#but specifically having little cousins who think they can do no wrong

[givemewallywestorgivemedeath]

If it is Don then Irey is going to be OBSESSED with him. Don will be her new favorite person. Her new personal hero.

Irey loves Bart. She thinks he's super cool and he's her second favorite hero (Kim Possible is her favorite).

And Bart? Well, he inherited a lot from Don. (From Meloni as well but in this case opposites did not attract. Don and Meloni were cut from the same cloth)

So yeah, Irey's going to like Don just as much as she likes Bart.

And Jai is going to love Dawn. Everyone always said that Dawn took after Barry personality wise. Studious, more reserved, a little bit socially awkward, calmer (relatively speaking of course) and more quiet. That's right up Jai's ally.

I think the Wild Wests are really going to enjoy having the Tornado Twins around. I think it'll be good for them too. Don and Dawn can hopefully show Irey and Jai what a healthy sibling relationship looks like.

[sophiamarieispinkbunny-chan]

Yor's Hometown and Westalis

Yor mentioned that she's from a place in Ostania called Eastern Nielsberg.

Obviously, I thought it was on the Eastern part of Ostania as well. But then we get this statement from her from the recent update, Chapter 92.

She's from the South part of Ostania-A Southern folk.

And how did I dare forgot, the dish that she can make without messing up was even named Southern Stew.

Why is this important? Because Mr. Green said this specific information on Chapter 39 about Southern Folks from Ostania.

Southern Folks have a code for defecting to the West which might indicate that they're the ones who usually do this.

Then I remembered this Twiyor moment from Chapter 35

Yor knows a lullaby from Loid's childhood that was always sung to him by his mother. How could Yor know that same exact lullaby?

I don't think I remember Yor mentioning Westalis neither in speech or thought (correct me if I'm wrong pls). Though that doesn't mean that she wasn't aware of the existence of it. But I don't think she, herself, would try or have tried defecting to Westalis. And she's too young and too focused on taking care of her brother to even consider this.

But how about her family? Her parents? Their relatives? Why did Yuri and her are left alone when their parents died? What happened to their grandparents, cousins, aunts and uncles? Where were they and why didn't they took them in? Did they perhaps defect to the West and Yor's family remained on Ostania? We can't be sure since we only know a little about Yor's backstory and her entire family background.

But even in Loid's backstory, when he was talking to the croquette lady, she mentioned that she was part Ostanian herself and she has a family in the East even though she's residing in West. Meaning, there could also be people from Ostania that has Westalian relatives. Yor's family could have Westalian background or someone in their family tree is and who knows, her family may have actually some sort of connection with Loid's family in Luwen.

I actually don't know where I was going with this or if this even make sense or plot relevant but I can't help but be intrigued by this.

[puppetwoman17]

Okay so I love all of the cap identity reveal stories. Obviously. The anticipation of the reactions, the fact that someone they’ve known for so long, someone they’ve fought with and laughed with and cried with, is not even half their age…

But what if they NEVER found out? Cap’s identity, I mean.

I don’t mean life just continues on with Billy leading his separate lives. It’s more like(this next part is so fucking drastic lol) the league thinks cap is dead and suffer with the hole he left behind, only to somehow find out he’s alive, and to add fuel to the fire, he’s a young radio host in Fawcett.

The JL( and other heroes if you want) are fighting a being with incredibly powerful magic. I’m not good with the specifics, but it lines up with someone like Lady Blaze. The YJ team are acting as reconnaissance and backup. Everyone’s doing their part, including Cap.

But then something goes wrong. A miscalculation is all it takes for the fight to spin in the villain’s favor. Magic is a fickle thing. One wrong move, and sparks will fly with reckless abandon.

The fight is nearing an end, and it’s clear that almost all the heroes have been rendered useless. They’re either limping up to go again, or unconscious from the strain.

Everyone but Captain Marvel, that is.

To bring an end to the fight, Cap unleashes a powerful stream of magic, something no one has ever seen him pull off. It seems to zap everything out of him. The next thing you know he’s falling, his body slowly disintegrating. He makes it to the floor and smiles at the other heroes, all of whom are crying their hearts out as gold dust replaces him, for divine beings have no blood.

Billy, on the other hand, is fucking pissed. Apparently, Shazam created a failsafe in case something like this happens. He wakes up in the rock, unable to transform. His magic is still there, and with Solomon’s help he learns that his champion form will return after a couple years. For now, he needs to rest his reservoir.

Now, you’d think he would go tell the league, right?

But he’s not so little anymore, and he now knows that him being younger won’t be the only issue. Younger him was only worried about that little tidbit, but in truth, there was no guarantee they would let him stay if they knew he’d been lying so much. If he’d been able to keep his age a secret for so long, what else could he be hiding?

