#<- not too difficult to figure out I mean

[jmtorres]

i don't believe the human race should die out (that's eugenics talk btw) but i do believe if we can't apportion resources to everyone who needs them, maybe we have too big a population to support under our current system. and changing the system is hard and i do not at all blame people for deciding not to have kids they can't support in the current environment

and i don't think a declining population means we're going to die out. I think the birth rate will stabilize when society sorts itself out and figures out how to support its population.

also it's NEVER the right strategy to take away reproductive choice to force people to get pregnant and to bear unwanted pregnancies to term. That's fucking inhumane.

If you want more people to have kids, give them MORE options, not fewer. Raise wages so people feel like they can afford to have kids. Socialize healthcare so a pregnancy is not a multi-thousand dollar proposition. Make housing affordable so people can get bigger houses when they have kids. Fix our education system. Stop fucking up the environment so our kids and grandkids have a livable world when they grow up. Legislate long maternal and paternal leaves so parents can spend time with their babies. Make sure clean water and healthy food are available to all so those kids grow up as healthy as possible.

Like, most people who aren't having kids, want to have kids but are legitimately scared to. Some people don't want to and will never want to and shouldn't be forced to, but they'll have better lives too if you make the world a more welcoming place to have kids in.

The only part of this that's difficult is convincing billionaires to release their chokehold on all of these factors.

[ak319]

Dark A.M x fem!reader

-- ★ The Word of Claim ┃ ─𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟕─

Warnings/MDNI: none, jus' slight fluff Syno: Every nod was a step closer to betrayal, the kind that brings justice in cuffs and ruin. ✰ 4.4K +++ Arthur's pic by Innocence from Pin.

★ Prev I concept m.list

Your eyes grazed Dutch's form as he left he camp. Then to his tent. The urge to barge in to just find something, anything. Does he have the deed? Even if he does what's that gonna do for you? Will it?

Sigh.

"Needed another session with him?"

"No. Not his day today."

Your head whipped to the side to see Molly, to give her a quick fake smile.  You were currently sorting the vegetables, standing lazily against the wagon. 

"Why don't you dress nice. I mean, doing all these chores all of a sudden? Being from such a good household doesn't suit you-"

"I don't need someone to tell me what suits me and what does not. And I can wear whatever I want. Don't need to prove something to anyone."

"I just don't understand why you're acting like this when he's the one to blame." She referred to Arthur.

Right. She's still pissed at you for standing up to Dutch?

You let out a sharp breath, your patience hanging by a thread. "Yeah? Well, I blame everyone, and I'll keep doing it. What are you gonna do about it?"

Her gaze hardened as she stepped closer, the air between them charged. "You're blessed than most here, whether you see it or not. At least be a little grateful."

You scoffed, the sheer absurdity of her words making your skin prickle. "Oh, really? Blessed for what exactly?"

Her expression darkened, bitterness creeping into her eyes. "Some of us gave up everything for this life. For the people we love."

Wait… blessed, huh? Now it clicked. You thought, So she, like Mary the worm, probably thinks all this means something romantic. And perhaps wonders why Dutch didn't do the tradition for her. Judging by what Abigail has told you about their relationship, it seems like it....

Sad to be honest.

You both could have escaped together from such men. But seems like she's.....fine with it. Hurts to see it.

How many lives does this man plan to ruin? For what? To feed his ego?

You folded your arms, jaw tight. "I’m going to say this once and once only, so listen carefully. I’m not after Dutch or anyone else here. He's probably even older than my father. You can believe what you want, have as many doubts as you like, because clearly, they can't be removed by me, but I’m done explaining myself. So sit back and relax. Like you do."

"Don't ever talk about my personal affairs as if you know better, you dowdy dame!"

And with that she stomped away leaving you to sigh once again.

"What was that? You okay?"

You nearly jumped as Arthur appeared from behind the wagon, his voice cutting through the tense air.

"Was nothing," you muttered, brushing it off.

He mumbled something under his breath about her before turning his attention back to you, leaning in just enough that his voice was barely above a whisper. "I was thinking... let's go somewhere. Two of us. The weather's nice-"

"Mr. Morgan, just the man I need."

Arthur exhaled sharply, straightening up as the moment slipped away. He turned to face Strauss, who strolled up with his usual air of smug authority.

"Mr. Morgan," Strauss repeated, his tone clipped yet polite. His sharp gaze flickered between you and Arthur before settling on the latter. "I trust I'm not interrupting anything... pressing?"

Arthur scoffed, already irritated. "No..." 

Strauss clasped his hands behind his back, tilting his head slightly. "There's a debtor. A rather forgetful one. I need you to pay him a visit, remind him of his outstanding obligations."

Arthur ran a hand over his face. "Yeah? And where is this fella?"

"Not far," Strauss said smoothly, clearly pleased to have roped Arthur into another one of his errands. "Shouldn't be too difficult for a man of your talents."

Arthur sighed, shaking his head before glancing at you. "Figures."

Strauss, already convinced the job was settled, handed him the address and turned away without another word.

Arthur lingered for a moment, looking at you with a mix of frustration and regret. "Well, so much for takin' it easy."

His eyes wandered to your hand once again , his grip was firm but careful as his calloused fingers wrapped around your hand, halting your work. His touch lingered for a beat too long, his thumb grazing your skin as his eyes flickered up to meet yours.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to keep still as his thumb brushed over your knuckles. "Don't work on anything hard, 'kay?" His voice was softer than usual, almost careful, as if he were afraid you'd slip away if he wasn't gentle.

Then, before you could react, his hand traveled up, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. The suddenness of it made you flinch, just barely, but he caught it. His jaw tightened for a moment, yet his lips curled into something close to amusement.

"Real pretty...real damn pretty..." he murmured, almost to himself.

The words hung between you, heavy and deliberate. His presence loomed close, a suffocating sort of awareness and fear.

But then, just as quickly as he had pulled you into the nightmarish moment, he cleared his throat and stepped back, tipping his hat with a lopsided smirk.

"Take care, darlin'."

❀˖°

It was hard, still is, to feign acceptance, to cloak yourself in humility while clinging to a fragile thread you dare to call hope, and another, even more elusive, that masquerades as a plan. And circling this uncertainty and hope is a fear that was once foreign to you, a fear that never existed when he was just a friend.

Your unease grows in direct proportion to the risk: the danger that too much humility, too much quiet compliance, will lull everyone into acceptance, especially him. Acceptance of your new role. And once that happens, the next step is inevitable: being taken advantage of. That, above all, is what you dread.

So you balance, precariously, somewhere in between.

The weight of it is relentless, an invisible burden few seem to notice. But you do. You feel it with every breath.

"Here, Abby."

The brunette glanced up, momentarily startled, as if pulled from some quiet reverie.

"Oh, I was just craving some tea and--oh, wow. Are these chocolates? Thank you, (Y/N)!"

"No problem. Thought you would love some. Hey....that's a nice sweater.

"You think? I just hope it fits right." She looked lovingly at the little piece of fabric, playing with it's sleeves already imagining a baby in it.

Your ears perked at the sound of a dull thud from somewhere to your left. A quick glance confirmed it, he was just lifting the axe again.

Please, just keep doing that the whole day and stay out of my radius.

"Have a seat, (Y/N)," she gestured to the grass beside her.

You shook your head. "No... uh, I'm tired of always just sitting, y'know. I'll go...and...look for something to do..."

With a soft, fleeting smile, you walked off, lost in thought.

As you lazily, though inwardly frustrated, began chopping celery, you felt a gaze on you. You ignored it, pretending not to notice. But beneath the surface, there was something else.

A small, quiet sense of accomplishment.

That's right. Notice me adjusting like some pathetic 'wife'. One more dreadful step closer.

You just wished you knew what that Dutch bitch was doing. You have a vague outline, but it isn't enough. If he owns the land, surely he plans to use it in some way. Has he gotten the deed yet? He doesn't necessarily need it to start constructing, but still, has he started anything there? How does he plan to keep this from Arthur? And who else in camp knows he stole it from you?

"I hope you don't poison us all."

Pearson's voice cut through your thoughts, his usual dry humor dragging you back to the present.

"Not a bad idea y'know. I won't mind sprinkling some in if it's available."

"I think you should focus on chopping for now--GEEZ!! That is NOT how you cut a potato!"

The shape of the slices nearly gave him a stroke. "Have you been taught nothing at all?!"

"And you've squashed the life out of the tomatoes instead of dicing them- 'more cursing at your cutting skills, which you couldn't care less about right now '--give it here and learn if you plan to do it at all, missy."

"Actually, I don't."

You mumbled to yourself, stepping back, your eyes taking an annoyed roll, pretending to pay attention as he droned on about technique and precision.

Yeah. Very interesting.

Unbeknownst to you, Arthur stood a few steps away, watching quietly, his canteen paused at his lips. Water dripped down his bare chest as he drank with a thirst that went beyond mere heat or exertion.

He could see why Pearson looked so offended, like you’d just kicked a dog. A low, amused snort escaped him, muffled into his damp shoulder.

At least she’s willing to try, he thought, the unfamiliar warmth blooming in his chest tightening with something almost like hope.

The sight of you, so unexpectedly domestic, caught him off guard. There you were, hands busy with vegetables, brow furrowed in a mix of annoyance and concentration. It was something raw, real.

Arthur’s mind raced with conflicting feelings. He hated the circumstances, the forced marriage, the bitterness between you, but moments like this made it harder to keep that hate alive.

This... this is what I want. Not just the fight, not just the anger. He swallowed hard. I want to see this side of you every day, even if you don’t want me to.

For a fleeting second, he let himself imagine a different life, one where you weren’t bound by chains of duty or resentment, where maybe, just maybe, you could be his in more ways than name alone.

His hand twitched, the urge to reach out, to touch, to claim, burning just beneath the surface, but he pulled it back, biting down on the bitterness and the ache.

Not yet. Not like this.

And damn it, he admitted quietly, there’s no sight sweeter than this.

"By the way, Mr. Pearson, why ain't you married? I think your cooking is not being appreciated by women. You need to work harder."

"Shut it and cut the rest like I taught you to, or go away. Here I am being nice and all cus' of Mr. Morgan and you-"

"God, stop being so emotional." They all have to just bring him in every conversation now huh?

You snatched the knife back, resuming your attempt at cutting properly, all while ignoring his muttered grumbles about having to work with damn jerks.

