#rather than converting the room to something else

[daydreamerdrew]

Superman: Metropolis Secret Files and Origins (2000) #1

[ratspider]

woke up from a dream about a family not accepting a trans kid for who they are to a text where my dad deadnames me :I

[earpskeeper]

Leaving London felt like breathing for the first time in months.

You leaned your head against the train window as the city blurred past, the weight of Arsenal’s crest finally peeling off your chest. For now, anyway. No more shared glances in the hallway at London Colney. No more questions about your grief or your family. No more being referred to as ‘mini mead’ or ‘Beth’s little sister’. 

This loan was your shot. Your own pitch, your own squad, your own story. It wasn’t glamorous, rather the opposite. A struggling club in desperate need of cover after a spate of injuries, but it was yours. You could play ninety minutes without being compared to someone else. Without the ghost of England’s golden girl shadowing every touch.

You exhaled, eyes drifting to the half-empty carriage, to your phone screen lighting up with Beth’s name for the third time that hour. You let it go to voicemail again. The texts could wait.

You’ll smash it, Bubs. Just keep your head down and work hard. Proud of you.

Beth meant well. She always had. But ever since Mum died, her ‘love’ felt more like surveillance. Like a full-time job trying to prove you were fine. That she could stand on her own two feet and fulfil the mum role in the family now. 

You tightened the grip on the handle of your kitbag, trying to shake the thought. That was London. That was grief. This was something else. This was the start of your real career.

You had talent, you knew that. You just needed minutes, space, and someone willing to let her be. At your best, you could make defenders look stupid, slice through the midfield like it was nothing.  

The training ground smelled like damp grass and petrol fumes.

You stepped off the minibus the club had sent, your boots slung over one shoulder, her duffel bouncing against her hip. It was all a bit sad. The pitch was uneven, the gym barely more than a converted storage room, and the physio table looked like it hadn’t been cleaned since the Euros.

But you kept your chin up, shoulders square. First impressions mattered.

The manager, a wiry man with deep-set eyes and a permanent frown, gave you a quick nod as he pointed toward the changing rooms.

"You're starting Sunday. Left wingback. Don’t need you flashy, just need you fit. That alright?" 

Though you knew it was not a question you could refuse, so instead you forced a smile. "More than alright."

He didn't ask about your fitness history. Just turned and walked away. You watched him go, the nerves in your stomach twisting, not from doubt, but something colder. A flicker of knowing.

They weren’t here to look after you. They were here to use you, but somehow you didn’t seem to care as much as you should. 

The next few weeks passed in a blur of iced joints and tired smiles. You played every minute, made every sprint, even when your body screamed at you to slow down. The club doctor handed out painkillers like mints, didn’t ask questions when you winced putting on your boots, and barely blinked when your post match urine test showed signs of dehydration and a bit too much alcohol.

“Stress relief?” he’d ask, too casually, and you would just shrug before replying. “Something like that.”

The pills helped. At least enough to train. And at night, when the adrenaline wore off and her knee pulsed with fire, the drink helped more.

The loneliness, you didn’t talk about. The growing ache in your body, you ignored. The way the doctor’s hand sometimes lingered too long during treatment, you forced into a corner of your mind and locked it up tight.

You were playing. That was what mattered. You were scoring, assisting, making headlines - Bailey Mead shines on debut, loan youngster rescues point with late equaliser. For the first time, they were using your name, not Beth’s.

So when the stiffness in your knee got worse, you didn’t say anything. When the bruises didn’t fade, you covered them. When your body stopped feeling like her own, you told herself that this was what pushing through looked like.

You’d come here to be more than a shadow.

You just hadn’t expected it to cost this much.

The morning it finally happened, it didn’t come with a bang. Just a gentle shift.

A missed step in training. A sudden crack of pain through your knee like someone had taken a crowbar to the joint. You dropped to the turf, breath caught in your throat, vision spinning as the world tilted off its axis. For a moment, no one moved. Then shouting. Whistles. Hands touching you everywhere.

You waved them off.

“I’m fine,” you lied, biting down on the inside of your cheek until you tasted blood.

The manager didn’t look convinced, but the doctor gave a slow, tight-lipped nod. “Rest tonight. Ice. I’ll give you something stronger to get through tomorrow.”

No scan. No second opinion. Just another pill shoved into your palm, no questions asked, and you swallowed it dry. 

That night, the pain was unbearable. So you drank until it dulled, just like you always did. One glass turned into two. Two into four. You woke on the sofa, aching and disoriented, the TV blaring some late-night rerun, your phone buzzing nonstop on the table.

Five missed calls. Three from Leah and two from Beth.

You blinked, confused. Then remembered, England’s youth camp was next month. They were checking in.

Your stomach twisted.

You couldn’t go back like this.

You couldn’t let them see you like this.

So you replied with a thumbs-up, a white lie, and took another pill.

Beth didn’t think much of it, not at first.

You’d always been a little moody. Hot and cold. Independent to a fault. She figured the space was probably good for both of you, maybe even overdue. And with the chaos that followed Mum’s passing, she had enough on her plate.

She was too busy sorting through various forms, trying to get Dad to eat something that wasn’t toast, remembering to cancel Mum’s old prescriptions, and chasing her own form after training to prove she was still sharp enough for selection.

Everyone grieved differently. That’s what people kept saying. Maybe this was just how you did it - away from home and away from her.

Still, Leah noticed.

It started with the little things. At first, nothing she could put her finger on. Just… changes.

You stopped replying in the group chat. Missed a couple of voice notes. Posted to Instagram but left Leah on read. When you did reply, the tone was clipped. Flat. Off.

Then came the matchday footage. A grainy stream Leah had half-watched on her phone during the car ride to St. George’s for camp. Your team got battered, but you looked good, technically sharp, decisive in possession. And yet…

Something wasn’t right.

You flinched after contact. Backed away from a challenge you’d normally snap into. Sat on the floor for longer than necessary after a foul. It was subtle - enough that most people wouldn’t catch it - but Leah did.

And the eyes.

Your eyes were empty.

So, she brought it up.

Beth had just sat down with her dinner at SGP when Leah sat down beside her and dropped the comment, casual but deliberate. 

"Bailey okay?"

Beth didn’t even look up. “She’s nineteen, on her first loan and just being a little shit.”

Leah frowned. “I mean… maybe. But she’s not replying to me. She looked off in her last game.”

Beth let out a breath through her nose. “Leah, you’re overthinking it. She’s fine. Just finding her feet. She wanted to leave, remember?”

“She looks like she’s in pain.”

“She’s just dramatic.”

Leah’s eyes narrowed. “Beth…”

“Leah, I appreciate it, but I think I know my sister.”

And that was the end of it. At least, for then.

Leah didn’t push, but something in her expression lingered, concern etched just beneath the surface.

Leah didn’t let it go. Not really.

She sat with it, chewed on it during warm-ups and quiet moments in camp. Her gut wouldn’t settle. Something about the way Beth had brushed it off didn’t sit right - too quick, too defensive. It wasn’t like her. Not when it came to you.

So a few days later, she tried again.

She pulled up the old match footage on her ipad in the players’ lounge, the screen propped against her knee. She watched you chase down a loose ball, win it cleanly, then limp three steps before forcing yourself upright like nothing had happened.

Leah zoomed in on the way your left knee buckled ever so slightly every time you pivoted.

She didn’t imagine that.

Still, she didn’t send it to Beth. Not yet. She knew how it would go - another brush off, another tight smile, another ‘she’s just pushing herself’.

And maybe that was true. Maybe it was nothing. But she also knew what it looked like when someone was barely holding it together, and your eyes in that post-match interview, the ones that darted everywhere but the camera, looked too familiar.

She’d seen it before. In herself. In teammates. In friends who waited too long to say, “I’m not okay.”

You barely remembered the last time you didn’t feel like a zombie.

Not because of the pain, though it was always there, but because everything was starting to blend. The pills took the edge off, but they also blurred the world around you. Made everything feel ten seconds slower. 

Like you were watching yourself play from somewhere outside your body.

It was an end of training 7 aside game when you had scored, again. A cut-in from the flank and a low drive to the far post. They’d cheered. Your teammates had swarmed you. The manager gave a rare thumbs-up from the sideline.

But you couldn’t feel it. Not really.

Your body hurt, your head buzzed, and all you wanted was for the noise to stop.

After training, the physio slapped some tape on your knee and told you to be smart. You nodded like you understood what that meant, then downed two more pills in the changing room when no one was looking.

Back in the flat, you cracked a beer to chase them. Then another. 

Then something stronger.

When Leah finally confronted Beth again, it wasn’t calm this time.

They were walking back from a team meeting at SGP, the sun already setting, boots slung over their shoulders.

“She’s not just being dramatic, Beth.”

Beth rolled her eyes. “Jesus, are we still on this?”

“She’s injured,” Leah said flatly. “And hiding it. I’ve seen it before. She’s playing through something. Could be serious.”

“She’d tell me if it was.”

“Would she? When was the last time you had a proper conversation huh? When was the last time where she messaged you at a normal time of the day? I know you are busy taking care of everything but she is struggling too, and she doesn’t want to be a burden on top of your dad.”

Beth froze.

Leah knew immediately she’d hit too hard, but she didn’t back down.

“She’s slipping, Beth,” Leah said, voice quieter now. “I can see it. You might not want to, but I can.”

Beth looked away, jaw clenched. “I’ve got enough to deal with right now.”

“I know,” Leah replied. “But she’s your little sister. And she’s barely holding on.”

Beth didn’t respond. Just walked ahead, stiff-shouldered, like she could outrun the truth.

But later that night, she scrolled back through your messages. Looked at the gaps between your replies. The times of the texts - 2:41am. 3:56am. A photo from training with eyes that looked bright but vacant. A video from your last match with a wince she’d missed before.

