

western fandom has a consistent problem in overriding other cultures with their own. emphasis on western holidays/traditions, western folklore/stories, western customs, the specific way western cultures engage with queer topics/politics. this happens constantly for all eastern media, but to me it's always seemed particularly egregious for Thai media and esp Thai bl (tbf, this is potentially because it's one of my bigger online spaces while also not being a big space so it's just what I'm seeing more of, but it is so bad). people often push back with either "it's just a joke" or "you can't expect everyone to just know everything about [other culture] just for fanfic/fandom," except that only applies when people have made the effort to learn about that culture. it's not an excuse to ignore it completely.

and what's so mind-boggling to me about moonlight chicken in particular is the constant sectioning of Jim, Wen, and Li Ming into "different generations of queer." They aren't! Jim was running a restaurant while happily in an open queer relationship with his boyfriend, yet the fucking number of times I've had to see "lol internalized homophobia" (do you guys know what internalized homophobia means) or "he's from a different generation of queer where theyre resigned to being queer" (fucking WHAT?!) posts is overwhelming huge to the number of times I've seen posts that acknowledge or engage with moonlight chickens extremely pointed narrative that social acceptance is not enough when the law does not protect queer people's rights and what happened to Jim can still happen to Wen, still happen to Li Ming. (I have seen. 2 posts that engage with it. one of which was mine. I blocked the tag for a good 8 months because it was so overwhelmingly "lol internalized homophobia" posts.)

I genuinely don't mean this comment directly to you. I don't mean this as a "no fun allowed" comment either, but Thai bl fandom, moonlight chicken fandom esp, is so. bad. about ignoring the heavily Thai cultural elements of its narrative that none of the jokes are funny in the larger fandom context.

its so weird seeing posts that mock uncle jim for worrying about li ming's queerness as though his dead boyfriend's parents (legally) stealing his entire life savings and leaving him to manage a restaurant business specifically because gay couples aren't legally recognized as couples wasn't what put him in a cycle of crushing debt and endless poverty in the first place

[txttletale]

genuine question--would you mind clarifying why the use of trans lesbian is bad in reference to a trans person who is a lesbian? am i missing some context? i tried googling but i got mostly just a lot of vile garbage. nw if you're done talking about this topic, that is understandable. have a nice day (saluting emoji which i dont have but please imagine it here)

sure. 'trans lesbian' is, like, a compound word that means specifically 'a trans woman who is a lesbian', and not just 'someone who is trans and a lesbian', in the same way that idk a 'little finger' isn't just 'a finger that is small'. & obviously i am all for recognizing that labels are just labels, that words are not the things themselves, but 1. this is not, like, some weird backformation or super restrictive definition that people make up to mean arguments, it's how that word is used in common practice by queer orgs, media outlets, the UN, and 2. i think that there is context here that makes it pretty important to be extremely clear about who is and isn't a trans lesbian in this sense.

the context is that trans lesbians (ie, trans women, who are lesbians) are like at the center of the hurricane of transphobia across the world right now. ray blanchard, the fucking pioneer of modern pseudoscientific transmisogyny, specifically singles out the 'autogynophiles' (as opposed to the 'homosexual transsexuals, who are trans women attracted to men') as dangerous perverts. TERF's most hateful transmisogynistic caricatures and canards of trans women as dangerous sexual predators who are threat to Women's Spaces are implicitly about the Trans Lesbian. it's a term that sent the entire transphobia industrial complex into overdrive when it was used in some UN org's tweet:

these headlines are not about Trans people who are also Lesbians--both these articles are filled with all the usual bile about how trans women are really sexually predatory men who want to infilitrate womanhood. neither of the people writing these articles would like leslie feinberg for sure, but they also wouldn't think of hir as a Dangerous Predator Infilitrationg Women's Spaces. & so when the trans lesbian is the fucking like cultural boogeyman that politicians are determined to performatively target and punish, i think that using that language to describe people who aren't transfem is diluting our ability to talk about this kind of transmisogyny.

& i mean like, this is not just an abstract concern, right, because the instant that i initially took issue with was someone essentially saying 'wow, why do you think that people who obsess over SBB specifically and The 80s more generally as the end-all be-all of Queerness and Lesbianhood tend towards a transmisogynist view of thoes things when leslie feinberg is literally a trans lesbian.' like it is explictly and obviously a rhetorical sleight of hand which is why i treated that ask with the contempt it deserved.

[cheshiresense]

" Kisuke's observant as fuck and Ichigo's actually really bad at staying away from this one mad scientist who created him and weaponized him and pointed him at the enemy but also followed right after him [...]. So even a hundred years in the past was never going to prevent Kisuke from gravitating to Ichigo" - I'm sorry, I'm just imagining Kisuke's confusion at the odd Shiba and the mental acrobatics he is doing to understand him. Hiyory just want them to fuck and put her out of her misery

Hiyori is the real MVP, enduring all the bullshit at the Twelfth, especially when Kisuke stops only obsessing over science and starts obsessing over science and the crazy Shiba constantly breaking into their compound and dragging Kisuke out of his labs for a spar or lunch or whatever like it's his right, and Kisuke just lets him. The day her dumbass captain starts skiving off work to stalk the kid is the day Hiyori pulls out the rulebook to check up on the laws for fraternization (thankfully few, subjectively speaking; disturbingly few, objectively speaking) and also the laws on making eyes at a kid from a noble clan (varies depending on the clan, although generally speaking, no officially recorded spouse has ever been from the Rukongai, and they're all the result of one political arrangement or another; the Shiba Clan's the best about it in that their members in the more recent couple hundred years were at least allowed to choose their own match and bring them home for approval, and the clan head and elders were generally agreeable about it so long as there were some benefits involved).

Now Hiyori doesn't know much about her dumbass captain but she's pretty fucking sure he's not only from the Rukongai, but he's also a former assassin and a creepy scientist and has like nothing going for him except a captaincy he doesn't even seem to care about. His social skills are in the dumps, his capacity for honesty and moral integrity is next to nonexistent, he's a workaholic who enjoys dissecting corpses for breakfast and stashing the parts in the freezers next to the ice-cream, his right-hand scientist is a clown with even less morals than him, and he may or may not be holding an unrequited torch for the Shihouin clan head. 0/10 would not marry. Shiba Kaien would have to be mentally deranged to agree to this match.

The thing is though, she's also heard stuff about the newest Shiba, one of them being that Kaien has zero control over him. The guy will do what he wants and damn the consequences, especially when those consequences would probably be things he allegedly doesn't care about like cuts in clan stipend allotment and disownment. Also, Kaien's a soft touch and likes this new cousin a lot and would most likely yield instead of push the point if Shiba Ichigo really insists.

So basically it all comes down to what Shiba Ichigo wants, and Hiyori's pretty damn certain she can take a good guess. She's less certain her dumbass captain can, but she thinks it means something too that for the first time since she met him, Urahara's actually taken interest in something outside of his research.

Beyond that, she doesn't actually care enough to matchmake or whatever. The Shiba kid can get Urahara out of his labs and even into his office to work on his paperwork, if only so he'll have it out of the way when Ichigo swings by, and that's all she cares about. She just wants to make sure this whole thing won't blow up in their faces and possibly get Urahara demoted because she'll be damned if she has to field another new captain, one who might be worse than her dumbass captain, which she would've said was impossible even just two years ago but she has unfortunately met Kurotsuchi now.

Everything is in line with the rules though so that's that. She has no interest in sticking her nose any farther into whatever's going on between those two, even if she does wish they would hurry up and get their shit together because her dumbass captain is kind of gross every time Ichigo is in the vicinity and he gets all sparkly-eyed at him.

[ask-the-pioneer]

"I sure do! Watch this..."

"I can make explosive spears and throwables, just like my mom did. I can also propel myself in the air by whipping my tail very fast, which sets off the same flammable compound in my tail surface for an explosive boost. Very handy for movement, but also very loud… not great if you're trying to be stealthy. And yeah, my sibling could do that too, but he was always more interested in doing other things. An energetic but very scatterbrained kid that he was."

[She takes aim and throws the spear somewhere far away. It ignites and explodes with a loud dull bang that shakes the ground slightly]

"I can't do that too often, though. Maybe a handful of times in quick succession before my muscles tense up and burn as if scorched by flames. One time it got so bad that I lost consciousness and couldn't move for a couple of minutes after waking up. That was scary, and hurt like hell... since then I've been more careful. That said, I wonder if there are more slugcats with similar abilities to mine out there? I have not met that many scugs in my life to begin with, if I'm honest..."

"Of course I remember my family, how could I not! My sibling's name is… hmmm, right, let me explain this first. Slugcats have very good sense of smell. Usually, we know one another by our unique scents. They are incredibly complex, but can be written down as series of letters, if you map those symbols to the corresponding scent proteins and other chemical compounds. For example, my scent name would be:"

"Addmitely, this notation method is very over-engineered – a slugcat just knows you are you if they smell you. From what I learned, scugs don't really use a coherent writing system.. of any kind. I think the colonies may use pictograms? I uh, I've never been a part of a colony, so I'm missing a lot of info here. Still, what I wrote on the wall – I have used an Ancient script, which I roughly mapped to key compounds that make a scent. As you can see, it's incredibly long, it can also change over time, parts of it can be masked with non-organic aromas to hide your identity, so on and so forth. To simplify even further, these long strings of letters can be shortened to just the last three or two characters, and this is what scugs may choose to use to refer to one another. Here, my scent name is MGV."

"Then, there are names that resemble the form that the Ancients would use. It's considered more refined, and more common in big colonies where people adopt their preferable roles. Those names are viewed as a kind of «gift», because you receive it from your community. It's a symbol of how they see you, what you mean to them. Of course, my closest family was never a part of a colony… but my mom would still give me and my sibling those special names. I was named «Blue», which is the color of the sky above when it's not raining, and the color of clear water. My brother's name is «Bryn» after a very fragrant medicinal plant that relaxes your muscles when consumed. I always found it funny, as my brother was often the one getting in trouble and giving our mom heartaches."

[She pauses for a moment, thinking intensively]

"Hmm, I never thought of asking my mother about her name. I wonder if she had one? To me and it was always just «mom»…"

"My other parent? I never knew him. Must have left just before or right after my mom had me, because there is literally nothing I remember of him… or them… whoever they were."