❀˖°

The evening air hung heavy with the scent of burning wood, the fire crackling lazily as the last remnants of daylight bled into the horizon. Camp had fallen into its usual lull, the occasional murmur drifting through the trees, interrupted only by the distant hoot of an owl.

Arthur dropped onto the log beside you with a thud, far too close for comfort. You didn’t need to look to know it was him. That scent, smoke, leather, and cedar soap, clung to him like a second skin. At least he’d bathed. Unlike most of the camp, he had the decency to show up clean before playing the part of husband.

"Can I have a sip?"

"No."

"Not even one?" he asked, already leaning forward like he might steal it anyway.

You curled your fingers tighter around the tin cup.

"Ain’t this marriage thing supposed to mean sharin’? You keepin’ secrets and tea now?"

You kept your gaze fixed on the fire, refusing to indulge him.

He sighed, long and theatrical. "Lord. I wed a cold-blooded woman."

"Correction. You forced a cold-blooded woman."

Arthur grinned, grinned, as though you’d told a joke. "Semantics."

The flames cracked, casting flickers of gold across his face. His eyes roamed your profile with idle interest, as if deciding whether to prod you further.

You finally glanced his way, just to glare. He smiled wider, tipping his hat back like he owned the whole damn world. Like he owned you.

"Y’know," he drawled, voice dropping as he leaned in just a little, "you’ll warm up to me eventually. All things do, sittin' too close to the fire."

"Don't call me a 'thing'. "

You moved your tea to the other side of your body, away from him.

And yet he didn’t leave.

You didn't even entertain him with a response this time, merely continuing to drink as he leaned in, chuckling softly against your side.

"Arthur?"

Ah. And here comes the bitch. Yes, now the family is complete.

The familiar deep voice made you both glance up. Dutch stepped into the fire's glow, his expression unreadable as he stared down at you.

"Yes, Dutch?"

"I'll be sending Mac and Davey, and occasionally Bill, to work on some farm owned by a jolly fellow. The boys agree, of course. Who doesn't want a stable income? No harm in boys moving their limbs instead of being completely useless, right?."

"Mhm. I can go too if you-"

"Oh no, no, boy." Dutch waved a hand dismissively. "We still got jobs to look after. You're needed here, and you already do more than I can ask for."

He clapped Arthur on the shoulder, his smile sharp. "Anyway, that's that. Thought I'd inform ya."

"Why not send John too?" Arthur suggested.

Dutch turned to him with a raised brow. "Marston?"

"Reckon he could learn a thing or two-"

"I'd be surprised if he even learns to eat properly." Dutch scoffed, shaking his head. 'Farm work demands responsibility, Arthur. You know that, right?'

"And he needs that."

Dutch let out a low sigh. "I can't, no one can, spoon-feed him that. If he wants to be responsible, he needs to act like it."

With a wary glance in your direction, he stalked off back to his tent.

You took another slow sip, letting the warmth settle in your chest as you leaned back slightly. "Is he planning something big or...this is just it?"

Arthur stretched out against the log, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the stiffness from the day's work. His movements were unhurried, easy, too at ease, like he had all the time in the world. "Don't know yet. Big score comin', I guess. He's unpredictable."

"Bank?"

"Could be anything. Bank, trains, a mansion..." He tipped his hat back, dusting it off with a slow, deliberate motion before sparing you a glance. Something was knowing in his eyes. "Someone's interested"

You frowned. "Huh?"

"You plannin' to go with me or somethin', darlin'?"

You scoffed, setting your cup down. "No. Just asking. Is that not allowed too?"

His lips curved slightly, amused. "Calm down, just teasin' you."

He shifted, draping an arm behind your back as he settled into a more comfortable position. His touch was casual, too casual, but there was a weight behind it, a presence you couldn't ignore.

His mind drifted.

What if he really didn't come back one day?

What would happen to you?

Would you even care?

The thought had been lurking in the back of his head for days now, gnawing at him when he least expected it. He should talk to Dutch. Maybe Hosea. Someone.

But for now, he just sat there, arm close but not quite touching, gaze flickering between the fire and you.

Yeah. He should.

❀˖°

One week.

One whole damn week of playing these stupid games, of keeping your head down, of being... mild? You didn't even know what to call whatever the hell this was. Maybe "fitting in" was the word. Maybe "pretending." But it had finally paid off.

Because he finally let something slip.

A train. Belonging to Cornwall.

That name struck a chord, familiar and unpleasant. You'd met the man before, back when you were seventeen, some high-society function your father had dragged you to. Back then, Cornwall was just another businessman trying to carve out his place in the market, still shaking hands and making deals instead of dictating them. Your father had helped him, connected him with contractors, given him a foothold. And now? Now Cornwall was drowning in wealth, far beyond your father's reach.

27th.

Next Saturday.

Shit just got good.

Please just remember me too Mr. Cornwall.

"Hosea?"

"Yes, son?"

Arthur settled onto the crate beside him, the flick of his lighter breaking the quiet as he lit up a smoke. He took a slow drag, exhaling as he stared off into the night. His gaze lingered on the dim glow from your tent, shadows shifting against the canvas.

"I was... thinkin'..."

Hosea closed his book with a soft thud, turning his full attention to him. He didn't miss where Arthur's eyes had been moments before.

"Go on. Everything alright?"

"Yeah... just... y'know, there's this job, and then there's always gonna be another, and another. But what if one day I can't... make it?" Arthur tapped the ash off his cigarette, jaw tensing. "What about-"

"Her?" Hosea finished for him, watching Arthur's shoulders stiffen. "Mhm. I think it'd be best to return her to her family. And first, you need to have some trust in yourself too, Arthur. Don't go borrowin' trouble."

 "But I can't help it. It's true and..."

Arthur let out a slow breath, running a hand over his face. "Her family... they won't take her back. You were there, right? When Dutch took her?"

Hosea sighed but... more so at the fact that he has to now lie to his boy.

 "I was. But, Arthur... a parent can never truly turn their child away when they're in need. I saw it in their eyes that night, love, not hate. They weren't angry. Just... disappointed, that too stemming from....forget it.  Anyhow,  disappointment fades. Time, son. It's all about time."

Arthur's chest rumbled with a quiet hum. His face twisted into something almost boyish, sympathy, doubt, a hint of shame. Hosea had seen that look before, too many times to count.

He took a slow drag of his cigarette, staring at the embers as he exhaled. "If somethin' happens to me... don't let her end up alone."

Hosea's gaze softened, his voice steady. "You have my word."

Arthur didn't answer right away, just flicked his cigarette into the dirt and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. After a long moment, he sighed.

"Thanks, old man."

Hosea patted his shoulder, the weight of understanding between them. "Anytime, son."

❀˖°

The sun cast a warm glow over the camp as everyone busied themselves with their tasks. It was one of those rare, quiet mornings, and Arthur had left just after breakfast, disappearing into the wilderness like he always did.

"Charles! Charles!"

The long-haired man turned, setting down his carving as he took in your heaving breaths. His eyes sharpened with concern as he stood.

"Abby, she's not feeling well. A lot of pain. She needs to be taken to the clinic."

"Um, Hosea-"

"He's not here. And please, we need to take her. Now."

"I can't take you, I mean, Arthur, "

"He won't mind! Just please, let's go!"

You ignored the glances from others, your heart hammering in your chest. No Bill (well, he's passed out drunk), No Hosea. No Dutch even. No one to stop you today. And even your trick worked perfectly. It was like the universe had handed you a once-in-a-lifetime chance.

Everything was falling into place.

Charles hesitated only for a second before nodding. He could see it, the way Abigail clung to you, her body curled up in pain, her grip weak but desperate. That was enough. Without another word, he moved to help.

You patted Abigail's forehead gently, whispering, "It's gonna be alright, okay?"

Your fingers tightened around the satchel at your side, knuckles white with conviction. The words were meant for her, but more than that, they were meant for you.

❀˖°

The door slammed shut behind you, sealing away the murmurs of the waiting room. Once Abigail was settled in the chair, you wasted no time, grabbing Eddie by the arm and pulling her into a corner as the doctor began his examination.

"Thank God you're here today. Now listen, I don't have time to waste. Sedate her, stall her, do anything. Ask the doctor for help if you have to, but I'm running out that window. I have something I need to do."

Eddie's brows furrowed, a million questions flashing across her face, but she didn't argue. With a sharp nod, she turned on her heel and hurried toward the doctor.

For you, this was it. Now or never.

You cast one last glance over your shoulder. Abigail was behind the curtain, out of sight. The door remained firmly shut.

Perfect.

Without hesitation, you sprang forward, slipping through the window in one swift motion.

Then you ran.

The streets blurred as you tore through town, your breath coming fast and shallow. The postal office was just ahead.

The bell chimed as you burst into the post office, chest rising and falling with each breath. The clerk barely had time to look up before you slammed two sealed letters onto the counter.

"These-" You swallowed, composing yourself. "One goes to Leviticus Cornwall. Urgent. The other to the Pinkerton Agency."

The man behind the counter raised a brow, eyeing the crisp envelopes, the wax seals still fresh. "That'll cost you, miss."

You reached behind your neck, fingers fumbling with the clasp of your necklace. The delicate gold chain, one you had worn for years, slipped into your palm. It felt lighter than it should, as if the weight of it had already left you.

"This should cover the cost," you said, placing it down.

The clerk studied it, then nodded, pocketing the jewelry before grabbing the first letter.

But before he could reach for the second, you handed him a bundle of cloth, one with another necklace, the one that you wore at your wedding..

Absolutely priceless. Heavier, encrusted with jewels that caught the dim light. It was worth more than anything you had left. Your hands were adamant on not letting it go.

But you had to.

It's just a necklace (Y/N), a mere material, freedom is the only thing that's priceless.

"This," you murmured, "goes with the letter to the Pinkertons." 

The man didn't ask questions, to your surprise. Perhaps used to people sending leads of goons to the agency?

"Consider it sent."

You exhaled, a breath you hadn't realized you were holding. Your hands curled into fists at your sides.

It was done. Now, you just had to make it back before anyone noticed.

❀˖°

Eddie and you stood solemnly at the side, watching over Abigail. She was still under sedation, her breathing steady, the baby safe. Thank God, nothing serious had happened. The worst had passed.

Meanwhile, Eddie had heard everything.

