#side note. i will try to stop using plural tags

[is-that-plural]

currently was in the middle of writing like the longest explanation of why i think a character was plural and then i remembered that this is a tumblr ask,, SO

how long of asks are you comfortable with before it'd be better to just,,write a post and @ it to you,,,

[not a rating]

as long as humanly possible !!

the more information and 'support' you provide the more we will agree with your stance and overall opinion, it doesnt take much convincing haha <//3

we've gotten very VERY longwinded asks before and we absolutely adore and Heavily encourage them; especially on things we know nothing about ! gives us the full insight we need to properly rate if a character is plural or not

[pluralprompts]

[Had an error when trying to post an ask. This is our attempt at a work-around.]

Anonymous asked: Could you please put that your pro-endo in your bio? Considering the main difference between antis and pros is that we define "all plurals" differently, it's not very clear what you meant, and I thought you were anti-endo until I went through every single one of your side blogs mentioned in your pinned post

-an anti-endo who loves your prompts, the newest prompts tags just took me off guard <3

As you have noted, We use the term "plural" in our posts and blog name, which is inherently inclusive/pro-endo and has been since its coining decades ago, so I am not going to honor this unnecessary request. I hate to be the one to tell you this, but if you're using "plural" in any sort of anti-endo or generally exclusionist way, you are using it incorrectly, since it originated as an inclusive alternative to terms that had more medical associations. I'm honestly offended that you thought I was part of the same group of exclusionists that has openly and repeatedly told me they want me dead, have sent me gore in response to a positivity post, recently invaded inclusive tags to spread hate, and regularly tell me to kill myself – hell, you yourself are admitting that you are against my right to self-determination if not my very existence, alongside my religious and spiritual beliefs (I don't have to tell you how this in particular is an asshole move, do I?), and believe that you somehow know what's going on inside my head better than I or even – at the very least, if you won't listen to me and the thousands of other endogenic systems about our own lives – the doctors actually studying endogenic plurality do, considering our endogenic origins. I will not block you so that you can see this response, but you are not welcome here. Here is a document full of sources about endogenic plurality existing and being recognized as a real and valid scientific phenomenon, not to mention how it is a cultural, spiritual, and religious practice found around the world; I hope you educate yourself and grow as a person. You seem to be trying to be polite, so I can only hope that you are just someone who has been horribly misinformed about pro-endos and endogenic systems.

However, at the same time, please understand that you are asking a blog with an inherently inclusive term in the title and all their posts, and a pinned post that clarifies yes, they do mean they support all systems (and advise those who don't support all systems not to interact), to put a separate warning in their bio that yes, they actually really do mean it when they say they support all systems. The thing is, I wouldn't have a problem with this request if it wasn't under this context. You yourself have admitted that you read my pinned post; how did you take the section that says all systems/plurals are welcome (and exclusionists like you are not) and somehow think it meant we didn't actually mean all? If you're excluding anyone from your definition of "all plurals" by adding little rules like "must be traumagenic", you don't mean all. You mean some. You, as an anti-endo, as an anti- certain plurals, only support some plurals. Someone who is against part of a community does not support all of a community; they only support the part of the community they are not against, which is only some of the community. This is how quantitative words work. Just because you have decided that the part of the community you personally choose to support and give basic respect to is the only "real" or "valid" part of the community doesn't mean the part you don't support stops existing or stops using the label you claim to support fully and without any restrictions or rules (since that is what supporting all of a community means); you don't actually support all plurals, and I'm concerned that you ever thought you did. I could break out a Euler diagram if it would make it clearer that only supporting some does not mean supporting all, and that supporting all does not mean supporting only a particular group. That's like saying you support all animals while being anti mammals and, at best, believing they're all actually confused and misguided birds – or, as I'll elaborate on in a moment, saying you support all queer people while being an aphobe who, at best, thinks aspecs are all just confused and misguided gays. That is not support, and you are certainly not giving your actual respect to all plurals. I say this delicately, but I don't think you should be participating in syscourse if you have trouble with the concept that excluding people from a label means not being inclusive of all people who use that label.

If a comparison will help you understand our response, especially the passive aggressiveness that I can admit is fully leaking through – this ask is essentially the same as how aphobes, during the years of "ace discourse", would occasionally react with surprise that queer blogs supported aspecs, despite aspecs being documented parts of and contributors to the queer community for decades, and queer being an inclusive term. In essence, "I know you're using an inclusive term that both historically and in the modern day includes people I hate, but I really thought you would agree with me that said marginalized group that I hate shouldn't exist, and that this community would be better off if they were all gone!" Meanwhile, aphobes were posting gore in the aspec tags, making fun of the murder of an asexual girl, spreading lies of pedophilia about anyone who showed support for aspecs, and telling aspecs that they were lying about the discrimination they've faced, that their sexualities were just trauma responses or mental illnesses, that they were broken and needed to be "fixed", that they were "stealing terms" and "making the community look bad", that they were making it all up for attention, or just straight-up to kill themselves. None of these examples are all too dissimilar from what I regularly see anti-endos saying and doing – some of them are the exact same save some of the specific words used by these bigots swapped out for more system specific ones. Just today I saw an anti-endo claim that pro-endos are "grooming children" just by being inclusive, like how aphobes claim aspec people are "grooming children".

Yes, I am aware this is harsh to hear. No, I am not going to apologize – your community and hatred is part of the reason we have traumagenic origins (hello, the one writing this is a protector who split specifically due to the trauma you anti-endos inflicted on us!! In other words, your community is directly responsible for my traumagenic existence!! Should I be thanking you for allowing me a chance to experience the better parts of life? Hm, nah.) and are scared to interact with others who share our own damn disorder. You claim the "main difference" between us and you is that we define "all plurals" differently, but from where we're standing, the "main difference" is that pro-endos aren't regularly traumatizing, harassing, suicide baiting, mocking and insulting, spreading misinformation about, using slurs against, wishing harm on, and fakeclaiming the other side, often for merely disagreeing with them. We just came out of a harassment campaign in which anti-endos spread hate in our inclusive tags and spaces for weeks. I'm fucking sick of syscourse and being told I should kill myself for the "crime" of being inclusive of endogenic systems like the ones that helped me accept my plurality in the first place, or the pro-endos that create resources that help me manage my DID and not be a dissociative wreck all the time. To say the main difference between our communities is "how we define 'all plurals'" is a spit in the face of all the shit I and many, many others have faced from anti-endos like you over the years.

If you change your stance and learn not to hate others for their religions, cultures, traits they can't control, and personal beliefs and choices about their own body and mind, we will be happy to welcome you to our community and this blog. But until then, you need to re-evaluate your priorities and morals in life. Are you fine with being part of a community that twists others' words on the regular to make it seem like they're promoting child abuse? Are you chill with the fact that I exist as a protector to defend my system from people like you, the same way many others in my system exist to protect us from other abusers and threats to our safety and health? Are you okay with telling a living, breathing person you admire and enjoy the work of that you disagree with their identity and existence, and that you ally yourself with those who want them dead just for existing, have even personally threatened their life and well-being, as you have just done with this ask?

What took me off-guard was this ask and just how horribly you seem to be unaware of basic concepts like "plural is an inclusive term signaling someone is pro-endo" and "'all systems' does not mean 'only traumagenic systems'." But I guess in a way, it's only fair; you mistook me for one of those who hate my guts – while I can't tell even as I type this if you are a troll or not.

TLDR: No, we will not clarify in our bio that we are pro-endo, because there is no need to do so when we already use terms that signal that everywhere on our blog, and our pinned post even clarifies our stance in the rare case someone doesn't know the signal. You have been horribly misinformed; you cannot support "all plurals" while being against certain plurals, and "plural" is an inclusive term anyway even without that clarification. Again, you have misunderstood our pinned post which tells anti-endos like you to fuck off, which is almost funny considering we put that section in the post due to the horrendous amounts of harassment we and other pro-endos (not even just endogenic systems; a lot of anti-endos group all of us together as "fakers spreading misinformation") have faced from anti-endos like you. Please go think about the kind of people you're spending time with, and ask yourself if you're okay with being part of the same group of people that wants those like me dead for the crime of existing in a way that doesn't adhere to one specific medical model whose authors acknowledge isn't the only way to be more-than-one, anyway.

Have the day you deserve! <3

[machine-babydoll-reborn]

I want to talk about crosstagging. And what it is.

What crosstagging is:

-Spamming the radqueer and transid tags with Nazi imagery or badly drawn art of hangings to make them unusable and trigger the people using them

-Tagging your long vents about your personal trauma with paraphile or transid tags despite those groups likely having nothing to do with said trauma (this might ruffle some feathers, but according to statistics your abuser was likely not a paraphile, most child abusers do it out of a sense of power over the victim rather than attraction)

-Posting “I want to be made fun of right now because that’s hot, antis message me pls” in the anti radqueer and antiship tags

-Posting insults towards a specific transid in the tags for those transids

-Those condescending “if you’re doomscrolling these tags right now take a break and drink some water” posts, both posted by antis in the radqueer tags and radqueers in the anti tags

-Posting things like “boo scary radqueer! hahaha” in the anti radqueer tags

-Anything that literally adds nothing to the conversation and was posted just to try to either trigger/demean the other side, make you feel morally superior and like you’re protecting your own side while doing nothing of note (the “drink some water” doomscrolling posts), or whatever those humiliation fetish posts are (seriously, just find someone who can roleplay as an anti with you)

What crosstagging isn’t:

-A member of one side posting a genuine message to the other side in their tags because they want to actually bring up an issue to them or start good faith discussions

I agree that everyone needs to stop crosstagging. But “stop crosstagging” gets used as a shorthand for “stop ever trying to talk to me and bring up legitimate issues ever”. I feel like it’s hurting us all that way.

I’m reminded of the plural community. Of how the sysconversation tag was created to actually let pro-endos and anti-endos talk to each other calmly. Do we need something like that? Radconversation? Rqconversation? Because the current system isn’t working.

[moonfurthetemmie]

so just for funsies i rewrote the second part of the DS Verses crossover with SolarSystem. Aka, the version of DS Nightmare with DID (there's one other post about it but you'll have to go through the tags)

i also, for this exact reason, made notes on how everyone (except scenario-specific alters) talks when fronting. i need to learn more about how Australians talk but here's the list

Nortimer (host):

miles newton. 'normal' for those of us who are used to modern-day Dreamswap

i don't know what else to say man. you know who he is. memey little fuck

has the most up-to-date knowledge of anime but that's gonna change real fast now that they all know they're there

Vex:

High-strung

kind of screechy

the only one that seems to not have a sense of humor at all.

Jack:

he just Sounds emo. You can't put your finger on why but he does

also sounds tired and/or irritated. probably because he often switches when Nortimer's being a moron

dryer humor than Nortimer, to the point where you can't always tell if he's fucking with you or not

Hades:

Australian accent for reasons unknown (moon's brain said so) (moon's brain can't tell you why either)

Generally very tense since she doesn't usually front in safe situations. Gets worse the longer she's out

rather high-pitched but not as much as Vex. by far. Vex why are you so shrill.

Noot:

yeah that's a teenager. at least he's not having random voice cracks

awkward as fuck

talks like he was born a hundred years ago. because he was. and hasn't really gotten out much since. still painfully obvious that he's a goddamn teenager

And now here's the fic. I have never written a plural character before so this was interesting.

Apparently, England (in some universes) had closed the parks for the Queen’s passing. Why, Nightmare didn’t really know, but he and his friends were happy to take advantage of this. They’d talked a lot about how nice it would be to just go eat outside somewhere, but being wanted criminals made opportunities for that…well. Non existent. 

But, if the parks were going to be completely empty, and not even patrolled, there’d be no one to call JR or arrest them.

“And Vex isn’t going to lose his goddamn mind about it,” Jack had said before they left, much to the amusement of everyone but Vex.

So they packed some sandwiches, chips, and drinks, and had a picnic. Most of Nortimer’s headmates had decided to hang out near front for this excursion, since it sounded like fun. The group also brought Kevin. On a leash. At least he wasn’t smart enough to figure out how to wiggle off the collar like a dog.

Cross and Error still weren’t sure how Nightmare had managed to find a chicken collar, but decided that some questions are better left unanswered. The system would probably pass a majority vote and sell the body’s kidneys to get something nice for Kevin. They didn’t want to know.

Everyone was enjoying themselves, though. It felt weird to be in a park without anyone else around, but they decided to pretend they were just eating in the middle of nowhere, which conveniently had uniformly short grass. It was peaceful, even with Kevin wandering over and trying to steal the ham from Error’s sandwich.

“Why is your chicken carnivorous,” Error complained, holding her sandwich out of reach. “He’s supposed to eat grains and stuff, isn’t he?”

Nightmare snickered. “Chickens’ll eat just about anything. I’ve heard stories about them even eating other chickens just because one of them was bleeding.”

“…ah,” Cross said, slowly putting down her PBJ. “Not. Quite so fond of chickens anymore.”

“Mostly they eat grubs,” Nightmare assured them. “And that been Kevin’s diet for about a hundred years, so ham’s like a delicacy for him. Don’t give him any though, he’s not supposed to have table scrapes.”

“I’m trying,” Error complained, trying to keep Kevin from climbing on her to get to her sandwich.

“C’mere, Kevin.”

Kevin stopped for a moment, cocking his head to the side. Nightmare tugged on his leash. Kevin ambled over to him, letting Error finally eat in peace. Nightmare held out a small bag of chicken feed he brought, and Kevin made himself busy. Error watched Kevin warily, slowly bringing down her sandwich back to face level.

Cross grinned. “Eat it quick, before he comes after it again.”

Error snorted and took a big bite that wasn’t really polite, but she didn’t care. It was just them, after all.

They’d chosen a bad day for their picnic. At least they didn’t have to find out the same way Dream did, though.

Kevin suddenly looked up from his very important task of eating and crowed loud enough to be heard across the park and probably reached the gift shop by the road, right before a loud POP made the trio yelp. Cross dropped a handful of Cheetos. Nightmare accidentally tried to breathe soda and started coughing. Error nearly spit out that bite of sandwich.

They followed Kevin’s gaze, and found a tall, familiar looking man staring at them with a blank expression, though something about his posture and stance expressed absolute bewilderment.

Nightmare caught his breath after a moment, and stared at the man with equal confusion.

“Oh, that’s not good,” Hades said in a hushed tone. “Shit.”

“I guess it’s a good thing Noot stayed in back this time,” Vex muttered.

Noot himself heard them, but couldn’t presently do anything more than try to listen.

The new guy looked…like Dream. Almost exactly like Dream, but something was off. Nightmare could barely sense anything from his except his aura, like he was somehow suppressing all of his emotions. And he just looked…different. The sword at his side looked more decorative than anything; its scabbard covered in jewels and gold filigree, and the hilt didn’t look very worn at all.

His wings and eyes were startlingly orange, and even as they watched they could see feathers flaking off and dissolving into ambient magic.

Nightmare was so confused, with all of them so busy trying to figure out where the hell this guy came from, that he didn’t notice the uncomfortable warm sensation in his soul building until it started to burn. 

“…Ow. Ow, ow, ow ow ow,” Nightmare stumbled to his feet and backed away from the strange Dream quickly. Once he’d regained his footing, ‘his’ voice changed in pitch and accent. “What the fuck, dude? Why are you burning me?”

“Oh, I do not like him. I don’t like him at all.” 

None of them were used to Hades getting forced into front, but being pulled out of front when it happened was even worse. Especially given what had to happen to trigger it. 

This guy hadn’t shown any sign of wanting to kill Nightmare, but he’d still managed to force a switch. 

Cross and Error quickly got to their feet. Cross’s fingers twitched and started to glow red, but she and Error suddenly gasped and grabbed at their hearts, too.

‘Dream’ folded his wings back, which only lessened the burning sensation slightly. He gave Hades an odd look. “My sincerest apologies,” he said, not sounding very sorry, or seeming to care. “I seem to be in the wrong universe.”

Cross and Error hurried over to Hades, all of them still trying to get away from the winged fire ball.

“Wrong multiverse, maybe,” Cross snapped. “What the frick is wrong with your aura thing?”

The man shook his head and sighed. “I’m afraid I can’t afford the time to speak with you three. I have things I must take care of, and I don’t have the luxury of free time.” He nodded his head to them, spread his wings, and took off.

They stared after him, and watched as he opened a portal and flew through.

“…Um?”

“Bukbukbukbukbuk,” Kevin said as he cleaned up the chicken feed Nightmare had spilled.

“That was…” Error started, finally able to swallow that bit of sandwich. “…Weird. What planet did he come from?”

Hades coughed. She could still feel that burning sensation, and her lungs were still rebelling from Nortimer’s attempt to breathe diet coke.

Pop!

“Oh, god, not again.”

This one was behind them. Kevin apparently had decided that this person didn’t need a rooster’s trumpeting to welcome them.

Before any of them could turn around, though, they heard an excited gasp, and Hades was nearly pushed to the ground.

Hades wheezed and stumbled yet again. “Fuck, my ribs-“

“Blue?” Error sounded indignant and confused.

Hades was released, and the man that had randomly bear-hugged her said, “Sorry, sorry sorry! I got a little too excited.” He giggled.

This ‘Blue’ looked like he hadn’t seen the light of day in months. The Blue they knew was pale, sure, but this guy was white white. Hades was pretty sure she could see some of his veins. His hair was a choppy, messy, uncombed tangle, and despite his energy, he had bags under his eyes like he hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in years.

He was grinning at them, a little too widely, but seemed friendly enough. He didn’t seem to notice how they’d all tensed up.

“This is a different multiverse, isn’t it?” He asked, but instead of waiting for an answer, he went on. “We should have nicknames, so we don’t get confused! Or, at least I should get a nickname, since I’m the stranger here.” He paused, his eyes sliding to the side like he was listening to someone else. His smile seemed frozen for a moment, almost forced. Hades could sense emotions that weren’t his, coming from a different source, but it was faint, and she couldn’t figure out where it was, or what exactly they were feeling. ‘Blue’s emotions were sliding from excited to despondent, before he suddenly looked back at them and said, with the same excitement as before, “How about you call me ‘Hunter’? I really-“

Cross held her hands up. “Ooookay, slow down dude. What the fuck is even going on, another Dream dropped out of nowhere and then left right before you showed up.”

Hunter perked up. “Really? Dream’s here too?” He laughed. “I wonder if anyone else from our multiverse is here!”

Hades and her friends glanced at each other. Hunter seemed to have a few screws loose in there.

“Ooookay. Right. Well.” Hades scratched her head. “Nice…to meet you? I guess? Did you have to nearly break my fucking ribs?”

Hunter giggled again. “Sorry. I don’t get to spend time with my versions of you very much. I get a liiiittle over excited to meet new people~”

“…So you knew right away we weren’t from your multiverse?” Error said hesitantly. “How different are they from us, then?”

Hunter taped his chin. “Hmm…Well, physically, not very. I think maybe some slight height differences? And Nightmare has a more American accent and his voice is deeper.” He looked them all over again, humming. “I think the others have more scars, too.” His gaze stopped on Cross for a moment, and he tilted his head. “Lots more scars, in your case. Do you only have the one on your chin? I wonder why there’s such a difference.”

Hades became uneasy. If Hunter didn’t spend a lot of time with his version of them, how could he tell just from a quick glance that they weren’t the same? He didn’t even hear her talk before he hugged her.

“Well, different AUs can be really different. I don’t see why multiverses would be mostly the same.” Cross mused. “It’d be cool to have a lot of scars, though. I bet she looks so badass.”

Hunter hummed. Then he giggled. “My versions of you would’ve already chased me off by now. I think I like you three more, you’re much nicer.”

Error crossed her arms. “Just because we’re not chasing you off doesn’t mean we want to hang out with you.”

“I think I’d prefer it if we chased him off,” Vex said. 

“Yeah, we barely know you,” Hades agreed. “And we don’t have the best relationship with our version of you.”

Hunter’s face fell. “…Oh. So…we can’t be friends?” He sounded heartbroken.

Hades opened her mouth to say something, but suddenly that other, unseen person’s emotions became very, very clear. At the same time, Hunter flinched and lifted his hands up slightly, like he was going to cover his ears.

Hades could tell where the person was, now. They were right next to Hunter. They were angry and so full of hate and contempt, she could easily imagine someone shouting in Hunter’s ear.

Hades and Cross glanced at Error, who looked very uncomfortable. “…We just aren’t going to trust you right away,” she said finally. “We-“

But Hunter had perked up, and grabbed her hands. Error tensed up and started glitching violently. His eyes had practically turned into stars and he started talking really really fast about hanging out with them all and doing things before Error jerked away and tucked her hands under her arms.

Hades and Cross were immediately by her side, standing slightly in front of her to keep Hunter from touching her again. Hunter just blinked. “…What? Are you okay?”

“She doesn’t like being touched,” Cross said firmly. “I don’t know if your Error was different, but you really can’t just grab her hands or whatever like that.”

Hades held her hand out to Error, not touching her shoulder but trying to send a message of attempted comfort. “Are you ok?”

Error’s eyes had filled with glitches and ‘error’ messages, and she shuddered, but nodded.  

Hunter furrowed his brows. Hades could sense the other, unseen person’s dark amusement. “I don’t understand.”

“Just don’t do it,” Cross said.

“I don’t…like it,” Error glitched. “Ask first. No means no.”

Hunter frowned, but said nothing. After a few moments making sure Error was actually okay, the Meme Squad decided to go pack up what was left of their picnic. They didn’t really feel like staying here, if people like Hunter and that other Dream were going to keep popping up.

“Oh, were you having a picnic?” Hunter asked. He started talking. And didn’t stop talking. This guy must’ve been awfully lonely. He politely asked if he could have some of Cross’ cheetos, and she gave him what was left in the bag. At least that slowed down his talking.

Once they’d gotten everything packed up, Hunter seemed disinclined to leave them alone. In fact, he seemed to be more determined to stick with them. Hades could sense irritation coming from somewhere, but not from anyone that she could see. She was starting to wonder if it was a ghost.

“…Uh, hey Hunter?” Cross said as Hunter finally took a breath and Error made a portal. “We gotta get home.”

“Can I come?” Hunter interrupted her.

Cross blinked. “I- huh?”

Hades narrowed her eyes. “Mate, do you remember the part where we hardly know you?”

Hunter tapped his chin. “Well, yeah, but…I don’t know how to get home, and I can’t make portals. I’m going to need help figuring out how to get back, and in the meantime, I’d rather stay with familiar people.”

“You could get a hotel,” Error suggested.

“My wallet didn’t get teleported here with me,” Hunter said. “Please?”

The trio of friends looked at each other for a moment. Nightmare thought he heard someone scoff, but it must’ve been his imagination.

“…You’d really be better off getting help from JR,” Hades said slowly. “They have a lot more people there who actually know about traveling between AUs, and would probably know where to start to get you home. Unlike us.”

Hunter tilted his head. “…But you can’t take me there, can you?” He said. It wasn’t really a question. “You’re wanted by them in this multiverse too, aren’t you?” He stepped closer to them. “Please let me stay with you. I would be perfectly fine sleeping on the couch, if you don’t have a guest room, and I’d be happy to help cook and clean!”

Cross sighed. “Ok, look-“

Hunter, for some goddamn reason, took this as a yes, and beamed at them. “Really? Thank you! I promise you won’t regret it!” And then he rushed through the portal.

Cross’s mouth hung open. “Did- did he just-“

“I think that was the most polite home invasion I’ve ever seen,” Hades muttered. “He’s going to be a right pain in the ass trying to get him out, isn’t he?”

Error sighed wearily. “Great. Can’t ever just have a nice day out.”

Hades silently wondered if she’d get stuck in front with Hunter in the house. That…wouldn’t be good. Not for any of them. 

[buckybarnesdiaries]

longing, rusted, seventeen, daybreak, furnace, nine, benign, homecoming, one, freight car

© mine.

bucky barnes x reader. ⎢ masterlist.

Bucky is kidnapped by Hydra to reactivate the Winter Soldier.

word count: 2.924 words. it worth it, i promise!!!

warnings/tags: none. angst as hell mostly. but it has a happy ending.

author notes: i don't speak russian, but i haven't used google translate either, so no worries. none of my stories contain reader’s body descriptions to be inclusive.

join the tag list NEW!!! here.

No. It couldn't be possible. It had to be part of a terrible nightmare. Bucky couldn't have been kidnapped by Hydra again.

You didn't know what to expect in the ship flying to the secret location of the organization. For Stark, it didn't take more than a couple of minutes to track the arm down, since Shuri put a small monitor on it when the soldier stayed in Wakanda. She never told it, wanting to use it in some kind of circumstance like the one you all were going through now. And you couldn't be more grateful, but it didn't help to make you feel better.

You were sitting close to the back hatch. Back rested against the metallic wall and legs curled to your chest. Nothing inside your head more than the hallucination of a pair of blue eyes staring at you. Blaming yourself was something you couldn't avoid. You should have been with him, by his side, protecting him as many times you promised him. But in fact, you just failed him. You failed his trust, his love. You let them take him. Only God knew which torture Hydra was putting him under, while you were there, lamenting.