And her stomach dropped.

She wasn’t sure when she’d started mistaking distance for independence.

But she was starting to realise, maybe she didn’t know you half as well as she thought.

[e-therealife]

Can I Help?

warnings: none word count: 1,389 pairing: natalie scatorccio x reader [platonic, romantic] description: your best friend doesn't want you to miss out. tags: fluff, inexperienced!reader, first kiss, best friend!nat

After giving up playing cards with Nat (because she couldn't help but brag when she won and refuse to admit defeat when she lost), you've decided on 21 Questions. You knew most things about one another, so a majority of the questions were just hypotheticals and teasing. You're both lying on her bed, Nat with a cigarette in hand.

"Okay. If we were stranded, who on the team would you resort to eating first?" Nat asks.

You laugh in shock. "Dude, I'd rather die than get to that point. Fuck no."

"It's Mari, isn't it?"

"Alright," you immediately fold. "I have my reasons. Don't you remember when she started that rumor that I was the one who left those gross clothes on the locker room floor all because I didn't pass to her that one time?"

"You mean the underwear?" Nat asks, as if she wasn't there, doubled over with laughter at the following practices where you had to plead your case to the team.

"Yes, the underwear," you sigh, closing your eyes as you recall the situation.

Nat's laughing, holding the cigarette away from you as she rolls toward you a bit, her head now resting on your shoulder. You open your eyes to see her looking up at you. "You sure it wasn't you? Seemed about your size…"

"Okay, what? How would you know?" Sure, you changed in the locker room together when a game or practice was right after school, but you both had to be pretty quick. It'd be hard for her to notice something as specific as your underwear size.

"Well," she starts all-knowingly. "You remember that time the bathroom stall door swung open—"

"Shut up! Just shut up."

"Alright, alright," she surrenders. "You had on cute underwear, though—"

"Nat!" you interject, covering your ears to keep yourself from hearing anything else that would fluster you further.

"Hey," Nat grins, pulling the hand of yours that's closest to her from your ear. Her demeanor is softer now, less teasing, more comforting. Despite this, she continues, "Don't worry. I'd also eat her first, just for you."

"Gee, thanks," you murmur, resting both your arms across your chest. You've still got a bit of a smile, though. Despite the unfortunate wording of it, it was sweet she cared enough about you to note who you did and didn't like. Which, of course, a hypothetical like this would never happen, but knowing that she'd support you through anything just made your affection for her grow, that ever-present warm tightness in your chest that you always have when she's on your mind growing. "My turn."

Nat moves off your arm to take another inhale of her cigarette, blowing the smoke away from you.

"So. Are you and Kevyn a thing?" You keep your tone playfully nosy as you speak, and you're confident it's convincing.

She rolls her eyes. "No, Kevyn and I are not a thing. You know that." Her tone is a little bitterly annoyed, like she's offended you'd asked.

"Really? Well, how about you and—"

"My turn," she interrupts sternly. She stubs her cigarette out in a cup she's converted into an ashtray, just a little more forcefully than necessary, then turns fully to you, resting on her side.

"Who's the last person you kissed?" The question is much more serious than any of the last that were asked. It's not the words themselves that are so strong, but her demanding tone and searching look. Her gaze is flitting between each of your eyes, like you've got some secret that she has every right to know.

This is technically something she should probably be aware of as your best friend. However, you'd always avoid topics like this with her, getting flustered when she'd teasingly flirt with you and feeling a little inadequate because she had more experience.

"I haven't," you admit softly.

Nat furrows her brows as if she's not just shocked, but disbelieving. "You haven't? Like, recently, or… ever?"

"Ever," you confirm.

You watch her head jerk back slightly, her gaze flitting around as she thinks over your words. After a few seconds, she's back to looking at you. Her expression is more relaxed now, and she appears almost… excited? Her eyebrows are just the tiniest bit raised, and you can see the slightest upturn at the corners of her mouth. Then, you notice her lips twitch into a slight purse, like she's trying to hold back her smile. You figure she's just about to tease you.

"Why not?" Nat asks.

You laugh. "I dunno. Never had the chance. Not one I wanted, at least."

"Well… aren't you curious? What it feels like?" Her expression is no longer confused, but playful. Oddly, it feels like she's masking something.

"I mean, I can guess. But I'm sure it feels better than I'm imagining."

"It does," she replies quickly, leaving no room for argument. She suddenly holds herself up with an arm on the bed and asks, "You wanna see?"

Now, Nat's eyes are more attentive, lips slightly parted in question. She's expectant, hanging on every little reaction of yours. You're not sure exactly what she's offering, but whatever it is, she seems hopeful that your answer is going to be yes. It's as if she's seized some moment, and things are finally falling into place for her. She's a little too excited, a little too invested for this all to be spontaneous.

"Uh… I mean… yeah." Your eyes are darting around her, though not really seeing anything. You press your lips together, nervous and trying to hide the new topic of conversation.

"Can I help?" she asks quietly, pressing her hand to your face like there's no time to lose. You know she can feel the heat under the skin of your cheek, and you watch as her gaze approvingly focuses on the contact. She looks proud, her smile breaking through her act just a bit.

You nod. "Yeah. You can. You can kiss me." You say it explicitly, just in case you're being delusional, and this was all just going to turn into her saying she had some hot date to set you up on. You were close enough with Nat to be sure she wouldn't hate you after saying something like this, even if she didn't have romantic feelings for you. It'd definitely crush you if you heard her rejection, hence why you hadn't confessed, but you couldn't help yourself from letting the words tumble out now.

She smiles, then traps her bottom lip under her teeth. Her gaze flicks between your lips and your eyes as she leans in.

She nudges her nose against yours, giggling. You know what she's doing, trying to break the tension and make sure you're relaxed. You let your eyes close, lips parting slightly in a smile, and hold her waist.

Then, she tilts her head and presses her lips against yours.

It's soft and light for a few seconds, lips just brushing against one another. She moves a little closer, and you open your mouth just slightly wider to take more of her in. You can faintly taste nicotine from her mouth, something slightly bitter and peppery. But it's Nat, and she's eagerly sharing herself with you, so you take it in with a fluttering heart.

After a few seconds of uncertainty, you relax, mimicking the way her mouth moves against yours, and it's suddenly easy. Natural. Right. Maybe it's just because you've imagined this so many times, but you don't have to think about it. It's as if your body moves on it's own, somehow one with hers.

She adjusts herself on the bed, but refuses to break the kiss. You feel one of her legs slot between yours, and then the weight of her body as she leans down against you. Her hand moves from your face to your arm, holding herself up above you. After a few more seconds of trying different angles, she pulls back, looking down at you in what you can only see as awe.

"So?" She's smiling, but you sense the slightest bit of insecurity in her tone and expression, a plea for validation.

"Can we keep going?" you reply quickly.

She grins wide, her eyes all light and soft and admiring, then nods. “Yeah. Whatever you want."

author's note: hey guys! hope you like this, and thanks for all the interaction after my last post! i've made a masterlist with rules, so if you want to request something, check that out!

[ohagiwrites]

₊✩‧₊˚౨ A Quiet Melody ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

Note: for your reading experience, I cite these songs in order of their appearance.

1. Ballerina — Yehezkel Raz

2. Gentle Adieu — Joshua Kyan Aalampour

3. Letters Never Sent — Million Eyes

Alastair wipes his eyes and sniffs one last time, pushing his shoulders back.

“Sorry,” he says to Kokoa, who stands beside him, one hand on the handle of the closed door before them, the other firmly squeezing Alastair’s shoulder. “I’m ready now.”

Kokoa nods and twists the handle, pushing the door open. Alastair murmurs a thank you and steps inside, knowing Kokoa will be waiting on the other side of the door as it shuts.

Alastair sighs and his eyes immediately find Atlas sitting in his chair in the corner of the room. His head is ducked down, hands fiddling with his clothing. Alastair allows himself a moment to admire him. His hair is growing out again, there’s more color to his skin than there was when they’d found him, and when he looks up at Alastair, he doesn’t growl or snarl but rather shifts slightly towards Alastair as a silent acknowledgment of his presence.

“Hello, Atlas,” Alastair breathes out. Seeing him still makes his chest tight because even after however long it’s been that he’s been back with them, it feels surreal to have Atlas in front of him and for the boy to not be trying to kill him.

Atlas, of course, does not respond. He never does in the beginning. He didn’t yesterday, or the day before, so it’s no surprise really. It always takes him a while to warm up to Alastair’s reappearance.

However, flow of conversation is not at the forefront of Alastair’s mind today. With a quiet hum, he shuffles to sit in the chair across from Atlas’s, their knees close, Atlas’s body heat settling between them and making Alastair all warm inside.

“I thought maybe we could try something new today? If that’s all right with you.”

Atlas pauses his fidgeting and looks up, brows scrunched, eyes narrowed.

“It’s nothing dangerous. Kokoa will escort us to the room and wait outside the door like always,” Alastair adds calmly.

In truth it had taken quite some effort to convince the twins to even think about letting Alastair take Atlas somewhere else, even if it was on the same floor. And still, there were quite a few restrictions. Alastair was not to bring Atlas to see anyone else, Wren included, the twins had stressed.

After a long pause, Atlas nods hesitantly. “Okay,” he mutters.

Alastair’s chest swells up and he flushes, fighting back a smile. “Okay. Perfect. Um, you can just come with me then,” he says, standing and making his way to the door. He glances behind him to ensure Atlas is with him before knocking to let Kokoa know he’s going to open the door and then slowly pulling it open.

“Hi, Kokoa,” Alastair greets with a small smile which the man returns with a wide grin of his own.