[She takes some pearls out from her bag, and inspects them one by one just to keep her hands busy]

"Mom would never talk about him, as if he never existed. And I never questioned her, I was too young to understand and simply accepted everything at face value. It was just the way things were. Would I want to meet my other parent? Maybe, but I doubt it'd make a difference. What would I even say to them? «Thanks for abandoning mom and leaving her to fend for herself»? "

"I don't know. Maybe I'm too harsh. Maybe he was a hero who sacrificed themself to save my mother. That could explain why he was never seen or heard of again. But… I have no way of knowing for sure. It's the life I won't be getting back anyway."

// In the second drawing, I've used logographs from @ikayblythe's Standard Hegemonic Dialect

[haru-dipthong]

Fake-tanuki soup or Fake tanuki-soup?

連濁（れんだく; en: rendaku）is a phonological rule in japanese that makes the first voiceless consonant of a word change into a voiced consonant when used in a compound word. For example, おり ＋ かみ → おりがみ (ori + kami → origami) ("fold" + "paper" → "paperfolding") - the /k/ sound in かみ becomes a /g/ sound (which is the voiced version of a /k/ sound) by adding a voicing mark -> が.

What’s interesting about 連濁 is that native speakers can use it subconsciously as a sort of “order of operations” system for unfamiliar words, like PEMDAS or BIDMAS in maths. A classic example of this is the にせたぬきじる problem[1]. Native speakers can immediately and with confidence tell the difference in meaning between two compound words they have never heard before, despite the only difference being the voicing of a single consonant. Take the three words 偽 (にせ, meaning “fake” or “imitation”), たぬき (tanuki, the Japanese racoon dog), and 汁 (しる, meaning “soup” or “broth”). They can be combined into the following compound words: にせたぬきじる and にせだぬきじる (note the voicing mark, or dakuten, on the latter). Keep in mind, these two words do not exist in ordinary japanese - they’ve been created as part of a linguistics experiment.

You might think the meaning would be ambiguous in those compound words: is it (imitation tanuki)+soup or imitation+(tanuki soup)? Let’s imagine we’re referring to the former. First, we combine にせ＋たぬき. There’s a rule that rendaku can’t occur if there’s already a voicing mark in the second component of the compound, but we’re safe here - たぬき has no voicing mark. Therefore, it becomes にせだぬき. Then, we combine にせだぬき＋しる. Again, しる has no voicing mark in it, so we’re safe to add it in, and we get にせだぬきじる.

Conversely, let’s say we were referring to fake “tanuki-soup”. First we combine たぬき＋しる. This combines safely to たぬきじる. Then we combine にせ＋たぬきじる. But wait, the second component does already have a voicing mark, on じ! So we can’t add one to た. Therefore we end up with にせたぬきじる.

That’s a lot of thinking and linguistic hoops to jump through to make up 2 words, but here’s the thing: Japanese native speakers who have never heard these words before can instinctively deduce the difference in meaning with startling accuracy. They correctly determine the meaning of にせだぬきじる as “a broth made from imitation tanuki” and にせたぬきじる as “a fake version of a dish called ‘tanuki soup’”. Even more surprising is the research findings of Shigeto Kawahara, which show that children as young as 9 years old can consistently deduce the difference as well[2]. I think this shows how incredibly powerful the subconscious mind is at learning linguistic rules, and how bad the conscious mind is at learning them!

[cha-melodius]

#16, Alex/Henry?

(Also requested by @firenati0n. I feel like there were two obvious options for this one: post-leaks in canon, or post-rescue mission of some kind. You can probably guess which one I chose. 😂 read all the hug ficlets)

Firstprince, 16: The “it’s okay, I’m here” hug.

Add’l note: This is more or less a tiny sequel to So Close to Something Better Left Unknown. You don’t have to have read the fic to read this ficlet, but it does contain minor spoilers for the very end of said fic.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

When Henry gave him the watch, it was half a joke and half because Henry’s in love with him and his hopeless heart latched onto the slim chance to keep an eye on him, at least from a distance. He’d expected Alex to leave it behind, or disable the tracker, or at the very least not wear it, but as far as he can tell, Alex had done none of those things. The tracker bops around the globe, giving Henry far too much information on CIA missions merely through its location. Not that Henry would ever pass on that information to his own agency, or anyone else for that matter.

That Alex trusted him not to, to keep his secrets… Well, it means a lot.

He assumed that at some point his own work would bring him within striking distance of Alex again, and he’d make use of the tracker to find him and… oh, hell, he doesn’t know. Say hello? It sounds absurd for a spy, but it’s pretty much all he could hope for. But before that happens, the tracker gets stuck for a week in a remote part of Guatemala, and Henry starts to get worried. Maybe Alex just lost the watch, or abandoned it for some reason. That’s the most reasonable explanation. Even so, Henry quietly requests recent satellite images of that area and zooms all the way in on the watch’s coordinates.

It’s a high-security compound of some sort. Not good.

He tries not to let his imagination run wild. The tracker he’d left in the watch is extremely high resolution, and he watches it occasionally move around the compound, as if someone was wearing it, though mostly it stays in one place. Alex could have traded it or gifted it as part of an operation; it was a valuable watch, after all. Still, it nags at Henry. He’s not going to be able to rest until he finds out what actually happened. The most straightforward way would be simply asking, but he has no way of contacting Alex except a burner phone he has no reason to believe Alex would be monitoring.

He sends a message anyway, but after a few days without a response, he can’t take it anymore.

It’s completely mad, he knows it is, but he makes up an excuse about tracking down a lead on a long-cold operation and books a ticket to Guatemala City. He covertly watches the outside of the compound for three days, keeping track of the men who come and go, and sends photos of them to Bea with a request to run facial recognition and not ask any questions. (She does, of course, but she doesn’t push, even when they come back with the names of some very bad people.)

Finally, once the compound’s primary resident leaves and takes with him what should be the majority of his armed muscle, Henry makes his move. The watch is still inside, and Henry follows the tracker’s signal down into the basement of an outbuilding, taking out a handful of guards with tranquilizers as he goes. The building is dark and dank, and the series of locked metal doors he finds do nothing to help the cold, hard knot that’s settled into his stomach. His hands don’t shake as he picks the lock on the one the watch is resting behind, but that careful composure slips when the door finally swings open to reveal a miserable lump curled on a thin mattress, a head of matted curls just visible through the murky darkness.

Alex flinches away when Henry first reaches out for him, scrambling into the corner, but then his eyes land on Henry and his mouth drops open. He blinks rapidly, scrubs frantically at his eyes, and blinks again.

“Henry?” he croaks in disbelief. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here for you, love,” Henry tells him, holding his hands out in front of him as he slowly moves closer. “I’ve come to get you.”

There’s a beat of silence, then another, then Alex surges toward him. Henry almost shies away himself, unsure of what Alex means to do, but then Alex is grabbing him and wrapping him up in a hug so tight it squeezes the air out of Henry’s lungs, and Henry can do nothing else but curl his arms around the trembling man now occupying his lap.

“It’s ok, I’m here,” he murmurs, rubbing a soothing hand down Alex’s back.

“How?” Alex chokes out. “How did you…?”

His voice trails off as he raises his left arm and looks at his own wrist, where a bit of watch strap peeks out beyond the filthy cuff of his shirt. Inexplicably, his captors had let him keep it, though that becomes more understandable when his sleeve slips further down and Henry sees how he’s smeared it with mud. The exquisite Patek Philippe now looks like a beaten up piece of junk.

“I didn’t want to lose it,” Alex says, his voice cracking over the syllables. He drops his arm and tries to bury his face in Henry’s chest. “That probably sounds dumb.”

“No, love, it doesn’t,” Henry says, holding him tighter. It’s torture to pull away, but eventually he must. “Come on,” he says, tipping Alex’s chin, now covered in a scraggly beard, up so their eyes meet. “Let’s get you out of here.”

[nevadancitizen]

-> CH. 1: A SILENT DOG & STILL WATERS

synopsis: the soviet union has been producing robots for a long time based on a miracle compound: polymer. but that was invented in 1941. the current year is 2038, and, due to rising tensions in the arctic, americans aren't as kind to soviets as they once were. it's too bad you're a russki, and it's really too bad that you work in cybersecurity. and honestly, with the case fowler has put you on, you're at risk of losing your job. it doesn't help that you're stuck with lieutenant hank anderson and some new android apparently called connor.

word count: 2.6k

ships: Connor/Reader, Hank Anderson & Reader

notes: based on an au i literally had a dream about. it's basically d:bh with elements of atomic heart :P this ch. is half exposition and half hank being an alcoholic lolololol

HEAD OF FALSE SECURITY MASTERLIST

The Soviet Union had always been very good at spying on and stealing American technology. They did so with the atomic bomb, the B-29 superfortress, and the space shuttle – with no lack of effort on America’s side of trying to keep them secret. 

But one thing set the USSR above the rest: polymer. A miracle compound that formed the backbone for every technological evolution that came after. It mimics a human neuron, including its ability to interpret input signals. With tinkering from top Soviet scientists (and a whole lot of luck), a gigantic neural network was established, the maximum computing power of which was orders of magnitude higher than the power of a conventional network.

With polymer, the Soviets reigned supreme as the only real international superpower. The other countries could play at being powerful, but the USSR was top dog – and she wasn’t keen on letting the others forget.

But that was in the past. And the past is boring. That was in 1941, and something you learn about in history class. Polymer is now regularly sold and traded and built upon and shared. After the Cold War ended, it was expanded outwards and is no longer a precious commodity. It was even needed to build a modern technology – androids. Ones that could pass the Turing test, unlike the TER-A1 Tereshkova (which was a human-looking robot, sure, but one that had an unsettling, unmoving mask for a face). 

And androids are simply better than Soviet bots. They’re versatile and able to be mass-produced without specialization development. They’re not big and clunky like the chimpanzee-esque MA-9 Belyash and can still accomplish the same installation, plumbing, and welding work. They can do the same agricultural work an ARU-31/6 Rotorobot can do without the risk of accidentally endangering humans while in use.

Again, they’re simply better. In the current year of 2038, American androids just trump similar Soviet tech in every way.

But that doesn’t mean that the Soviets aren’t still trying. They’ve invaded the Arctic with intent to claim the land, heavy with NA-T256 Natasha bots and the claim that the “heavy-duty ground-based loader bots can squeeze up to five liters of blood from a human body in under twenty seconds,” as a deterrent to American forces.

And this action has made your workplace a hell away from home.

