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television-overload · 4 months

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of our own making

(an X-Files fanfic)

Chapter 21/34 - eggs benedict

[Read on AO3]

It’s strange, staying with Sheriff Adderly and his wife Ellen during this case in Vermont. If he had his way, he’d be checked into a motel instead of infringing on their hospitality, but he’d been given no choice. They even refused reimbursement for their troubles, which did nothing to lessen the feeling—however true or untrue it was—of him being a burden to them.

Ellen Adderly had pulled out all the stops for their guest, preparing decadent meals on fine china for every meal, claiming she’d have done it whether he was there or not. He has a hard time believing that. He can’t imagine living in such a way every day of his life. He and Scully barely manage to set out real plates to eat on when they order takeout at home, and he certainly doesn’t expect her to have a three course meal set out when he gets back from work. Besides the fact that she’s always at work with him, it’s just not something he thinks is necessary. Is that something she’d want to do? He doesn’t think so.

The routine they have works for them, that’s all that matters.

But after getting a taste of his own personal brand of domesticity, it’s… odd… to see how others do it. He’d never have thought there were so many different ways to balance home life, much less enough that he’d start to form an opinion on them. His parents had been one way—not a particularly healthy relationship—and he and Scully are… well, they’re not really anything besides roommates, but that still counts, in his book.

Whatever they are, he likes it. Far better than this constant fussing, at least.

Mrs. Adderly must notice his discomfort, because at breakfast as she masterfully puts the finishing touches on his eggs benedict, she says “I get the feeling you're not used to anyone taking care of you,” and for some reason, that assumption grates on his nerves.

He takes a measured draw from his cup of steaming coffee, swallowing back his immediate retort.

“What makes you say that?” he asks instead. She probably hadn’t meant anything by it, but it still comes off as rude. He has someone to take care of him, thanks very much. Just not exactly in the same way as Mrs. Adderly insists on taking care of her husband… and apparently Mulder too.

“I’m sorry,” Ellen says, realizing her statement had come out somewhat offensive. “I just mean… I didn’t see a wedding band.”

She nods at his left hand sitting atop the table, and he follows her gaze to the bare ring finger.

“Do you have a significant other, Agent Mulder?” she asks.

Significant? Yes. Very. Other? That’s a good descriptor. Single, married, other. Yeah, he’d select other, if this were a multiple choice question. Although he’s pretty sure that’s not what she meant.

“I’ve– um…” he starts, wondering how best to describe his situation to this woman. “I’ve got a wife, actually.” He pulls out the ring on its chain to show her. “It can be dangerous in my line of work to have it on display,” he explains lamely before tucking it back into his shirt.

Ellen smiles. “Ah, well that’s good. Don't miss out on home and family, Mr. Mulder. I imagine with all the things you see, you need that refuge more than most.”

Her words hang in the air, a bit of sage advice from a woman he otherwise has very little in common with. But before he really has a chance to think about what she’s said, Sheriff Adderly makes an appearance, and it’s back to business. Ellen excuses herself to go check on their daughter, leaving the two of them alone to discuss the case.

Mulder remains seated at the table, staring down the sheriff with a knowing look. He’d begun to suspect—and now his suspicions are all but confirmed—that the man had been unfaithful to his wife, and it makes him feel sick. Here this man has it all; a loving wife, a sweet baby that they didn’t have to jump through a million hoops to get, and yet he’s willing to throw it all away for some cheap thrills.

He’ll never understand it.

The man is no more forthcoming about his knowledge of the case than he had been before, so Mulder lets it slide for now. The last thing he wants to do is show all his cards too early and spook him. He gives him just enough to leave him rattled. To let him know that he knows .

He lets the unspoken threat hang between them until the sheriff folds, squirming away to take a shower, or so he says.

He’s still seething in bitter disgust when Ellen returns, carrying her sleepy baby in her arms. It’s a well-practiced juggling act, Mulder can tell, as she goes about fixing herself a plate of her now lukewarm breakfast. With only one arm, she clearly struggles to transfer strips of bacon out of the pan, and Mulder gets to his feet.

“Here, let me help,” he says, joining her in the kitchen. What he’d meant was that he could help assemble her plate, but as he goes to reach for the spatula, he instead finds himself being handed a baby, and his eyes widen comically. “Oh, right,” he says, then plasters a forced smile on his face. Sure, this was what he’d meant to do all along.

The little girl is heavier than he’d expected. Like a sack of flour, though with limbs jutting out everywhere. It takes him a moment to adjust, his hands holding her awkwardly beneath the armpits.

“Hi,” he says conversationally, looking down at her like she’s a ticking time bomb that could explode at any moment. The baby just blinks at him, a blank stare on her face. “Okay,” he mutters to himself, lifting her to his hip and returning to the table. He makes every effort to not look like this isn’t the first time he’s held a baby in—well, basically forever, but he’s not sure he succeeds.

Ellen smiles across the table at him and digs into her meal.

“Do you have children, Agent Mulder?” she asks, “You and your wife?”

It still makes his heart flutter to hear someone refer to Scully as such, but he supposes that to Ellen, it really is that simple. Scully is his wife, that’s all she knows.

He’d always thought conversations like this to be so dull. ‘So, Dave, how’s the ol’ ball and chain? Kids staying out of trouble?’ But, now…

Well, it’s different now that he actually has something to contribute to the discussion.

“Yeah, actually, one on the way,” he says, giving a self-conscious little smile.

He’s never told anybody about this other than Skinner, but he supposes there’s no harm in telling this random woman in Vermont. It almost makes him feel… normal. Like he can relate to other people over the simple fact of his impending fatherhood. A shared human experience. A milestone in his life that doesn’t involve aliens, ghosts, ghouls, or any manner of cryptozoological entity.

“We’re adopting,” he further explains. “Only a couple months left till the birth mother’s due date.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” Ellen exclaims, smiling up at him over her bowl of fresh fruit. “You must be so excited!”

“Very,” he says, looking down at the drooling baby on his lap. “We never really thought it was possible. That we’d ever—”

He pauses, the shrill tone of his cell phone breaking into their conversation.

“Speaking of my wife,” he says, flipping open the device. “Hey, Scully. How’s the stakeout going?”

Her voice crackles over the other side of the line, drawing a genuine smile out of him. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t ask that, Mulder, so that I can give you the good news I just received.”

His stomach does a flip. “Good news?”

He pictures her nodding, sitting in that grimy, cold room surrounded by surveillance equipment, somehow brightening it with her smile. “Krista called and we had a little chat.”

Mulder looks up at Ellen from across the table, where she’s watching him with a knowing smile. “Oh?” he says.

“Mm-hmm. And you know what she told me?”

Scully is extra cheeky this morning, huh? He misses her horribly. This is the last time he’s letting Skinner split them up for a case. After this, no more. He’s putting his foot down. What are they going to do, fire him?

“What did she tell you?” he asks, turning to instead stare at the floorboards, giving himself the illusion of privacy despite the constant watch of Mrs. Adderly.

“She told me the sex of the baby. Would you like to know?”

His heart thumps in his chest suddenly, its rhythm erratic. This, he hadn’t expected first thing in the morning. He hasn’t even finished his first cup of coffee yet.

“She finally found out?”

“Yeah, Krista said she was a lot more cooperative at this appointment than the last one,” Scully explains.

Mulder freezes.

“She?” he says, his voice raspy with awe. “It’s a girl?”

He hears Scully release a shuddering breath before her voice comes back, with all the telltale signs of happy tears that he’s come to recognize in the last few months.

“It’s a girl,” she confirms.

It’s a girl. He’s gonna have a baby girl.

“That’s– that’s amazing, Scully! That’s… wow!”

“I know,” she says. “I’m– You’re not disappointed, are you?”

“Disappointed?” he asks, furrowing his brow. “Why would I be disappointed?”

Disappointed is the absolute last thing he’d be feeling right now. Elated is a better word. Maybe a little scared, but he’ll get over it.

“I don’t know, I just thought… You know, you talked about coaching little league, and I’m sure you want someone to watch basketball with you…”

He laughs. He can’t help but laugh. “Just because you don’t like basketball doesn’t mean other girls don’t,” he says matter-of-factly. “And have you seen girls softball teams, Scully? They’re brutal. You try getting hit by one of those giant neon yellow ostrich eggs at 50 miles an hour. I volunteered to practice with the girls once in high school. Almost lost an eye.”

“But what if she doesn’t like sports at all?” Scully asks, and he’d bet good money that she’s chewing on her lip right now, the way she does when she’s worried. “What if she’s on the chess team or plays the violin or the piano?”

Oh, Scully.

“Then I’ll learn all the names of her concertos and cheer her on at every chess tournament,” he answers simply. “Look, Scully, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you and I are both gigantic nerds. I think we’ll be prepared for whatever she’s interested in when she gets older.”

She . They can finally stop talking about her in abstract terms. A girl. A daughter.

“Your mom’s gonna flip,” he says when she doesn’t respond. Margaret Scully has a grandson, but no granddaughter. He can just see the little plaid dresses, frilly socks, Mary Jane shoes, and giant velvet bows in their future. She’ll be spoiled rotten.

“I can’t wait to meet her,” Scully says, sounding wistful.

“Me too,” he agrees. “When I get back, we’re going out shopping again. I think maybe this time I’ll be able to hold it together in the clothes section.”

That earns him a laugh.

“I’m willing to bet it will go the same way as last time,” she teases back, and she’s probably not wrong. Just picturing this baby, a little girl like the one he’s holding now, has him emotionally on edge.

“I– I’ll talk to you later, okay?” he says, glancing up at the clock. “Let the thought of warm baby snuggles keep you from freezing your butt off.”

She sighs, the annoyance of her less than ideal assignment returning. “Thanks for reminding me, ” she intones.

They stay on the line a moment more, waiting to see who will be the one to hang up. Eventually he hears a soft click, and he smiles down at the phone in his hand. Goodbyes have never been necessary between them. Maybe that’s just another way they’re weird, but he likes it.

The baby in his lap gurgles, and he sets his phone on the table to turn his attention back to her. He sees her differently now, with the knowledge that he has a little girl on the way too.

“You’re going to be an amazing father,” Ellen says, eyes shining as she watches him.

Mulder feels his cheeks beginning to burn. “Oh. Thanks.”

“No, really,” she says more insistently. “You seem to care a lot already. And wanting to be involved… Well, that’s everything. Your wife is a very lucky woman.”

“I’m the one who’s lucky,” he says, and he truly believes it.