“Didn’t take much convincing I see,” he notes before turning to Atlas. “Hey dude, looking good. I think you’ll like what Alastair has planned.” He doesn’t say anymore as he leads the two down the hall.

Alastair knows Kokoa stays quiet because it’s Alastair’s time with Atlas. The twins are always very mindful of not being intrusive of Alastair and Atlas’s time together. Alastair is grateful for this. It’s the only time he gets with Atlas after all.

Kokoa stops at a door at the end of the hallway. “I’ll be out here if you guys need me,” he says, pushing the door open for them and stepping aside.

Alastair smiles softly at Atlas over his shoulder before stepping into the room. Atlas follows and the door clicks shut behind him.

The unused bedroom has been converted, now a neat, relatively empty yet still cozy room with lavender walls and a little bookshelf and an armchair by the window. The centerpiece of the room is a grand piano. It’s not new, the paint is black but worn and chipping in some areas. Yet it’s perfectly tuned.

“Here. You can have a seat if you’d like,” Alastair offers, turning to Atlas. Atlas crosses his arms over his chest and stays standing by the door.

Alastair sighs and crosses the room to sit at the piano bench. “You don’t like it?”

Atlas glares. “What are you trying to do?” he asks, voice tight, eyes narrowed into slits.

“Nothing,” Alastair answers calmly.

Atlas snarls and storms up to Alastair, grabbing him by the collar. “Don’t lie to me,” he snaps. “You can’t keep me in here. Kokoa will let me out.” Atlas’s voice is sharp and angry but panic laces his tone.

Alastair stares up at Atlas, eyes soft with adoration. He very slowly reaches up to touch Atlas’s wrist. The boy flinched and his grip around the front of Alastair’s shirt tightens. “You don’t have to stay Atlas,” Alastair says softly, rubbing small lines along the inside of Atlas’s wrist with his thumb. “I won’t make you.”

Even when his face is scrunched up in a glare, distrusting and wary, Alastair thinks he’s beautiful.

Those eyes. There’s a haunting radiance in the violet that pools, deep and consuming, pulling Alastair in.

“But I would like you to listen, if you’re willing.”

Atlas grinds his teeth together before releasing Alastair with a shove, jerking his arm away from Alastair’s hand.

He pivots and marches towards the door.

Alastair begins to play. He can sense the way Atlas stills behind him as he plucks delicately at ivory keys.

He doesn’t stop to look behind him as Atlas slowly approaches. Alastair spares him only a short glance, warm and inviting, before turning his attention to his song in an instant.

The song is light, peaceful, almost playful. It fills the air around them, a tune only for their ears — and perhaps Kokoa’s but Alastair can’t give him a moment’s thought when Atlas stands beside him, breathing evening out.

When Atlas slowly lowers himself onto the bench beside him, Alastair feels his lips curl up in a soft smile. Atlas is warm against his side, their thighs pressing against each other on the short slab of wood.

Alastair fell the way Atlas’s shoulders sink, his posture going lax. The next time he looks over, Atlas eyes are closed and his head is swaying slightly in tune.

However, the song is a rather short one, and comes to an end only seconds later.

Atlas’s eyes shoot open and he fixes Alastair with an accusing look. “Why did you stop?” he grumbles.

Alastair, amused, tilts his head and hums. “Are you asking me to continue?”

Atlas mumbles something incoherently before sheepishly — and rather adorably, Alastair privately thinks — saying “Yes. Play another.”

Alastair smiles, his expression practically melting as he nods, turning to the keys again. His fingers dance over white and black, slower this time. The song this time, is calming and sweet — if not melancholic. Bittersweet, one might say.

Alastair can see Atlas in his peripheral, swaying slightly. His eyes are probably closed again as well. Alastair allows himself to look again and confirms his suspicion.

Though distracted, he still plays beautifully, cheeks warm as he takes Atlas in. His face is free of creases and furrows, his posture is almost completely relaxed, Alastair swears his lips quirk up a little in the corners too. He looks more at peace than Alastair has seen him in a long time. Alastair is brought a soothing warmth to know that this is his doing.

He turns his attention to the piano again and as the song continues, Alastair feels a gentle thunk on his shoulder as a small weight settles upon it. He looks down, his playing not faltering a second but his heart lurching. Atlas’s temple rests against his shoulder, his eyes still closed. Now, he’s smiling a proper smile. Soft and reserved, but a smile nonetheless.

‘Every song I play is for you,’ Alastair thinks as if Atlas will hear him.

Alastair, trying to keep his shoulder as still as possible, continues his playing.

When the song comes to a quiet end, Alastair doesn’t wait for Atlas to ask this time before leading into another gentle melody as the light outside descends, painting the room in lovely oranges and pinks.

Alastair doesn’t care how long he has to sit perfectly still like this because Atlas enjoys his playing and is resting against him and the two of them are alone and at peace together, soaking in the warmth of the dying sun.

Atlas and Kokoa are owned by @oros-ash3s

[unbidden-yidden-deactivated20240]

My (non-Jewish) anthropology professor made a really incorrect statement about the idea of Jews as “God’s chosen people”. When I (also non-Jewish but try to keep informed) corrected him, he brought up something else that sounded wrong to me: supposedly only Reform Judaism allows for conversion? I didn’t know enough to contest it at the time, but that really does not sound true to my ear, from the way I’ve heard Jewish people talk about it. Is there any truth to that?

Yeah, the Chosen People thing is often wildly and antisemitically misinterpreted to mean "We think we're G-d's Specialest Selected Elite People and the only people G-d actually loves and cares about" -- which like. Could not be further from the truth. What it actually means is: We were selected to do the project of the mitzvot of the Torah, which is a lot of extra homework that other people don't need to do but someone needs to do it. It's a lot more like "chosen to do the dishes" of the spiritual world than "chosen to be special." Now. Is there definitely some pride of place in doing the extra work? Sure! But at the same time, Jewish eschatology has always made room for non-Jews. We absolutely think non-Jews who live good lives and are decent, moral people have a solid place in the world to come. We aren't angling for a everyone to become Jewish because, kind of by definition, not everyone needs to do the ritual mitzvot. Live ethical lives and be decent to each other and us? Sure. Lay tefillin and daven three times a day and (during the Temple times) offer sacrifices and wave lulav fronds during Sukkot and eat matzah on Pesach and keep kosher and keep Shabbat? Etc.? Nope, that's our task and ours alone.

Now! If you feel personally called to living a life of Torah and believe that you have a Jewish soul and should be made part of Am Yisrael, the Jewish people, you can go through the lengthy process of conversion and (essentially) become a member of the Tribe? Yeah, you can do that. You better be real sure and go into it eyes open. You're going to need to be persistent and dedicated to studying and being present in the community. It's not encouraged, and traditionally rabbis would turn someone asking to convert away three times before accepting them as a student to make sure they were serious. In modern times, most rabbis are a bit more welcoming, but will still push you to seriously consider why you want to be Jewish. If the answer is still yes for you, then you can do it, if you must. Most gerim (converts) describe an experience very similar to how transgender folks describe our gender journeys - we can't be any other way, and wouldn't want to be. I'm both a convert and trans, and my sense of understanding myself as both non-binary and as a Jew are deeply held and equally compelling.

All branches of rabbinic Judaism accept converts. Some have a more strenuous process than others, and some take on very few converts. The more traditional the movement, the more likely it is that the person will be encouraged to explore other options. The reason for this is that the more traditional the movement, the more serious they take the binding nature of the commandments, and therefore adding another Jew (especially one who has so much to learn in a comparatively short time rather than being raised in it) is a risk that the person will revert back to their old ways or find something else later. Since we are judged collectively (Torah is a group project) and the future world to come hinges on us scrupulously observing the mitzvot (according to the more traditional movements) it is imperative that any late additions to the People be very serious and rigorous in their observance.

The liberal movements are a lot less intense about that, although it's also a spectrum. The Reform movement does not hold the ritual mitzvot to be binding, only the ethical mitzvot. They therefore lack the same incentive to avoid failed conversions. The Conservative/Masorti movement and some of the other traditional egalitarian communities do hold the mitzvot as binding, but are a lot more flexible about their expectations that everyone follow them. It's a lot more of a "do your best; we're here to support you" vibe. (That's my branch that I converted through.)

Each branch, to be clear, has their strengths and weaknesses, their merits and their drawbacks. Every Jew brings something to the table. The Reform movement (and similarly liberal smaller movements) are probably the most welcoming to gerim and have the fewest hoops to jump through, but every branch has a process and some amount of converts. Those that choose a more traditional movement typically support, respect, and value the extra hoops of the traditional movements and are willing to work within that system; at least that's how it was for me. I wanted it to be rigorous so that I was prepared and certain; I got that out of my giyur process. Other people have different needs and value systems that are equally valid.

[thewritingmagician2022]

Hi! For Valentine’s Day coming up I was wondering if you could do the demon bros (Satan specifically but whatever you feel like) proposing to MC? (Thank you so much <3)

So it’s mid-summer, two years later give or take. That’s the perfect time to do a Valentine’s Day prompt, right? Genuinely, I am sorry. I’ve explained before that health issues took over my life. There are times when I’m so chronically fatigued I can barely read let alone write anything. I already know this probably won’t be as great as you were hoping for (if you even end up seeing this) but I hope it’s still something to make you smile!

Lucifer: Of course Lucifer is going to go all out for his proposal - do you think he would ever offer you anything but the best? It’ll be a formal affair at a restaurant where he booked a private room for you both with a bottle of some of the best wine (or nonalcoholic drink) available and a custom gourmet menu fitted distinctly to your tastes. There will be ambient lighting and live music playing and you’ll both be dressed up to the nines. I think he’d be the kind of man who chose a classic day to propose, like an anniversary of some sort. One that’s important enough to warrant celebration and keep you from getting too suspicious of the grandiosity but also one that’s innocuous enough that you don’t assume a proposal will follow.