It’s not something he wants to do. The League, the YJ team, the Titans, they’ve all become like a family to him, despite almost all of them(barring the magic heroes) not knowing who he is. But he can’t risk being watched by parental hawks whenever he’s doing his champion work as Billy. He can’t risk them learning about his… circumstances. His crappy uncle, his annoying cousin, his(an oc I created for this post specifically but dw he’s not that important) crooked cop of a younger-older cousin. His living situation, his previous state of malnutrition, and all of his responsibilities. What a nightmare that would be, explaining all of that.

Also, he tries not to sound too cocky in his head, but he’s fairly sure at least a little less than half of the JL would kill for him. Or at least they’d beat someone to a pulp, which is still a pretty big deal.

So, he washes his hands of the JL and the sub teams and handles his champion work(bar fighting now cause his other body needs to regenerate) in his civilian form. It helps that the magic community, all sides of the spectrum, collectively decide not to tell the other heroes that their Champion is alive. They can get really annoying when it comes to their Boy Scout 🙄.

Plot, plot, plot happens. I’m thinking maybe Whiz gets an opportunity to interview JL members and they send their best reporter for the job. Or maybe something happens on the magic spectrum that brings them closer to Billy. Either way, the JL finds out Cap’s identity without Billy knowing and they are PISSED.

Billy has to deal with countless vigilantes, heroes, and teams lounging on his couch trying to goad him into revealing who he is. Either that r they follow him throughout Fawcett. Some people are angry with him, like Conner or either of the Roys. They try to make him angry. They want to see the real Cap, the real Billy(which is stupid cause of course cap isnt a fake persona but they’re too mad to realize).

Others feel betrayed, like Artemis and Wally(I refuse to acknowledge his death). Cap was a best man at the wedding and they really started to look to him as a sort of father figure. In fact, all the younger heroes love how he stood up for them and validated their feelings. To know that so much of their worries were being shouldered by someone who was years younger than them…

And the JL is worse off too. Their coworker, who they trusted and cared for, had been living alone since he was a child. Having to save for scraps until he finally got a home of his own.

The magic users are practically waiting for Billy to blow a fuse at everyone either fussing over him, attempting to make him mad, or following him whenever they felt the need. Mary’s laughing her ass off and Freddy’s smirking because now he can say “I told you so”. Shazam’s shaking his head because he told his damn protege that the champion doesn’t DO teams, but look where they are now.

Teth is honestly ecstatic. Comes to the next higher ups meeting and laughs in Billy’s face.

And Billy? Billy at least hopes he can make some money off of this: Okay but if I let you stay on my couch for the next three hours, that’s gonna cost you.

No no, I’ll let you follow me, but only if you do this one interview.

Maybe just stop trying to make me mad and just talk to me? Like I get you have issues but I already have a shit load of that so…

[getitoutofmymindwrites]

I don't even know your name | joel miller x f!reader, 8,3k

Summary: Your life changes dramatically and you turn to your best friend, Trish, for help. Trish is Joel’s cousin and little did you know when you accidentally met him at a bar, before Trish officially introduce you to one another. He’s emotionally unavailable -or so he thinks-, you have lost faith in people -or so you think. Basically, two idiots falling for each other, choosing to torture themselves.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, no outbreak, angst, Joel is 45ish, reader is 35 with two baby girls, allusions to smut, dirty thoughts, swearing, no physical description of the reader (but she will have long hair for smut purposes later on, hehe), no use of y/n, I’m not good at warning people, tell me what am I missing!

A/N: This has taken me forever, my life is a f’ing mess, but I didn’t want to abandon it. I’m splitting the story to parts, otherwise you’d been reading it until The Second Coming. 😅😏🫣 Thank you to anyone who’s taking the time to read this, I love you and I hope you enjoy it!😘

Dividers by @cafekitsune

“Guys?” you drag out the word, “Do we really have to have the talk?” you try to avoid the conversation, knowing yourself and how you usually respond to these kind of questions, damn your spontaneity, shifting restlessly into the couch. Joel’s presence, sitting across the room on the comfy armchair, near the lit fireplace, isn’t helping in the slightest. He looks too invested in your point of view, but you already expected that. You try to avoid his gaze for as long as you can.

“Yes! Get the conversation going, babe, don’t be shy!” a female voice comes from a different part of the house. Joel doesn’t respond, looking quite nonchalant, in an effort to not seem.. eager. But you know better.

“It’s not a matter of shyness, on the contrary, you know I’m in the habit of not holding my tongue, and that can often get me in trouble..”, you sigh, shaking your head.

I have a few ideas involving that tongue of your- Stop it. Joel suppresses his thoughts audibly, by clearing his throat. “How come?” he finally joins in. You love the sound of that word on his mouth. Shaping into a different meaning inside your mind every time he uses it, pumping all of your blood to all the right places. Four months into knowing him and you quickly came to realize if you let your guard down, you would be done for. And now was not the time. You had a million loose ends to work out.

“Oh, you know, people tend to get the wrong idea, assuming things about me. I wish I could shut me up sometimes.” Oh, the ways I could shut that pretty little mouth, darlin’. Get it together. She’s not good for you. Or maybe you’re not good enough for her., he’s looking away, focusing on Trish, his cousin and your dear friend, who rushes out of her kitchen holding your -God knows what round of- drinks, almost stumbling on the carpet, while Joel’s trying to clear his head.