"You think... it'll work?" she asked quietly.

"It should. Neither of them would pass up the chance to wipe out this... disease of a gang. No one would."

Eddie exhaled sharply. "Still can't believe your fath-"

"Don't say his name right now," you cut in, your tone firm.

She hesitated but pressed on. "Yeah, but where will you go if..."

"I'll go back," you said flatly. "It’s not like they won’t take me in. Things won’t be the same, sure, but I’m not backing down."

You looked her dead in the eye now, voice steel.

"I’ll go and demand what’s mine. That’s my fucking right. And I’d love to see who thinks they can stop me."

You stood straighter, jaw tight.

"I won’t let go of my shares. I won’t let them pretend I never existed. They don’t get to erase me."

Eddie gave you a long look before nodding, wrapping her arm around you. "My doors are open for you, (Y/N). Always."

You barely had time to squeeze her hand in gratitude before Abigail stirred, a faint sound escaping her lips. Without hesitation, you rushed to her side.

"(Y/N)...? What..." Abigail's voice was groggy, her eyelids fluttering as she stirred.

"You're fine," you assured her gently, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. "The baby too. Just a gastric issue, that's all. Nothing serious."

Your smile seemed to comfort her, though the sedation still clouded her mind. She blinked slowly, trying to process your words.

The door creaked open, and Charles stepped inside, his sharp eyes scanning both of you. "What happened?"

You explained everything, your voice calm and steady as he listened, nodding along. His tension eased just slightly, though he still looked her over with concern.

Once the doctor handed over the prescribed medicine, the three of you set out, making your way back to camp.

❀˖°

The tent flaps rustled open, and you glanced up from your book as he stepped inside, the weight of the day evident in the way he moved. He began removing his gear, the familiar clink of buckles and leather filling the quiet space.

"Heard you went out today, huh?" His voice was even, but there was an edge to it.

"Oh, yeah. Abigail... she-"

"Yeah, she's the one who told me."

Thank God. At least she listened to you. You had counted on her words carrying more weight than Charles' explanation ever could. A pregnant woman pleading her case? Far more convincing.

Arthur sighed, settling down beside you as he reached out to scratch Suki behind the ears, his rough fingers idly tracing through the cat's fur.

"But that don't mean I liked it," he added, voice lower now, almost grumbling.

Oh no.

But honestly, quite a mild reaction. Just as you had worked for. If you hadn't...well, shit could have been worse so you are content with whatever this is.

"You won't go out with me, but suddenly you're a damn hero when it comes to her-"

"You seriously comparing yourself to her situation? I'm the only one looking after her, Arthur. Yeah, not even Susan cares for her the way she needs. You very well know that."

"But that doesn't mean you get free rein to just leave whenever you feel like it. She could've tolerated some pain until Hosea got back-"

"Are you serious?!"

Arthur clenched his jaw, struggling to put his frustration into words. It wasn't that he didn't trust Charles, but Charles was too damn soft. What if he let you go? What if he dropped you off somewhere and you never came back? The thought burned hotter than he'd admit.

No, he won't. He's loyal, decent.

"Just... forget it. Go bring me the food."

With a huff, you slammed your book shut and threw it onto his lap before storming out.

At least you listened this time. That was something.

Arthur let out a breath, shaking his head as he turned the book over in his hands. His lips twitched into a small, amused smirk. If nothing else, you sure knew how to make an exit.

❀˖°

The next evening arrived, and once again, he was preparing to leave. But tonight wasn’t just any other night, it was a big one.

Stepping out of his tent, Arthur found you leaning against a pole, arms crossed, eyes sharp as you surveyed the camp with that familiar air of quiet judgment.

Without a word, he closed the distance between you, his hand rough as it gripped your wrist, pulling you inside the tent. He didn’t just hold you, he clutched you, as if anchoring you to him, desperate to keep you tethered to this moment, to him.

His embrace was fierce, a silent demand disguised as a hold. His voice dropped low and gravelly, rough breath ghosting against your ear.

"Not gonna wish me anything?"

You almost scoffed, but swallowed it down, the sharpness in your throat too heavy. "Safe travels..."

His hand slid to the back of your neck, thumb trailing slow, deliberate circles over your skin, less reassurance, more claim. His gaze was dark, smoldering with something deeper, something that made your pulse tighten beneath his touch.

"I’ll be back before you even know it, darlin'," he promised, the words thick with meaning.

He moved closer, lips hovering near yours, the tension pulling taut, dangerously close, but then he pulled back, eyes burning with restraint.

Not tonight. Not now. Not when the stakes were so high.

But still, when he finally pulled away, there was something in his eyes, a quiet plea for you to say something. To let him believe you cared, just a little.

You gave him nothing but a slow blink. Curiosity mixed with...defiance. That was enough of a reassurance for him.

"...Yeah," he muttered after a moment, as if answering a question that hadn't been asked. His jaw tightened. "I'll see you later, darlin'. "

And just like that, he was gone.

May they all be gone for good.

─AN: Was it worth the wait? 👀 Interactions and ur thoughts bout the fic are always appreciated and a boost so don't be shy my pooks. To be added or removed from tag list u can always lemme know!

★ tag list: @m1stea @warmsideofthepillow03 @thatoneraeder @marzintears @nxttaru @cazzacarm @she-is-my-unrequited-love34 @nulixity @poll-u @bajabish @cheesycheddarr @luzzbuzz @dilfsarelife @ninastyless @claire-is-here @replaythatrayrae @hopingtoclearmedschool @lain3iwakura @bashfulcowgirl87 @catjsashrine @bipolarbitties @lizynownow @littlebirdgot @heloixe @summerdazed @meheheasasa @necktattooed @jbrownta @mandalover2023 @ceza-141 @httpskuri @abigatorchomp @nalitali

[hollandsfavbabe]

Stupid, Bloody Beaters

pairing: fred weasley x reader

synopsis: in which your sudden, unwilling participation on Gryffindor’s quidditch team leads to a connection you didn’t know you needed with the only person you never expected to fall for

warnings: umbridge being umbridge, r is female and gryffindor, unjustified hatred, slight anger issues, cringey dracotok pickup line (please tell me someone will understand), slightly suggestive at the end

word count: 8.1k

masterlist

a/n: This is my contribution to the fandom in hopes that there will be another fic boom, I miss my ginger boyfriend. Consider it the first of many as I have literally thousands of WIPS for him, I just never finish them. I also read in the official Quidditch manual that boys are often preferred over girls for the Beater position due to their 'strength' and I think that's just another stupid example of smelly Rowling's disgusting gender ideology so this is sort of a response to that... Here you go Fred army, be fed!

When Hermione had worn you down enough to finally agree to attend that morning’s quidditch match with her, never in your most unprompted fantasies would you have guessed how horribly it was destined to end.

It wasn’t worth her satisfaction nor the high mark on your upcoming potions paper that she promised to help you with. But you’d agreed, defenseless against her constant harping until you couldn't take it anymore. You figured there’d be no harm, only unfathomable boredom. Merlin had you been wrong.

You were reluctant to go for many reasons. Even if the overstimulation of the roaring Gryffindor crowd alone wasn’t enough to deter you, as a skilled flyer yourself, you didn’t find any of the plays in the slightest bit remarkable. There was no move performed in a simple Hogwarts game that you couldn’t conquer on a slow, windy Tuesday at your house. However, you commiserated with Hermione’s wishes of supporting your mutual friend, Ron, in one of his first games on the team as the boy bore the habit of unbearable nerves.

You’d known Ron and his family for longer than you had even studied at Hogwarts as many warm summers at the Burrow supported your deeply founded friendship. The Weasley’s home was always buzzing with life, much preferable over your own lonesome home where your parents, busy Muggles, worked day and night. There was just one notorious foil in your perfect paradise and his name was Fred Weasley.

It didn’t matter the length of your relationship with the Weasleys, the twin never showed any promise of getting along with you. Perhaps if he possessed more qualities that likened him to George, who possessed the capacity for occasional compassion and some level of benevolence, there may be more common ground to trod on. But he wasn’t, Fred was conniving, cruel, and always conspiring on how he could milk more galleons out of the Hogwarts student body. Sure, some of his inventions could be considered useful (like the delightful daydreams charms that you had enjoyed more times than you were willing to admit), but most proved to be a money making scam in your opinion. And after more than a decade of knowing Fred, you had found nothing in the slightest bit redeemable about him. You had been victim to too many of his pranks as a child.

And you hated him for it.

By no means was this your first quidditch game, but it was your first attendance in a long while especially considering the absence of games the year before due to the failed Triwizard Tournament.

With all the action on the field, it was difficult to focus on one player. You tried to watch only Ron, but your wandering eyes couldn’t resist the action around the tall hoops he was guarding, moving with the Quaffle from robes of scarlet to emerald and back again. Then there were the Beaters who’s sharp blows could be heard roaring from each side of the pitch. They swooped in and out of the mass of brooms that guarded the main ball, protecting their own colors and striking the opposite.

You were so transfixed by them, like an avian dance, you didn’t realize you were only following Fred for several minutes until Hermione broke you out of your trance. She pointed towards the Slytherin crowd, mumbling about a chant that had broken out in the stands with the most atrocious lyrics all attacking poor Ron.

The tension came to a head when Harry at last found the Snitch, narrowly avoiding a Bludger to win the game, but the song only gained volume and intensity. You were dragged by Hermione out of your seat to console your friend, chasing after her as she flew through the stairwell to the center of the pitch. Neither of you made it in time to hear what Malfoy, no doubt the leader of the chorus, was spewing to Ron. It wasn’t just him anymore as Harry and the twins were in the midst of the scene.

You couldn’t hear anything the boastful blonde said, but you knew very well after four years sharing a castle with him that Malfoy never gave up the opportunity to make your lives miserable. So as George’s fist suddenly collided with his pale sneering grin soon joined by brutal hits from Harry, you could only assume it was a strike well deserved. In all honesty, no amount of violence was enough compensation for the suffering he had caused you and your friends.

You noticed Fred wasn’t far behind, only missing the action by force as it took restraining by all three Gryffindor Chasers to keep him out of the fight. Even then he was making gains on the turf, inching forward with his hands set on strangulation.

You wished it had only been Madam Hooch and McGonagall to break up the fight. At least they would’ve been fair, perhaps a brief suspension and a week of detention. But of course, enabled by the misguided authority of the Ministry, Umbridge inserted herself into the matter.