Everything will be going smoothly and Lucifer has just begun his meticulously written (and rewritten several times over) speech when his brothers burst into the restaurant, causing absolute chaos. The food is being eaten, the wine drank, the music is interrupted, and his brothers are all arguing and yelling for your attention. He genuinely considers killing them for ruining what’s supposed to be a special occasion but he sees you smiling at them so fondly, rather getting upset like any normal person would, and so he completely drops his speech and asks you if you’d spend forever with him, dealing with his idiot brothers and helping him clean up their messes. Of course you agree because there’s nowhere else you’d rather be than by his side at the head of this perfectly imperfect little family you’ve found.

Mammon: Mammon is not the most romantic of his brothers, if we’re being honest. He’s not very good at planning things out - he doesn’t have the attention span for it or the consideration it takes. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you as much as they do; on the contrary, one could argue he loves you far more than the others could ever dream of. Mammon doesn’t need a big fancy moment, certainly nothing like Lucifer planned, to propose to you. He doesn’t even have to think about doing it. One minute he’s sitting in his baby with you, riding on the coast, watching the grin on your face and your sparkling eyes and the way your hair blows in the strong wind from the speeding convertible, and the next he’s asking you to do this with him forever. Just always stay by his side and he’ll be happy, and he’ll do anything and everything in his power to make you happy too. He doesn’t have a diamond ring or anything to give you but he offers up one of his signature rings (maybe on one of his chains if it doesn’t fit your hand). He’s giving you a piece of himself, a cherished possession, showing you that this avatar of greed doesn’t need anything else but you. For you, he can be good and generous, and he promises to spend the rest of your lives together showing up for you as the best demon he can be. He wants to be your first demon and your last, if you’ll have him.

Levi: Levi is so so nervous about proposing. Every day he feels blessed by the base gods that you’ve given him a chance to date you; asking you to marry him feels like he’s pushing his luck. But he loves you so much and you’ve both grown so much together that he feels ready to take that step. He doesn’t just wanna be your simp boyfriend anymore, he wants to be your simp husband, and so he sets about coming up with a proposal that suits the both you more than anything traditionally romantic.

It takes him literally months to create the perfect set up. He develops a cute co-op video game not unlike StarDew Valley where you guys can build your little lives together. You design your home and get jobs and get pets; it’s all so charming and cozy and, as always, you guys agree on just about everything because you’re more than lovers, you’re best friends. At the end of the game, Levi’s character proposes to yours with a cute little speech about how he wants you to be his player 2 for the rest of your lives, both here and in real life. He tells you how much your love has inspired him and helped him grow and how he can’t wait to spend the rest of his life leveling up with you as you go on adventures together and make your way through the most dangerous game in the world - life.

Satan: Satan is a diehard romantic underneath that intellectual, rage filled exterior. He’s read all the books and seen all the movies; he’s constantly coming up with bigger and better ways to propose to you. He wants it to be a memorable occasion and something worthy of you, which is a hard feat because you’re the best thing that’s ever happened in this damned place.

He eventually settles on creating an interactive experience. It’ll be a scavenger hunt/mystery sort of game where he involves all his brothers and the other characters to take you on your quest around the Devildom. You’ll visit all of your most meaningful spots, get little mementos from important moments in your relationship, receive little love notes from him filled with your favorite quotes from your favorite books. When you find Satan at the end of the journey, where he’s already kneeling with the loveliest ring pulled out, he thanks you for showing him that he was capable of such warmth and kindness and love. He talks about how he never understood romance or love until he met you, and now it’s his favorite genre. You are everything he could have ever dreamed of, better than any character he’s ever read about, and he never wants to let you do. Then he’ll ask you to continue writing this love story with him and give it a happily ever after ending.

Asmo: Asmo would probably expect to be proposed to honestly, rather than doing the proposing. He’s used to being chased and wooed but, just for you, he’ll take the lead. He just has to do this for his honey; it’s the very least they deserve. Asmo knows he’s simply divine and you are a very lucky human but he also knows how much you have to deal with when being with him so he decides to use this opportunity to make you feel as special and loved as you truly are.

He’s going to take you to the spa and all of your favorite places to buy you whatever you glance at for more than a minute and whatever food you want. He will be the one waiting on you hand and foot for once. He wants you to understand that he’s willing to put in the effort and dedication for you; he’s willing to commit to you and be this giving, steady presence forever, not just a fun boyfriend for now. It’s easy to show someone you want them but it’s much harder to show them that you need them and love them and respect them; however, Asmo is going to spend the entire day trying to achieve just that. By the end of your lovely dinner, he’s pulling out the biggest and nicest engagement rings ever seen (yes, one for each of you obviously and of course they’re a matching set) and asking you to love him forever.

Beel: Sweet, sweet Beel tries so hard to be romantic for his proposal. He knows really early on that he wants to marry you (he’s a male wife, okay?) but he can’t think of anything good! Nothing feels like it’s good enough for you or shows how much he loves you. So he goes to his brothers for help and they help him come with the tried and true proposal over a nice dinner with the ring in your dessert - it being related to food just really fits in with Beel - and they know how much you love your Devildom sweets.

The night is going so well. The dinner is delicious and you two are laughing the whole time and you definitely have no idea what’s coming. Beel is so excited by the surprise that he’s actually not even eating as much as normal which you’ve noticed. By the time dessert comes, Beel is running on adrenaline. He’s excited, he’s nervous, he’s starving. His half out of his mind by the time the desserts come and he’s scarfing down the parfait as quickly as possible and watching for your reaction when you find the ring. Except…you don’t. You finish your entire parfait without anything in your way and Beel has to call over the waiter to none too subtly ask what happened to your ring. It quickly becomes apparent that the desserts had been mixed up and Beel, in his haste to get through dessert, never noticed the ring in his meaning that it’s currently in his stomach right now. At this point Beel has no choice but to tell you what happened and he’s so embarrassed but you’re laughing in the nicest way and telling him you love him and you can’t wait to marry him once you get that ring. You do ask him to make sure it’s professionally cleaned though.

Belphie: For someone who is so lazy, Belphie really puts a lot of thought into proposing to you. Belphie never thought he’d be getting married, let alone to a human, but now that he has you, he wants to keep you forever. Sometimes it’s a tempting thought to just lock you in the attic where you can’t leave but he knows a proposal would be much more effective and much less traumatic, which is something he’s trying to work on for you. Autonomy and safety are non negotiable, apparently.

With that being said, Belphie isn’t going to go all out like Lucifer or Satan. He plans a romantic little planetarium date, not quite unlike your usual ones, though the blankets and pillows are even nicer than normal and there’s extra dessert and your favorite food for dinner. You just think he’s doing something nice for you, likely because he’s done something not so nice that you haven’t found out about yet. As Belphie is laying there in the dark with you, he points out a new constellation - one that he commissioned and bought so it’ll be listed in actual books now. It’s a triad of stars - the two twins and then a connected third star that turns the shape into a heart - that’s you he says. The missing puzzle piece, the only person who could ever fill that void in his heart that he’s been carrying for so long. Then he’ll pull out a beautiful ring with a stone like starburst to match your constellation star and he asks you to marry him - you fate is literally written in the stars now - the two of you bound together forever.

[tenderlywicked]

I got so impatient that I started filling my own prompt. Wild Blue Yonder AU: the Doctor and the Master get stuck with the Not-Things :)

It’s not like the Master has something against eldritch beings per se. Arms that are too long or a dropping jaw—it’s not as disturbing for him as it clearly is for the Doctor. He’s been an eldritch horror himself, not just once, so he can sympathize. Moreover, appreciate the ability to adapt and survive at any cost. It’s a matter for envy rather than scorn or dread. He’s not even that shocked to see his own face on someone else: after all, there had been six billions of him once.

But it’s plain ridiculous that one of these not-things is able to imitate his speech patterns almost perfectly, and yet gets it wrong how many hearts and knees he has. It’s a sign of hackwork, and he despises that. On the other hand, in the current circumstances such incompetence is in his favor. It means the creatures aren’t unbeatable, they tend to miss the most obvious things.

He’d be more content and optimistic about it, though, if the Doctor hadn’t been clumsy enough to get separated from him, ending up on some other level of technical corridors. It’s nothing but irritating because without the Doctor there’s no way out: the TARDIS will come back for him. He isn’t to blame for the spaceship’s baffling reconfigurations of course, but still, he should have been more careful.

To the Doctor’s credit, he’s now probably rushing about, trying to find his missing companion, despite the row they’d had before the TARDIS had run off on them both. (The Master is still of opinion that this time the Doctor’s indignation had been apropos of nothing. Yes, he’d summoned the Toymaker into the universe, so what? He’d played his final game and won, he’s alive thanks to that, and the blasted universe is fine too, more or less, despite a few tiny time paradoxes all of this had caused. Should he have just died from a stab in the back instead? No, thank you very much.) Anyway, no matter their disagreements, the Doctor will be looking for him, desperately, the Master is sure of that. Instead of doing the same, he unhurriedly goes searching for something else.

They’d discovered the bridge and the control rooms, but surely, there must be living quarters somewhere on the spaceship. It’s not as big as the Mondasian one, so it doesn’t take the Master much time to locate them, along with what he’d been hoping to find—another set of surveillance equipment. He turns it on, and there it is, the second dot on the screen, the Doctor still braving the labyrinthine corridors on his own.

The Master fumbles with settings and finally finds the right camera in the hall the Doctor is about to pass…right in time to see him stumble across the false Master. And is it really that surprising what happens next? There’s no sound, but the Doctor’s face is quite expressive—it’s easy to see when wariness turns into wavering. Then, sequentially, come incredulity, hurt…and hope?