“What’s the rush Trish, anything to get off your chest?” you ask, squinting at her in a shut-the-fuck-up way. She bursts into laughter before she can even begin to talk, not taking the hint. Or pretending not to. Definitely pretending. Menace. “You remember that time, where were we?” She’s clicking her fingers together in an effort to jog her own memory. “With that dude? Who thought you wanted to talk your way into fucking him? Like he needed any convincing whatsoev-”

“We’ve met a lot of dudes together Trish; you being the main reason we’ve met them in the first place.” you interrupt, rolling your eyes at your friend. Joel is raising an eyebrow, looking back and forth between you and her. “I’m gonna need you to be more specific. Actually, don’t, you already embarrassed me enough!” you hold back a smile covering your face with one hand, as you pull your feet on the couch, bringing your knees to your chest in an effort to create a barrier between you and the space surrounding you, to feel some kind of protection around you.

Trish is looking so amused, she’s having a hard time concentrating. “I don’t remember nor the place or the dude, but you were defending, quite passionately I might add, womens’ equal right to one night stands and how we should have the same amount of pleasure as men without the guilt that comes with it; Joel you should see her, she almost raised the flag of revolution!” Where are you going with this Trish..?

“Did she, now..” Joel runs his eyes up and down, taking you all in, sipping his whiskey slowly, licking his bottom lip after he swallowed. Jesus, that neck.

You groan in frustration, “Here it comes. Another one who speculates. Ok, let me have it.”, you almost snap, observing the way he’s checking you out. But he knows better. There’s an intensity radiating out of him, you can almost feel the warmth of it on your skin and you let your mind wonder how he would feel like over you, under you or in any way he would choose to manhandle you. Manhandle? Where is this coming from?

“Hey, she’s the one who said ‘passionately’!” Joel raises his hands up in defense, his brows raised and knead together, clearly amused on the information he’s extracting so effortlessly. Trish takes her seat next to you to the couch, enjoying the moment more than she should, looking at the two of you.

“I’m not- I don’t- uuuuh, Trish why are you doing this to me?” you whine in exasperation, looking up to the ceiling, and rolling your eyes shut.

“Because maybe you should! Come on, live a little!”, she grumbles, grabbing your forearm, shaking you dramatically. Trish was actually living, more than a little, her life, full of experiences, lovers, you name it. Sometimes you wished you could live so carefree. She has been desperately trying to pour some of her carnal wisdom into you. For years. Now, given your emotional status, she believes it’s her best chance. So, she pushed.

“Should do what?” Joel interjects curiously.

Trish opens her mouth and spills it out before you can stop her, “Fuckarounds!” -her take on one night stands- “or at least something casual, since she insists that one flavor is better than a sea of delicacies.”, she winks dramatically in your direction.

“Yeah, no, that’s- that’s great, let’s bring Joel into this conversation” you sigh, rubbing your forehead and tilting your head down.

“Oh, I thought-” he looks genuinely confused at your reaction. At this point he’s confused about a lot of things.

“Yes! Exactly! Of course you thought! That’s what I meant before. Just because I can’t bring myself to do it, it doesn’t mean that it’s wrong, or that I’m judgmental of people that do it. Hell, sometimes I wish I was those people.. That’s what I was trying to explain to the dude-”

“You see?” she turns to Joel for backup, “quite the lawyer we have here! And the dude didn’t get the memo.”, she turns to you once more. You shake you head at her and you both laugh at the memory.

“She’s insufferable sometimes, but I’ll get her mind around, don’t you worry!”, she adds, taking her eyes from yours to Joel’s, smiling at the implication, almost like.. you’re spoken for?? What the fuck, Trish? Your face feels like it’s on fire and you’re pretty sure it’s showing, too. You can always blame it on the heat of the fireplace. Now it’s Joel’s turn to shift to his seat uncomfortably. He, thankfully, rises from his spot and let both of you know he’s heading to the kitchen for a refill.

“What the fuck are you doing?”, you hiss at her. “He’ll think I put you up to this.”

“Up to what?” Trish plays dumb, but failing monumentally.

“Dude, you can’t have your cousin think that I’m into him, it’s not right. I didn’t asked you to. Quit it.”, you whisper in despair.

“Love, seriously, you need to at least de-stress yourself.” Trish pressures on. “It’s been, what, six months since the divorce, four months in, leaving with me, I mean, that’s unacceptable.”

“Look, I’ll move, the first house I’ll find, I promise, I don’t want to overstay my welcome-”

“Hey, I’m talking about letting four perfectly good months fly away without getting any. Especially, when you have such a skilled babysitter. You're not taking advantage of me enough.” She moves her hands around her body, showing herself. “And I told you, you and the girls can stay here indefinitely. I fuckin’ mean it.”