You didn't even notice Steve's presence squatting next to you until he placed a hand on your shoulder. Then, you raised your face towards him. He was suffering too. In the end, Bucky was his long-life friend, his big brother. He lost him once and felt like he was going to lose him twice. Although this time was different. You were carrying the dispositive that could put to sleep back the winter soldier, but, at what cost?

“Buck got you now. Everything is gonn—”. He spoke in plural, referring to your last night's talk.

“How could you be so calm, Steve? How do you do it?” You whispered through your trembling lips, about to break in crying.

“Because he needs us focused, not distracted”.

He was wise. Captain America was wiser than anyone in that ship. He curled the left corner of his lips up, trying to make you feel good, trying to transmit you the encouragement you needed to not give up. And he did, more or less. You had to fight harder than ever. For Bucky, and only for Bucky. That's why you didn't hesitate on jumping out from the ship when it landed on the cold hard ground, as the freezing weather hit you on the face.

Following the plan, you ran quietly to the back door hidden under a huge layer of snow. Shaking part of it with the palm of your hand, you placed the device with technology from Wakanda on the locker. Not later than fifteen seconds, it deciphered the code to open the hatch. Once in position, the Avengers followed you downstairs. The passage was empty and silent. The only sound that broke it was a couple of rats running away from your presence. You all had studied the plans of the building, mostly underground, remembering exactly where you had to go.

The coast was clear, that was the reason why you all were so confused. You were expecting to find more than a dozen of agents, but when T'Challa enunciated through your earwigs that he only located two heat spots, you couldn't believe it. How only one man kidnapped the most fearless assassin up to now? Tortuous and bitter screams dragged you back to reality, causing your brain to react to make your legs run faster than ever in your whole damn life. You knew by heart that voice beneath all the pain.

Your skin bristled when your gaze landed on that chair of horrors, connected to an enormous power source. Bucky was sitting there against his want.

“... добросердечный… возвращение на родину… один…”

“STOP IT”. Steve yelled.

Huge mistake. You were aware of it when —yes— that man stopped reciting the Russian words to re-activate the Winter Soldier, but only enough time to push a red button near to him and close the heavy door in front of you. Everything happened in the blink of an eye. At the moment you glimpsed Steve’s shield sliding above the floor, straight to the inside of the room where Bucky was being tortured, you followed the same way. Never in your life, you were this fast. Like a lightning bolt, you snaked yourself under the small distance between the door and the ground before being closed. Now, it was you, that man and the soldier.

“You’re late…” He mocked with an awful American accent, under James crying out loud in pain. “грузовой ваг—”.

Your left hand moved quickly to unholster your gun and shoot him. One… Two… Three… Four bullets right to his head. The man fell dead before he couldn’t complete the command. You didn’t lose time, running to the controls to try to turn that machine off. But it was impossible. Even if you knew Tony could do it, there wasn’t signal inside those large and wide walls made of steel reinforced. You were in one of those abandoned soviet bunkers, that could save you from Armageddon. You were inhaling and exhaling so fast that your lungs never got really full, trying to focus, trying to shut every single noise around up. Trying to think of a plan b. But it was your heart who pushed you to act and not your brain. Grabbing Steve’s shield, you aimed for the energy source before tossing it like a damn frisbee.

That thing blew up, turning off any kind of light and dispositive around, as the sparks and the cables decorated your surroundings. Just like the fire that started to burn down a pile of boxes with different documents of Hydra. But that wasn't why you were impatient. Catching the shield when it came back to you, your legs moved immediately to Bucky, still stirring on his seat for a few seconds else. Then, he simply stopped shaking. Her eyes were wide opened. Reddened, in tears. His chest rose and fell violently. His heart was racing. And you could see the trauma taking control over his body in holy silence.

You didn't doubt removing the protection from his mouth along the restraints keeping him on the chair. Your fingers trembled like never before, not having any more time to lose. Probably, the Avengers would be trying to open the door when the emergency red lights illuminated the bunker, producing a loud alarm sound to indicate that something was going wrong inside the facilities.

“C'mon, Buck… C'mon, we have to leave”. You told him, trying to help him to stand up.

But as soon as your hand was about to land on his arm of vibranium, the five cold digits got closed around your throat. Soon, the lack of air for you was more than evident. He got up on his own, not needing you to do it. The ocean blue in his eyes turned into a dark storm. There wasn't any gesture on his face, more than his jaw clenching, pressing his teeth together. That wasn't Bucky —your Bucky—, but the unstable trained assassin Hydra turned him in. You could barely gulp saliva, gripping his metallic wrist with both of your hands to try to stop him from murdering you.

He couldn't. He couldn't kill you. His strength was suffocating you with no mercy, though.

For a moment, you felt too weak to fight, seeing everything around you getting blurred and darker. Blacking out. But there was something inside you, a sweet tone of voice calling your name. A male voice. Your eyelids rolled down bit by bit, wanting to concentrate on that honeyed sound being closer and closer.

“любить”.

The sore whisper left your lips. Love. The first time Bucky told you about love came to your mind. He told you about his family. George, Winnifred, Rebecca. He told you how much he desired to have a family of his own. To be loved.

“новый”.

Your almost dead fingers traced the form of his new arm made in Wakanda when you felt him lifting you from the floor, being suspended on air.

“сороковых годов”.

Trying to keep a firm tone of voice as much as the pressure let you, the Russian words were spat to the confused soldier, who wasn't understanding what you were doing. The forties changed his life. He was sent to war and, lately, captured by HYDRA. It was something he'd never forget, part of his DNA.

“заката”.

You didn't know what the hell your subconscious was doing either till that precise instant. You were reprogramming him. You were using his own memories to reset his wiped brain from them. Dusk. The first night he spent in Wakanda, Bucky was terrified. But you stayed with him. You comforted him by saying that everything was going to be okay, that his life would be different. That he was safe. That he was at home.

“лето”.

His last night of summer in that kingdom, Bucky took you to his favorite place between the woods, wanting to show you the fireflies fluttering in the middle of the gloom. He used to walk there whenever he woke up from a nightmare. Those small insects used to make him feel better for some reason he didn't comprehend. Until he saw their light reflecting on your amazed orbs. Bucky knew then he was in love with you. Besides his long-life friend, the only person who never judged him, who never ran away from him. The same person that now was dying under his fingers.

“шесть”

Six years took him to be Bucky, after his last war, after the last effort, after the last jump. He was a new man. You made him a new man. A good one. You guided him through the right way. You helped him to get used to the twenty-one century. You accompanied him to therapy and stayed in the waiting room every single session until he finished.

“заткнуться”.

The soldier ordered you to shut up, earning quite the opposite when you knew it was sorting some kind of effect on him, as soon as you felt some relief by the grip loosening around your throat and your tiptoes touching the ground. Little by little, you opened your eyes again, gluing them on the blue ones fixed on you.

“боец”.

He wasn't a super soldier, he was a fighter. He spent the last six years of his life fighting for it, fighting for ruling his existence, fighting for being pardoned for crimes he didn't want to commit, fighting for your love. Bucky furrowed swallowing, allowing you to place your feet on the floor.

“Бруклин”.

And when he demonstrated to the world that he was no longer the Winter Soldier, but James Bucky Barnes, he moved to his birthplace. Brooklyn. You and he rented an apartment together when you both learned that you couldn't live apart. That you were made for each other.

“Отец…”

A tear ran down your cheek, slowly moving your left hand to his free one. A shiver toured his backbone when he felt your warm touch holding his hand and, even if his cold fingers were still around your throat, the soldier bowed his head to follow the connection between the two of you. His flesh hand landed on your stomach, pressing it under yours, trying to transmit to him the news about your pregnancy status. Bucky was going to be a father. You were going to build a family as he always wished.

“Свобода”.

As the sob escaped your soul, his hand made of vibranium released your neck. Freedom was what he got after all those years.

Bucky was free.

His hold was the only thing that kept you on your feet, pining to the cold hard ground, as well as you trying to fill your lungs with the heavy air around you because of the dense smoke coming from the flames burning down that damn place. You watched Bucky picking the shield close to you, probably believing it could be easier to kill you with it than with his own hands. Your arms automatically wrapped your abdomen, as if you could protect your unborn child from that horror, crying James' name to remember you.

“James… James…”

You weren't able to stop whining, feeling a heavy sorrow under your chest, covering your vitals organs. The noisy sound from the bunker was suddenly turned into a constant beep, beep, beep that caused you to frown yet keeping your eyes closed. You called him once and again until a warm hand laced his fingers with you. Peace invaded you eventually, after a fond squeeze around your skin followed by a pair of rough lips pressed on your forehead. You let yourself go, not finding any strength inside your heart to continue awake.

The next time you opened your eyes, you needed a moment to adjust your gaze to the sunlight. Purring feeling more comfortable than before, you rolled on your stomach, sinking your nose into the large pillow. Bucky's scent was like a punch of reality. Your eyes snapped open as your pulse increased, starting to panic. Sitting up, your orbs moved quickly all around the room you recognized instantly. It was your dorm in the Compound, the one you used to share with your boyfriend —and the father of your child. It was empty. No trace of James anywhere. You tossed away the oxygen mask and the sheets covering your stiff anatomy, getting up from the bed. Another huge mistake.

Everything spun around you, feeling strong dizziness hitting your head, having to sit down for a second. But as soon as you felt recovered, you stood up again walking straight to the main door to step out. The hallway was deserted, hearing some voices coming from the meeting room. You followed them slowly, finding balance with your palm against the walls. Sam was the first one noticing your presence, coming faster to help you.

“James… James…” You mumbled, not really sure about when you started to sob again, whilst your muscles got tense with every syllable.

“He's okay, he's okay, take it easy, girl”. He tried to calm you as Steve reached you to bring you to the closest chair.

“We don't know what you did… but even if that man introduced the commands again… you turned it off”. Natasha spoke this time.

“I re— I repro— reprogramed him”.

The confusion was more than evident between the Avengers present in the room. But no one of them had the need to ask how. The spy taught you Russian in your free time, you weren't a fluent speaker, but it was enough to have a chat. Even so, you weren't going to say the words you used. You weren't going to make Bucky go through another wipe. If they worked, you'd make sure that he'd hear them when the occasion required it.

“I wan— wanna see him… please”. You cried covering your face with both hands, desolated after the hell of the situation you had to live.

“He's resting”. Steve informed you, squatting close and placing a hand on your right thigh to gently caress it. “And you should do the same. For your baby”.

“There's no way you're gonna stop me from seeing him”. You replied, raising your head and looking at him through your eyelids. Silently pleading.

He snorted, convinced that you wouldn't change your mind. Nodding two times with his head, he stood up and offered you a hand to hold it and help you to walk. Steve guided you through upstairs, following your pace step by step —he could have carried you onto his arms, but he wasn't sure if he could hurt you accidentally. You were too weak, barely breathing properly because of all the smoke you swollen inside the bunker. Although you started to feel somewhat erratic and excited as you were coming to Bucky's old dorm.

Steve opened the door for you, letting you walk inside before closing it behind your back. Your boyfriend was peacefully sleeping under the sheets. There were some scars on his face, already healed but yet seeming painful. The only explanation you found to be there was that Bucky used the shield to open the door and take you out of the bunker. A theory that made more sense when you noticed that he hadn't his prosthesis and his shoulder was covered by a thin black microfiber.

You headed to the bed, tucking in to wrap his warm and heavy body between your arms. At the moment he felt you, he embraced you as better as he could, not opening his eyes but shedding a tear. His lips started to tremble as you pecked them, previous to hiding his face into your neck.

“I'm so sorry…” Bucky sobbed, causing your whole anatomy to shudder because of the sorrow in his voice.

“We're gonna be okay, my love… You, me, our baby… Our family”.

His crying increased after those two words, caressing his back slowly to comfort him somehow. You knew that this recovery would be hard and painful, being conscious of how close he had been to end with your life. He didn't want to do it, nobody could deny it. You were everything he had, everything he always wished for deep inside his soul and heart. And the acknowledgment of having a baby with you only provoked him to feel guiltier.

But as you said so, everything was going to be okay.

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[skyedancer2006]

Othertober Day 12 - Guarded

We’ve been wanting to draw this scene from our ‘kin memories for a while, but couldn’t work up the motivation to until now. Not the most happy with the facial expressions (especially on the humans), but we’re happy with the rest of it ^^

(Rant/explanation of my ‘kin memories and why I made this for the prompt below the cut since it got very long lol)

Ok, so to all the folks who may be finding this through the main Undertale AU tags or simply don’t know us well, we are a Nightmare Sans fictionkin, meaning we are him in some way. For us personally, it’s a mix of a past life/reincarnation thing and some psychological stuff we’re really not sure how to explain. (Also random note: we are NOT a system or plural in any way; we just like using we/us pronouns to refer to ourself. We will use I/me in places we aren’t sure how to or where it would be confusing to use we/us, though)

All of what is written below is our memories of living as Nightmare. Some of it is the same as the original canon, but some isn’t (especially the events surrounding our corruption).

Anyways, now that we have that out of the way, here’s the actual explanation for why we drew this for today’s prompt; guarded.

As Nightmare, my brother (Dream) and I’s job was to keep the balance between positivity and negativity, and to protect the Tree of Feelings, on which grew golden and black apples representing the positive and negative emotions of the multiverse. Dream was in charge of the positivity, and I was in charge of negativity.

The people of the village near the tree loved my brother because of his positive aura, but hated me because of the side of the emotional balance I represented and was in charge of. They attacked me verbally and later physically. We don’t quite remember if we ever told Dream about it, but if we did, anything he did to help didn’t work, and the attacks became more vicious over time.

When Dream and I were 8 years old, he went down into the village to play with his friends, and I stayed behind to read and watch the tree. A human from the village (who I clearly remember having messy brown hair and blue eyes) came up to me and said he came for one of the golden apples.

Now, the apples on the Tree were pretty much concentrated emotions, and they contained way too much power for any mortal to have without dying. Even Dream and I knew to not eat them, as though it wouldn’t kill us since we were the guardians and practically immortal, it would do irreparable harm, though we didn’t know exactly what that entailed at the time.

We told him no, and that he would have to talk to Dream since those were his apples. The human said something along the lines of “I wasn’t asking,” and a mob of other villagers, both human and monster, came over the hill the tree was on, armed with whatever they could get their hands on in the small village.

And that’s what the drawing is! The moments before they actually attacked us while we did our best to guard the Tree while Dream was down in the village. After this they beat us to the edge of our life and left us to die while they cut down the Tree to get all the gold apples.

One of the gold apples rolled over to us and we grabbed it to try saving it, but it corrupted under our touch and turned into one of the black apples. Since we were already probably going to die, we ate the apple as a last ditch attempt to stop the villagers from taking the apples. It corrupted us and turned us into the black slime-covered, one eyed, four tentacled skeleton most people think of when they hear “Nightmare Sans.”

After that everything is a blur, as we weren’t really ourself after we ate it, at least not until we met the gang (Killer, Horror, Dust, Cross, and kinda Error) a few hundred years later. I killed all the villagers that came to the tree, and destroyed the village in my negativity-fueled rage. We aren’t sure what happened to Dream; whether he turned to stone for 500 years like in the original canon or if something else happened, but either way we fought almost non-stop after my corruption, like how the fandom portrays us most of the time.

And that’s all our ‘kin memories up to our corruption! And the explanation for why we drew what we did! Sorry it was so long; these are the most vivid ‘kin memories we have, so there was a lot to write. They’re so vivid in our mind we thought they were the original canon for years! It wasn’t until we re-read the comic that we realized that wasn’t the case XD

[lastbluetardis]

And Baby Makes Seven (10/?)

Things don’t always go as planned. Faced with an unexpected pregnancy, James and Rose have to work quickly to get everything prepared for their fifth child, and to prepare their eldest children for a new addition to the family. Ten x Rose AU, Soulmates AU. Tagging @doctorroseprompts

This chapter: teen, 5200 words

Ages of the Tyler-McCrimmons at the start of the chapter: James: 39, Rose: 34, Ainsley: 9, Sianin: 6, Twins: 7.5 months

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AO3 | Perfectly Matched Series

Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Ch5 | Ch6 | Ch7 | Ch8 | Ch9 |

Now that Ainsley had been let in on the secret of the new baby, Rose and James didn’t need to work as hard to uphold the facade. Sianin, bless her little heart, had no idea what was going on, but was glad that her mum wanted to laze around the house, which translated into Sianin getting plenty of snuggles on the sofa as they watched cartoons.

James seemed to be taking “over-protective” to a whole new level. He jumped at the chance to care for their children, either taking over or joining Rose in all bedtime routines. If a twin awoke in the middle of the night, he sprang out of bed before her groggy brain could even realize Hannah or Maddie had made a sound.

But when she brought it up to him, he flashed her a charming grin that never failed to melt her, and simply asked, “You’re upset that I want to care for my children?”

And really, when he put it like that, her irritation with him evaporated. She had to keep reminding him to let her help, though, lest the twins forget they had a mother.

James and Rose also used the opportunity to place more responsibilities on Sianin’s shoulders, to the girl’s displeasure. Since Rose wasn’t supposed to do most of the normal household chores, James taught Sianin how to vacuum, wash the floors, and a host of other minor but daily tasks.

Rose, though guilty that she was lounging around the house all day when she ought to be cleaning, was glad that Sianin was at least performing the tasks James assigned to her with minimal complaining. 

Ainsley, meanwhile, took it upon herself to help her dad with anything he was doing and to check in with her mum to see if Rose needed anything.

“How long d’you have to rest for?” Ainsley asked as she settled in with Rose and Maddie on the couch for her nightly reading. Hannah was already in her crib for the night, but Maddie was stubbornly refusing to fall asleep in favor of getting snuggles and kisses from her mother.

“A few weeks,” Rose replied, blotting at the drool dripping down her baby’s chin with her jumper sleeve. Maddie scrunched her nose and turned her face away. “We’ve got a follow-up appointment next week to check the status of the bleed.”

Ainsley tilted her head to the side. “Why do you always do that? Make it plural? You said we’ve got an appointment, not I’ve got an appointment.”

Rose snorted. “You’re right. But your dad is joining me at the appointment. Plus, it’s an appointment to check on the baby, who is both his and mine. It feels wrong to claim sole ownership.”

“That’s actually really cute,” Ainsley admitted. She sighed dreamily. “Dad takes such good care of you when you’re unwell.”

A flood of adoration overtook Rose, squeezing her chest until inexplicable tears burned her eyes. She listened to her husband, who was in the kitchen assembling the girls’ lunches for tomorrow. He was humming to himself as he worked, the notes slightly flat and offkey.

“Yeah, he does,” Rose croaked.

“I hope I find someone just like him one day,” Ainsley said with a wistful sigh.

“I hope that for you, too.” Rose kissed Ainsley’s temple. “I hope that for all of my children.”

“How do you think it’ll work with Sianin and her soulmates?”

“What do you mean?”

Ainsley shrugged. “It’s hard to imagine having two soulmates. How can she love two people as equally and intensely as you love Dad?”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, eh? Who knows whether Sianin’s relationship with Elena and Juliette will evolve into a romantic one.”

“I suppose,” Ainsley allowed. “But for argument’s sake, how would it work if they decided to let it be romantic? It seems so strange to be involved in a relationship with two people.”

“Strange as it might be to you, it’s normal for others. Love in all its forms is a beautiful thing, remember that.”

“It feels like it would be hard to make sure you aren’t showing favoritism to one versus another,” Ainsley said.

“Well, your dad and I have four children—we love you all with equal intensity and try not to show favoritism. I imagine it’s something similar.”

“Hmm. I don’t think I would want to be in a relationship with more than one person,” Ainsley admitted. “I want one person who is mine, and mine alone.”

“That’s perfectly reasonable,” Rose said. “You need to decide what works for you, just as Sianin will decide what works for her.”

Ainsley was quiet for several long seconds, but Rose could practically hear her daughter’s mind churning. While she let Ainsley think, she used the time to give kisses to the baby in her arms. The baby was finally getting drowsy; she had her cheek planted above Rose’s left breast, and her head rose and fell with her mother’s breaths. Any time Maddie’s eyes began to droop shut, she wrenched them open and gazed up at her mother.

Being the singular focus of her baby’s attention always made her heart squeeze with love and gratitude. She was the whole world to this tiny, perfect little human, and for a moment, as Rose got lost in her baby’s blue eyes, Maddie was her whole world, too.

“Do you think her eyes will stay blue?” Ainsley asked.

“I think so,” Rose said. “Usually if they change, they would’ve changed by now. All of my babies’ eyes started out blue. In Sianin’s case, they turned brown after a couple months. Yours stayed more or less the same color. And the twins’ appear to be brightening… they kind of look like Gran’s, don’t they?”

Ainsley peered down at Maddie. The baby shifted her sleepy eyes to her big sister, and offered a smile that widened into a yawn. Ainsley snorted and rubbed Maddie’s back. The baby grunted and wiggled around before face-planting into the crevice between Rose’s breasts.

“Silly girl,” Ainsley murmured. “Yeah, they do look like Gran’s. How does that work? I mean, I sort of know how it works. But her DNA is half you, half Dad, and yet she has Gran’s eyes. And apparently I look like Dad’s mum.”

“My DNA is half my mum and dad, and your dad’s DNA is half his mum and dad,” Rose said. “There are bits of all of our past family swirling inside of us, and it’s a lottery draw as to which traits get passed on to a baby.”

“That’s kind of neat,” Ainsley said. “It’s so fascinating that so many things have to happen perfectly to create a baby.” She paused, then continued in a rush, “We had the talk at school today. Y’know, how the girls and boys should be starting puberty soon, if they haven’t started already. One girl in my class had her first period months ago, which is mad. She’s nine! They also explained how in a couple years we’ll all be sexually mature and be able to make babies and so we all have to be very, very careful to prevent unwanted pregnancies as we’re exploring our bodies.

“They went over how a baby is made. Just the basics. Y’know, penis in vagina, sperm meets egg equals baby. I didn’t know that men released millions and millions of sperm when they had sex. That seems like overkill, doesn’t it?”

“What seems like overkill?”

Rose jumped at the sound of James’s voice right behind her. Her mind whirred, trying to wrap itself around the sudden turn their conversation had taken, as well as the fact that her baby was old enough to be learning the basics of human reproduction in school already.

“Did you know you made and released millions of sperm at a time when you have sex?” Ainsley asked, her eyes bright.

James was silent for a beat, cheeks pinkening and mouth going slack. He cleared his throat. “Er… yeah. Yeah, I did know that. But where did you learn that?”

“They gave us the talk in school.”

“Ah,” he said, wincing.

“Why do you make millions of sperm when only one will actually fertilize the egg?” Ainsley asked, cocking her head to the side. She then glanced down at Maddie, who was drooling into Rose’s shirt. “Er, or I guess two?”

“Actually, it was just one sperm,” Rose corrected.

Ainsley frowned. “But… there are two babies.”

“But they’re identical,” James said. “Genetically, they’re the same. Basically, one of my sperm met your mum’s egg, then that egg divided somewhat incorrectly to begin producing two separate babies with the same exact genetic code.”

“Oh. So your egg accidentally made a clone of itself?”

Rose snorted. “Something like that.”

Ainsley looked impressed. Then she said, “But still. Why make millions of sperm? That’s a bit wasteful, isn’t it?”

“It’s all about statistics,” James answered, scrubbing at the back of his neck. “Would you rather try to hit a target with one arrow or many? What if that one arrow is defective somehow? Or your aim is slightly off? By releasing tens of millions of sperm in one go, you increase the odds of fertilization; and the egg can be a bit choosier by only allowing the strongest of the bunch to fertilize it and begin making a baby.”

“Oh. That makes a lot of sense, actually,” Ainsley said. “What stops all of the sperm from penetrating the egg and creating a million babies?”

“Once a sperm meets the egg, it basically walls itself off from getting fertilized again,” James explained. “When sperm meets egg, a biological cascade effect begins. The woman’s egg recognizes it’s been fertilized, so it begins producing chemicals and hormones that tell the rest of the body to prepare for the oncoming baby. And it shuts down egg production so there’s no chance of multiple fertilized eggs trying to grow a baby after one is already growing. Imagine how cramped it would get in there. And imagine how hard it would be on the woman to have multiple babies all at different stages of development in her uterus. Evolution has figured out how to control everything so that doesn’t happen.”

“That’s so cool,” Ainsley said.

“It is a bit cool,” James said, smiling.

“It’s weird that women are born with all the eggs they’ll ever have, but men keep making more and more sperm ‘til they die. That’s way more efficient. What if something happens to the woman and her egg supply is damaged? At least with men, they can regenerate their sperm.” Ainsley cocked her head at her father. “In theory, you could help make a baby when you’re a hundred, right?”

James choked. “I… well… yes, technically. But my baby-making partner would also be a hundred—well, ninety-five—and since she would no longer be fertile, I wouldn’t be helping to make any more babies. Besides, the… ehm… the quality of sperm deteriorates over time. It’s not usually a good idea to procreate after a certain age. And, ehm… the act of making a baby gets… ehm… more difficult in old age. So… ehm… I’m not sure we’d… that we’d… Although I would truly love to be with your mother in that way in our old age, statistically it’s not all that probable so I’m not really expecting to… not that I wouldn’t want to… but…”

Rose kneaded the heel of her hand into her eyes as James’s gob ran without stop and without filter. She eventually reached over and pinched him. He squeaked, but snapped his mouth shut. Ainsley, meanwhile, was in stitches on the sofa, cackling madly as both her parents’ cheeks blazed.

oOoOo

Two weeks and two days after learning she had subchorionic hemorrhage, Rose walked into her OB-GYN, this time with her husband at her side. Despite the fact that her bleeding and cramping had stopped nearly a week ago, she was a little nervous to see what Elizabeth would have to say.