“Oh for fuck’s sake, still falling for sweet talk,” the Master mutters aloud as the Doctor takes a timorous step towards not-him, only for what he must expect to be a reunion hug to turn into a chokehold.

The creatures won’t kill him, they know he might regenerate, the Master tells himself, switching between the cameras as he follows the Doctor being dragged back to the bridge. They are more likely to keep him for further research.

What had his doppelgänger told the Doctor to earn his trust so quickly? Theta, I missed you so much? The Master tries to persuade himself it’s just curiosity, but also, deep inside, he knows there’s a bitter feeling too, akin to jealously: he never seems to say the right words that would convert the Doctor to his side so easily. One of his silly regenerations had wanted to stand with the Doctor, but would the Doctor ever stand with him?

Maybe he’s not entirely fair, maybe that’s just his old resentment speaking. In his place, the Doctor would undoubtedly rush to rescue at once. In his own place, the Master chooses to see what happens next. He just has to find out how to turn on the sound.

That's the first part, more horrors are to come ;)

[betterinvienna]

but even though you're killing me | childe x gen!reader

chapter 3: himself

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synopsis: Ajax is most attracted to the things that hurt him: combat, heartbreak, and you. Inspired by Chainsaw Man’s Angel, reader possesses deadly, unwanted power; to touch reader’s skin is to shorten your lifespan by an unspecified, varying amount. For this reason, reader resides in a secluded spot of Dragonspine and wears heavy, impenetrable clothing—well, up until reader’s life is impeded by a moment of weakness. Luckily for the lovestruck redhead, he’s here for a good time—not a long time.

[ 903 words — fluff, slow burn & angst — warnings: n/a ]

ac: rainsword01 on twt

taglist: @usagiarchive, @kaerotica

author's note:

extremely short because i've once again gotten busy lol. i'm going to try to upload more frequently as i haven't lost interest in this series and would really like for it to play out. i now also have converted to the side of properly using em dashes and i can appreciate their natural beauty—happy valentine's day, i love you

The dull hum of the carriage and the occasional thump, accredited to possibly a rock or two, repel a restful sleep. Evidently feeling much less conversational than the preceding journey, Childe wordlessly guides the steeds back to the scratchy-quilt cabin. You supposed there wasn’t an argument surrounding the topic. Nonetheless, you sternly disputed being under someone else’s care for so long. The quarrel was momentary as the two of you came to a consensus—Childe is entirely too busy with his job, whatever he works as, keeping him out of your hair, and the cabin is your home for your provisional time of rest. The latter portion is something you steadfastly consented to, knowing the tangent option—your home—is considerably less conditioned and substanced. 

You acted alone—clearly—but who passes up free warmth and food, undisturbed by the outside world? To put it flatly, denying the bid would be nonsensical.

In your time of silence and isolation—which was all of the time, at least the first choice—you’re left to think. Truly, you pity the pauper. Today’s subject of annihilation is Childe. You try not to dissect him in such an impatient fashion, but he stands as the only interesting person you have come across in about a decade. The other person… ah, you’d rather not speak about it. 

Childe is, as you had crudely expressed to him, unnatural. His welcoming personality is so obviously a facade—yes, this was not anything new, yours is too—but something different was off. You didn’t want to admit it, but there was a solid chance Childe may get you. May understand you. What life experience dulls the human light, stirring a literal characteristical difference? You didn’t want to prod. It’s none of your business, just as your matters are none of his. But when you reach the cabin, you just can’t help yourself, or your insatiable curiosity.

After the ride, standing just before the kitchen-to-living-room partition, you wait until Childe himself is out of earshot, his heavy boots trudging the snow back to the carriage, and you begin to quiz his coworker. Indeed, you weren’t about to approach Childe and put him under extreme scrutiny after that idiotic, blubbering stunt you pulled at Albedo’s; therefore, you settled for the second best.

“I don’t want to speak to you.” Scaramouche doesn’t turn his head, but in stocking the fridge, slim preparations to accommodate you—not voluntary work, Childe’s orders—he quickly turns you down, before you even get a chance.

“I understand,” you lie. If you understood, you wouldn’t be pressing further. “I’d just like to ask one question.” You ponder whether or not you should add the subject of the question. If he knew it was about Childe, would he immediately clam up, or would he throw you a bone? You decide to try your hand. “I just wanted to ask you about Childe.”

Scaramouche halts his movements for a split second—a hitch in his flow, barely noticeable—and gives you a bored, “I don’t know any more about him than you do.”

Your dishonesty could be excused because, well, you’re you. Scaramouche’s lack of integrity annoys you slightly. “Has he lost someone—something?” It was a wild guess. I mean, come on. No light in his eyes? Not a single glimmer? You scrolled through the list of possibilities. Anything cruel, anything extreme… it was all up for debate.

This time, in an unusually lucky manner, you hit the jackpot. Scaramouche closes the fridge, finally revealing his face without the obstruction and illumination of a fridge door, and you stand still, waiting for an answer.

“Someone, I guess.” Scaramouche stares into your eyes, unflinching. “Probably him, if I’m being honest.”

Him? Like, he lost himself? Now, you felt as though you were crossing into private property, one that was owned by an irritable hillbilly with three loaded shotguns. When has that ever stopped anyone, right? “What happened?” You push, and Scaramouche seems to roll his eyes all around the room as if the answer would pop up in a bubble before him. 

He opens his mouth, and just as he does, the rickety door creaks open. Unfortunately, and unconveniently, it’s Childe. “Stocking the fridge takes an hour?” He jokes, poking at the bubble of tension in the air. “We have to go,” Childe looks to Scaramouche, “we have a meeting with the other harbingers.” The words “meeting” and “harbingers” are emphasized to underline the importance of their attendance. It’s painfully clear Scaramouche doesn’t actually care about that aspect, but he seems newly unwilling to voice what he had begun to.

Scaramouche nods his head and doesn’t give any farewell to you. Not a gesture, a glance, or a nod. He simply leaves. Childe lingers behind for a split second, glancing at you, once, twice, and then, warmly smiling, shuts the door.

You fall limp, defeated, on the lint-filled green couch. If he had waited a minute longer…

You figured that you’d just personally ask Childe about it later. Did he lose himself? That was the only way Scaramouche could have meant it, right? Again, you return to a subject you mulled over before. Only now, you could add to your query. What experience evokes a loss of light? And how does one lose their person? You had been in a box, kicked to the side, isolated, and unusually punished, but you were still you. How was he not him?

Oh, right. Also, what’s a harbinger?

[chlobliviate]

Wolfstar Microfics - Whump

Words: 986

@wolfstarmicrofic

🌙✨🌙✨🌙

Remus shut his eyes and tried to temper his breathing in the darkness. He could hear the heavy footsteps coming up the stairs and flinched as the door swung open. There was no mistaking the silhouette in the door frame. Greyback.

Remus had been spending the full moon with Greyback’s pack for months, trying to convince them to turn against Voldemort, with varying, but generally little success. He hated Dumbledore for making him do this. It was something he could never understand, of course, being forced to spend time with the one who ruined your life and forced to make small talk with the repugnant man who looked at Remus like he was a piece of meat and he wanted to take a(nother) bite. Remus wasn’t stupid. He knew he was the only one who could take on this mission, but he was resentful nonetheless.

He suspected Greyback had officially allied with Voldemort at the last full moon and was wary about attending this month, but Dumbledore had been adamant that there was still a chance to convert them.

When Remus awoke after the sunrise, he found himself tied to a chair in a strange room. He could smell blood and dirt, but blackout curtains and a deep aching in his head made it hard to make out anything. He cursed himself for listening to Dumbledore and not telling anyone where he was going.

Greyback stood before him, running a finger down the side of Remus’ face, “Well, this is nice, isn’t it? Almost like old times.”

Remus said nothing, he set his jaw and focused on a water stain on the wall. He inhaled sharply when the back of Greyback’s hand struck his cheek.

“You’re not like them, Remus. They don’t trust you, because of what you are.” He grabbed Remus’ hair, yanking it up so Remus would look at him. “You’re one of us, and we serve the Dark Lord. Tell me what Dumbledore is planning.”

“No,” Remus said hoarsely. “I’d rather die.”

Greyback seemed to consider that for a moment, “That’s the easy way out. There are things much worse than death, as you well know. Crucio!”

Everything went white, Remus couldn’t breathe and he couldn’t contain the feral scream that was ripped from his throat. Curses (and spells) affected werewolves differently. It was something he desperately wanted to study, but not like this. He felt burning pain swirling under his skin as if trying to break through the surface.

Then it stopped, suddenly. Remus slumped forward, panting, tears falling from his eyes as soon as he opened them. He wondered why Greyback had stopped. Then he heard it, someone else was in the house.

Greyback studied him, “It seems the Dark Lord is here earlier than I anticipated.” He said with a sinister smile. “Stay.”

Remus bristled as Greyback left the room, locking it behind him. As if he had a choice. A loud crash startled him, then footsteps racing up the stairs. The door shook and he thought he heard someone swear softly. Then the door crashed open, almost flying off its hinges and when his eyes readjusted to the bright light from the hallway, he let out a sob as his heart soared and his empty stomach lurched.

“Pads?” It was barely a whisper.

Sirius charged into the room and was on his knees in front of Remus immediately. He vanished the ropes holding Remus without a sound and as Remus’ body plummeted, his arms were ready and waiting.

🌙✨🌙✨🌙

Remus woke with a start. The sun was streaming through a gap in his curtains. Wait, his curtains? He tried to look down but winced as pain shot through him and he swore under his breath.