“Well, less of the ‘f’ word in front of them, if you do!”, you tease. “Thank you, but I’ll find a place. I need to. I want to bring some kind of normalcy back into our lives. Their lives.”

“I know, baby. But seriously. You’re fucking 35. You act like your life is over. He’s not worth it.”

“We’ve been through that before Trish, it’s not about him, I just-” you exhale, shaking your head, “l don’t think there’s anyone out there for me, you know? I feel like I’m too old for any of this. Point me to the direction of one guy, just one, who would even consider to engage with a 35 year old divorced mother of two and I’ll take him, Scout’s honor.”

She opens her mouth to say something but reconsiders, trying to find the right words. She knows you have a point. “That’s why I insist for you to.. FUCK AROUND! No strings attached. How sweet of you to help me prove my point!!”, Trish exclaims triumphantly.

You pretend to be in deep thinking, finally concluding, “You know what, I’m done with men. Not worth the energy spent. Hey, maybe I’ll date you; we love each other, we practically live together, it’s a done deal!” You both laugh at the idea.

“Aaaaaw, I’m fluttered hot mama, but maybe you should give ‘em men a chance, before you flip the coin!”, she pushes on.

You really look at her now, trying to see her point of view. You were lonely, you were touch deprived, you longed for intimacy, but intimacy in your case meant sentiment. And sentiment comes form some kind of attachment. You wanted, you needed, hell, you craved to connect. “You know, you always insist on all that casual thing, but I’m in a place in life that.. what’s the point?”

“Um, the point of someone else giving you an orgasm?”, she deadpans.

“Oh God..”, you drug your hand down your face, feeling defeated. “Seriously? Because I’m pretty sure this coffee table here,” you point at it with your brows, “can find my bud easier than half the men out there.”, you blurt out in frustration. Joel coughs, choking on his whiskey. You both jolt from your seats on the couch at the sound, turning your heads, one in amusement and one in embarrassment, seeing Joel standing at the living room entrance, frozen in place. Neither of you heard him approaching. If you could hold your tongue for once, woman. Just once.

“So..” he drags the word out, “what about the other half?”, he shakes off the awkwardness of the moment and sly his way into the conversation. You both look at him with a dumbfounded expression on your faces.

“Joel, how long have you been standing there?” Trish wonders, raising one brow devilishly.

“Enough to know I was right to have been standing there as long as I have.” he smirks into his glass, swallowing another sip. You’re too mortified to register the question as non-rhetorical. You almost stop breathing, praying that would make you invisible, hoping he‘d somehow forget his question.

“So?”, Joel insists, looking at you through his lashes, crossing his legs and leaning against the doorframe that connects the living area with the kitchen.

“Excuse me?”, you manage to breathe out, feeling exposed.

Joel doesn’t miss the opportunity to remind you exactly what you pointed out, moments ago. “You said that half the men can’t find y-”, he pauses, inhaling sharply, imagining how good you would look, all naked and spread out under him, but hearing in his mind how intimate what he’s about to say sounds, he corrects himself. “Uh, a woman’s bud.” He moves his hands in the air in a generic motion. You feel so embarrassed, you think you might explode if your heart rate doesn’t drop down. “So, what about the other half of us?” his eyes are burning coals, piercing through you. You pick up the insinuation immediately. He knows his way around a woman’s body. Ok, thank you for the burning image of you eating me out, fingering me to death or rubbing me to completion, Joel. But where the fuck is he going with this? He knows by now that you’re candid like that and you’ll answer accordingly, so he presses all your buttons on purpose, he’s got to be. You devil, we had a fucking deal. You smile, accepting the challenge as you decide to answer him. Two can play that game.

“Oh, you mean the emotionally unavailable half?”

He certainly didn’t expect this response. His face drops suddenly, his jaw flexes; you are positive that a nerve has been touched. He looks embarrassed, like a child caught with his hand in the honey pot and you immediately feel sorry for him. You hate making people feel bad. Even if you’re right. Damn people pleaser.

Too forward? Too soon? Maybe both? You open your mouth to say something -anything- but your mind goes blank. He looks down at his half-empty glass and goes “Huh.”, before he empties the poison of his choice down his throat in one gulp. He calmly leaves the now empty glass on the coffee table, forming a one-sided kind of knowing smile on his face and he leaves the room quietly, leaving you feeling guilty.

You realize that you need to breathe at some point, so you take a sharp breath, after you hear the front door closing behind him.

“Well.. that went well.” Trish comments, looking at her nails.

You snap your head at her, feeling ready to explode. “That doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

“No, but it leaves you minus one penis.”, she deadpans.

“I’m not interes-“ her eyes move up to yours so quickly, staring at you in a don’t-bullshit-me way, that you don’t dare finish your sentence. “Even I would be interested if he wasn’t a relative.” she feels the need to exaggerate.

“He’s not what I’m looking for, Trish.”

“But he might be just what you need.” Damn, she’s on a roll tonight. “Is there something going on? I mean between the two of you.”

Panic rises fast inside of you like waves crushing on rocks. You think you can hear your heartbeat. “No, of course not.”