Even though you immigrated from Chelomey, Russia to Detroit, Michigan in 2027, before all this business went down, people still eyed you warily – like you secretly enjoyed living under communism and the ever-watching eye of the Kremlin. Like you were just itching to get your grubby little paws on American secrets so you could report them to Comrade Molotov and a beautiful girl back home called Katya. Yeah, right.

These small, under-the-breath and glance-of-the-eye accusations weren’t helped by your current occupation: as a screen jockey for the Head of Cybersecurity of the Detroit Police. They acted like you hadn’t worked just as hard as everyone else for your position – for your polymer glove and the privileges that came with it.

Polymer gloves have come a long way from their prototype in 1955. They’re a single fingerless glove – one glove, as a person doesn’t need two – with an adjustable wrist strap. In the middle of the palm is a small silver star that can retract to expose prehensile, tentacle-like wires that can interface with terminals and other technology. 

But it doesn’t stop there – with a single gesture (holding your hand out and making an “L” shape) the glove can scan the surroundings of the user. Paired with an artificial polymer retina, the user can have information about the environment that they otherwise wouldn’t have. 

And, of course, you’re outfitted with the top versions of both – on the precinct’s credit card, obviously. 

But, again, you’re just a screen jockey. One of the best, but still just a worker bee that reports to a higher-up. There’s little to no interaction with the other departments, as cybersecurity is mostly isolated without any related crimes. Maybe cyberterrorism, but cases of that are few and far between. 

And you thought that’s all you’d ever be until you heard Fowler’s bellowing voice call your last name.

When you pop your head up from behind your terminal, you see him standing halfway through the glass door to his office. You swallow and trot over, a nervous idea tickling the back of your mind. Is he mad? Did you do something wrong? Shit… did you accidentally leak something?

You push open Fowler’s door and slowly shut it behind you. He’s sitting behind his desk, stark against the blue-grey backdrop of the wall behind him. His constantly furrowed brow and permanent frown lighten a little when he sees you.

You fold your hands behind your back politely. “Yes, sir?”

Fowler gestures to the seat in front of his desk. “Go ahead and take a seat.”

Oh, fuck. Oh, shit. You definitely did something wrong.

You walk over and sit in the chair. It screeches with a horrible sound.

You lean back in the chair and cross your arms. “What is this about, sir?”

Fowler leans back in his chair and drags a hand down his face. Immediately, the worst things pop into your head. You fight the urge to worry your bottom lip. 

“You have experience with androids, yes?” Fowler asks, but it doesn’t sound like a question – rather, a statement.

“Yes, sir.” You nod.

“And you have experience with Lieutenant Hank Anderson?” 

Your eyebrows furrow a little, but you still nod. “Yes, sir.”

Fowler turns to his terminal. “How do you feel about him?”

You bite your bottom lip as you think, then let it slip from your teeth. “I don’t know what you want me to say. He’s my friend. He is still a valuable member of the force, even if he has presented a few problems in the past couple of years.”

Fowler laughs. “A few?”

“Ah…” You smile, but it’s a bit forced. “More than a few. A lot. More problems than solutions, if I’m being honest.”

“That’s just how it goes sometimes.” He shrugs and sighs. “Do you know about the new case he’s been assigned?”

“Yes, sir,” you say. “He won’t shut up about it.”

He hums and leans forward, resting his chin on folded hands. “Always one for discretion, that one.”

You duck your head, instead looking down at your lap. “Yeah. But I think he can do better – be the cop he was before.”

“An optimistic Soviet.” Fowler laughs lowly. “That’s a new one.”

You just clench your jaw and meet his eyes. “What is this about? If you’ve called me in just to poke fun at me and gossip about Hank, I’d like to go back to my desk. Uh, sir.”

“No, no.” He holds a hand up. “Tell me what you’ve heard about Hank’s case.”

You think for a second. “Deviant androids murdering their owners. It sounds like it would’ve been labeled self-defense if it was a human-on-human crime, but…” you shrug. “I’m not in Homicide. I’m in Cybersecurity.”

“Well, you’re getting some experience.” Fowler pulls a cord from his terminal, one you recognize as a port compatible with a polymer glove. “You’re on the case.”

“I’m on the case?!” You repeat in disbelief. “Sir, I – I don’t –”

He holds up a hand for the second time. “I don’t want to hear it. You’re the best screen jockey with the most field experience I can spare.”

He gestures with the cord still in his hand. “Now, c’mon. Jack in and download the files.”

You swallow your objections and outstretch your gloved left hand. The thin metal of the star retracts, and the prehensile wires extend towards the port, waving like blades of grass. The ends of all six find their homes in the port, still wiggling like black tapeworms. 

Documents appear in the corner of your eye, one after another, like pop-up ads. You blink hard to dismiss them, then disconnect.

Fowler feeds the cord back into his terminal, then leans back in his chair. 

He looks over at you. “What’s that one saying you Soviets say? Something about champagne.”

You look up at him, then down to your glove. The star retracts, then goes back to its original position, like it was winking at you. “He who doesn’t take risks won’t drink champagne.”

“Well, I hope you have a taste for harder liquor,” Fowler says. “Hank’s at having a drink somewhere nearby. Go find him.”

And Lord, did you know right where to find Hank. 

On the door to Jimmy’s Bar is a firm warning, reading: NO ANDROIDS ALLOWED – OWNERS WILL BE PROSECUTED. You just hope that they don’t extend the same kindness to russkis. 

When you open the door, everyone in the bar turns to look at you. You nod and, once they see who you are, turn back to their conversations or nursing their drinks. 

You spot Hank at the bar with what looks like a Tennessee whiskey. You sidle up onto the barstool next to him, easing into the creaky seat. As you drape your rain-speckled coat on the back of the chair, you glance at the clock on the wall. It reads just before twenty past eleven.

“Bartender?” You call. Your thick accent immediately catches his attention, and so does the money you slide onto the bartop. “Vodka, please.”

The bartender, presumably Jimmy, picks up a bottle of Stolichnaya from the shelving behind him. “This good?”

You nod. “More than good.”

He pours vodka into a tumbler glass, then pushes it across the bar. You accept it readily, and the tiny sip you take gives your throat a nice burn on the way down.

“A Soviet and vodka,” Hank mumbles against the lip of his glass. “Like a moth to a flame.”

“It’s what my mother served with dinner,” you say. “I’m just glad Jimmy’s got enough sense not to keep us from his bar.”

Hank chuckles and raises his glass to that.

“Fowler’s gone beyond the pale.” You sip at your drink. “Have you heard?”

“Yup.” He sighs, setting his drink on the bartop harder than necessary. “Don’t know why a kid like you has business with an old timer like me.”

“Oh, believe me,” you say, your voice heavy with sarcasm. “It’s nice to visit, but it’s better to be home. I don’t know what he’s thinking. A Cybersecurity worker partnering up with someone in Homicide? Next, we’ll have androids doing our thinking and philosophy instead of our laundry and dishes.”

Hank snorts into his drink. “Hell, with all these runaways? They might as well be.”

“I mean, I can see his line of thinking.” You swirl the vodka in your glass, watching the way it catches and reflects the low light of the bar. “Cybersecurity, androids… makes sense, but me? A russki? With all that’s happening in the Arctic? If we don’t do well, my job is on the line.”

Hank sips his whiskey. “It really sounds like Fowler’s settin’ you up to fail.”

“Setting us both up to fail.” You correct and mirror him, sipping at your vodka. 

The sound of the door opening and the rain outside cuts into your conversation. Nothing you’d usually take a glance at, but what puts you off is the sudden silence of the bar. Bars shouldn’t be silent – especially not Jimmy’s.

You look over your left shoulder and see a nice looking man that’s just walked through the door. He looks a bit dorky, sure, and a bit like a lost puppy dog, but that could look nice on certain guys. And the asymmetrical tuft of loose hair that’s escaped his hair gel looks –

There’s a blue triangle just above where his left breast pocket would be. On the other side of his blazer reads RK800 in even, white text. He’s an android, not a man. He meets your gaze and you inhale sharply.

Your eyes return to your drink, and so does Hank’s. This isn’t what you want to deal with right now – or ever, actually. It’s Jimmy’s establishment, so it’s Jimmy’s problem.

But still, as soon as the android saw you, he started making a beeline for you. His footsteps are quick, measured, and even. 

“Excuse me,” he says, putting a hand on your shoulder. He addresses you by your title, and your gut clenches.

“No.” You try to wave him off. “No English. Sorry.”

“Officer, you passed each of your TestEaFL’s with flying colors,” he says, narrowing his eyes a little. “You can speak English perfectly fine.”

You cringe a little, but then a thought strikes you – how would this android have access to the scores of your Test of English as a Foreign Language? But before you can ask, he’s turned to Hank and started speaking.

“Oh, Lieutenant Anderson.” He moves so that he’s standing beside Hank. “Just the other person I was looking for.”

He glances between the two of you. “My name is Connor. I’m the android sent by CyberLife. Captain Fowler said that you were both having a drink nearby. I was lucky to find you at the fifth bar.”

You snort and your eyebrows shoot up. If you didn’t know better, you’d say that there was a hint of… something other than monotone indifference in his voice.

“What do you want?” Hank grinds out.

“You were assigned a case early this evening. A homicide, involving a CyberLife android.” Connor glances at you, like he’s reminding you that you were also assigned this case. “In accordance with procedure, the company has allocated a specialized model to assist investigators.”

“Well, I don’t need any assistance.” Hank jabs a thumb at you. “I’ve got all the unwanted assistance I need right here, and I don’t need any more. ‘Specially not from a plastic asshole like you. So just be a good lil’ robot and get the fuck outta here.”

“He’s right,” you chime. “And it doesn’t really look good to have androids investigating androids. What if you snap, too?”

“I will not.” Connor meets your eyes, and you can almost see the switch flick in that little android brain. Great, now it’s your turn to be grilled.

He circles so that he’s standing beside you and leans down a little, putting his hand on the bartop. You keep your eyes down, firmly on your drink. 

“I’m sorry, Officer, Lieutenant, but I must insist,” he says. “My instructions stipulate that I have to accompany both of you.”

“You know where you can stick your instructions?” Hank chimes in with a throaty laugh.

You glance over at Connor, who looks thoroughly confused. You smile and bring the glass to your lips. 

“No,” Connor says. “Where?”

Your throat seizes around the sip of vodka you were trying to take, causing you to cough it out as you try to suppress your laughter. You slam down the glass (effectively spilling most of it) and bring a hand to your chest, trying to ride it out as Hank pats your back.

“чёрт возьми!” You wheeze, your voice hoarse. Your chest burns. “Oh, fuck.”