Sirius was by his side in an instant. “Good morning, moonshine.” He looked tired like he hadn’t slept in days. Remus supposed he probably looked worse but tried to smile up at him. “I have a pain potion here, one sec.” He uncorked the potions and hesitated for a moment before slipping his hand around the back of Remus’ head so he could tilt it slightly to pour the potion into his mouth. The effect was almost instant and Sirius nodded as he saw Remus’ features soften. “Better?”

Remus nodded with a slight grimace, “What happened?”

“A lot,” Sirius said quietly. “Pete has been working for Voldemort. He let slip that you were with Greyback for the moon and tried to convince us that you told him. There was no scenario where you’d tell him and not us. We caught him in a lie, and last I heard he was on his way to Azkaban.” He hummed in thought, “What else? Prongs, Lily, and Harry are fine. I knocked Greyback the fuck out and the Aurors got him, finally. I’ll tell you more when you’re feeling better, but it’s all going to be fine.” He paused again, “I was so scared when you didn’t come home, Moons.”

“I’m sorry.” He croaked.

“It’s hardly your fault.” Sirius said, moving his thumb slowly to stroke the side of Remus’ neck, “I’m just glad you’re alive.”

Remus huffed out a hollow laugh, “Barely.” He knew he had to ask, “How did you find me?”

“Dumbledore gave Pete veritaserum,” Sirius frowned, “Fucking rat. He knew a lot more than we thought. If they can find Voldemort…” He looked down at Remus, “How are you feeling?”

Remus considered for a few seconds, not able to look Sirius in the eye, “Exhausted. What day is it?”

“It’s Sunday. You slept for about sixteen hours once I got you back home last night.” Sirius’ hand stilled and Remus missed the sensation instantly, turning his head slightly to press his cheek into Sirius’ palm. Sirius’ thumb traced his cheekbone, “Hey, no more full moons without me, please.”

Remus nodded, the beginnings of a smile teasing the corners of his mouth, “Of course.”

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Ignore this if you want but please write a ryan gosling!Ken x Shy!human!Reader? Like I can’t stop thinking about Ken being human and a dad of a infant son who’s a mommy boy and Ken brings them to Barbie land, just hardcore fluff? Like everyone is happy to see the reader again but also happy to see a baby. So cute shy reader brings her infant son to girls night. 💖💖💖💖💖💖

"You think they'll like him?"

"They'll love him, [y/n]. I'm sure of it." Ken popped his head out of the camper van's window, smiling as he saw you sitting outside on the lawn chair.

You weren't the only people making a trip back to Barbieland, however, as you were currently cradling your pride and joy:

It was your infant son, who had the same hair color as you, and the same bright blue eyes as his father.

Yes, the baby was also Ken's.

After he decided to become human with your help (and a whole lot of patience), he was finally at a place where he felt genuinely happy with his life and purpose:

He started working for Mattel to advocate for the Ken dolls and skyrocket their sales, got married to you--his owner who finalized his decision to leave all his dollness behind, and settled down in a house that you could both call your own.

Despite all of these great happenings, however, he did feel like something else was missing.

Something that he desperately wanted to experience as a man.

And no, it had nothing to do with horse or beach or patriarchy.

It was fatherhood.

During his second time in the Real World, he's seen families bonding with their kids in movies, books, and even just walking down the street.

He was a bit embarrassed about obsessing over horses and ignoring the beauty of humanity happening all around him back then.

But now? He got to truly appreciate it.

While Ken didn't explicitly tell you that he wanted to know what it's like to raise a family, you could just tell from his lingering stares and smiles that he would give anything to experience that.

So you had some conversations about it, and you were absolutely happy to have a kid with him.

Yet after coming home from the clinic with the confirmation that you were pregnant, he became utterly terrified, his mind cluttered with the "what-ifs"?

He knew that he messed up a lot as Barbie's handcrafted boyfriend, and even as a human...that guilt followed him back to the Real World. He may have left behind the pastels and plastics, but these overwhelming emotions stuck to him like super glue.

He's just so, so afraid of screwing up again. Or that his expectations of fatherhood will fall short and the kid will hate him if they knew what he-

But you reassured Ken he was going to be a great father; him worrying about raising them right before they're even born just shows it.

Those nerves finally went away the moment he got to hold his son in the delivery room, sobbing after he realized he helped create this beautiful life with you.

Something that he, a dumb blond plastic doll who only knew how to do beach, never thought he'd get to experience.

Like Barbie, he finally got to be the creator...rather than the created.

Now he couldn't wait to revisit Barbieland with you and introduce his child to everyone there.

You've taken a trip there a few times before, so you were well aware of the long rollerblade-snowmobile-camper van-tandem bike-rocketship-speedboat-convertible journey ahead.

This time however, you were reasonably nervous, given you now had one extra fragile passenger to take care of.

Luckily, it's been a rather smooth trip so far, and your son didn't make a single fuss.

Not in the freezing cold during your snowmobile ride...and not even when a mama bear was currently emerging from the surrounding woods, approaching you both. You still held him closely, staying calm and cool, knowing these animals wouldn't hurt you.

Ken, on the other hand, damn near jumped out the window to drive the scary beast away--his newly-acquired dad instincts kicking into maximum overdrive.

But you took notice and hushed him, before turning back to the bear who was now sniffing you and your son with curiosity. You got to pet her on the head, and eventually she huffed and left you two alone.

"See?" You glanced back at your husband, amused that his torso was now halfway out the window. "Seriously, Ken? There's a door y'know."

"W-Well...had to make sure my family is safe! But I see you got it under control...g-good job, sweetie!" He forced a smile, although he was clearly struggling.

"....are you stuck?"

"......maybe."

'Great...now I'm dealing with two children.' Shaking your head, you gently set your baby in the carrier, before going to help Ken.

Yeah, this trip was going to be longer than you thought.

And not because of the kid.

................

"Barbies! Kens! Allan! We're back!"

"Oh my god!"

"Everybody STOP what you're doing!! It's [y/n] and Ken!!"

"Hi [y/n]!!"

"Hi Ken!!"

"Welcome back guys!!"

"Ken, dude!!!"

"[Y/n]! How you've been-??!"

"Guys, guys..at least let us get out first." After stepping out of the car, you looked around at the dolls surrounding you and Ken, seeing that Barbieland had gone through some changes since the last time you've seen it.

Nevertheless, it still felt warm and welcoming. Like your second home at this point.

With a bashful smile, you cradled your son closely to your chest, sighing as you wondered how you'll break the news to them. You were never one to make huge announcements...especially as everydoll here now had their eyes on you.

Weird Barbie--now in a uniform fitting for the garbage workers here--was quick to notice the bundle of blue you were holding, tilting her head. "What's that you got there, hun? A gift for us?"

"O-Oh! This is...um-"

"Oh it's not just any gift you can buy, Weird Barbie," Ken interjected, trying to hold back the tears in his eyes as he wrapped an arm around you, smiling from ear-to-ear. "We have brought to you the gift...of life!!"

There was a silence so loud, you could almost hear crickets chirping from the other world.

"...he means we had a baby boy." You bluntly stated, uncovering some of the blanket so they could see your child.

At first there were gasps, before there were cheers and smiles all around as they came closer to congratulate you both.

The Barbies cooed at how adorable your son looked, while Midge asked you if he just "popped" out of your belly like her Real World counterpart (to which you said no, of course).

Meanwhile, Ken struck up a conversation with the other Kens, who had their own praise to give and told him about all the cool jobs and other opportunities they've gotten since he left.

Of course, though, he was the first among them to be a dad besides Sugar Daddy Ken.

"But enough about us, and more about your son..." Tourist Ken spoke up, leaning forward. "Tell me, is he shaping up to be a "beach boy" like his dad?"

"Nope. He's...definitely a momma's boy." With a warm smile, Ken looked to you, seeing how his son clung to you while looking mesmerized by all the colorful and sparkly things in the cul-de-sac. "But he has my eyes and...that's enough for me."

A small chorus of "awh's" were heard, but before all the guys could start spouting about the sports they wanted to teach your son, he noticed you approaching them.

He stood right up, his focus on you. "Yes, my love?"

"Oh! So..I was wondering..uh--girls, c'mon." You huffed to the giggling Barbies behind you, shooing them away. Then you turned back to your husband. "Anyways, they um...invited me to girls' night tonight. And they're hoping our little guy can come along, too!"

"........."

"It'll just be for a few hours, I-I promise." You nervously added, suddenly remembering how he felt about that event. "I won't be-"

"I don't mind if you two go."

You blinked. "...you don't?"

"Nah, the Kens said they're having their own boys' night on the beach...which so-happens to be tonight as well!" His grin returned. "You have fun with the ladies. You'll know where I'll be."

Those words brought a huge smile to your own face, and you stepped forward to peck him on the lips. "Thanks, sweetheart. You boys have fun.." Your gaze flickered to the male dolls. "Try not to "beach-off" my husband while I'm gone."

After that, you turned and walked back to the Barbies, while Ken stared at the other Kens, noticing their bewildered expressions.

"What?"

"Th-That was an actual kiss."

"I've never seen one like that before!"

"H-How did you do that???"

"...it took practice, and don't forget..I'm human now, too." He chuckled, feeling a bit smug. "Humans kiss very differently."

[bikananjarrus]

anchor.

sw: the high republic | elzar mann x stellan gios | 1100 words | rated g

summary:

elzar and stellan find comfort in each other in the aftermath of the attacks on valo and grizal (set immediately after the rising storm).

note:

the rising storm gave me SO many elzar and stellan feelings. and just feelings about the firebrands in general. so i wrote this in a blur at work today.

this is set right after the rising storm (so spoilers for phase 1 books up to that point. Though spoilers are minimal). i’m still reading my way through the books, so this likely doesn't fit super well into canon but oh well! (but please no spoilers for future books thx <3)

Elzar couldn’t sleep.