Trish gives you an investigative look, as if staring at you long enough would make you admit the truth she thinks she knows. “Are you sure?”

“Joel and I couldn’t be further apart, trust me.”

BEFORE

He observes you sitting on the bar stool for a long time, almost memorizing your every curve and line. He doesn’t mean to, but he can’t take his eyes off of you. He can’t even see your whole face, but something makes him stare. You stand out to him for some reason. Maybe it’s the intense antithesis against your surroundings. Still, while everyone moves. Sad, while everyone laughs. Quiet, while everyone yells into each others’ ears. Lonesome in a sea of people. Your gaze is soft and detached, like all the burden of the world is on your shoulders. Holding your beer for far too long, sipping slowly straight from the bottle, like you’re trying to prolong your stay at the bar, or maybe avoiding going back to where you came from. He’s standing up.

You’re sitting on the bar stool, looking absentmindedly at the bartender on the other side of the counter, moving around, serving drinks. And you’re just sitting there. Alone. Wondering how the hell did you come to this. You always thought it was kind of strange going out on your own. Never done it before. But here you are. Here you are.

It’s been a week since you left your whole life behind you, leaving everything you knew and hold dear, moving to your best friend’s house, temporarily. Until you figure out what you’re going to do. She insisted to babysit so you can go out and have fun. She was funny that way. Have fun. All you wanted was to just disconnect from the world. Not think of anything. Not worry about anyone. Not much of a choice when you are a parent though. Worrying is on top of your list when you have kids. Two little girls, two and a half years old and an almost six months old.

That’s what you did for the past couple of years. Giving birth and raising a baby girl. And then giving birth again to another one. Until your husband decided all of a sudden that he can’t do this anymore. You’ve become too cold, too distant, he felt under-appreciated, pushed away.

The fact that he was always gone, always working and not contributing the hours that he indeed was at home, the fact that you were practically all alone in this, was not taken into consideration.

Everything happened fairly quickly. In the course of four months you got separated, he didn’t even want to try to fix things. Not even for the sake of being able to say that you at least tried. And then other suspicions began to enter your mind-

“You really look like you need a drink.”, a deep voice distracts you from your thoughts. You would be almost thankful for the distraction, growing tired of thinking the same things over and over again, like a broken record, but your bad mood wins over this one. Without turning your head to look at the direction of the voice, you raise the hand holding your beer, motioning at it, in silence.

“Nuuuh, that’s practically water, darlin’.”, the man insists, leaning forward as he stands next to you, his body turned your way, his left foot crossing over his right, his elbow resting on the counter, holding his glass of whiskey. You still don’t turn to look at him and with all the patience that is left in you, you raise the bottle to your lips, taking a sip. “Nope, still beer.”, you answer and keep your gaze to the shelf with the drinks behind the bartender. God, you’re too old for this.

The stranger huffs a small laugh and pushes on. “At least lemme buy you a cold one. That one must taste like a piss by now.”

“Oh, you must have been watching me, then.”, you try to embarrass him in order to leave you alone.

“That, I have.” Oh, he’s got a pair.

“Well, don’t.” you snap and you finally turn to look at him.

Holy shit.

You can’t remember the last time you saw someone so beautiful. Someone, your kind of beautiful. Masculine and broad and dark but with a vibe of kindness and safety in his presence. He’s looking at you, patiently, with a hind of a smile on his lips, like he knew that you’d change your mind once you’d lay your eyes on him. You take a deep breath to compose yourself and start over. “Look, I’m sorry, you look like a decent guy, but I would just be a bad company.”

“You don’t have to apologize darlin’, you have every right to choose your company, or the lack of it for that matter. It’s ok.” he says and he’s starting to move away from you slowly like he’s going to leave you alone. And now he’s making you feel like an ass. Kill with kindness they say?

A thousand thoughts are crossing your mind, you haven’t done this for what it feels like ages, you’re out of your depth, you don’t know what you’re doing, you don’t even remember the woman behind the mother, he’s gorgeous, why the hell is he talking to you? Ok, you know what? You’re going to fucking enjoy yourself. Just make conversation, fool around, it’s not like you’re gonna see him ever again. What do you have to lose?

You exhale hard, rolling your eyes to yourself and you grab his wrist lightly to ask, “Beer offer still standing?” surprising your own self. Damn, he’s warm. Pleasantly warm. I-want-you-to-envelop-me-in-your-arms warm. He turns his head to you, his eyes drop to your hand holding his, then back to your lips and then to your eyes. He lingers for a second too long and then turns to the bartender to order. You reluctantly let go of his hand and smile coyly.

You stare at each other for a moment and you both smile, waiting for the other to initiate the conversation. “I swear I’m not trying to do small talk or throw a bunch of lines your way,” he begins playfully, “but, you don’t look like you’re from around here.”

You audibly laugh and you raise your brows in surprise. “That’s weird,” you reply scrunching your nose, “I thought that’s what people do when they’re talking to total strangers at bars.”