You wipe your eyes as the burn dulls, still coughing slightly. Connor purses his lips before coming to a conclusion. 

“You know what?” He offers. “I’ll buy you both one for the road.”

“You better,” you say. “You made me spill mine.”

“Bartender!” Connor calls, and slips money onto the bartop. “The same again, please.”

“See that, Jim?” Hank says. “Wonders of technology. Make it a double.”

Jimmy pours a healthy amount of Jack Daniels into Hank’s glass, and starts to pour Stolichnaya into yours. You cut him halfway with a raised hand and a “Someone’s gotta drive us home safe.”

You knock back your drink, then let out a low whistle at the nice burn. Hank follows soon after and sighs heavily. 

He leans back and looks over at Connor. “Did you say homicide?”

[jjkamochoso]

hiii

idk if u take reqs rn or not feel free to ignore this

so i was thinking abt jjk guys and how they would react if u couldn't have a baby... like you want to but can't :(

i know this is a heavy subject and super angsty so i understand if u don't wanna do it

have a great day <333

Hello☺️ thank you so much for sending in this request! I’m always up for writing super angsty/sensitive topics so thank you for trusting me with this one, I hope I did it justice! I wrote this with a cis female reader in mind and only did the older characters if that’s alright, I didn’t feel comfortable writing this for any of the under 18 students. Also, if anyone is struggling with this irl, just know my heart is with you and you’re no less of a person just because you struggle with fertility issues❤️ sending all of you lots of love!🫶❤️

JJK Men Reacting to You Unable to Have a Baby

Angst, Fluff

JJK Men x f!reader

Warnings: sensitive topic at hand! Fertility issues and mentions of doctor’s appointments (nothing graphic); slight cussing in Gojo’s

Noritoshi:

You quickly entered your residence, shutting the front door as fast as you could. You didn’t want to be noticed by anyone right now, especially not a member of the Kamo clan, which was difficult seeing as you lived with your husband Noritoshi at his family’s expansive compound. Little did you know, the Kamo you dreaded to see the most right now was already waiting for you.

“Welcome back. How was your appointment?” asked Noritoshi, pouring two cups of tea. You gulped, trying to keep your tears at bay.

“The doctor said I’m unable to have a baby,” you said in a hushed tone, the news feeling all too real now that you said it out loud. Noritoshi was by your side immediately, tea cups abandoned on the countertop.

“There’s no chance ever?” he asked in a gentle tone.

“Never.” The dam inside you broke, tears overflowing. “Oh Noritoshi, what are we going to do? I can’t give you a baby of our own! We wanted this so bad,” you sobbed. Noritoshi pulled you into his chest, holding you close as you fell apart.

“What are we going to tell your family?” you continued. “We can’t have an heir; I’m going to get you disowned. We’ll have no house, no money, no child-”

“Enough of that,” he interrupted firmly but lovingly, his eyes finding yours as he opted to hold your shaking hands. “My clan will do no such thing. And even if they did, as long as I have you, I’d still be the richest man in the world.”

“But I can’t have a baby,” you sniffled. “We can’t have a baby.”

“I know it’s what we hoped for and I can’t imagine the burden you must be feeling right now,” he said, wiping your tears with his thumb, “but none of this is your fault. You might not be able to carry a child but that doesn’t mean we can’t raise one. We can always explore options like adoption in the future if that’s something you’d like. For now, though, let us grieve this loss so when we’re ready, we can step into the future with renewed hope and optimism.”

You nodded in agreement, grateful for the tissue he provided you along with the lingering kiss pressed to your forehead. It wasn’t going to be an easy journey ahead of you, but with the level headed, caring Noritoshi by your side, you knew you would be just fine.

Todo:

Leaving your doctor’s appointment, you felt numb. It was like your mind refused to process what the doctor had told you: you were unable to have a baby. You didn’t know how to tell Aoi, your husband. You two had dreamt of having kids for a long time and you didn’t want to break his heart with this horrible revelation.

As if he had heard your thoughts, you felt your phone vibrate and saw it was him calling. You sighed, knowing it was probably better to rip off the proverbial bandaid.

“Hey, beautiful. How was everything at your appointment?” he asked.

“Truthfully? Not good.” You bit your lip to stop from crying.

“What happened? Are you alright?”

“No, I’m not alright,” you confessed, tears already starting to fall down your cheeks, “I can’t get pregnant, Aoi. I can’t have a baby.”

At that point, you were practically sobbing in the city street.

“I’m coming to pick you up, honey, don’t worry. Are you still at the hospital?”

“No, Aoi, I’m fine-” you protested through your cries, but he wasn’t having it.

“I won’t let you go through this alone. Please, let me be there for you right now.”

You heard his voice tremble the slightest bit through the phone’s receiver and you realized he needed you as much as you needed him right now.

“Okay,” you whispered.

“I’m on my way. Don’t hang up, I want to hear your gorgeous voice until I can see your gorgeous face.”

That got you to crack a smile for the first time all day.

When Aoi finally showed up, he wrapped you into a tight hug, not daring to let go or caring who sees.

“Whatever the challenge, we’re up against it as a team. I’ll always be by your side, no matter what life throws at us,” he told you, giving your lips a soft kiss before taking you in his arms once more. “We can talk about this more when we get home but right now I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Ino:

You were grateful that Ino wanted to come with you to your doctor’s appointment since you hated going alone, especially when the nature of the appointment had to do with your reproductive health.

It was also extremely helpful to have your husband there for support when you received devastating news from your doctor.

“I’m so sorry Ms. L/n, but you’re completely unable to conceive.”

Ino anxiously grabbed onto your hand. “Do you mean right now, for the foreseeable future, or like… forever?”

“Unfortunately, Mr. Takuma, I mean forever. She will never be able to carry a baby.”

You sat there, dumbfounded, unable to create even a single thought as your world crashed down around you. Sensing your anguish, the doctor stepped out of the room to let you two have a few minutes alone.

The room was deathly quiet, the only sound being the tick of a clock on the wall and your heart pounding in your chest.

“What are we gonna do?” you eventually said, your mouth dry as a desert. You turned to look at the man next to you, tears finally filling up your eyes. “Ino?”

“I… I don’t know,” he responded with a defeated tone and tearing up as well. “I…”

You were both at a loss for words. You registered Ino’s hand leaving your own, the empty feeling mirroring how you felt inside, until he brought you into a bone crushing hug, his tears soaking your shoulder.

“We’re gonna get through this,” he said, sniffling, “we have to. This sucks now, and it’s gonna suck for a long time after this, but we still have each other which is more than I could ever hope for.”

“Are you sure?” you asked, your voice small. “You’d be alright if we didn’t have a kid?”

He gave you an adoring smile. “Of course I’d be alright. If having a baby of our own isn’t in the cards for us, that doesn’t mean we can’t raise a kid. We could look into adoption or who knows, maybe we could pull a Nanami and find ourselves mentoring our own little Ino.”

The giggle you let out was a testament to the strength of your relationship and Ino’s commitment to always keep your spirits up when times get extremely tough.

Gojo:

You finally let out the shuddered breath that you had been holding ever since you left your doctor’s appointment. You had gone in because you and Satoru had been trying for a baby for over a year now and still hadn’t made any progress. What the doctor figured out, though, was what you had been dreading this entire time but prayed wasn’t the case.

“Hey! How was it?” Satoru’s chirpy voice rang out in your apartment, causing your eyes to well with tears.

“Not good,” you called out. Satoru was in the living room with you in an instant, a frown gracing his pink lips.

“Eh? What happened?”

“The doctor said I can’t have a baby, Satoru. We can’t… we can’t start the family we always wanted.”

You sat on the couch, numbness taking over. You felt tears roll down your cheeks but you barely registered them. You could hardly acknowledge your husband wrapping his long arms around you to comfort you (and himself).

“No baby, no future heir. I’ve single-handedly ruined our chances at continuing the Gojo clan.” You looked up at the white haired man. “Satoru, I’m sorry-”

“Y/n, please. I don’t care about any of that shit. There’s, like, a million of us anyway,” he said, waving his hand nonchalantly. “I wanted to start a family with you because I love you. If we can’t do it the fun old fashioned way, I’m sure we can look into adoption if you’re up for that. If it ends up just being us two, I’m fine with that as well. As long as I have you, I’m happy.”

“Thank you,” you whispered, cuddling into his side. He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head, holding onto you a little tighter.

Geto:

“Darling, you got a letter in the mail today,” Suguru greeted as he walked inside. You took the envelope from him outstretched hand and gasped.

“It’s from my doctor,” you replied, nervously ripping it open. You had been waiting for results about the state of your fertility since you and Suguru weren’t having any luck having a baby on your own. You pulled out the paper and read through each sentence quickly, until one practically punched you in the gut.

…which indicates you are unable to carry pregnancy to term.

The paper fell gracefully from your grasp, landing on the floor, and you felt like you were about to join it with the way your knees were buckling.

“Take a seat, my love,” Suguru said worriedly, holding you up and guiding you to the nearest chair. He bent over and picked up the paper, reading it as well. Even in your despair you saw the way his expression fell, probably feeling just as crestfallen as you were.

“I’m sorry I can’t give us what we wanted,” you choked out, putting your head in your hands. He was by your side in no time, kneeling down to meet your gaze.

“Y/n, look at me.” You did so, wiping your nose with a tissue. “This isn’t an ideal situation but you’re not to blame. We’ll figure something out.”

“But the girls, they wanted a little sibling.”

“But at least we have them,” he reasoned, causing you to nod in agreement. “And I have you. That’s all I’ve ever wished to have. Anything else is a happy bonus.”

He took a handkerchief from his pocket and softly dabbed at the corners of your eyes. “I don’t want you to cry anymore, alright? We’re in this together.”

Nanami:

Your husband Kento was still gone at work by the time you had come back from your appointment with the doctor so you decided to curl up in bed. You had just received the worst news any hopeful mom-to-be could get: you could never get pregnant. You couldn’t stop replaying the words in your head, further torturing yourself. You didn’t even notice Kento coming home, calling out your name, or opening the bedroom door.

“Y/n?” he asked softly before noticing your still figure in the bed. You were facing the opposite way of the door so he treaded lightly across the room, coughing a bit so as not to scare you.

“Are you alright?” he wondered, the bed dipping as he sat next to you and stroked your hair.

“We can’t have a baby, Kento,” you blurted out. “I’m a failure.”

If he was surprised at the news, you couldn’t tell with the way his demeanor stayed calm, cool, and collected.

