#For some reason I always had trouble processing what that woman said so I just assumed she was like a preschool teacher??

[libertys-lovers]

I’m about to betray Dororo’s plan for peace, because the CUTENESS AGGRESSION this damn clip gives me is T O O MUCH-

I can’t help it man he’s genuinely such a sweetheart 🥺🥺🥺💖💕💗💖💞💘💘💕

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 41 all chapters

WARNINGS FOR THIS FIC: NSFW, SEXUAL CONTENT, VIOLENCE, YANDERE SH!T. Plz take care. I luv u all. 😘

41. reprieve

John is inscrutable as a rock, up until the moment you return to your room, and the door shuts behind you. You don’t get a moment to process what just happened in private, because he grabs you up in those strong arms and devours you. His relief is palpable–you feel it in his kisses, in the tremor that runs through his powerful frame, and the desperation with which he holds on to you. 

“That was—so fucking–sexy,” he tells you between pressing his mouth to yours. 

You cling to him, trying to think back. It all happened so fast. You realize a part of you has been wondering this whole time if your quick actions had in fact been a fuck up–there are rules upon rules and nuances upon nuances governing this strange and forbidden world–you are but a baby here. A mere cell. A gob of primordial ooze–and you have learned to fear a great deal that which you do not know. 

“I didn’t–get us–into more trouble?” you ask, stunted by voracious kisses and his big hands squeezing the breath from you. 

“No more than I did,” he assures you with his forehead pressed to yours. “I think…” He laughs, a rare and ragged sound, after your ordeal, “That we really are free to go.” 

“Is that what Winston said?” The hotelier and your intended had exchanged hushed and private words together on the roof, while you looked out over Manhattan, you hoped, for the last time for a while to come. 

It isn’t that you don’t trust John. But you have come to understand that Winston was right, when he said the subtler machinations of this shadowed world sometimes escape the blunt instrument that is your beloved John Wick.

“Yeah.”

You hug him then, holding him to you, your nose buried in the warmth of his hair behind his ear. You don’t want to, or mean to, but the magnitude of it all comes crashing down, and you begin to cry. Quietly, not for attention or even comfort, but because you just can’t hold it in anymore. You are so stealthy that some men might have ignored it, pretended it never happened, but not John. He is attuned to your every tell, and he kisses your cheek and holds you, knowing exactly what you need. 

After your tremors have subsided he sweeps back your hair to kiss your forehead, his soft lips such a soothing balm. “Do you want to stay one more night, just for fun?” he asks, and you offer a watery smile in return. The opulence of this place has been like a trip to faeryland for you, or an extended stay down the rabbit hole. Glittery and exotic and goddamn if you haven’t had your fill of it, maybe for a lifetime. 

“Honestly? I just want to go home.” 

He nods, understanding all too well. “Ok. Let’s pack up.” 

“Thank you.” You kiss him, a lingering taste, which leads to another, and then his hands are under your shirt, finding the warm hollow of your spine, and then lower, and he is walking you backwards until his weight is pressing you down into the cloud of a mattress, and you are all too willing to let this man have his way with you, to give him shelter in your body, in your arms. Maybe to everyone outside these walls he is A Killer, The Baba Yaga, The Boogeyman, a tool, a legend, a nightmare, a vengeful ghost…but to you, he will always be the man who loved you beyond reason, or measure.

And you, him. 

It takes you a while, to finally get to putting things in bags, but when you are finally settled into the passenger seat of the Rover with Dog in the back and John at the wheel, it is with the warm glow of a woman who is pleasantly surprised she is getting everything in life she’s ever really wanted.  

[thepastisalreadywritten]

By Allison Pearson

23 March 2024

OH, NO. No. A sense that something was not right, that our wonderful Princess was perhaps in more trouble than we’d been told, was confirmed at 6pm on Friday with an unprecedented TV address that dealt a blow to the nation’s solar plexus.

Some will simply have been stunned by the news, hardly able to comprehend it (what, cancer twice in the Royal family within two months? But she’s so young).

Others will have been in tears, as I was, watching our Princess of Wales, parchment-pale, clearly fragile yet valiantly composing herself to record a message in that crystal-clear voice, reassuring us that, although it had been “an incredibly tough couple of months for our entire family,” she would be OK, given enough time, space and privacy.

One friend who heard it on the car radio pulled over to the side of the road and sobbed. “I am just so upset,” she texted.

Another confessed she was relieved that the Waleses hadn’t separated – one of the wilder rumours that had been flying around since the Princess of Wales was pictured in that photoshopped, too-smiley Mother’s Day picture without her wedding rings.

“For the backbone of Britain, we need those two to be together and happily married,” said my friend. So true.

William ’n’ Kate, Kate ’n’ William, a couple for almost the whole of their adult lives, one unimaginable without the other.

Our monarchy is assured as long as there is them (the Waleses will celebrate their thirteenth wedding anniversary on 29th April, six days after little Louis turns six).

Suddenly, with this announcement, we are reminded that they are only human too, vulnerable at times, and Britain is badly shaken.

As she finished her statement, the ramifications started to sink in. Prince William has to deal with a father and a wife with cancer at the same time.

There are haunting echoes of Diana, too, another beloved princess whose personal challenges played out so publicly.

Poor William must feel like there are snipers in the garden taking aim at his family.

You could tell the children were uppermost in her mind, just as they are for any parent who is told they have cancer.

George, Charlotte and Louis, she spoke their names aloud, her darlings. You know, I think they were the real reason she steeled herself to do it.

To sit there on that wooden bench with spring bursting out behind her. Daffodils on a grassy bank, trees in blossom – a cruelly lovely backdrop for such sad tidings.

How simply dressed she was in a matelot jumper and jeans, stripped of finery and clothed, instead, in a becoming humility, her beauty thrown into sharp relief by the strain on her face.

A 42-year-old who is uniquely privileged yet now confronts every woman’s frightening brush with mortality.

Her statement was carefully timed to coincide with the start of the school Easter holidays so the children could be safe at home and wouldn’t have to endure whispers in class about Mummy’s illness.

(Sparing them the agonies of embarrassment young William and Harry suffered at boarding school when Charles and Diana were getting divorced.)

It’s not easy to protect your children when their grandfather is the King and their father his heir.

The Prince and Princess of Wales have always been concerned to make things as normal, as Middleton, as possible, for their young family; this is their toughest test yet.

Was there more than a hint of rebuke in the Princess’s carefully measured words for a media that really has shown neither patience nor “understanding” since she disappeared from public view to have abdominal surgery?

She could be forgiven for being furious. (Believe me, many of us are furious on her behalf.)

“William and I have been doing everything we can to process and manage this privately for the sake of our young family,” she said pointedly.

“As you can imagine, this has taken time. It has taken me time to recover from major surgery in order to start my treatment.

But, most importantly, it has taken us time to explain everything to George, Charlotte and Louis in a way that is appropriate for them, and to reassure them that I am going to be OK.”

“Back off,” she was saying in the politest possible way, ���leave me and my kids alone.”

Of course, she needed time to come to terms with the shattering blow of having a life-threatening illness and three children under 10. Every mother’s nightmare.

But time is one thing the vultures and conspiracy theorists were not prepared to give her.

In the vacuum Kensington Palace foolishly allowed to develop, the vilest rumours flourished.

Had she undergone cosmetic surgery? Wasn’t she just slacking? Why wasn’t William taking up more duties to relieve his sick father?

Had Catherine left William? Was it a lookalike pictured with William at a Windsor farm shop?

The gossip went global, causing universal hysteria.

Imagine feeling as sick and scared as the Princess must have done, yet being under pressure to show yourself in order to disprove the lies and appease the baying online mob. It’s barbaric.

I hope those who made such disgusting comments are burning with shame today now that we know the reason she hid away.

It wasn’t only ghouls with a conscience bypass who were trying to fill the gaps in the story.

Theories also came from people who adore the Royal family and were deeply worried for the absent Princess. We love and respect her so much.

Incredibly, in a poll earlier this month, the recuperating Princess still managed to emerge as the most popular royal, narrowly ahead of her husband.

Despite the slurry of accusations – not least the appalling claim in an early draft of a book by Omid Scobie (media snitch), that she was one of the two alleged “royal racists” who speculated on the baby’s likely skin colour – their figures are broadly unchanged since a previous poll in 2023.

Never Put a Foot Wrong is said so often it’s practically the definition of her.

Turns out there may be stresses and strains to appearing always in control, to aiming for perfection, that can eat away at a sensitive person not born to be royal.

Catherine says her job brings her joy; it must also have caused worry (such remorseless spotlight scrutiny).

We should reflect on that, I think. On what it’s reasonable to expect from one human being who expects so much of herself.

How the Princess came to win such a large place in British people’s hearts is better than any fairy tale.

Bullied at school, the quiet, sporty brunette was famous for her record-breaking high jump and tenacious character.

She had blossomed by the time she met William in their first term at St Andrew’s.

At 29, when they finally exchanged vows in Westminster Abbey, she was the first royal bride to have a university degree; the first to have lived with her husband before marriage; the first to be raised in a house that had a street number instead of a fancy name and a moat with swans.

As second in line to the throne, William was expected to pick his princess from a select group of well-bred young fillies.

Hot favourites included Davina Duckworth-Chad and one Isabella Amaryllis Charlotte Anstruther-Gough-Calthorpe.

Enough hyphens to make plain Catherine Middleton of Bucklebury, Berkshire, feel a little inadequate, you might think.

Except that, when a friend at university told Catherine how lucky she was to be going out with Prince William, a smiling Catherine replied: “He’s lucky to have me.”

The years have proved her right, haven’t they?

The death of Diana left William a damaged, stubborn and angry young man, acutely aware he was a prisoner of fate and railing at the media who pursued his mother.

Catherine has calmed him, rebuilding trust while providing the regular family life he had never known.

She has grown brilliantly into the role and the Waleses are a formidable team, lighting up any event they enter.

Now, it is his turn to soothe and calm her, although he must be deeply worried.

“Having William by my side is a great source of comfort and reassurance too, as is the love, support and kindness that has been shown by so many of you. It means so much to us both,” she said.

The King was right to salute his daughter-in-law for her courage. Imagine what it takes to first tell your small children you have cancer and then tell the whole world.

She did it so naturally, so sweetly, with such great empathy for others with that cruel disease that no one could possibly guess what it cost her. But it cost her.

She has told George, Charlotte and Louis that Mummy is well, and getting better, but the only way she will make a full recovery is if she’s left alone as she completes her treatment.

Will the vultures listen? Will they give her the time she needs or go back pecking for more?

Millions of us are praying for the return to health of our wonderful Princess of Wales. She has all our support and love.

A Britain without her is unthinkable, unbearable. Take your time, Princess, take your time.

💙🌹💙

[partystoragechest]

A story of romance, drama, and politics which neither Trevelyan nor Cullen wish to be in.

Canon divergent fic in which Josephine solves the matter of post-Wicked Hearts attention by inviting four noblewomen to compete for Cullen's affections. In this chapter, the Baroness dunks on the Chantry.

(Masterpost. Beginning. Previous entry. Next entry. Words: 2,287. Rating: most audiences. Warnings: talk of death, terminal illness, grief, and addiction withdrawal.)

Chapter 20: Utmost Sympathy

Trevelyan was not sure if she ought to be with the Ladies that night, but it was damn well better than being alone.

They had all gathered in the Baroness’ room, an elegant Orlesian-styled suite. Lady Montilyet certainly knew how to decorate to taste.

Besides the fine draperies and sloped chairs—for Orlesian ladies preferred to recline—there were many candleabras. Lit. Trevelyan kept her mind away from them.

Sat apart from the others, she took to a window-seat, and gazed at the stars behind the glass.

“Will you not join us?” the Baroness called, barely looking up from her embroidery.

Trevelyan privately said her farewell to the night sky, and capitulated.

The scene awaiting her could have been plucked from any noble parlour. Ladies Erridge and Samient draped themselves upon the chaise lounge, picking at a platter of dried fruits and cheese. The Baroness had claimed an armchair, in which she sewed a handkerchief, it seemed.

The reason for this gathering was, naturally, the ‘excitement’ that had occurred in the evening hours. Rumour had already spread that the Commander was unwell, and Trevelyan had ignored the majority of their chatter on the subject.

“But what if it were my pie?” Lady Erridge asked. “Maker, I feel so terribly horrible for it.”

Trevelyan found herself a seat. “It was not your crumble,” she said, “the illness was unrelated.”

“Interesting you should say that,” Lady Samient piped up, leaning toward Trevelyan. “I heard it was you who found him.”

Trevelyan stopped herself from rolling her eyes. Skyhold really ought to just get a crier, and streamline the whole news-spreading process.

“I did,” she admitted.

Lady Erridge gasped. “Truly? Well, was he all right?”

“He was… not himself.” Trevelyan decided some economics with the truth might be beneficial in this moment. “It was like a fever, sweating and weakness. Easily treated.”

The last part was less economics, and more straight-up lying.

“Are you certain it wasn’t my crumble?” Lady Erridge whined. “That does sound terribly like food poisoning.”

Trevelyan opened her mouth to correct her, but the Baroness spoke first:

“It was not food poisoning,” she said. “The Commander is suffering from lyrium withdrawal.”