That’s how you ended up on a bench outside her office, nestled between Ron and Hermione as you waited for the final verdict of how the involved should be punished. Hermione had offered to walk you back to the tower, but you insisted on staying for support. Frankly, your curiosity overpowered your desire to leave and you figured Hermione would appreciate having someone other than the boy she was mad for, not that she’d ever admit it.

“And that’s when Malfoy started talking absolute filth, saying rubbish about my parents and Harry’s mum. So they pounced on him, Harry and George. Only way to shut him up really,” Ron wrapped up his explanation of the event, filling in key context where it was missing. “I reckon they’re getting the whole team suspended. That Umbridge doesn’t give a damn about quidditch. It already took us ages to register.”

“Let’s hope all they get is detention.” replied Hermione.

“I don’t see what she had against Gryffindor anyway. Other than Harry, of course, but why should our whole team have to suffer?” 

“You do know she was a Slytherin, right?” you informed.

Ron only gave a low moan, shocked, but not at all surprised. He believed more than anyone that all evil is born in Slytherin house and Umbridge was more evil than most billionaires. There was no telling as to what punishments her sadistic mind could come up with. You were left only to speculate.

Many minutes ticked by before the grotesquely pink door that guarded Umbridge’s equally intense office creaked open, spitting out Harry, Angelina, McGonagall, and the twins. By the melancholic look on each of their faces, you could tell Umbridge decided on the worst possible scenario.

Before any of you could ask for an explanation, McGonagall rushed ahead of her students and much to your surprise as well as your dismay, she turned directly towards you.

“Am I correct in assuming you have a broom and ample flying experience?”

You froze out of utter confusion, unsure of why the Head of your house suddenly cared about your flying skills after three of her most valuable players were likely up for expulsion.

“Come on,” she chided, scolding you by your last name. “I haven’t all evening.”

“Uhh yes, Professor,” you sputtered. “but I don’t-”

“Good.”

There wasn’t any time for inquiry as the infamous Dolores Umbridge slithered from her office not a moment later, her plump face complimented by her signature smug grin. She exuded an air of satisfaction as if pleased by her decision and much to your horror, she looked directly at you.

“Congratulations on your new role, my dear. I do hope you’ll be prepared for next week,” she smirked wickedly, providing absolutely no context. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to find Kirke. Let’s hope he’ll be an adequate replacement.” though by the insincerity in her tone you could tell she was in fact against whatever she had claimed.

You felt your breath again return to you as she sauntered off, disappearing into the next corridor.

“What’s she on about?” Ron asked what all of you were wondering once he was sure the woman was long gone.

“Well,” Harry began, unsteady as he met your anxious gaze. “There’s been a certain adjustment… to the team.”

“What kind of adjustment?” Hermione repeated.

It was George who spoke now, each word dashing from him in a frustrated explanation.

“That bloody woman banned us from flying the rest of the season! Locked up our brooms and everything.” George complained.

“Actually, she banned us from flying for life and gave us a week detention, but yes. That is the general gist of it.” corrected Fred who was actively concealing his own anger much better than his twin.

“And since we had to register each player with that old hag,” Angelina rolled her eyes as she gestured towards Umbridge's office. “we don’t have a reserve team to pull new players from.”

“Who’s in then?” Ron asked.

His question was met with silence and it didn’t take you long to notice why. Heart beating wildly within its cavern in your chest, you realized in horror as each person who had been forced to meet with Umbridge, Angelina, the twins, and even McGonagall.

“Why are you all staring at me?” you asked.

But it was obvious. Deep down you already knew. You shook your head before anyone could answer you, denying your fate as if it hadn’t already been written for you.

“No!” you cried as your professor stepped forth to lay a hand against your shoulder. “I can’t play!”

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice, dear,” she informed you with a lament. “Umbridge threatened to suspend the whole team if we couldn’t name anyone. And I’m told you're the best flyer left in Gryffindor.”

“What about Ginny? She’s much faster than I am.” you suggested, though you had a sinking suspicion it wouldn’t matter.

“Ginny will be taking Mr. Potter’s place as Seeker.”

You’ll be replacing Fred.” interjected Angelina and of all the news you’d been told in the last five minutes, her statement alone had to be the worst of it.

In place of a response, your eyes widened and you had to focus in order to keep your jaw closed. Gryffindor giving away the cup altogether was a preferable alternative to relying on you as Beater, though both would have the same consequences.

“I’m aware of your lack of expertise in the position you’ve been assigned,” McGonagall began, her tone changing to one of comfort. “But I’m afraid you’re the only student in Gryffindor who’s close to qualified for playing in our match next week. That is if you’re truly as talented as Mr. Weasley had implied…”

Of course. You should’ve known it was Fred who dragged you into this mess. You searched behind your professor to shoot him a confused glare, one that he dodged. Despite her attempt at consolation, no comfort could slow you’re spiraling as the words drifted out of your scurried mind and into the world.

“But what if I can’t? I’ve never even held a bat! And I’ve never played with a real team, only in scrimmages.”

”Fred’s agreed to help you adjust before you start with the team,” answered Angelina, elbowing the twin as she spoke. “I'm sure you’ll be just fine once you get the hang of it. At least I hope so.”

“But-“

“I’m sorry, but we can’t debate this unless you want to go up against that awful woman,” McGonagall nodded towards Umbridge’s foul pink door. ”It’s been decided. Now if you excuse us, Ms. Johnson and I need to find poor Mr. Kirke before Umbridge can break the news to him.”

Then they were off, hurrying away in the direction Umbridge had gone in only moments before, Angelina only pausing to shout at you over her shoulder. “Training on the pitch, ten o’clock tonight. Be there.” And then she was gone.

Fred stepped forward as you turned back to the group, red from what you could only assume was guilt. Not for what he was putting you through, but most certainly because he got called out for it.

“I-”

“Don’t.” you snarled before he could spew any insincere garbage, wrapping your arms around yourself. “I guess I’ll see you on the field.”

With nothing more to say, you set off for the tower. And no one tried to stop you.

Now with practice, you only had a few hours to chisel down your very real and growing pile of homework before your mandatory training with the only person you wouldn't choose to be around even if you were paid in Honeydukes vouchers. And you knew he felt equal disdain towards you.

Despite assurance from Hermione as she brought you back a plate of supper, you couldn’t accept that everything would work out for the better. You couldn’t even enjoy one of your favorite meals at the Gryffindor table seeing as you were preoccupied with the final draft of your herbology thesis and ridded of any appetite.

“Listen, it’s really not that bad,” Hermione tried, taking your plate after you swallowed the only morsels you could stomach. You supposed the rest would go to Ron being the bottomless pit that he was. “At least it’s with Fred and not someone like Cormac McLaggen.”

“Honestly, I’d take McLaggen,” you argued. “I’d take anyone over Fred.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I absolutely do.”

In lieu of proper wear, you pulled a simple outfit out of your closet, just enough to keep you warm in the night air. You weren’t trying to look impressive.

“Try to remember what the goal is,” suggested Hermione. “You’re doing this for Gryffindor and for Harry and George. Don’t let your feelings prevent that.”

“I’m doing this because of that devil woman ruining our school, Hermione,” you seethed, frustration pouring out of your. “Now I have to deal with him on top of it all.”

“I know,” she empathized. “Trust me, I hate Umbridge as much as everyone else, but you just can’t think of it that way. It’s easier to see it differently.”

“And how am I supposed to see it?” You were flipping through the contents of your trunk now, searching frantically for your favorite jumper.

“You don’t have to admit it, but I know how badly you’ve been wanting a place on the team,” Hermione smiled knowingly. “Ever since 2nd year and now a spot’s been practically gifted to you.”

Without any sort of rebuttal, you turned to face your friend who was holding your jumper out for you. Of course it was out of your trunk.

“He’s gotten better since you guys were younger,” she explained. “Who knows, he might even be nice to you.”

“I really hope you’re right.”

Unsurprisingly, you were forced to wait on the field for several minutes before Fred arrived. Seconds ticked by as you leaned against one of the towering goal posts and fiddled with the splintering tip of your broom. It was a quarter past ten by the time his figure formed through the distant fog and his familiar smirk came into view. 

“Sorry I’m late,” he called, hurrying over to you. “Detention ran over, brutal by the way, and I had to find a spare broom since mine is chained up in that old bat's office.”

You looked at the worn broom in his hands, almost sorry that he had to go to all the trouble for a lesson you didn’t see as necessary. No one deserved to suffer under the wrath of that woman, but perhaps if anyone did, you would want it to be Fred.

“Whatever,” you shrugged, unyielding to any empathy that tried to force itself up to the surface. “Let’s just get this over with. You have the stuff?”

“What am I, your Alihotsy dealer?” he chuckled, though you had no amusement to spare for his otherwise pathetic humor.

Your silence washed over Fred like a blanket of bluntness and he immediately grew more serious.

“Angelina said she left a couple paddles and a bludger for us to use over there.” he pointed behind you where as promised, a box was poorly concealed behind one of the thick poles. You weren’t sure how you hadn’t noticed it before, but you watched closely as Fred retrieved it, popping the lock as he dove into explanation.

“From what she told me, Ange wanted me to go over everything, but I’ve seen you play a mean chaser more than once at the Burrow, so I know you already understand the basics.”

He bent down to pick up one of the paddles, twirling it around his fist as it fit comfortably in his perfect grip like the right ring around a finger. His experience was evident in the way swung it, every move precise after years of playing.

“I’m just going to refresh your Beater memory, maybe help you hit a couple since it is a partner position.” he stated, tossing you the other paddle.

You caught it easily, ignoring how unnatural it felt in your own hand before mounting your broom with impatience.

“Yeah yeah, let’s just get on with it so I can go to bed, okay?”

You took off from the turf before Fred could protest, circling above him as you soared to level with the hoop of the highest goal. You couldn’t see it through night and fog, but he shrugged as he released the squirming bludger out from its bindings and hurried to meet you in the air.

Though it sprung on you without warning, you were quick to hit the vicious ball away as you slammed it into what you realized too late was Fred’s direction. Luckily, he dodged the hit with ease.

“Woah, careful,” he chided. “The point is to send it towards the other team, not your partner.”

“I get it, Weasley, just hit it back. Spare me the lecture.” you glared. It was an accident, afterall.