James must have sensed her anxiety, because he threaded their fingers together and rubbed at the back of her thumb while they waited for Rose’s name to be called. He talked to her about nothing in particular, filling the silence between them. Rose let the soothing rhythm of his voice calm her until Elizabeth appeared in the waiting room and called name, gesturing for her to follow.

“How are you feeling?” the midwife asked as she took Rose’s height and weight. “You’ve lost some weight since I saw you two weeks ago. Nothing worrying, but something to keep an eye on. Especially since you ought to be putting on weight as your pregnancy progresses.”

“My appetite is still finicky,” Rose admitted. “Nausea is mostly gone though. I’m hoping that will help. But otherwise, I feel fine.”

“Any bleeding? Cramping? Dizziness?”

Rose shook her head and stepped off the scale, following Elizabeth down the corridor to an exam room. James followed silently and settled into the chair beside the exam table. An ultrasound machine already sat in the corner of the room, and, familiar with the routine, Rose reclined on the table and exposed her belly.

Déjà vu settled over her as she remembered the utter terror of two weeks ago, certain her midwife was about to confirm her worst fear. Her pulse thundered in her ears and she began to tremble as her mind warred with itself, half of it trying to calm her, and the other half spinning out of control. James scooted his chair closer to her and leaned his elbow onto the table above her head. His warmth and scent surrounded her.

“You’re okay, love,” he whispered, kissing her forehead softly. “You’re okay. I’m here.”

“What a cute little bump,” Elizabeth cooed, squirting cool gel onto said bump between Rose’s hips. “Let’s see the cute little baby inside it, eh?”

Rose reached over and grabbed James’s free hand, linking their fingers together and squeezing tightly. He bent down to kiss her forehead again, then he brought their joined hands to his mouth to kiss her knuckles one at a time.

“Here we are,” Elizabeth said, tapping a few buttons into her keyboard.

Rose looked at the monitor and her heart clenched at the sight of her baby. They seemed to be about the same size as before, but Elizabeth was pleased with the baby’s appearance.

“They’re rather active,” the midwife noted, readjusting the probe when the shifting baby went out of focus. “Are you able to feel them, Rose?”

“Not yet,” she croaked. She desperately wanted to, though. She wanted that little flutter of life between her hips. She wanted the undeniable proof that her baby was alive and healthy and growing, because what if the scan was somehow wrong? Rose squeezed her eyes shut and focused deep within herself, trying to sense any ripple of movement in her uterus.

Her eyes shot open when the midwife tapped a few buttons and the heartbeat echoed around the room. 

James let out a soft, “Oh,” his grip on her hand turning vice-like.

Rose glanced up at her husband, but his gaze was locked on the monitor, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. The sight of them made her own eyes prickle. She would never tire of seeing the awe on his face as he beheld their children. He treated each day with their kids as though it was the most precious gift he’d been given; this baby was no exception, and Rose could already see how in love her husband was with the tiny fetus inside her. She could plainly see him, seven months from now, weeping as he held their newborn for the first time, curling his body around theirs as though he could physically shield their baby from any harm the world might bring to them. She could see him sitting with the baby in the dead of night, half asleep himself, yet holding their small child to his chest as he rocked them.

God, she wanted that, was impatient for these visions to come true. Even though she regularly saw him holding and snuggling the children they already had, Rose was desperate to give him his fifth child and bring completion to their not-so-little-anymore family.

“Our baby looks healthy,” James said, his voice hoarse. Rose blinked away the visions in her mind’s eye and was brought back to the present, where her husband was no longer looking at the baby on the screen, but rather down at Rose. She flashed him a small smile that he returned before he focused on the midwife, his gaze intense. “But how is Rose? How is the hemorrhage? Is she healthy and safe?”

“Let’s take a look at that next.” Elizabeth zoomed out away from the baby, and instead shifted the focus of the ultrasound probe to the gray masses surrounding the baby. “Here we go.”

After taking a few seconds to orient James and Rose to what she was talking about, Elizabeth pointed to a black blob along the edge of the placenta. “Here’s the clot. And yes, it is just a clot now. It appears to no longer be actively bleeding, which is excellent news. The placenta is intact, which is also great news. Sometimes a concern is that the bleeding will cause the placenta to pull away from the uterine wall, but that is not the case here. I am very, very happy with what I’m seeing.”

Rose let out a deep breath. James, too, relaxed a fraction.

“Can I go back to business as usual?” Rose asked.

“Let’s not be hasty,” James answered instead.

“I wasn’t asking you,” Rose drawled, reaching up to pat his cheek.

Elizabeth pursed her lips around a grin. She wiped the expression off her face and said, “I see no reason why not. Obviously you are limited as any other pregnant woman is, and I would try to take it easy for the next couple weeks as the clot dissolves, but yes, you should be able to resume all activities as normal.”

Rose was fairly certain she’d read between the lines correctly, yet she asked, “Sex too?”

James let out a little squeak that had Rose rolling her eyes. Elizabeth’s entire profession revolved around people having had biologically-successful sex. They themselves were here because they’d had successful sex. Nutter.

“Yes, you may resume your sexual activities,” the midwife answered.

Rose nodded. She hadn’t been in the mood for sex lately, too concerned was she with the baby and will following the instructions to rest. She knew that James’s sex drive had mirrored her own in his double concern for her and the baby. While she still didn’t have the desire to drag James straight into bed when they got home, Rose was glad it was at least an option, if the mood struck. She’d find other ways to satisfy James if or when his sex drive returned while hers remained elusive.

“Is Rose okay to travel?” James asked. “We were planning to take the kids up to Scotland for half-term break next week. Probably travelling by train.”

“I’ve been cleared to shag your brains out, but no, the movement of a train will be far too vigorous for my delicate condition,” Rose muttered out of the corner of her mouth.

James flicked her nose but didn’t reply.

“Yes, she should be fine,” Elizabeth said, pretending not to have heard their exchange. “Just listen to your body, Rose. It will do a good job of telling you what it needs. Try not to overexert. Rest when you’re tired. Make sure you’re getting enough vitamins and nutrients. Things like that.”

“Thanks,” Rose said. “And while we’re talking about it, do you happen to have any connections with midwives in Scotland? Near Glasgow? James and I are going to be relocating our family. The move isn’t happening next week or anything; we’re getting the kids used to the area and the house we’ll be moving into.”

“And you say I’m chatty,” James teased.

Rose rolled her eyes.

“Funnily enough, I do,” Elizabeth said. “One of my very close friends. We went to school together. I can send you her contact information, as I don’t have it on hand right now. I can also reach out to her to see if she can see you next week, if you’d like? A consultation visit, mostly, assuming she is taking new patients and is near enough to where you’ll be living.”

“That’d be brilliant,” Rose said, accepting the moist towels the midwife handed to her and cleaning off her belly.

Elizabeth made a few notes on her computer, then printed out another scan of the baby for them, despite them having one from two weeks ago. She also scheduled Rose’s twenty-week appointment, which would be shortly after the holidays. Rose was already impatient for January sixth to be here; it would be the appointment when she and James would learn the sex of their baby, something Rose always loved learning. But this time was the added game of being able to tease James for his apparent inability to produce a Y-chromosomed sperm. As though that was something he could control. (A fact he liked to remind her of often.)

“As always, you can call us if there are any questions or concerns,” Elizabeth said as she walked them to the front lobby. “But I’m very pleased with everything I’ve seen today.”

After thanking her, James slipped his fingers between Rose’s and guided her out to their car.

oOoOo

The following week, James and Rose willed themselves to have endless reserves of patience as they readied their children for the trip to Scotland. It felt like they had to pack up their entire house to ensure they had enough supplies for all the kids, including toys and games in addition to the endless articles of clothing.

Robert, bless him, was accompanying them, to help with child care and to give his opinion on the work they might want done to the manor house. James had reached out to half a dozen different remodeling companies to have them come out and take a look at the work he and Rose wanted done; they were due to arrive at the end of the week, since James and Rose wanted the first few days to walk around the house and make lists of repairs and upgrades that could be done, both internally and externally to the grounds.

The train ride went as well as could be expected when travelling with four children. Ainsley was content to read for the entire journey, but Sianin loudly proclaimed she was bored barely an hour into the trip. The twins were awake and wanting to crawl around, but there was only so much space in the compartment car. James, Rose, and Robert took turns walking a fussing baby up and down the length of the train, introducing the infant to cooing passengers who fawned over how beautiful she was. The passengers were extra delighted to realize they were identical twins.

Finally, the train docked in Glasgow, where the Tyler-McCrimmons picked up a rental vehicle and made the half-hour drive out of the city proper to the manor house.

The excitement at the prospect of permanently living in the “castle” evaporated Ainsley and Sianin’s travel exhaustion. As soon as James unlocked the front door, they bolted inside and began chattering to each other about where their playroom should be and calling dibs on the bedrooms.

“I want this one,” Sianin announced, gesturing to the master suite.

“That one is off-limits,” James said lightly, tweaking the end of her braid. “Available to mummies and daddies only. Same with the guest suite on the other side. That’s for when Gran or Grandad stay to visit.”

Sianin deflated a bit, but perked back up when James reminded her that there were plenty of other bedrooms to choose from.

Rose, meanwhile, immediately began to visualize how she would decorate. The current color scheme of the manor was dark, but not gloomily so. Even still, Rose thought that brightening the wall colors from burgundy to a rich cream or ivory would help open up the space and blend the rooms together. It would also make the house feel cleaner, and with five children tearing it apart, Rose knew she and James could use all the help they could get in that department.

The floors were in excellent shape, having been replaced shortly after Ainsley was born. Robert had come to her and James when he was having the work performed so they could help pick out the color and style of the various hardwood, tile, and carpeted floors in all of the rooms. Belatedly, Rose realized that Robert had done so because he knew this home would belong to them in the near future.

From the foyer, which was lit from the warm glow of the chandelier hanging from the high ceiling, Rose stared straight ahead into the formal dining room that used to be a ballroom; the kitchen extended beyond that through a set of wide oak doors that were currently closed. She already knew that the kitchen was huge and open, thanks to James’s grandmother having remodeled it to use up more of the defunct ballroom space. The kitchen housed a long table that would easily fit their large family; therefore, the formal dining room wouldn’t be necessary until they hosted holidays or had friends over. Otherwise, that could easily be a place for the children to do their homework.

To her right was what used to be a receiving room, but had evolved over the last century to be the living room. It was already furnished with a couch, a love seat, and a few reclining chairs placed strategically around a television. A fireplace sat along the far wall, and Rose could already see herself sitting in the rocking reclining chair and nursing her new baby, or snuggling with one of her other four children or husband as the fire crackled merrily beside them. Goosebumps prickled along Rose’s skin at the thought of her and James making love by the fireplace, a vision straight out of a Victorian romance novel.

Blinking away that fantasy for the time being, Rose continued her mental mapping of the manor. Behind the living room was another room that had been a different receiving room—most likely, she presumed, a space for the gentlemen when the ladies had overtaken the first receiving room. Because God forbid men enjoy their wives’ presence.

James’s parents had converted that into a study area for James; Rose thought it would make a nice playroom for their family. It had plenty of room to store the kids’ endless number of toys, and it had a closet where they could keep their games. The flooring in there was currently hardwood; Rose made a mental note to chat with James about replacing it with something softer.

Extending beyond the living room was a narrow hallway that opened up to what had once been servants’ quarters. Rose knew that James’s grandmother had remodeled it and created a larger footprint, converting the area into a spacious a guest suite; it was where Robert always slept when he visited, unable to stomach being in the master bedroom ever since he’d lost his wife.

To the left of the foyer was a long, wide corridor with several rooms branching off of it. One of those rooms was a library that Rose already knew Ainsley would practically make her second bedroom. Rose planned to outfit the room with a variety of comfortable furniture and a desk. Directly beside the library and connected with a door was a formal study; she figured James would like to make that his space, filling it with textbooks and knickknacks and turning it into a place he could mark papers and exams on the weekends or weeknights.

Directly beside the study and again connected through a set of doors was a secondary study. This one was at the end of the manor, and therefore had windows on the two external walls. It was filled with plenty of natural lighting and Rose thought it would make a perfect place for her to set up her art studio.

On the opposite side of the corridor from the library and studies were a series of small rooms. There was a half bath that was mostly just a closet with a toilet and a sink, and two small rooms that Rose genuinely didn’t know the purpose of. They were far too big to be closets, but a tad too small to be bedrooms. Rose didn’t care what they used to be; instead, she planned to make the rooms a nursery: one for the twins, until they were big enough for proper beds, and the other for the new baby. It would be perfect, since the last room at the end of the corridor was the master suite. 

Rose already knew the suite was enormous, yet it took her breath away to behold it. The room would easily fit their king-sized bed and all of their bedroom furniture, and still have room for more. Perhaps they could put a cushy rocking chair in this room as well as the nurseries; there could never be enough cozy furniture to cuddle her children, Rose thought.

There was a giant walk-in closet connected to the bedroom, as well as a double-vanity ensuite. The bathroom, too, was huge, outfitted with a tub and a walk-in shower stall; both the tub and shower had plenty of room for her and James to share, which would be perfect for intimate date nights.

Moving from room to room, Rose catalogued how she would arrange furniture and paint colors that would look good in each room and blend the entire ground floor of the house together. She took note of the flooring, and which rooms should be outfitted with carpets rather than hardwood floors or tile, or vice versa. When she and James helped Robert pick out the floors, they’d only had Ainsley; at the time, she hadn’t been able to imagine having five children. Now, she couldn’t imagine anything differently.

“I can see that beautiful mind of yours at work already.” James came up behind her as she weighed whether the library ought to be carpeted or left as it was with hardwood floor. He wrapped his arms around her waist and casually splayed a palm on her lower belly, kissing the side of her neck and sending pleasant tingles across her skin. “What are you thinking?”

Rose leaned into him, tilting her head back to catch his gaze. His eyes were bright with joy and soft with love; she found herself falling in love with him all over again. She turned in his arms, draping her forearms over his shoulders.

“I’m thinking,” she murmured, pushing up onto her toes so that her mouth hovered mere inches from his, “that this already feels like home.”

And though she planted a kiss to his lips as she finished speaking, his answering smile was dazzling.

[strawberrysoup]

Captain to Captain

summary: Carol would do whatever it took to keep you trapped by her side.  relationship: Dark!Carol Danvers x reader, Dark!Steve Rogers x reader rating: Explicit word count: 3384 prompts/requests:

warnings: detailed warnings to the very ends of chapters in order to avoid ruining the shock factor in chapters while still being mindful of potential individual triggers. open the read more, CTRL + F and search “content warnings” to skip to the extra tags if you so choose. notes: i hope this suits y’all’s requests&that you’re okay with me combining them both into one. enjoy!

It had been a full week since she’d caught you trying to escape from a downstairs window. Or so you estimated, assuming that she fed you three times a day. She’d locked you in the storage closet in the basement; even in the brief moments she opened the door to put your food in or remove the waste bucket you couldn’t see any daylight. The darkness and isolation were getting to you, the white noise produced by the heater was one of the only things keeping you from going nuts. Carol hadn’t spoken to you once since finishing the physical part of your punishment all those days ago, she’d just locked you away in a closet without another word.

She probably assumed the punishment had spoken for itself. A tear ran down your cheek, your brain immediately zeroing in on all of the painful spots lingering on your body. Your ass was one massive bruise, you hadn’t been able to sit properly the entire time. Not to mention any pressure on your likely similarly bruised cunt still hurt from where she’d spanked your pussy with the backside of a brush after caning your ass. You would’ve spent the week laying on your stomach, if it weren’t for the still very sore new piercings in your nipples. A shudder ran through you, a terrifying jolt of remembered pain flashing through your brain; it had been just this side of excruciating but Carol hadn’t even hesitated, easily holding you down while you thrashed and begged. There were even cotton swabs and saline in one of the corners, obviously meant for you to clean the inflicted piercings.

You’d try again anyway. The pain was temporary, your false imprisonment would be permanent unless you did something about it. But you had to wait for Carol to let you out of the basement’s storage closet first and wait even longer still after that, to lure her into a false sense of security. You honestly hoped she’d leave you in the basement at least until your bruises all healed—complying with her sexual demands would be painful until your body didn’t throb constantly.

Really, you shouldn’t have ever dared hope for anything. It was stupid, if you’d thought about it you would’ve knocked on wood the second the thought crossed your brain. Because you had absolutely jinxed yourself, by daring to hope for recovery time. In fact, you shouldn’t have even dared hope for a chance to escape sometime in the future it was like walking under a ladder. As if your life needed any incentive to be unlucky.

When the door opened and Carol stepped through, your heart rate shot through the roof. She reached up and began screwing in the lightbulb, a short groan escaping you when the room was suddenly illuminated. The light wasn’t even that bright but after sitting in the dark for so long it felt like torture. You clenched your eyes shut, pressing the heels of your hands against your eyelids firmly.

“Hey baby,” hearing her voice for the first time in days sent a chill down your neck; she sounded sweet and pleasant and warm but it was a trick, “I know it’s bright, let your eyes adjust. You’ve been such a good girl, staying down here nice and quiet.”

You didn’t answer, your body frozen in place where you laid on your hip in the corner. It felt like getting caught in a tractor beam, your hands slowly fell away from your face and you forced your eyes open as quickly as you dared. The soft light haloed her blonde hair, made her look almost ethereal despite the fact you knew she was a monster.

“Come up stairs with me, I brought you something,” she held her hand out towards you and forcing yourself to move, to reach your arm out and take it, was difficult in a way you couldn’t really explain.

It just hurt.

You allowed yourself to be pulled to your feet, hissing slightly as blood rushed into your hip and down your leg. Over the first several days you’d forced yourself to get up regularly and walk around the small space available but yesterday you’d found yourself a different sort of tired from usual and couldn’t make yourself get up more than to use the bucket in the corner and eat your meals. Today had been more of the same, weary and more than willing to lay on top of the couple of blankets for hours on end. Your bruises throbbed, your cunt especially as she pulled you along behind her.

You were dreading seeing whatever it was she’d gotten. Just before your attempted escape she’d brought home butt plugs—plural, one to wear around the house and one pair for when she took you out. You’d run off before she could inflict either upon your person. Your brain half associated gifts with being locked in a closet now anyway.

“You’re such a little brat sometimes, you know that baby?” She questioned while leading you up the stairs, her hand holding yours just tight enough to be intimidating, “I brought you home nice things and you were ungrateful. I very much expect you to take your next gift like a good girl, like a good little wife.���

Wife. It drove you insane when she said that. Sure, you could imagine that there was some legal document out there declaring you married, but you’d never exchanged vows. She never even asked you to marry her. One day she just started calling you her wife and put some expensive jewelry on your finger.

“Okay Carol,” you answered quietly, knowing she’d expect a verbal response and tried to reign in your growing fear, the anticipation and terror surging through your chest.

“Are you all sore baby? How does your pussy feel?” She’d led you out of the basement and started up the next flight, likely headed for the bedroom.

“It’s sore,” you almost whispered, trying to swallow down your dignity.

The blonde nearly cooed, “I bet it is, sweetheart. I bet it’s all swollen and bruised, huh?”

“Yes Carol,” the robotic response still didn’t bother her, which was lucky because it was about all you could offer.

“Remember, you’re going to be a good little wife and accept what I’ve brought you,” Carol turned stern eyes back on you when she stopped in front of the door to the bedroom.

“Y-yes Carol,” her lips curled when your words came out as a whimper, your head nodding along with it.

The doorknob turned and she pushed it open, pulling you through and quickly closing it behind. Immediately your eyes started tearing up, panic twitching over your face.

You’d only met Steve twice; once when Carol first brought you to her house and once when he came by to fix the fence. He was tall and extremely broad, with combed back dark blond hair and a full beard. He was attractive, certainly, but that didn’t mean anything. Carol was beautiful and you still didn’t want to bang her. He’d been nice though, despite exchanging knowing grins with Carol that first time.

“I’ve been thinking about what I’ve got to do to keep you from running away,” the woman’s arms wrapped around you from behind, one hand sliding over your thigh while the other brushed the underside of your breast, her lips brushing over your bare shoulder lightly, “I can’t get it through your head that this is the best place for you, but I knew there had to be something. Steve was brainstorming with me and we came up with an idea.”

He stood up from where he’d been sitting on the bed, taking several steps forward while his blue eyes roved over your naked form. His gaze locked on your pierced nipples for an extra second, a smile tipping the corner of his lips.

“Those are gonna make it hard for the baby to breast feed, Carol,” Steve’s tone was amused, roughened by arousal.

“So the first won’t be breastfed,” Carol shrugged, her hand cupping your left breast and her thumb brushing over the very tip of your nipple, “It could take up to 2 years for them to be healed enough for breastfeeding, we won’t want them any closer together than 2 years anyway.”

It took a solid minute for you to understand exactly what they were discussing, the pain of Carol’s fingers teasing your nipple too distracting. Terror surged through you—children. They were talking about you breastfeeding multiple children. Their children collectively, which you would be carrying.

“Don’t be so nervous baby,” Carol’s lips touched your ear, “Steve’s gonna go easy on that little bruised pussy.”

Oh God. Your brain blanked on everything that wasn’t fear.

Immediately you tried to thrash out of Carol’s grasp, only for her arms to tighten around you. Before you could kick out, she gripped your still freshly pierced nipple and twisted. A wail escaped your lips, your knees almost giving out at the pain. And it was only going to get worse, Steve was a big dude, there was no telling how big his dick would be.

“I suggest you decide to be a good girl, baby,” the blonde threatened gently, “go lay down on the bed.”

You hesitated for several short seconds, tears slipping down your cheeks while your chest heaved. There was little choice; letting yourself be fucked rather than punished had become common place, but it still hurt each time. You winced as you crawled onto the bed and turned to carefully rest on your bruised ass, panic clenching your body in a way that made every sore place you had hurt. Steve had started undressing immediately, shedding everything except his briefs.

“Her pussy got a hard spanking with a hairbrush, didn’t it baby?” Carol prompted and you murmured a quiet agreement, chin tucked down against your chest, “Ask Steve to go easy on your cunt.”

You were quiet until she shot you a careful glance, gulping heavily before parroting, “Please go easy on my cunt.”

“Tell him your cunt is swollen and sore, tell him how puffy it is.”

A quivering sob escaped your lips, “M-my cunt is swollen and s-sore and p-puffy.”

“Let him see, baby,” she ordered, smiling when you whimpered but proceeded to spread your legs wide.

Steve whistled lowly and you turned your head away in shame, “it does look a little painful, doll. I’ll try not to get carried away.

“Is your pussy wet?” Carol’s hand found its way between your legs quicker than you could comprehend, fingers plunging into your dry cunt roughly, “hmmm, not yet. You better use lube, Steve.”

The blond hummed in acknowledgement as he climbed onto the bed and pushed you back, forcing you to lay flat, “got any?”

“Plenty,” she dug through the bedside table and produced a bottle, “use as much as you need.”

Steve didn’t waste any time squirting a healthy dollop of lube onto your pussy, his fingers prodding at your swollen cunt gently while the smile on his lips spread into a grin, “this is such a cute little pussy, so puffy and red. Is it real sensitive doll?”

“Y-Yes,” you whimpered as he took his cock in his slick hand, the head nudging between your lips and spreading the lube around your folds, adding more until you felt lube dripping down the crack of your ass.

“You’re such a dirty little whore,” the words that came out of Steve shocked you, your eyes blowing wide as his cock pressed against your opening just slightly, “fucking filthy that you’d let a stranger put his cock in your pussy.”

“Careful Steve, she might cry,” Carol was smirking, especially when he suddenly surged forward, burying at least half of his substantial dick in your cunt and ripping a scream from your lips, “my little cry baby.”

“You need to be taken in hand, huh doll? It’s a good thing Carol found you, or you’d be wandering around with your little pussy out constantly looking to get fucked,” Steve withdrew and pressed his hips into you sharply once again, his pelvis slapping your swollen cunt painfully, a juxtaposition to the way he leaned over you, his lips softly brushing over your own, “you need to be full of cum or you’ll lose your pretty mind, won’t you? Too slutty and stupid to take care of yourself. We’ll take care of you, doll.”

“P-please its hurts!” Your hands pressed against his abs desperately as he pounded his pelvis into your pussy, igniting a painful throb, “too hard!”

“Your cunt just feels so good squeezing around my cock, you clench up so hard when it hurts,” he rested his forehead against yours, “God even when it hurts your pussy is sucking me in, so desperate to get pounded.”

His hips suddenly jolted forward, brutally slamming the full length of his cock into your channel before fucking you with agonizing thrusts. The friction was agony, your clit was as swollen and sore as your cunt lips and every brush of his pelvis against it hurt. You screamed, eyes clenching shut in pain as he hammered into you for a good five minutes, his stamina almost unreal. His hands moved from their restraining hold on your hips up to your tits, cupping the weight of them and ducking his head. Another wail escaped your lips as he pulled one of your nipples into his mouth and gave a languid suck.