Trevelyan, slowly so as not to raise suspicion, looked to the Baroness. The woman still sewed, eyes entirely on her needle and thread. She said it so casually, as if it were not the secret Trevelyan knew it to be. So how did she know it?

“Lyrium withdrawal?” Erridge repeated.

“Why do you sound so certain?” Samient asked, saving Trevelyan the trouble.

“Because”—Touledy put down her sewing, and met their gazes—“my brother died of the very same thing.”

Were Trevelyan less shocked, she might have said something appropriate. She might have expressed some sympathy, or condolence. But she just sat there, shocked.

And given Erridge was just as wordless, it fell to Samient to speak first: “I am sorry to hear it, Baroness. I had no idea how Ser Touledy passed.”

“That was deliberate,” the Baroness replied.

“I am sorry too, your Ladyship,” added Erridge. “You do not think—the Commander..?

“Worry not. My brother was always a frail child; the Commander seems a stronger constitution, and has the Inquisition’s resources at his disposal.”

This ought to have settled Lady Erridge as intended, but instead her gaze dipped to the floor. “Oh, Maker,” she mumbled, “I feel so terrible.”

“It was not your crumble, Lady Erridge,” said Samient.

“But it might yet be my fault. All our faults, really. There’s a war on, the Commander is dealing with such terrible sickness, and then here we are, come to make things worse!”

She said it, not Trevelyan. Yet it seemed the other Ladies at least empathised, for they both nodded along.

“You were sent an invitation, Lady Erridge,” Lady Samient reassured her, “one that I am sure Lady Montilyet would not have sent had she not considered the effect of our presence. He must be in decent health to even consider marrying him off in the first place.”

“Unless there was an inheritance involved,” Erridge commented.

“I hardly think that applies to the Commander.”

“Indeed,” said the Baroness, picking her sewing back up, “so let us instead focus on allowing him rest… and let us talk of pleasanter things.”

***

Trevelyan was glad she had attended the Ladies’ gathering, in the end. Hearing their sympathy for the Commander put her somewhat at ease. At least in that regard.

But something else disturbed her. For while the Ladies’ talk moved on, her mind had remained on Baroness Touledy’s brother.

When Lady Erridge made her desire for bed well-known with a yawn, and Lady Samient said they all ought to turn in, Trevelyan lingered. She made all appearance of leaving, naturally, but loitered at the back of the group, and allowed the other Ladies to exit first.

The Baroness, meanwhile, remained where she sat, snipping the end of a thread.

Trevelyan turned. “Your Ladyship, I just wished to say—I am sorry for your loss.”

“Lady Trevelyan,” Touledy replied over her embroidery frame, “do not be sorry about a Templar’s death for my sake.”

Trevelyan returned to her seat. “Perhaps not, but I am sorry for your brother’s death. When did he pass?”

“A decade ago, I suppose.”

“Oh. He left the Order?”

The Baroness glanced away for a moment, indecision on her face. Trevelyan thought she might have overstepped… but Touledy pushed her embroidery aside, and turned to focus on her.

“He did not leave, your Ladyship,” she said, “he was discharged.”

Ice ran down Trevelyan’s veins. “Discharged?”

“For insubordination.”

The ice soldified inside her chest, exerting a pressure from within. “May I ask… what happened?”

The Baroness smiled. “He was a silly boy. Fascinated with magic. He wanted to be as close to it as possible. And he believed the Chantry lie that being a Templar would allow him that.”

Menacing, to see such a lovely smile belie such a venomous voice. It felt like having a fine wine served to pair with the poison in your meal.

“My parents were reluctant to let him go,” Touledy explained, “but they had me to inherit the title, so let him go they did. The Chantry took him, all too gladly, and trained him. To kill.”

The more she spoke, the more her anger turned to regret.

“My poor, dear brother—he was shocked; disillusioned. He wanted to change things, and foolishly thought that he could. He was fortunate his noble name protected him. But it made him bolder, too. He disobeyed orders left and right.”

Trevelyan dreaded to think what those orders were.

“Eventually, he disobeyed one order too many. You will understand: he refused the killing blow in a Harrowing.”

The breath escaped Trevelyan’s lungs. “Did they—what happened?”

“The mage survived,” Touledy said, “she lives to this day, a skilled woman. But Ouen was protective of her back then, because she reminded him of me. He knew she needed only a minute more. He was right. And they condemned him to death for it.”

Trevelyan nodded, solemn. She could well believe they would discharge for that. The killing blow of a Harrowing was the ultimate test of commitment for Templars. To forgo one’s own humanity, and strike no matter what—that was the point. Right or not, his refusal would mean he was the worst thing a Templar could be: capable of independent thought.

She hated to even consider it, but she knew she was correct: they had given that duty to him as a test. He failed.

“Did they send him home?” Trevelyan asked.

Touledy nodded. “With not even a drop of lyrium. The Chantry controls its trade—how were we to secure a supply? We found what we could, but it wasn’t enough. He was always such a feeble boy…”

She tried a smile, that turned into a breath. Deep and shaky, it filled her lungs enough to continue:

“The stress sent my mother to her pyre. The grief sent Ouen to his. My father was already passed. I lost everything.”

No age was a good age to lose so many. But the Baroness must have been in her very early twenties, a decade ago. Too young.

“I am so sorry,” Trevelyan told her, because there was little else she could say. “Truly.”

Yet the Baroness laughed. “That was what the Revered Mother said, when she came to my door. So I asked her: where was her sympathy, when Ouen lay dying? Where was the Maker’s blessing then? Would you like to know what she told me?”

“I dread to think.”

“She said he had rejected the Will of the Maker, and thereby lost His Protection!” Baroness Touledy shook her head, grinning. That venom had returned. “Do you know what I said back?”

Trevelyan had one idea: “That she had rejected your will?”

“No. I told her to fuck off.”

Confirmation. That was why there was no Chantry in Val Misrenne. Because the Baroness Touledy herself had seen it destroyed. Not so hard to wrangle a mob together when it marches in honour of a well-liked man.

“I sent a letter to the Divine, daring her to return,” the Baroness recalled. “She called it the anger of grief, what I was doing, and said it would subside. But I am terribly good at holding a grudge, Lady Trevelyan. By the time she realised this, it was too late to go back on her word.”

“And they never tried to return?” Trevelyan asked.

“Once. But the Divine quickly realised she could not call an Exalted March on Val Misrenne, without losing favour in the court of Orlais. So, we came to an accord: I would tell no one of how Ouen truly died, and the Chantry would leave Val Misrenne alone.”

A curious bargain. “Why did you agree?”

“I don’t truly know. I suppose it was to spare myself the inconvenience of dealing with her. Who would I tell, that would believe me then? Until now, faith in the Chantry has been unshakable.”

True. How quickly Trevelyan had forgotten the world of ten years ago. She would have hardly believed then that this world she lived in now was possible. The Blight ended, the Circles collapsed, and the Chantry in shambles.

Then again, they now had a Darkspawn god-pretender, Venatori incursions, and the Red Templars, so not much had changed after all.

“But what of the Inquisition?” Trevelyan asked, as it became the next thing her mind fell upon. “It’s a Chantry organisation.”

The Baroness laughed. “Oh, so the Chantry likes to say. Now. They disavowed it entirely in its early days. No—the Inquisition does not exist because of the Chantry. It exists in spite of it.”

No one tell the Grand Clerics.

“And,” continued Touledy, “I was charmed by something the Commander said at the Winter Palace. I believed him to be of a like-mind.”

The Baroness had not wished to bother him, so surrounded was he by all those nobles. She instead lingered nearby, to at least hear the sweet words that spilled from his mouth, perhaps catch a few glances of that face. In the gilded ballroom, full of sparkling chandeliers and silk gowns, he had been the most enchanting thing to look at.

But it was only when someone finally asked him a martial question rather than a marital one, that the Baroness’ true interest had been piqued.

“They asked him whether the solution to all this ‘mess’,” she told Trevelyan, “was to create more Templars through conscription.”

Trevelyan wondered what the person asking thought Red Templars were, and whether they’d done any good.

“And the Commander replied: ‘Creating more Templars has never been the solution to anything.’”

Trevelyan chuckled, just as the Baroness had that night.

“I thought he might be just the man I was looking for,” Touledy said, with a soft smile that soon faded, “though that has not proven to be true.”

“I’m sorry,” replied Trevelyan.

“Do not be”—she patted Trevelyan’s forearm—“there are plenty out there.”

Trevelyan wondered if any were at the Herald’s Rest, perhaps. But that was not her business. Instead, she asked: “Your Ladyship, if you’re not supposed to tell anyone how Ouen passed, then..?”

Touledy shook her head. “The Divine is dead. I can say what I like. Besides, I highly suspect that will not leave this room.”

“You trust us?”

“You, naturally, understand these things. Lady Erridge is a sweet woman with no air of malice, and Lady Samient—while I still believe she hides something, she has started to crack. And what the cracks show is… pain.”

Like the pain Trevelyan had seen when they had read their letters. She was starting to believe that Lady Samient had perhaps lied about what was in hers.

“I wish she would tell us what troubles her,” said Trevelyan.

“Indeed.” The Baroness placed her cane firm on the ground, and pushed to standing. “But, the conversation has gotten away from us, I fear.”

Trevelyan took the cue, and stood. “Yes. Sorry for keeping you.”

“Not at all. It felt good to speak.” Touledy glanced away, and sighed. “I do hope the Commander succeeds. None more should die as my brother did.”

“I hope so too.”

The Baroness saw Trevelyan to the door. Though she held it open, Trevelyan paused. Instead of farewell, she offered an arm.

With a nod and a smile, and to her slight surprise, the Baroness accepted it. Trevelyan hugged her, as warm and tight as she could—while still maintaining politeness and dignity.

“Take care of yourself,” Touledy murmured into it, “the Commander will be all right, I’m sure.”

Trevelyan struggled to believe it.

[medusa-fem]

Personal post, vent/emotional

Explaining radical feminism to my partner has been an odd experience. He wants to learn, and he'll listen no matter how long I ramble, he has real questions and curiosity where I can tell he wants to see the world through my eyes, but I know it's not possible for a male to understand.

Last night we were having yet another conversation about sex. We had a 2 week break due to a health thing on my end, and finally tried again two nights ago. I was really anxious and I took a medication I have for when my anxiety gets serious. When I mentioned to him last night that I could not fully remember what all happened, he had this look on his face, and I realized I fucked up (Important to note I also have DID, and I believe it was a mix of my medication, and switching during sex.) He always tells me I don't ever have to have sex with him every time I mention being worried or anxious, but this time I explained to him how sex really is for me. I explained that no matter how much I love him, how much I enjoy it, every time it is mentally exhausting because I'm actively fighting back against memories and triggers. I feel like I'm spending all my energy just to not dissociate. I explained to him no matter how sweet he is that this obligation is something I need to unlearn after years of abuse by males, all the way from being brain washed by my grandfather to dating trans women who treated me like an evil person if I didn't want to sleep with them. As the conversation stretched on I began to talk to him about how I am learning about and support the idea of separatism, and knowing how bad some marriages go for heterosexual women, I have a lot of feelings to process right now because I'm consciously choosing to take a risk even though I know men are dangerous partners. He tries to be reassuring, but I think hearing how I feel shook him. He cannot understand such conflicts when his love for me holds no conceivable danger, whereas I'm explaining to him that I feel I could be at risk simply due to his upbringing in the patriarchy and all the ways he will never understand my reality as a female.

Today, kind of out of the blue, he said "you know if you ever want to see a woman again we can have that conversation, it seems like you miss it". I know it comes from a place of love for me, he doesn't want a threesome or anything like that, he legitimately would just rather open the relationship than lose me. The trouble is that that does mean he doesn't fully understand the conversation we had last night. I don't need sex to be happy, it's not that I'm craving a woman romantically in my life, it's that I'm so scared some day I might end up with a husband I don't recognize anymore. It's a lot to process, and it makes it clear he doesn't quite get how I'm feeling.

He's trying so hard to be supportive but I'm at a point where I think I need to sit him down and just have a talk about boundaries and limits. He's never done a thing wrong by my standards, but I think he's in a place where he just needs to know what I expect of him because he's just as scared as I am that I'm going to leave him because of all I'm learning. It's hard because I adore him, but I think the only way I'm going to feel safe dating a man is having a lot of hard conversations and making sure he understands that I will leave the first time any boundaries get crossed, even if it's a thing as common as hearing rape apologist rhetoric come from him. I want to stay, I love him so much I can't imagine my life without him, but if I truly want to build a life with a male in our society, I need to know that he comprehends feminism enough that I'd trust him to raise a child in my absence. If I want children some day with this man, then I need to know that if I were ever not around that he would be able to raise a daughter the way I would. I wish love didn't have to be scary, but this is my best friend, and I've not been given reason yet to doubt him beyond his sex, I just hope he never proves my trust wrong.

[shera-dnd]

I LIVE!

Thanks to the help of the wonderful @saint-lily I'm back in business!

And I'm returning in style with my first Madoka fic

Honestly I can't believe it took me this long to write something for this fandom. Like I've been into Madoka since I was 14... jfc that was so long ago

anyways watch as Hitomi fumbles her way into a lesbian awakening and in the process discover the magical world of vampires, angels, demons, and so much more

Things have gotten strange since Hitomi started college.