Fred sighed as he waited for the ball to return and struck it his expert way, without the need to look at it. Instead his eyes were focused on you. The Bludger flew upwards and bounded towards you on its descent and while your deflection wasn’t quite as effortless as your companions, it was decent enough to send the thing away. Only for a few seconds.

“Always try to hit with the inside of the paddle,” Fred spoke, jumping into another lecture. “A backswing in the air is too hard, even for the most experienced and especially if it’s a windy game. Instead, try to reorient yourself so you can-”

“I GET IT!” you shouted, fed up with the unsolicited explanations. You were successful at so many other positions in Quidditch, you didn’t think you needed it. You narrowly avoided the next attack as the bludger sped towards you again. It was a miracle that you could lift your paddle in time to slam it away, the force sending a sharp pain through your arm. But it wasn’t enough.

“Woah!” Fred shouted, eyes wide. “Careful, look out!”

You were adjusting to the blow when disaster struck. You couldn’t see it, but it hit all the same as the bludger struck your side with such a force that it knocked you from your broom and sent you spiraling towards the grass far below. You didn’t even have time to scream.

You could faintly make out a shout of your name as Fred flew straight for you, catching you just before you could splatter on the ground like a ripe watermelon. You clung to him instinctually, holding back tears and heavy breaths. You leaped onto the turf the moment he touched down on solid ground sulked away trying to shake off the fall.

From behind you, the snarling ball sank into the grass, dirt flying, and was soon caught by Fred before it could rebound and cause anymore destruction. He held it tightly in the crevice of his toned arm as if it weighed no more than a snitch.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

Rendered by some form of speechlessness from the descent, you didn’t respond. Your face was turning red with frustration that only worsened with every word that left Fred’s mouth. You knew he didn’t care, so why was he pretending to?

“Maybe we should take a break,” Fred suggested, hoping to elicit any kind of a response from you. “Or we can move this to tomorrow? Clearly tonight is not the night.”

“No,” you refused, waiting for your broom to fall and catching it by the handle. “I want this to be over.”

“I know, but maybe we’ll be more productive after some rest.”

“I don’t need rest,” you scowled. “Just need you to tell me what I have to do so I can be done.”

“Hey,” Fred exclaimed. “I’m just trying to help you.”

“Maybe I don’t want your help!” you shouted. “Maybe after years of suffering from your stupid pranks, I don’t think you have the ability to be helpful in ANY capacity and I would much rather you go back to leaving me alone!”

Silence.

It was a rare occurrence in the presence of a Weasley twin, but your harsh words had accomplished it.

You almost felt sorry when Fred turned from you, sure that your outburst had driven him away for good and that he was walking out of the pitch and forever out of your life, but he only made it to the goal posts. He leaned his brom against the center post and quickly secured the Bludger back into the box before making his way to the edge of the pitch where the stands were draped in Gryffindor scarlet and gold. He lifted it, ducking a shoulder under before he turned back to nod you over.

“You coming?”

You hesitated, wondering if you were really welcome after your fit, but after a second of deliberating, you nodded and followed ashamedly. Fred waited for you to set your broom beside his and held up the fabric for you as you dipped inside.

You were bewildered.

You’d never thought of what the underside of the stands looked like, but if you had, you would’ve pictured dusty wood frames and darkness. The setting that lay before you couldn’t be more of the opposite. Nothing short of a scene from one of those old, famous Muggle Hollywood movies you tried to watch whenever you could access a television. Though there indeed stood wooden frames, moonlight coated each block and illuminated the space. You were shown to the center where grass grew to the perfect length despite a lack of trimmings.

The change in your mood was instantaneous and suddenly your frustration melted into tranquility as you started so much calmer than before. As if the very sky soothed your fury.

“I come here a lot during Quidditch season, or I guess I used to.” Fred began, sensing your change in mood as he offered you something much more valuable than a taunting smile or a playing tip. An explanation. He gazed around the space as if it was his first time seeing it too.

“Is it allowed?”

“Probably not, but as you know, rules aren’t often a factor in my decision making. Sometimes I just needed to get away from it all, just for a moment. There's so much bloody noise out there, especially when Wood was captain, being in here blocks out the rubbish. Helps you remember what’s important.”

It was hard to picture Fred as someone who needed a break, who had a breaking point of his own, but under the fabric you could feel it.

“It's perfect for games too,” he grinned, pointing down a line of wood towards where you knew the Gryffindor pathway lay. “The entrance into the field is just over there and no one ever thinks to come under here so it’s nice and private.”

Silent seconds ticked by steadily as you continued to observe the area, spotting a marking on one of the tallest wood beams. You reached out for it, slowly tracing the carving of Fred’s name and a #2, his flying number.

“It’s helping isn't it? Or did I just give away my favorite hiding place for no reason?”

You turned to him, looking him in the eyes for the first time that night.

“No, I feel better now.” you agreed, taking in a steady breath. “I’m sorry about what I said.”

“I only want to help, you know? I swear I’m not trying to talk down to you.”

It hit you then, how all this must’ve impacted him. You knew Fred didn’t want you to replace him anymore than you were willing to and from what you’d see of Harry’s lacerations from lines with Umbridge, you couldn’t imagine punishment was easy for him. But he showed up anyway and was happy enough to help you in any way he could.

“I know,” you agreed. “I’m just so frustrated by this - this whole situation. And I shouldn’t take it out on you.”

“It’s alright,” Fred smiled. “I didn’t take it personally. You’ve always done that when you get angry.”

You often forget how long you and Fred have known each other, how many times you’d stayed over at the Burrow, in most cases for weeks at a time. Of course you were only there to visit Ron and Ginny, but it was his home as much as theirs. Years speed by when you're busy hating someone. But you weren’t sure you hated him anymore. And if he had enough heart to show you his secret serenity space, he certainly didn't hate you.

“I bet you even like my pranks sometimes.” Fred smirked.

You rolled your eyes, refusing to admit though you had a feeling he wasn’t asking you to confirm. You were sure he already knew.

“Sometimes I thought you were just being mean. But I don’t think you’re really like that. I just never took the time to understand.”

“I think we’ve been off on the wrong foot all this time,” Fred smiled, as if he hadn’t revealed that he understood you almost as well as you understood yourself. “Maybe it’s time to start the night off fresh?”

“I think I’d be okay with that.” you chuckled, growing fond of this new, reimagined version of the boy you’d always loathed. Clearly you had mistaken him.

“Great well,” he extended his hand. “I’m Fred.”

“Lovely to meet you, Fred,” you felt silly as you met his grip, shaking his hand as you re-introduced yourself.

“I think it’s time to practice some Quidditch.”

“Alright,” you smiled. “I think this time, I’m open to listening.”

“Good,” Fred beamed. “And don’t think I underestimate your skills. I was there when you broke Ginny’s nose with our Quaffle.”

“That was an accident!” you exclaimed, in disbelief that he even remembered the incident from many summers ago during a good old fashioned Weasley match.

“Well, regardless, that’s exactly the energy I want you to harness for beating. As long as you're okay with me giving you some pointers?”

You nodded, crawling under the fabric again and back out into the night to continue your training, the rest of which went fairly smoothly considering you had been set on despising Fred only minutes prior. With every piece of advice, every slightly helpful hint, and especially every encouraging compliment when you were able to learn and adapt quickly, he started to win you over. And you started to see him in a completely new light.

Suddenly, all the annoying characteristics about him became only charismatic. His jokes were no longer cruel and insensitive, but hilarious to the point where you had to cover your mouth to prevent laughing so hard. New traits that you hadn’t bothered to notice before shone through like his familial loyalty and pride. And deep, deep under his surface, you saw a certain kindness in him that you wouldn’t have believed existed days ago.

It was only an hour before the two of you could successfully pass a Bludger back and forth across the entirety of the field, hitting objects in place of players and diving to save them from enemy blows just as you would be required to in a real game. Fred was undoubtedly impressed.

“You’ve still got some Chaser in you, but I think you’re ready to play. That’s all I have anyway.”

He flew to the ground, dismounting smoothly and holding up a hand for you to follow, but you were still adjusting to this new perspective and you didn’t want to head into the castle just yet. More accurately, you didn’t want to walk alone with him.

“I think I’m going to stay out for just a while longer.”

“Sure, right,” Fred chuckled, lowering his hand to scratch the ginger hair on the back of his neck instead. “I don’t think Angelina needed us to do this again, but if you need some extra practice with a decent partner, I'm always available.”

“You sure you can fit me in your schedule with all your detentions and scheming?” you grinned.

“Absolutely,” he laughed. “I doubt Umbridge would miss an evening with me. I don’t make them easy on her.”

“Thanks,” you smiled. “I’ll think about it.”

“Right well, I’m off to bed,” Fred waved, warranting your send off. You shot up into the night, not wanting to stare at him a moment longer. “Just be careful of Filch when you come in!” he shouted up to you, unsure if you had heard as you looked very preoccupied flying about. He grabbed his broom and idly stalked away, sliding off of the field and in the direction of Gryffindor Tower.

Little did he know how your eyes followed his every move as you watched him go, so utterly conflicted and unfocused. In all honesty, you didn’t need to practice any more, in fact, you felt too exhausted to even go through another exercise. But you just couldn’t leave with him, not when you could feel the warmth of attraction blooming in your chest. The world as you knew it was starting to spin the wrong way and all because you discovered Fred Weasley was a decent human being. More than decent really.

The rest of the week prior to your first match was a nervous blur. While classes were the same as always if not more unbearable, your life had been flipped in every possible way. You spent every waking minute on the quidditch field whether it was practicing with the rest of the team (and earning Angelina’s respect when you picked up the sport so quickly) or flying around on your own and trying not to think about Fred.

Oh Fred. He was another problem all on his own. The energy between you shifted so rapidly, it started to become obvious to everyone else. You tried to go on as friends, as if everything was exactly as it was before, but you weren’t fooling anyone. Especially not each other.

You could feel his eyes on you during every meal in the Great Hall, catching his gaze as easily as catching a Quaffle and much more frequently. He started talking to you more, nothing grander than a hello when passing you in busy hallways or snide comment about Umbridge after a rough class with the witch, but it was always pleasant and each time he earned a smile.

You found yourself avoiding him the moment Hermione finally broke her silence on the matter, asking if you two had finally gotten over your years long battle.