“First of all, that’s not even close to the truth. You’re an amazing person, a caring wife. You’re nothing close to a failure.” He brushed hair away from your forehead and placed his lips there for an elongated moment.

“Do you want to talk about it or do you want to lie here awhile? Either is understandable,” said Kento after a long bout of silence.

“I’d like to talk about it over dinner, if that’s alright. For now, I just want to lay down.”

“Of course.”

He kissed your hand and stood up, taking off his tie before cuddling up next to you.

“Having you in my life, Mrs. Nanami, is more than enough for me.”

Choso:

Choso came with you to your doctor’s appointment to help calm your nerves, his steady presence more than welcome when the future of your family was hanging in the balance.

“So I’m looking at your results, and it looks like…”

Choso squeezed your hand gently when the doctor spoke.

“…you cannot become pregnant. I’m so sorry,” your doctor told you. “This is a lot to take in, I’m sure, so I’ll give you two a moment to yourselves if you’d like.”

“Please,” Choso answered for you as you were unable to speak. You sat in the chair, emotion overwhelming your entire being. Choso held tightly to your hand as he looked deep into your glassy eyes.

“Y/n, I’m so sorry.” His big brown eyes were also wet with sorrow.

“Why are you sorry? I’m the one who can’t make our dream of having a family come true,” you cried.

“Shh, it’s not your fault,” he soothed, pressing you close to his chest as you sniffled. “You’re being way too hard on yourself. This is a horrible situation but we’ll figure it out together like we always do. You’re not alone in this, or anything else.”

You eventually separated your face from his shoulder and he wiped it softly with a tissue, clearing away your tears.

“We’re a team. We’re a family, baby or not. My love for you will never be shaken.”

He placed his hands lovingly on your cheeks and gave you a kiss on your forehead, reminding you exactly why you wanted to be with him forever.

Toji:

You had just left your doctor’s appointment, your shoulders heavy with the burden of your hopes and dreams shattered by the fact you couldn’t get pregnant. Dialing a number you knew by heart, you anxiously waited for your husband to answer his phone.

“Hey darlin’, what’s up?”

“I really need to talk to you,” you said, your voice small as you tried to not break down over the phone.

“Where are you? I’m on my way now,” Toji said without hesitation. You gave him the address of the clinic you were outside and he told you he’d be there in 10 minutes. You sat on the curb, ignoring the hollow feeling in your chest until you glanced up to see Toji; you burst into tears.

“Woah, hey, it’s okay.” He sat next to you and consoled you with a large hand on your back while the other guided you into a hug so he could shield you from any curious onlookers. “Is this about your appointment?”

You cried harder.

Toji sat with you for a long time as you sobbed. After what seemed like forever, your tears had run dry and you were hiccuping into his broad chest.

“I’m here for you. Tell me what’s going on.”

“I can’t get pregnant. Ever. We won’t be able to have a baby,” you mumbled as you stared at a crack in the sidewalk.

“Here I was, thinkin’ you only had a few days to live.”

You glared at him. “Not funny.”

“Not trying to be for once.” You were pulled in closer to his chest once more as he rested his chin on the top of your head. “I’m sorry that’s the news you got. I know we were looking forward to having a kid but if it’s not in the cards for us, I’ll be alright as long as I have you.”

“Are you sure? You would be a great dad and I don’t want to take that away from you.”

“And you’d be an amazing mom. I wouldn’t want kids with any other woman.”

“Thanks, Toji. I really love you.”

He gave you a lopsided smile. “Let’s get off this dirty ass street and go home.”

[spidey-x-male-reader]

Could I ask for X-Men '97 Gambit with a reader who likes to steal stuff for him to wear? Like watches, gloves, etc?

Pairing: Remy LeBeau x male!reader

Warnings: light swearing??

Summary: A few small glimpses into your life with your boyfriend and your affinity to give him gifts

A/N: Look it's after midnight which basically means I'm too emotional for my own good but I forced myself to write this because I adore the person who requested this even if I barely interact with them. I have a very stong protective sense over them. So if you see this: love you, bro <3 (I also went a bit overkill with the prompt. oops)

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

MASTERLIST

Since the two of you met, people have told you that you and Gambit were practically made for each other

And that's definitely not only because your first meeting literally consisted of you pickpocketing each other. As two people do when they're in love.

After joining the X-Men Remy has slowed down with the thiefing a little

Which basically meant that you had to steal enough for both of you. Which was good for him because he got lots of presents out of it but like…bad for everyone else

Remy had been alone in his room when you threw open the door, and immediately slammed it shut behind yourself, holding up a pair of gloves.

"Got you something!"

The next second he could already hear Logan's angry shouting

"...and where have you got them from, cher?"

"...store?"

"Uh huh."

"Glove store"

"Of course"

He just grins, walking towards you and giving you a peck on the cheek before taking your hand. 

"Now come on. Let's go before Wolverine finds us."

It wasn't unusual that Storm or Scott took you to the side and tried to have the "Stealing is bad" talk with you

But obviously you aren't stupid. You know it's not exactly right. But looking at Remy's eyes lighting up whenever you gift him something? That's worth it.

They do get used to it at some point

But you never get used to the way that he smiles at you like you just laid down the world at his feet.

You two just walked back to the jet after a quick mission, sneaking your hand into the pocket of his coat, dropping a watch inside.

"Shh." you wink at him, making sure the others haven't seen.

He feels the object in his pocket and just grins, pulling you a bit closer and putting an arm around your waist with a smirk.

"You spoil me too much" he whispers

"There's never too much with you" 

Now you were priding yourself on always being rather relaxed

Your hands always were steady and you never were nervous when sneaking your hand into a stranger's pocket

So who knew that the absolute scariest thing you'd ever give Remy was the one thing that you hadn't stolen for him

"Okay what's going on?" Remy looks at you, after you had asked him for a walk around the compound but then spent the time unusually silent.

For a moment you just look at him and then put your hand into your own pocket to grab the object inside. "I wanted to give something to you."

"Oh?" he smirks. "You're usually not that nervous when gifting me anything."

You take a deep breath and then pull out the small velvet box while sinking onto your knee simultaneously.

His eyes widen in shock. God, in any other situation you would relish in the realization that you had managed to surprise him.

"Remy LeBeau. You are…probably the best thing that ever happened to me." you fiddle around with the box in your hand. "And…god i've never been happier than just whenever i'm with you. And I know that this isn't…" you sigh and open the box, showing off the ring inside. "I know we can't officially do this. Not yet at least. But I want to…look at you and call you my husband."

He just stares at you.

"...This is the part where you say either yes or no but my knee is kinda getting sore."

He seems to awake from his trance, just nodding slowly. "...yes. Yes of course you bastard!" with a sudden burst of energy he throws himself into you for a hug, landing both of you on the ground. 

You try to stay cool, probably failing miserably as you grab his hand, putting the ring on his finger.

"I love you" you whisper

He leans his forehead against yours. "Not as much as I love you, cher."

[redroomreflections]

Well Worth The Wait

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader Summary : R and Nat have a night alone - based on The Loud House couple that can be found on A03

Note: These are reuploads.

18+ Minors DNI (it's smut)

w/c: 4k

The door slowly opened to reveal the scene beyond. In the living room of Natasha’s suite were candles lit up in various spots. Some are taller than others, and some brighter than others. Rose petals lined a trail to the middle of the room where there was a picnic-like setting waiting for you. A champagne bottle sitting on ice. It all added to the ambiance of the room. You stepped further inside, and Natasha’s footsteps could be heard behind you through the clacking of her heels against the floor. She reaches for your hand when she realized you’ve stopped.

“I guess Sam does know how to decorate,” You comment as you find a fully decorated table for dinner. This evening had been planned for weeks. A night at the Compound. A date for just the two of you to reconnect and talk with each other. Here you had total privacy. Soundproof walls, nice air conditioning, and a fully stocked fridge. No kids running around. No phones. No work emails. A luxurious night if you do say so yourself. Natasha’s suite in the Compound is huge. It's kind of romantic if you think about it. Every time you’re here you remember the nights you spent together before marriage. The times you promised each other the world. Crazy how things turn out.

“Sam said dinner will be ready in twenty minutes,” Natasha tilts her chin towards the kitchen where you can smell the fragrance of whatever is cooking wafting through the air. “For now how about drinks?” She suggests and you nod. You watch as Natasha struts into the kitchen. You decide to stay behind and explore a bit more. There’s a blanket right in front of the fireplace. Sam’s doing? Along with a red box that you’re sure you’re not supposed to touch. Curiosity gets the best of you and you walk over to shake it. Could this be the gift? You know the one. Natasha promised to give it to you the night of Christmas but Paige broke a fever so you rainchecked. Then Charlie got sick too. Then the rest of the house. Next thing you knew it was time for work again. Weeks went by and you never got around to opening your gift. That doesn’t mean you forgot about it. Natasha mentioned it once or twice in passing. She knew how to keep you wanting more. Which is why you’re so excited to open it. Your fingertips trace across the red ribbon, pinching close together to rip it open when you hear Natasha’s footsteps once again.

You pretend as if you weren’t going to touch anything and instead walk over to the double doors of the suite. There’s a balcony here. It overlooks the beautiful forest of upstate NY. You reminisce on the nights you would sit here with your laptop and phone. You’d work and work some more until Natasha was done with her Avenging duties. When she finally arrived home she would come and sit in your lap, give you a big kiss, and fall asleep in your arms. It’s amazing how so much of your life has changed. In a way, the suite was your first apartment together, and now you have a home with your littles.

“What are you thinking about?” Natasha asks as you turn to her. She passes you a full tumbler before taking a sip of her own drink.

“You,” You swirl the liquid around in the cup, watching the ice ding against the edge, before taking a drink. Screwdriver. Vodka and orange juice. Not a bad drink though you think Natasha mixed it for your benefit. “Us.”

“A lot to think about then,” Natasha lowers her drink. She follows your line of sight to the infinity pool directly below you. Many nights she’d watch you swim. You were always so graceful.

“Did you ever think we’d be here?” You glance over at her. “When you think about the beginning and everything we went through. You and Me. Did you ever think we’d have this?”