It was all normal at first. Just her and her best friends, Madoka and Sayaka, enjoying their new life at campus. But then things started to change.

Sayaka began to act more possessive and protective of Madoka, in a way she hadn’t since the girl had been bullied in middle school. Hitomi worried that someone was trying to hurt her.

That’s when she saw who exactly Sayaka was protecting their friend from.

Three strange girls who followed Madoka wherever she went.

The first of the three had long dark hair, and impossibly pale skin. She seemed to avoid sunlight whenever possible, and had an unsettling smile that made it feel like she always knew more than she was letting on.

The second girl was tall, blonde and… well, busty for the lack of a better descriptor. Though she dressed in bright and cheerful colors, and carried a welcoming smile, there was still something unsettling about her. Maybe it was the way that beneath that smile, she always seemed so gloomy and low energy, or maybe it was the fact that she always kept her neck covered.

Then there was the last girl. Loud, brash, and always reeking of smoke. Her hair was long and dyed a bright red, with her sides shaved. She was always either eating, drinking, or partaking in some sort of vice. Hitomi was certain this girl would die of a heart attack at any moment; but no matter how many excesses she indulged in, she always stayed as skinny and healthy as ever.

Each girl alone would have been a little weird but no reason for alarm, but all three of them for some reason seeming to obsess over Madoka at once? There had to be something going on there.

Hitomi had shared her worries with Sayaka - she had shown a similar worry after all - but was quickly dismissed.

“Let me handle this,” Sayaka had said, “you should stay away from those girls.”

Now, Hitomi had always prided herself in being a sensible and responsible young lady. She followed the rules and avoided trouble as much as possible. But how could she just sit around and do nothing while her childhood friend was being harassed by these strange women?

The worst part still was just how friendly Madoka was to all of them; how she was spending all of her free time with them instead of with Hitomi. This, of course, had nothing to do with why Hitomi suspected them, no, it was just proof that Madoka was too sweet and innocent, and couldn’t tell that those girls had ulterior motives.

That was it. Hitomi had to interfere. She couldn’t just leave Madoka alone, no matter what Sayaka said.

And that’s how she found herself stalking that pale girl across campus one night.

Homura was her name, from what Madoka had told her, and she lived in an apartment just outside of campus. How some random goth girl could afford something like that was beyond Hitomi’s deductive skills, but it definitely didn’t make her any less shady.

As she followed after her, Hitomi found her attention more and more drawn to the woman herself. There was an unsettling ethereal beauty to Homura. Her every movement was both graceful and measured, with not a single motion or breath wasted. Her long, flowing, dark hair practically glowed in the moonlight as it flowed down her back like a pitch black waterfall.

And her smell.

Oh, Homura smelled like lilies!

Wait! When did she get close enough to smell her? 

Hitomi stumbled backwards and shook her head. She was in a dark alley now, just her and Homura. At some point, in her trance, she had stopped stalking Homura and had begun to follow behind her instead.

Her abrupt motion must have warned her of her presence, because Homura giggled and turned around.

The way her hair whipped in the air, glittering white light reflected off black strands, it was almost enough to distract Hitomi once again. But, as mesmerizing purple eyes met hers, she knew she had to steel herself and focus.

“You know,” Homura commented as casually as one would bring up the weather, “it’s impolite to follow people like that.”

“You…” Hitomi tried to speak, but the way Homura’s eyes studied her made her falter.

“What is it, little mouse?” she teased, stepping closer to Hitomi.

“Y-You…” she tried again, but that only got Homura to step even closer, now looming over her.

She smiled the toothy smile of a predator ready to pounce on its prey. All at once, Hitomi’s suspicions were confirmed.

“You’re preying on Madoka!” She accused, shoving Homura away.

Homura only chuckled. “Oh, is that why you’re here? You’ve come to save poor Madoka?”

“She’s my friend!” Hitomi shouted, trying to seem more confident than she felt, “it’s my job to protect her!”

“You sound a lot like that little blue angel,” Homura mocked. Blue angel? Did she mean Sayaka? “So, I’ll tell you what I told her. I care about Madoka, and she doesn’t need anyone else’s protection.”

“No! I don’t believe you!” Hitomi challenged, even as she stepped away from Homura, “I know what you are!”

It was like something shifted inside Homura. Her expression hadn’t changed at all, and yet it felt like the amusement in her eyes had been replaced with unadulterated malice.

“Is that so?” Homura closed the distance between them in a single lunge, backing Hitomi against a wall.

Hitomi squeaked and screwed her eyes shut.

“Say it!” Homura commanded.

“Y-You are…”

Steel yourself. You have to do this, Hitomi, for Madoka. She braced against the wall behind her, opened her eyes, and shouted as loud as she could.

“A lesbian!”

Homura froze in place at the accusation, something Hitomi would have taken as a victory were it not for the position she was currently in.

Homura was hunched close to Hitomi, mouth barely an inch away from her neck. Her white teeth shone in the night, with two in particular, long and sharp like needles, threatening to pierce her skin.

Oh no.

Homura hissed and stepped away, her fangs shrinking back into her mouth. “Really!?”

“You’re a vampire!?” Hitomi yelled.

“You’re a homophobe!” Homura yelled back.

That caught her off guard. “N-No, I’m not.”

“You thought I was preying on Madoka just because I’m into women,” Homura accused.

“B-But you are,” Hitomi tried to argue, “you’re just entrancing her with your vampire powers!”

That's it! That’s why Hitomi couldn’t take her eyes away from her, why her mere presence seemed to entrance her, why she felt so disappointed that Homura hadn’t sunk her teeth into her neck and made her scream.

“Is that what you think I do?” Homura asked with a twinge of disgust, but before Hitomi could answer she turned away. “Your repression has ruined my appetite. Goodbye, little mouse .”

And just like that, she walked away into the night, leaving Hitomi frozen behind her.

What had just happened?

Was Homura… hurt?

Why did she feel guilty?

How was she the villain now?

And why the heck did she still want Homura to bite her!?

[kleoyeager78]

10 things I hate about you | 10

Hitch was always there for me now that I realize it.

I would tell her everything about my home life and she would always tell me that one day we were going to run away from our toxic families and live happy lives together.

I loved Hitch; she was my everything. She would always be there for me through everything.

She’s the one that made life possible.

I remember how I met Hitch.

It was my first day of kindergarten and I sat next to Eren of course.

I waved at him only to be met by a frown.

“Is something wrong?” I asked him with a curious face.

“Leave me alone.” He said and continued back to waiting for the teacher.

I just frowned and did the same.

The teacher finally walked in 2 minutes later. “Hello everyone I’m Mrs. Reiss” she said.

“Mommy,” the girl sitting next to Eren called.

The woman flashed the girl a smile before shushing her and finishing her sentence. “I’m going to be your teacher this year!”

Everyone said hello and the teacher talked about our activities for the day. “Today we are going to be doing a color by number activity”

The class cheered and got out their crayons. While the teacher passed out the coloring papers.

In the middle of coloring I noticed Eren get mad and then when I fully looked over to him and seen his crayon had broken.

I quickly got the same color crayon out of my crayon box and handed it to him.

This made him even madder so he threw my crayon on the floor. “I don’t need your stupid help” he whispered yelled at me.

I began to get teary eyed because I was very sensitive. But still I went to pick up my crayon so I wouldn’t get in trouble.

I crawled under the desk to get the crayon.

When I got the crayon I went back to my seat but then the scene in front of me broke my heart.

“Oh you can use my crayon Eren” a girl with long blonde hair said to him.

“Thanks Historia” He smiled at the girl and took the crayon.

I don’t know why but it hurt so bad. Was I not pretty enough for him to use my crayon?

I went back to doing my work and when I was finished I raised my hand for the teacher to pick up my work and then put my head down.

I stayed like that until lunch.

“Line up everyone, it's lunch time!” The teacher called and we did just that grabbing our lunchboxes in the process.

Since it was the first day of school the teacher let us eat outside on the benches so that when we were done eating we could just go play.

I sat at an empty bench because I didn’t want to get picked on.

As I was eating, a girl sat next to me. “Hi!” She basically screamed in my ear, making me jump.

“Hello” I said, kinda low compared to her.

“My name is Hitch, what's yours?”

“Y/n”

“That’s a cool name I’ve never met anyone with it.” she gave me a smile and I noticed she had some missing teeth which made me giggle.

“Maybe because we just started school”

“Huh? Oh yeah that’s true I guess the only people I know are my ma and pa”

I just giggle more. Her face was so full of energy and mines was still sad from the scene I saw earlier.

“So y/n how about me and you become besties now” Hitch said with an even bigger smile making me see just how many teeth she lost.

“Sure!” I said, matching her grin. It was her turn to laugh at me because she saw how many teeth I was missing.

“Hey y/n! Do you wanna see who can go higher on the swings when we’re done?”

“Heck yeah!”

“Alrighty”

After that me and Hitch finished our food and headed to the swings.

That whole day at recess was a blast. I forgot all about my encounter with Eren.

But little did I know that day would cause so much heartbreak in the future.

That day is the day I let Hitch become my new obsession. I let her become something I couldn’t live without because as soon as she popped up the clouds that darken the sky seemed to fade. But I would later find out that I was just getting prepared for the storm as soon as I let her in my life

A/n ~ back to the short chapters🥲 sorry but I just thought this was necessary for some reason.

[softquietsteadylove]

Hello! Can you continue the Thenamesh Actors AU where they are trying to do a kiss scene, but they mess it up every time and end up laughing, but then off set, they manage to do it?

Thena leaned in, her eyes fluttering closed, her heart picking up. She could smell his cologne and some coffee on his breath. But he had also chewed some gum. She had seen him doing it, too; it was sweet he was nervous about it.

Gil felt Thena's breath hit his lips and gulped.

Thena and Gil both pulled away, giggling like kids in a play.

"Cut!"

"Sorry, I'm sorry," Thena apologised immediately for her lack of professionalism. She ran a hand through her mussed hair; she had never had trouble with a kiss scene like this before.

"N-No, it's my fault," Gilgamesh volunteered (chivalrous as always).

"Do you two need an intimacy coordinator for this or-"

"Just," Thena cleared her throat, trying not to play with her hair as her nerves built up, "just give us a few minutes?"

"That's a take 5!"

The crew started shutting down and moving equipment as needed. The director was already turning attention to other things that needed to get done that day.

Thena sighed as she and Gil both made their way off the soundstage. "Sorry, I don't know why I can't seem to focus."

"Well, I'm not being much help," Gil offered in apology with a smile. "I think--I don't know, I guess I haven't gone over it as much as I wanted to."

"Y-Yes, that's it!" Thena eagerly jumped onto the reason - excuse - Gil provided. "I have a few notes on it, but we didn't get these sides that long ago."

"Exactly," Gil laughed along, "the re-writes aren't helping either."

"Come and look at them with me?" Thena asked with a small smile. "I wouldn't hate having your opinion on what they're thinking in this scene."

"Yeah, yeah--same," Gil rushed, trotting beside her away from the commotion of the set. He pulled his script out of his back pocket (folded and rumpled). "I was thinking about, uh, I guess what he might be thinking in terms of...this is the woman he loves, right?"

"Right," Thena nodded, opening up her own sides as well.

"Not that he's necessarily been open to it before," Gil shrugged, leaning against the wall as he went through his process. "I kind of think maybe they've always been a little flirty. But I don't know, what do you think?"

"No, I agree," she mused as she flipped to the appropriate page. "They've worked kind of around each other for so long, and I imagine there's always been a kind of tension surrounding them. The film is just when we see it really coming to a head."

"Exactly," Gil nodded eagerly. "They're mob bosses, for fuck's sake. There's no way they haven't thought of, well..."

Thena smiled at how sheepish he became about it, when she had written on her own pages 'dying to fuck each other' in the margins. Not that it was for anyone else to see. "I think...they just need the right push."

"Right," Gil said more seriously, reading over their scene again. It was rather dramatic seeming on the page, but that just meant that their performance would be what grounded it in reality. "Their enemies are starting to catch onto their weaknesses."

"It's important that she be the one who has to bargain for him," Thena pointed out, tapping the page, "not just from a woman's perspective, but also because it illustrates that she's willing to make sacrifices for him."

"As opposed to him being the only one wanting her," Gil concurred. He flipped the page, leading to the big kiss. "The confession is a bit..."

"I thought so too," Thena murmured, looking at where she had noted and scribbled and crossed out liberally. "I don't know if it's really...letting them speak."

Gil just nodded. "I don't think they'd need this long-ass paragraph speech."

"No."

"They've known each other for so long, now," he narrated, even tucking his pages away as he crossed his arms in thought. "And they've been loving each other quietly."

"There's this understanding between them that's," Thena also tucked her pages away, pushing her hair out of her face, "obvious."

"Love doesn't always need these big speeches," Gil shook his head, leaning off the wall and closer. "He knows she knows...even if she won't admit it."

"That unwillingness to admit it is fundamental to her," Thena agreed, chewing her lip as she thought. "She's so uptight, so controlling-"

"That's why she has him," Gil suggested a little more lightly. "I think that's what this kiss is saying."

"Saying?" Thena peeked up at him, realising he was a lot closer than before.

"It's a way for him to say that he loves her, and that he's there to be everything she needs, as well as everything she isn't."