He’s the luckiest man on the face of the Earth.

~~~

wife guy / girl dad mulder says you get another chapter :)

Chapter 22/34 - pizza boxes

The sound of keyboards clacking fills the dimly-lit room. A greasy bag that once held at least a dozen cheap tacos from the place across town sits atop a stack of empty pizza boxes, not that the inhabitants of this particular abode pay much attention to that kind of thing.

“Hey, here's something weird,” Langly says, looking up from the computer monitor, the unnatural light of it reflecting off his glasses.

“What? Is it Krycek again?” Frohike asks, crossing the short distance to lean over the other man’s shoulder. “What’s that little rat up to now?”

Langly adjusts the bright, warm-toned desk lamp to minimize the glare on the screen.

“No, just something strange in my sweep of government records,” he says.

“Mention of a virus? Shadow government stuff?”

Langly shakes his head. “It flagged a document mentioning Mulder and Scully's names.”

This bit of information piques Byers’ interest from across the room. “What agency? Homeland? DoD?” he asks, joining the other two at Langly’s computer.

“County court in Annapolis, Maryland,” Langly reads off the screen. “Dated December 24, 1999.”

“Open it!” Frohike demands impatiently.

It takes only a few seconds to hack the database, which is a little alarming. What would the public think if they knew how insecure county records are? But that’s a concern for another day.

The document slowly appears on screen, and three pairs of eyes take in the information all at once.

“That's… unexpected,” Byers says.

“Married? Since when?” Frohike exclaims.

Langly looks up at him with a condescending glare and smacks the older man in the stomach. “Since Christmas, idiot, haven't you been paying attention?”

“Not that, stupid,” Frohike says, quick to respond with a slap to the back of the blond man’s shaggy head. “Since when are they an item? Did I miss something?”

“You seen a rock on her finger lately? I haven't,” Langly comments.

“Get Mulder on the phone, that little sneak owes us an explanation!” Frohike snaps, pointing a finger at Byers.

The phone rings a few times before it connects, the voice of their friend coming through on speakerphone.

“Now's not a good time, boys,” he says. There's some kind of noise in the background, someone speaking, but they can’t make out who it is. It doesn’t sound like anyone they know.

“Mulder!” Frohike yells into the phone. “What gives, man?!”

“Yeah, bro, we'd have thrown you a bachelor party if we'd known,” Langly adds.

A sigh crackles through on the other end of the line, and Mulder murmurs something indistinguishable to someone before finding somewhere quieter to talk.

“How'd you find out?” he asks, sounding annoyed.

“Your marriage license record came up in one of our regular sweeps. No other threats, by the way,” Byers answers.

“Except maybe Frohike,” Langly jokes. “He might want to challenge you for her hand.”

Byers snickers.

“Shut up! I'm happy for them,” Frohike says, glaring at his friends.

Langly rolls his eyes. “You never stood a chance.”

“There's an explanation for this, I swear, now's just really not a good time,” Mulder says, insistent.

“What's there to explain?” Frohike asks. “You guys fell in love and got married without telling your best friends. No big deal.”

He’s not genuinely trying to guilt trip Mulder, but it does sting a little that they hadn’t said anything to them. Maybe just a little tiny guilt trip. A guilt excursion, if you will.

“It's not… really that simple,” Mulder says, his words hesitant.

“What do you mean?” Byers asks.

“I know you didn't knock her up, obviously, so what more is there?” Langly says, as delicate as a brick to the face.

“Well,” Mulder says, “I kind of did, in a manner of speaking.”

“Scully's pregnant?” Byers asks. This is shocking news. It should be impossible! “But—”

“No, Scully's not pregnant,” Mulder quickly corrects before the conversation can spiral out of control more than it already has. “But… we are expecting, actually. Hopefully.”

“IVF?” Byers asks.

“Not IVF. We tried that last year though, you're a little late to the party.”

Jeez, what haven’t they missed? Maybe the real conspiracy is whatever the heck is going on with Mulder and Scully.

“Then, what—?”

“We're adopting,” he says, interrupting them. They can almost hear his smile over the phone, all goofy and care-free. “There's a woman that selected us to adopt her baby when she’s born, so… I'm actually at this class for new parents with Scully right now. I should probably be getting back. Don't want the teacher to flunk me.”

“Wait wait wait,” Frohike says. “Adopting? How long have you guys been… you know?”

“Well we only started talking about it back in November. It's honestly moving pretty fast, but we're excited.”

“Not that,” Frohike says, waving his hands in the air. “You and Scully!”

“Oh,” Mulder says awkwardly. “Um, we actually aren't. A couple, I mean. If that's what you're asking.”

Frohike’s jaw drops. “You're kidding.”

“No, I'm not.”

“But you're married!” Langly insists.

“A formality.”

“The IVF!”

“Favor for a friend.”

“Yeah, right!” Frohike says with a laugh, sharing a disbelieving look with the other Gunmen.

“You love her, don't you?” Byers asks, sincerity breaking through his friends’ incredulity.

“If you're just gonna harass me, I'm going to hang up.”

Okay, so he’s done sharing for now. They’ll just have to try to get more out of him later.

“Mulder… what are we going to do with you?” Frohike asks, shaking his head.

“Listen, guys, I've got to go. We're learning how to change a diaper and I'd really like to not make a fool of myself, if at all possible.”

“Wait,” Frohike says. “Tell Scully congrats for us. We're happy for you, Mulder.”

“Yeah, we just think you're a complete idiot too,” Langly adds bluntly.

“Thanks, guys. We're really happy. Sorry I haven't been around, it's been crazy.”

Well, now at least they know why Mulder has been missing their poker nights and D&D lately.

“Don't worry about it, Mulder. Just—maybe tell us what's going on next time?” Byers suggests.

Mulder puffs out a laugh. “Sure, next time I marry my partner with the purpose of adopting a child, I'll let you know.”

Frohike points seriously at the phone, despite the fact that Mulder can’t see it. “Watch it, buddy, you're already on thin ice.”

“I'll talk to you guys soon,” Mulder says. “Oh, and if you're ever looking for me, I'm staying at Scully’s apartment now, by the way. I gave up my apartment.”

“Dude…” Langly says. There's something seriously wrong with those two.

“Alright, I gotta go. I'll tell Scully you say hi.” And with that, he hangs up, leaving the three amigos to take in everything they’d just learned.

“Aren't a couple…” Frohike grumbles, repeating his words. “They're a couple of idiots, I'll tell you that.”

Byers nods his agreement, and Langly shrugs.

“Lucky kid, though.”

~~~

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#msr #txf #x files #xf fanfic #mulder and scully #my fanfiction #fox mulder #dana scully #of our own making #ooom #msr adoption fic #adoption

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frozenjokes · 5 months

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More Complications About Love, Polyamory Is Cool, And Like. A Lot Of CubScar Fluff + Hurt/Comfort

‘I’m okay. Gonna stay over with Mumbo for the night, he’s taught me this new card game and I’m crushing him at it. Talk to you tomorrow, promise.’ Accompanying the text was an image of Mumbo laying on the floor next to a messy pile of playing cards, his hands firmly over his eyes.

Cub couldn’t stop staring. He probably should have responded by now, but he found himself stuck, eyes glued to the softly glowing screen in his dim room, fingers tense around his phone. And it wasn’t that he thought Grian was lying, or anything along those lines, Cub believed him, but this, the text he’d been anticipating for what felt like endless hours (thirty minutes, in reality), was supposed to make him feel better. To fix him. To stop him from feeling so shit. Grian was okay, he was with a friend. Cub was proud, deeply, unbelievably proud that Grian had sought Mumbo out in the first place, and not just because Cub knew how badly Grian missed him, how badly he wanted to reconnect. He was proud because Grian had been challenged; by what, Cub still didn’t know, but he had clearly been upset, and instead of self-destructing, Grian had made a conscious effort to find someone that could help. That could meet his needs.

‘I’m glad you’re okay. Call me in the morning.’ Cub sighed, sending the text before he could back track. See? That wasn’t so hard. But he didn’t stop staring. At the words, at the picture. He didn’t move at all.

He wasn’t used to this. Not being enough.

And what a stupid, selfish thing to be upset about, really, Cub felt sick to his stomach just thinking about it, but he was upset, because he wasn’t enough, and Grian didn’t want to- Grian couldn’t come to him anymore for every problem he was having. Grian wouldn’t come to him for anything having to do with HotGuy. It all just made Cub feel like he had made the wrong choice.

Whatever had set Grian off tonight, it had to have been due to HotGuy. Cub couldn’t think of anything else. Any other reason why Grian wouldn’t come home.

Had Grian felt this way? When Scar had first approached Cub, showering him in attention, making him feel good quite frankly, and soft and warm and playful. Cub liked having Scar trailing at his heels, pining like a little girl, kicking his feet and drawing hearts around Cub’s name and looking at him like there was no one else in the world he’d rather love. That in itself was insane, Cub could not fathom why Scar was so infatuated with him, but after he stopped trying to make sense of him, it just started to be fun. Cub liked to play Scar’s little game, to see the soft look of dejection when Cub ignored an advance or didn’t laugh at a joke, or the way Scar’s face lit up when Cub paid him the smallest of compliments; Scar was just adorable, period. And he was patient too- Scar knew that Cub knew Scar was smitten, but there was no rush, no pressure, and Scar never failed to be delighted with whatever Cub felt like giving on any given day. At least, that’s how Scar came off; for all Cub knew, Scar could be getting frustrated, or was unhappy with the pace of their growing relationship, but Cub really didn’t think so. Scar was just so happy. So genuine. In any case, Cub was pretty sure if Scar didn’t say every thought that ran through his head out loud at least ten times he would explode. If Scar wasn’t happy, Cub would know.

And Grian had watched. He said his peace plenty, enough for Cub to know very explicitly how much he didn’t love what was happening here, but Cub had thought that was all because Grian didn’t like HotGuy, not because Grian loved him.

Cub considered himself an independent person. He was proud of his independence, of enjoying his own company, of needing little outside support to keep him happy and healthy. He liked that about himself. All of this made him feel entirely more pathetic for being so dependent on Grian. For not even realizing until he was stuck staring at a stupid text from stupid Grian with stupid Mumbo having a great time without him after fixing all the problems that Cub couldn’t solve because Cub couldn’t be right for everything- he couldn’t always be there.

And he KNEW that. He KNEW it was good for Grian to make more friends, to have more support systems to lean on, to have more options when times got tough, and he needed someone to turn to. Which made it all the more frustrating that Cub was still SO UPSET. Was he so much of a control freak? Maybe he just needed to throw a little fit. To be a complete baby and then stop being a baby and start being normal about his friend having other friends.

So Cub did just that, thrashing around in his bed and punching the mattress and yelling into his pillow until he collapsed face down, limp. Well. He didn’t feel better but that was a little fun. And he wasn’t looking at his phone.

He didn’t remember feeling this way so strongly about Micah. Though, in all honesty, Cub didn’t really think about Micah very much at all. He had noticed when Grian had started complaining about HotGuy less. But Cub had also been getting annoyed, particularly when he felt like he couldn’t be honest about his own feelings. All Grian’s feathers would puff up and he’d get a bit red in the face, and those weren’t conscious actions, but it made talking about HotGuy more like a chore. Maybe he’d been so relieved that Grian’s ire was being funneled elsewhere, he simply didn’t care. And no, Cub shouldn’t have to listen to Grian drag Scar for hours and hours if he didn’t want to, but he just wished the price wasn’t.. this.

Again, Cub wondered if he made the right choice. Choosing Scar, even when Grian wanted him to pursue this. When Grian insisted that this would be good for them (he was probably right), that he had his own things going on. With Micah. Mm. Grian had seemed to like it when Cub discovered Jealousy in that dusty old storage room, and in a way, it was a little bit fun in the context of their kiss, to have that longing, that want, but it was a little less fun now, the idea of Grian simply not being single all the time forever just a little bit terrifying.

And that was normal. Jealousy was a normal, human feeling, one that Cub didn’t have to feel bad about. He knew that perfectly well. But along with the pile of other things Cub knew, that didn’t exactly stop him from Feeling anyway. And it wasn’t a big deal. He would get over it. But he wasn’t so confident he could just ‘get over’ Grian, and that wouldn’t be fair to Scar. Cub groaned into his hands. He was not looking forward to that conversation. Hi Scar. Before things move any further, I just need you to know the thing that I learned about myself yesterday, being that I may be hopelessly inseparable from my roommate that hates you. Sorry for leading you on. I had no idea. But you probably won’t believe that. And I wouldn’t blame you.

Yeah.. Cub and HotGuy probably wouldn’t be talking anymore after that conversation. Well that would solve his current dilemma at least. But then he’d be down a friend, and that would suck. Cub didn’t have many of those, and he really did like HotGuy.

Beside him, Cub’s phone buzzed, an incoming call. Speak of the devil. Well, Cub wasn’t going to sleep anytime soon anyway. He picked up the phone, and didn’t even get to say hello before Scar spoke.

“HI! Can I meet you?”

Cub winced away, turning down the volume by several notches. Processing the words, he thought for a moment. Fuck it. Why not? “Yeah. Come over.”

Whatever noise of surprise Scar made caught over the speaker, and Cub probably would have laughed if he wasn’t so doom and gloom right now, “Is- Is Grian home? I uh- I probably shouldn’t-”

“Grian’s staying with a friend tonight.” Cub interrupted, firm. ‘He needed space from me,’ was left unsaid, but the thought still burned low in his chest. “I would like it if you came over. I could use the company. Having a bit of a crisis.”

“Say no more!” Scar couldn’t have sounded more delighted, though there was a lilt to the edge of his voice that bordered on crazed, “I’m having my own Moment though I wouldn’t call it a crisis. I feel good! I feel good.” Scar said, in the voice of someone who was definitely also going through it. Cub could feel his restless energy through the phone, finding it the slightest bit infectious. This was dangerous, he could already tell.

Cub opened his mouth to ask about Grian, but snapped it shut, suddenly not wanting to know. “Great. See you soon.”