“I did,” Natasha shrugs. “When I allowed myself to. I’ve only ever wanted it. This. With you.” She confirms. In the beginning, your relationship with Natasha wasn’t easy. It was rough and heartbreaking, and pain-inducing all at once. It was also fun, and exhilarating, and everything you dreamed of all rolled into one. In the distance, there’s a timer that goes off. Dinner is ready. You follow Natasha into the kitchen. She sets her glass down on the counter in exchange for oven mitts. She takes out the pan of lasagna. “There’s a salad in the fridge. It’s fresh. Can you pull that out?” She asks and you quickly get to work. You spruce it up, making sure it's to your liking before you both carry everything into the living room.

It’s there you sit across from each other. Natasha is wearing a dress and so she opts to have a pillow sitting in her lap.

“For modesty,” She said even though you’ve seen everything she has to offer. Not that you mind seeing it again. In fact, you welcome it. You take care to fill both of your plates with food. Though you’re sure Natasha will be eating off of yours.

You engage in small talk. It’s odd to do all things considered but you find that you enjoy it. Any time you could get with Natasha was always cherished.

“I love what you did with your hair,” She rests her chin on her hand to admire you. You knew she would. Your hair took hours to do. From the wash routine to the straightening and curling, and down to the styling. Your hair falls into soft ringlets around your face, barely brushing past your shoulders.

“Try not to mess it up,” You take in a forkful of lasagna. Promises of what’s to come in the air between you.

“I make no promises,” She laughs. She takes another sip of her drink to finish it off.

“You made me wait a long time,” You gesture to the box still waiting to be opened.

“I assure you it will be well worth it,” Natasha promises. She scoots around the table to come and sit next to you. You immediately open up to her so that she can crawl into your arms. She kisses your jaw several times before settling her head on your shoulders. “I know it’s been a long while since we have been intimate.”

“A while,” You repeat jokingly. Natasha nods. It’s been a month. A long month. Not that you’re counting or anything. “It has been but it doesn’t matter because I have you all night and all morning.” You tap her nose. “Maybe we can take a bath? A massage? I know you like those.”

“You’re so good to me,” She murmurs.

“I’m only giving back what I receive,” You kiss the side of her head. For a moment, you two sit together in silence. Natasha takes your hands into her lap to toy with your wedding ring on her finger. A small symbol of your love. You haven't taken it off since the day you said 'I Do'. Neither has she with the exception of missions and fieldwork.

“Y/n,” She says. You lift your head up to look down at her. “I’d like for us to do this more often.” She turns to look at you. “I want us to always make this time for each other. It hasn’t been long but it feels like it’s been ages.”

“Having four children will do that to you,” You nod in agreement. “I promise. A night to us. Whenever we can.”

“You want another drink?” Natasha asks and you enthusiastically pass her your cup. You would be making the most of tonight.

Another hour passes where you simply sit and enjoy each other’s company. Every so often one of you will bring up a new topic or random thing that comes to mind. Overall you just want to spend time with your wife and you’re doing exactly as you planned. As the night winds down, you’re even more excited to be opening ‘The Gift’.

************************

“Spunk?” You test the phrase on your lips. You snort at the word written in large white letters along the black-wrapped casing of the bottle. What an interesting yet accurate name for a semen-like lubricant. Natasha glances over at you from her spot beside the bed. She’s lighting more candles here in the bedroom. You would help but you’re feeling a bit…light.

“The girl in the store said it was the best-selling option,” Natasha murmurs as she lifts the small red box. She places it in front of you. You’re still stuck on the fake cum. It’s such an exciting concept—one of your wildest fantasies coming true. The black bottle is simple and pretty self-explanatory. You turn it over in your hands. It’s new. “Could it be any more obvious?” You twist open the cap, and bring the open lid to your nose, to smell the fragrance. You scrunch your nose, anticipating something weird, and only get a citrusy smell in return. “Babe is this safe to be using inside you?” You ask. You’re a bit unsure. You try to read the ingredients on the back. The print is incredibly small. You squint. Interesting.

“I’ve tried it,” Natasha shrugs.

Wait. Pause. You lower your hand to look over at her.

“On yourself?” You ask and she rolls her eyes.

“No, on Wanda,” She jabs but at your interested look she changes her tune. “Yes on myself.” She says exasperatedly.

“Damn, that’s hot.” You mutter. Visuals of Natasha touching herself flash through your mind. You can imagine how good she looked with her fingers stuffed inside of her dripping wet pussy. You picture her face as she spread the sticky substance over her clit. Damn. You can’t wait to be able to do the same.

“It doesn’t take much for you, huh?” Natasha rounds the bed to stand between your legs. Your hands take their usual spot on her hips. You squeeze the skin underneath your fingers, eyeing her cleavage before looking into her eyes. She’s amused.

“Well, when my wife looks like this,” You shrug. Could she really blame you? “My panties are flooded every time you look my way.”

Natasha hums as she swipes her thumb across your bottom lip. “How much did you have to drink again?”

“Not enough,” You open your mouth to allow her to slip her finger inside of it. You suck on the digit, swirling your tongue over the edge of it before you release it with a pop. You purse your lips, hoping she gets the hint. She does. Natasha leans down to press her lips against yours. You moan at the taste of her. Strawberries and cream. Was she wearing lipgloss? You swipe your tongue against her lips asking for permission. Natasha obliges. Her tongue tentatively licks yours. You return the sentiment with enthusiasm. You pull back and look into her dilated- lust-filled eyes before you dive back in. Kissing Natasha would never get old. You don’t ever want to lose the feeling of absolute love and adoration you feel. The blooming in your chest that seemed to explode whenever she touched you is euphoric. She breathes harshly before pushing against your shoulders. You don’t have to be a master in body language to know what she wants. You lie back against the sheets pulling her down with you. She straddles your lap, her fingers finding the buttons of your creme satin button-down. One by one, your skin is exposed to the cooler air of the room. She pushes her fingers under the fabric, finding your nipple already a hardened peak.

“Nat,” You moan into her mouth as she pinches and tugs. She pries herself from your lips to kiss a trail from your neck to your chest. She nudges the covering away with her nose to take your nipple between her lips. She sucks, licks, and lathes until she’s satisfied. Then she moves over to your other breast to give it much of the same treatment. You thread your fingers through her hair. “Nat, fuck, I need you.” You’re not usually this needy. Not this compliant. She’s leading and you’re enjoying it. You know she does too. Much like your shirt, she unbuttons your pants, gripping the belt loops to tug them down your waist. You lift your hips to aid her.

“Here?” She questions as she pushes your legs apart. You nod wordlessly. You’d like her tongue on you. In you. Natasha settles on her stomach, no doubt preparing herself for a ride, as she kisses and bites at your inner thigh. The skin is sensitive there as her hair tickles with every move she makes. You look up at the ceiling in anticipation. The first lick is kitten-like. The second has your mouth dropping open as she pushes your panties further to the side. She wants full access. Natasha licks and licks until finally, she sucks your clit into her mouth. The moan you let out is low and guttural. The high you feel as she gives you her all. It never ceased to amaze you at how well she knew your body. Natasha knows every spot to lick and touch. Every inch and how to play it well. She raises one hand to spread your legs wider. When she’s sure you’ll be staying put, she presses two fingers at your entrance. The fill is amazing. She pumps into you, matching the rhythm of your hips, as she fucks you. You’re not going to last long, You’ve been wanting this. Your moans are frequent. Tumbling out of you like a mantra as she brings you to orgasm. You flutter around her fingers, clenching violently, as she hums. The vibrations give you the much-needed push as you lay spent. Finally, with a little reluctance, Natasha releases your clit from her mouth. She kisses your inner thigh again before coming to lie next to you.

You try to catch your breath. Your head lolls to the side to look over at her with glassy eyes.

“Fuck,” You breathe. She chuckles lowly. Does she know what she does to you? The power that she holds? “Give me a minute and I will absolutely rock your world.”

“I don’t doubt that for a second,” Natasha helps you out of your shirt. Next, she takes off her own clothes, a fiery red dress with laced backing, leaving her in nothing but her panties and heels. Five-inch stilettos that show off her toned legs. She reaches down to take them off and you tap at her.

“Leave them on,” You plead and she releases the straps. “Come here,” You whisper. “I want you here with me.” You say. She nods. She crawls over to you, settling herself on your hips, before leaning down again. “How did I get so lucky?” You ask rhetorically as you look into her eyes. She smirks. You know the one. She’s just a little bit shy about this entire thing and you find that endearing and so sexy. Having a soft moment when you’re about to do nothing but dirty things to her is an amazing thing.

“So I’m guessing I mixed those drinks a little too well?” Natasha murmurs as she traces her fingers along your cheek.

“Extremely well,” You nod your head in agreement. “I’m not drunk. Honest.” You laugh at Natasha’s eyebrow raise. “I’m just really in love with you?”

“Is that a question?”

“Not even,” You shake your head. “I really want to fuck you now.” You confess and this causes Natasha to giggle. She finds the tipsy version of you quite funny. “Are you going to finally let me get my gift?” You ask with a pout. “It’s been so long.”

Natasha reaches above your head, her breasts in your face, as she reaches for the box. You watch the firm soft globes, hanging freely before you raise your head to give one of them a soft bite. Natasha flinches in surprise, dropping the box next to you as she sits up again.

“That’s the mood you’re in tonight?” She asks amusedly. She opens the box, pulling out the dildo along with its harness.

“Nat,” Your eyes widen. “This one looks so realistic.” You take the toy in your hand. It’s at least 8 inches long. Thick and veiny. A smooth tip. The same color as your skin and you don’t know if she made that choice for you or her but you’re not complaining at all. The phallus has a pair of testicles that you’re inclined to squeeze until Natasha lies a hand over yours to stop you.

“It’s filled,” She says and you immediately understand what she means. You turn over the dildo in your hands.

“So, I can cum inside you?” You ask in wonderment. Okay. Maybe you’re just a little bit drunk but you feel like it’s Christmas and your birthday rolled into one . “Oh, babe, I have to use this on you.”

“Are you sure you can handle it?” She asks.

“Positive,” You stand to fix the harness around your hips. Next is the dildo that you attach with ease. Natasha looks so delicious sitting before you. Her legs were crossed at the ankle. Her eyes showed her absolute desire and hunger for you. When you’re sure everything is fixed into place accordingly, you crawl into the bed. You bracket your arms around her body, her legs parting automatically, as the head of the penis slides against her panty-covered core. Natasha’s lips drop open as she closes her eyes to enjoy the feeling. You kiss her open mouth first. Then her cheeks, her jaw, behind her ear. Anywhere you can get your lips on. You give a tiny lick to the hollow of her neck. She moans slightly. Your hips cant into her, gliding against her folds, as you prepare her. “Do you need to cum first?” Your lips ghost against her skin. “Need you to be ready for me baby.” You say.