"So she can say," Thena's eyes drifted down to his lips for just a split second, "that she knows he's there, and that she knows that she wants him there in spite of herself. Despite all her efforts, he's already in her heart."

"Is it worth the risk?"

"Yes."

Thena's eyes fluttered closed as Gil tipped her head up to him, hands on her cheeks, fingers dipped into her hair. She leaned into the kiss, pressing her lips to his the way a hand might cling to another in the dark. Her hand came up to his wrist just to rest on it, to cling to his sleeve as if to ask him to stay there a little longer.

Gil kept his head close, moving a stray wisp of blonde out of his way so he could look at her unobstructed.

Thena licked her lips - completely subconsciously - as they pulled away. That was it--that was exactly what they needed to happen when they were rolling! It was...it was... "good."

Gil blinked as her voice kind of squeaked out. His heart, if it was already beating faster than normal, flipped around inside his chest and started beating tenfold. "Y-Yeah, that was--was it-"

"Yes, it was-"

They both broke into laughter, soft and gentle in the little corner of the studio they had found. Thena twisted some of her hair over her shoulder, smiling up at him in their little bubble of solace. "Thanks for working on the scene with me."

Gil looked surprised, but he had on a smile that she recognised as the smile he wore specifically in character. It was a little cocky looking, a little sexy, but still undeniably Gilgamesh. "Like it's a chore to kiss the most beautiful woman on the planet?"

Thena rolled her eyes at him, also slipping back into her character in favour of ducking her head down in a blush. "Thinks he's so charming."

"Ready?" he asked, tipping his head in the direction of the set moving back to one.

Thena flipped her hair over her shoulder, taking the lead on the way back, "just try to keep up."

[annieray]

I TRUST YOU

DESPITE POPULAR  belief, I was quite scared. I had only played a game once since I've been here and in basically all of those days, I've been asleep so I also knew nothing.

Kuina did explained to me what the beach was and about Hatter and his rules and what the beach is for and something about the militants.

He even gave a speech, but I have no idea what he said cause I wasn't really paying attention.

To sum it up, I was basically playing for someone else's ticket to leave this place.

And there was at least a couple of hundred people there.

So either everyone died here or-

"I guess we're here," Kuina interrupted.

She stared out the window on her right, and I leaned over trying to get a better view.

We were at a high school. It was mid size and broken down. the signs were missing a few letters so the entrance said 'Midl Chol'

"Oh," I didn't have anything to say but I felt like I needed to say something.

Kuina opened the car (the beach had working cars, no idea how though) door and got out.

I awkwardly scoot to her side and get out as well. I look at some of the other people getting out of the cars.

There were 5 cars and two people in each car.

"Oh no," Kuina murmured, she had a frown on her face. I peaked around her to see what she was looking at, ( I wish I had minded my own business).

She was staring at a guy dressed in black with lots of piercings, he also had his hair pulled back into a bun.

He was ugly.

Very ugly

The most noticeable thing about him though, was that he carried a gun.

"All of you out of my way!" He yells.

He shoves a elderly woman out of the way, in her shock, she drops her cane and tumbles backward. A middle aged man and lady rushes forwards and grabs her before she falls.

Ugly curses and screamed at us to get a move on it, or else he'll kill us himself. That immediately makes everyone else start moving. Kuina and I stay though.

"Um, Kuina, who is that guy?" I figured she knew who he was, he seems like the type to want to make himself known to everybody.

"His names, Niragi, he's a militant and you do not want to communicate with him. He's dangerous and insane," Kuina states.

Oh dear.

"Let's go head inside, the quicker we start the quicker we can finish this." Kuina smiles.

I like how confident she is, it eases my worries. Despite literally just meeting her, I already like her.

We enter the school and I almost fall out from the smell. It doesn't smell awful, but it smells like must, dust and animal poop.

The appearance was a little better. There was a lot of graffiti, lots of dirt and leaves, and red paint that's been chipped off. There was a short bookshelf in the middle of the room and a small bench on the left side.

I take one of the phones off the bookshelf, and the phone turns on

FACE RECOGNITION IN PROCESS PLEASE WAIT A MOMENT

I survey around the room, inspecting each person. There are two people (presumably siblings, I mean they nearly look identical) chatting to my right I catch some of their conversation, "I hope this is a spade game, or we get to kill,"  The brother 'whispers' (though, he was still loud. I'm 99 percent sure that everyone heard him).

The sister smiles, (and not the good kind, the kind that says 'I'm gonna cause trouble' or 'I like terrorizing innocent people') "It would be a shame if we can't harm anyone. The game wouldn't be any fun." She crosses her huge arms (she was ripped)

I really hope that they aren't allowed to kill anyone, for the sake of myself, everyone else and their disappointment.

The middle aged man and woman were the farthest from everyone. They stood opposite to the door, holding hands and cuddling, whispering to each other.

I frown, I hope that they survives and manages to leave this place together.

The old woman sits on the bench holding onto her cane and looking down. She might be saying a prayer I know a lot of older people do that for some reason. Okano's grandma did, every time I walked into the family room, she would always have her head down. Even then, she always knew that I was present and who I was.

I shake away the thoughts and focus on someone else, There was a guy sitting beside the old lady reading one of the books. (That was it, there was nothing special to point out about him other than the fact that he's balding badly).

Lastly, there was a lady surveying everyone like I was except she looked condescending. Her eyes were sharp and her lips here in a tight line, like she'd already managed to dislike everyone.

She sharply turn her head and stares straight at me, I stare at her back with wide eyes, even her stare was sharp and teacher like. I shiver a bit and she smirks and looks away. She kind of reminds me of Chishiya except he doesn't scare me.

Difficulty: 

Five of Clubs

The sibling groan.

I ponder, another five. The last game was fairly easy, (although we didn't do anything) so this game should be easy too.

I smile a little, We should be able to beat this.

The phone dings, drawing everyone's attention.

GAME NAME:

Capture the Flag

DIFFICULTY:

5 of Clubs

RULES:

There are 5 people on two teams. Each team has to protect their flag. You will be given a team in 30 seconds

CLEAR CONDITIONS:

You will be give weapons and a one minute peace period.

Game is over if one team captures the flag

Game is over if no team captures the flag

Game is over if all player on one team dies

TIME LIMIT:

45 Minutes

I look at Kuina, worry filling me. What if we're on different teams? I don't want to go against Kuina.

She smile and pat my head assuredly, but her eyes betray her. I lean into her embrace.

Ding

All of our phones go off simultaneously, I see the couple nervously take out their phones.

I look at my phone and there is a blue dot in the middle of the sceren. Kuina peaks at my phone and her faces lights up.

I grin, Kuina and I didn't have to go against each other!

Others weren't so lucky though

"N- no, no, no, I- I can't.." Middle aged woman yelled.

Middle aged man holds her into his arms, silently weeping.

She laid her head on his shoulder and cried.

I looked away, the guilt eating at me. I know I have no control over this but I just can't help but feel bad, the couple were on different teams and they knew that one of them were going to leave without the other. I also felt guilty for being relived that Kuina and I wasn't put in that situation and someone else was.

"C'mon, let's head to our room," Kuina places her hand on me, and guides me past the office and into the dark hallway. I walk a little closer toward Kuina, it was eerie and way too quiet. They only sounds you could hear is steps being taken, the couple sniffing and Niragi yelling at someone.

The farther we walked from the entrance, the more my stomach churned from the pungent smell of animal poop.

"Eww, how gross," Kuina frowned and fake gagged.

I giggle at her actions.

Blue lights come in view, lighting up the place a little bit. I see a room with our flag in the middle. There is another room across with a table full of weapons. We walk in and surprisingly, the room wasn't in too bad of a condition. I mean there was debris here and there but the smell of poop wasn't as strong.

There were only an assortment of knives on the table, no guns. I grab three knives, two that I can easily hid in my clothes and one to carry out. Kuina gets nothing.

I frown, "You're not going to grab anything?" That seems like a death wish.

"I've observed everyone here and no one really seemed like they were to much of a threat," Kuina explain, "I can fight them without weapons."

My eyebrow raises, that's interesting, "Oh."

30 SECONDS REMAINING

I hear footsteps approaching and see the ugly guy from earlier, Niragi.

He doesn't even glance at the weapon before ambled over to me, "So you're the other kid," My heart speeds up, he is towering over me very close to my face. "Guess I was meant to test you," He smirks.

I stare at him with big, admittedly, frightened eyes. Kuina's back comes into view, "You won't be doing anything to her Niragi. I know how your tests are." Kuina warned. I couldn't see her face, but by the tone of her voice I can tell she was not messing.

Niragi, on the other hand scowled and tightened his grip on his gun, "Remember who holds the power. The rules said nothing about killing your own teammate." He turns and walk away.

"Listen here," He starts, "I am going to be the leader here and if you don't like that then you can go die. "You", he points his gun at balding guy, "her", he points his gun at me, "And myself will go capture the flag. The others will protect it." If I was 2 shades lighter, I swear I would've paled.

15 SECONDS REMAINING

"Um, w-what?" I did not want to be with this guy nor did I want to be in battle. I mindlessly shrink further behind Kuina and she shifts protectively.

"Niragi, we are a team, you can't just decide what happens, plus she's a child, how is she going to fight against grown adults." Kuina protests.

Ugly, (he doesn't deserves to be called by his name), points his gun at Kuina, "You of all people should know that I don't bluff."

10 SECONDS REMAING

My eyes widen, I really appreciate Kuina for sticking up for me, but I can't let her die because of me. I grab her arm, "Hey, I'll be fine." I try my best to sound unafraid, although I don't think it worked.

She looks at me sadly, "You shouldn't have to go fight, It's not right!" She exasperated.

"He's going to kill you if you don't let me go," I look at her with the best puppy eyes I can muster through my fear, "I don't want you dying because of me," at that her face softens, she sighs and pats my head, "Okay, but be careful aright, I don't want you dying either."

5 SECONDS REMAINING

"Let's get a move on it!" Niragi yells from the door.

I wave at Kuina and scurried over by him and balding guy.

We enter the hallway and it was more freakier then last time. An robotic voice interrupts us,

Game Begin

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

I promise I did not intend for this to take three weeks and I really have no excuses but its here now, right? hehe

[gerinurse]

Week 1…..

In the past when I track calorie intake I’ve had trouble. I’ve been doing allot of reading and one of the reasons I think I had so many issues is that I have always had so few calories to consume that I am always over. I become dejected constantly seeing myself fail and quit. I’ve also found in my reading that most of the tracking programs calculate caloric intake as far lower than is recommended. So I read enough to find out what my actual recommended caloric intake should be and set that as my number in the tracking app. I’ve been faithfully tracking every bite and I’m always under my calories. I know that typically the first week there is allot of water weight loss but I haven’t been perfect and I still ate takeout twice this week. I weighed myself this morning and I’m down 6.4lbs. I’ve never had a first week loss like that ever.

I also said I would do some basic gentle stretching which I haven’t been great about. I’m going to have to do some this week as I spent an entire day doing yard work and my poor body feels I went 10 rounds in a boxing ring. I realized just how far I have slid backward and I don’t like it. My mobility is horrible for a 53yr old woman. I actually move more like I’m 80 🥲.

I’ve also realized with the reading I’ve done that I am not recovered from my ED. That even though I’m not in a binge starve cycle anymore and I don’t weigh 99lbs, I am very much still actively using ED behaviours by binging and then punishing myself by restricting certain foods for days or weeks. I also cut foods out as I consider them “unhealthy” or “unsafe” for me to consume. This has to stop as I’ve always said I am one thought away from a full blown anorexic episode.

So what are my next steps?

1. Continue tracking my food daily

2. Start that stretching

3. Keep reading and learning about my behaviours and my disease processes.

4. Give consideration to starting a journal about my thoughts each day, pain levels, weather notes, to see how things affect pain, autoimmune disorders and headaches.