Suddenly feeling restless, Cub got to his feet. He just wanted to move, but felt a little stupid walking in circles, so he started tidying up a bit, and that felt good. He wasn’t a messy person, at least, not as messy as Grian was, but his room could definitely get away from him sometimes, which only made times like these where he sat and sulked feel worse. This was good. Very good. For about the hundredth time this week, he wished he had fireworks, or the materials to make them. Not exactly easy when they were illegal in the state. Maybe he could take a train or something out of state to buy some. That would probably be a waste of money. Who cared?

Scar eventually texted to be buzzed in, and Cub did so, Scar showing up and knocking at his door less than a minute later. It took Cub a moment to realize that something was off, but he stumbled back in his surprise, unsure if he should cover his eyes, “Scar! Your- Your mask-“

“You’d better believe it!” Scar threw a wild grin, inviting himself inside and kicking the door closed behind him, “I’m done! I’m free! Who cares if the world sees my face- I don’t care anymore! I want them to see! I want- I want you to see! This is me, Cub, no masks, no facades. Nice to meet you, I’m Scar. Also known as HotGuy. Also known as Micah by some, though not many. Micah has quite a few names.”

“You- I’m not so sure this is a good idea-“ Cub cut himself off, gaping at that last little tidbit of information, “Micah!? Oh- oh. You know, my evening makes a lot more sense now. I never did meet him, did I?”

“And you never will! Micah is dead. DEAD! I killed him. Gone. I hate Micah. Dead.” Scar made a dramatic stomping motion in his enthusiasm, then a few more times, sufficiently killing that alter ego, apparently, “And I hate HotGuy too. I’d kill him if it wasn’t my job. Maybe I still will! Maybe I’ll just quit! I hate all of it! I’m starting over.”

Cub was beginning to think whatever ‘Moment’ Scar was having, it was a little bit bigger than his own. “Can you.. Is this like- You know, maybe I’m misunderstanding how you can just stop having a civilian identity. Are you just.. going to be HotGuy all the time?”

“No! I won’t be HotGuy at all! Dead!”

“Uhm.” Cub fidgeted with his hands, though Scar didn’t seem to notice, pacing around his living room, “Then.. Who do you want to be? Should I call you something different?”

“Call me Scar! Just Scar. That’s not HotGuy’s name, it’s my name, and I don’t know who me is yet, but tonight we’re going to figure it out!” Scar snapped around, eyes bright. In a terrifying lunge forward, he grabbed Cub’s hands, but Scar looked so genuinely enthusiastic, Cub found it difficult to mind. “Do you like my face?”

Cub couldn’t help but laugh, something soft, “I do. The scars suit you, even if they’re covered up most of the time.”

“I like your face too! Can I kiss you?”

“Maybe later,” Cub smiled, and Scar beamed, releasing Cub’s hands to return to his pacing.

“Well, let’s go back to the basics then, yeah? Who is Scar..” he trailed off, eyes narrowed. They were green, Cub noticed. He’d never actually known. But he didn’t get much time to examine the other previously obscured details when Scar perked up, snapping his fingers, “Scar doesn’t have legs! Can I take these off?”

“Uh-“ It took Cub a moment to realize what Scar was actually talking about, then with a jolt he said, “Yeah, man, do whatever makes you comfortable, I don’t care.”

“Oh! Good idea! That might help, so uncomfortable all the time,” Scar trailed off in a bit of a grumble before beginning to mess with his pants- okay, yeah, sure, just right here, that was fine.

“Do you want to-“ Cub had to think for a moment for the right word in his slight panic, “-change- in my room or a bathroom or something? A little more privacy?”

“Nope!” Scar said brightly, missing Cub’s discomfort entirely, “This is just fine!” Regardless, Cub not-so-subtly turned away; this wasn’t even the first time Scar had taken off his legs around him or anything, this just felt a little vulnerable is all, and Cub wasn’t quite expecting Scar to just plop right down on the floor and start messing with his clothes- really, he could have at least sat on the couch, but apparently the precious seconds it would take to sidle over there were too much in Scar’s brain.

After a minute or so Scar ‘whooped!’ and Cub turned around to see him doing somersaults in his boxers. He wondered absently how many noise complaints he’d gotten tonight, but Scar’s grin was so wide, so joyful, and suddenly he wasn’t all that concerned. If Scar wanted to roll around like a crack raccoon then so be it. Let him have his moment.

“Pick me up!” Scar seemed to materialize at his feet (fuck he was fast-) staring up with those doe eyes of his and- no, Cub wasn’t going to-

“I don’t know if that’s a great idea,” he said instead, nicer.

Scar scoffed, “You’re not going to hurt me. I’ll have you know I’m at least top five on the list of Least Fragile People in this city, and let me tell you, that’s a high bar.”

“Trust me, I do not think you’re fragile. I think you’re heavy, and I’m not very strong. I’ll probably pull a muscle or something and then drop you, and I don’t care if you care if you’re dropped, I do not want to.”

“I’m not heavy! I’m like- I’m like 180lbs, maybe, and like most of that is leg. Trust.”

“That is just not true. Your prosthetics do not weigh nearly that much, I doubt they even weigh more than an actual leg.”

“Bleh.” Scar furrowed his brow pointedly, sticking out his tongue.

“No, no, not bleh. Bleh you. You might not be fragile, but I am.”

“Cub!” Scar announced, puffing out his chest, “I want to be held! I demand that you hold me! Scar wants to be held, you wouldn’t refuse the newly rebirthed Scar, would you?”

“I absolutely would,” Cub chuckled, stepping around him, and Scar released the most affronted gasp Cub had heard from anyone in his entire life, following close behind.

“I will climb you!”

“You- no you will not!” Cub stumbled in a pathetic little jump away, but Scar gave chase, his grin sharp, “Scar! I do not have a belt on!”

“You better run then, because I’m coming!”

“that’swhatshesaid.”

Scar just gaped at him for a moment of genuine shock, staring utterly stupidly up at him like he didn’t know whether to be angry or impressed. Scar shut his mouth. Then opened it again. “CUB!”

Cub laughed, open and full, but Scar began his attack with a vengeance, snagging at the leg of Cub’s sweatpants just too late as Cub hopped away. With a little more terror, Cub leapt in the other direction, Scar howling at his knees as they looped around the couch. Scar was fast, terrifying so, and Cub was not pretending when he skidded around the kitchen table, slipped when Scar looped the other way, and scrambled off his knees just as Scar’s hand slipped off his ankle. Just then, Cub got the impression Scar might be the one going easy on him, but he was not about to test that theory, tearing away to the couch and jumping gracelessly over the back.

“You think I can’t get up there, Cub?” Scar sneered, having too much fun as he snaked around the side, but Cub was ready, nailing him with the heaviest cushion off the seat. Scar squeaked, falling off balance with a gentle oof, and Cub wasted no time snatching another pillow from the sofa and beating him with it. Scar squealed, laughing, and Cub did not relent, not until Scar stopped fighting, not until he was sure the other was tired. This did not happen. Apparently Scar didn’t just ‘get tired.’ Well. Cub did.

So he stopped, replacing the cushion and pillow to their rightful places before falling back on the couch, letting his head hang back. After a minute or two, Scar pulled himself off the floor, and Cub side-eyed him as he poked his head around the side. Not unlike a cat, Scar seemed eager to test his luck, tie toeing (on his fucking fingers, christ, what a gloat) forward near the empty seat, then a little closer to Cub’s legs.

“I could use some help.. getting up..” Scar said, piteous as he glanced up from his place on the floor. He shifted his weight on his hands, looking lost, actor that he was.

“You can do it.” Now Cub really felt like he was talking to a cat. Though, if he was, the cat would be a hell of a lot more convincing than the grown ass man pittering on his floor. Scar did give it his best shot though, engaging in a staring contest that he was never going to win, giving up, whining a little, pushing his head pathetically against the couch cushion, then finally, pulling himself up without issue. “There you go,” Cub mumbled, and Scar lit up, decidedly missing that Cub was teasing.

“Anyone sitting here?” Scar gestured vaguely, and Cub snorted despite himself. Scar took this as a solid no, and sidled his way right at Cub’s side, leaning a little awkwardly to rest his head on Cub’s shoulder. Cub let his own head fall on Scar’s. It would probably be more comfortable for the both of them to do this the other way around; Scar had a good couple inches on him after all, but he seemed content regardless, and who was Cub to deny him anything.

“Hey,” Scar looked up after a minute, gently curious. You know, Cub was starting to agree with him about the mask thing. Look at those eyes..

“Hi,” he said, one too many moments later, “Whatcha need?”

“Oh, I mean,” Scar looked startled, like he wasn’t prepared for Cub to guess he had a question, “I mean, when we were talking over the phone, you said you weren’t doing well. You okay?”

Cub sighed, not entirely sure how to answer the question, so he took a moment to close his eyes, think about it. “Dunno. I feel alright now. Don’t want to ruin the mood or anything, we don’t have to talk about it.”

“I’d like to hear if you want to share. Is it about Grian?” Scar asked like he knew, and Cub couldn’t help but squirm. Of course it was. Who else? What else?

“A little bit,” he said, carefully, but caved as he felt Scar’s eyebrows raise against his neck, “Yes. But you don’t want to hear about Grian, and this is stupid anyway. I’ll get over it.”

“I do actually, and I mean that, I did want to talk about him- not-” Scar must have felt Cub slump, or maybe heard the roiling in his stomach, “-not bad! I mean, I’m sure you know we had a bit of a talk tonight, a heart to heart if you will, and it was nice, though ended a bit abruptly, which. My bad.”

“I didn’t.” Cub pushed the words out through gritted teeth, suddenly overcome with the striking feeling he might cry. Damn. It had been awhile, hadn’t it.. Cub couldn’t even remember. Maybe he was due. Not here though, not on Scar, for goodness’ sake. “I figured.. I mean, I knew a bit more clearly when you showed up, but.. I didn’t know. He didn’t want to tell me.” Cub felt his heart rattling in his lungs, shaking his ribs. God, he didn’t want to do this, not now.

Scar hummed, a quiet understanding. He took his time before he answered, eyes distant across the room, staring right through the wall. “Well, Grian wanted to meet me to talk about a couple things. He wanted to tell me a bit about his past, all those little escapades he’s embarked on while he’s been unemployed. He wanted to show me he could be honest, I think. That he wanted to be honest with me. Be- uh- nicer to me.”

“Did he..” Cub mumbled, unhappiness churning in his chest. Logic didn’t seem to matter anymore, whether it was any of Cub’s business or not, all he could think about were the things Grian wasn’t telling him. And that was so selfish- so unfair! He and Grian had just had a massive heart to heart yesterday, and a lovely afternoon- why was he being so awful. Grian didn’t have to tell him anything. Especially not wanting to talk to Scar, that was his own damn business.

“He did,” Scar said, kindly. “And he told me he was in love with you. That you loved him back, but that you two had decided it might be better to branch out, to see where that takes you.”

For a moment, Cub was okay. And then everything fell apart. The dam broke, and he was sobbing, wretched and cold, holding himself in a vice. Scar’s head lifted from his shoulder, and gently, so gently, he pulled Cub into a loose hug, a suggestion of comfort, one that Cub could leave without issue. He didn’t. He didn’t want to lose this.

“I’m sorry,” Cub choked on the words, and felt Scar’s fingers graze his scalp, carding through his hair, and he sobbed harder, harder under love so kind.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I didn’t- I didn’t know. I’ve led you on. I’ve led you on, and I’m not even good for Grian either, ‘cause I can’t leave him the fuck alone! I want everything, I want everything and I have no right. And I still- I still like you.”

“That’s okay, Cub.”

Cub balled his fists around his own shirt, arms still locked across his chest, “You don’t have to say it just because. I don’t like it. Tell me how you feel or not at all.”

“Well,” Scar was painfully undeterred, voice light, “I think you’re going through something. I think you and Grian have been very close for a long while, and you’ve endured so much together, it makes sense that you’re used to sharing everything, yeah?”

“But I- I don’t even want to hear it half the time. I don’t really care about the asshole that always cuts the lines in the grocery store and I hated it when he’d go on and on about you- I hated it! I didn’t want to hear it! But I still- I can’t stand it that he’s just not telling me anymore! He’s finding other people, and that’s good, it’s so good, and I just can’t be happy.”