He snorts a laugh, fuck he’s handsome, nodding his head, “You’re gonna make me work for it, aren’t you?” he asks amused, looking at you through his lashes.

“Well, it’s either that, or you really want to get to know me for my striking personality” you answer, gaining more confidence by his reaction. It’s not like you’re gonna see him again, right?

He nods his head in amusement, “You didn’t answer my question, though.” he reminds you. You roll your eyes playfully before you tease him, “You’re right, I’m not from around here and technically that was an observation, not a question.”, you raise your cold beer pointing it his way, nodding your head in a silent thank you and then you drink from it.

He stops with his glass midair, brows raising, smirking at you. “Ok, fine, you want a real question, I’ll give ya one. Why do you look so damn sad?”, his head tilting to the side, his ear almost touching the shoulder of the arm he rests on the counter. His eyes are piercing holes in yours, making you feel vulnerable. “Uh, I-, I-, shit; that bad, huh? And there I was, thinking I was holding my own.” you mutter.

“Darlin’, someone like you, sitting on your own, not looking around to notice the number of eyes ogling you, lost in your own thoughts, doesn’t take much to figure it out..”

“Someone like me.. you mean troubled?”, you try to clarify, troubled being the only translation your mind could manage.

“I mean beautiful.”, the man delivers. Oh. His voice and his gaze determined and serious as he speaks, making you weak on the knees.

You give him a shy smile and deflect the compliment. “Most men don’t observe half of what you just said.”, you deadpan and as he opens his mouth to answer you, you add “but you’re not most men, are you?”

He’s really looking at you now, it feels like he’s savoring your details and he just smiles. A beautiful, honest, kind of sheepish smile. It fades away quickly though, his face going serious again. He keeps his eyes on you, hitting you with his perceptiveness. “What did the fucker do?” you hear him ask you, suddenly.

“Wha- How did you- what makes you think-“, you are genuinely shocked, losing your train of thought.

“Humor me.”, is all he gives you, in a low voice.

His question felt so to the point, that there was no reason for you to deny it or avoid it, so you look back to your beer, fearing to see the denigration in his eyes.

You take a deep breath and simply state, “He left me, two months after I had our second daughter.” You exhale. It feels odd to hear your own voice, to feel your tongue move in your mouth, saying those words. You haven’t talked about it enough, actually -at all, if you’re being completely honest and it feels like you talk about someone else. It’s like you’re out of your body looking at you.

And now you wait. You wait for the pity, the uncomfortable silence, the unavoidable retreat. But none of those things come. You turn to look at him and he’s standing there, looking pissed. His body stiffens, his gaze darkens and you’re pretty sure that glass of whiskey in his hand, doesn’t have much life in it. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ..” it’s all he mutters as he closes his eyes in frustration, rubbing his free hand over his face.

“So much for small talk, huh?”, you continue laughing, trying to relieve his tension. It doesn’t take, though. Why did he took it so personally? He opens his eyes again, looking at you seriously with a deep frown on his face.

You begin to feel uncomfortable, so you do what you always do best. Try to make everyone else comfortable. You start talking to fill the silence. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I know I’ve made mistakes, I wasn’t always the best wife, I was tired, I felt helpless at times, especially when raising two little girls with such a small age difference all on my own, not that that’s an excuse-“ you stop talking as he’s raising his hand in front of you to interrupt.

“Are you seriously blaming yourself right now?”, he sounds frustrated and confused, borderline offended.

“Well I’m not saying that what he did was ideal, I’m just trying to explain how hard it is to be practically all alone with two kids and how much it takes from you, how the balance is changing between the couple-”

“Ideal? That’s an interesting choice of word.”, he observes once again. Nice, you didn’t think he would catch that.

“You can’t keep anyone in your life by force. I won’t. I can’t control his feelings. It was the way he handled things that pained me the most.”, you explain.

He’s staring at you like you’re a fucking puzzle.

You sigh and continue, taking a deep breath, feeling defeated already. How you could possibly explain and how he could possibly understand? “I know most men don’t get it; you can’t understand how difficult it is to be responsible for two little people, making every decision, every second of every day, it’s exhausting, it drains you-“

“I know..” he whispers, looking at his glass, nodding his head in understanding.

“No, you don’t..” you mutter, mostly to yourself, shaking your head. He’s examining you for a second, considering if he wants to elaborate. He does.

“Sweetheart, I’m a single parent from the moment my daughter was born. Trust me when I say I know.”, he explains softly. “I get it.” His voice feels like honey to your ears.

You snap your head in his direction, shocked at his admission. He sees the cogs turning in your head, the sorrow starting to appear in your eyes and he adds with a bitter smile, “No, she didn’t die, she just left.”

Your eyes widen, unable to imagine what could have led a mother to that decision. But you immediately stop yourself. You don’t have the whole picture and it’s none of your business. You don’t get to judge. All you can say is “Fuck. That must have been hard for you.”

There’s a shift in the air, like some invisible little string connected you somehow, each of you with their own story, finding an understanding in each other.