5. Above all else be kind to myself.

[sharonisthebettercarter]

hayley atwell is *really* somethin' else

so... something just hit me that's actually pretty fucking disturbing, and it's one of those things that, y'know, you feel is there, know in the back of your mind somewhere as something that is just kinda true by default, but once you become fully aware and CONSCIOUS of it

it definitely can't go away

the woman, that i just referred in this title. many people are aware of what she did, if not, here's a detailed list:

(1) Lucky Number 13 on Tumblr

if you don't feel like following the link, basically it boils down to hayley manipulating and encouraging her fans to promote hatred, bullying, harassment, all in peggy's name to help no one but herself, and harm a good chunk of the fandom as well as emily vancamp

HOWEVER, that's a bit beside the point right now.

it's not hard to come across diehards. stans, fanbois, whatever you wanna call them... but there's a frequent pattern with the way hers *specifically* are

the speech patterns are simple, there are spelling errors, certain things about defenses for her that are RIFE with YOUTH, that tell you outright, 'the person who made this is NOT a mature adult'

and you could argue, sure it might be trolls, just people who don't care about spelling (obviously, i'm not too careful with punctuation and shit), or even just adults who never fucking matured (that is ALWAYS an option!)

but the reality is that a majority of her fans, back then to now... were young girls to preteens to teens, and some boys who had crushes

that much is understandable, and some people who are adults currently were just never made aware of what she was doing

but it also makes you realize that these young fans are the most prone, most easily influenced, and most likely to not recognize the difference between reality and fiction, and jump at the chance of telling someone to hurt themselves if hayley outright gives the go ahead, which she did *amazingly* through her actions

and actions definitely spoke much louder than any words or reason in this scenario

even the ways in which other fans are attacked, it's not by someone who truly understands what they are doing. and no one who is of sane and sound mind that isn't a *child* pulls that kinda crap

so what does this mean?

it means we had, have, a fully grown adult woman, now pushing 40, who sat there, encouraged bullying, hatred, harassment, and worse.

among children...

and it hit me... and it fucking HURTS, because i already thought this lady was a monster, but this just makes it all so much fucking worse

because KIDS aren't gonna realize the harm they can end up doing, they're just following what someone they idealized told them to do, or signaled was 'okay' or even 'right'. but this fully, adult grown woman, outright LIED to, manipulated, and USED CHILDREN to cause HARM

and it reminds me a whole lot of some of the shit stormfront said on 'the boys'

'anger sells'

'you don't need 50 million people to love you, you need 5 million people fucking pissed'

'you have fans, i have soldiers'

how exactly is this supposed to be processed, because i'll be honest, i'm having a bit of trouble

i want to cry, i want to throw up, i want to scream because this is DISGUSTING, and it was already bad before but i still had some hope that *maybe* she would one day get the fuck over herself, apologize to emily and fans, and things would get just a little itty bit better

because i'm a fucking fool who always *wants* to HOPE

i don't think this woman has a moral compass

if she was willing to use KIDS as a means to an end and cause REAL harm... she deserves to be called out on it, and i won't stoop to her level and promote bullying and harm, but more people do need to know about what she did and stop supporting her

we all deserved a better peggy carter, or at LEAST one that wasn't willing to manipulate CHILDREN to cause so much HARM, and never utter a fucking word on the damage they did, that SHE caused.

[cruelsister-moved2]

something I want to thank you for is when some months ago you posted something like we don't need to analyze our lack of attraction towards men and this ask was prompted by your recent post as well. Last year emotionally was the worst for me, I was really depressed. All because I was so hang up on trying to figure out if I liked men, I had always this "what if" in my mind. So I had a coworker who asked me out and I said yes, we exchanged numbers and everything. But then the realization that the point of this was to have like frequent conversation going on and then maybe it could lead to being physical sent me into a spiral, literally lost my appetite trouble sleeping crying randomly etc kinda extreme reaction. I sent him a message saying we won't meet anymore. I always had this reaction starting in high school whenever a guy showed interest on me, hypothetical scenario of being in a relationship with a man made me feel sick. But I always excused those feelings with "maybe he's not the right person, I will meet a guy I'm comfortably with". But anyways, all of that has been dealt with. It was so eye opening that I don't need to understand my lack of attraction to men and just focus on what makes me happy and that is not being with men. The other side of this is feeling I wasn't a lesbian because I felt nothing seeing feminine women. But when I saw a butch or masc women I knew I was like instant "heart eyes"!!. So that's the feeling I'm going to hold on to now. <3<3<3

oh wow thank u anon this breaks my heart to know u went through smth like this but i'm also so happy you're in a better place now! it's so frustrating bc dating men is really just the default setting for women and ppl dont know how to question that... it's also so true when ur not really into fem women it becomes harder bc you feel like it has to be comparative & so even if ur aware that dating men isn't right for u, u feel like u Have to because you don't find anything else more attractive. literally like dating men is a PE class and u need a note from the lesbian council to get out of it....

That's one reason why im so keen to insist that regardless of sexuality, you think abt dating men in its own right & decide if you actually want that. There are so many people for whom discovering their attraction to women is a significant years-long process, and most of them spend that time in unnecessary confusion and distress bc they're also trying to hyper-analyse their discomfort towards men at the same time. But also honestly I think there are fully heterosexual women who are also just dating men.. for the sake of it and getting no joy from it & potentially getting a lot of pain too. I almost feel worst for those ppl, bc the way out for a lot of us is we start dating women and realise from how different it is that dating men wasn't right for us. but every time a straight woman is like "I wish I was a lesbian" they usually mean "I wish I was Allowed to not date men".

it also comes down to the essentialisation of labels, so we feel like you intrinsically Are something on the inside and that messes with how we look at attraction, esp as women. it's actually so much less complicated when you just think about what you want from life, and if your experiences end up fitting into a pattern you can apply a label to it. like i think there's also a lot of bi women, and a lot of women who constantly torture themselves and flip btwn the labels lesbian and bi, because they KNOW with certainty that they like women, but they can't figure out if their tangle of messy, traumatised, ingrained feelings towards men constitute Desire or not & it breaks my heart because................ it literally doesn't matter. you are literally free to do whatever you want. it does not matter what exactly u feel towards men, let alone WHY, it just matters what u want to do n who u want to be with.

[gnattyplayssims]

1960 Pt2 - Field Trip

"Alright everyone hurry up and find a buddy. And remember this is a museam not a playground so inside voices and no running."

Ava excitedly turned toward the other kids. "Who wants to be my buddy?"

Everyone ignored her as they started pairing off without her.

"Susana I'll let you be my buddy if you promise not to be annoying."

"Oh...thanks Nancy but Riley, Elliot, Min and I already paired up." Elliott and Min brushed past ignoring her and Nancy scowled,

"Ugh whatever, your loss. I wouldn't want to hang with you losers anyway."

"Why do you have to be so mean, Nancy."

"It's not mean if it's truth. They are losers."

"Well you don't have to say it out loud."

"Alright kids, if you don't have a buddy you're with me."

Nancy crossed her arms, "Buddy with me or hang with the lame teacher."

"Ok buddies!"

The teacher led all the kids inside and soon there was a bustle of conversation and children's laughter as they poked around the exhibits. "Ugh this is so boring. My dad took me here when I was a toddler. There's way cooler stuff upstairs."

"That sign says we're not allowed."

Look at this one, Nancy, isn't she beautiful?" Ava gazed up at the beautiful woman, not noticing that Nancy had already moved on. There was a fierceness in the woman's stone eyes, an elegance in the way she held herself. Ava wasn't sure why, but she wanted to be just like her.

"Hey Alivia, what are you looking at?"

"Oh hi Nancy."

"Don't give me that look, it was just a question. Your hair looks nice like that."

"Ava, where's your buddy?"

"Oh right over there."

"Okay stay together please."

"Hey we're supposed to stick together."

Nancy put her hands on her hips and took on a mocking tone "Do you always do what the adults say?"

"Do you always wear pigtails like a toddler?" Ava mocked back.

Nancy glared at her "My mother did my hair like this!"

"Does she hold your hand on the toilet too?"

For a moment Nancy just glared at Ava and then suddenly burst out laughing. "Oh my Watcher 'on the toilet' that's a good one. I like you Ava."

Ava smirked cooly as Nancy continued to laugh. It wasn't supposed to be funny but if Nancy thought it was than that was probably best.

"Oh! Have you met Alivia?" Nancy suddenly turned her attention off Ava and to the awkward girl looking at the display.

"I can't say I have."

"Alivia's dad owns the Alto Water Company and a whole apartment complex in San Myshuno. Also she's the queen of braid crowns."

"By the way Alivia, that color, pattern choice is next level chic."

"You think so?"

"I'm sure we'll be seeing the next generation of Alto in some kind of magazine in the future."

She smirked and turned away Ava being sure to follow this time as Alivia processed the "complement"

Nancy headed to the roped off stairs. "We aren't supposed to go up there."

"You're also supposed to stay with your buddy and I'm going. Your choice."

Ava sighed and followed Nancy, "it's so cool up here."

"Rule number one Ava, never accept a rule without a reason."

Ava stopped by a statue of a skeleton. "Wow! My uncles been to Salvadorada. The temples are said to be protected by skeletons like this"

"Do you think this is a real one? Like did they actually have blue bones?"

"No I'm sure they didn't. They were just normal sims."

Eventually the girls lost track of the time. "There you are Nancy! Did the sign and rope mean nothing to you?"

"I just...got bored."

"Well I can promise you, your father will hear about this."

"What about Ava?" but when Nancy looked behind her Ava was nowhere to be found.

"You better be downstairs, with your buddy by the time the bus leaves."

"Nancy?" Ava slipped out of her hiding place as the teacher went to check on a crying child.

"Oh now you show up."

"I'm sorry, it's just...my mom, she's going through a hard time...I can't get in trouble."

Nancy pulled her wrist from Ava's grip. "And what about me Ava? She's gonna tell my father."

"But...you always get out of the school's punishment...you're a Landgraab."

"Yeah. The school's punishment. Whatever Ava, I knew you had a savage side but you're downright cold-blooded"

"What does that mean?" "It means you can stand here and call someone your friend and act all calm but when it comes down to it you don't have anyone's back."

"THAT'S NOT TRUE!!!" Ava didn't know why but hearing Nancy's words she couldn't contain all the emotion anymore.

Later that night, Sofia had just finished feeding Thomas and he was already getting annoyed and antsy. Sofia smiled softly at her son as she lay him in his crib.

"Goodnight my sweet boy." She heard the TV change to static as the hour changed but Ava never came in.

She found her in the bedroom, lying on the bed Sofia hadn't slept in since Jamal's arrest. "Ava sweetie what's wrong?"

"Mommy, do you think I'm cold-blooded?"

"Oh baby why would you say that?"

"Someone at school said it...she said I'm not a good friend cause I'm cold-blooded."

"Sweetie, I have never heard a greater lie about you. I don't know any other kid who would literally fight a monster 3x her size"

Ava rolled away from her mother, clearly not encouraged by the memory. Sofia climbed onto the bed next to her, choking back her own painful memories.

Sofia pulled her daughter against her chest. "Let me tell you what I saw that day. I saw a little girl, who loved so fiercely that she was willing to sacrifice everything to protect me. You have a fire in you that the world will try to put out, baby girl. Don't ever let them."

1961 Pt1 - The Black Lantern

[quercus-queer]

hey, what’s up with tlou 2? I keep seeing comments mentioning how it’s related to zionism but I can’t find info on it

Im not someone who gets very interested in creators of the media I enjoy (idk what my fave band looks like or their names) and I was only a very casual watcher of tlou adaptation and gameplays. I only recently found out Neil Druckmann is a Zionist and that tlou2 was “inspired by the Israel-Palestine conflict.”

This is to say Im not the most informed and have no desire to watch the podcasts this Vice article gets quotes from, the article was more than enough information for me. There’s some reddit threads out there too but I digress.

Some excerpts that I think sum up the article, Druckmann’s bias, and explains the criticisms people have always had about tlou’s writing.

But "cycles of violence" are a poor way to understand a conflict in a meaningful way, especially if one is interested in finding a solution. The United States, for example, hasn't been at war in Afghanistan for almost 20 years because it's trapped in a "cycle of violence" with the Taliban. It is deliberately choosing to engage with a problem in a way that perpetuates a conflict. Just as the fantasy of escaping violence by simply walking away from it is one that only those with the means to do so can entertain, the myth of the "cycle of violence" is one that benefits the side that can survive the status quo

In The Last of Us Part II's Seattle, Scars and Wolves hurt each other terribly, and the same can be said about Israel and Palestine. The difference is that when flashes of violence abate and the smoke clears, one side continues to live freely and prosper, while the other goes back to a life of occupation and humiliation. One side continues to expand while the other continues to lose the land it needs to live. Imagining this process as some kind of symmetric cycle benefits one side more than the other, and allows it to continue.

As a result, The Last of Us Part II never quite justifies its fatalism.

…

This seems to be The Last of Us Part II's thesis: humans experience a kind of "intense hate that is universal," as Druckmann told The Post, which keep us trapped in these cycles.

But is intense hate really a universal feeling? It's certainly not one that I share. I, too, have seen the video of the 2000 mob killing of the Israeli soldiers in Ramallah, and it's horrific. Yet, my immediate response wasn't "Oh, man, if I could just push a button and kill all these people that committed this horrible act, I would make them feel the same pain that they inflicted on these people," as Druckmann said.

This is not a universal feeling as much as it's a learned way of seeing the world.

…

The trouble with [the story/writing/themes], and the reason that Ellie's journey ultimately feels nonsensical, is that it begins from a place that accepts "intense hate that is universal" as a fact of life, rather than examining where and why this behavior is learned.

Personally, I’ve come to understand that people who cling to the Cycle of Violence as human nature, especially concerning community/global conflict have an deep misunderstanding of humanity.

This post details an article that requires an account to access, but elaborates on a certain mentality about Landback movements:

Additionally, the casting for tlou2 adaptation has come out and it’s a shit show:

Dina (the only Jewish character in the series + her fam) will be played by a very skinny conventionally attractive Hispanic non-Jewish woman who is allegedly a Zionist

Abby will be played by a very skinny conventionally attractive 5’2” woman who is also allegedly a Zionist

Also worth noting since some redditors misunderstood: the author is NOT saying Palestinians are literally like the Scars, the entire point is that Neil created the Scars to parallel how HE (biased) sees the conflict.

[favefandomimagines]

Lucky Charm 1 (b.b)

Summary: Kimberly ‘Clover’ Kazansky was the spitting image of her father. A legend in the Navy, being the youngest receiver of the Top Gun trophy in history. But having that title comes with it’s own personal tribulations.