“It was always one-sided, you know,” she stated matter-of-factly. “I’ve talked it over with Ginny. He’s never felt the same disdain towards you.”

“Nothing has changed, Hermione. He just helped me with one little thing, that’s all.”

“If you insist…”

All your worrying and hard work made a week feel like only a couple of days. And suddenly, before you could summon the wherewithal to mentally prepare for competing in front of the entirety of Hogwarts, game day was upon you.

Dressed appropriately and grounded on the field, you looked up to the sky as various moving shapes of red and royal blue soared high above before the official commencement that was to take place in minutes. You knew you could do it, all of your training had far prepared you for the task at hand, but you were unbelievably nervous. There was always the chance of messing up and those voices in the back of your mind were impossible to quiet. Not wanting to over exert yourself, the thought of a break popped into your head. Somewhere where no crowd could watch you and you could be on your own for a while.

You noticed the edge of the field, the portion where Fred had taken you under the fabric and just when you were sure many of the spectators were focused elsewhere, you made a run for it.

The space was even calmer in the daylight, bright and airy and utterly empty. Exactly what you needed. You slumped against a wooden beam, reaching up to trace the inscription of Fred’s name, grateful he had revealed this little sanctuary to you.

“Game day nerves?” a voice rang from behind you. You didn’t have to turn to know who it was. Only one person could’ve known where you were.

“A little,” you admitted. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to live up to expectations.”

“It’s not you we have to worry about,” Fred assured. “I’m more anxious to see if Kirke can play. I reckon he’s not half as good as you are.”

“He’s not all bad,” you defended your Beater partner. “But there’s certainly some truth to that.”

“I brought you something,” he smiled and your eyes travelled down to his hands which you realized were clutching something behind his back. “It’s just a little help, if you want it. Thought you could use some confidence.”

You shot him an inquisitive look.

“That's suggestive.” you teased.

“Nothing like that, get your head out of the gutter.”

You watched as he revealed his gift, pulling out a familiar scarlet cloth that shone with promise.

“Here.”

He handed it out to you, an offering you simply couldn’t refuse, purley out of curiosity if nothing else. You plucked the fabric from his hands, letting the cloak unfurl from a wrinkled blob into a magnificent robe, his own Quidditch wear you realized. Last you’d seen them, he had been wearing them proudly while trying to kill Malfoy. You fingered the small embroidered number two on the chest.

“Is this-”

“You bet.” 

“You’re giving me your number?”

He shrugged as if it was a small favor rather than a grand gesture. He didn’t need to admit it for you both ro know how much it meant.

“It’s better than 18, innit?” he referred to your current, less than ideal robes. “I’m never going to need them again and I figured they’d fit better than whatever Angelina could scrounge up.”

He was right. The only robes available to you were far too big as they slumped off your shoulders and pooled at your feet. Angelina had claimed that it wouldn't make a difference in the air, but all the extra fabric felt heavy, leaving a burdensome strain. But your Captain had enough stress weighing on her shoulders. So you didn’t make a fuss.

You raised Fred’s robes to your nose, taking in the nostalgic smell of the Burrow, hints of Molly’s baking taking you right back to summers with the family and a new spice that must’ve been Fred’s addition. Cinnamon and firework powder. You refrained from grinning as your nose inadvertently scrunched in delight.

“It’s been washed, I swear.” he promised, worried that your reaction was out of disgust.

“I know,” you acknowledged. “It doesn’t carry any kind of hex though, right? I’m not going to be blown off my broom in midair?”

“Not this time, no. Unfortunately, I care too much about the outcome of this game, but thanks for the idea.”

You rolled your eyes, turning it over to find that his name was still sewn into the back just above his former number.

“This is my favorite addition,” he beamed with excitement, inching closer to adjust your hold as he tipped the fabric into one of the red tinted rays that managed to slip into your hideout. Suddenly, black letters began to form in inky black magic and spelled out your last name atop of the maroon sewed, making it the only readable name.

“It’s a sunny day outside. I thought everyone should get to know who they’re rooting for.”

“Thanks.” you mustered, though it didn’t capture even a fracture of what you were really feeling. So many conflictions fluttered around at once as you fought off your feelings for him before they could invade your mind. It scared you, even more than the impending threat of the game just ahead.

But you could tell he felt it as silence fell upon the two of you. A comfortable understanding of finally being on the same page only now you wanted him closer.

A sharp whistle sounded in the background as Madam Hooch signaled for the game to begin. You didn’t have any more time to spare as you were expected on the field.

“I better let you change, unless you want to go through with your first offer or you’ve become unnaturally attached to those giant things-”

“Get out of here.” you chuckled, pulling on the length of the strings that held up your current attire. Though you had on other clothes, Fred turned as the old robes slipped off you easily, pooling in a pile by your shoes. Stepping out of the mess, you pulled on Fred’s and though it took some adjusting as they were still bigger than your true size, they served as a much preferable alternative to the spares, lighter and exceedingly more breathable.

“They look good,” Fred admired, turning back to face you one last time before you had to leave. “You don’t look like you’re playing dress up anymore.”

“I’ll try to live up to the name.”

“You will. You’ll make your own.” he promised, slipping under the fabric in the direction of the spectator area. “Good luck.” he wished, and then he was gone.

You grabbed your broom and headed for the opposite end, waltzing to where the rest of your team was waiting to make their entrance. Though it took some effort, you were sure to rid your step of its gleeful skip by the time you reached the public eye.

“Looking good, Weasley.” Angelina joked, no doubt already aware of Fred’s surprise. “Nervous?”

“No.” you lied.

“Good.”

“And here I thought I would be the only remaining Weasley on the team.” Ron interjected, stepping up to stand beside you.

“That was presumptuous,” Ginny laughed from behind the two of you, clad in her own Seeker gear.

“You aren’t,” you stated, placing an encouraging hand on your friend’s shoulder. “But you are the only Keeper. So do the best you can.”

Another whistle blared outside in the center of the pitch and soon enough you were up in the air, one hand clinging to your broom and the other wrapped tightly around your bat. It didn’t take long for you to find Fred in the crowd as your eyes searched the stands for him and your other friends. They all sat nestled beside one another, lost in a sea of scarlet. You resisted the urge to wave at him.

Instead you met his gaze and gave him a subtle nod, warmth blooming in your chest again as you swore his smile grew wider. You had to force yourself to snap into focus and avoid looking at the Gryffindor section as other flyers spread out all around, readying themselves for the first play.

“And also new to the team,” your name was started by Lee Jordan who despite being barred by McGonagall in years prior, was acting commentator. “Though she’s a different number than what Captain Angelina Johnson informed me, don’t be fooled folks. I’m told she’s very good for a newbie. At least I hope that part is the truth.”

Each second felt like a millenium before the game had finally kicked off, you were suddenly much too caught up in the action to give any thought to the stirring feelings inside, batting each Bludger like your teammate’s life depended on it. In some kinda way, it did.

All those hours spent refining your skills were now out for everyone else to see and you were absolutely magnificent. Saving every teammate that required assistance and scoring every Bludger that threatened to disable your Chasers, you swiftly became a crowd favorite and the ultimate replacement for the usual spectacle of the Weasley twins.

“There she goes, a near hit from lucky number 2 against Ravenclaw Chaser - Blimey - and a brilliant save as she dives to protect Chaser Alicia Spinnet! And Spinnet scores a goal!” Lee exclaimed, shouting into his mic. “That’s 10 more points to Gryffindor. She really is good! Maybe even better than the twins - whoops - never mind. I’m getting dirty looks.”

As the game went on, you proved yourself as a worthy opponent time and time again, even stealing saves from the other Beater when he could get to where he was needed in time. Though Kirke was a decent partner as you learned in practice, he wasn’t nearly as experienced as you and much less able to adapt to his new position (you felt you had Fred to thank for that). But it all worked out as you were quick to compensate for all his losses, fast and strong enough to erase all his mistakes before they could cause a problem.

“Looks like new Seeker Ginny Weasley found something, she’s descending into the center. This could be it ladies and gentlemen, the tie breaker and oh no! Looks like Ravenclaw is having a go!”

You watched as it happened, heart sinking as one of the Beaters in blue sent a Bludger straight for Ginny and you didn’t even have time to think before you rushed to save her. You had to dodge several players, weaving between them like wool on a loom as you hurried towards the center with the speed of a Chaser. You soared past Ginny, rearing up to hit the Bludger and sending it spiraling downwards with so much force, it sank into the dirt.

But it wasn’t over yet.

Sneaking towards you like a torpedo, you didn’t have time to listen to the warnings of the crowd or more of Lee Jordan’s before you could sense another Bludger aimed at you. Swinging with all of your might and praying you could sense its position, you successfully backhanded the attack and spared yet another life.

The Gryffindor stands roared with excitement.

“Impossible move by 2! A fully backhanded save. I’ve never seen anything like it, at least not in a school league. And what’s this? Ginny Weasley’s got the snitch! Gryffindor wins and the game is over!”

You landed, exhausted, but beaming with pride as the stands screamed, but when you looked for him, the only person you wanted to see cheering for you, his spot was vacant. Lee spoke over your thoughts.

“That’s the first time I’ve seen her smile since she started playing.” he joked, though it was true.

A sudden applause broke out from behind you as a figure emerged from your special place, his special place. Your smile widened as you met his proud stare, clapping for his brilliant protege. Fred smiled at you and instant warmth returned to you and forced your feet to move and your grasp to release your equipment. You couldn’t stand it any longer. All you knew was how badly you wanted him, so you ran straight into his open arms.

“Woah, where’s she going?” Lee questioned into the mic, not that you could give a Devil’s Snare. You were laser focused. “Has all that flying made her mad? Her team is the other way! I wonder, oh, OH! Well, that explains it. In case you’re wondering who she’s tackling folks, that's ex-Beater Fred Weasley. Or is it George? Nope, definitely Fred. I don’t know what the rules are on kissing on the pitch, but those late night tutoring sessions are starting to make a lot more sense….”

“JORDAN!” McGonagall scolded, tugging at the mic.

“That’s all from me I suppose. Here’s to a new game and a budding romance!”

“I thought she hated him.” Harry leaned to whisper to Hermione as they stood from their seats, making their way down much slower than Fred had. They didn’t have the same kind of motivation.