“Mouth off her tits,” Carol ordered, just barely audible to you over the sound of your own cries.

Steve immediately released your nipple, humming into your neck as his thrusts began to slow, “right, don’t wanna risk infection. Fuck, you have the sweetest pussy doll.”

His hips rolled slowly, his pelvis dragged heavily over your clit and he bottomed out with a groan. You hiccupped in pain, looking up just in time to make eye contact with him. A smile was stretched over his lips and he quickly pressed down to kiss you, his tongue slipping into your mouth in one smooth movement.

“I can fuck you gently, doll,” he murmured, teeth tugging on you lower lip lightly, “your pussy is so needy, it’s been so long since you’ve had something filling you. Does my cock feel good? It’ll feel so good once I fill you with cum, you’ll be desperate for it.”

“He’s gonna fill you over and over until you get pregnant,” Carol drew your attention to the side of the bed, your eyes going wide at the sight of her veined strap on, “that cock is gonna be buried in your pussy as often as we can manage, so I guess my cock is gonna have to go somewhere else. Where should it go baby?”

“I—I—” You couldn’t force out words, panic erupting in you when Steve suddenly rolled you both over, a loud groan escaping your chest when you found yourself straddling his hips, gravity forcing his cock even deeper into your cunt.

“That’s a good girl, sink my cock into that pussy,” Steve sighed, grabbing your waist and thrusting softly up into you, “allll the way in, damn. You take my cock so well baby, that slutty little pussy so desperate.”

He reached up and wrapped his arms around your shoulders, tugging you down to lay against his chest while continuing to gently fuck up into you. Your tears immediately dampened his skin, a high-pitched whine escaping you as your nipples dragged roughly against the hair on his chest. The sound of the lube bottle opening again caught your attention and you gasped when Carol’s fingers pressed firmly against the rim of your asshole.

“C-Carol! Please, don’t—!”

“Shhh, if you’d been a good girl and not tried to run away when I showed you your butt plugs, your little hole would be stretched out already,” her finger breached the ring of muscle easily, twirling around before withdrawing.

More lube and more fingers followed, leaving you gasping and panting in pain. Your cunt was throbbing, stuffed to the brim with a massive cock and Carol was none to gentle on your bruised ass. Her fingers dug roughly into your flesh, holding your cheeks apart firmly as she continued to thrust her slippery fingers in your asshole.

“This is gonna hurt, be a good girl and take it.”

There was no way you were even close to prepared for the strap on Carol was wearing, even if it was one of the smaller ones. You recognized it as a double-sided harness and dread filled you. She always pounded the hardest when her cunt was stuffed and every thrust she made into you fucked her just as hard. The tip of the chubby dildo pressed threatening against your asshole, steady even as Steve fucked up into your pussy at a leisurely speed. The initial breach hurt, but the pain only grew worse and worse the further she pressed in. You screamed, nearly panicked at how full your holes were, trying desperately to thrash away from the pair.

“I know it’s a lot baby,” Carol grunted, both she and Steve having to hold you still while her pelvis continued to sink the strap on deeper, “it didn’t have to hurt this bad. You could’ve been wearing your butt plugs for the last five days and your asshole would be nice and loose. Just had to go and be naughty, huh?”

Steve’s thrust slowed even further, evidently waiting for Carol to finish working the dildo into your tight asshole. You howled the whole time, the stretch and burn agonizing—especially paired with Steve’s cock stuffed in your cunt. Carol’s breathing picked up as she thrust into you, gasping as the end of the dildo in her pussy bumped her cervix. The sound she made betrayed how good it felt, as did the way her hips began pounding away. The friction on your bruised ass caused a searing burn to flare up your spine.

“Fucking your tight little asshole is really doing it for me, baby,” the blonde’s voice was breathless, “maybe I will toss out those butt plugs I bought, I don’t want this stretched at all.”

Tears poured down your face, Steve’s thrusts beginning to start up again in force. Blood throbbed through your genitals, your bruises ignited. The pain was overwhelming and it was all you could do to lay still while they pounded into you.

“I’m gonna cum,” Steve panted, holding you tightly against his chest, “I’m gonna fill you up, doll. Fuck—here it comes, fuck—”

His words were cut off by a long, deep moan. You could feel it coating your insides, the head of his cock butting roughly against your cervix with each rope of cum. He stilled with his cock stuffing you, your hips pressed flush with his own. Carol groaned, continuing to hammer your asshole while her hand snuck down and scooped up some of the frothy cum escaping from your cunt. It was easy to shove it in your mouth, your lips already parted as you gasped for breath.

“Swallow his cum,” Carol moaned loudly, “oh fuck, swallow it down. You’ll drink every bit of his cum that comes out of your pussy, all of it!”

She made a noise that you recognized, a whine that meant she was about to come. Her pelvis slapped your bruised ass with each brutal thrust, getting faster still when she cried out and started coming. The violence with which she fucked you just revealed how hard she liked to have a dildo shoved up her own cunt, the way the pain accented her pleasure. She didn’t stop until she’d worked through her whole orgasm, gasping for breath behind you.

“I wish we’d thought of this sooner,” Steve’s words made you shudder, horror settling in once again.

It would be so hard to run if you were pregnant, your health was already precarious and to throw a fetus into the picture? You wouldn’t survive to make it to safety. If you got pregnant, trying to escape would literally kill you. Your lips trembled, emotional devastation wracking your body.

That was the point of course.

There would be no more escape attempts now.

content warnings: noncon anal and vaginal sex, mentioned noncon spankings, piercings. forced pregnancy, kidnapping. 

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Eccentricity [Chapter 6: You Know You Got Me In The Palm Of Your Hand]

Series Summary: Joe Mazzello is a nice guy with a weird family. A VERY weird family. They have a secret, and you have a choice to make. Potentially a better love story than Twilight.

Chapter Title Is A Lyric From: Mean It by Lauv.

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to sex and violence, slavery in American history.

Other Chapters (And All My Writing) Available: HERE

Tagging: @queen-turtle-boiii​​​​​ @bramblesforbreakfast​​​​​​ @writerxinthedark​​ @maggieroseevans​​​​​​ @culturefiendtrashqueen​​​​​​ @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark​​​​​​ @escabell​​​​​​ @im-an-adult-ish​​​​​​ @someforeigntragedy​​​​​​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​​​​​​​​​​ @deacyblues​​​​​​ ​ @tensecondvacation​​​​​​​ @brianssixpence​​​​​​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye​​ @some-major-ishues​​ @haileymorelikestupid​​ @loveandbeloved29​​

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What The Fuck, Washington Animals Are Weird

I woke up in a bedroom drenched in a rainbow of darkness, shades of grey vacillating from charcoal to the wings of a mourning dove; indolent dawn rain pattered against the window. There were no glaring veins of sunlight spilling in through gaps in the curtains, no promise of dry invigorating heat, no whistle of vicious parched wind. Toto, we’re not in Phoenix anymore.

“Ugh,” I complained to the empty room, unraveling from a tangle of blankets patterned with cacti and pure white clouds and rust-orange suns.

I clicked off my iPhone alarm—I’d beaten it by two minutes; my circadian rhythm was finally conceding that this whole Pacific Time thing was permanent—and read my nine new texts from Joe.

3:12 a.m.: Hey it’s an emergency what’s the plural of octopus

3:13 a.m.: Rami is insisting that it is octopuses

3:14 a.m.: But it’s octopi, right? Right?? I just announced in front of everyone that it’s octopi

3:15 a.m.: Scarlett is verbally abusing me

3:18 a.m.: Oh you are probably asleep

3:21 a.m.: Update, according to the internet Rami is right and now I have to assume a new identity and move to Antarctica

3:25 a.m.: We can discuss logistics of the Antarctica relocation tomorrow

3:26 a.m.: Hope you like penguins

3:30 a.m.: Okay goodnight!! Don’t let the mythical creatures bite!!

“That man,” I murmured to myself, smiling.

I typed out: It’s definitely octopuses, you clown. Then I deleted ‘clown’ and replaced it with its Italian equivalent: pagliaccio. Text sent.

Joe responded almost instantly. I had to ask Lucy what pagliaccio meant and now she’s verbally abusing me too. Send help. See you at lunch. xx

Wait, two Xs? What did Xs mean?? Kisses???

Did Joseph Francis Mazzello, sexy undead Italian man, just send me multiple text kisses?

“You’re gonna give me an aneurism, Chicago boy,” I muttered at my phone as I slid it into the pocket of my flannel pajama pants. And then I glanced out the bedroom window into a tussle of rain and thick, caliginous fog.

Just a few feet beyond the misted glass, its leathery talons hooked around a branch of Charlie’s decades-old red alder tree, was an owl. But not just any owl. A hulking, spotlessly white owl.

“Oh, hey, you,” I whispered, leaning closer, pressing my palms against the cold window. My hands left transparent imprints in the condensation. “Hey, buddy. Aren’t you supposed to be sleeping? I sure wish I was. Did something wake you up? Did your idiot vampire boyfriend disturb you with a series of ridiculous texts?”

The owl just contemplated me with unnervingly vast, slick, engrossed eyes. And there was something else, too: those eyes were blood red.

“So you’re an albino owl, huh big guy? Good for you. You know, usually albino animals don’t last all that long in the wild. Because they’re really easy for predators and prey to spot. Or they get skin cancer. So congratulations on living to become the voluptuous, tremendously creepy creature that you are today. Job well done.”

The owl stared back at me unflinchingly, blinked, then resumed staring. Rainwater gathered in swelling beads like blood drops on its ivory-colored beak and talons.

“Well,” I noted, turning away and grabbing my shower towel off the back of the desk chair. “You don’t get that in Arizona.”

Thirty minutes later, I was bounding down the stairs two at a time to meet Charlie in the kitchen. He was browsing through his daily newspaper at the table, drinking coffee and nibbling messily on burnt triangles of toast. Crumbs littered his moustache.

“You didn’t tell me that living here came with the added benefit of freaky albino animal friends.”

Charlie crinkled his forehead at me. “Huh?”

“How was bowling with the dads last night?”

“Oh, awesome!” he exclaimed, folding up his newspaper and slapping it down on the table. “We bowled against the team from Mora and it came right down to the wire, but we caught them. Dr. Lee got a strike on his very last turn. He always seems to do that...he’ll be bowling hit or miss all night and then when it really matters he manages to pull a strike out of nowhere. He’s a beast.”

“He’s a pretty remarkable guy,” I agreed, rummaging through the cabinets for Pop-Tarts.

“He mentioned that you and his son were really hitting it off,” Charlie said, grinning. “Not the ragey blond one. The spindly annoying one. What’s his name again? Josh? Jimmy?”

“Joe.” I conjured up my best poker face of lofty indifference. It crumbled like a sandcastle beneath reckless, rushing footsteps.

“Ohhhh, I saw that!” Charlie said, pointing, delighted. “Check out that smile. My gorgeous, brilliant progeny has a crush. I knew it. I knew you wouldn’t be single for long up here. Alright, I’m ready. Bring on the grandchildren.”

“Shut up,” I pleaded good-naturedly.

“Relax, I have great news. According to Gwil, that Joe kid is pretty wild about you too.”

“Oh, is that what you old guys do between bowling turns? Betray your children’s deepest confidences? Matchmake them over nachos and chili cheese dogs?” Still, my curiosity was piqued. “What else did Dr. Lee say about Joe?”

“I think the exact word he used was...” Charlie reminisced, sipping his coffee, curls of steam pouring over the rim of the mug. “Smitten.”

Supernatural Pictionary

I turned the notebook to Joe so he could see; everyone else momentarily covered their eyes or looked away. Then Lucy started the timer on her iPhone. Thirty seconds.

“Go!” Lucy announced.

“I think it’s a boat,” Rami said, hesitantly, haltingly, squinting at Joe with great concentration.

“Do you?” Joe teased.

“Yeah. But I’m also getting something about a fish.”

“Maybe I’m trying to make you think it’s a fish because it’s actually a boat,” Joe replied flippantly.

Rami muttered: “Or you want me to think it’s a boat because it’s actually a fish.”

“Interesting.”

“Now you’re mentally singing Never Gonna Give You Up just to fuck with me.”

Joe gasped, pressing a palm to his chest. “That doesn’t sound like something I would do!”

Scarlett snickered, dunking her chicken tender in honey mustard, slurping Coke through a straw clenched between crimson-painted lips. “That sounds exactly like something you would do.”

“Fifteen seconds,” Lucy warned.

“Fish or boat, boat or fish...” Rami chanted, peering fixedly at Joe.

“Make a decision,” I taunted, hugging the notebook to my chest.

“I’m going with boat,” Rami decided.

“Final answer?” Lucy asked, then stopped the timer when Rami nodded.

“Loser!” Joe cackled victoriously, leaping out of his chair, waving his L-shaped fingers in the air. Calawah University students at nearby tables glanced over with wide, startled eyes, their beloved chicken tenders briefly forgotten. “How’s it feel to not win every round of a game, huh?! Loser!”

I flipped my notebook so Rami could see the extremely unskilled pencil sketch I’d drawn there: a smiling fish. “My condolences.”

“Damn.” Rami pulled a ten-dollar bill out of his wallet and slid it across the table to Joe. Joe snatched it up, tucked it into the waistline of his jeans like a stripper collecting money in her G-string, and slung his arm around my shoulders.

“We are the champions. Bask in our glory.”

Scarlett turned on her iPhone flashlight and waved it in slow arcs over her head. “Youuuuu are the champions, my friendssssss...”

From my usual lunch table, Jessica gazed at my esteemed place among the Lees with palpable envy, resting her chin in her hands. I had worked out a schedule that seemed fairly obvious given my extensive experience as a child of divorce: lunch with Jessica et al. one day, lunch with the Lees the next. I took a bite of the Chipotle veggie bowl that Joe had insisted on ordering for me and tossed Jessica a sympathetic wave. Get Ben’s Snapchat for me! she mouthed back. I harbored serious doubts that Benjamin August Hardy, former professional assassin, born in 1893, had a Snapchat.

Joe’s words from last week rolled around in my head; I could see him all over again, nodding to the enormous painting hung in Gwil’s upstairs office, telling me about those startling, ethereal figures who had initiated Ben into life as a vampire. They call themselves the Draghi. They collect dues from covens, offer protection, keep order, protect our secrets. But they also demand loyalty. They force people they want into service. They might try to make it seem like you have a choice, but you don’t. They destroy anyone who tries to resist them. And they feed on humans.

“This is so awesome,” Lucy sighed, elated. “We could never play Pictionary before, drawing something is way too much of a mental process, Rami always figured it out right away...”

But now they had a built-in blindfold, someone who could draw without Rami getting a peek into their thoughts, a fighting chance at hiding the truth from him...for thirty seconds, at least.

“Okay Benny Boy, you’re up.” Joe darted over to Ben’s side of the table and massaged his tense, muscular shoulders as Ben grimaced. “You got this. I believe in you. Baby Swan is gonna pitch you a home run.”

“I’ll pass,” Ben said.

“You can’t!” Lucy cried. “Ben, please? Rami got Scarlett’s, and then he didn’t get Joe’s...and I know he’s going to see though me immediately. You’re our only chance to tie things up and maybe beat him!”

“Traitor,” Rami told Lucy affectionately.

“Uhh...” Ben hesitated, glimpsing longingly at the doors that led outside to the grove of bigleaf maple trees. He was fidgeting restlessly with his vape pen.

“Come on, Benny!” Joe begged. “I’ll owe you. I’ll do anything.”

Ben perked up a little bit. “You’ll do my Calc 2 homework for a month?”

Joe groaned theatrically, but nodded. He was wearing a grey U Chicago hoodie today. “Fine. Okay. But you’re gonna have to learn that shit eventually, I can’t take the MCAT for you.”

“Deal.” Ben bumped his knuckles against Joe’s.

“Batter up,” Joe heralded in his best mock-umpire voice, grinning at me expectantly, drumming the table with his palms. “Go Baby Swan, go! What will she choose? Will she continue with the nautical theme? Will she change it up, maybe switch to beloved Chicago landmarks? Baseball or food? Will she invent a variety of pizza even more despicable than pineapple?”

“Hm.” I flipped to a fresh notebook page, scratched my temple with the eraser end of the pencil, then quickly sketched a picture for Ben. “Okay, I’m ready.” I showed the drawing to Ben while everyone else covered their eyes.

Ben shook his head, scowling. “You’ll have to try again. I have no idea what that is.”

“Really?!” I checked the picture again. Okay, it definitely didn’t belong in the Louvre or anything, but it was lifelike enough to be decipherable. “You don’t recognize it? At all?”

“No,” Ben replied flatly.

From behind his shielded eyes, Rami scanned through the images in Ben’s mind. He dropped his hands onto the table. “SpongeBob?!”

“Who...?” Ben ventured.

Everyone else looked too. “Oh yeah, that’s definitely SpongeBob,” Joe said, then chuckled. “Aww, Baby Swan, you even remembered his little necktie!”

“It’s so cute!” Lucy trilled.

Ben just stared at the picture, blinking, completely lost, increasingly morose. And now there was a new guest at the table; or maybe not a new one, maybe just a quiet one, something that perched on the ledge of every conversation and field of vision just waiting to tap its claws against the wall and make its presence known: that interminable reminder of Ben’s unconventional past life, of how incomparable his vampiric upbringing was to those of the rest of the Lee kids.

“Benny Boy, you’ve never seen SpongeBob?” Joe inquired gently. “No problem. We’ll have a marathon tonight. I have the entire series on DVD. Also several Mermaid Man and Barnacle Boy action figures.”

Scarlett snorted. “This is why you’ve been single since Hoover was president.”

“I wasn’t single the whole time,” Joe corrected.

“Oh, really?” Not that I’m interested, my voice suggested. I was a total liar. I was super interested. Thank the great deity that Rami and Ben couldn’t read me like a restaurant menu. Today’s specials are Being In Love With Someone Wildly Inappropriate for $15.99, and also Lamenting My Own Lack Of Sexual Experience for $11.99. Oh, and clam chowder.

“He had a couple of...what would you call them?” Scarlett combed her elegant fingers through her voluminous blonde hair. “What’s the modern vernacular? Fuck buddies? Booty calls? Netflix and chill partners?”

My stomach lurched; I nonchalantly buried my fork in a mountain of guacamole and left it there. I kept my lips turned up into a smile like a mask. Of course he’s loved other people. Duh. He’s hot and immortal. Get over it. But that didn’t calm my pounding heartbeat at all, didn’t soothe that sudden and irrational melancholy.

“Whoa whoa whoa, okay, you’re making it sound way worse than it was,” Joe protested, glancing at me nervously.

Scarlett continued: “It wasn’t serious, whatever it was. None of them would have cared about your action figure collection or obsession with a city you haven’t lived in for fifty years. It wasn’t your personality they wanted. Thank god.”

Oh this is bad, I thought helplessly. How am I ever going to be able to compete with the memory of countless gorgeous vampire girlfriends?

“Uh, ScarJo, you’re single too.” And Joe’s nickname for her was strangely apt; Scarlett could pass for Scarlett Johansson’s younger, blonder, much hotter sister. And Scarlett Johansson, in case you’re somehow unaware, is already pretty fucking hot.

Scarlett flashed a grin. “Entirely by choice.”

“And much to Mercy’s eternal and profound concern,” Lucy told me. “She stages an intervention at least twice a month. Did I overhear one last week, Scarlett?”

“Oh jesus, yeah. I was like, ‘Mom, what the hell do I need a husband for? I have my own money. I can fix household appliances. I have a vibrator. I’m good to go.’”

Joe rocked back in his chair, howling. “You did not tell Mom that!”

“I did. She was so distraught. She just kind of pinched her eyes shut and shuddered and then went out back to feed the alpacas.”

“Scarlett, babe,” Rami managed between gales of laughter. “A vibrator isn’t going to keep you company for all of eternity. It’s not a suitable substitute for a life partner.”

“You’re right. It’s even better. It’ll never abandon or disappoint me. Assuming I keep the batteries fresh, of course.”

“Oh my god,” Lucy giggled into her hands.

“She’s not wrong,” I said, shrugging, sipping my Diet Coke.  

And Joe peered over at me, surprised, intrigued, slowly raising his thin dark eyebrows. I winked back. Yeah, okay, I’ve never slept with someone. But that doesn’t mean I’ve never had an orgasm.

“Ah, loud thoughts! Loud thoughts! Joe, please!” Rami moaned, pressing his balled fists to his forehead.

Ben smirked. “There’s a color I’ve never seen from you before, Joe.”

“This family is the worst!” Joe exploded.

“I like that girl,” Scarlett decided, signaling to me with glossy maroon fingernails. “She can stay.”

Joe sighed, flustered, then shook it off as he turned to me. “You coming over tonight?”

“I can’t spend every night at your house petting alpacas, mob guy.”

“Yeah?” he asked, smiling, draping his arm around the back of my chair. “Why not?”

“Well, my tonight-specific reason is that I’m visiting a friend.”

“Cool. Your friends are my friends. Can I visit too?”

“You’re aware that you’re a legit stalker, right?” But actually, Archer was dying to meet Joe: the loud Lee, the approachable Lee, the Lee who I definitely liked more than a Tinder swipe could ever convey. This could work. “Offer to buy dinner and you can come.”

“I’m a walking Visa, baby.”

Ben stood, hauled on his backpack, gathered up his trash to throw away. “I need a smoke break before Chem. See you guys later.”

“Don’t forget!” Joe called after him. “SpongeBob marathon starts at 8! I’ll bring the Milk Duds!”

And when Ben disappeared through the doors, a solemn hush descended over the table.

“Poor guy,” Lucy said softly. The other Lees nodded.

And again, I recalled what Joe had told me in Gwil’s office, what he had said when I asked how Ben came to join the Lee family. He was assigned to us, to be the liaison to our coven. And Gwil saw something in him. Potential, suffering, unrealized decency, I don’t know. But Gwil worked on him for years, trying to convince Ben to leave the Draghi when his contract was up and come live with us. To give a peaceful life a try. And to be honest, Ben never seemed interested. But something must have resonated with him, because we opened the front door on October 15th, 2016 and he was sitting on the steps of our porch with a single suitcase, puffing on that fucking vape pen and watching the storm clouds roll in off the Pacific Ocean.

But why would they just let him leave? I had asked, tracing my fingertips over the uncanny and magnificent faces in that painting. Why would they let him live?

Because they know how valuable he is. And because they think they can get him back.

“I think he’s a good person,” I said, breaking the silence. “You know. Underneath the whole being raised to be a killing machine thing.”

“Yeah,” Rami replied, frowning thoughtfully. “Just try not to spend too much time alone with him.”

Car Jacks And Sneak Attacks

“Joe, this is Archer James Foxchild, my first-ever best friend.”

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you!” Joe said, shaking Archer’s oil-stained hand. “I understand you are really good at making mud pies and poking dead animals with sticks.”

Archer chuckled. “It’s true. We found a shark tooth down at La Push one time and I convinced Baby Swan here that it was from a sea monster. She had nightmares for months. Charlie called my dad over it and I got my Game Boy taken away.”

“No!” Joe gasped in horror. “Were you a Pokémon guy?”

“For sure.”

“Ruby or Sapphire?”

“Emerald.”

Joe grinned. “This dude knows what’s up.”

“And to think, my grandpa tried to tell me that you guys were freaks,” Archer replied.

“Well,” Joe conceded. “Not all of us.”  

“Maybe you two should start dating,” I said. “Don’t mind me. I’ll just sit in my Honda and eat my Taco Bell cheese quesadillas and Cinnamon Twists and try not to interrupt all the sex.”

“Yes, you brought Taco Bell,” Archer sighed euphorically. “Give me five minutes, I just gotta finish rotating these tires real quick.” He jogged to the other end of the garage, knelt beside a Ford Mustang that was propped up on a jack, and starting twisting off lug nuts with a tire iron.

“You have a nice place here,” Joe observed, strolling around the small garage with his hands in the front pocket of his U Chicago hoodie, eyeing the fractures in the concrete floor and the spidering cracks in the windows. “You have any investors?”

“Are you kidding?!” Archer replied from the Mustang. “No, man, it’s just me. I rent for now, but at some point I’ll buy my own shop. Once I’ve saved up enough. A great big one with shiny new equipment and no mice squeaking behind the walls.”

“What’s your cash flow like?”

“I’m netting around three grand a month after taxes.”

“Not bad!” Joe noted admiringly.

“Yeah. It’s a hustle, but I love it.”

“Hey, I don’t know if you’d be interested—and absolutely no pressure if you’re not, really—but I do a lot of work with start-ups and I’d love to help you get into your own shop. By this Christmas, preferably. If we can work out a deal.”

“Really?!” Archer peeked incredulously over the hood of the Mustang.

“Absolutely.”

Archer beamed at me. “This guy is willing to drop serious cash to look good in front of you. You should probably marry him. No prenup though.”

I held my pinky out towards Joe, grinning. “No more sad prenups.”

He laughed and hooked my pinky with his. “Bankrupt me, bitch.”

I heard the metallic clang of a lug nut hitting the concrete floor and rolling under the Mustang. “Come back here, you bastard,” Archer muttered, then dropped to his stomach and crawled beneath the car.