Scar considered him carefully, taking his time. “I mean, things are changing, aren’t they? Doesn’t matter if the change is for the better or for the worse most of the time. It fucking sucks. This is painfully trivial, I know, but I throw a fit whenever they go and update my uniform. Either to change up the design or remake it with stronger, safer materials; it drives me completely crazy! I hate it, and then I get used to it, and sometimes even then I’m not super happy, but it’s not always bad. Might even be a good thing, even if you don’t know it yet. Maybe you do know it’s for the best, but you still gotta throw a little fit because AUGH this SUCKS. Y’know? You’re not an asshole, Cub, you’re just human. Funny thing about humans too, is that they can love more than one person at the same time. Again, it’s not a sin.”

“Feels bad,” Cub mumbled, unable to say much else.

Scar laughed, and no matter how hard Cub tried to find it, there was no hollowness there, “Well I hope at least I can make you feel a little bit better about one of those things. I have a plan. I am not so easily deterred, Sir Cub!”

“If you have to tell me you have a plan before you say the actual thing, I feel like you’re about to say something stupid and are trying to brace me for it.”

“I..” Scar drew the word out, looking equal parts mischievous as he looked excited, “am going to court Grian.”

Cub jolted up, so surprised he let go of his arms, “You’re going to what?”

“I think you heard me. Listen, G and I had a rocky start, everyone could see it! He didn’t like me because I liked you, and I didn’t like him because he’s an asshole-”

“Grian hasn’t liked you for years, his behavior was not just-”

Scar ignored Cub entirely, continuing on like he hadn’t heard, “But in the end, we’re really only after the same thing, yeah? Now, now, we’re both adults I’d say, so why are we fighting, really? I’m asking, why fight?” Cub could have answered that question in a dozen different ways Scar would have hated, so instead he kept his mouth shut, “So I’m saying, if everyone wants a piece of you,” Scar draped his arms across Cub’s shoulders, smirking as he leaned in close and blood rushed to Cub’s cheeks, “Why not share?”

Cub longed to retort, bite back, anything to offset the amount of flustered he was feeling right now, but he couldn’t find the words, only managing a quiet, “Okay,” though Scar was far from done, gazing at him through narrowed eyes.

“Close your eyes, imagine it for me,” the words were barely whispered, and there was no reason to be any louder, “All of us, sitting here. Grian’s behind you, holding you loosely at your waist, his legs around yours. I’m up front, back against your chest, just like this,” Scar moved, and Cub did not stop him, allowing the picture to be painted. Scar let him breathe for a moment, then continued, “We’re all relaxed, watching a movie maybe, but none of us are really watching. We’re tired, separately, from work, just enjoying each other’s company. The feeling of our breathing together is all that really matters.” Scar leaned back, letting his weight fall entirely on Cub’s chest.

“Grian lets his head fall against your neck, not on purpose really, that’s just what’s closest, and he kisses you gently, hardly any thought behind it. Just a reminder that he’s there, as if you’d forget. I’d feel his breath, and I’d look back, y’know, to see what the fuss is about, and I’d see Grian there brainless and adorable and I’d turn around and bite him right on the nose and just instantly everything is thrown into chaos. Grian starts squawking and flailing but his ass isn’t going anywhere, not when he’s being crushed into the sofa by the weight of two big guys! I turn around,” Scar stops for a moment to do so, chest to chest with Cub’s soft chuckling, “And I’m just teasing him because he can’t get out, and he can’t attack me without hurting you too, so he’s just thrashing uselessly which is hilarious until you start getting annoyed, and without even a word of warning you start getting up, and suddenly we’re both panicking because we don’t want that! We were so comfortable! But you don’t give a fuck, because you’re heartless and cold and eat rocks so you leave and then we’re sad.”

“I eat rocks?”

“Well since you asked so nicely for a better ending, I suppose I can give you one,” Scar sighed, and Cub rolled his eyes, saying nothing, “You start to get up, but after Grian and I’s mutual panic, we work together to convince you to stay, and we try not to fight for the rest of the night. If we do start something though, we make sure you’re sufficiently trapped, Grian straddling you with his legs and me laying right on top of you so we can battle it out in peace.”

“What I’m learning from this is that I should never be in the middle.” Cub paused, considering this, “Well, I guess I could if you were behind me and Grian was in front. No legs, and it doesn't matter how much he flaps, Grian’s not weighing anyone down.”

“You’d be surprised! CuteGuy’s got a pretty fierce pin if he really wants to hold you down. Mostly because he’s sharp everywhere though. Listen, Grian is strong, but I overpower him anyday. Hey- does this mean you’re on board?”

Cub laughed softly, enjoying the proximity of Scar’s sudden excitement, “If you can manage this, then please, be my guest to try.”

“Oh I will. I will. HotGuy can pull anyone.”

Cub barked a short laugh, shaking his head, “You better not tell him that. He’ll take it as a challenge.”

“I won’t, but seriously, I know that Grian has the capacity to like me. He liked Micah! Came right onto him the first time they met, though, I am willing to believe Grian might’ve attached himself to anyone that night. How lucky! It’s such a small world, isn’t it? Regardless, I am so his type. I can tell. Oh, I might have told him actually he wasn’t my type. Hm. Hopefully he doesn’t remember that. Like- it’s not that I don’t think he’s cute-”

“Oh my god, Scar.”

“Don’t say it! I would totally one hundred percent be down to clown with Grian, alright? He’s so much better when he’s not being a dick to me! I really do like him! Like- like like, I don’t know yet, but dating isn’t about loving someone right away, it’s about fucking around and finding out, and boy do I want to find out. This is going to be so fun.”

“You say that like you won’t crumble if you get rejected.”

“I won’t get rejected.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“Hey! You know when I said Grian liked Micah, I meant it. He was totally into him.”

Cub snorted, rolling his eyes. “I’m aware.”

“Wait- really? Did he talk about me? What did he say?”

“You are terrible. Seriously.”

“Is it a crime to want to know? Come on, please? This is relevant, important information! Especially after the whole fiasco that was tonight, goodness. This might be a bit of a setback, but that’s alright. We’ll talk about it. But if I know what Grian likes about Micah, then we can get this show on the road even faster! What do you say?”

“I don’t think anything I say to you will be helpful.”

“Well- whatever! Okay, maybe I just want to know for the sake of it, is that what you want to hear? Grian spends 90% of his time actively trying to make my life harder, can you blame me?”

“I guess you’re right,” Cub mused, restituating a bit on the couch so he could lay down, Scar settled nicely on top, “Well, I think he liked to keep Micah and I a bit separate, at least to me, so he didn’t talk about you too much. But he really appreciated the way you brought him in, like, probably more than you’ll ever know. And he didn’t say that to me, but I know Grian, I can tell. He gets a certain way. He’ll never forget that, never. In general, he liked you because you were kind. Because you didn’t run at the first sign of trouble, because Grian is trouble, and he knows it, so he’s pretty wary of people that.. I don’t know. He likes to test people, try and make them uncomfortable, see if they flinch and pull away. And he didn’t have to test you, you saw him right at his worst and treated him like a human being, even after knowing about the CuteGuy stuff. That’s all he really wants. To be treated normally. Fairly. Obviously you checked all his boxes. It helped that Micah was fucking weird with all that fae stuff too, Grian can’t really get behind anyone who isn’t at least a little crazy. It makes him feel comfortable.”

Scar nodded, looking very much like he wanted to know more and doing an extremely poor job of hiding it. Cub chuckled to himself.

“I know you probably want specifics, but I don’t have many. You were right though, he was pretty into you. Mentioned trying to pursue something romantically, just see where it goes. That’s a little awkward now of course, and probably the main reason he was so upset. I mean.. I don’t know, I wasn’t there, but I’m sure that freaked him out big time. And I don’t blame him.”

“I.. didn’t know that. I mean. I knew he found me attractive, but I didn’t consider he was romantically interested- ah, you know, this makes a little more sense. I really wasn’t trying to spur anything on though, I mean, obviously Micah couldn’t just go around dating people.”

Cub raised an eyebrow, disbelieving. “Really. You did nothing to spur him on.”

“Wh- No?? Why are you talking like that?”

“Scar.”

“Cub!”

Cub sighed deeply through his nose, unsure if he should be frustrated or just exasperated. “Scar, I believe in quite some detail you told Grian exactly how you’d take his virginity. Tomorrow night, actually. You don’t see any way that could have sparked anything.”

Scar sat up, an alarming amount of surprise coloring his face, “I- it was not like that.”

“Well to Grian it was very much ‘like that,’ and I didn’t get many details, but the way he described it, it sounded a bit to me that it was ‘like that’ as well. Dumbass.”

“Hey! Okay, so maybe I went into a bit of detail, but that was only because I was trying to show him that Micah isn’t- he’s not good for first times, okay? I gotta keep the prosthetics on, and it’s pretty obvious up close, and even touching them it’s obvious it’s not real skin. I also told him very explicitly I was a last resort! I did not want to fuck Grian! He was just so damn pent up and I was getting so pissed at him I had to do something!”

“Are. You’re serious. That’s why you were going to take him out.”

“Yes! Yes, and he knew it! I told him! If he chose to ignore me then that is sufficiently a him problem. He was bugging the shit out of me! Though, what he ended up doing instead was probably a lot better. Y’know, talking about your feelings and stuff. You don’t think he’s upset about our Thursday plans not happening anymore, do you?”

“I very much do think he is!”

Scar let his head fall on Cub’s chest. “Fuuuuuck.”

“I would say so.”

“I told him. I told him though. I told him it wasn’t glamorous. Why did he go and glamorize it. That’s not. He might have hated it. I don’t even love it.”

“You are an idiot.”

“You think he’d still be down for tomorrow though? I mean, I could give him a much better time now that he knows who I am. I- You’re looking at me like I’m saying something stupid right now.”

“I can not believe you.”

“I’ll shelve that then.” Scar yawned, nestling his head close to Cub’s chin. Cub sighed. It was getting pretty late, wasn’t it. And he was tired too, his eyes- damn, he forgot how that felt. It really had been too long since he’d had a good cry.. Alright.

“Let’s get to bed, then. You can stay, but I’m waking you up when I go to work in the morning. You need to be out of here before Grian comes home, and I mean it, if for some ungodly reason he comes home before 8 AM, you’re going out the window.”

“I can swing that.” Scar settled, then seemed alarmed when Cub began to move, “Wait- where are you going?”

“To bed.”

“Not- you don’t just want to sleep here?”

“No. I need to charge my phone. And piss. And you’re too warm. And I want my pillow. And this will get uncomfortable in like fifteen minutes.” Cub continued to sit up, Scar whining as he slid off.

“You’re mean. And hard to please.”

“There isn’t a single person that can compete with my bed,” Cub got to his feet, leaving Scar to mope face down on the couch. Walking away, he paused briefly, glancing at the floor where Scar’s prosthetics had been discarded. “Want me to get your legs?”

“Yes please,” Scar grumbled into the couch, and Cub smiled, bending over to collect them.

“Goodnight then. If you ever decide to join me, will you shut the light off on your way out?” At an inaudible grunt from Scar, which Cub assumed to be a yes, he left the room, bringing Scar’s legs with him.

#hermitcraft #hermitfic #hermitcraft fanfic #goodtimeswithscar #gtws #grian #cubfan #cubfan135 #hotguy #cuteguy #hermitshipping #cubscar #cubscarian #suggestive

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echo-goes-mmm · 8 months

Text

Moonflower #7

Masterpost

Warnings: mentions of violence

He woke up even earlier than normal; the sun not even peeking over the mountains yet.

Kit took his time getting ready; he needed to calm himself before court. He drew a warm bath and spent several minutes just soaking in the heat.

He scrubbed his skin until it was soft and clean, and he carefully washed his brittle hair.

After everything, seeing his skin blank was unnerving. No one could tell what had happened, which was nice, but it was also like nothing had happened at all. It seemed strange to be so unblemished.

Kit pulled out a pair of charcoal black trousers and a soft blue shirt. He liked the cotton fabric, and the long sleeves weren’t too snug. The shirt had a lovely texture, and the pants weren’t stiff at all. Good. He tugged on some gray socks.

Mira had promised modesty, and had certainly delivered.

He slipped out of his room, and Sir Maxus nodded at him when he knocked on Mistress’s door.

“Come in,” she called.