“She did,” Hermione shrugged, although she had long ago figured that with the right push, the two of you would eventually collide in such a manner. “But things change. She got to know him.”

It felt like hours before you and Fred finally pulled apart, but you hadn’t gotten your fill when the moment finally came. Lips twisting into a bashful smile, your arms clung to his neck while his hands curled around your waist. Dizzy from the rush of the game and having him so close, you found yourself leaning into him. His freckled face flushed as he grinned at you like he had just pulled off the proudest prank of his whole life, finally getting to kiss you.

“I take it you liked the robes?” he smirked.

“I hope that wasn’t too forward,” you uttered, though by the way he pulled you closer, you knew it wasn’t. “I’m really glad we decided to start over.”

“Actually, I’ve sort of been waiting for this,” he admitted. “Been mad for you for ages, you know.”

“I’m starting to understand that.”

Noses brushing, you were set on leaning in again until a throat cleared from beside you as other spectators started to flood onto the turf. Your friends and George had joined your side and much to your chagrin, Umbridge had taken hold of the mic.

“A reminder that girls and boys are not to to be within eight inches of each other!” she shouted, her voice booming inside the pitch as if she had forgotten that it was already amplified.

You reluctantly removed yourself from his grasp, not wanting to get yourself banned from playing though you wanted nothing more than to stay in his arms. He bent to whisper into your ear.

“Lucky for us, I have nin-”

“No,” you cut him off. “I've heard that way too many times since she instilled that rule.”

“Fair enough.” he shrugged, relishing the delighted look plastered on your face as he moved with you to join your loved ones.

It wasn’t until much later during the peak of celebration that you were able to reconnect.

The night had long taken over as the twins threw one of their famous Gryffindor parties in your honor, setting the common room ablaze with drinks and music and a bustling, eager crowd. You bid your time, taking in the praise and celebrating with all of your friends, but as soon as you were sure no one would miss you, Fred managed to smuggle you away into his dormitory where he held you as his willing captive.

He pressed you against one of the sturdy stone walls, lips slotting together behind closed doors where no prying Dolores Umbridge had any chance of forcing you eight inches apart.

“You sure you don’t want to miss the party?” you gasped through shallow breaths between kisses, eyes fluttering shut as Fred moved to your jaw.

“Are you serious?” he chuckled. “And miss my one shot with the girl of my dreams? Not a chance.”

“It wouldn’t be your last chance.” you assured him, but you were grateful he wanted to stay. You weren’t anywhere near ready to stop as your fingers twirled into his bright hair. You weren’t sure what you would do if he had never brought up your name as a replacement and you were glad you’d never have to find out.

“And to think last week you hated me,” he muttered, raising his head back to brush his lips against your own, words slipping in between kiss after fervent kiss.

“Shut up, Weasley,” you retorted, melting into him as he obliged, allowing the night to take its pleasant course.

[aliciajadee]

Hey y'all! It's been quite a while since I last posted online, and I know many of you've wondered where I've been. I've been trying to figure out the best way to update you all, but I've found that figuring it out hasn't been easy. I thought I'd just start with a little post here. It's been 165 days since I've uploaded a full-length video to YouTube, and almost a month since I've posted on TikTok. I didn't mean to disappear from the internet, and it's not that I haven't wanted to create and upload it, but that I just haven't been capable. The first few months of 2025 were not the best time for me. I was struggling with my mental health immensely, and as a result, my physical health declined too. I ended up in the hospital with complications relating to my T1D, and that took a really big toll on me. Talking about my mental health and chronic illnesses is something I've always tried to be open about with you because it's real. Just like you all, I am human. I struggle and I get stuck, sometimes (a lot of the time) I need help and time to heal and quite frankly get my shit together. I want to just say thank you all for allowing me that time I so desperately needed. 

For months, I was anxious about making a return to YouTube. I was running low on inspiration, and every time I pulled out the camera, nothing felt right. I just felt like anything I tried to make wasn't good enough. I was receiving messages and comments every day asking where I was, for the most part they were kind messages but a lot of them were hostile and made me feel like crap. All I wanted to do was crawl into my bed and rot. 

Then I started back at school with my Photography course! I've talked about this on my channel before and for the most part it’s going really well. I found it difficult to try wrap my head around my coursework, my job and doing social media, I was only just getting back on track and the thought of having so much on my plate was (and still is a little) extremely overwhelming. So I stopped prioritising making content because it stressed me out. That’s the truth of it.

About a month or so ago I felt like I was ready to come back. I was excited to be making content again and I felt like I had a hold on everything. Then I got adenovirus… 2025 really isn't my year y’all. 

Basically this virus gave me conjunctivitis and I wasn't able to see or really open my eyes for over 2 weeks. It was hell. The virus has now cleared, i'm no longer super contagious, i don't look like a zombie but it did leave me with scarring on my corneas. No, I'm not kidding. I cannot see. My vision has significantly decreased, even when I'm wearing my glasses it makes no difference. I haven't been able to go to my classes for almost a month now. I can't really see anything, even writing this has been quite difficult. Hopefully my vision returns soon, I'm seeing specialists and doctors weekly but this has been really hard for me. 

I'll probably make a video talking about all of this soon but for now I'm just focusing on trying to get better. I really hope you can understand. 

I love you and hope to be back real soon xoxo

-Alicia

[illusionremember]

Yeah never mind spoilers — that gray area tag is absolutely valid and necessary. Ao3's ToS has a specific definition of what requires Archive Warnings. But, when it comes to the readers, different people will have different ideas of what constitutes necessity for those tags. What one person sees as graphic might be someone else's "that's it?" moment.

And here's the thing — some readers WILL argue that anything approaching a difficult topic should warrant the tag. The ToS specifies that the archive warnings are for "graphic depiction" — meaning they happen onscreen, in the text. Not implied, referenced, discussed, or fade-to-black, but depicted.

But in the case of work that deals with a subject without showing it onscreen — how then should such a fic be tagged, so that people who don't even want to see mentions of such a subject don't have to? By the ToS, if there's no depiction, then Archive Warnings Need Not Apply. But what happens when a fic discusses effects of violence or abuse in depth? That can still be deeply triggering. I could see a lot of readers being highly upset to see fic about the aftermath of noncon being tagged "Archive Warnings Need Not Apply", because shown or not, it's still about that topic, right?

That's why we have Author Chose Not to Warn as an option. Arguing that writers should just tag fic that doesn't actually fit the criteria with the archive warning anyways is actually muddying the tagging system as designed. It's misleading about what to expect.

Another thought exercise — What about the main character death tag? Are we talking specifically about death scenes, or character death as a concept? Or what if there is a main character death but the character is resurrected, or the fic shows their afterlife? Does it count if they are still present in the story? Would you count it if the main character death occurred prior to the beginning and is never shown? According to ToS, it only needs tagged if it's shown onscreen. Suppose a reader can't bear the thought of a particular character being dead at all — they might want it tagged as such, but the tag has a specific meaning in the ToS.

The author must figure out how best to apply Archive Warnings to their work. Author Chose Not to Warn isn't a gotcha or a trick to try and manipulate readers — it's to help cover those gray zones where the author feels it's probably not graphic or definitive enough to count. That tag means we can still account for potentially difficult content that may or may not fit into those specific warnings. Readers may disagree, but it doesn't make the author wrong, and it doesn't make the author responsible for their being upset.

Not to mention, who decides what content is “triggerworthy”? I've been looking at old fic from the 2000s on older fandom hubs like LiveJournal and fanfictionnet lately. The amount of totally family-friendly, nothing-even-happening fics that had content warnings for homosexuality, because two boys looked at each other too long or held hands or *gasp* kissed.

Even getting outside of the archive warnings and into the other tags - content warnings aren't just for readers — they are layers of protection for authors. People get doxxed and threatened IRL over things they wrote in fic. If a reader IS upset by something they read, because they chose to ignore or misinterpreted a tag, they don't get to argue that they weren't warned. The writers are doing their part when they tag with Chose Not to Warn — that IS the warning. Ultimately, it is the reader's responsibility to be mindful of content they might find upsetting, and to not read or stop reading accordingly. Everyone is accountable for their own experiences online.

gently grabs you by the chin hey. if an author selects “chose not to use archive warnings” on a fic, they’re allowed. even if you don’t like it or disagree.

[haru-dipthong]

Fansub release + translation notes for Utena ep 33

Some very fun lines to translate this episode! Even though this is kind of a summary flashback episode, it’s actually one of my favourites of the series, and it has some of the most interesting dialogue too, with the one-sided Utena conversations and the shadow girl radio show.

Let’s start with the line I spent the longest trying to figure out.

今夜の二人は永遠さ！

This literally means “Tonight’s pairs of people are eternity!” But in context, this is a radio host waxing poetic about the beauty of the night. This literal translation doesn’t work at all given the intent behind the words. This line is a huge challenge because it’s so concise and exploits the ambiguity of the は particle. 今夜の二人は永遠さ doesn’t necessarily mean that tonight’s couples are eternity. It just states that “tonight’s couple(s)” are what we’re talking about, and then says eternity is closely related to them. In academic circles I believe は is often translated more as “as for”, so it’s more like “As for tonight’s couples… Eternity!”

Here are some other examples of how this line was translated.

Tonight, we'll be together forever! (ohtori.nu)

Nicely ambiguous, and I like “together forever” coupled with “tonight”, but “we’ll” makes it sound like she’s either talking directly to her co-host, or she’s somehow involving herself in the listener couples she’s talking to.

A night for couples to glimpse eternity. (internet archive subs/dubs)

This reads nicely and sounds like something a radio host would say, but I don’t like “glimpse”. It makes it feel like eternity is something in the distance, something that you don’t need to concern yourself with. But in Utena, eternity is not in the distance. It’s looming over everything, an immanent threat that’s already got you in its clutches. Eternity, at least in this line, needs to feel tempting and attainable all at once.

I needed to look back at more of the context to figure out my final translation. Here are the lines immediately prior:

今夜は星空がとってもきれいです！このラジオを聞きの皆様ももしよかったら窓から空を見てください！美しい秋の星座が瞬いていますのー！

The stars are beautiful tonight! To all our listeners out there, why not open a window and take a look at the sky? The stars of the autumn constellations are twinkling tonight.

The hosts are giving advice! So why not make the next line sound like a continuation of that advice?

My final translation was this:

If you're with someone special, go make tonight last forever!