His ribs (badly cracked, according to the med droid; one more good compression from Stellan and they would’ve broken completely) ached. Well—everything ached. Crashing a Vector will do that to a person.

More than that, he couldn’t focus, his center within the Force eluding him. Just when he thought he’d grasped onto it and could finally reach that meditative place he needed to rest, recuperate—and to shake the horrifying visions that had returned to his mind’s eye—it slipped away from him again.

Turmoil permeated the Force in the Temple on Valo.

After the attack on Grizal, after Loden—

They’d chosen to regroup at the outpost, the Jedi survivors and their Nihil prisoners, rejoining the survivors and workers from Valo that were still stationed at the Temple-turned-temporary-base-of-operations.

Many of them had gone straight to the medical wing, Elzar included. Padawan Bell, too, who they’d managed to pull from his fear-induced stupor enough to walk (mostly) on his own. But the young man was still in shock—silent, staring at the wall, his loyal charhound never once leaving his side.

Bell didn’t need to speak, though. Anguish rolled off him in waves through the Force. Fear, grief, confusion. The air in the Temple was thick with it all. Jedi seeking answers and finding none.

Likely, they wouldn’t find any tonight.

Night settled over the planet and the Temple quieted.

Elzar had spent a couple hours helping where he could after being cleared, despite the protests of his body and the anxious medical droids telling him he needed rest. Only after Ty threatened to knock him out did he finally relent and move to one of the rooms where bunks had been set up.

But despite his exhaustion, sleep never came.

Meditation kept failing, and even the steady breathing of others sleeping around him couldn’t lull him into that same sleep.

Unable to find his own center in the Force, he reached out in search of something else. Someone else, who had always served as a compass when Elzar felt lost in the storm.

Wearing nothing but light sleep pants, he threw on the outer cloak of his Jedi robes, pulling it around his bruised and aching torso. He almost smiled thinking how Stellan would teasingly scold him for walking around a Jedi Temple in something so un-Jedi-like. Almost. But circumstances kept his features drawn as he padded quietly through the Temple, following the tug of Stellan through the Force.

Elzar found him in what appeared to be a converted closet. As one of the few intact buildings leftover from the attack, every available space in the Temple was being used. The small room was wide enough for the two flimsy mattresses laid out and shoved against opposite walls. One mattress was empty; Stellan occupied the other. His was on his side, eyes closed, but Elzar knew he wasn’t asleep.

As the door slid shut behind him, Elzar found himself wondering who had finally gotten Stellan to rest for the night. Given the chance, Stellan would have stayed up all night seeking answers to the terror that had found them on Grizal.

Elzar knew Stellan had heard—or rather, felt—him come in. Wordlessly, Stellan shifted over on the mattress. Equally without sound, he tossed off his outer robe and settled down onto the bed next to Stellan. They tucked together in a way they hadn’t done since they were Padawans.

It was different with Stellan, than it was with Avar. Just as Elzar knew Stellan’s connection to him and Avar differed, as did Avar’s connection to them. The three of them experiencing gravity, its push and pull, just a little bit differently. But the three of them—always in the same orbit. Always Firebrands.

With Stellan, Elzar didn’t have to say anything; Stell had always just been that good at reading him. It was the same the other way around. Without words, they could say all they needed to.

Though he and Stellan had never shared a bed, fully, in the way that he and Avar had, as Padawans they had still sought comfort in the heat of each other’s bodies. Skin to skin, occasionally mouth to mouth. But never more than that. Stellan always pulling back with a self-restraint Elzar never had, and doubted he ever would.

But it was enough. Just to lay with each other, be near each other, until their breaths timed together. Until the Force recognized them as one being, instead of two.

They breathed together now—Elzar’s back pressed against Stellan’s chest, the soft material of Stell’s light tunic sliding against his bare skin. Inhale. Stellan’s arms slid around him gently, and Elzar pulled one of his hands into his own. Exhale.

Still, Stellan was tense behind him. Elzar could feel his thoughts racing, the tangle of emotions that was making it hard to find equilibrium in the Force.

Inhale. Exhale.

Elzar shifted—wondering, maybe, if Stellan was the one who needed to be held. But Stellan held firm. He shifted again, ribs twinging painfully for just a moment. Even as he winced, he ran his free hand across Stellan’s forearm soothingly, knowing he could feel his pain through their Force-connection.

Inhale. Exhale.

They were silent a while longer, breaths becoming more and more even.

Stellan’s nose pressed in between Elzar’s shoulder blades, breath hot against his skin. There was the slight scratch of beard as his mouth moved, whispering in the dark, “I thought I’d lost you.”

And there it was, Elzar realized. The tightly knotted mess at the center of Stellan’s tangled feelings. That fear that still lingered, like smoke in the air. A fear of loss he could feel his dear friend trying to accept—and let go of. As they were taught.

Elzar thought—for the briefest moment—that he would use the dark again if it meant he could take away that fear. If it meant Stellan—or Avar—would never have to feel that kind of hopelessness ever again—

He shuddered in Stellan’s arms, banishing that line of thinking. Stellan held him tighter, and he sank into the embrace. Anchoring himself to Stellan, and Stellan to him.

Elzar’s ribs ached, almost agonizingly so. But this time he relished in the pain, facing the bald truth of what it was—a reminder that his heart had stopped. Stopped; until Stellan forced it into beating once more. A reminder that he had lived; that he had been given a second chance to make amends for using that darkness in him once, and never again.

“I’m here,” Elzar murmured back, gripping Stellan’s fingers. “I’m still here.”

He reached for Stellan through the Force again, seeking that indomitable light within his friend. Like sunlight on the surface of water, Elzar pushed through the endless ocean that was the Force, kicking up towards that light. Grasping onto the hand that Stellan held out to him through the Force.

Inhale. Exhale.

They held onto each other, and Elzar knew they would get through this. They would rise above the darkness of these times.

As one, together. Always.

[end]

[false-majesty]

@quantumlogician cont. from here.

Shall I count the ways, Aku thinks to himself with a small smile as he looked down at the human-sized handheld device he dwarfed in his massively-oversized paw. He hadn't expected such a prompt response, and he would be a hypocrite if he claimed to respond indiscriminately to everything sent his way, least of all by strange numbers.

Being beholden to mortal technology meant suffering the indignity of spam calls and texts just like anybody else with a cellphone. But this device was special. Regular filtering technology just wouldn't do for a God of his stature; no, this puppy was enchanted with a once-per-reply fluctuating frequency that made it virtually impossible for others to contact him if he didn't reach out to them first. Kept things simpler that way. Like having a new burner phone for every text you sent.

He's got a scrying portal open in front of him, watching the other stand upright over his work when he'd paused to respond to him. Do you feel watched, Shockwave? Can you feel unseen eyes pricking the back of your helm? Do you feel exposed, even in the relative safety of your labs?

On the scrying portal now, the display cuts to a rapid-fire cutscene of some of Shockwave's many scientific accomplishments. Indeterminate if they were all the same Shockwave; it was far more likely that they were instead some amalgamation of many different universes of the same individual, each warping the laws of God and man in his own irrevocable ways.

Twisted, developing embryos suspended in green, glowing liquid; reverse-engineered bastardizations of life, rows and rows of them in an underground cavern, and at the front of the room the scientist's silhouette casting a shadow into the room... His glowing yellow optic the only prick of light in his dark form... Long hours bent over complicated blueprints for devices akin to the ones Aku's ex-fiancé would work on. Matter reformatting rays which would convert any object into something of similar mass. Hand-held time-traveling devices that looked suspiciously like barcode scanners. Black hole accelerators, whose power output far exceeded that of any current nuclear technology, even that which was available in Aku's dimension... Shockwave speaking to a bot that Aku had only met in passing. Gunmetal with red optics, and fearsome canon on his arm. Megatron. Brief snatches of conversation about the other warlord's hesitance to offline a sector that was unnecessarily taxing their resources. And later, how he would wind up doing so... Then again, similar scene and different time... speaking of Megatron's hesitance to harvest souls — Sparks — for a fuel source, but ultimately his reluctant, somewhat bitter acquiescence...

Rather than spell these things out to him, Aku held the device up to the display and hit [ record ]. When it was all done capturing, he sent the video his way.

The demon was grinning in earnest now.

[ txt: ] I think you'll find the attached video sufficient explanation as to why I am interested in your abilities. And further, why I would suggest your leader's morals come between you and your true potential. [ txt: ] Think how much easier it would be, to explore anything you wished, if he would only allow you to run free with your imagination... think how much easier it would be, were you given more resources... [ txt: ] I can do that for you. You would never be for lack of attendants, nor test subjects, nor funding. All I ask in return is results without mercy nor heed for the constraints of mortal morality.

[creations-by-chaosfay]

Just me rambling

My husband still hasn't fully registered I'm rarely in bed after 8AM. From April to October, 8AM is the latest I can stay in bed. That's me sleeping in. I'm awake, naturally, after about six hours of sleep. For the last week, I haven't been able to function after about 10PM, am asleep by 11PM, brain starts waking at around 5AM, and ADHD won't let me sleep after 6AM. Unless I was up really late, I'm getting up and doing stuff.

I'm a morning person. Perky and fully alert after being up and walking around the house for a whole ten minutes. Yeah, I'm the morning person people dread. There's a Bible verse about people like me, Proverbs 27:14. It basically says morning people are irritating to ordinary people, and may well be unnatural because we rise so early.

Once summer really rolls in, I'm outta bed by 5AM. Why? My living room faces southeast. Summers here are basically the dry season. No rain, few clouds, lots of wildfires and smoke. My living room becomes an oven starting around 10am, and intolerable by noon. My heat tolerance is weak due to POTS. From 10am to 11am, the light in my sewing room causes a nasty glare right in front of my sewing machine. Blocking it means I can't sew.