Mistress was in her closet, rifling through her dresses.

“Oh,” she said, glancing at him but not really looking up, “it’s you.”

He didn’t say anything. She seemed a tiny bit cross, and he didn’t want to make it worse.

“What time is it?”

“Seven and two am.”

She sighed. “Do you always get up so early?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

She mumbled something that even he couldn’t hear, and Kit got the feeling she was not a morning person.

She pulled out a deep blue dress, one that reminded him of the dark icy lake near the fae prince’s territory.

“Here, hold this.” He gingerly took the hanger from her as she picked through her shoes.

She held up two pairs of shoes, both black. “High heels or flats?” Was it a test?

The slanted shoes- ‘high heels’- seemed uncomfortable. “Flats,” he suggested. Iris seemed pleased by the choice.

She moved on to a jewelry case, looking at earrings.

“What time do you get up, anyway?”

“Dawn. I’m not sure the time.” Iris rolled her eyes, but in a strange, unannoyed way.

“Of course. I don’t know what I expected.”

Kit shifted his weight. “Sometimes I sleep in when it’s winter,” he admitted.

“Oh good. I might find it insufferable if you weren’t lazy at some point.”

Kit didn’t have the time to parse what that meant before there was a knock on Iris’s door.

“Get the door, would you?” He hung up the dress on a hook on her bedroom door.

It was Katie, and she was much more cheerful than Iris. She said hello, dropped off the food, and left as quickly as she’d come.

“Is that breakfast?” called Mistress from the other room.

“Yes.”

“Great. Could you grab me some coffee? With cream and sugar please.”

Kit didn’t know what coffee was, but he knew Mistress Iris put cream and sugar into that bitter drink she liked.

He brought a mug of it to her bedroom.

“Thanks,” she said, chugging it down. She had already changed into her dress and earrings. They were sapphires, dangling and framed in silver.

They ate breakfast together, and Iris brushed her hair while sipping on another cup of coffee. She offered him some, but he declined.

He twitched towards the little pitcher of cream, but restrained himself from drinking it. He didn’t want a repeat of yesterday. Who knew what was considered normal to eat and drink? Kit put the cream out of his mind.

Iris didn’t put up her hair, instead leaving it long and flowing like a dark waterfall down her back. It was wavy and shiny, a soft healthy gloss.

He pushed down the simmering jealousy in his throat. He couldn’t do anything about it anyway. He could only wait for the sickness to leave him, and hopefully his hair would turn back to its soft dark green.

“Well, duty calls I suppose,” she sighed, standing and smoothing out her dress. “Ready?”

Kit couldn’t answer her verbally, as he was pretty sure he wasn’t ever going to be ready, so he nodded instead. He followed her out the door.

Sir Maxus walked alongside them, on Mistress’s right.

“Just keep quiet,” Mistress told him. “Let me do the talking.”

“Yes, Mistress.” Kit had absolutely no intention of saying anything in the first place.

The hallway to the throne room was lined with portraits of kings and queens past, framed in gleaming gold. The left wall had large windows, and they cast high beams of light onto the walls.

There was something both intimidating and beautiful about this section of the castle, both the same and yet totally different from the heart of the forest where the gentry began to outnumber the wild folk.

They entered the throne room from a side entrance, a curtain concealing the exact spot like the wings of a stage.

There was chatter from the nobles, but they fell to silence as Iris entered. Faint whispers brushed through the room when he followed behind, Sir Maxus taking up the rear.

Iris sat on the throne, sitting high and regal, and she crossed her legs at the ankle. A man sat just to the side the platform, a long scroll and several pens and inkwells on his desk. A scribe, maybe?

There was a pillowed spot directly next to the throne, and he instinctively knelt on it.

His heart pounded at the eyes on him. He could feel them as well as any weight, like a heavy cloak a bit too tight in the chest. Kit kept his gaze on the swirls of the marble of the platform. He didn’t want to look up and see them staring.

Iris’s hand drifted to brush against his head, and he flinched. But her palm ran over his hair in a soothing motion.

You’re doing fine, said the gesture. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, but she was focused out into the room. Of course. He was meant to be ignored, just like she said.

“Her Majesty, Queen Iris, first of her name, has opened the court to comment. Those who wish to bring forth concerns may now step forward,” called an announcer from just below the platform.

He was loud, his voice echoing around the room, and Kit’s ears twitched. A wave of whispers swept through the crowd.

Ugh. If the mortals commented on every little movement, he’d never get through five years without tearing his hair out.

The first few discussions were uneventful; about tax complaints or harvest estimates.

Kit was mostly interested in how different Iris was to the faerie prince. She was bold and unconcerned with so much attention; the entire structure of the court made to center her.

He’d met the faerie prince exactly once, and seen him from afar. He ruled quietly and rarely made appearances. He was almost shy about using his authority, unlike Iris who embraced it.

Not to say the prince wasn’t intimidating. He could halt conflict with a glare and break up a bloody fight with one well-placed snarl. Kit had even been there when he graphically executed an ogre for insulting his husband.

But everyone knew he hated his title, and that he only tolerated the other gentry.

Overall, he mostly left his subjects alone and preferred not to interfere.

Kit appreciated these things about his liege.

He did not appreciate how complicated human politics seemed to be.

There were exactly three laws of the fae realm. Here, it was not even two hours into court, and an advisor had cited several human laws that Kit couldn’t even comprehend.

What even were taxes? Some sort of tribute?

___________________

Everyone broke for lunch at noon.

Iris was all grace and composure until the moment they stepped back out into the hall.

“I swear, if one more lord complains about my financial policy, I'm going to throw something,” she muttered.

Kit hummed in sympathy. Maybe she was more like the prince than he thought. She didn’t seem to like nobles either.

Lunch was over with quickly, and it was back to the throne room.

“Your grace, my name is June Harbor,” curtsied a woman, and suddenly Kit felt on edge. She didn’t look like the other nobles. “If I may, I have a concern on behalf of my brother, James Harbor.”

Iris tensed, her fingers flexing on the armrest of her chair.

“Go on.”

“You see, he was arrested the other day, on your command.” A murmur swept through the room, and Kit held his breath. Mistress Iris had said his kidnapper had been arrested. Was this woman his sister?

“I recall,” said Iris, coldly.

“I wonder, your grace, what his crime was. My family has not been told.”

“Treason, of course.”

June bristled, and the whispers of the crowd grew. Iris held up a hand, and the room fell to silence.

“Treason, your majesty? On what grounds?”

Despite the woman’s tone, there was clear disrespect in her words. The prince would have snapped a response, but Iris remained calm.

“By kidnapping a citizen of a foreign country, James Harbor has endangered the realm.” Iris’s voice was loud and clear, her eyes sweeping over the room. “If we are unlucky, the fae may consider war.”

The court murmured. Kit knew that was unlikely, but he held his tongue.

Iris focused on June. “I will not hesitate to turn your brother over to the fae if they demand it. Until that day comes, he will remain in prison. I cannot allow such reckless acts against our neighbors.”

June gaped at her. “There hasn’t been a trial!” she sputtered.

Iris raised a brow. “He admitted to the kidnapping in front of the court, and I have evidence sitting right next to me. If you demand a trial, I would also need to charge him with the crime of torture and have him hanged. Would you prefer that?”

“I- torture? James would never!”

Iris sat back in her chair, uncrossing and then crossing her legs again.

“Again, the evidence is right here,” Iris gestured to him, and Kit winced. “James tortured him with iron in front of the whole court, not to mention what Kit has told me. Or do you consider a fae somehow a liar, and the burning incident a mass hallucination?”

June had nothing to say, and stiffly curtsied before flouncing off.

“I will hear no more of this,” said Iris to the room, dismissive. “If no one has anything of value to say today, we might as well end here.”

No one stepped forward.

___________________

“Sorry about that,” said Iris. They were alone in her study; Iris poring over a stack of papers. “I didn’t think I’d be challenged on the arrest.”

Kit paused, trying to figure out his phrasing. “It’s not your fault.” He was sitting on the floor, next to her chair.

“Still,” she said. “I shouldn’t have put you on the spot like that.”

“I don’t see how else you could have done it.”

Iris glanced down at him. “Not even the bit where I lied? You haven’t told me anything about what he did to you.”

Kit looked away. “I told you I have iron poisoning. That counts. You didn’t lie. You just… implied more information.”

Iris sat back in her chair.

“Hm. That’s pretty tricksy of you.” She said it with a lilt to her voice, teasing.

Kit relaxed, leaning against the legs of the desk. He liked this side of her. “Technically, you were the one being tricksy.”

Iris snorted.

They fell into silence, the only sound the scratch of a pen on paper and the clink of the pen dipping into the inkwell.

“You don’t have to tell me details, by the way,” continued Iris. “I won’t ask that from you.”

“Thank you.”

After a few minutes of writing, she spoke again.

“I have a work dinner tonight. Family matters.”

Kit wrinkled his nose. “When do you relax?”

She laughed, signing a paper with a rough scrawl. “I don’t. Want to come with?”

“I will if you ask me to,” he evaded.

“You’re being tricksy again.”

“Mm.”

Iris flipped through the last few pages of paperwork. “I’d like it if you came. Your presence will scare my relatives, if nothing else.”

Kit tilted his head. She didn’t seem to like her family.

“Do they bother you?”

“They want me to get married.” She said it with such derision, it almost startled him.

“Is that bad?”

“It’s… complicated. Especially so soon. They won't shut up about it.” She slumped in her chair, twirling the pen in her fingers.

“Oh.”

He thought it over. “I’ll go with you. Maybe it will help.”

“Thanks,” she said, smiling at him. “At least then there will be someone I can tolerate.”

taglist: @paintedpigeon1 @cupcakes-and-pain @loserwithsyle

#Me: ooo can't wait to write a long whump series with political intrigue!#Also me: shit. I don't know how to write political intrigue #im not exactly happy with this one but it'll do #moonflower series #my writing #whump #slavery whump #fae whumpee #royal caretaker

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harteofthehart-ayyy · 3 months

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Okay I’m making my own posts where I transcribe the tags on another post that I reblogged. This is about domestic Aggron! It’s just a little ramble.

Aron, while better beginner steel types than MANY others, do evolve after they get enough experience. There’s nothing wrong with preventing Aron evolution health-wise, so this may not be a worry! However, if you ARE planning on evolving your Aron into an Aggron, here are some things I typed up in the tags of another post.

While Aggron ARE more difficult to care for, I personally think Lairon are the most difficult of their evolution line due to their stubbornness. Aggron in comparison are much more “agreeable” and much smarter than people give them credit for.

The thing to watch out for with Aggron is that domestic Aggron WILL claim a territory. If you’re a traveling trainer, your Aggron won’t claim territory unless you give them enough time to settle down. A domestic Aggron’s territory is much smaller than a wild Aggron’s. A wild Aggron’s territory could be a mountain, while a domestic Aggron’s territory could be your front yard. Either way, Aggron are very territorial and protective of what is theirs. They are known as the kings of the mountains, after all!

Thankfully, domestic Aggron tend to be more docile than their wild counterparts! It’s not that difficult to get a well-trained Aggron to respect the presence of strangers, especially with the encouragement of treats. An Aggron that’s used to strangers will, of course, be way more lenient with strangers in their territory than one that’s wild caught.

In terms of maintenance and enrichment, Aggron are fairly simple compared to a lot of other steel types! They’re very good at taking care of their own armor and won’t rust unless there’s an underlying condition or their diet is poor. It doesn’t hurt to polish them up every once in a while, though! Taking preventative measures is way better than having a sick and corroded partner. As for enrichment, wild Aggron garden! They may be the kings and queens of their mountains, but they’re also the groundskeepers. If you give your Aggron a sapling, it WILL be planted, and it WILL be protected. Growing berries with your Aggron is sure to be rewarding for both parties!!

Speaking of gardening, a Pokémon that gets along with Aggron is Torterra! Torterra often cultivate entire miniature ecosystems on their shells, and don’t mind a bit of change now and then. Aggron may plant flowers, keep trees and bushes healthy, and bring smaller Pokémon to your Torterra, which enriches both of them! An Aggron ALSO may declare the Torterra as their territory, which can prevent issues with an overprotective Aggron scaring away the mailman.

Overall, Aggron are not the worst choice for a fully evolved steel type partner. They’re mildly difficult, very manageable if you know what you’re doing, and greatly rewarding.