This was 22 characters-per-second, which is slightly over the extreme 20 CPS limit I usually adhere to (I try to stay under 15 for most lines, allowing myself 20 for lines that really need it). But this one really needed the extra words. I hope it’s not too fast for most people! I’m really happy with the translation itself!

There were a couple of spots where I made the choice to change certain words because the direct translation of the word was inconvenient or conjured an incongruous image.

Utena: あの先生、明礬ってあだ名がついてるんだよ。

Utena: Everyone calls her "Sulphate" you know.

The word used here is 明礬 (myoban) which is the common name for the chemical salt of aluminium, known as “alum” in English. But “alum” as used to refer to a person is sure to be misinterpreted as “alumnus”, not a chemical. And not only that, the misinterpretation is extremely loaded here — the teacher graduated? That means A LOT in the Utena universe, and the Japanese word has none of this extra meaning. So instead, I chose a chemical salt that doesn’t come loaded with all this baggage, which is easily recognisable as a chemical but not too difficult so as to be reasonable as a nickname.

Utena: まー作り置きだと思えばいいんだけどさー。ハンバーグとかお弁当用に。でもシチュー系は無理だな。

Utena: I guess it’s fine to make a bunch and eat it later. Like, use it as a side or in a bento. But you can’t do that with stuff like curry.

I changed two things here: the use of ハンバーグ and the use of シチュー系.

ハンバーグとかお弁当用に means “for stuff like hamburgs or bentos”. A hamburg is a popular Japanese dish comprised of basically a large flat meatball covered in a demi-glace type sauce, accompanied by a side salad, sometimes roasted potatoes, boiled broccoli and carrots, and often a side of rice. It’s the type of dish you can and must serve a lot of sides with, since the actual dish is basically just a meat patty. I translated this as “use it as a side or in a bento” because the word “hamburg” is confusing to English speakers without context. While “hamburg steak” is certainly a thing in English, it’s nowhere near culturally prevalent enough to be casually mentioned in conversation like Utena is doing here. It just sounds like hamburger, which would imply use of leftovers as a topping on the burger, which is simply not the case here. I removed the word hamburg entirely to avoid this confusion and keep the dialog clippy and natural.

The change to シチュー was less necessary and more of a personal pet peeve. In Japanese, the word シチュー (an english loanword from “stew”) only refers to ONE specific type of stew. This one:

However, if I translated it as “stew”, the audience will imagine something different to what Utena is thinking of. Probably something hearty and tomatoey. Something MORE different than say, a Japanese curry. In Japan, curry and cream stew are thought of as sibling dishes. They have basically the same ingredients, the only difference is the sauce it’s cooked in. So I opted to translate this as “stuff like curry” because if Utena had said カレー系 (curry-kei) instead, it would have meant pretty much exactly the same thing, because 系 (kei) means like “curry and similar foods to curry”. And I’d say in this context Japanese カレー (curry) is part of シチュー系 (stuff like japanese cream stew). This is all very nitpicky and doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things, but it matters to me!

And now for one of the most harrowing scenes in the whole show. The bento planning scene.

困ったな // I’m so lost.

どうしよう // What should I do?

名にも思い浮かばないや // My mind’s gone blank.

あと、どうしよう？ // What else can I do?

ね、なにがいいかな？ // What… what do you think?

わからないな // I have no idea.

I’ll leave the climax of the scene for you all to watch yourselves, I won’t spoil it here. And I don’t really want to explain the reasoning behind these translations because I think explaining it will cheapen the meaning somehow. But I do want you to know that a lot of thought went into this scene.

Thank you so much to @dontbe-lasanya for editing! And for sticking to this project for so long. We're almost at the end!

Follow the blog to keep updated with new releases. You can find all previously released episodes here:

Rose divider taken from this post.

[girlakito]

Pfp edited by me. Card cutout from @/sekaitransparents, colourpicked tfem flag from @/proseka-colourpicked-flags

-

Helloooo hi hi ^_^

I made this bcuz I wanted to snag the url and realized I could just reblog transfem akito stuff on here so =D

This is just gonna become an archive (of sorts) of every (or so) transfem akito post!!

(I’m gonna be reblogging more than just *explicitly* transfem akito stuff, due to the fact that I am desperate /lh)

Big fan of transfem akito *points at myself*

He/all prns ^^

-

Username inspired by @girltoya =]

-

*I* myself am not transfem; I have the flag in my pfp bcuz that's my headcanon for Akito ^_^

[blueskittlesart]

they collect interest on your student loans?????? asking as a horrified non american

not only do they collect interest on your student loans, depending on the type of loan you get some of them start accruing interest the second they're dispersed, meaning that if you don't start paying them off WHILE YOU ARE STILL IN SCHOOL they increase exponentially on you every month!

[sysig]

Growing closer than expected (Patreon)

[cinnamnt]

started watching trigun stampede because the devils called me in and i caved even though ive always thought it was the ugliest show ever and im extremely not partial to cgi anime and well. while i really do hate the redesigns and a lot of the scene to scene stuff looks weird and uncanny to me holy fucking hell the camera work in some of the action scenes is STUNNING im actually very very pleased

[lightningzbolt]

Sims 2 CC Mega Post

I say 'mega' but there really isn't a whole lot, I just didn't wanna split it up. Anyway, yeah, I mostly and normally and prefer to make Sims 4 stuff, but I made some Sims 2 stuff for me last year and this and I figured, may as well share it. Most of these require outside meshes so keep that in mind, Sims 2 CC downloading is a bloody nightmare.

Alex Skin

So I made a custom skin with tattoos for Alex as it seemed simple enough to do. Ain't gonna look perfect, but it looks fine from a distance, same resources I used for my Sims 4 versions, so I did vector the rose and skull. I based the skin off these default replacements. You don't NEED these, but they make it so that everyone matches. Yes that site requires an account and login, it's NSFW, it has body hair and works with nudity. Because obviously I play with mods like that. I made the skin look right for Fit/Thin/Fat but I didn't bother with any age but adult nor did I bother with female, because, idc. I THINK this is Alex's hair mesh, but idfk, I have so many that look like this.

It also works in Castaway Stories, as does all of these, because I used them in it too. :> That made Alex the palest guy on the island as all the skin tones in Castaway Stories were shifted to one tone darker per. I manually put my replacement skin in that too, but I didn't have the darkest, so no body hair to them.

Streaked Jack Hair

You need this mesh to make this work. I made this for myself as I didn't really like anything else I had for him, and this is Sims 2, so I went with earlier hair, and I liked how this mesh looked. Loosely based on like this hair. I didn't bother with other ages beyond adult again. I would have if I decided to de-age him and send him to university, but I did that with Otto instead.

Again also works in Castaway Stories, as I used it, again. It's easy to import Sim's faces from 2 into the stories games.

Awsten Tricolor Hair

Awsten Red Hair

You need this mesh to make this work. The bright green in that is also great and I used that for him at first. These are his eyes too, or rather his right eye. No screenshots of the red hair, but it's just a bright plain red in case you prefer it. I made this hair as it looked okay with the colors kind of being randomly spread around the mesh. This is his outfit btw. Again only works with adult as far as I'm aware.

BONER Shirt

R&R Shirt

NoRegRetsShirt

JALEXShirt

BMTHShirt1

BMTHShirt2

BMTHShirt3

BMTHShirt4

You need this mesh to make these work. All of these are Everyday fashion only by account of only the Everyday category having the option for separates and these are all tops. Don't ask me what pants I use, I have so many downloaded, but these work with all of them.

As it turns out I didn't take screenshots of all of these ingame, but maybe these help with that.

PTV Hoodie

DropDead Hoodie

You need this mesh for the PTV hoodie. I don't THINK the DD hoodie needs anything external, I compared it to a vanilla mesh and it seemed to line up. I don't know, I made it last December and I didn't log everything I did. Like the shirts above, Everyday category only as they are tops.

As a bonus, here's some misc Sims 2 screenshots to hit the image limit, including this stuff and with no context to my game. I know most people on modern computers play with The Ultimate Collection, but I installed it via discs, and a few ISOs as I didn't feel like spending $30+ for a few missing stuff packs on eBay. :) Pretty sure those ISOs are why my game is British and I have to always manually set the clock and a few other small things every time I load it. Not a big deal to me, just felt I'd mention for clarity. Castaway Stories is from an ISO too as have you SEEN those prices on eBay?! I have Sims 3 on Disc too, 100%, never made any CC for it tho. I love how Sims 2 was out at the peak of, ahem, mid to late 2000s culture so a lot of CC for it is of it's time in the best possible way. I kept this theme going with adding in custom music that ONLY existed from before 2009 (so 2008 is my cut-off date) and it's fun only hearing music of the era ingame. :) I DID make stuff for Sims 1 too years ago but I don't know how I even really did it so idk how to make more and also I don't care that much. I wanted to try playing with Alex and Jack in Sims 1 too but I kept getting fucked up files that didn't work or look right and I didn't know what I needed to do to make it right and I didn't wanna waste more time than I already did trying to make their faces. I do have semi-not ugly faces and outfits for a couple others tho.

Oh yeah, all this stuff is made in the Body Shop and GIMP for textures.

Whole SimFileShare Folder

[brown-little-robin]

ok I'm not subjecting my poor ceramics blog followers to 2 JoJo sculptures in a row, so for once I'm putting a ceramics post only on main. hi friends :] I am OBSESSED with the pose potential of sculpting a guy as a wolf and his soul as a wolf that's twice as big and fancier and has no sense of personal space

[reitziluz]

at the point in the vest project where i'm questioning why i'm doing this to myself

and i'm so fucking mad because i fucking

managed to sew on one of the d ring straps further down than it was supposed to go

they're spaced 2,5 cm apart and these two are 3 cm apart

which is almost little enough to not matter

however

it's enough to be noticeable

and it's on the front-most panel

like every single other fucking silly mistake because i keep accidentally starting each new round of work on the front panels

[keeps-ache]

collecting words for self-description yippee :D

[unproduciblesmackdown]

what in the. see this is why it's a good thing that multiplayer videogames especially are about having fun & being yourself like what do you mean disguised spies automatically had the speed of the disguise's class & everyone's like yea if i wasn't always going for the scout disguise i'd kill myself right now. i'd be like haha can't catch Me out supposedly the extra slow or extra fast class >:) i am a harmless engineer