Natasha is lost in the pleasured feeling of the cock against her clit. Even through her panties, it's sending her reeling. Natasha nods just as your fingertips trace along the waistband of her underwear. “Leave them on?” You question, thrusting a bit harder causing Natasha to gasp as it sends shockwaves through her body. You angle your hips to have the head of the cock poke just slightly at her entrance. Not enough to breach but enough to promise what's to come. You duck your head, biting at the soft tissue of her breast, as you start a steady rhythm. It’s essentially dry humping. Though from the wet spot and the way her underwear sticks to the lips of her pussy there’s nothing dry about it. You lick at her nipple, teasing it with the tip of your tongue, as Natasha whimpers below you.

“You’re teasing,” Natasha says in between labored breaths.

“Teasing?” You question. You circle your hips, paying attention to what makes her moan, to pull the most pleasure out of her. Natasha comes with a long whimper as she stiffens underneath you. Her whole body stills even as her hips continue to search for that pleasure. “That’s so good, baby.” You release her nipple from your mouth with a pop. Natasha simply kisses you. She kisses your face and neck her hand slipping up to your chest to push you on your back.

You’re impatient but excited. You lie back against the pillows to make yourself comfortable. Natasha rids herself of her panties before she straddles you. She uses her pussy lips to grind against the toy. Her juices glisten with every swipe she does. When she decides that she’s ready, Natasha lifts up, taking the penis in her hand to direct it to her entrance. You can feel the weight of her against you as she sinks down onto it. She breathes through her nose. She closes her eyes in an effort not to come too quickly as she takes it all in.

From your angle it looks absolutely heaven-like. You can see her having a bit of trouble with the last inch so you place your thumb directly along her clit, providing tight circles that catch Natasha off guard as she takes the last inch.

“Good job, baby.” You praise. You never take your finger off her clit as she lifts her hips again. The sigh that leaves her lips is followed by an even louder moan as she drops down again. You let out your own moan at the sight of her. Natasha’s hand wraps at your wrist pulling you away to place them on her hips.

“Too fast,” She mutters. She doesn’t want to come too quickly. You nod, using your hands to guide her, as she finds what makes her feel good. In turn, it makes you feel good too. Natasha’s motions are quicker. Rougher. As she rides you with abandon. You set this pace this time. Up until this moment, she’s been in charge. Not anymore. You can tell she likes the change as you grip her hips, forcing her up and down, as you thrust into her. You’re thankful for the ab workouts you’ve taken as you thrust up.

“Fuck,” You say to yourself as your eyes travel to where you and Natasha meet. She looks so full like this. She’s spread open so wide, bouncing along your cock, her clit brushing against your pelvis. After a particularly hard thrust, Natasha crumbles, folding into herself, as she leans further down. Her lips are against your ear now, her moans louder, more brazen, as you fuck into her.

“Yes, baby, yes, fuck,” Natasha babbles into your ear. You make a bold move, raising your hand before slapping her left ass cheek. It gives a loud echo through the room just as Natasha clenches at the slight pain. You smack again harder this time and she cries out again. “Yes, yes, yes.” She sounds like a broken record as she sings your praises. One thing about Natasha. She has stamina. She could do this all day. Most days. Except now, it’s been so long since she had you like this and you’re fucking her so well and you’re not giving her a chance to recover as she climaxes around your cock. She’s seated upright again, her back arching, her nails digging into your forearms as she clenches around you. You follow her headfirst into your own orgasm, your hips increasing their thrusting into hers before you drop back down onto the mattress. Natasha falls along with you.

You rub against her back, pulling the cock out of her gently, before rubbing at her cheeks. They’re probably red from how many times you smacked them and you’d be hearing about it later. For now, it was worth it. Natasha lies down tiredly in your arms. She stretches her legs and curls into you.

“Good?’ You ask and she nods. She nuzzles her nose in your neck. “I’m not done with you.” You inform her and she nods again. She already knew. You’d give her five minutes and that’s all she could wait. When you promised her tonight you meant it. You reach for the water bottle on the nightstand. You crack it open and take long sips out of it. You pass it to Natasha who tiredly takes a long gulp.

When you feel both of you have recovered enough, you flip Natasha onto her back. Missionary. A simple position. Top tier if you do say so yourself. You get to see Natasha and all of her expressions of pleasure. You get to hold her down and make her take whatever you’re giving. Natasha helps you guide the cock to her entrance. Both of you share a breath as you press into her. You kiss her forehead, murmuring words of encouragement, as she takes every single inch.

“So damn tight,” You bend yourself slightly at the knees. Her hips wrapped around your waist, your hand on her thigh to keep her spread, as you hump into her. “You’re always so wet.” You mutter into her skin. “Are you going to let me fuck you all night?” You practically growl and Natasha simply nods her head. She’s too lost in the pleasure to give you anything of substance. This round is hard and fast. You don’t hold back as you pound into her. Your thrusts are sharp and short, causing her breasts to bounce with the force, as Natasha begins to whimper again. Her whimpers quickly turn into moans when you turn your attention to her neck to place another bite. Natasha gasps, arching her back, and you can feel things become a bit slicker as she floods your cock.

“Yes,” She manages to moan out. You sit up so that you can kiss her lips.

“Whose pussy is this?” You ask. You’re feeling bold. Probably something you both will laugh at later. For now, you need her to say it. "Whose is it?"

"Yours," She wheezes. She doesn't really know up or down right now.

You can feel that familiar coil in your stomach. You reach down between the two of you, making enough room to toy with her clit, as you want to come at the same time. You slam into her and this time Natasha practically screams.

“Oh fuck, yes, Daddy,” Natasha moans and you almost do a double take. She’s never called you that before. Suddenly that’s all you want to hear from her.

“Say it again,” You command, and Natasha’s eyes open just slightly to question. “Say it.” You thrust into her again and Natasha grips your forearms for purchase.

“Daddy,” Natasha cries and you practically come on the spot. You angle your hips again, gripping hers in your hand, as you thrust harder and harder and harder until Natasha reaches her peaks, and you fall quickly behind her. You know your grip will bruise later and you’ll apologize when the time comes. Instead, you squeeze the balls of the fake cock, making sure to keep your hips still, as it spills into Natasha in thick spurts. She is thrown into another small orgasm as her insides are painted with the sticky substance.

You kiss across her forehead, tapping at her hips again, and she loosens them as you pull out. You look down between the two of you, her pussy still pulsing, the fake semen dripping from her and onto the blanket. You take two of your fingers, sliding them through her core to collect the mixed fluids to bring to your mouth.

“Nat?” You question when her hips jump at the feel of your fingers. She’s sensitive and exhausted. You lean back, the cock bobbing in the air though you ignore it, as you help her take off the heels. Really you’re doing all the work and she lies there.

“Mhmm?” She responds without ever opening her eyes.

“This was the best present ever,” You say and she laughs. A full belly laugh that has you laughing too.

It was well worth the wait.

[elminx]

French Onion Soup: A Look Into Single Ingredient* Kitchen Witch Spells

*There are actually eight ingredients in my recipe, but I am only using one (onions) for the purpose of my witching

Last weekend, when my partner announced they were taking the short ribs out of the freezer to dethaw, I knew my dark moon banishment had been decided for me: it was time to make my yearly batch of French Onion Soup. I always make this soup with a combination of the au jus from the short ribs and broth made from the leftover bones; it is part of our goal to use as much of the animal as we can. But French onion soup does more than fill our bellies: it fills the entire house with the essence of onions.

This, as a kitchen witch, I can USE.

Some background on what I call Single Ingredient Kitchen Witch Spells

One of the things that I have found when pursuing Kitchen Witch spells is that the writers often try to attribute a magical intention to every ingredient they put into their food. Although this is well intended, if one is actually enchanting their meals (rather than just "asking" the ingredients to impart some magic - which is valid), it becomes - in my opinion - very energy-intensive and cumbersome. That's not what I am all about when I'm witching in the kitchen.

My idea of a good kitchen witch spell is one where you spend a hot minute cooking your food (stirring and returning to your meal is a LOT of where I impart magic into food) but where the actual magic is fairly simple. In this way, I am drawn to a spell where one type of magical intention is highlighted by using only one ingredient or a (small) combination of ingredients that all work towards a common goal.

I find this approach easier for witches who are to kitchen magic and low-energy witches like me. This doesn't mean that you need to stick to very simple recipe to enchant kitchen magic, instead, we are focusing on one or a handful of ingredients for the material of our spellwork. Sometimes flavoring (everything else) can just be flavoring.

I will point out here that by my thinking, whatever primary ingredient you are enchanting for your kitchen magic SHOULD be a primary ingredient/flavor in the dish that you are making. While a pinch of salt can and will cleanse, I wouldn't call your dish a cleansing spell just because you added a pinch of salt. In this way, this type of magic works best with ingredient-forward dishes like pesto (basil), pies (fruit), or - in this case - French Onion Soup which calls for multiple cups of Sweet Onion.

The Magic of Onion

In my opinion as a witch and amateur herbalist, the magic of onion lies in its organosulfur compounds. It is unmistakable if you have ever cut or eaten an onion (or other members of the allium family) that they carry a distinctive smell and taste of sulfur. Sulfur, also known as brimstone, has long been associated with banishment or dispelling magics of all kinds.

Notably, here this association carries over to onion both in the metaphysical realm where it is believed to banish or keep away evil and ill will, but also in its physical properties as onion is antiseptic and antibacterial. Perhaps, in this way, we can imagine that onion chases away the bad by removing it from our bodies.

That's something that I can get behind.

French Onion Soup: a Banishment for the Body and the Home

If the magic of onions is found in its organosulfur compounds (as I believe), this is activated thrice in the making of French onion soup.

Firstly, when you cut the onions. Secondly, when you caramelize the onions (fumigating your home), and thirdly when you eat the onions. We've been talking a lot lately about the magic of the number 3 - a number that can naturally increase or decrease depending on how it is used. This a decreasing 3-spell, and could be used as an adjunct to a more traditional decreasing spell. For example, I might start a banishment or decreasing candle spell and then make and eat the soup while the spell was burning.

Note here that I think that the PRIMARY banishment stage comes during the caramelization process, this is where I focus the energy of my banishment.