Original tags are under the read more :-]

#rotomblr #pkmn irl #pkmn rp #hartelore #//technically #breeder’s banter

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f1ghtsoftly · 1 year

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So like, this is why I call myself a Marxist feminists rather than a Radical Feminist because I primarily think that ending the relationship between heterosexuality/submission to male authority and women’s financial security will eventually end the intense prioritization of men by women. Without economic survival being assured without ties to the patriarchal family or heterosexual social structures, women will naturally just care about what men think a lot less.

There are other women who believe the opposite, that one must separate from men. I think this is truthfully impractical and cruel. It might make sense for a young woman without children and a college education, but it makes less sense for less financially well positioned women and once men realize many women who are financially well positioned are breaking away, they will use the women and children they control against independent women (or to at least, stay compliant with the scapegoating). Most women, statistically, have children that they need to care for. Most women, who work for wages, have jobs reliant on their willingness to work harder for less and to take male abuse. Most women do not live in a world where realistically they can reskill and leave their husbands without suffering dire economic and social consequences that will put them at risk for more predation. They literally either cannot afford it or live in cultures were this isn’t permissible. Not only that, but it destroys solidarity between younger and older women which we need to win. Men are 50% of the population. We need every woman on board. This cycle has already happened many times, all over the world, throughout history.

Now you may say? Why don’t women all pick up trades? I think going into the trades is a good option for a lot of women and I encourage it, but when I think about economic security, my mind drifts to more vulnerable periods of a woman’s lifespan like her later years and when she is a mother with young children. It’s easier to be economically well when you aren’t strapped by dependents or in bad health but men use our vulnerabilities against us to accept their dominion.

Women not only deserve inalienable economic security for the carework they preform through raising and educating children and caring for the old and sick but protecting women at their most vulnerable protects us all. If we want to live in a healthy post patriarchal world some, or most, women will still want to have kids. We want those women to need support via labor and $$$ from other women rather then men during that time. When women are old and need help, they need support and $$$ from female driven sources. We will all get old or sick someday, we all were children once, some of us may want to become mothers. All of these life stages are RIPE with male predation and exploitation and women forced “under” male protection , for whatever reason, are often turned against feminists but this is a false, male centered choice. Feminists are natural allies to mothers not men.

Knowing we don’t need to rely on men when we’re weak makes us strong and bold. Kids who grow up in households lead by women, with good financial health and strong female lead social bonds not only thrive but become kids comfortable with challenging male power. Adult women free from the burden of raising children without payment do not need to tie their social and political activities to a domineering and conservative husband. They also don’t need to be as desperate to work in exploitive work environments and can ally with childless women in organizing activities with less financial stress.

Wages for Childcare and full autonomy for female dominated industries IS the issue of our time. I don’t want every single woman to stay in a traditional field, obviously, I’m not in one, but I do want every single woman to know that no matter what there are millions and millions of women who earn good money to throw at lawsuits, financial assistance, who can take time off to protest, who can provide childcare etc etc…for women who do feel called to brave the world of male/het relations.

We NEED a strong base of financial autonomy and self respect. We NEED to make sure men can’t split us in camps of spinsters vs. goodwives. We NEED to make sure every woman knows we have her back, as long as she pays us back with loyalty to women first. It is so critical to the survival of this movement to create strong structures that support separatism rather then undermine it.

#im so ssrious when I say I want every woman to get so paid #SO PAID #do you even know how much the garment industry is worth?#do you know how badly teachers are paid compared to other professionals?#how many elderly women live in poverty and isolation?#finances are the invisable strings that drive a lot of pro patriarchal behavior among adult womeb #radblr #radical feminism #radical feminist #radical feminist theory #radical feminists do touch #radfem safe #radfems #gender critical #radfem

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raptorsaurusmelain · 11 months

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Let me show you... Youtube - chapter 22

I'M BACK BABY !! I won't do a chapter a day since my imagination is less wild than before, so I think between 2-3 chapters per week would be healthy.

Warning : no proof reading, English is not my mother tongue.

Trigger warning : once sentence speak about unaliving themselves.

If you are interested in reading this fic, the tag "#twst lmsyy" will give you all the chapters.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Victoria finished her breakfast easily in 5min. The man was impressed. “You were this hungry ?”

Victoria scratched her cheek. “I have the tendency to eat fast what I love. I try to slow down when it is noon, to not be bloated while working.”

Crewel nodded. “Do you want to cruise around ? Unless you know what you want ?”

Victoria answered quite fast. “No, I have no idea. Is there some exposition of stuff like that ? I would love to see everything if I can, but it is not possible I think.”

The man laughed. “It is too big to see everything and the match, but there are some exposition. You have photography, art and craft, board games…The choice is yours too make.”

She was hyped. “So many interesting things… Let’s go to art and craft then. I am wondering what an all boy school has to offer.”

Crewel gasped. “Are you saying that men can’t be creative ? In front of me, a fashion designer ?” He teased her.

Victoria laughed and wheezed. “Oh I am sorry mister successful. But I like to think you are the exception of this world !”

The man’s cheeks reddened a little. “Thanks…”

Victoria smiled, not understanding why he became pink. “? You’re welcome.”

They went to the art and craft exposition and Victoria was impressed by the quality of the goods. They were a particular painting that she liked. It was titled “Paranoia” and represented the silhouette of a man, in a fetal position, in the midst of a violent whirlwind of red and blue with white and black writings on it.

Crewel only saw something violent, but she recognized herself when she had an episode. Alone in the world against her violent brain, lying to her. It could go from the simple noise to the impression that someone wanted to unalive her… Having such a brain was hard.

Crewel had the time to do the round of all the exposition but she was still admiring the painting. He interrupted her. “Are you alright ?”

She answered simply. “I want to buy this painting if I can.”

She went to ask one of the person in charge. “I am sorry, I would like to know if this painting is up for sale ?”

The student nearly choked on his drink. “You… Want to buy this painting ? The paranoia one ? Really ?”

Victoria nodded. “Yeah, I like it very much. It is a powerful painting.”

The poor teenager didn’t know what to answer. “Erm, I can contact him to know if he wishes to sell it… Can I have your number to text you his answer ?”

The woman smiled. “Perfect. It is X61…”

When she finished, Crewel asked. “What do you see in this portrait that interests you so much ?”

Victoria smiled. “The accuracy of this feeling.”

Crewel was shocked by her answer. “Do you know someone with paranoia ?”

Victoria looked into his eyes, with all the confidence in the world. “Me.”

The man was flabbergasted. “Wh-What ? What do you mean ?”

The woman only smiled. “Let’s go.”

They approached the stadium, with Crewel mind full of questions. What did she mean by that ? Ok, everyone had a little paranoia crisis once in his life, but to the point of buying a painting of it ? Maybe she was… Sick ?

Before Crewel could have guessed more, a commotion happened.

A large crowd movement happened, nearly pulling Victoria out of grasp. Thanks to his quick reflexes, he pulled her close. Once the crowd went away, Crewel looked at Victoria, worried. “Is everything alright ? You’re not hurt ?”

Victoria, shocked by the sudden commotion, only stuttered. “N-No, I… I’m okay. W-What happened to all those people ?”

Crewel looked into her eyes. She seemed to focus back on him. She became red. She whispered. “Wow, you’re beautiful.”

Crewel seemed to come back to his senses. Their bodies were close. Like, closer would mean fusion. He also became red. They both let go of the other. “I’m sorry, the crowd…”

She answered awkwardly. “Y-Yeah, I understand.”

Once they were calmer, she looked at the stadium. “I don’t know why but I have a very bad feeling… Like something really bad is going to happen during this Magift tournament…” [I mean, Leona is supposed to overblot now.]

He shrugged. “Well you know boys, they are rowdy, it is normal for accidents to happen.”

She felt sick in her stomach. It was like her guts sinked in the ground. She whispered. “My babies… Buddha, please protect them.”

Crewel squeezed her hand. “Are you alright ? Do you want to go to the infirmary ?”

She squeezed his hand back. “I just need to sit a little with juice… I feel faint.”

They sat near the stadium. Noise from an argument between multiple people could be heard. Victoria tried to focus on her juice, it was hard. Hard because a battle of the century was happening near them and no one knew it except her. It was hard to pretend to not know what was happening when you perfectly KNEW what was happening.

The headmage passed in front of them, running. Crewel frowned. “I don’t like what is happening… If you feel well, we should follow him.”

Victoria threw her empty cup in the trash can. She was full of determination. “Let’s go.”

They entered the stadium. The air was full of dust. It was pure havoc. The students were all send flying at various places in the stadium, but Leona was back to normal. Victoria sighed. That was the end…

She ran to the first year. “Everyone is ok ? Does someone need to go to the infirmary ?”

Yuu got up first and ran to hug the woman. “V-Victoria, I was scared !!”

She hugged them back. “I am here baby, I am here. I can bite them for you if you want.”

There was a blank and everyone looked at her flabbergasted. Ace was the one to voice what everyone thought. “What ? You want to bite Leona ?”

Victoria looked at him deadpan. “Why not ? Is there a law protecting him ?”

Ace short circuited. “YOU’RE IMPOSSIBLE !!!!”

Once everyone was feeling better, the match took place. Victoria harassed Crowley to be in the front row in the VIP lounge so she could film everything. Before the match, when every player was taking place in the field, she did THE mom thing. She waved. “Griiim ! Yuuuu !! Mom is proud of you !!! Look at the camera !”

That made Yuu burst out laughing and waved back to Victoria. Grim waved a bit, embarrassed by the “mom energy” coming from the older woman.

The match played out in front of her camera. She zoomed, unzoomed,... Thanks to the Great Seven her phone had a lot of options in that area. It may have cost a month's salary but it was an efficient phone. -No it wasn’t an Apple one ;)-

She was overjoyed. They looked so cool !!

She heard a whisper. “I… Hate… You.”

Tag : @boba-tea-fish @hipsterteller

#disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland #twst #disney twst #twst lmsyy #twst fanfic #twst yuu #twst grim #twst victoria #twst crewel #divus crewel

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vexcraft · 1 year

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i love ur convex fics so so so soso much. they r so silly and sweet. i love those guys ^_^

not necessarily a specific prompt but maybe some wound-tending or having to take care of the other when sick?

thank you!! i'm very happy to hear that, i love putting these guys into various situations >:] have some wound-tending that kind of escalated

“So, what kind of trouble did you get caught up in this time?” Scar asked as he wiped away the blood from Cub’s shoulder.

Cub merely gave him a glare that might have made a shiver run down Scar’s spine if it had been someone else giving him the look. This was Cub though, and Scar knew how Cub was.

“You need to be more careful,” Scar rambled mindlessly as he took the clean bandages and wrapped them around Cub’s shoulder a few times, making sure it was firm enough but not too tight. “This is the second time within a week I have to patch you up! That’s, like, unheard of! Never happened before!”

It was rather uncommon, though nothing Scar couldn’t handle, even with his limited medical skills. Neither of the injuries had been very serious, just hard for Cub to patch up himself.

Cub scoffed, looking away from Scar. “I’m fully aware, trust me. Can you drop it now?”

Frowning, Scar tied the bandage in place. “Clearly whatever you’ve been up to has been dangerous!”

“I know I made a mistake,” Cub snapped and pulled his arm away, wincing at the pain from the sudden movement. “I told you to drop it, stop rubbing it in, I know I messed up!”

Scar blinked in confusion, taken aback by the other’s outburst. Cub seemed genuinely upset all the sudden. He looked tired, now that Scar looked at him more properly, dark circles under his sharp eyes, brows furrowed as he avoided looking at Scar.

“You do know it’s okay to make mistakes, right?” Scar asked gently.

“Obviously,” Cub replied, though Scar wasn’t quite convinced, raising a brow at the other’s words. Cub seemed to notice, sighing. “It’s just… It doesn’t happen to me. Not like this.”

Ah. Scar could see what was going on now, what was messing with the other's head.

"Everyone makes mistakes! It's not a bad thing." Scar, for one, was an expert at making mistakes, and he was not about to let Cub be this miserable about something like this. "Making mistakes and little errors is part of being human!" Scar continued. "And you, good sir, are just as human as everyone else, in that regard!"