“Hey, kid, be careful,” I fretted, crossing my arms across my chest and taking a step closer.

“Relax, Baby Swan, I am a professional, changing a tire for me is like feeding a fish for you, so just chill and keep fantasizing about those Cinnamon Twists—”

There was a squeal of metal as the car jack collapsed and the Mustang came crashing down. In a fraction of a second—faster than I could see him moving, faster than I could loose a scream—Joe had soared across the garage, yanked Archer out from beneath the falling Mustang, and dragged him to the center of the room.

“Oh fuck,” Archer wheezed, his dark eyes huge and fascinated and horrified. “Grandpa was right.”

I’d Do Anything For Love (But I Won’t Do That)

We rolled up to the Lee house in my 1999 Honda Accord just as I polished off the last of my Cinnamon Twists and Archer chewed, tentatively and dazedly, on a Cheesy Gordita Crunch. The sun was beginning to set in a clouded sky that perpetually threatened rain.

He asked Joe for the fifth time from the back seat: “But wait, seriously, no one is going to eat me, right? Because I’m too young to die. I haven’t taken enough vacations yet. I can’t die without seeing Hawaii. I want to swim with the sea turtles.”

“No, none of us have ever eaten people. Well, almost none of us. Maybe stay away from Ben.”

“I would like a little more exposition,” Archer replied, blanching.

“Hey, if you stay until 8, you guys can join us for the SpongeBob marathon!”

Gwil and Mercy were waiting on the front porch, thanks to Joe’s ‘hey I accidentally exposed myself as a paranormal being and now we have a new friend, plz don’t be mad okay love you see you soon!1!!’ text.

“Welcome, sweetheart!” Mercy fussed, enfolding Archer into her arms as soon as he stepped out of the Honda. “Would you like some hummingbird cake? I just baked it this morning. And maybe some sweet tea too. And some peanut butter cookies. And banana pudding.”

“Sure,” he responded, bewildered. This lady does not seem like a bloodsucking demon, that voice said. And he was absolutely right.

“I’ll fix you up a tray,” Mercy promised, and hurried into the house.

“We’re so very happy to have you, Mr. Foxchild.” Gwil shook Archer’s hand firmly. “We don’t get many visitors around here. I’m sure you understand why.”

“My grandpa always insisted that there was something off about you guys. Especially you, Dr. Lee. Said you shouldn’t still be around.”

“Yes, I imagine that would have been disconcerting for him. He must have remembered us from the 1940s...that’s the last time we settled down in Forks. It’s not often that someone recognizes us after so long, but it happens. It was just Mercy and me and Rami and Joe back then. And look how far we’ve come.” Gwil beamed warmly, then turned to Joe. “But really, son, you’re going to have to stop telling humans about us.”

“Hold up, I was not responsible for her!” Joe exclaimed, waving at me. “Take it up with Ben!”

The garage door rumbled open and Scarlett sauntered out, wiping her filthy hands with a rag. She halted abruptly, stood there in her high-waisted vintage jeans and black crop top and bare feet with maroon-colored toenails, tilted her head and pondered Archer with an innocent sort of curiosity that I hadn’t seen from her before.

“Wait,” Archer said, gaping. “Is that...is that an Aston Martin Vantage in there?!”

“You bet,” Scarlett replied. “You want to learn how to work on it?”

“Uh, hell to the yeah!” He trotted over and they vanished into the garage together.

“Huh,” Joe muttered, watching them. “She was nice to him. Very weird.” He whirled back to me. “Anyway, come on. I promised you an education in classic rock music. And I shall deliver.”

Joe’s bedroom was a chaotic jumble of economics textbooks and Chicago Cubs paraphernalia and U Chicago apparel and action figures and comic books and classic rock posters. There was a massive Italian flag tacked to the wall above his bed. But what caught my attention immediately was a life-sized cardboard cutout of Ben lurking in the corner by a bookshelf full of cassette tapes.

“How is there any possible logical explanation for that?” I asked, pointing.

“Oh, that! That was a joke. When Ben first showed up, he pretty much lived in his room and never came out. Gwil was worried. Mercy was heartbroken. So I made a cardboard cutout of him and would bring it to family activities and do this really deep and seductive Ben voice when I pretended to have conversations with him. It gave the whole situation some levity...and I think Ben secretly liked that we missed him enough to make an artificial version to fill the void.”

“So this bitchy, brooding, blood-craving Ben I met is actually a drastic improvement?”

“Oh, Baby Swan,” Joe confided, almost sadly. “You have no idea what he was like four years ago.”

“I’m glad he has you. All of you. That he has a chance to get better.”

“I think you might be good for him too. Seeing a human as a real person instead of a walking, talking Hi-C juice box. And you care about him, don’t you? Despite everything.”

“Of course. It’s not his fault they taught him to be a monster.”  

Joe just looked at me for a while, and then he cradled my face with one hand and grazed a thumb across my cheek “You’re never going to stop saying things that knock me into next week, are you?”

“Joe...” I hesitated, laying my hand over his. His skin was smooth and yielding yet strong, cool yet not unnaturally so. Refreshing. Safe. Fan-fucking-tastic. Oh noooooo. “Are we a thing?”

“Why? Do you want to be a thing?”

“Oh, uh, no, I was just wondering if we were.”

He stepped away, teasing me with a crooked smirk. “...So you don’t want to be a thing?”

“What would that entail?”

“Well...we’d be an official thing, you and me.” He shot finger guns at me, and then towards himself. “Which means you can’t be a thing with anyone else. And neither can I.”

“Ahhh, I see. So this thing is an exclusive thing.”

“Will you shut up and just admit that you’d totally be thrilled to be a thing with me?”

“Fine. Whatever. We’re a thing.”

“Nice.” He high-fived me.

“This is the most romantic moment of my life.”

“But wait, there’s more.” He went to the bookshelf, browsed through his cassette tape collection, found the one he wanted and popped it into a boombox that was probably older than I was. The frantic opening piano notes of I’d Do Anything For Love poured out.

“Meat Loaf,” I said in disbelief. “Really. This is the product of your superior taste in music. This is the culmination of over a century of musical experience. Meat Loaf.”

“The man is a genius!”

“This is all an elaborate joke about my vegetarianism, isn’t it?”

“No,” Joe mused. “But now that you mention it, I have yet another reason to force you to appreciate this song.” He took my hand in his, spun me around like a ballerina in a slow and careful circle, sang along—with extreme and dramatic enthusiasm—to the music.

“And I would do anything for love

I'd run right into hell and back

I would do anything for love

I'd never lie to you and that's a fact...”

“I don’t dance,” I cautioned him, laying a palm against his chest to catch my balance. That brisk, comforting scent of pine and snow and peppermint was everywhere. It feels like I can’t stand to be away from him. Like I’ll never get close enough. “I am terribly uncoordinated. I will step all over your feet. And I’m really not sure if I can trust you. You didn’t even know the plural form of octopus until like eighteen hours ago. You’re kind of a disaster. A, you know, uh, unexpectedly charming, unconventionally super cute, kind of bizarrely enchanting disaster.”

“Yeah,” Joe whispered, smiling, tilting up my chin, leaning in to kiss me. “I like you too.”

Cato

He came out of the oak trees like a ghost, pushing aside massive chandeliers of Spanish moss that blotted out the dusk sun, his expensive shoes sloshing in the marshy water that flooded the rice field. He was wearing a full suit, but no top hat; his hair was black and chin-length and wild around his face. And at first I thought he was a hallucination, a dream conjured by heat sickness or those first dreaded signs of malaria. He was unnervingly, uncommonly beautiful; beautiful like a hurricane, beautiful like lightning or an eclipse. But he was real. I straightened up as I watched him approach, my back aching in protest, a basket full of seedlings slung over my shoulder.

“Mr. Cato.”

His voice, clear and beckoning and twisted by an accent I’d never heard before, rang in my skull like church bells. He called me mister. This white man called me mister.

“Yes sir?” And I almost added: You want to be careful there, sir. The water moccasins like to hide among the tree roots, especially when the sun starts going down. But I had an inexplicable feeling that this man wasn’t afraid of things like snakes. Maybe the snakes should be afraid of him.

“Mr. Cato,” he said again, this time to himself, very quietly, tasting it.

I kept trying to look away, to disentangle my gaze from him like a hook out of a sturgeon’s mouth, because staring piercingly and astonished at a white man like that in the rice swamps of South Carolina in 1851 could get me beaten or the lash, could get my teeth pried right out of my jaw. But it didn’t seem to bother him. He grinned, hugely, all-knowingly, under prehistoric golden eyes like an alligator’s. He knew exactly what he was doing to me. And he was proud.

“Do you want to be free?” he asked, almost hissed, still grinning from the tree line.

What kind of question was that? Did a sandpiper want to fly? Did a coyote want dirt under its paws and flesh disappearing down its throat? But that wasn’t something you ever confessed aloud, not if you wanted your feet on the ground instead of swinging ten inches above it. But this man wasn’t a master, wasn’t an overseer. He wasn’t from the South. He didn’t carry a whip or a club to remind you of the rules of the world. He stood there tall and radiant in the shadows of the fading daylight like he was the one who wrote the rules to begin with; which meant that maybe he could change them. “Yes sir.”

“I can only take you,” the man warned. “No others. No family. No friends.”

“No trouble, sir,” I told him. “They sold my family. They hanged my friends.”

The man’s grin stretched wider under glinting eyes. His canine teeth were sharp, I realized: like a coyote’s, like a snake’s fangs. He held out his hand. “We are going to get along very well, you and I.”

I let the basket fall from my shoulder. I slogged through the mud and rows of wispy verdant rice plants to meet him in the shade of the oak trees. And there, for the first time in forever, a man with skin the color of bones looked me dead in the eye and shook my scarred hand.

“Welcome, Cato,” he whispered; and I was home.

He took my face in his cool palms, gingerly, reverently, like a lover. He touched his teeth to my throat. And every nerve ending in my body flooded with wildfire as he dragged me, screaming, into the depths of the forest.

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Hammer of the Gods: Final Part

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 1,531

Warnings: typical supernatural violence, language, angst, blood, you know the usual

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. Any and all comments on these are appreciated. I really want to hear what you guys think about this one!

Feedback is the glue that holds my writing together.

Tags at the bottom

“Show's over,” you say when you enter the ballroom. “Sword's a fake, and Gabriel’s still kicking. I hate to break it to you, sister, but you've been tricked.”

Kali doesn’t say anything, but she has a hopeful look in her eyes. She still has feelings for Gabriel, that much you can see.

“What now?” Sam asks.

“Now, all we have to do is—”

The lights flicker in the Grand Ballroom, and you cut yourself off and look at the lights.

“What's happening?” Baldur asks.

“It’s him,” Sam nods.

“How do you know?” Kali wonders.

“Does it matter? Shazzam us outta here, would ya?” Dean says.

“We can’t,” Baldur sighs.

“Of course you can't,” Lucifer says from the double doors. He doesn’t look the same since you last saw him. Whatever his vessel is doing to him, it’s not good. There are red sores all over his face as if his vessel is breaking down. It’s like whoever he’s possessing isn’t fit to handle such a powerful creature. “You didn't say, ‘mother, may I?’. Sam, Dean, Y/N, good to see you again.”

“Baldur, don't,” Kali says when she sees her partner size up Lucifer.

“You think you own the planet? What gives you the right?” he sasses.

He stalks towards Lucifer to confront him, but the archangel just shoves his bare hand through his chest and out the other side.

“No one gives us the right, we take it,” he says and rips his hand out, killing the Norse God instantly.

Lucifer tosses Baldur to the side like he’s nothing, and that pisses Kali off. Both of her arms erupt in flames, and you and the brothers do the smart thing and hide behind an overturned table for cover. This is a fight for the grownups, and it’s best if you stay out of the way. She throws flame after flame at Lucifer, but no matter how much fire gets on the archangel, it doesn’t damage his vessel any more than it already is.

She stalks to him angrily, but before she can get in another shot, he hits her with an uppercut to the chin, sending her flying through the air.

“You okay?” Sam whispers to you and his brother.

“Not really. Better late then never, huh?” Gabriel answers from besides you. Where the hell did he come from? Did he finally come to his senses and join the fight against his brother? He takes out a DVD from his jacket and shoves it into your chest gently. “Guard this with your life.”

“Okay,” you whisper.

You use your magic to conceal the DVD before shoving it in your jacket.

He doesn’t explain what it is, and he gets up to deal with his older brother. He shoves his hand out and sends Lucifer flying through the double doors and into the hallway. Gabriel has his archangel blade in his hand with determination. Well, you think it’s an archangel blade. You’re not really sure anymore.

“Lucy, I'm home,” he chuckles. Lucifer stomps over to him, but Gabriel raises the blade higher, which stops the other angel in his tracks. “Not this time.” He reaches behind him and helps Kali to her feet. Now that you know it’s safe, you and the Winchesters reveal yourself. “Guys! Get her outta here!”

Deciding not to question him, Sam and Dean take Kali and guide her to the doors so she can escape the hotel. You’re not that far behind, and you refuse to back down from Lucifer’s hard gaze.

“Over a girl. Gabriel, really? I mean I knew you were slumming, but I hope you didn't catch anything,” Lucifer says right as you leave.

You’re not staying for the rest of that conversation. There is no more trouble for you as you leave the hotel, and you three rush to the car with Kali trailing behind.

“I'm not getting in that thing.”

“Just get in the car, princess,” Dean rolls his eyes.

You open the door for her, and once she’s inside, you squeeze in next to her. The brothers get in, and Dean wastes no time leaving the hotel grounds. Kali has the vials containing your blood, so as long as you’re with her, you can leave. Once she destroys them, you’re free from her spell.

ALL PERFORMERS IN THIS FILM ARE OVER THE AGE OF 18, HAVE CONSENTED TO BEING PHOTOGRAPHED, AND HAVE PROVIDED PROOF OF AGE. 18 U.S.C. SECTION 2257

Whatever film Gabriel gave you, you thought watching it was a good idea. He hasn’t come back from his little play date with his brother, so you figured something bad might have happened to him. It’s the next day, and you’re watching the DVD with the brothers on Sam’s laptop in the middle of nowhere.

“Dear Diary, being a high-powered business president is super-fun. But so exhausting. Sometimes, I just need to relax. I need Casa Erotica,” a female says sexily.

Is this really a porn video? There is a knock on the door, and the woman dressed in very little clothing gets off the bed excitedly.

“Room Service!” a man says from behind the door.

Wait, you know that voice…

“Come in!” the woman says with a smile.

“Gabriel wanted you to guard this with your life?” Sam asks you.

“Hey, don’t look at me. I figured it was worth something. Now, I’m not so sure,” you shudder and continue to watch the DVD.

The door to the hotel room opens, and Gabriel walks in wearing a mustache and a service waiter’s outfit.

“I've got the kielbasa you ordered,” he says to the woman.

“Ooh, Polish?”

“Hunagrian,” he smirks and throws the dish on the mantle.

The screen goes black, and all you hear is the sound of Gabriel kissing the woman.

“Okay, if this continues, I’m burning your laptop,” you groan.

“I might let you,” Sam clears his throat.

The screen goes from being black to showing Gabriel and the woman making out on the bed. He’s feeling her up and down sensually, and the woman is moaning.

“What the fuck is going on?” you demand to know.

Gabriel stops kissing the woman, turns to face the camera, takes off his mustache, and breaks the fourth wall of the film.

“Sam, Dean, Y/N. You're probably wondering what the hell is going on. Well, if you're watching this, I'm dead. Oh please! Stop sobbing, it's embarrassing for all of us. Without me, you've got zero shot at killing Lucifer. Sorry, but you can trap him.

“The cage you sprung Lucifer from? It's still down there. Maybe, just maybe, you can shove his ass back in. Not that it'll be easy. You gotta get the cage open and trick my bro back into it. And uh, oh yeah, avoid Michael and the God Squad. But hey, details, right?

“Wait for it, here's the big secret that Lucifer himself doesn't even know—the key to the cage? It's out there. Actually it's keys, plural. Four keys, well, four rings from the Horsemen. You get 'em all, you got the cage. Can't say I'm betting on you boys and Y/N. But, uh, hey! I've been wrong before. And Y/N, you were right. I was afraid to stand up to my brother, but not anymore. So this is me, standing up.”

Gabriel stands off the bed only to lay back down, but on top of the woman.

“And this is me lying down.”

He grabs the woman and starts the process of getting down and dirty. This is proving to be too much for you to see, so you slam Sam’s laptop down with force and shudder.

“That is something I don’t need to see,” you shrug.

“Horsemen, huh? Well we got War's, and we nicked Famine's, which means that's two down. Collect all four seems like a piece of cake.”

“Wait, when did you get War’s?” you ask.

You know you’ve asked him this before, but a lot has happened since then, and you’re fuzzy on the incident since you weren't with them.

“Oh, right, you weren't there. Where were you while we were trying to fight for something that actually mattered?”

“Oh, so saving a whole town from killing each other doesn’t matter? Ellen and Jo don’t fucking matter?” you yell.

“Well, I know they do,” he glares.

“Enough! Seriously, you guys, you need to stop this,” Sam interrupts.

He grabs his laptop off the top of the car and tucks it underneath his arm.

“I’m not the one who needs to stop. It’s him that needs to grow the fuck up and start acting like a mature fucking adult,” you sneer.

“Oh bite me,” he hisses.

“Stop! Both of you, get in the car! All we need are the rings from Death and Pestilence. Let’s focus on getting them instead of each other, okay?”

“Fine by me!” you yell and get into the car.

You slam the door a little harder than necessary, and the brothers get inside a few seconds after you. Sam is getting sick and tired of this fighting. He wants it to end, but he doesn’t see it ending well.

Neither do you and Dean.

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[rosethornewrites]

Fic: the thing with feathers, ch. 10

Relationships: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī/Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn & Yú Zǐyuān, Jiāng Fēngmián & Yú Zǐyuān, Jiāng Yànlí & Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Jiāng Chéng | Jiāng Wǎnyín & Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī & Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Jiāng Fēngmián & Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Lán Qǐrén & Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn

Characters: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī, Lán Yuàn | Lán Sīzhuī, Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Jiāng Chéng | Jiāng Wǎnyín, Yú Zǐyuān, Yínzhū, Jīnzhū, Lán Jǐngyí, Jiāng Fēngmián, Jiāng Yànlí, Lán Qǐrén, Lán Huàn | Lán Xīchén

Additional Tags: Transmigration, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Illnesses, Family, Scars, Memory Loss, Angst, Crying, Music, Nosebleed, Fear, Recovery, Nightmares, Sharing a Bed, Flirting, Emotional Hurt/Comfort

Summary: A day in the market turns into a philosophical challenge for Lan XiChen.

Notes: Ren is a Confucian concept involving the virtue of altruism and humanity/humaneness. XiChen is lost in his teachings and how what he’s learning at Lotus Pier connect to those teachings at the end here, so we have reference to many ancient Chinese philosophers. I almost had this chapter in Madam Yu’s perspective, but I realized XiChen’s would be better. He’s changing too—particularly important because (at least imo) canon XiChen was very passive because of the rules he felt he needed to abide by. He’s being challenged by this experience. So are all the other characters, as we can see with Madam Yu in this chapter. The Chinese suffix -men is a way to turn certain words plural, often general words rather than specific. Thus, referring to the fact that they will have many martial brothers and sisters (younger and older) would justify the use. I know this only because of the wonderful @merakilyy​, who has on multiple occasions been kind enough to answer my questions about Chinese language usage. Also, xingan literally means heart and liver and is kind of the equivalent of “my heart and soul.”

AO3 link

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 

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

Living at Lotus Pier had been strange for XiChen for many reasons, not the least of which was spending so much less time with WangJi. He knew he wasn’t unwelcome by any means—Wei WuXian always greeted him with a smile and was happy to include him in lunch and their afternoon music sessions when he stopped by. But XiChen had always been friendly with his fellow disciples and had his friendship with Nie MingJue; Wei WuXian was WangJi’s first friend, the first person he’d allowed close enough, the first person who didn’t seem intimidated by what had often been interpreted as coldness.

He was afraid, during the weeks Wei WuXian was unconscious, that whatever WangJi had seen in the boy that had led him to give him their mother’s rattle drum all those years ago would lead him to grieve just as hard for this boy as he had their mother if he died. But he had woken, and despite the amnesia had glommed onto WangJi, as though by virtue of being the first person he remembered, he had imprinted, for lack of a better word. And WangJi seemed happy with their friendship.

So XiChen joined them for lessons each morning with shufu, often finding himself fascinated by the questions Wei WuXian asked, questions no Lan would think of. Though it isn’t clear how much was memory loss and how much was a freer upbringing, he could tell those questions sometimes challenged shufu, though he never lost his temper.

The most fascinating one so far was “Who decided what’s right and what’s wrong? What if they’re wrong?”

Shufu had asked for an example, and clearly hadn’t expected the boy to come up with one, but he had, a far-away look in his eyes.

“Like one part of a clan does something really evil, and people decide to wipe out the whole clan so it can never happen again. And everyone says it’s justified, but they let kids and civilians get killed. But if anyone tries to stop it people say they’re bad.”

XiChen had just stared, glancing finally at his uncle, who looked nonplussed. Shufu even asked if Wei WuXian heard of this occurring, and the boy just shrugged.

“The cultivation world can be wrong,” shufu finally answered, “and can fail in our obligations to the people. No human is infallible.”

Wei WuXian sometimes seemed to be far away during lessons, head tilted as though deep in thought, but shufu was quite tolerant of this given that he was still recovering, and given that he still seemed to take in what they were learning.

Overall, XiChen found Wei WuXian fascinating, and thought he was the right person to bring WangJi out of his shell. Already his brother was trying new things: foods, music, swimming lessons. Sect Leader Jiang had asked if both of them would like training in the Jiang style sword forms, even, and WangJi had nodded. WangJi smiled, even tiny ones most people didn’t notice, more in the last few weeks since Wei WuXian woke than he had since their mother died.

Even shufu seemed impacted by Lotus Pier. XiChen was able to help teach Jiang YanLi to read music and adjust to playing the konghou, the first time he was allowed to teach. He had never played one himself, but teaching her to read music had been fun, and he found her company pleasing—they were never unaccompanied as it would be inappropriate, generally with shufu overseeing or one of Madam Yu’s maids in the room. She had already gotten blisters from playing her beginner konghou but seemed unbothered by them. 

“I had to get used to developing callouses from chopping vegetables,” she confessed to him. “I know this is part of the process.

He had the opportunity during lunches with her, WangJi, and Wei WuXian in the infirmary to enjoy her cooking—her talent in that regard was unmistakable. She was also a quick learner, and he admired her commitment to becoming a healer, particularly after learning she had to commit to improving her weak cultivation to do so. XiChen had actually learned several techniques from listening to shufu advise her.

He found her quite admirable. 

But more, shufu just today invited XiChen and WangJi to be open with their emotions with him, where he’d previously lectured them on excessive emotion. And he had cancelled lessons for the first time since XiChen could remember!

They were sent off with the Jiangs and Wei WuXian to enjoy the town, the first time circumstances had allowed it. Madam Yu’s somewhat scary personal maids and a couple disciples accompanied them, all carrying baskets for purchases. 

This excursion was significantly different from the one he and WangJi had undertaken shortly after Wei WuXian woke. For one, they had no clear goal, the pace leisurely. For another, it was the first time Wei WuXian had left Lotus Cove since the attack and his illness. He carried his sword as he had not in Lotus Cove, his recovery having exempted him from the custom. In many ways, this was him rejoining the world as a cultivator. 

Immediately, townspeople reacted to seeing him, and the younger boy was clearly a little overwhelmed, clinging to WangJi’s arm and attempting polite smiles. WangJi, for his part, frowned at people who got too close. Jiang WanYin flanked Wei WuXian’s other side, a bit like a bodyguard. Jiang YanLi walked in front of him, greeting the people kindly and letting them know her brother was still recovering. When gifts were given, she placed the parcel in one of the baskets carried by a disciple or maid. 

Sect Leader Jiang and Madam Yu were at Jiang WanYin’s side, arm in arm, politely greeting the people as well.

XiChen walked beside WangJi, watching the proceedings with interest; the people of Lotus Pier clearly had great affection for the Jiangs. It was a relationship that differed greatly from that of Cloud Recesses and Caiyi, the nearest town. But Lotus Cove was nestled aside the city and aided most of the commerce in town. It was a symbiotic relationship, and the gifts represented the esteem the town held for their role in its success. 

“Yingying!” rang out across the market, coming from an elderly woman manning a baozi stall. “Come give popo a hug.”

To XiChen’s surprise, the boy brightened and broke away from WangJi’s side to approach the woman, who pulled him into her arms in a gentle but firm embrace.

“Popo was so worried. I heard you were sick.”

Wei WuXian nodded, looking up at her.

“I… Popo, I lost all my memories,” he admitted. “But you sent the baozi and I remembered you.”

The woman looked up at Sect Leader Jiang, who nodded grimly. Tears filled her eyes. 

“Oh, you poor child. That must be frightening. Let me wrap up some baozi, extra spicy for you and some mild for your siblings and friends. You can come to popo anytime.”

She released him from her embrace and then handed Wei WuXian a fresh bun. Watching him eat reminded XiChen none of them had breakfast, but the woman handed out buns to each of them.