So I usually have lunch, and blast the a/c (which is an old af heat pump) in the living room until noon. After that, I turn it so it's not cranking up our utility bill. That thing is not energy efficient, but can't be replaced due some house fuckery. So the blackout curtains I have covering the doorway to the bedroom, bathroom, and sewing room get closed, the a/c window using in the bedroom is turned on, and those three rooms are chilled. I sew until I reach my two hour daily limit, then literally chill out on my bed, reading a book until the front of the house is comfy.

Once the new windows in the dining room are unstalled (by mid-June), I can paint the dining room. After that, move The Monster (my massive hutch) in there once I replace some.of the hardware and put a base coat of painting over it. The Monster will be an ongoing paint project for when I'm bored and need to do something different. The hutch will be loaded with all my teacups, mugs, teapots, tea, cookbooks, and all things related to machine quilting (thread, bobbins, needles, parts, etc). The table supporting my frame and machine needs to be repaired so it can, in fact, support them. Some bracing and such so the top doesn't fall over. Right now, the top is very unsecure and falls over.

Machine quilting will begin likely at the end of July. The first 10 quilts I finish on it will all be panel quilts. Three are already claimed and will be gifts. The other seven are gonna be steeply discounted because I know, for a fact, the quilting will not be great because I'll still be learning how to use the machine. Once I'm comfortable and confident in my skills, things will be priced appropriately.

Fun fact: quilts finished on that will be a fraction the cost of handquilting. Rather than spending several hundred hours on a queen size quilt, it'll take maybe 40-60 hours, from when I start ironing the fabric to the final stitch on the binding. Anyone else excited about that? It means lower prices for these in my shop. Yay! No king size quilts unless we get new flooring in the converted garage/now DnD room. Even moving all the furniture out of the way in the dining room won't give me enough space to combine the three layers of a quilt. King size quilts are massive, around 110x110 inches. That's around 9x9 feet or 2.8x2.8 meters. Sewing the top will require a second set of hands to hold up what isn't going through my machine so the weight won't pull on the stitches. I know this because I've spoken to other quilters. The cost of materials for something that large could be around $300 (fabric, batting, thread, needles, at least two rotary blades because they will dull, more pins to baste the layers, more clips to hold the binding in place), more if I use foundation paper piecing. From start to finish, according to someone who uses a longarm machine, it'll be about 150 hours. She charges no less than $5k for a king size quilt (150×$29/hour + cost of materials).

I have a lot on my mind, but felt y'all would appreciate this little update to keep you informed. My ADHD certainly came out, huh? If you have any questions regarding what's up, feel free to ask!

[droolingvenus]

Enter Here:

Hello, and welcome to my little corner of Hell! You can call me Venus, I'm not new to this hellsite by any means and I finally decided it was time to carve out the niche in the Star Wars fandom that I always dreamed of someone else making.

On this blog, I will be posting various headcanons, blurbs, quotes, fanart, possibly fanfictions of my own writing, all relating to what I consider to be my favorite ships, including rare pairings and a variety of ships that I think I came up with because I am single IRL and would really rather not be.

I personally write a ridiculous amount of self-indulgent fanfiction that I don't post anywhere and only write for my own enjoyment, but my preferred pairings and AUs are very rarely anywhere near canon. I always hoped there were more people with uncommon interests in the fandom, but after years of no luck, I've made the decision to find them myself, or convert some people...

My main ships that I enjoy writing about/am interested in exploring are:

Quinfox/Foxquin/Vox (Quinlan Vos x Commander Fox)

Codywan (Commander Cody x Obi-Wan Kenobi)

Blyla (Aayla Secura x Commander Bly)

Quinobi/Obiquin (Quinlan Vos x Obi-Wan Kenobi)

Rexsoka (Extremely wary of this one, I would only explore the concept post-Clone Wars Era as Ahsoka is... A child before the end of the War... Yeah, none of that please)

Kanera (Kanan Jarrus x Hera Syndulla)

Dinluke (Din Djarin x Luke Skywalker)

Wreckme? (Padme Amidala x Wrecker? Weird one that I think ONE SINGULAR PERSON has art of and now it lives in my brain dumpster and I've been toying with it a bit)

I'm curious about Kit Fisto x Aayla Secura x Commander Bly, but I haven't actually explored it much, so if you've got any thoughts or favorite fan works, feel free to send them my way!

These are the ships that I currently find myself interested in and writing about, but I'm open to hearing about what other people might like, my only boundaries are non-familial/platonic ships between clones, that's not my cup of tea, and any Master/Padawan ships, something I'm not interested in and would prefer to not engage with, you do you, of course.

I also enjoy at least two AUs, one that I believe pre-dates my use of it and the other is a very common one: Sith AU (Duh) and Victory Ball AU (In which the Clone War ends in a Republic-Jedi victory and things are all made right, Palpatine will always die, usually in increasingly hilarious or vengeful ways, depending on how my day went)

I am a SUCKER for the Soulmate trope/AU, and if anyone ever wants my thoughts on a specific ship being soulmates, ask! I will gladly babble my nonsense to any who wish to hear it!

I will forewarn that I am likely to post about ships + reader, for example, I'm already planning for my first real post to be a Quinfox x reader headcanon, so if you're like me and are polyamorous or LGBTQ+ in another way, you're welcome to send things in too! There's room for everyone around here, my little deal is that no one can be harmed and it can't be an illegal relationship (Examples include but are not limited to: Non-Con, incest, underage/of age partners, abusive dynamics/themes, coercion,) in our standards. As long as it would be legal here, I can usually give it a chance, though if you want me to write about a ship committing crimes together... That's a different story, I have access to Google and no respect for my search history, if you want to hear about being Codywan's assassin/lover, shoot me an ask, I have thoughts ;)

Lastly, I will post NSFW and suggestive content at some point and while I will do my best to add many tags and warnings, if you can't handle that risk and/or you are under 18, GO AWAY. I'm not sorry that I'm an adult and that I enjoy adult content, and anyone who doesn't want to see it is more than welcome to leave.

Ageless blogs and blogs run by minors will be blocked, and it will not be warned or nice, I don't want you here and if you're truly mature, you should be mature enough to respect that this space is not for you.

Asks are open, requests are open, ranting in the asks is more than welcome, feel free to send any questions in and I'll get to them ASAP!

~Venus

[theriverspath]

Ineffable May 2024, Day 5: Retirement

Rated General Audience

There was more salt than pepper in Nina’s locs these days, and she was beginning to appreciate a mug of something hot less for the caffeine content and more for the soothing warmth on the overworked joints of her hands. Today, though, her hands were empty as she waved one over the small black screen installed on the wall just inside the kitchen door of Give Me Coffee or Give Me Death. The movement woke the alarm system’s AI and a cheerfully neutral voice addressed her.

“Hello, Nina. Leaving for the day?” The face recognition software had records of all of the shop’s employees, and was programmed to know who was due to open and close based on the work schedule. Or rather, it had been programmed with that information until about a week ago. Currently, the only person it had on file was Nina. Soon, it wouldn’t even recognize her. Her smile was a little sad as she answered the now-glowing screen.

“Yes. Lock up after I’ve left, please.”

“Sure thing! Have a good night!”

“Thanks.” Nina exited the swinging door that separated the kitchen from the dining area. She paused before crossing to the front door, and could almost hear the bustle of a morning rush around her. She had spent decades behind a counter, offering the people of Soho the best drinks and pastries she could muster. During that time she'd seen old friends come together to enjoy each other's company, stressed students pounding away at keyboards, couples falling in love, and families grow. There had been so much life, both hers and others, lived within these walls.

When she was finally ready to leave, Nina’s steps echoed in the empty space. The next tennant was converting the storefront into a salon, and hadn’t wanted any of the furnishings. So, Nina had sold or donated it all. She’d kept the miniature Statue of Liberty, though, and it now held pride of place on the fireplace mantle in the little flat Maggie and she had just downsized to. Everything else had gone within the last few days.

The doorknob felt so familiar in her grip, and it seemed odd to think that this would be the last time she would turn it. Turn it she did, then stepped onto the pavement and let the door close behind her. She heard the snick of the lock sliding into place and knew that the system had done its job.

“Ready?” Maggie’s voice was soft, and there was no rush or ugrency behind it. Nina took in a breath and nodded.

“All done. I just need to leave the keys with the estate agent on the way home.” She slipped her hand into her wife’s, and they began the walk that would take them past the office and to their flat. Maggie’s eyes crinkled at the corners with her smile when they passed The Small Back Room. Through the big window, she could see Tony helping a customer sort through a selection of vinyls. Nina didn’t have to hear him to know that he was expounding how you just can’t get the same sound from digital, and isn’t it amazing how physical media really connects us to music in such a tactile way. Their son had inherited Maggie’s love of the record shop, and had happily taken on the responsibility of the day-to-day running of it when she’d decided to take a step back from the business.

As they approached the estate agent’s office, Nina realized that she really didn’t feel like going in and doing the whole smile-and-shake-hands-and-small-talk ordeal that inevitably came with these sorts of interactions. Fortunately, the building had a little brass flap on the exterior for people to deposit paperwork and what-not after closing. So, she just dropped the keys in that, and heard them clank into the little box that caught them.

“I don’t feel like cooking tonight. How about we pick something up?” The two women took their time strolling down the busy street, discussing the merits of the various restaurants between here and their flat. The air was cool, but not quite cold enough to make them want to quicken their pace. They eventually settled on a new Italian place and, once home, enjoyed the steaming containers of pasta in front of a warm, crackling fire.

-----

Want to play along? Check out the prompt list from @blairamok.