Cub smiled a little at Scar's choice of words - neither of them were really human - but hopefully he would still understand the point Scar was trying to make.

"I suppose you're right," Cub replied, somewhat hesitantly.

Scar could basically see the gears turning in his head. Cub was a smart man, despite being rather harsh on himself. He was well aware of his own skills, yet he knew compared to others he wasn't exactly special in any way - he wouldn't tell anyone else they shouldn't make mistakes, so why should he treat himself differently?

"When did you last sleep?" Scar asked as he watched the other think.

"Jeez, you just can't stop interrogating me today, can you?" Cub groaned, though he didn't sound upset anymore. "I don't know, it's been a while. Maybe three days ago?"

"Three days?! No wonder you've been getting hurt!" Scar immediately moved to grab the other's healthy arm to pull him up from the chair. "You, mister, are going to bed right now!"

#hermitshipping #cubscar #convex #goodtimeswithscar #cubfan135 #asks #i need to write a proper sickfic one day i feel like every writer has to have one #jules writes

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carmenthabaddie · 9 months

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Tracking my weight loss by buying and trying on small size.

I use to be addicted to the scale. I would spiral when I gained. Fast forward today I stopped weighing myself so much. The scale lies. Honestly I don’t care about size. I just want look good in clothes and naked.

The scale goes up and down for many reasons. You should never stress about number on scale. It’s that type of thinking that makes you sabotage your weight loss journey. Been there done that. I refuse to diet and starve myself. Food is not the enemy society paints it too be. I stopped calorie counting and eating in moderation and portion control. Nothing against it. It just messes with my self esteem. I rather intermittent fast and eat in moderation and lose that way.

I planned all my workouts for January ahead of time to be accountable and no excuses and being intentional with my time. I will weight left at gym. Gone schedule meal prepping days and eventually do a 3 day juice fast. Maybe at end of this month. I’m in it to win. Spent blood, sweat and tears and finally seeing light at end of tunnel.

I know my grandma gone be jealous when Iose cause she refuses to make healthy choices. Lot people gone be mad I’m slim thick. But my sp David will be proud and that’s all that matters to me. Losing weight is easy. Gotta put your mind to it. Show yourself you are ready for change and start small and little progress is still progress. It’s all about mindset ladies.

I forgot where but someone I saw on social media suggestion instead of going by scale. Go by clothes. It’s more satisfying to try on smaller item and it fit. That’s a good way track progress. I bought 3 on sale Fashion Nova dresses to track my progress every few weeks I will try on till it fits and be happy when it fits and it make me realize I lost weight.

I go to mental health building for monthly shot and they weigh me. Once I’m weighed at mental health. And it helps me mentally cause scale can be deceiving and tell lies not true. Last time I was 222 pounds and on the 3rd hope be 218 pounds. It’s so easy to manifest weight loss. And i listen to my custom affirmations videos.

I am doing 16:8 intermittent fasting and goal is do 7 days and not break it early. Some days do 20:4. I been drinking less drinks and that’s helping me not get hungry. I was drinking so much and stomach juices making my blood glucose rise and make me hungry.

Later on might try OMAD or ADF. But 16:8 and 20:4 is a good start. I have everything ever needed to lose weight and stopped wishing I lost weight quickly like some these lose 15 pounds week scammers. Slow and steady wins race. It’s okay to take time to lose weight. You end up keeping weight off.

About to do my morning workout soon. That is todays update and if more happens I will update cause this glow up gone make enemies sick. I am so ready to see 200 pounds on scale. Hard work pays off. And I’m finally thriving and putting myself first and winning at life.

Happy New Year’s 😍🎊

#black femininity #black hypergamy #hypergamy #spoiled girlfriend #black girl manifest #black beauty #black girl moodboard #black girl motivation #blackgirlsgarden #blackbeautyappreciation

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lean-mean-demon-genevieve · 10 months

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Hello, I've recently started reading your blog and am enjoying it so far. I'm curious on your thoughts about a few things. What is your overall opinion on Jared? I've been noticing lately that Jared has been looking more miserable lately and looks a good bit thinner than he did a couple years ago. I also noticed his hair doesn't look as soft and shiny as it used to.

I watched the Mens Health video of an interview with him on what he eats and his workout routine. I noticed there was relatively little protein outside of him mentioning chicken, cheese and sometimes eggs and bacon. I also recall him mentioning he doesn't really eat carbs either. Do you think Gen is perhaps trying to control his diet and that it's possibly impacting his health mentally and physically? I know of people who do keto right and are healthy but I'm wondering if Jared is really doing that right, especially with what I've noticed and also tends to get sick a lot. I'm also wondering why he had to use a hyperbaric chamber to get more oxygen to his brain at one point.

Also, I saw a post of yours where you mentioned your first disdain of Gen is much stronger than it is towards Danneel. Would you be kind enough to tell me why you hate Gen a lot more than Danneel?

Thank you for your time in reading and hopefully answering this all.

Oh man, I’ve been super busy for the past several weeks, then sick, and haven’t gotten around to responding to asks in any particular order. But I’ve also been hesitant to touch this one because anyone that comes anywhere close to Jared critical content is immediately chased with pitchforks around here. It is so divided and therefore people are defending their faves to the death. Especially since Prequelgate, Jared, and thus Gen, are the current Prom King and Queen in the areas of fandom I most often see. And let me be clear that I’m not a Heller nor am I anti-Jared but I’m just also not a stan…of anyone. Honestly, I’m an “eat the rich” leftist at heart who believes anyone’s choices can be looked at with a critical eye.

(Long post under the cut)

To answer the easy stuff first, I don’t feel as strongly about Danneel because, except for a few appearances here and there, she keeps to herself lately and doesn’t give me a reason to really analyze her behaviors. I wasn’t deep into fandom during the early days of her and Jensen getting married and all of her territorial behaviors, so I don’t bring all of that with me to the present day. I do hate the way Danneel panders to Hellers and I did pick up on some irritating comments in her most recent OTH podcast appearance. The response from a fan question at HonCon about how Jensen can never impress her makes me roll my eyes and is part of their schtick that feels very tired. I don’t think we would be friends, but Danneel doesn’t get under my skin quite the same way Gen does. I think in some ways, Danneel has been more openly who she is (even if it was bitchy and unlikeable) whereas Gen has hidden behind a Mary Sue persona of golly-gee-whiz perfection…and I just respect that authenticity more.

Describing why I am anti Gen is…honestly difficult to summarize. I will link some of my other posts to help. Right away, it’s not because I’m jealous and she gets to be married to Jared. Overall, it lies in all the inconsistencies and hypocrisies which, honestly, I wouldn’t even be aware of if she wasn’t so set on proving her worth to herself by building a platform to manipulate her fans with sales pitches. She preaches sustainability while also jet-setting constantly. And she’s more of a flip-flopper than a preacher, so understanding what she even stands for is difficult. She wants to sell you 6 different supplements for the almighty gut health while also being seen drinking alcohol regularly. And when she laments about being stressed I lose my entire mind because most of us could only dream of having her version of stress. In one of her most recent IG story ads she complained that 2 trips out of the country (and away from her children) were just SO HARD to deal with! To me, instead of the relatable vibe she’s going for, she regularly comes off as entirely ungrateful and unaware of all of her privileges.

When I look at Gen, don’t see the same “goofy, light-hearted mom who is altruistically trying gosh darn hard to save the world with recycling and kindness” that her fans see. I see an uptight yet insecure grifter who skates by in this fandom by doing the bare minimum while being praised like a saint. And I think that it is her connection to Jared that affords her all the fandom grace. When people still refer to this grown man as one of their “boys” and liken him to “literal sunshine,” puppies, and sunflowers…well, imagine the positive assumptions we make about a partner that person chooses.

(I hate referring to either J as a boy, don’t come for me…and I’ve seen Jensen receiving the same stanning that also makes me gag lol)

While I hope Jared is not struggling with any other underlying health issue, his frame has appeared to change in recent years. But I’m definitely not here to say that this is due to Gen “controlling” him in any way. I do think Gen has/has had her own issues with eating (she admitted to having history of an eating disorder in a podcast once) and excessive exercise, but Jared is a grown man who makes his own decisions. Jared himself has alluded to insecurities in his body image over the years, praised what I would call disordered eating practices like fasting, and his bulked up frame as Soulless Sam was suspected of having anabolic help at the time. I do think he dabbles in manipulating diet and exercise in different ways like every one else in The Biz and I think he has a naturally lanky frame. So if he doesn’t want to work out constantly in order to stay swole, then I fully respect that. There is also the issue of his knee that no doubt impacts his capabilities as well.

As for the hyperbaric chamber (mentioned during Jared’s appearance on the Inside of You podcast on 5/24/22): he didn’t need it and the evidence that it even fixes anything just isn’t there. That doctor is a known quack, and he sucked Jared right in. At these clinics they take specialized (and not widely accepted in the field of actual neuroscience) scans of your brain and present you with scary results in order to sell these expensive chambers and their own supplements. It’s a racket. Now, how did he find his way to an Amen Clinic in Costa Mesa, CA? I really couldn’t tell you, but it does sound like the shifty, woo woo alternative medicine that Gen has also been pursuing for her “brain fog.” But then again, his supposed buddy and co-star Keegan Allen is also a health and wellness wackadoo, and we’ve seen Jared get sucked in by the likes of that young lady with the boutique IV drip clinic too. Jared has also shouted out Joe Rogan multiple times. He’s got multiple influences.

If Gen and/or Jared is concerned about their cognitive functioning, as a person with connection to the world of eating disorders, my opinion is that they invest in less oxygen chambers and instead at least consider more carbohydrates and overall calories. You’d be amazed at how much less foggy your brain feels when it’s properly nourished. And no, I’m not diagnosing anyone here, but I am saying that people with access to these expensive specialists are sometimes overlooking an answer that is right in front of their faces simply because eating a wider variety of nutrients would betray their brand. And sometimes people are scared to eat more when they can no longer workout like they use to and have an image to maintain.

#anti genevieve #somebody is going to snap on me for some of this #i can just feel it

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aeros-lab · 2 months

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Hi I've had an insanely productive writing weekend for None Of My Actual Manuscripts but instead random fire and silver character moments so here are some that I found most amusing

Avril PoV stuff:

Valora shook her head, her lips quirking into something almost like a smile. “Because he was easy. Ellard was, is, so ordinary. He wasn’t too loud, too violent, too anything. He was just there. If I was going to have to marry within the pack anyway, I figured he was milquetoast enough to not make it miserable.”

“Man, if my ex ever talked about me like that, I think I’d request euthanasia.”

\o/

“It’s complicated,” I said finally. I tucked my hands between my thighs as if physically folding in on myself could make me disappear and not have to have this conversation with Valora Reins of all goddamn people.

“What, you mean the whole reanimated corpse thing?” she said. “You realize I can turn into a giant dog, right? That’s hardly the weirdest love story I’ve ever heard.”

“Not that,” I said. “Well, okay, not only that.” I focused on my mismatched socks–one white, one striped blue and green. “I made some stupid choices. By the time we’d worked past the mountain I’d built between us, I ended up here. With you.”

Her eyebrows rose. “So sorry to disappoint.”

“No you’re not.”

“You’re right.” She let out a sigh. I scowled. “I mean, I couldn’t care less if you two make it out of this happily ever after. But watching two people dance around each other is agonizing whether you’re invested or not. Trust me, I lived through it with Zieka and Madison. Now that was hell. The emotional constipation. The pining. Disgusting.”

I raised an eyebrow at her as memories of Lyptic’s prejudiced language filtered through my brain. To Valora’s credit, she caught my look and clarified, “Christ, it’s not because they’re gay. I don’t give a shit. I’m a bitch, not a bigot.”

“We love an ally,” I said dryly.

\o/

She shrugged. “I was angry at a lot of things. I took it out on him because I knew he couldn’t do anything about it. The pack may have owned me but I owned him. It was the only thing I had.”

I hissed through my teeth. “You also hear how fucked up that is, right?”

Valora gazed at me through tired, lidded eyes. “We both know I’ve never claimed to be a good person.”

“Did you love him?” I asked, almost afraid to hear the answer. I wasn’t sure if Valora loving Ellard made this better or so much worse.

“In a way,” she admitted. “I loved that he was mine.”

“Yikes.”