“You Lan don’t like meat, as I recall, so here are some stuffed with bok choy, mushrooms, and tofu.”

The woman wrapped up more, ignoring her customers, who didn't seem upset, instead chatting with the Jiangs animatedly.

The baozi was delicious, though spicier than XiChen was used to. WangJi and the Jiang children seemed to similarly enjoy theirs. Popo gave Wei WuXian one last hug and then waved them off with an order to come visit more.

Madam Yu and Sect Leader Jiang alternated between talking to townspeople and looking at each other in a way XiChen sometimes saw between courting couples. He tried not to watch, instead paying attention to the people who approached and the wares in the stalls they passed. 

Wei WuXian’s admission to popo was spread as quickly as word had spread of WangJi and XiChen’s connection to Wei WuXian the day they bought the rattle drum, and people were gentler in their approach to the boy, offering their names and details to help him.

Largely they were met with blank looks and apologies, which they waved off amiably. But occasionally Wei WuXian smiled widely as a shred of memory returned, and he greeted them as well as he could. These moments were precious, he came to see, both to the townspeople and the Jiangs. 

The toy maker they visited greeted him enthusiastically and after a whisper from WangJi, Wei WuXian thanked him for the dizi, bowing properly with his sword. 

“I play it every day,” he told the man, who beamed proudly. “Lan Zhan plays the guqin with me.”

“When we heard you were ill, the wife and I made it with you in mind. You’ll want a proper dizi eventually, but we hoped it’d cheer you up.”

Sect Leader Jiang paused at that.

“A proper dizi?” he asked.

The toy maker bowed to the sect leader.

“For musical cultivation, if young master Wei decides to do that,” he clarified. “I’m afraid I don’t have the skill to craft spiritual tools, only toys.”

Jiang FengMian looked thoughtful, and Jiang YanLi spoke up.

“It would be lovely to learn musical cultivation together with a-Xian, a-die.”

She shared a glance with WangJi, and XiChen realized they had been discussing this matter.

“I’m learning to wield a whip, too, so it makes sense for him to learn that,” Jiang WanYin added.

XiChen realized they were glancing at Madam Yu surreptitiously, and he could guess this was a sore spot.

WangJi once, in a rare moment when Wei WuXian was otherwise occupied, had expressed concern over Madam Yu’s occasional hostility, and XiChen had noticed the same. She seemed to be trying to do better, but from what he had heard from disciples while training on the field, she held resentment for Wei WuXian. She had changed since the attack, but old habits were hard to break.

Madam Yu, though, made a thoughtful noise. 

“He could potentially learn the songs that have helped with the resentful energy. Could that aid in his further recovery?”

XiChen realized the question was directed at him and scrambled to answer.

“I don’t know, but it would give the Jiang sect a second musical cultivator who could help with such matters,” he said, striving both for diplomacy and to help the Jiang siblings and WangJi with their quest.

“Xingan, what do you think?” Sect Leader Jiang asked, looking at Madam Yu.

She blushed when she realized he was speaking to her. The term of endearment seemed to take her by surprise, and she smiled in a way XiChen hadn’t seen before. 

“A spiritual instrument is a good investment in his future cultivation,” she finally said. “I hope to have a-Cheng training with zidian in the next year as well.”

“We’re raising fine children, my lady,” the sect leader said.

Her smile grew, the flush spreading across her face, but she turned to Wei WuXian.

“A-Ying, we’ll find someone to make you a dizi that will serve as a fine spiritual tool.”

The boy smiled up at her, clearly happy with the idea.

“Thank you, shenshen. I’ll work hard.”

“Not too hard until you’re better,” Madam Yu said, patting his head affectionately.

The Jiang siblings shared a triumphant look with WangJi and XiChen caught Jiang FengMian looking at them indulgently—he clearly recognized their plot and had played into it while allowing them to believe they were being sneaky.

XiChen had never seen adults act like that before, but he was certain it instilled confidence in the Jiang siblings and perhaps even WangJi, which wasn’t a bad thing. It was a bit dishonest but with good intentions, an odd grey area. 

The adults approached several stalls and purchased gifts for the children—even WangJi and XiChen, to his surprise. Wei WuXian was given a new guan for his crown, an elegant lotus carved of deep purple lavender jade, something that seemed almost a message, Madam Yu picking it out personally. 

Jiang WanYin received huwan to protect his wrists during whip training, elegant with purple lacing and metal inlaid for extra protection. Maiden Jiang received mortar and pestle for learning to make medicines, crafted of a light lavender jade that had variation in color ranging from white to deep purple. The gifts were clearly meant to show support for their recent cultivation decisions. 

WangJi and XiChen were gifted matching purple and blue tassels with a lovey carved medium-hued lavender jade lotus attached to hang from their belts beside the charms that allowed them in and out Cloud Recesses.

“To remind you of your stay,” Sect Leader Jiang told them.

It seemed he was unaware of the significance of the jade tokens they wore, and of the rule against unnecessary adornments, but XiChen was certain shufu would be fine with them. After all, they were a representation of the connection they had forged to the Jiang sect. 

“And to serve as an entry token if you need to revisit Lotus Cove,” Madam Yu added. “Our disciples will recognize the gift.”

He noticed they had purchased more, and that the seller didn’t have them available publicly, and realized perhaps they did know, even if their tokens didn’t have the same properties as the Lan ones. Likely the extra tokens were for shufu and the healers. 

XiChen examined his, noting the craftsmanship of the lotus, how real, if miniature, each petal seemed. It was set into a silver disc through which the tassel’s cord threaded, held in place with knots and flat paler purple jade beads carved to resemble the Jiang sect flag’s lotus symbol.

WangJi, he saw, was already affixing the token to his belt to hang beside and behind his Lan token. XiChen did the same, then he and WangJi bowed to Sect Leader Jiang and Madam Yu in thanks for the gifts. 

The tokens didn’t have the Jiang clarity bell the sect wore, but that was unsurprising; unless he or WangJi joined the sect, they would not receive one. Yu ZiYuan had reminded Wei WuXian to don his today, on his first trip out of Lotus Cove, and it hung from his belt.

“I won’t lose it,” he had promised, three fingers raised to make it a vow, that odd far-away quality to his voice. 

Sect Leader Jiang and Madam Yu had exchanged concerned looks.

“See to it you don’t,” Madam Yu had finally replied, then stepped forward to fuss over the way his robes hung. 

As he had lost weight from his ordeal, they no longer fit properly. Little could be done about that; as the boy recovered, the robes would fit him again, barring a growth spurt. 

The sound of barking jolted XiChen back to the present. Wei WuXian went pale, moving closer to WangJi, hiding his face against his back as though it might hide him from the dog. The Jiang children took positions around him, ensuring he was surrounded and protected. 

“It’s okay, didi,” Jiang WanYin murmured. “You’re safe. We’ll keep you safe.”

XiChen abruptly remembered that Wei WuXian had been attacked by dogs and had scars. The fear was clearly so deep-seated that his amnesia hadn’t removed it.

The dog came into view, a scraggly cur, and a child dashed out from behind a stall to chase it off with a stick, others similarly armed joining from nearby. 

When the dog was gone, the children returned, and XiChen could tell from their appearance they were street kids. 

“Wei-xiong, we chased it away,” the oldest-looking boy called softly. “Sorry we let it get so close.”

When they didn’t get an immediate reply from Wei WuXian, the child looked at the others, six of them who could have ranged between four and eight. The youngest was a little girl, and the rest were boys. 

“Like Wei-xiong taught us,” he said, his voice authoritative. 

The children broke into an approximation of a proper bow.

“Greetings, Jiang-zongzhu and Yu-furen,” the children chanted.

The adults exchanged a look.

“Greetings,” Jiang FengMian returned after what seemed to be a silent conversation between himself and Madam Yu. “You know a-Ying?”

The eldest-looking nodded, clearly having elected to speak for the group. 

“Wei-xiong buys us food and taught us to stick together so the dogs and bad people won’t get us and is teaching us to read and other stuff,” the boy explained. 

From the way the children were peering at Wei WuXian, still hiding behind WangJi, they were terribly worried about their young friend. 

“You’re the ones he plays the dizi to?” XiChen asked gently.

The children nodded.

“What other things was a-Xian teaching you?” Jiang YanLi asked softly.

“Like how to feel qi so we can use it to stay warm in the winter,” the eldest boy replied, then bows quickly and politely. “Jiang-guniang.”

“I miss Wei-xiong,” the little girl said, her voice tremulous. “Is Wei-xiong better now?”

“He might not remember us, a-Lian,” another boy said softly. 

The children had clearly heard the news spreading through Lotus Pier of Wei WuXian’s amnesia.

Wei WuXian peered out from where he had hidden his face against WangJi, cautious despite the dog having been driven away.

“A-Lian,” he murmured, pronouncing the name slowly. “I… I found you. By a lotus pond. You were all wet and crying.”

He stepped out from behind WangJi, moving as though in a trance, lost in a newly returned memory.

“You said your name was a-Jī (圾, trash),” and XiChen couldn’t quite hold in a gasp at a child believing such to be their name. “And so, I said you were a gift from the lotuses and should be named a-Lian.”

The little girl rushed forward, crashing into him.

“Wei-xiong,” she sobbed, her little arms around his waist. “You were gone for so long and they said you were sick, and I was scared.”

Wei WuXian looked dazed and overwhelmed, and XiChen realized that a trickle of blood was oozing from his nose—it hadn’t happened in a few days, but he had been overstimulated today with this outing… 

WangJi also noticed and put an arm around him as he swayed dangerously, keeping him upright. Wei WuXian’s grip loosened on his sword, and Jiang WanYin took it before he could drop it, murmuring that he’d carry it for him. 

To XiChen’s surprise, Madam Yu lifted both Wei WuXian and the urchin girl into her arms. Neither resisted, the boy’s head lolling against her shoulder. She didn’t even bother looking at FengMian. 

“It seems we’ll have a few new disciples, then,” she said, huffing as though irritated, but it had less impact with two children in her arms. “We’ll see whether a-Ying has good instincts, but we certainly can’t have homeless children in Lotus Pier.”

XiChen had to avert his eyes at the intensity of Sect Leader Jiang’s adoring look toward Madam Yu. He clearly approved of her decision, but the level of ardor in the way he looked at her was too much. 

The locals who had gathered murmured amongst themselves, the words of surprise and admiration carrying. That the Jiangs would see fit to solve the problem of street urchins by adopting them into the sect was almost unheard of—but they had done so with Wei WuXian. Why not the urchins of Lotus Pier?

From what XiChen could hear, it raised the admiration of the people toward Jiang FengMian, and their opinion of Madam Yu, who apparently had up to now had a reputation for being cold. But here she was in the marketplace holding Wei WuXian on one hip and a little girl in tattered clothing on the other. It was softening her image to the people and making them doubt the rumors of an unhappy marriage. 

The street children looked confused, uncertain, and Jiang FengMian addressed them more gently. 

“Would you become disciples of the YunMengJiang sect? You would live at Lotus Cove, receive an education, and fed and housed and clothed. Even if you do not have the talent to become cultivators, you would not be homeless,” he told them. “A-Ying and a-Cheng and other older male disciples would be your shixiongmen, and a-Li and other older female disciples would be your shijiemen. You’d also have shidimen and a-Lian would be your shimei.”

The children seemed to realize they were being offered adoption, of a sort, into a martial family. Into the Jiang clan. There was a cautious sort of hope spreading among them. 

“Really?” the oldest boy asked, his voice almost hollow with awe. “You really want us?”

“Young man, we would not offer if we didn’t,” Madam Yj snorted. “If a-Ying is already teaching you to read and how to circulate your qi, we would be remiss if we didn’t continue your education.”

The children looked at each other, their growing excitement obvious. After a moment the eldest boy bowed deeply, almost a kowtow, and the other children rushed to copy him.

“This one thanks Jiang-zongzhu and Yu-furen for your kindness. We unworthy ones are happy to accept your generous offer.”

“Whether you’re unworthy has yet to be determined,” Madam Yu responded sharply, almost a scold at the boy’s self-effacement. “I expect you’ll prove worthy.”

She handed the little girl to Jiang FengMian, who settled her on his hip, so she could get a better grip on Wei WuXian, who seemed barely awake and unable to hold onto her well. One of her maids stepped forward and gently dabbed at his nosebleed with a cloth.

“I think a-Ying has had quite enough excitement for today,” Madam Yu announced, patting his back gently.

“And we have some new disciples to settle in at Lotus Cove,” Jiang FengMian added with a smile. “Time to go home.”

The sect leader offered his free hand to Jiang WanYin, who tried and failed not to look thrilled at his father’s attention as he took it.

Madam Yu’s maids led the way, the children between them, Madam Yu and Jiang FengMian following with the Jiang children in tow. WangJi stayed close to Madam Yu and Wei WuXian, who seemed to have fallen fully asleep, and XiChen focused on following him. The accompanying disciples followed behind him.

XiChen barely noticed the way more people in the market approached to place items in the baskets the disciples carried as they walked back to Lotus Cove, or the way Maiden Jiang thanked each person by name. He was too busy considering what he had witnessed. 

He was aware that many in the cultivation world doubted that commoners could be taught to cultivate, but the very fact that Wei WuXian, a mere ten-year-old, had taught them the basics enough to ensure they could circulate their qi to keep warm… He wondered if perhaps that was just an attempt to keep a sort of class or caste system. There was no benefit to society to have children starve in the streets, as Wei WuXian had, without hope. 

Ren would seem to dictate the need to better the world through acts of altruism like Wei WuXian had been practicing and which had been demonstrated by Madam Yu and Sect Leader Jiang today. XiChen‘s studies had covered multiple philosophers. Mengzi dictated the need to show compassion to orphans. Mozi, though controversial to the Lan for his rejection of music as frivolous, called for inclusive and universal caring, doing so beyond family boundaries. Laozi saw loving through giving as a necessary virtue. 

XiChen was constantly aware of the duties he would eventually take on as clan leader and the rules within the clan he was expected to uphold, but the events of today had him wondering if perhaps he should start thinking about the role of GusuLan in the larger world. Acts of charity, taking in orphans, working to better the world at large.

These thoughts kept him occupied on the walk back, and he was only broken from them by the look on shufu’s face at the unexpected addition to their party—confusion, but also a sort of thoughtfulness as Sect Leader Jiang briefly explained. 

Perhaps shufu was also having similar thoughts. Maybe XiChen could speak with him about them at some point. 

For now, he followed WangJi as he trailed after Madam Yu toward the infirmary. The voice of Jiang FengMian ordering disciples to help settle in their new peers with baths and clothing and a good meal, organizing the new additions to YunMengJiang, faded behind them. 

When Madam Yu left them in the infirmary, Wei WuXian in the care of Healer Kang, the quiet was welcome. The healer settled the boy in his bed after a brief examination. 

Eventually, XiChen realized WangJi was watching him in concern and offered a smile he knew was weak.

“A little overwhelmed,” he said, and knew WangJi, who so often was overwhelmed by the noise and furor of the world, understood.

WangJi gestured, settling on a cushion near the table in a meditation pose, and XiChen smiled, mirroring him.

He had time to ruminate on the events of the day and how they might inform his future actions. The best course for the moment was to find grounding and calm while they waited for the chaos that had overtaken Lotus Cove to settle. 

[courage-a-word-of-justice]

Higurashi New 2 | Wandering Witch 2 | Moriarty 1 | Taiso Samurai 1 | Kamisama 1 | Munou na Nana 2 | Golden Kamuy 3 1 (25) | Yashahime 2

I’m trying a seasonal challenge this time...so that means I have to leave some Crunchyroll anime to the side. That’s why I’m putting in the tags now.

Higurashi New 2

Apparently, now this Higurashi is called “Gou”…I dunno what that means in the context of this series, but *Saitama face* OK.

Is this girl…Rika? Or this Hanyuu girl I heard of on ANN? Update: Wait a bit from that point. You’ll get your answer.

Do they ever examine why the girls in Higurashi are what they are? Rika seems to have something supernatural going on, but Rena…is just a psycho girl right now, so it’s hard to care.

LOL, I was wondering where this “nipah” Rika meme came from, but it is present in the dialogue.

I predicted that Gilligan cu-er, transition far too easily…

Why is that kid’s face so tanned (?) in comparison to the rest of him???

How did these girls get up the building so fast??? (LOL?)

Wow, the cicada noise was pretty loud there, so…props to the sound guys for making that sound stifling.

Can we really trust what Mion is saying about Tomitake…?

I thought we were going to see Watanagashi in ep 3, but…okay.

Satoko speaks rather formally. She says kochira de gozaimasuyo! instead of kocchi! or kochiradesuyo!.

Who’s that blonde lady? Someone from Umineko?

The bright colours really help to sell the ominous nature of this ED and anime. I don’t think I understand everything that’s happening in said ED, though…

Gonna pause it here because I heard you need to watch the OG and Rei to understand this, now that the new Higurashi is operating under its “proper�� name.

Wandering Witch 2

…Elaina’s a bit full of herself still…

…what the heck was that instrument playing over the titlecard? Bagpipes…?

LOL, it’s the Attack on Titan world!

Did Elaina lose her hat when she fell? That must be a very stable hat indeed.

Ooh, particle effects! However…there’s CGI here, although it’s only kinda noticeable.

Have you never heard of money…?

Wait, witches get discounts???

It seems Saya comes from Japan.

LOL, this is basically Quidditch without a snitch!

I like mushrooms, so I don’t get why people kick up such a fuss about them.

Saya seems to act like this is yuri bait…*sigh*

Saya’s crying like her sister died…c’mon, it’s not that bad!

I’m hitting pause. If this is actually how the series is, then it’s primed for a drop, but I can’t help but keep it on for the spectacular visuals and the fact it’s basically anime Harry Potter.

Taiso Samurai 1

I keep swearing I’ll finish my old simulcasts…but then new ones pop up like daisies…(I guess it’s better than having no anime to finish, right?)

I just realised how pretty Jotaro’s eyes are…! The fact he just sort of splats and then doesn’t get up shows how weary he is, unlike Sakura from Moon Land, who would’ve probably gotten up and never tried doing gymnastics again if he were in the same position.

Just by glancing over the results when I google for this Montreal gold, it seems it was done by a Kouhei Uchimura, but I might be wrong on that front…oh wait, there are 3 golds, so it’s not necessarily just that one…

You can tell this is 2002 because of that flip phone.

Intai Zamurai…it’s constructed the same way as the anime’s title. Two characters and then “samurai”.

BB (Big Bird) on the side there is so goofy, he’s…kind of distracting. <- Note the official website refers to Big Bird as BB, hence my use of it.

I was wondering if Rei was the daughter or the wife…so it’s the former.

Kinugawa Ropeway…it rings a bell, somehow. Maybe the Boueibu crew went there as DVD/BD extras.

…does everyone know that a ryokan is like a mini hotel with a traditional set-up?

*snorts* LOL, Keanu (Reeves, obviously).

That montage was a bit worrying…maybe the CGI took out part of the budget? I was a bit worried when I could tell there was CGI in that one starting segment.

…LOL, wut. Agent Smith (from the Matrix)?

Yamakasi seems to be a parkour thing which has its own movie.

…I’m sort of wondering: was that ninja a woman? If Jotaro gets another wife…I dunno if I’ll like the anime as much. Things could become far too dramatic if he did. Update: You do find out later in this episode.

I think – from lip reading – the ninja used -de gozaimasu. I remember getting it drilled into me that people don’t use that these days, but in the time of ninja and samurai, they did.

…another anime set in Ikebukuro. I knew from the station, but…’bukuro must be a nice place if people are reppin’ it all of a sudden.

Was Tomoyo an actress…?

“Kinugawa, as in the river where ogres get mad?” – See, that’s the pun I made about Boueibu’s Atsushi years ago…

This Takizawa guy’s so expressive, LOL.

Gotta love a man in a suit, yes…

…they keep building up to this retirement, only for him to not retire??? Which is it?! (LOL) That declaration works better in Japanese because the -shimasen goes at the end of the sentence so the weird sentence structure in the English translation actually makes Jotaro look like he really messed up due to nervousness speaking in front of crowds. Update: He just sounds like he stopped in the middle of a sentence in Japanese, which he obviously did.

There’s no time travel for sure, but there are ninjas! Plus dudes in jumpsuits!...plus, of course, gymnastics! It could still work, but I keep swearing there’s something supernatural coming around the corner for this…Also, this “gymnast trying to retire” thing seems to be drawing me in because of my whole current lack of direction in basically everything, much like Rikuo of Sing Yesterday for Me.

Kamisama 1

Hmm…Kamisama ni Natta Hi…it doesn’t say the subject stating this became a god, so the pronoun could be “she” or “you” rather than “I”, which seems to be the current standard for it. Update: It says on the title card “I”, so it should have an I then…I guess(?)

There’s a fish on the logo.

…this girl, I already know her name is Hina. That’s the 2nd Odin this season (the first is in Sigdrifa…or however it’s spelt)…she’s gonna be annoying, isn’t she…?

What’s this about a date…?

There are two Izanamis this season, too. The second is Hifumi from HypMic.

Looks like there was an accident, according to one of the signs.

…This feels exactly like a visual novel. I’m surprised it’s an original.

I was wondering why “Key Ramen” (Kagi Ramen) sounded weird…then it hit me. Key! You motherf**kers!!! *shakes fist* You were hiding right under my nose all along!

Hey, Potato-kun! (I know his name is Youta, but…eh, aside from having a possible girlfriend candidate and being a Nice Guy, he’s still a Potato-kun.) Stop staring in disbelief and do something!

…Why Potato-kun, anyway? Is it because his name means “become god”???

…This Izanami is so emotionless…it’s hard to imagine her cheering, Youta was right on that front.

…that style in Hina’s background…I’m pretty sure I’ve seen it for Sailor Moon Crystal, but I’ve forgotten what the artist’s name is (the one that inspired that artstyle)…

I almost expected Hina to interrupt the confession, like Leo from Taiso Samurai.

I kinda just shrugged near the end of the episode and finished it just to see if the confession would be interrupted, so…big fat drop there. I must not like much Key beyond Angel Beats (and even then, it’s only okay because it’s the relic of a time gone by).

Moriarty 1

I’ve been picking up Sherlock-related things left and right ever since I was a fan of Detective Conan…not Sherlock, Elementary or that Robert Downey Jr. movie, but the stuff Conan Doyle had his hands in. (I’d also like to keep an eye out for that Miyazaki movie, but I don’t know if I can/should go out of my way for it.) Therefore, I was a pretty easy mark for a bishonen Moriarty.

Who’s this “El” guy anyway?

…That OP is basically Black Butler all over again. I admit I went, “Oh, stuff this” for a second when I saw Rasmus Faber’s name on credits – when I went to entire series for him, they always ended badly for me – but I couldn’t stop watching the episode (since I skipped forward to the actual episode due to background noise), so this might be the anime to change everything.

I’ll be real with you – aside from Japan, America and China (the former two of which I’ve gone to and the latter I’ve technically gone to Hong Kong, which I have stronger ties to anyway), I honestly don’t have anywhere on my bucket list. That said, anime (obviously, the London arc from DC was a big factor) and this one movie called What a Girl Wants have been pretty instrumental in making Great Britain…almost make the list of places I want to go to. Key word: almost.

…I want a dub. With accents like Princess Principal.

Also, I forgot Soma Saito was our Moriarty…LOL.

“…for Man of Standing” (sic).

Turn the other cheek, Mr. Tailor.

The eyes really tell you everything about a person in this anime.

Ooh, this has absolutely no holes in its logic. It’s a strong contender!

Yashahime 2

Holy s***, is that Kagome’s brother?(!) He kinda reminds me of Takagi from Detective Conan for some reason…

Come to think of it…writers like Takahashi don’t normally have androgynous leads like Towa, do they?

That was…not the best fight scene, man.

Ooh, naginata. I’ve read a bit about them, but I’ve never really seen one used in an anime before…not to my memory. Not even the naginata in Touken Ranbu (plural) can help with that.

…this Rainbow Pearl business reminds me of Sailor Moon’s…uh, whatever they’re called…Rainbow Crystals, that’s right.

There’s something oddly comfy about predicting the “it won’t be my crying face, it’s yours you’ll get!” line, as bad as that sign may be for predictability on the whole.

I’ve felt in the years leading up to now, the progressive nations are slowly causing the entire gender binary to unravel. The more I think about my own relationship with my concept of gender – I accept gender-neutral third-person pronouns because initially I wanted to be anonymous on the internet, but now I’m just generally fine with it, for instance – the more I can agree and yet also disagree because of the progress the LGBTIQ+ community has made in recent years.

Munou na Nana 2

Ah-hah! People were calling it that the enemies of humanity were actually the superpowered kids and this proves it.

Ah, I think this Shibusawa is Masuda. I was here for him, so here he is.

Nana just says konnichiwa, which is the most basic of Japanese greetings. I don’t think it was phrased as a question, so…why did the subbers go with that?

Nana keeps breaking her chopsticks by leaving a bit at the end.

Lemme guess…Shibusawa’s talent is actually reversing time, not stopping it.

Is…that Shibusawa Nana’s giving flowers to…?