As the conversation progresses he can’t help but wonder how did he get to that point. He was looking for a good time, maybe a blowjob or quickie in the bar’s bathroom and he ended up talking to you about his life. His daughter, his struggles. Voluntarily. And it felt good, easy, natural.

You laugh softly, out of context, shaking your head and he wants to know why. “I just-” you think again before you speak, “when you approached me I wasn’t even sure I could do that.”

“Do what?”, he asks in confusion.

“Talk to you.”, you admit.

“How do you mean?”, his brows furrow and his head tilt on one side, the edges of his mouth turning slightly upward. Stop doing that. It’s sexy.

“You know, me, sitting in a bar, talking to a stranger, it felt like I haven’t done this in forever.” It feels oddly liberating talking to him, almost like a confession.

“And how does it feel now?” he wants to know, his voice soft but commanding.

“It feels good.”, you give it to him. He makes you feel good and you want him to know.

“Good girl.”, he responds, his voice low, keeping his gaze on you, wondering how you’ll react. Oh, boy. Well, your panties are ruined. You bite your bottom lip and play along. See where it gets you. He sees that. The longing starts to become apparent on your face, in the way your lips part, your breath becomes shorter and your body subconsciously reacts to him, because you turn around in your seat, facing him fully. You clench your thighs in an effort to relieve some pressure between your legs. He sees it all.

“Although it’s a shame I didn’t get to witness you do your thing.”, you let him wonder.

His brows are raised in question, “My thing?”, he looks intrigued more than he’d like to admit. Gotcha.

“Yeah, I burdened you with my shit and I missed the chance of you flirting with me.” Someone feels ballsy. You don’t recognize yourself right now, but who cares, right?

“What makes you think I wanted to flirt with you?” he questions, almost genuinely. Almost. You freeze for a second, feeling like an idiot, but then you see him wink at you behind his raised glass.

“Right,” you drag the word, “so, you really wanted to get to know me for my striking personality”, you smile back to him.

He laughs. Genuinely. Beautifully. “Do you want me to flirt with you?” he pushes you, testing the waters. But not really. He knows he has your full attention.

“Sure, you seem like you can handle yourself.”, you answer before you overthink it and freak out.

He chuckles softly and he leans to you, right next to your flushed face, looking behind your shoulder and then down at you, his lips brushing your ear, his sparse beard tickling your cheek, one hand still on the bar and the other moving at the back of your seat, caging you. His scent invades your space, making you feel lightheaded. “Baby, you have no idea.” Your whole body is vibrating with want.

He doesn’t want to take you in the bathroom anymore.

He can see you; clearly than you can see yourself. He knows you now. He understands. He can see your path, the struggles, the challenges, the worries that lie ahead on your way. He walked that path. He bled that path. He navigates it with his eyes closed and his hands tied behind his back.

He doesn’t want to take you in the bathroom anymore.

He wants to take care of you. To breathe pleasure into you, to give you all that he abandoned for his daughter’s sake, to make you feel wanted and loved. He wants you to know that you matter to someone. That he’s gonna take his time with you, savor you, taste every inch of your body, spread you out on his bed and make you scream his name, while you tremble under his touch, his mouth, his cock.

You don’t feel like a bathroom quickie anymore. He wants more. Even if it is just for one night. Just one night. Suddenly the thought becomes unpleasant.

You turn your head to his side and search for his eyes. He responds to your plea by looking back at you. Your lips are inches apart, nearly touching. You stare at his brown, chocolaty orbs, then his plush lips, slightly open and can’t help but imagine your tongue entering his mouth, penetrating them.

You take a deep breath, preparing yourself mentally. You want to feel him any way you can, right fucking now. You want his touch, his tongue, his cock but you’ll accept whatever he’s giving you.

Get up. Get up. Get up.

You want this. You got this. You slowly exhale through your nose and you nearly press your body against his chest to stand up. Your nose almost grazes his. You look at each other, both of you full of desire.

Full of promise.

He’s curious what you’re gonna do but he’s praying you won’t do what he expects you to. Not the bathroom, not the fuckin’ bathroom, he keeps chanting internally. Lemme take care of you. You put your palm on his chest lingering for a second, “Show me, then”, you whisper in his ear and you finally make it to the bathroom. That, took every ounce of courage you had in you. Goddamn.

As you enter inside, thankfully it’s empty, you look at yourself in the mirror. You try to comprehend who are you right now, what you’re about to do. You don’t even remember how it feels to have someone else giving you pleasure. To touch you. To make you-

You hear the door opening and closing, followed by the sound of the lock. He slowly walks to you, letting you study him, through his reflection on the mirror. Giving you time to change your mind. Please change your mind. He looks so good. So good that you have to turn around and face him.

His salt and pepper hair tousled but neat at the same time, his curls above his neck making you want to tug them. Hard.

His eyes are dark, full of hunger and desire. Your eyes fall at his parted lips and then to his chiseled jawline with his sparse hair for a beard. You wanna bite every inch of it. Hard.