“I wanted to love him,” she went on. “And I think I did. Still do. But not like that. Not the way that spellcaster girl does. The way she looks at him is kind of revolting.” She made a sick face. “I could never imagine belonging to a person like that–yes,” she sighed when I opened my mouth. “I see the hypocrisy. Once again, I never claimed to be a good person.”

“You know, it’s okay to love people platonically, too,” I said slowly, carefully. “In a non-possessive, healthy way, even.”

~~~

Ellard PoV

“It means Avril’s back and she spent the night with Kithara.”

Hel whirled around with a tiny gasp. “How do you know that?”

Ilum’s eyebrows rose and he went from being puzzled to uncomfortable to amused at my expense. “Wait, did you walk in on them?”

I squeezed Hel tighter, ignoring the question. “Anyway, the gang’s all here.”

“Oh my god, he walked in on them,” Charity said, bringing a hand to her mouth.

“Listen–”

“My brother in Christ, you have wolf hearing,” Ilum chortled, doubling over. Charity looked away, biting back an onslaught of laughter. “How do you not know when two people are–”

“They weren’t actively doing it!” I exclaimed.

Helena’s shoulders shook and when I peered around, I noticed she was also failing to hold back a fit of laughter.

I sighed. “Et tu, my love?”

~~~

Ilum PoV

Charity's eyes glistened with unshed tears. “Everything she said is true. I’ve gotten too comfortable depending on you. In combat. Emotionally. It’s dragging you down. I’m dragging you down.”

“I thought I was the self loathing one,” I said.

“Be serious.”

“Before I met you, I probably wouldn’t have excused myself before tearing Avril a new asshole so at the very least, you’ve made me a more zen person.”

She shot me a bewildered look. “Sorry, did you just refer to yourself as zen?”

“I thought it would make you laugh.”

\o/

“Nobody gets to decide whether a person is good or bad for me,” I said. “Not Avril and not you. Because, clearly, neither of you knows shit.”

“I feel so comforted,” she said flatly.

“Not here to comfort you,” I said, smirking a bit. “Just being honest.”

“I think I’ve had enough honesty for this morning." She faced the water, watching the sun rise from behind the foliage. Shards of light glittered on the surface. “How about you lie to me instead.”

“K,” I said, giving her hand a squeeze. “Uh…Charity, I think you’re really good at knife throwing.”

“Yeah, nevermind. Lying doesn’t have the same effect when it announces itself.” She scowled. “Also, I’m so not that bad. I have had at least two lucky shots in my life.”

“I’m not allowed to lie anymore, right?”

Kithara PoV (tbh this was just self indulgent romance so it's mostly cheesy but I found 1 slightly silly bit)

“I’ve…never done that before. Was that okay?”

I could only stare at her.

“That bad?” she chuckled. “It’s okay if you faked it.”

I cleared my throat but my voice came out at least two octaves higher than I’d been expecting. “Have I ever told you what an idiot you are sometimes?”

She burst out laughing, the anxiety sloughing off her at once. “There are worse ways to be called an idiot than by a gorgeous naked woman.”

#fire and silver

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jess-abides · 1 year

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Vacation body thoughts below the cut (I should really just journal lol)

The last time I went on vacation in April, I was the biggest I’ve ever been. I wore my bikinis and was trying really hard to rock with body neutrality and tbh I was in a decent place with it. But I was super uncomfortable on the plane, and it was probably the most unpleasant travel experience that I can remember.

While I was on that trip, I started wanting to exercise…like idk why but I remember thinking “I want to start doing squats when I get home” lol and I got on the peloton the day after I got home and rode every day for like 2-3 weeks while I convinced my trainer friend to coach me after I realized he offered virtual sessions. I don’t know what changed, but something flipped basically overnight - when we first got started, I told my trainer “I’m really good at starting over, but I really want this to be the last time” and tbh it still feels like it could be.

I haven’t missed a single planned/scheduled workout since the day I got back from that trip, and I’ve enjoyed the process so much more this time around because it came from a place of actually just wanting to exercise (as opposed to my typical pattern of ‘hate self > must be smaller > deserve punishment > must eat less and move more’).

I also very intentionally did not diet at all, because I still have to work very hard at not spiraling when I try to ~get healthy~ and I am sick to death of dieting and burning out and being afraid of food and the scale.

So I decided to just focus on the one thing I was excited about, which was getting stronger. Which naturally led me to make some different food choices based on what my body was craving (and plenty of well-intentioned bullying from my coach when I wasn’t eating enough). I’ve just been having so much fun getting stronger that it started to feel like a shame not to at least try to get enough protein to actually let my muscles recover and grow.

So I headed off on this vacation 30 pounds lighter than the last, inches gone from my waist, hips, thighs, wedged comfortably into the middle seat between two strangers and not silently apologizing for my existence. Happier, stronger, more confident. A little nervous to get out of my routine, tbh, but I could also really tell my body could use a break.

And, for once, not at all worried about my diet or whether I’d gain weight; knowing I’ve been learning to trust myself and basically eating whatever I wanted anyway. I enjoyed good seafood and good ice cream, but never felt like I needed to over-indulge or overcompensate for indulging. I went for long walks on the beach because I wanted to, and sat on the porch when I decided I’d rather do that instead.

Out of sheer curiosity, I weighed myself this afternoon (something I would never have done in the past - early morning only, iykyk). And wouldn’t you know it? I weigh the same as the day I left. The number itself isn’t the victory - I would have been fine with being up a few because bodies will be bodies, and I guess that’s really what I’m proud of!

And I’m looking forward to being back on my bullshit tomorrow morning and seeing how this break plays out in my workouts this week. After I sleep A LOT tonight 😌

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missmentelle · 2 years

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Hi. I am wondering how someone like you or people in similar professions cope with so much pain from other people? I imagine most people who choose these kinds of professions are people with high empathy and people who want to help other people. But the fact that you just can’t help everyone, when you see how much pain and suffering so many people are in, isn’t it hard to bear? Or actually, you can’t really help anyone, you can only try to be there and be a sort of guide in what they themselves decides they want to heal/change. You can’t MAKE anyone heal, in the end it’s all up to them, no matter how much you want to and try to. How do you detach yourself from their pain and the outcome, when at the same time you need to be empathetic and invested in their life and emotions? What do you tell yourself? How does one manage that balance of not either becoming indifferent and shutting off empathy or become consumed by their emotions and worrying sick for them and wanting to interfere? I find it really difficult to cope with. (I’m not in this profession but I have considered it, this is just a big problem for me) It pains me a lot when people around me are hurting, even watching/reading/hearing news is so difficult for me that I avoid it, because I just want to make it better and help somehow but I can’t, not enough at least. Because I’m the end I need to leave it up to themselves.

To be honest, after nearly a decade in this field, the thing I struggle the most with is not the people who don't want to be helped - people have the right to make their own decisions, and I can make peace with that. What I really struggle with is seeing the many, many people who desperately want help, but have no opportunity to receive it.

I have worked with homeless and insecurely-housed youth for most of my career. I have watched many, many youth that I have cared about cause a lot of harm to themselves and others, despite doing my best to give them support and connect them to the right resources. You are absolutely right - you cannot make someone heal, and sometimes people are simply not in a place where they are ready to start the healing process, or even to start thinking more critically about their actions and experiences. Sometimes, people never get to that point - I have known a lot of people who did not get to live to see 25. That's an enormously painful and heavy thing. I remember the name and face of every youth I have ever lost, and there are countless more that I worry about all the time, even if I am no longer part of their lives.

It's not easy to cope with that kind of pain, but I find (I think) healthy ways to manage it. I do have to remind myself that it is not my role to save people; it is my role to do the best I can to provide the best support I can for whatever amount of time I have with a person, and I think I do that for all the folks that I work with. The support that I can give to a young person is not nothing, even if their stories do not have happy endings - if I can give a young person even a single day where they felt listened to and heard, even if I could not solve the problems, that is a worthwhile thing. My goal is not to steer people toward "good" decisions - my goal is to offer accurate information and a space for people to think critically about their decisions, and make informed choices about the decisions and risks that they feel are best for them. I am at peace with the work that I personally do with the clients I work with.

What I am not at peace with is the system I work within. For every client I work with who simply doesn't want help, I have dozens who are screaming out for it and are unable to get it. At the moment, I manage a short-term residential program for youth in crisis. The youth we work with have so many needs - they need housing. They need stability. They need a mental health appointment that isn't eight months away. They need reliable access to their prescriptions. They need educational and employment opportunities that are meaningful to them, with the supports they need to succeed. And for most of them, those basic supports are simply... not available. It doesn't matter how ready and eager the youth is; waitlists for basic services are months or even years long, and there's just nothing that any one individual worker can do to fix that overnight. It is not realistic to expect a person to make huge progress with their mental heath while they are living on a cot at an emergency housing program, cared for by a constantly-revolving cast of strangers, and yet that is what our system requires of its most vulnerable young people. Our system is pointlessly cruel, and benefits almost nobody. That part, I struggle with a lot.

As far as working in the field goes, I now supervise a large team of other professionals, and these are feelings that I help my staff work through in their own practice. The best advice I can give to people in the helping professions - or people potentially interested in a career there - to maintain your own mental health in the face of so much suffering is:

Take breaks. Use single every minute of your paid time off. Sometimes you need to take a break from a particular setting or even from the field entirely; if you feel burnout or despair or nihilism starting to creep up on you, start looking for an exit route. There will always be more jobs in social work/healthcare/emergency response, etc, but there is only one you.

Have a life outside of helping. I can't work full-time in this field and also spend every spare minute of my free time on activism and volunteering in this field. Perhaps some people can manage that, but if I tried it, my rage would simply consume me. I need other hobbies and interests if I'm going to be a functional person - whether it's painting, Netflix, novels, working out, cooking, time with friends, sports, camping or cars, everyone needs something they just enjoy.

Have a good supervisor. Obviously this is easier said than done, but if you are working in a field where you are constantly exposed to others' suffering and trauma, you should expect to have a supervisor who is available to debrief, discuss, vent and provide helpful feedback on the work you're doing. Supervision needs to be a safe space where you can speak openly about your struggles. If you do not have a supervisor who is doing that for you, it might be time to start the hunt for a new, more supportive job.

Remember your role. If I task myself with personally saving the whole world and fixing all of the problems I will lose my goddamn mind. I think it's important to remind ourselves "This is my role, this is the support I can provide, this is how I will know that I am doing a good job". "Saving people" can never be the goal I assign myself; if my role is to have supportive conversations and make connections to resources, I need to remind myself that those are the things I need to evaluate myself on and that I am doing a great job by doing that well, even if I am not "fixing" the client's entire life.

Remember your clients' autonomy. I think it's actually incredibly harmful for people in the helping professions to entertain the idea that they can "save" people, or that the outcome of someone's life is all dependent on how they do their jobs - I think that harms the professional as well as the client. We need to remember that we are not there to make people's choices for them. If a client continues to engage in "high-risk" behaviour, but they are well informed of the risk and know where they can find information and resources on managing that risk, that is a successful outcome, even if it doesn't instinctively "feel" like one.

Compartmentalize. Going home after work and staying up all night worrying about my clients might seem like an empathetic thing to do, but it benefits no one - it doesn't change their circumstances and just burns me out faster, leaving them with less support. Obviously we are all human and it can be hard to "switch off" concern and thoughts about clients after leaving work, but I think it's a skill that is important to develop over time. It might feel cold to think "okay, it's 5:05, no more thinking about clients until 9am tomorrow", but doing this allows me to be more effective in the hours that I am actually available to provide support.

I would honestly encourage anyone in the helping professions who is struggling to seek mental health support for themselves. Many therapists have their own therapist. It is, truthfully, not easy to process the sheer amount of pain and suffering we see on a daily basis, and I think it's actually very important for all of us to seek the appropriate professional help with it, and not simply "suck it up" and push away our own pain because our clients are suffering more. And, ultimately, this profession is just not for everyone. Some people are able to do this work and still enjoy their own lives, but some people simply are not, and there is absolutely no shame in admitting that to yourself. It is okay to realize that being exposed to that level of pain every day will harm you, and that that's not something you're able to take on - there are ways to help that don't involve such constant direct exposure to human misery, and we all need to keep ourselves healthy before we are able to help others. Hope this answers your question! MM

#answeredbyMM

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