You will need:

6 cups thin sliced Sweet Onions

8 cups beef broth, homemade preferred, but boxed is okay

A small bundle of Thyme, fresh preferred

1/2 Stick of Butter or comparable oil substitute (EVOO)

1/2 cup dry wine, optional

Baguette or other crusty bread, sliced into 1/2-inch pieces

Gruyere cheese, grated

Salt and Pepper to taste

Prepare your kitchen Do this in any way you prefer before starting a kitchen witch spell. I like to have a hearth candle that I light when doing kitchen magic to help create the proper mood.

Thin Slice Your Onions We want the onions in the soup to have a thin ribbon-like texture. It helps with caramelization to have all your onion slices be the same size, but this may not be possible if you start with very differently-sized onions. This is your chance to connect with the spirit or powers of the onion. Very quickly, you will begin to physically experience the effects of onion's sulfuric nature as the syn-propanethial-S-oxide gas released by cutting the onions mixes with the water content in our eyes, creating sulfuric acid. This is part of the banishment properties of onion; although it might not be pleasant, thank the onion for doing what it is doing. Depending on your magical traditions, you may choose to interact with onion in any manner of ways. Remember here that this is the first of three banishment steps in this process - whoever cuts the onions will get the direct and most focused banishment of the entire spell. If the intended recipient of the spell is you, cut the onions yourself. If it is someone else, consider asking them to cut the onions for you. I wanted to work this spell for both myself and my partner, and I knew that they would still be out of the house when I caramelized the onions, so I asked them to cut the onion for me. You can choose to talk to the onions, pray over the onion, carve sigils into them before you cut them, or do anything that feels appropriate to your path during this time. This step will take a while, especially if you need to take breaks to cry your eyes out over onions. This can be done up to a day ahead of time - store your cut onions in the fridge until you are ready to use them.

Camarmelize Your Onions I thought about giving you the basics on caramelizing onions here, but this is a kitchen witch blog. I assume you have some proficiency in the kitchen if you are attempting a spell like this. Besides, the process of doing this will change drastically depending on how wet your onions are, the general humidity, and how your stove manages heat. The butter, onions, thyme, and salt go into the pot in this step. Start on medium heat and adjust up or down as you need to so that your onions cook until they are golden brown. Expect this to take at least an hour, and be happy if it takes less. The secret to caramelizing onions is that you need to consistently stir the pot so they do not stick to the bottom and burn. This is where I put the majority of my magic into this spell - each time that I return to the pot, I draw a banishing sigil over my onions. I also stir in the anti-clockwise direction of removal. You should adapt this to how you perform kitchen magic, of course. I will note here that my apartment has a relatively open floor plan and I intentionally do not turn on the kitchen fans so that the oniony goodness vents into my house, not out of it. This is the step that I use to banish unwanted energy from my physical space - I speak words over the steam rising from my onions and ask it to assist me in this process. If I lived in a place with a less open floor plan, I would open any doors and windows needed to get the steam/smell into as many parts of the place as I could. If you just want to focus on your physical body, you can skip this step but I find that if my energy has gotten off enough to require a banishment, my place needs cleansing, too.

Heat Your Broth You want your broth to be at a similar temperature to your onions. This doesn't need to get done at the beginning of your caramelization process as you might evaporate more than necessary, but you will want your broth up to temperature by the time your onions are at their desired doneness.

Construct the Soup When the onions are ready, deglaze the pot with wine or beef broth. Scrape the bottle to reincorporate any stuck residue back into your base. Add 1/2 cup of flour and mix to form a weak roux. Slowly add beef broth by the ladle full into the base, stirring as you go. Cook on a simmer for 10 minutes. This is the time for any last intention setting,. You can adjust for salt and add pepper as a final pop of banishing if you are so inclined.

Serve and Eat All of our magic has already been accomplished, so now it is time to plate (bowl?) our meal. French Onion Soup is traditionally served in individual ramekins with a slice of bread and melted Gruyere on top. This is accomplished by putting the soup into the ramekins, topping with the bread and cheese, and then popping those suckers under the broiler. I don't do this. I just grill the bread and top with thinly grated cheese. There isn't enough difference here to wait the extra few minutes after I've already been standing over the stove for an hour. You can say a few words over your meal if that's you thing, but you don't need to here. The rest of the magic will be fueled by your own digestive system. It is done French onion soup keeps for a couple of days in the fridge and freezes nicely so long as you omit the bread and cheese.

If I could choose one thing for you to take away from this writing, it is that kitchen witchery does not have to be complicated. You don't need to know the magical associations for every ingredient you put into your meal. You only need to know one and use it well.

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[lackadaisycats]

Hi Tracy, i wanted to ask a somewhat personal question. How do you deal with losing beloved pet? I recently lost my 9-year-old tortie a month ago to kidney failure and GDV and even though i still got three other babies to dote for (and they're all lovely), it's really hard to feel as much love as i did with my tortie. She was my first cat and was incredibly loving and patient with, helped me immensely while grieving for my father's passing a few years ago.

With her gone, it really does feel like a lot of me also went with her. It makes living very hard. I made tiny sculpture and wood soldering in her memory but i don't really know how to deal with the actual emptiness inside me. Sorry for the word vomit but i figured since you also lost a precious cat before, you might have insight for this situation

I'm so sorry for the loss of your beloved tortie.

I don't have any special skills for dealing with death, really, but I suppose I can speak a bit about personal experience.

I think it's natural to feel a yawning emptiness when something so intimately intertwined in your life - a constant companion, a source of joy, something around which your daily schedule is structured - is suddenly gone. It can be a very lonely sort of grief too, as the loss of a pet doesn't generally come with the same community and ritual that human death does. To others, your dear companion was perhaps just an animal. Not to equate it with human death in the broader scheme, exactly, but it can mean personal devastation, compounded by being alone in coping with it. Societally, we probably do ourselves some significant harm believing we must rapidly "get over" losses like this.

There's no getting-over-it that I know of, anyway, but there is the knowledge that the nature of grief changes over time (it sounds like you're no stranger to that). The stormy waves that knock you about with the immensity of the loss gradually give way to more placid waters. The sadness remains, but grows gentler and maybe sweeter even, because it creates a quiet space to reflect on the pet that enriched and graced a chapter of your life with their presence.

In the meantime, while awaiting some peace, I personally find there's an analgesic effect to making the feelings of grief actionable. The meditative nature of art and the act of memorializing a companion animal won't fill in that void, but it can help you start to process and accept it, to find a way to transmogrify it into a repository for your feelings and memories of love. I'd say keep making sculptures, make a scrapbook, draw a picture of her - anything, if it puts you in a different state of mind as you're doing it.

Looking after animals that are in need of care and attention in the moment, even if you feel emotionally distant, might help you regain some footing too. Setting up shelters for feral cats and fostering rescues are some things I like to do. There's a sort of grounding, self-rescue interwoven in focusing some energy on the living.

Most of all, grant yourself time. Do yourself the kindness of not feeling bad about feeling bad. Mourn without believing you must rush to find a cure for the sadness.

If, however, you are suffering or finding it impossible to function day to day, please do reach out to seek qualified counseling.

[doberbutts]

Feminist theory is not the same as feminist activism, which is what I specificied in my ask, intentionally. There is feminist theory about men's issues (yes Bell Hooks is by far the most famous theorist in this space), and that is good, but it is not the same as activism to improve men's conditions in the here and now. I wanted to give a different perspective, and have a discussion about something that I feel is a problem that has lead to and continues to lead to a lack of progress for men. I mean, the other ask you got saying thst feminism persistently centers men just by talking about our issues, that proves my point. That is an incredibly common view. Not even working towards solving men's problems, just talking about them occasionally is considered too much. There is an obvious solution to that, which I said previously. Regardless, I am and will continue to believe in the cause of fighting to improve things for both women and men, because we all deserve better. Anyway, I won't bother you anymore, but I hope you know this was written in good faith about something that is important to me.

Theory informs activism, so if you want to see feminist activism that does what I'm talking about, find the feminists talking about what I'm talking about.

Respectfully, despite referencing the other ask, you seem to have not read it if your stance is still "what has feminist activism done for men", because I gave pretty direct examples there.

But you're right. That sort of feminism is harder to find especially nowadays. A lot of people's feminism regards men as "ewwww boys are icky" and "men are 100% solely responsible for all of women's problems". Which was the entire point of my post that started this conversation. It's also compounded by the fact that a lot of times this doesn't look as big and loud as rallies and marches, and so it gets ignored. In reality, the feminist activism that follows the theory I'm describing looks like parents teaching their sons that gentleness and femininity is not bad. Dads who wear nail polish and tutus to support their sons' interests. Boys being encouraged to watch and read the "girl books" and "girl movies". Dads who do not abandon their sons' need for physical affection as they age out of fear of homosexuality.

It looks like restructuring the ways we look at sexual assault and rape so it doesn't automatically exclude the most common way men are attacked. It looks like teaching young men that they do not need to take abuse from a romantic partner or family member on the chin just to be a man. It looks like teaching men that "masculinity" does not need to be defined by stoicism and that the concept of "manning up" is harmful. It looks like teaching boys that there are ways to communicate affection that aren't violent or sexual in nature. It looks like teaching teenagers that playful ribbing is one thing, but tearing your friends down all the time so you can be the biggest man on the block is toxic behavior, and only leads to more isolation because all your friends learn to be mean to each other.

It teaches young men that pleasuring your partner involves more than just a penis, and sometimes doesn't even require a penis at all. It teaches them that their worth is far less in the length of their shaft or the hardness of their muscles or the number on the scale, but far more how they treat others. It teaches them that height and beard length and shoe size and how much alcohol they can consume or their favorite sport team aren't indicators of "manhood", because they are men regardless of the answers to any of those things. It teaches them they can be any type of man they want to be, they don't have to be what the patriarchy tells them are their only options.

And I know this, because I have watched plenty of my butch friends who are devout feminists and have been their entire lives teaching these things to their sons. This is established feminist theory that has existed for a long time. Many followers of this theory do in fact practice what they preach.

Genuinely, I don't really care what you call it. If you want to call it "man's liberation", go for it, I don't care. But to me, this is just feminism. I'm not going to call it men's lib because the feminism I was taught by the women in my life covered these things. Same as how I don't use the word "transandrophobia" because the trans theory I was taught by the trans women in my life told me "transmisogyny" covered these things.

Anyway. I urge you to go read some black feminist theory and then spend some time talking to practitioners of said theory. It might just surprise you how similar the conversation is. It might surprise you to see how their kids and families interact. I'm not saying all black people, because not every black person who is a feminist is specifically a *black feminist*, but when you find someone who fits this description you will know.