Tribulations such as Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw. Five years older than Kimberly and yet assumed that she held more cards than he did. For years he blamed her for not informing him of Maverick pulling his papers. Destroying their friendship in the process. And yet she still couldn’t shake the feelings she had for him, nor his for her.

AN: here it is!! The full first chapter of my Bradley Bradshaw series!! Again, it’ll follow the basic plot of Top Gun: Maverick but some dialogue and scenes will vary!

Part 2

Kimberly never saw herself as better than any other pilot. She didn’t think she was better than anyone else or knew more just because her dad was an admiral.

People say she was born under a lucky star. Always having missions and deployments go in her favor without even trying. Her first week in flight school during a rather tough exercise, Kimberly flew in a way no had seen since the days of her father.

She was lucky. If anyone had even attempted the maneuver she did, it wouldn’t have ended well. Giving her the call sign Clover.

The so called lucky charm of the United States Navy.

Kimberly was more than confused when she got a text from her dad saying he wanted to talk. It’s never a good thing when a parent says “I want to talk.” She didn’t recall any recent insubordination or any risky flight maneuvers that her superiors would inform her father about.

When she arrived to her childhood home, her younger siblings playing catch in the yard, her mother came outside to meet her.

“Whatever it was I did to get in trouble, I swear there is a very rational and understandable explanation to my behavior.” Kimberly spoke. “You’re not in trouble.” Her mother laughed.

“Am I going in to see the admiral or dad?” Kimberly asked. “The admiral.” The woman answered. “Oh yeah, I’m in trouble.” Kimberly muttered.

She walked inside and towards her father’s office, the sound of coughing alerting her.

Kimberly had been the one out of her siblings to take their father’s illness the hardest. The two had a very special bond that no one could really explain. Kimberly was the definition of a daddy’s girl and she had Iceman Kazansky wrapped around her finger.

No one knew that the cancer came back and she knew it was only a matter of time.

“Permission to enter, admiral?” Kimberly joked. Iceman smiled at his daughter as he typed his response. “Permission granted.” It said.

“I don’t know what it is I did to have someone snitch to my dad but I swear I probably had a good reason. For whatever it is I did.” She said.

‘You’re not in trouble. I want to talk to you about a special detachment.’

Kimberly furrowed her eyebrows for a moment, wondering what could be so special they needed her for it.

‘You’re being called back to Top Gun. You and 12 other pilots.’

“Really? What’s the mission?” Kimberly asked.

‘Your instructor will tell you that.’

“Wait, if they’re calling back the best of the best that means he’s going to be there too.” She said.

‘Yes he is. Maybe nows your chance to reconcile.’

“Dad, he hates me. He thinks I knew about what Uncle Mav did and he never gave me a chance to explain. He’s the one who messed up not me.” The light haired woman spoke.

‘You’ve always been the bigger person, Kimmy.’

Kimberly sighed, hating to admit that her dad was right. “But the things he said really hurt. I mean, we were so close before and he just tossed it away.” She said solemnly.

‘Then make him listen. You were always good at that too.’

Kimberly chuckled lightly at her father’s words before she sighed. “Are you sure I’m cut out for this mission? I’m not just going because of you?“ She asked.

‘Cyclone asked for your personally.’

“Oh well then no pressure.” She muttered.

‘You’re a Kazansky. Flying is in your blood, you can do this.’

Kimberly nodded her head before her dad began to stand up, refusing his daughter’s help.

“Dad,” She started before the man pulled her in for an embrace. “I love you, kid.” He replied, his voice raspy. “I love you too. I’ll make you proud.” Kimberly said. “You’ve been doing that since the day you were born.” The man said.

After a few more moments with her family, Kimberly headed in the direction of the infamous Hard Deck.

She hadn’t been there since her first time at Top Gun. But she was intrigued to see who the other 10 pilots who would be training for this mission.

Kimberly walked into the bustling establishment and examined the room. But before she could even acknowledge the familiar faces, one sitting at the bar caught her eye.

“So, Uncle Mav, which admiral is mad at you this time?” She questioned, announcing her presence.

Maverick turned his head in the direction of her voice, looking at her with wide eyes. “Why am I not surprised to see you here?” The man asked with a small laugh.

“I’m assuming you’re not at North Island for a trip down memory lane. You’re the instructor for this detachment.” She said. “You always were the smartest person in the room.” Maverick replied.

Kimberly smiled and flipped her hair over her shoulder. “How’s your dad?” He asked. “You know him. Puts on a brave face, doesn’t want to worry mom.” She said.

“He’s a fighter, he can do this. Who do you think you get that quality from?” Maverick said. Kimberly gave him a warm smile before it faltered slightly. “Bradley’s going to be here.” She said.

“I know. Admiral Simpson debriefed me this morning.” The man said. “What are we going to do?” Kimberly asked. “You’re going to fly. Don’t worry about me and don’t worry about Bradley. You were chosen to be here, don’t let those feelings get in the way of what you do best.” Maverick answered.

The woman nodded her head before Maverick told her to go see her friends.

Kimberly looked at everyone there and recognized a few faces. “Clover? Is that you?” She heard a voice question. The second she saw Phoenix, Kimberly instantly relaxed. “Oh thank god. I was hoping you’d be here.” Kimberly greeted the other woman.

The two shared a hug, Phoenix introducing her to Payback, Bob and Fanboy.

“Kazansky, why am I not surprised to see you?” Hangman spoke. Kimberly looked at the pilot and rolled her eyes. “You really think they’d call back the best of the best and not include me? You’re even more delusional than I thought.” Kimberly replied.

“Ah, come on Clover. We all know you’re just here to make me look good.” Hangman said. “No, I’m here to make you look like an amateur. Which is what you are, compared to me.” Kimberly sassed back.

“Wait, you’re Clover Kazansky? Admiral Kazansky’s daughter? You’re legendary.” Bob commented. “She’s only legendary because her daddy’s the Commander.” Hangman quipped back.

“Or maybe she’s legendary because that’s what she is; a legend.” Another voice entered the conversation.

Kimberly didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. “Bradshaw, as I live and breathe.” Hangman said. “Hangman. You look good.” Rooster replied. “Oh I am good.” Hangman replied.

Kimberly didn’t stick around long enough to hear the rest of his annoyingly arrogant comment, as she moved back to the bar to get a drink. A drink that was apparently on Maverick’s tab.

“Clover.” A voice said. “Bradshaw.” She said. “You look good. How have you been?” Rooster asked.

Kimberly paused for a moment, trying to decipher if Rooster was really trying to make small talk with her after what went down between them

“Are we really going to do this?” She questioned lowly. “Kim,” Rooster started. “Im here for one reason and one reason only. To fly this mission. You made it perfectly clear that you want nothing to do with me, now I’m returning the favor.” Kimberly stated.

“Did it ever occur to you that maybe I want to fix things?” He asked. “No. Because you can’t take back what you said.” She answered sadly before walking back over to Phoenix and Bob.

Bradley watched as Kimberly walked away from him. Taking him back to the night she walked away from him for good.

He has realized how ridiculous and stupid it was to blame Kimberly for something she had no say in. Part of him assumed she knew, Maverick told Ice about pulling his papers and she knew.

Bradley didn’t know how stupid that sounded until it was too late. He said awful things to her, undermined her ability to be a pilot. Kimberly was right; he couldn’t take back the things he said.

But he was hell bent on trying.

Taglist: @n3ssm0nique @glowingtree @mmkkzz @alanadetigy @letusbewildflowers @justanothermagicalsara @azure23x @luckyladycreator2 @barista-library @alana4610 @kyramaximoff @harperrbradshaw

[kyberphilosopher]

Androphobia

Requested? No Word Count: 7014

An Android attempts to offer comfort to someone with sleeping trouble.

Androphobia [an·drow·fow·bee·uh]; Fear of or aversion to men. A related concept is misandry, the hatred of men, but not necessarily fear of them.

  * ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ  *

Every woman or female born member of society has experienced an off putting encounter with a man. 

This is not to be entirely blamed on men- not as a whole, no. But individuals, the ones you run into on your way out of the grocery store, the ones who stop you on the streets, they are the ones to blame. Some women have the guts to tell them off. Not an easy task with the given anxiety, but one to take pride in for the capability that comes with it. Some women stay quiet, rush away as fast as their polite feet can take them and hope someone will see the problem. They usually don’t. And some women are outliers, tricking their ways out of interactions with these men one way or another, and to them I take my hat off. 

There are men who are easily construed as monsters, when in the dead of night their silhouettes flash beneath the tallest of streetlights. And there is no reason to not believe them as such right then and there, for as spoken by our Lady Galadriel, “the hearts of men are easily corrupted.” And any look into statistics will back up this fear, any personal experience, any hug that’s gone on just a bit too suspiciously long, any catching of those wandering eyes and it’s easy to feel in your heart that men are not to be trusted. They are not to be confronted, nor left alone with, and they will jump at the opportunity to put down anyone for the validation of other men. 

This is the reality of women and men in 2021. It is the same for several in 2039.

 * ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ  *

You step out of your old, dusty car. Chips of the dark red paint flake away as the raindrops hit it. Above you, the gloomy, warm gray clouds roll against each other in different shades and sizes, high above the skyscrapers and the stress of the world.

Gathering your belongings for the day, you shut the door with your hip and shoulder everything. Then you make your way towards the Police Department, your work, with the heels of your shoes scuffing against the parking lot. 

Across the way, you can see Detective Reid, who rubs his brow while he does his usual slamming of the car door. There’s no point in looking for Hank at this ungodly hour, he’d never be in on time. He’ll probably park his car next to yours as usual- a little too close so it’s hard to squeeze into your own and pull out without causing his vehicle damage, but you never say anything. Not because you are one of the people who feel threatened by Hank as a man- It’s more because you trust Hank as a person, that you’d never bring up the obvious annoyances he places upon you and everyone else. Though, once you had tried. 

(“Cars parked a little close, don’t you think?”

“Shut the hell up.”)

The inside of the Department is bustling. A female Android brushes past you briskly, the others at the front desk all seemingly click clacking away in their own brains. Even months after they’ve gained independence, it’s not uncommon for you to remember how they were before. How still and lifeless they were. And looking back on it, it was awfully sad. They seem busier now, more alive and fast. A strange image, in your mind, but not an unwelcomed one. 

You reach your desk in the lobby, on the right side of the room slightly separated from the officers. You’re a psychologist, so it’s not plausible for you to be seated next to bias. Instead you’re in your own corner, with a rather cluttered desk on the top and empty rows of drawers. You do, however, keep a small japanese cherry blossom tree on the top, courtesy of Hank, though his has all but fully withered at this point. 

And then you’re ready to start your day. Pull out your chair, click your pen and type away reports and notes on the computer to send to the detectives. You don’t have any meetings scheduled today, so there’ll be no need to prepare questions or anything of the sort. Just an easy day. 

And then...

As you and I, the dear reader, have already discussed, finding men to be generally scary is an easy task. And even though you are smart enough to know that it’s simply not possible to truly believe that every man or male presenting individual is terrible, or has done terrible things, or has experienced the desire to do something terrible, there are times where you can’t help the cautiousness. You can’t help the flinch, the distrust, the physical distance, the hand in your pocket grasping for anything to use in self defense. Seeing men like Detective Reid in power, brutish and given guns and easily agitated, certainly doesn’t help.

So when you swish your chair around and come to a stand, your heart drops. You’re looking into the presence of someone tall, with broad shoulders and a strong chest. A man. 

[Sort of.]

“Good morning, Doctor L/N.”

“Connor,” you breathe out, eyes flitting down as you attempt to quiet the thump thump thumping of your heart in your throat. “I- I didn’t-”

“Your heart race has increased. You appear stressed, Doctor L/N.”

He cocks his robotic head to the side, his eyebrows creasing as the literal gears in his head turn. 

“You just startled me,” you admit, grabbing the back of your chair and moving it over as an excuse to create a bit of distance between you and the [possible] threatening force. “What is it, Connor?”

Now, for context, you and he were not considered close. You’ve spoken a few times, though never as friends, only friendly. You remember seeing him last Winter, when he would stand out in the snow outside the station, just gazing up after Hank had already returned to his own home. You remembered how he was different from the other Androids, besides being more advanced to begin with. You’d never said anything about that. It was obvious the only person it would’ve really mattered to, Hank, was already aware of this. And Hank liked Connor. There was no point in interfering. 

In Connor’s eyes, you could really do no wrong. You were smart, intelligent, and diligent in your work. Your job had been threatened by the presence of Androids for years by the time Connor had showed up, but it still appeared that they wouldn’t have done your legacy justice. But despite this, interactions were scarce. You were not friends. You were friendly. And you were always on your guard. 

“I was hoping to hear your thoughts on a case Lieutenant Anderson and I have been working on,” Connor tells you. He’s always made efforts to keep eye contact with people, and the tilt of his head tries to follow your eyeline to do so. But it’s never to any avail. “I apologize for the abruptness, but the thought only occured to me last night and I think it could be a good one.”

“Yeah, sure,” you answer. “I can help with that. I’ll get the details from Hank when he comes in.”

“No need,” the Android quickly assures you. When you look up to him for a brief second, you can see his tongue sway against his bottom lip, creating the softest of imprints. His dark eyes glitter like a beatles in the catch from the light above. 