Golden Kamuy 3 1 (25)

If this is episode 25, was this always planned as a split-cour with season 2? I wonder…

Lingonberries! Oh, lingonberries! They’re those berries Ikea puts into their jam, right? (I’ve never tasted a lingonberry, but…yeah. That’s how I know of them.)

The sign says “Hurep Honpo” (backwards, as some older Japanese/Chinese things do), so it really just says “hurep” (since “honpo” = main shop). Update: Hurep actually means “lingonberry” and not the berry wine like I thought it did here, so it says “hurep wine” after all.

Thank goodness for 2D bears! (LOL)

Ratel?...uh, honey badger! That’s what they’re called in English!

…uh, and then it turns out to be a wolverine. I don’t know my Mustelidae, it seems.

There’s nothing like someone throwing a wolverine to know this is Golden Kamuy…(as weird as that sounds.)

…what was that random line about boobs about…? (Maybe it was just said to be random…?)

…ohhhhhhhh. These yellow eyes work much better than the standard red eyes you see in Munou na Nana or Moriarty. They’re so sinister.

Why did it suddenly change to an interview style…? Weren’t we waiting for a fight? Update: Seems the answer is “padding”. Not that I mind, I think it was interesting actually. Do more of that if you can.

[clansayeed]

Bound by Circumstance ― Chapter 17: The Show Must Go On

PAIRING: Nik Ryder x trans*M!MC (Taylor Hunter) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Circumstance ⥽

Taylor Hunter (MC) has made it good for himself in New Orleans; turns out moving to a new city fresh out of college to reinvent yourself isn’t as hard as people make it out to be. Things only start to get confusing when he finds himself the target of a malevolent wraith. Good thing someone’s looking out for him though — because without Nighthunter Nik Ryder as his bodyguard he definitely won’t survive long in the twisting darkness of the supernatural underworld he’s tripped into.

Bound by Circumstance and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the book Nightbound and the rest of the Bloodbound series. Find out more [HERE].

Note: Circumstance only loosely follows the events and plotline of Nightbound, and features a separate antagonist, different character motivations, and further worldbuilding.

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Circumstance/series tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

Because tomorrow is no longer guaranteed the gang decides to spend a night at the theatre. In which Cal despises Shakespeare, Garrus and Krom go on an unofficial first date, and Taylor confronts his father.

[READ IT ON AO3]

He’s honestly surprised the director even bothers reaching out to him.

“Given everything your cousin has told me about the problems you have going on right now, I’m sure this isn’t really a surprise. I’ve taken the liberty of filing a personal leave of absence for you.” And Taylor just knows that was the happiest day of Antoni’s life…

“Even though you can’t be in the show, though, you’re still welcome to come Sunday. Hoping that, obviously, things have cleared up on your end by then. Just text me your head count before noon day-of, okay?”

It’s the first real and true good thing to happen without immediate consequence so far. And of course he tries to blow it off, tries to tell everyone he has absolutely no plans to put anyone else at risk just for the selfish sake of seeing a play he’s worked on for months and doesn’t even get to be in.

Not that anyone lets him finish before they straight-up tell him he’s wrong, he’s going, and if all hell breaks loose then they’ll deal with it when it happens.

“But the wards —”

“The wards have proven themselves useless,” Garrus interrupts with no small level of frustration; accepting the vulnerability of his sanctuary hasn’t been easy on the man, “we’re just as exposed here as you would be there. And I refuse to cower in fear. If they were going to attack they would have by now — don’t stop living your life because of what might happen.”

Surprisingly, too, Katherine makes a good point; “We might actually be safer surrounded by all those mundanes. A high fatality rate isn’t what the Elders are after, that much is certain.”

It’s about the only thing any of them are certain of.

So there’s really no way around it.

Sunday morning he tries to take a head count. Doesn’t argue when Vera, despite the dark circles of exhaustion under her eyes, insists that of course she wants to come. She doesn’t say it but its obvious she could use time away from the hospital and her mother’s bedside.

Nik’s phone vibrates on the table and Taylor glances just because he’s nearby. On really good timing the man chooses then to wander out from the bedroom — rubbing his hair vigorously with his towel.

“Kathy said she and Cade are down if we don’t mind.” One look and Taylor regrets it so bad. He’s not certain, but there’s absolutely no way all of his shirts have miraculously shrunk, right?

He totally has to buy them just shy of too tight.

Not that Taylor’s complaining. Nope. No complaining here.

Ryder gives a noncommittal grunt and shrug as he passes. “Your shindig, your choice.”

“I mean they’re our friends, so…”

There’s a pause; a lag in the matrix if you will, between when Nik stops in front of the fridge and actually opens it. Keeps his back turned as he replies, “Then the more the merrier.”

He doesn’t need to be part fae to know what that’s about — but it doesn’t hurt.

The concept of friends is plural and consistent. And just as weird for him as it is for the loner Nik is accustomed to being.

Yesterday was hard and heavy.

Today is no better from a cosmic point of view.

But its softer around the edges; the difference between being stabbed with a wicked sharp dagger and being punched in the face.

Nik all but flops down on the couch beside him; pushes the open guide on reading and interpreting tarot that Taylor’s been pouring over away with a socked foot.

“I was reading that.”

“Oops.” The only unapologetic apology he’s getting, too, so he takes it.

Its been nearly twenty-four hours since his emotional breakdown and in that time he’s learned more about Ryder — and vice versa — than would have been shared on five, six dates tops. Things that wouldn’t come up without specific and out-of-left-field context, too.

Like the fact that Nik is a cheap-ass (this he knew) who has a serious case of the moonlight munchies — two things that mix about as well as oil and water. So it makes sense now why half of the fridge’s sparse contents are signature drink and cocktail add-ons.

Does it justify the fact that a fully grown man is sitting very close to him popping green olives like pieces of candy? Not in the fucking slightest.

But he knows what’s going to happen the second Nik sees his disgust — tries his best to turn away before he’s caught. Only he’s not quick enough and its too late.

“Want one?” Nik asks even though he knows the answer.

He doesn’t have time to deflect because the man picks one up and tosses it — doubles over in laughter when it bounces off Taylor’s cheek, falls to the floor, and rolls under the nearest chair to die alone.

“What are you,” he fake-gags and wipes his cheek angrily, “twelve years old?”

His glare very nearly breaks under the sheer audacity of Ryder’s pouting face. Only nearly because there’s no fucking way he’s kissing that offensive mouth no matter how closely the man leans in. “Aw c’mon Rook — jus’ one kiss!”

“Get away from me! Ew!”

“You know you like me~”

“Wrong! Incorrect! You disgust me!”

And of course they’re joking but he’s maybe a little too loud in his protests. Earns himself a haughty snort and a glare directed at his feet of all things.

“You walk around barefoot and I’m the disgusting one.”

“That’s what I said.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Uh, I do — so I win.”

Despite the fact that they had spent the previous hours getting to know not only (truly repulsive) snacking habits but also (much less repulsive, like the opposite of repulsive actually) one another’s mouths, Nik follows the same pattern each time. Roams his eyes over every inch of Taylor’s face like he’s gung-ho on taking the test in his sleep — drags a fingernail feather-light over the scruff on his jawline.

Their first time hadn’t been enough to ward him away and for that Taylor’s pretty fucking grateful. But it left a mark on him. No doubt its the reason why he always takes five whole agonizing seconds between the start and the follow-through.

Like he’s giving Taylor time to pull back; to reject him without consequence.

Maybe one day they’ll laugh about it. A silly habit no longer necessary. Because there’s always a breath hidden in the meeting of mouths that tastes of bitter relief.

Nik is relieved — not once, or twice, but every single time.

Which is more than a little tragic when he gives it a deep thought. He tries not to — really, he does.

Its easy not to think about anything at all when they’re kissing.

So that’s something.

Taylor knows that glamours serve a specific purpose; to disguise the average not-human supernatural person among the average yes-human person.

He’s even come to terms with how easily they fade into the background now. How he can scan a crowd and catch a glimpse of hooves in place of boots or a tail whipping its way behind someone trying to pass by. He considers his largest achievement to be not jumping ten feet in the air at the difficult-to-describe sight of ghosts possessing glamoured bodies.

But he can know and process all of these things and still be almost alarmingly paranoid about the trio of Krom, Garrus, and Ivy waiting in line behind them, right?

Nik grabs his head before he can look back for the umpteenth time; turns it back forward with a grunt. “The only one looking weird here is you, Rook. Everyone else sees regular folk.”

And he knows that, he does. But… “Do you ever stop worrying about it, like, slipping or something?”

“Not my problem if it does.”

“Well yeah, but…” The line shuffles forward and he trails off. Probably better not to give those particular anxieties a life of their own by voicing them aloud.

He doesn’t have to anyway, apparently. Since Taylor finds himself pulled against Nik’s side, feels warm breath tickle in his ear.

“Don’t worry. You still look completely human.”

“For now.”

The performer playing Puck stands in half-costume at the front of the line with a clipboard in hand. He has a whole two-point-five seconds to remember her name — Dana? Debbie? D-something. D-something… fuck  there are too many D-something names! — before its their turn to enter the theatre.

Daphne! It comes to him like a holy revelation as she starts to go through the motions — only to notice the name and double-take in surprise.

“Hey Hunter, how’s it going?” Her small-talk is strained but polite. They’ve run lines together and he can vaguely recall being educated on her literal herd of mini dachshunds once, but whatever his ‘cousins’ gave by way of excuse for him pulling out of the show is enough to make her sheepish.

He makes a mental note to corner Garrus for the full story after the show. Especially since ‘cousin’ is a more-or-less accurate term these days.

“Uh, you know,” a one-shouldered shrug, “hanging in there. You excited?”

To her credit as an actress she checks off each body accompanying him, all eight of them, without batting an eye.

“Totally. I’m just glad the actual opening night ain’t until Mardi Gras is over, you know?”

“Director didn’t let you work the beads into your improv then I take it?”

They share a laugh. She waves them inside.

Only when they’re around a corner does Taylor let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

Vera gives him a nudge. “You okay?”

“Yeah — was it just me or was that…”

Cal pokes his head in between them. “Awkward as hell? No—it wasn’t just you.”

“Cool. Thanks.”

In less than a week he’s forgotten how to, well, be human. Socialize with humans, talk casually with humans. Its unnerving — not only that but it serves to remind him by the way the Coven and their pet skeleton assassin are still out there.

None of this is even close to being over and he’s already forgotten small talk?

What else might be lost along the way?

“You look like you’re thinkin’ too much about something.”

Taylor’s smile is strained and not enough to ease Nik’s doubts. What did he expect though; that one soulful look from those fathomless eyes, or a touch that sends shivers down his spine, or one of those disarmingly sincere smiles is all it would take to make him forget his worries completely?

If only it were that simple. Not that he’s turning any of those things down — no no, he’s free to keep trying as many times as he’d like.

Its a half-full house on purpose; one full run in front of a crowd before a week of changes to make the final thing as smooth as possible.

And it was supposed to be Taylor’s time to shine; a performance of understudies. He’s told himself there will be other opportunities, that this is for the best given what’s going on. He wanted to come to support his fellow actors — to celebrate in all the work they’ve done over the last few months.

He didn’t think it would be that hard to watch. Then the space goes dark and silence falls in a warm velveteen hush.

The trio of Theseus, Hippolyta, and Philostrate take the stage — a different blocking than what they used at his last rehearsal.

The heels of his palms are pressed hard to stop his tears before Theseus even opens his mouth.

To his left Vera lets out a soft noise; both sad and comforting as her tentative hand on his shoulder turns into slow circular motions on his back. And he knows the heat-leeching palm behind him is Cal. Cal didn’t even want to come — had made it very clear there was once a school play, a bad batch of cafeteria vegetables, and a lifelong aversion to Shakespeare whose details would never again see the light of day. But there he is giving comfort where he can. He’s probably glad for something else to focus on than the stage but he knows Cal by now — knows he does nothing without meaning to do it.

Just when Taylor’s sure he’s going to have to make a mad dash for the doors, however, a familiar hand slides into his. Nik’s focus is still intent on the scene unfolding but he squeezes his fingers and doesn’t seem to care about the tears between their palms.

He’s supposed to be up on that stage. He’s supposed to be sweating under the heat of the lights and praying to the thespian gods that the tape on his mic holds fast. He’s supposed to be giving the performance of his life to an audience of friends and loved ones knowing Kristin was back in New York, that his mother couldn’t make it, and that there was no one watching that was there just for him.

Instead he’s here in the crowd. Instead he’s surrounded by friendship’s concern and holding the hand of the guy who seems to be making it a habit of standing in between him and certain death.

Instead he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be.

When the lights slide back on for intermission Cadence whirls around in his seat, arm thrown over the back, to practically barrage Krom with questions about artistic representation, choices made and things changed.

It feels a little bit like being back in a college classroom. Not the first time Cade has that effect on people.

“I — I really only helped with small stuff,” the stone troll stammers his protests, “heavy lifting or working on things normal people couldn’t reach.”

“But you’re a writer are you not?”

“An amateur at best…”

But the vampire isn’t having it. “Nonsense, I’ve caught snippets of your work. I only mean —”

“Ugh, just humor the man will you?” Katherine groans, rolls her head back on her own seat with a lighthearted glare between the two.

Nik pulls Taylor’s attention away from their talk with an arm around his shoulder. “How’s it so far? On the other side of the stage.”

“They changed a few things —” — more than a few, and more to do with Oberon than any other character so three guesses who made that call — “— but I honestly just keep counting their steps for the blocking.”

“Nerd,” scoffs the man, and Taylor isn’t exactly going to deny it.

Actually, since they have a second…

Last he knew, being borderline psychic was his thing, not Ryder’s. But Nik’s moved his legs before Taylor even stands and makes him backtrack real quick on that.

“I figured you’d wanna go say hey to them, or whatever,” and though that’s the spoken explanation Taylor can’t stop himself from feeling the real intention behind it.

He just cares.

He ducks his head to hide a flushed smile; murmurs “thanks” and lets his lips linger at the corner of Nik’s mouth as he shimmies into the aisle.

Only when he’s at the door does it occur to him that this thing between them is a recent one, and they’ve not mentioned things like public affection. But judging by the look he throws over his shoulder — catches Ivy hitting the man on the arm repeatedly and the bewildered grin on her undead face?

Its just another thing to tease him over.

Its standard stuff; the small lines by the bathrooms, crew members in their all-black ensembles bustling this and that around. All things he’s familiar with — that he doesn’t bat an eye at.

Then he spares a glance — less than that, actually, calling it a glance is somehow generous — down one of the hallways leading to further seating. The lights are off, the doors no doubt locked. Makes sense for an audience this size.

He doesn’t know why he does. Only knows both suddenly and all at once who he’ll see in the shadows beyond.

Taylor wants so badly to just ignore it. To reach out and knock on the doors to the maze of back rooms and do exactly what he planned on; congratulating his fellow performers.

But he doesn’t.

By now Taylor’s helped Garrus enough in the bottomless pit he calls a storage room to know that fae folk don’t ‘glow.’ They just always look like they do.

Elric, too, looks like he snatched a few moonbeams for himself on his way inside.

The shadows don’t retreat from him but they are withered by his presence; by the aura of him. Had he looked like that in Lamrian, as natural as light itself? Or was he witnessing yet another new facet to his senses brought on by interference of the man who really shouldn’t be here.

When Taylor opens his mouth to speak nothing comes out; a dozen questions all fighting to leap from the tip of his tongue and giving him pause.

Finally he settles on something more akin to an accusation.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

He doesn’t mean to wound the fae Lord — but also won’t deny that the recoil of remorse he gets in response isn’t a teeny bit satisfying.

“No, I should not.”

“Glad we agree.” Of course he wants to ask why are you here but he shouldn’t have to.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t. “I caught whispers of this event within your mind. Lines from a script, a dedication — a pride. I wished to see what it truly was. Living Memories are shaped by the person to whom the memories belong.”

And here he had thought he’d be spared of a headache tonight, of all nights.

“I — what I — there’s so much to unpack there,” and nothing amused in his dry laugh either, “so we’ll start with the fact that I didn’t do a—a Living Memory-thing. I don’t even know how.”

“To accept Memories is to offer up your own.”

“Gee, that would have been nice to know.”

“Do not blame yourself —”

“Oh, I’m not. No worries there.”

“I should have explained it to you. Not then; not in such dire times.”

“Then when?”

“Long before now.” Elric’s eyes are like diamonds; diamonds twisted into sharp, construction-grade drills trying to puncture holes straight through him. The intensity is unnerving if he’s being honest.

About as unnerving as getting what he’s pretty sure is a ‘More Proactive Parent’ apology from this guy he literally just met the other night. Not even a guy — a fae.

Elric reaches out as if to touch his hand. The movement is enough — breaks Taylor from his little trance  so he can pull back. Pale fingers instead close around air and grieve their mistake.

“I did not like the way things were left in Lamrian, Taylor.”

Taylor — like he has any right to say the name he chose all on his own.

“That’s your problem. But yeah, I can see how refusing to help your own son to save yourself might leave a bad taste in your mouth.”

It’s a very nice burn, high five kind of moment right up until the shadows creep up onto the fae’s expression. “I have the safety of an entire community to put first. Forgive me for prioritizing my life’s work and the many lives under my care over the child who only seems to acknowledge our connection when it suits his insults.”

Damn… nice burn… high five…

“Are you, Taylor?”

He swallows the lump in his throat. “Am I what?”

“Are you acknowledging me as your…?” He leaves it hanging there, juicy bait in murky waters. And Taylor isn’t starving — not quite yet — but he’s definitely not full either.

He glances back to the theatre atrium.

The background noise is quieter down here but soon enough everyone will be heading back to their seats. No doubt the curtain won’t even be fully opened before Nik is bounding out the doors to find him.

“Look, Lord Elric…”

Who acts like the title brings him pain; “Please, call me —”

“— I’m not calling you Dad; or Pop, Father, or any variation thereof —”

“If you would listen as often as you speak. I would ask you to call me Elric.”

Even that feels like a boundary they shouldn’t cross. What good is to come of being friendly, getting to know one another — especially when he’s facing the very likely chance of being dead by Tuesday?

On the other hand, whispers a voice in the back of his head, what’s the harm in getting to know your actual father — especially facing the very likely chance of being dead by Tuesday?

First, how rude can you be? Second, nobody asked you, rude little voice.

But after several dragging moments of internal arguing the voice ends up winning. Still rude though.

“What do you want out of this, Elric? What did you hope to gain from coming here?”

He looks almost affronted. “I wished to… connect with you. You are… my child. A miracle I had not even believed let alone known of.”

My child. Two simple words that ring in his ears unpleasantly.

“My plate’s full enough. I don’t know if I have room for ‘connecting.’”

“Would it not be worth trying?”

Taylor throws his hands up in exasperation. “Maybe! Fuck — maybe… maybe if I wasn’t so scared of dying. Or if I thought I had the time. But whatever the Coven Elders are planning it’s —”

Elric’s eyes widen, but that isn’t what cuts him off. Every hair on his body stands up at the same time. Without a chill, without a touch. It’s a feeling; powerful and consuming and coming from the fae Lord.

“Oh right,” because Elric refused to help and they’d gone to the Elders and that was that, “you don’t know. Yeah, the Coven’s the one who summoned the wraith. It’s a whole thing — I don’t have the time to go into it and I kinda don’t even want to because tonight was supposed to be one last attempt at normal but joke’s on me I guess.”

“You will make the time.”

He’d consider going at him for trying to use what he probably thinks is a tone of fatherly authority on Taylor — if it wasn’t so strikingly familiar. Commanding the wisdom and strength of his years both gone and yet to come. It demands respect, to be heard and the weight of every word understood.

Its the Elric he’d met for the first time in the Beau-Keyes Garden, and its kind of a relief.

Would have been useful yesterday, though.

He sums the encounter up as best he can; keeps throwing looks back over his shoulder as a sort of passive-aggressive-meets-non-confrontational way of saying he’s being held up.

And yes, logically he should be happy Elric is changing his tune no matter the reason. But he’s petty and spiteful and hey, nobody’s perfect.

By the time Taylor finishes Elric is already deep in thought — strings of thought becoming ropes, knots; an intricate web displayed across his entire person with just a look.

Another one of those looks he’s seen in the mirror, actually.

But they’re just thoughts. Not actions. He doesn’t need to be a little psychic to know that.

“No doubt my breath would be a wasted one were I to ask you to return to Lamrian with me.”

Elric means well — but that doesn’t make it any better.

“What, like — leave my friends behind to die and abandon the entire community that doesn’t even know what’s coming for it?”

He doesn’t say anything; doesn’t have to. “And—And what would I do,” continues Taylor, “just hang out with you and your wife, maybe do something productive like learn the pan flute or whatever?”

“This is not a matter to make light of.”

“You’re damn right it isn’t!” Fuck it, he’s shouting and doesn’t care who hears now. “I can’t believe you. Cowering in safety alone is one thing but to try and drag me down with you? That’s messed up; you’re messed up.”

“You do not know of what you speak — of the centuries our kind spend trying to conceive.”

“I’m not one of you.”

“You are, denying it hurts only yourself. By all accounts you are a miracle, Taylor. But children among the fair folk are few and far between. So for you to stand there — to twist my words as though they mean nothing…”

It’s a little hard to keep his composure when Elric’s voice cracks. It doesn’t make any of it okay — not by a long shot — but there’s a wrongness to that tone normally even and cultured sounding choked with emotion.

He even tries to swallow it down. It doesn’t work. “I have seen the cost of bravery. And to see you so passionate — so determined to fight this battle that I am certain was never meant to be yours. It ensnares me in a way you cannot yet understand. Pride overtakes me, yet I am made immobile.

“I have seen enough in my life to know when fighting is parallel to dying. No matter how brief the battle or noble the purpose there are some forces that cannot be overcome.”

He takes Taylor’s hand. Clammy and cold and he tries to hide it but Taylor knows the effects of a panic attack from personal experience that no matter how refined the otherworldly creature is you can’t always hide the tremors in your fingertips.

Like before he feels a tug in his gut. Something hooking into his center of gravity and puling him, or his essence, closer.

Hears the fae clear in his mind; terrified, heartbroken, too much.

I could not bear the sight of you among the casualties. Do not ask it of me. I beg of you.

Over-thinking about the heartbreak in every word, about the things he can’t possibly understand that allow Elric to feel so much and so hard for a person he doesn’t know — it’s not a luxury Taylor can afford right now. And not just because the emotional depth it requires might very well bring him to tears again.

So he squeezes that pale grip tight, the only solidarity he allows himself to muster, then lets go.

“I can’t.”

“Taylor —”

“No, really Elric, I can’t.” He steps back; creates distance between them both physically and on a deeper level. “I wasn’t supposed to be a part of this — I wasn’t. I’m only being targeted because of you; because I’m your son. You know what the Elders called me? They called me an ‘unseen complication.’ And up until right now it’s really bugged me. By all accounts I’ve not made anything complicated except for the lives of my friends.

“But maybe I’m not done yet, you know? Maybe there’s more for me to do. Probably not, let’s be real, but I have to try. Nik— Nik is trying, and he’s never done that before. Kathy and Cade don’t have any stake in this but they keep trying because they’re good people. Cal wants to make this city safer for his brother and Vera… she could have run back to New York at any time but she hasn’t.

“I’m not gonna stand here and say I fully understand what’s going on. But that doesn’t mean I should cut and run. I think its because I don’t know jack-shit that I can do the most good. Or, you know, at least try to.”

He falters at the end; never one to finish strongly in situations like these. Would he like for Elric to stay, to try like the rest and do some good — of course.

But any part of him left hesitant about his involvement is gone now. So he can thank the fae for that at the very least.

Wow, is this what emotional growth feels like? That warm feeling in his chest spreading out to the tips of his fingers and toes, the pride in his actions, the sense of accomplishment however small?

Kristin is going to be so proud of him when she wakes up.

He doesn’t realize he’s waiting for Elric to respond until he inhales deeply. Looks Taylor over with those same eyes somehow changed. Like he’s really seeing him for the first time.

“You are brave — braver than most.”

“No I’m really not. But I’m scared enough to want to do something about it.”

“Very well. Whatever you wish to call it… the quality is an admirable one.”

“You should try it out sometime.”

“Perhaps you can show me how, one day.” But not this day.

That’s it then. The arguing, the impassioned speeches, all of it and Elric still plans on hiding.

Fine. He’s done trying to make the man see reason.

“I’m gonna get back to the show — my company’s worked hard for this and even though I’m not up there, I deserve the chance to see it through.”

Just as resigned as he had been in Lamrian, Elric closes himself off when he tucks his clasped hands in his sleeves. Beautiful embroidery becoming his wall against the world.

Against the terrible things about to happen.

“You will find no time has passed,” he says to Taylor’s surprise, “I had hoped you would return with me. The chance to say farewell to your companions was the least I could offer.”

Implications aside… “Thanks, I guess. I’ll see you around, Elric.”

“Nothing would bring me greater joy.”

He’s halfway down the hall when a definite something comes over him. Is there such a thing as too much emotional growth? It tastes a little bit like he’s downed a shot of vinegar.

It makes him turn back; it knows the other man is still there — watching.

“You risked your life coming here — in person.”

Elric nods. “Yes.”