He produces a light, manilla colored folder lined inside with papers. “I hope you’ll find all the details you need here,” he explains, offering the file to you. 

You take it after a moment, watching his thumb let go in the softest, most normal way possible. 

“Thank you, Doctor L/N,” Connor smiles. “I’ll go get you your morning coffee.”

Connor is like a dog in that way. Not in an insulting way, or an obedient way. In a kind way, in a warm way. With his chocolate eyes and the dimples when he smiles, it’s hard not to want to just believe that he is incapable of hurting anyone or anything. Especially a woman. 

But when you snap back to reality, you can see his male form. His set back shoulders, the robotic strength, the fact that he was programmed to execute any task he so desires. And then you’re right back on edge, wanting to step back from him until you’re sure you can take a full breath. 

It’s easier when he’s taken himself away. You can see him through the glass walls in the kitchen, waiting for the pot to heat up. Doesn’t seem so bad from far away, like most of them do. 

You return to the chair and open the file. At first, your eyes flit to the pictures attached at the top- one of a woman that looks so familiar, another of a man whose angry brows cover his eyes. Then they move to the written report, and something clicks. 

The woman in the picture was an acquaintance from college. The man next to her was the main suspect, and apparently her lover.

* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ  *

“Morning Doc,” Hank waves tiredly. Then his tone changes slightly. “The fuck are ya doing at my desk for?” 

You push yourself from your lean on the edge of his property anxiously. “I read the report on your case. The Carla Rodriguez one.”

Hank sighs in his classic sigh, tired and grumpy from the morning and being alive. “What about it?” he questions, rummaging through his large bag of prescription pill bottles he’s brought with him every day this year. You suspect Connor has something to do with this.

“I had a... personal relationship with the victim,” you begin, crossing your arms. “I knew her.”

Hank looks at you, bewildered. “You were sleeping with my victim?”

“What? No. What? I- anyway. Carla and I were in college together.”

Hank’s face changes. He leans back with high raised brows in the way he does when processing something. 

“The boyfriend did it. I remember him from back then, I think. Real angry guy.”

“You’re sure you know what you’re talkin about?” Hank questions you, though not in an insulting way. You know it’s anything but that. 

“I’m sure. I can tell you what you need but you know I can’t testify. You won’t be able to use my bias in your report.”

“But the bias is the whole point.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, along with your shoulders. It’s the universal symbol for ‘I don’t know what to tell you’. 

“You talked to Connor about this?”

“Well, no. I- he wanted my opinion but I didn’t tell him this part.”

Hank glances around. “Where's he at anyway?”

You shrug again. You’re thinking about the disposable coffee cup on your desk, left there by Connor a few hours ago, that you’d never brought yourself to touch. 

“Run it by the Android before we do anything,” Hank advises you. “Nutjob’s got this whole system in his head.”

“Yeah,” you mutter as Hank seats himself. “That guy’s weird.”

“Tellin’ me?” Hank groans. 

And the rest of the morning you spend avoiding Connor, thinking at your desk, barely doing your job while you let yourself get lost in thought. You’re not usually like this. You’re very professional at work- you love this job. The thrill, the learning about criminals and their rehabilitation- it makes you feel so tranquil. Complete, even. 

But knowing a victim, knowing the perpetrator, still adapting to the change of Androids looking happy for once, knowing Hank pretends you’re the child he lost- it... it...

You snap your drawer shut. 

What’s wrong with you today? 

You huff out dry air. When you turn ever so slightly, you can see Hank at his desk, eyes already on you with concerned and empathetic brows. Seeing him calms you down a little, at least makes you feel more in the real moment. After a moment, you turn back straight. Then you smooth back your hair, and open a your file again. 

“Doctor L/N?”

You look up slowly, recognizing the boyish, sturdy voice of Connor. Sure enough, there he is. Tall, looking down at you with his warm, brown eyes. They remind you of an excited, loyal dog. Yeah, you think, Connor seems like a dog person. 

And then you catch the sharpness of how broad his shoulders are, how little effort it would take for him to kill you, or pin you down, or come at you in the dark. 

“Can I speak with you candidly, Doctor L/N?”

“You...may,” you say slowly. Connor begins to squat, until he is level with your eyeline, though he’s over on the other side of your desk. From your view, your cherry blossoms pink petals stand out against the paleness of his skin, and then the darkness of his hair. 

“I heard what you said earlier to the Lieutenant,” he begins. 

Truthfully, your eyes flicker around his face, mostly between his lips and his nose and his eyes. They’re all so realistic. Well, obviously that was the point in his creation, but still. They’re so human. Connor is human. Even the way he seems to move his mouth, like his lips are just a little dry, is human. Such a strange detail. Perhaps you would never have noticed it if he hadn’t gotten this close. 

“When?” you question. 

“About 3 hours ago, about the file I gave you.”

Your eyes snap away. Connor’s own eyes follow your movement. 

“I know that this must be difficult for you-”

“Connor,” you sigh, slightly exasperated, but still holding it together. Your eyes close like you can’t bear to look at anything in the present moment right now. You must be trying to pretend that you’re somewhere else. “I’ll be alright. This was in my job description.”

The Android’s eyebrows knit for a split second, confused. “Overseeing the psychology behind your friends death was in your job description?”

And it’s a genuine question from him. That’s what makes it so hard to contain your laughter, no matter how frustrated or overwhelmed you are right now.

“Yeah,” you finally muster with a light chuckle. “Apparently.” Then you’re back to business. “This is my job. I’ll be alright. Thank you for your concern.”

“I just considered that, since you’ve been on the news before, the suspect could know that you’re involved.”

“So?” you ask, slightly more snappy than intended.

“He may know you’re here and subsequently attempt to cause you harm.”

There are two conflicting sides in your brain right now. The first one says: Now think about this. How could he harm you in a place full of cops? It’s not like he knows where you live or anything. How could he even find that out? When they bring him in, he’ll be in custody the whole time. Gavin won’t let him out of those handcuffs. Everything will be just fine. 

And the other part? It shows you a dark, masculine figure, looming over you. Police department or not, he is there. He will cause you grief and harm, do something so terrible to you you could not even fully imagine it enough to anticipate yourself. 

And, despite your better judgement, and to your full awareness, you listen to the second half. 

“Okay, so,” you breathe out. “So what are you saying?”

Connor’s eyes draw to his left in a stutter, his mouth parting as if he’s in consideration. “The Lieutenant and I had talked about... having you stay in a... safer place.”

Your eyebrows pinch together. “What do you mean by that?”

Connor looks so human in this moment. it’s so apparent, and piercing in this exact second. The details in his eyes, slightest of blemishes on his cheekbones. 

Connor leans in, his eyebrows raising. Subconsciously, you lean back ever so slightly in response. 

“We were thinking of taking you to the Lieutenants place.” He sees your eyes widen, getting ready to give a vocal response. “It’s a very safe place,” Connor promises. “I can assure you there are many rooms to your liking.”

You take a minute, looking the Android right in his warm, hopeful, perfectly symmetrical eyes. “Connor, I’m not interested in having this discussion right now.”

“It’s just-”

“Back off,” you snap. It’s assertive. Something you don’t usually do towards masculine presenting beings. 

As soon as you say it, you regret it, however. The person across from you just looks so heartbroken, almost. His big brown eyes, the ones that remind you of a loyal dog, are looking right at you. How could you not feel bad for snapping at Connor? Sweet Connor, who doesn’t take pleasure in hurting people no matter how much you convince yourself he does. 

* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ  *

The Carla Rodriguez murder case went on for two more days. Her boyfriend, unfortunately, was not yet found. Hank was working on obtaining a warrant based on your instincts that would give him access to search family members houses for the man. Things were becoming focused. 

Each night you went home, you struggled to sleep. You did in fact, find out that Connor may have been onto something when he suggested the consideration of safety. You indeed stayed up later than usual, using both locks on your dirty apartment door for once. It was hard to fall asleep. Whenever you did, it became all too easy for you to imagine a solid, big, broad shouldered figure standing over the foot of your bed, waiting to strike. 

A man, as usual. 

Ironically, you did feel better when Hank- a man- would come into the station. And then there was Connor, who was somewhere between a puppy and a wolf, half following Hank, half fully capable of loading and discharging a gun. Connor made you feel safe too, but only by association. It felt bad to think about him after the snapping that occurred Thursday, but it could’ve made you feel worse to act unprofessionally in the work place. It was best you try to forget it, and try to forget that Connor has unlimited and invincible memory. 

On Sunday, you and Hank had your weekly scheduled lunch. Nothing fancy, just fast food from a food truck by the train tracks. You’ll both probably get burgers, except Hank will try to add lettuce and some vegan bullshit to convince you he’s sticking to his diet. Of course he will. 

You throw the keys to your locker in the backroom into your desk drawer, and slip it closed. Across the floor, Hank is already ahead of you, tugging on his crappy jacket and somehow standing patiently and grumpily at the same time. 

“Ready to go?” you ask as you approach him, your own jacket in hand. 

“Yeah, just waitin’ for the kid,” Hank replies casually. 

“The kid?”

“I’m ready to go, Lieutenant,” the enthusiastic voice of Connor rings out. He has one of those voices where you can tell when he’s happy and smiling too, and he is in this very moment. 

Nobody ever joins you and Hank. You knew Hank had taken Connor to the truck before, but that was just between them, and this was just between you. An odd decision on Hank’s part to make such a change. 

“Alright,” Hank calls back. Then he turns to you, the smallest of knowing grins on his face. “Ready when you are, Doctor.”

You just nod your head and start walking out to Hank’s car, unsure of what to do think. In the end, you decide to just not think at all. 

“What are you doing this for?” you’d ask Hank as you were walking, when the Android known as Connor was out of earshot. 

“What? You got a problem with Connor?” You shake your head no. “Well good. Because besides bein’ a freak he’s perfectly fine.”

Yep. Thanks, Hank. 

The drive over is silent, besides Hank’s music. You like his taste, but it doesn’t make you feel less tense around Connor. On the other hand, Connor is completely oblivious of said tension. You can see him in the rearview mirror, smiling and looking out the window every now and again. 

Once arriving to the scene, Connor gets out first. You click your seatbelt away, about to pull the handle open when you notice Hank hasn’t moved at all. 

“You coming?”

“Mm,” Hank fake thinks, flipping through his cd cases. “Nah.”

“Well then... well then are you even hungry?”

“I got food back at the office,” he sighs, not even looking up at you. “Indian from last night. Gonna wreak havoc on the ol’ plumbing.”

“Then what did you bring me here for?” you question finally, developing a tension headache from how often you’ve been knitting your brows together lately. 

Hank looks up and over, an almost offended expression on his face. You can see it in his wide old eyes, the angry eyebrows, the slightly opened mouth. 

“Because I’m trying to create a warm and loving social circle.”

“You one time told me die because I ate your jar of pickles!” you cry. “Oh my god- Hank, is this about me and Connor? Is that it? You want us to get along?”

“Yeah, and what if I do?” Hank turns to you fully, putting an angry hand on the steering wheel to clutch something. 

“It doesn’t matter!” you exclaim. “It literally doesn’t matter at all!”

Hank is quiet. You can see his beady, angry eyes on you, his jaw clenching. “Get the fuck outta my car,” he says at last. 

“Gladly,” you mutter. You open the door and slam it closed. 

Looking across the wet, rainy street, you can see Connor looking up at the sign of the food truck known as Chicken Feed innocently. You breathe out, feeling the heat from the previous ‘discussion’ beginning to melt away. 

Okay, Y/N, you tell yourself. Just go talk to him. 

You begin your walk across the street, hearing the light tapping of the rain hitting the asphalt all around you. His back is getting closer and closer. You still have a chance to turn around. 

“Hey, Connor,” you say lightly. 

“Hello, Doctor L/N,” Connor greets in return warmly. 

“Whatcha... thinking about eating, there?” you ask, both of you knowing damn well Androids can’t eat. 

“I’m not sure,” he admits. Then he shrugs, and very genuinely says, “I guess I could have some french fries.”

“Alright. I’ll get you some.”

And you do. And you feel so stupid while ordering it. The guy in charge, Gary, looks at you with an ‘are you sure?’ expression on his face, but you only continue with the order, confirming that, yes, you are sure. Then you and Connor sit next to each other in silence, waiting for your food to be ready. You pretend to be very interested in a stain on one of the back menus for about three straight minutes. 

“Here you go,” Gary hands you the food. You take the bags and speed off immediately to an umbrella by the place. Even though you’re essentially powerwalking at about 6 miles per hour, it doesn’t feel fast enough in the moment. Connor is right there beside you the whole time. 

“Here’s your fries,” you mutter, pushing the bowl towards him. 

“Thank you,” he says, formally. Then Connor just stares down into the bowl. 

“I appreciate you paying for this meal, Doctor L/N,” Connor decides to say after another moment. When you look up, you can see he’s leaning down ever so slightly so that he’s closer to your height, and making pretty sturdy eye contact. It’s moments like this that you think you’re talking to Connor’s social programming, and probably not him naturally. 

“You don’t have to call me Doctor, Connor,” you breathe. “We’re not at work right now.”

“I apologize. How would you like me to address you then?”

“Well... how would you like to address me?”

Connor thinks for a moment. You can tell because his led is switching between yellow and white. Then the beginning of his eyebrows start twitching, along with the corners of his mouth, just like a human would when they have several thoughts on the tip of their tongue but none of them seem just right. It’s cute when he does it. 

“You can just call me Y/N,” you rush out in an attempt to save Connor from quite possibly exploding. 

He does the twitching once more, then looks up to the top of the umbrella without moving his head. “And, is this outside of the workplace or in it as well?”

“What would you prefer?”

His led goes yellow again. He looks back to you. “That depends whether or not you consider us friends, Doctor L/N.”

This takes you back. You’re silent, stunned, looking at him with slightly widened eyes for a few seconds- maybe a whole minute- before you make the decision to look at your burger and change the subject. 

“How’s been adjusting to life as a free man?” you ask, unwrapping the foil from your warm food. 

Connor adapts to the subject change after a few seconds, and you know that he’s seen right through you. “It’s strange,” he tells you, deep in thought, but sincere. “But, people seem happy.”

“Are you happy?” you prompt further, biting a big bite into the meat. 

Connor thinks again. He thinks a lot. “Yes,” he decides. “I suppose I feel alive,” he admits. It sounds like a confession, and when he turns his head to look over to you, he sees your eyes are already on him. “Are you happy?”

“Am I happy?” you repeat in question. “I... guess I am, overall.”

“Do you enjoy working as a criminal and forensic expert?”

Now it’s your turn to think. You swallow down your bite. “Yeah, I think so. It’s what I’ve wanted for a long time. And now I have it, and I’m comfortable and all. So yes... And you? As a detective?” You bite into the burger again.

“Well, it is what I was created for,” Connor tells you, with an almost charismatic, joking tone. It looks like he’s smiling a little, too. Cute. “I think so. Working with Lieutenant Anderson has gotten better.”

“God, I remember when you first came in,” you roll your eyes. “Hank was all in a mood. One of the grouchiest days for him. But he likes you now.”

Connor watches you pull the burger away from your face. He’s thinking again, but also admiring your features from up close. He doesn’t usually get to do this with you. The proof is in the lack of response to the ‘would you consider us friends?’ question. 

“You know,” Connor says, and you can hear the sincerity in his voice for the millionth time. “I really admire how talented you are in your line of work.”

You feel heat in not just your cheeks, but in the rest of your face as well, as if you have a very sudden fever. You decide to keep your face down, trying to naturally make it not look like you’re using your burger as a shield. “Thank you,” you respond. 

The heat begins to subside, so you look back up to him. “I admire your...” and you can’t finish the sentence. Not because you can’t think of anything to admire. You know you had a good one in mind to say to him. But when you look up at his boyish face, with the innocent smile and the comforting eyes and the most human details in his skin, you lose your train of thought. 

It seems too late and rude to continue by the time you regain it, so you just decide to leave it and eat your burger as quickly as possible. 

“Are you done with your fries?” you ask, as Connor looks down at the untouched basket.

“Yes, thank you.”

You don’t even look into the waste of 2 dollars as you speed walk to the trash can and dump it full of everything. Then you hop across the street, Connor right behind you.

Getting back into Hank’s car makes you roll your eyes. It’s not that you’re mad with Connor anymore so much- not that you would describe the feeling as mad in the first place. You’re not even sure you’re ‘mad’ at Hank so much anymore. It’s more like you’re in the area that you previously had a yelling match in, so all that energy is still there. So stupid.

“Hey, you two,” Hank greets, though to you it sounds condescending.

“Hello,” Connor chirps back.

You just shoot Hank a glare.

“How was lunch?” The old man prompts, holding your eye contact knowingly the entire time.

“It was fine,” you tell him.

“Fine?”

“Yeah,” you practically seethe. “Just fine.”

* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ  *

You stay in your house for another two days. Sleeping has become far more difficult, though you’d never openly admit it. Hank can see it in your face. There’s dark circles under your eyes, far more noticeable than before. Your eyes are dragging themselves down, along with the rest of your body which seems to be in a constant slump. 

You’re like a zombie. You’re just carrying yourself around, mindlessly doing your tasks while you try not to nod off at work. Hank hasn’t said anything. He just watches you from afar, not knowing how to apologize because he’s never been able to pull himself into one. 

Connor hasn’t said anything either. Hank’s pet has continued his daily routines around the precinct, going where he’s told and sitting on the other side of the older man. You haven’t been observing them much lately. Been a bit too preoccupied with the threat of sleep paralysis to do anything that you find matters in a social sense. 

Carla’s case is still open. Her boyfriend is still out there, watching and waiting. Maybe for you. Maybe for some other innocent woman. You keep picturing him towering over you, his shoulders looming, strong jaw twitching with anger. Those masculine brows, defined with the intent to strike at you. Kill you, like your old friend. 

Finally, on the fourth day of little to know sleep, you fell asleep at your desk. Completely zonked out, your head slumped against the surface, squishing your cheek in the process. Connor jumped up from his seat, Hank following shortly after. But there was no threat, you were simply resting. Once the two realized this, they calmed a little. Hank opted to send Connor over to you to check you out, crossing his arms as he got ready to observe. 

The Android creeps over. Your breathing is steady. So is your heartrate. You’re not in shock or anything at all. You’re not even hurt. 

“Y/N?” he prompts lightly, now crouched to be close enough to your ear so he can whisper. His chocolate eyes glance around the precinct, looking for anyone who might have noticed you to try and save you some embarrassment. Then he glances towards the Captain in his office, and he knows he has to hurry himself so you don’t get caught and reprimanded. 

“Doctor L/N?”

No response. Connor looks back at Hank, who shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly with little help. 

“Doctor L/N, you have to wake up,” he tells you, poking the back of your slumped shoulder. 

You were asleep, yes, but apparently not very deeply. You stir from your slumber, raising your head and your mousy appearance to look over at Connor with confused eyes. 

“What happened?” you strain, stretching. Connor detects a bit of drool on the corner of your lips. 

“You fell asleep at work,” Connor explains slowly. 

“I did?” you squint, obviously still out of it. 

“You have... drool on your lips.”

You wipe the left corner. “The other side,” Connor gestures lightly to his own lips. “Yes. You got it.”

“Was I out for long?” you look around, adjusting to the so very bright lights of the building. 

“No,” Connor answers in that sweet, sweet voice of his. “Maybe a minute, or two.”

“Oh,” you say, your eyes wandering around. 

* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ  *

That night, it rains. 

Thunder echoes, with  ripples of light from the lightning that bears across the sky like great claw hands. 

You watch the view out your window from the middle of your bed for a long time. You’re curled up in a ball on the blankets, not even under them. You’re just there, watching the sky that reflects in your eyes. 

A sudden stir in you gives you a change of heart. Something you can’t explain to the fullest extent, something not even I, the one in charge of relaying all that’s happening to you, could explain the exact feeling. It’s like the snapping of a rubber band at 2:15 in the morning. 

You can’t stay in this apartment anymore. Not even two locks are enough to protect you. Not your kitchen knives, or the gun given to you from the department for self defense. None of it seems like enough, because all of those things are used after something happens. They don’t prevent it. 

You’re in a hurry. The comfiest pajamas you own are soaked in the salty rain water and protected only by the simplest of winter coats you own. It’s nice, though not appropriate for the current weather of course. Your hair gets drenched fast. Every individual drip that falls from the tip of your nose is felt, like you’re more hyperaware than usual. 

Now you’ve arrived at a house. A one story, fairly inexpensive home with a garage and recognizable old car out front. As you approach, you can already hear the barking of a dog, see a neighbor turn their lights on briefly to observe you, and feel the shivering of your knuckles as they tap on the door sporadically.

Come on, Hank, you think.  Please protect me. Please do this for me. 

And, believe me, Hank Anderson would’ve done it had he been awake. But he hadn’t been, and so he didn’t answer the door. Instead, the door swings open, and inside you see an Android. 

A tall one, with soft facial features. He has long, dark eyelashes framing dark eyes, surrounded by dark hair. He’s clean and clear cut, very put together. It’s Connor, Hank’s pet that you’ve never been able to get the hang of knowing. And he’s as shocked as you are. 

Your drenched hair, shivering body, distant look in your eyes. Though, Connor’s unsure of how he would appear if he had to show up to anyone’s house at 2:34am. Probably unwell. Probably a little bit like you. 

“Doctor L/N,” he says, though it seems mostly to himself. His parched lips barely move, though you notice how pink they look in comparison to everything else right now. 

“Can I come in?”

Connor is still for a few seconds, obviously still processing your appearance. For what, you don’t know. Must’ve been one of the few things he’s simply unable to calculate. But then he moves himself to the side, and you carry yourself in. 

As soon as the door closes behind you, everything is so much warmer. You haven’t been to Hank’s place in months, but it still feels as homey as it did before. It’s cleaner than it was a year ago. There’s more pictures on the walls, more clutter lining the shelves. He’s starting to care about things again. That’s good. 

“What are you doing here?” you suddenly ask, turning around to face Connor. 

That’s right- what is he doing here? He and Hank couldn’t be living together, could they? Or is... or is it that Hank is pretending Connor is someone else, too?

Connor’s led goes yellow, then blue, then back to yellow. “Lieutenant Anderson has offered me a place to stay until I’m ready to go on myself,” he explains, though the way it looks at you makes it seem like Connor doesn’t want to tell you this. Like he feels the need to explain himself. 

“Are you alright, Y/N?”

You wipe your face, smearing your leftover makeup from your eye with the rain water. It burns, but you can’t feel it over the cold. “I uh- um... I’ve been having trouble- trouble sleeping.”

Connor’s lips close, and he looks at you in understanding as you stand there, now feeling your own pressure of having to explain yourself. 

“Just like... at my place I can’t- can’t sleep. Not a lot of it.”

Connor knows he shouldn’t, but it’s right there on the very tip of his tongue. It’s so close to just spilling out, until finally it does, all at once. He’s too curious to try and stop it. “Why?”

“I just- I can’t-”

You’re looking everywhere. The floor, the wall, covering your eyes with your arm or your hand, shifting back and forth between feet, making a soggy spot on the floor from your dripping clothes. 

“Can’t sleep.”

When you look up to Connor again, you feel better. Still panicked, but like you’re not in trouble. His eyes are so soft. They’re so human, and comforting. He looks at you like he understands, and like he’s not upset. You can see why Hank would pretend he is who he is now. But there’s no one for you to pretend who Connor is. He’s just Connor. And he’s better than you. 

* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ  *

Connor lets you wear one of his sets of identical clothes. It’s a grey t-shirt and blue pajama pants. Your hair is still wet, but Connor doesn’t say anything. He lets you sit on the couch and watch one of Hank’s basketball recordings while he goes to make tea. 

He brings it to you and sets it down on the coffee table in front, but like days ago, you can’t bring yourself to touch it. Connor’s made himself a cup too, but doesn’t drink it. It’s deadly silent, the only light coming from the faint glow of the tv, the only sound coming from the biases of those annoying sports commentators. 

“Connor?” you whisper hoarsely, turning your body to face him. 

He looks over at you, at full attention. Such a soft boy. 

“Do you think I’m afraid of anything?”

Connor’s led goes yellow. It flickers in circles until finally he says, “What do you mean, Y/N?”

You look down at your hands. “W-when I try to sleep, I see someone,” you say, not bearing to look at anyone from that gender for a moment. “He never leaves me alone. I feel like I- like I’m seeing this thing everywhere. I can’t avoid it. It won’t leave me alone.”

“What is it?” Connor prods gently, leaning in in that innocent, but curious way he does. 

You open your mouth like you’re going to answer, but then your mouth goes dry. Instead, you just shrug your shoulders in a weak attempt of lying. 

“Um... why are you still awake?” you ask instead. 

“Androids don’t need to sleep,” Connor explains to you. “We just power down to conserve energy, but I don’t need as much as others.”

A light puff of air escapes your nose in time with the flickering of the corners of your lips. “Sounds like you’re bragging,” you tease for a second. 

Then it goes quiet.

“I don’t think you’re scared of anything,” you hear Connor’s voice say clearly. “At least, not that I’ve seen. You’re very diligent in your work.”

You take the compliment. It warms your chest for a moment, but the pit inside you is not so easily gotten rid of.

Your nails scrape against each other, breaking while you pick at one of your index fingers. “I think I have like... this fear of men. Fear of something.”

Connor’s led goes yellow.

“Androphobia, also known as the fear of male presences, affects nearly one third of the current female population.”

Connor watches you continue to pick at your nails. The memory of you standing at the door step, shivering like a kitten, drowning in the rain water stays on his mind. “Is this what you think you have, Y/N?” he asks, though this time it’s far more soft.

It sounds like he really cares.

You look up to him, your eyes glossing over from stress and the incoming wave of tears you can feel in the back of your throat.

“I can assure you, Doctor L/N, you are safe here,” Connor continues, holding eye contact as he speaks. “I won’t let any kind of harm get to you.”

The tears in your eyes seem less violent now. Like they’re disappearing already. And that’s how the story ends, in fact. With you, looking up at Connor, seated on Hank’s couch with your hair dripping around you- him promising not to hurt you. It ends on the silence that follows, right between the stare the two of you share.

  * ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ  *

This is the first thing I’ve proof read. Also one of the longest things I’ve written somehow? It was fun. I apologize for any mistakes as English is not my first language.