“All the things you’re staying out of the fight for; your people, Thalissa — if the bloodwraith showed up…”

“I knew the risk.”

“But it’s temporary, so that makes it okay.”

“What it does it make it a risk worth taking.”

“There it is then…” and Taylor almost can’t believe he’s saying this, but — “Come on, there’s a few empty seats in front of us. You can take one of those.”

Maybe he’s spent enough time in the fae’s presence now to understand and see every emotion he expresses. Small flickers and ticks in facial features — and that’s being generous.

Confusion. Contemplation. Understanding. Surprise.

And more than a little heartbreak.

“The longer I stay here the greater the chance of discovery by the creature.”

“Yeah, well you’ve been here a pretty long time already. What’s an extra hour or two?”

“The difference between life and death.”

“A fair point. Counter— you wanted to spend time together, Pop.” He pops his lips on the word. And funnily enough that seems to be what does the job.

There was no reason to doubt Elric’s truthfulness but he’s still relieved when they walk back into the theatre and the curtains are still drawn.

It would be helpful if someone turned around to see them; if they warned the others. But unfortunately (for Garrus) it’s a complete surprise when they greet his return… with company.

“Look who I found at the concession stand.” Taylor throws his arm around Elric’s shoulder and squeezes for the humor of it. Shit he probably should have asked if the man had a glamour.

Well, no one’s staring or screaming yet, so probably a good sign.

The general aura of confusion is broken by Garrus who, impossibly enough, looks more pale than usual. Beside him Krom is halfway reaching out; as if to shield his unspoken crush from Elric’s unseen wrath.

“Hey there, Rook,” Nik’s look of ‘what the literal?’ doesn’t stray from the fae’s ethereal glow, “thought you were goin’ backstage.”

Because this was his fault? “Oh, I was. But then I got to thinking — it’s a friends and family viewing so, you know, why not call my estranged father Elrond?”

“Elric.”

Sigh. “I know. It’s a joke.”

Elric nods. “Ah, I see.” No he doesn’t, but that’s not the point. Actually that he doesn’t is what makes it a little bit funnier.

But Taylor realizes quickly that he’s made a mistake in just assuming this would be okay. Garrus has never been quiet for this long and it makes everyone a little on edge. What happens when the man who always has something to say falls silent?

“You look well, Gallus.”

Garrus flinches violently at the name; at Elric’s attempt to cut through the tension. “That isn’t my name and you know it.”

“It was once.”

“Not anymore.” Garrus looks to Krom in surprise. Its the most intimidating the gentle giant has ever sounded. Though rage literally flickers as flames in Ivy’s cursed eyes she manages to look at him with pride.

It seems Taylor isn’t the only one who’s grown as a person tonight, though. As the discomfort rises to an almost stifling level the Lord bows his head, speaks somber and its enough to make everyone take a breath.

“I wish not to intrude on your time, Garrus,” Garrus who reaches absently for something to ground him and finds it in Krom’s hand clasping his, “only to take what precious moments my child allows me to possess.”

Way to push the blame on Taylor.

Taylor who struggles for something to say; an apology, a get out of here, anything. “I didn’t — I mean I — Garrus if —”

He raises a hand and Taylor’s glad for the opportunity to bite his tongue. Finds relief in the fact that Garrus still manages a smile his way.

“You couldn’t know. And it doesn’t bother me, honestly —” — especially not when he has Krom’s hand to squeeze where the seats separate their thighs — “— as long as my old landlord respects his boundaries, and doesn’t have an ulterior motive.”

“I do not.”

“Pinky swear?”

Elric doesn’t understand and it shows; some kind of power move Garrus relishes in by grinning at the laughter that ripples through them and breaks the tension.

The room grows dark as the company prepares to resume. Taylor awkwardly (and if he’s honest, uncomfortably) ushers Elric into the seat parallel to his a row forward. Close enough to count as ‘spending time together’ while also glad to be a buffer between his fae father and Garrus.

Velvet curtains pull apart with a flourish. Just before the cast begins Taylor manages to lean back and give a real apology to his friend.

“I’m so sorry, I should’ve asked first.” He whispers.

Garrus places a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Really, darling, no big deal here.”

“Promise?”

“Pinky.”

He can’t remember the last time he made any promises so important as pinky promises. But he and Garrus link little fingers and exchange small smiles just in time for Titania to begin her lines.

With a deep breath of courage and only after finding Nik’s hand in the dark he leans again, forward this time, and directs Elric’s attention to the performance.

“Okay, so quick recap. There are four lovers, right, Helena who loves Demetrius, who loves Hermia, who loves Lysander, but the thing is…”

[knowledgestudies]

10 Productive Uses For Blank Notebooks

I was cleaning out my room earlier this week, and I discovered that I have some empty notebooks. So I made a list of things I could fill these notebooks with. I thought I’d share that list because I know many people have empty notebooks just lying around and might want some ideas for what to do with them. 

1. Research and Thoughts

Whether you already like reading scientific research, or you are interested in a topic and want to learn more about it, having a research journal is a great idea! You can take notes on the articles you have read and jot down your reactions to those studies. You could also think of possible applications for both your personal and professional life that are not mentioned in the article itself. Additionally, you could record and research other topics that might be of interest to you after reading an article. Who knows, you might even be inspired to conduct your own research!

2. Journal and Life Lessons

Keeping a journal is extremely beneficial because it is great for mental health! Writing in a journal is a very cathartic experience, so it is no surprise that it can help regulate your emotions. And reflecting on your day will help you organize your feelings, which in turn will elevate your mood by allowing you to appreciate the little things that make life great. Journaling can also help stimulate your creativity, as you may come up with ideas to improve your life just a little bit each day. Additionally, journaling improves your writing, as you learn to communicate important information more effectively. 

This journal could also double as an ongoing list of life lessons that you learn from various sources: books, movies, shows, documentaries, mentors, interviews, conversations with others, etc. All of our experiences, no matter how small, teach us something, and it is important to reflect on those as well, as they can offer so many insights that will help us better conduct ourselves in all aspects of life.

3. Blog Log

I know this one is super relevant for all of us, and this log can be an incredibly useful tool. This is a great place to store all your content ideas and outlines for easy access. You could even draft an entire blog post here, so that you can easily make any edits if necessary. If you’re using sources in your posts, this would be a good place to cite those so that you can easily reference them whenever you need to. Or, if you have been tagged and/or want to tag someone, you could record those here too so that you don’t forget to give credit to the amazing bloggers who wanted to hear from you. And don’t forget to celebrate your milestones! This could mean number of followers, or most popular posts, number of original posts written (in a period of time or in general), blog birthdays/anniversaries, really anything you want to celebrate. 

4. Creative DIY Projects

Personal projects are always really exciting to work on. Not only can they serve as a nice escape from our regular lives, but they are also very engaging hobbies that incentivize us to work harder in our personal and professional lives. DIY projects also allow us to become more independent, self-reliant, and creative thinkers, which is a rewarding experience in and of itself. 

However, just because these projects encourage independence, doesn’t mean they can’t be socially beneficial as well. They can serve as talking points for when you’re networking or talking with loved ones at get-togethers where you can discuss your current project(s) and your plans for future ones. Additionally, other people may have advice for how to improve your process and get more out of each project. 

Projects are great for other practical reasons too! They are a productive use of our spare time and also allow us to develop our soft skills (time management, planning, organization, creativity/creative problem solving, adaptability, just to name a few). These transferable skills will also surely make job hunting and mapping your career development just a little bit easier. 

If you don’t want to work on DIY projects, that’s perfectly fine too! The point of this journal is to express yourself creatively and independently, no matter what form your art takes. For example, if you want to have an art journal where you sketch creative designs, go for it! Or if you’d rather compose poems or novels, there is literally nothing stopping you! Just don’t limit yourself, no matter what you choose. 

5. Career and Professional Development

Many of us either already have jobs, or are actively working towards securing one. This notebook could be used to keep track of every aspect of our professional development. For example, exploring career interests can be used to develop concrete plans for how to achieve professional success. You could use this journal to help keep track of the jobs you applied for, or keep track of the jobs you have already done. You could write about how long you held those positions for and what you learned during your time in that position or company. 

Note all that you have accomplished, such as your ideas and contributions to projects, or how you solved problems. Not only does this give you an opportunity to reflect on your professional life, but it can be really useful when you edit your resume and other professional documents, as well as your LinkedIn account.

Just remember that you can have fun with it too, and remember the more entertaining parts of the job and team, by recalling memorable events. Jobs can be boring and tedious sometimes, so remembering the fun things can incentivize you to start the job searching process.

6. Life Audit Lists

Sometimes there is a gap between our current and ideal life, and that is perfectly natural. There are several steps you can take to bridge that gap. Conducting a life audit is an incredibly useful tool to help you live your best and most fulfilling life. Analyzing the results of the life audit will encourage you to take responsibility and actively work on self-improvement. Below are just some ideas to help get you started: 

Goals - These could be daily, weekly, monthly, yearly, however you want to organize it. I personally would narrow it to three main goals so that it you aren’t overwhelmed, but you do whatever works for you. You can divide these goals into various categories, for example: academic, professional, social/personal, etc. And if it helps, divide those categories too, so that you can get a more comprehensive view of your life and develop a more specific plan for how to improve it. 

Seasonal Bucket Lists - Bucket lists are a really fun way to push yourself out of your comfort zone so that you can be more adaptable and can experience so much more than you would have otherwise experienced. Maybe there is something you’ve always wanted to do but never did. Write that down and make a plan to actually do it! You never know, you might discover things you actually enjoy doing and these experiences will help you get more out of life. Plus, it’s just really motivating to have things to look forward to! 

Self-Care Ideas - Prioritizing your mental health is absolutely necessary to get your life in order. So, make this a routine. Find things that you enjoy doing, whether it’s drinking tea or coffee, or meditating, or journaling, or something else entirely, and make it a point to do at least one thing a day that positively contributes to your mental health. And don’t be afraid to add more things to this list than any other one, because I truly cannot stress how important it is to not neglect your mental health. 

7. Habit/Skill Trackers 

Often times, the hardest part about making (or breaking!) a habit is just getting started.  That’s why I like to record my streaks for each habit that I would like to develop and maintain. One way you could track this in your journal is by writing the habit on one side and recording the number of days you’ve consistently done that habit on the other. You could also organize it like a chart, with the days of the week labeled on one side and the habits you want to develop on the other and you could cross off each day that you completed each habit. 

You could use this same approach for tracking your skills, as learning a skill is a habit itself. For example, if you want to learn computer languages or other technical skills to make yourself more professionally marketable, try to set aside an hour a day and integrate this into your daily routine. And don’t neglect developing soft skills, those are just as important. And don’t forget to monitor your progress in each skill, because having a visual representation of your progress can serve as a great motivator to continue developing skills!

8. Language Learning Progress

Language learning is both a wonderful and marketable skill. I know many of us are in the langblr community, and use resources such as Duolingo and Youtube among others. This is an excellent place to take notes on vocabulary and memory triggers for those terms, plural forms and tenses/conjugations for those terms, grammar rules and exceptions to those rules, example sentences such as the ones that Duolingo provides, and even your own original writing so that you can practice using your knowledge practically. 

However, as important as language learning is, it is also important to learn about the respective culture. Fully immerse yourself in understanding the culture to get a more clear picture of your global understanding. Languages and cultures shape each other to a certain extent, so it is important to give as much weight to learning the culture when you are learning a foreign language. 

9. Podcast/TED Talk Notes

Whether you like to listen to podcasts on your commute, or actively listen to them on Spotify or any other Podcasts app, taking notes from podcasts is always a good idea. I’ve personally been listening to TED Talks for approximately five years now, and I find these speeches, however short, to be extremely interesting and informative. Of course, you don’t need to just limit yourself to TED Talks, as all podcasts have value to different audiences. Noting your reactions to the information presented is also a good idea. Analyzing things will always lead to a deeper understanding and appreciation of the material, as well as developing your critical thinking skills.

10. Event Plans

There is so much to look forward to in life, such as vacations, graduation(s), birthdays, weddings and anniversaries, etc. This notebook allows you to store all your plans in one place! You could divide it into sections if you want to organize it and find your plans more easily. For example, for vacations, you could record where you would like to go, the prices of the plane tickets, where you’ll stay, what to pack for the trip, the itinerary and points of interest, the cuisine, the activities you’ll do there, really anything you can think of. For graduation, you could think of graduation cap decor ideas if that’s your thing, party themes, food, picture ideas, location, etc. For birthdays, same thing. Wedding and anniversary planning are on a whole other level of difficulty, so organization is key here, and this notebook would really help with organizing all the details.

I recognize that there is a lot of overlap with these ideas, so if you don’t want to dedicate an entire notebook for any individual idea, you can use these as series for your bullet journal. Or you could combine these ideas into a single journal. Also, if journaling is not your thing, you could create binders for these ideas, or any other ideas you come up with. 

I hope these ideas are helpful! :) 

What did you think of the list? Feel free to share your own ideas in the comments!

[iamvegorott]

Undercover Love Ch. 26

Taken Away

Dark made his way into the control room, the slight, fuzzy feeling in his chest made it hard for him to resist the urge to smile as he walked over to Google and Bing. Dark knew what was causing this feeling and he knew that the one that was running through his thoughts was making him so...warm.

“That’s practically across the country,” Bing said in a soft whine, standing behind the chair Google was sitting on looking at the laptop Google had on his legs.

“It’s larger than our previous area, meaning a larger building and a larger building means more room, larger rooms, bigger beds, more-” Google stopped when Bing wrapped his arms around him.

“But I want to stay near here.” Bing protested, placing his chin on Google’s shoulder. “I really like the Septiceyes.”

“As do I,” Google admitted, moving a hand to hold Bing’s arms.

“Chase helps me make sure that you eat and speaking of-”

“Bing.” Google groaned.

“Good morning.” Dark’s greeting made Google shut the laptop unconsciously.

“Morning, Dark.” Bing greeted back, feeling that Google had tensed in his hold.

“Do you mind if I ask Google a question privately?” Bing was a little shocked that Dark had asked instead of using his usual ‘this is an order’ tone.

“No problem! I’ll go get us a snack.” Bing said with a smile. “Any preference, Googs?”

“Lemon squares?” Google asked shyly.

“Shocker.” Bing teased. “Want me to grab you anything?” He asked Dark.

“I’m good.”

“I’ll be back, lickety-split.” Bing giggled, giving Google a kiss on the cheek and then heading off towards the kitchen. Google waited for Dark to scoff or make a comment or something, but Dark just watched as Bing happily skipped away, a weird look of understanding in his eyes.

“What do you need?” Google asked.  

“Could you tell me where you got Bing’s flowers for your anniversary?”

“Bing’s flowers?” Google was now very lost. “Yes, but, not to be rude or nosy, but why?”

“It’ll be clear later,” Dark stated.

“Okay…” Google held out the word. “I can give you the address.”

“Perfect, thank you.” Dark handed Google his phone, knowing that he would program what he needed into it to get him to the place.

“Chase said you’re the reason their lemon budget has doubled.” Bing laughed when he came back into the room, a plateful of lemon squares was balancing on one hand while he held a bag of chips with the other. “He also said that Dark’s the reason their sugar budget has doubled as well.”

“They’re both making me have to buy too much sugar.” Chase chuckled, having followed Bing. “I thought Anti was the one with the sweet tooth here.”

“Edward hates that they have such a strong sweet tooth…sweet teeth? Does it become plural?” Chase only shrugged to answer that question before continuing.

“You should hear Henrik, though; ‘I don’t care what you are, that much sugar cannot be good for you!’.” Chase started to laugh loudly, since his impersonation of Henrik had been terrible.

“That’s what Edward says about Dar-” Bing quickly cut himself off. “I-I meant Googs.”

“I’m heading out for a bit.” Dark said before Chase could fully catch what Bing had been saying.

“Purple chrysanthemums?” Chase asked with a knowing look.

“Perhaps.” Dark hummed and walked out of the building.

“Wait, what?” Bing asked.

“I’ll make sense later.” Chase chuckled. Leaving Bing clueless and Google even more confused.

x~x~x

Dark found himself standing in the center of a beautiful flower shop and the bright variety of colors surrounding him made him feel like he was sticking out like a sore thumb. He wasn’t really known for his colors. He also wasn’t known for flowers if it wasn’t just buying a simple rose to persuade a target to leave with him.

“Can I help you?” A young woman asked, her green apron with the store’s logo printed on it told Dark that she did work here.

“I’m looking for some flowers,” Dark answered.

“I hope so, it’s all we sell here.” The woman, Lindsey, according to her name tag, giggled.

“I guess you for me there.” Dark flashed one of his best fake smiles knowing he needed to stay fully level and polite if he ever wanted to return.

“Are you getting them for decoration or for someone?”

“For someone.” Dark saw Lindsey’s face light up.

“What’s her name.”

“His name’s Andy.” Dark had prepared the fake name ahead of time, just in case he was asked and making it so that if he misspoke, it was very unlikely that it would be noticed.

“Oh, my bad.” Lindsey rubbed the side of her head. “Is there a specific kind of flower you’re looking for? Color, type, do you want it in a vase or a handheld bouquet? Do you want matching ribbons for it?”

“I…” Dark was not ready for a storm of questions.

“How about we take this one step at a time?” Lindsey gave Dark an understanding smile before taking a notepad and pencil out of her apron pouch. “Tell me what you know and we’ll work our way from there.”  

“Purple chrysanthemums.” Dark watched as Lindsey wrote down what he said, wondering for a second if she knew how to spell chrysanthemums without having to look it up.

“What else?” There was a long, awkward pause. “Hmm, tell me about Andy, maybe that’ll help me come up with something.”

“He’s a...co-worker.” Dark held his hands behind his back so he could pick at his fingers without being seen. “He’s eccentric, crude, loud,” Dark kept listing while Lindsey started to look a little worried. “He’s also...caring of his other workers, his family. He’s sarcastic, sassy, overly-flirty and always knows how to make someone laugh.” Dark was unaware of the large smile that was forming on his face and the slight chuckle to his voice. “He’ll act all tough, although he does have the strength to match, but he has a soft heart and he makes a mean cup of tea.” Dark snapped out of his trance when Lindsey squealed.

“I know exactly what to make for you!”

“W-Wait…” Dark wasn’t able to stop Lindsey before she took off. “This is a lot more complicated than I’d thought it’d be.” Dark sighed to himself, heading over to a display of flowers, spending some time looking at the colors before groaning when his phone vibrated in his pocket. “Yes?”

“I heard that someone’s out on a little trip~” Wilford sang into Dark’s ear through the phone speaker.

“Maybe,” Dark said, fingers gently touching the head of a flower and tilting it towards him.

“And that trip is about flowers~” Wilford kept singing.

“Don’t you have to go put your mouth on JJ or something?” Dark scoffed.

“Sounds like I’m not the only getting some Septiceye loving tonight.” Wilford teased, making a face that Dark could practically hear.

“Shut up.” Dark grumbled. “I’ll be back later.” He added when he saw Lindsey coming back over to him. “Woah.” Was all Dark could say when he saw the bouquet in her arms. The majority of it was the purple chrysanthemums but there were smaller white flowers in there, along with what looked like black sticks throughout the flower arrangement.

“Purple chrysanthemums, white calla lilies, and black colored twigs.” Lindsey described, handing the flowers to Dark. “Do you like it?”

“It’s perfect.” Dark was still in awe.

“You definitely don’t flower much, do you?” Lindsey giggled. “Register’s over here, I already have them ringed up, all you have to do is pay.”  Dark gave Lindsey a real smile this time and after paying for the bouquet, he couldn’t stop smiling the entire trip back to the headquarters.

“What do you mean you don’t know where they are!?” Dark could feel the sudden shift in the air when he stepped into the control room, flowers hiding behind his back. Marvin was yelling at Henrik, eyes wide in fear.

“I mean I don’t know where they are,” Henrik said. “Chase has been gone since he got a phone call an hour ago.”  

“And Anti?”

“Same case.”

“What’s going on?” Dark asked, walking up to the two, still keeping his flowers hidden.

“Chase and Anti are missing,” Marvin said.

“Missing?”

“We’re used to Anti running off with little warning but Chase always at least leave me a note if he’s going to leave.” Marvin was now beginning to pace. “What even was that phone call about?”

“I don’t know,” Henrik said.

“Why’s Marvin yelling?” Yandere asked as she came into the room with the rest of the Ipliers.

“We’ve checked everywhere and we can’t find either of them,” Jackie said as he Robbie and JJ came in as well.

“Bing, Google, try to hack into Chase’s phone and see if you can trace the phone call at all,” Dark ordered, snapping into action.

“Is that a bouquet?” Robbie asked.

“Later. First, we need to-” Dark stopped when one of the screens on the control panel turned on and showed static.

“A countdown?” Bim said when a timer showed up in red on the screen.

“A countdown to what?” Wilford asked. The screen underneath the timer went to static as well and quickly changed to a survellance camera.

“It’s them!” Marvin cried out. Chase and Anti were both tied to chairs and together, a thick, metallic object on their necks and by the blinking red lights, everyone could tell what they were.

Dark’s hand went numb and the bouquet fell to the ground, feeling as if his heart had gone down with it.

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[thecirculararchive]

Thank you for your insights!! I want to address some of the comments.

I don’t go to endos unprompted and say “you’re actually traumagenic.” I go to people who specifically tag things as DID/OSDD, seeking advice (or what appears to be seeking advice, I’ll admit I sometimes fuck this up) and tell them “you may be traumagenic if you experience x, y, z.” I don’t hop onto random endo blogs and try to make them confront being traumagenic, and I denounce those who do. I’ve also apologized profusely when I make mistakes.

“In the past, you’ve argued that the experiences aren’t and can’t be the same.” And the comments about “invading…” This one’s news to me. I think maybe in December/January, when I called myself Anti-Endo, but I yeeted myself out of that mindset very quickly because I didn’t actually agree with it. I don’t think I’ve ever explicitly apologized for that time, you’re right. I apologize to those I hurt in the past. I can only hope my behavior now (where I frequently lately have been advocating for shared plural spaces and have been discussing more and more the fact that traumagenic systems can learn a lot in endo spaces) speaks to who I’ve changed to be. I’ve done a lot of growth this year and I hope people can see that! (Side note/tangent: I fucking despise people on both sides who DO invade those safe spaces. I believe people on both sides do this, so I won’t stop denouncing those who do.)

“From the beginning”? So. You watched my blog in 2017, when I was strictly pro-endo? From 2017 until 2021, when I was radically inclusive to all plural identities and when I said some really ridiculously bad things, and I faced a lot of fakeclaiming and hate from anti-endos? :( I wish you would’ve spoken up more back then. I really needed some guidance and friends. Now, I’m in anti-endo spaces with people who share the same or similar ideals to me. I’m not sure who you’re saying I interact with that vehemently hate Endogenics. Ultrabright’s a mutual of mine who I used to disagree with strongly, who has personally told me I’ve made them more neutral and more open to Endogenic plurality with my actions. I’m not entirely sure why interacting with Ultrabright in an effort to provide a more open opinion and stance is a bad thing. I’m not even sure who else you’re discussing with this, because the mutuals I interact with are almost exclusively from one server I’m in, where the majority have told me they agree that endogenic plurality is real. Unless you’re talking about the past again.

About endos feeling safe around me… that’s. Not the original question. I feel like they should due to all of my actions (such as denouncing any anti-endos who DO preform the genuinely reprehensible actions you mentioned) but regardless, this blog is by nature a mixed meeting ground. It’s here for people to discuss - pro-endos and anti-endos alike - in a manner that breeds more understanding. If an endogenic system doesn’t feel safe in this space, that is perfectly understandable!!! Which is another reason I use syscourse unaligned. This is “neutral territory” in a war zone - neither side is meant to attack each other here. It’s why I take the brunt of the hatred haha.

I do not, and never have, condoned harassment. I’m not sure which of my mutuals you’re saying does so, but… I don’t. Agree with it? I’ve not seen it, and nobody’s actually sent me proof that the people I associate with these past few months actually do this.

Your last paragraph circles back to the problem. I’m NOT neutral on people’s identities. I’m neutral in the fact that I believe people should support certain behaviors on both sides, and condone other behaviors. But I’ve found that condoning behavior on either side now means I cannot be on either side. So I’m not!

I believe in people’s rights to self-determine, and I treat that with respect. I’m your eyes, that makes me pro-endo, but it’s clear you do not agree with that. 😅 Hence why I think syscourse unaligned is the best label, as we clearly disagree, and I don’t want to call myself something that for some reason I am not.

Please stop saying you're endo-neutral if you 1. Support endogenic's rights to self-determine and define their own system, 2. Support spaces for endogenics and traumagenics to have a community, even if you think there should also be separate spaces

Like you don't need to 'know for sure' if endogenics are unequivocally 100% correct to be pro-endo all you need to do is respect the right of other people to know what is going on in their own head better than you do. It ain't got shit to do with the community. You can dislike prominent members of the endo community on a personal basis and still support everyone's right to define their own plurality

Christ

(That said if you're 'neutral' because you think endos could exist but they're probably [insert traumagenic thing here] that ain't neutral that is defining other people's experiences for them. You can have an opinion, no one's stopping you, but like. Shut the fuck up about it. Nobody needs your opinion on their experience unless they freaking ask.)