His frame is imposing; tall, broad, his thick forearms bulging through his black shirt, his toned thighs strained by his dark jeans. And then you see his bulge. He looks big, considerably big.

“Like what you see?”, he smiles confidently, his low timbre making you realize that you’ve been staring.

You blush in embarrassment, looking down and biting your bottom lip. He enters your comfort zone now, his hand pinching your chin between his fingers, lifting your head upward to look at him. “No need to be shy, sweetheart; I like what I see, too.”, his thumb rests lightly on your bottom lip and presses down, to free it from under your teeth.

His other hand holds your waist drawing you close to his body, his erection touching your lower stomach. You let out a small sigh.

His scent is intoxicating. It’s a mix of his fainted cologne, the smoke of cigarettes lingering in the air, the alcohol on his breath and something unique. Something his entirely. His sweat absorbed by the fabric of his clothes. The more you inhale it the wetter you get. Saliva pools in your mouth, making you swallow hard.

You squirm in your place, squeezing your legs together. He notices. Of course he notices, like he did back at the bar. Reading between your words.

He caresses your ear with his lips, whispering, “It’s ok sweetheart, I'm gonna take good care of you.” He places one hand behind your head, gently bringing you closer to him. His other one rests on your back, slowly making his way down to your ass. You look at him, surrendered to his touch. Oddly, you feel safe.

“Fuck..” you breath out.

He smiles, a little full of himself, normally it would piss you off, but right now you don’t care. He ghosts his lips along yours and he softly kisses the edge of your mouth. He places kisses along your jawline and leaves an open-mouthed kiss between your ear and your jaw. Your body shakes with goosebumps, making your knees almost buckle, his hold on your ass tightens, keeping you in place.

You can’t think of anything right now and that’s exactly what you want. Not your soon-to-be ex-husband, not your messed up life, not even the poor attempt of an outfit you wore tonight out of boredom. Plain black jeans and a lingerie black shirt. Of course with a black lacy bra under it, you’re not that adventurous.

His mouth travels to the column of your neck licking it softly from top to bottom, biting gently where it meets with your shoulder. Your cunt clenches hard, pooling more of your arousal on your already-drenched underwear. His tongue is so warm and velvety, making your eyes roll in your head. Your hands- where are your hands? One on his toned shoulder and the other on his hair, tugging his curls.

You realize that he’s softer in his touch than you would imagine for a bathroom fuck. He moves so fluidly, expertly, you feel mesmerized and a tiny part of you inexperienced and self conscious.

“I- I haven’t done this before..” you feel the need to confess, worried that you’ll do something wrong.

“I thought you had two kids.” he raises his head, tilting it, while looking at you through his lashes and bites his cheek to hide his smirk.

You stare at him for a moment and then you both burst into laughter.

You shake your head in mocking disapproval and explain, “..not the deed, the- the one-time thing..” and you bite your lip in discomfort afraid of his reaction.

His eyes are searching yours and he finally asks, “Who says this is a one-time thing?”. Bold. Surely he’s messing with you. Your breath catches on your throat, that was the last reaction you would expect. You try to read his face but he gives you nothing. You can’t figure out if he meant that or was just teasing. He nudges your nose with his, relax, baby, he whispers and he resumes his kissing path down your neck and to your chest.

He’s taking his sweet time with you. He wants to get you out of this damn bathroom. He wants to fuckin’ wreck you and he can't do that here. He doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable either by proposing a different setting, in case this is indeed how you want it, so he does what he knows. He’s driving you crazy. He’s gonna make you beg him to get out of here. To take you somewhere else, more comfortable. Anywhere but here. Unless someone interrupts you, making you take this elsewhere. Either way works.

You’re both panting from desire, his head moving back against yours, your foreheads touching together. He grabs the sides of your head with both his hands, while yours move around his waist, pulling him as close as possible. He’s going to finally kiss you, your lips almost touching each other’s, breathing one another’s exhale.

A loud knock on the door startles you and you jump in place. “Come on, man! Are you done yet?” The stranger smiles against your lips, pleased with his plan. He’s so ready to take you out of here, worship you like you deserve.

But the spell is broken. You come back to your senses. You’re in a dirty bathroom. With a total stranger. A handsome, funny, sexy stranger, but a stranger nonetheless. What are you doing? This is not you. This is not how you do things. You have two kids back home waiting for you. You try to shake the thought out of your mind. You are a woman, too. You have needs. Needs that this man can meet with ease. No, there are people outside, waiting to use the bathroom. How are you gonna get out of here? Everyone will know what you’ve done. What are you doing?

The man detects your stiffness, the change in your breathing. You’re starting to hyperventilate. “Hey, hey, are you ok?”.

Your brain is overwhelmed, you don’t know how to respond. The knocking on the door gets louder now, more insistent.

“Give me a goddamn minute!”, the man shouts behind his back. His attention returns to you, full of concern, talking to you like all the time in the world is yours, like nothing else matters. “What’s the matter, sweetheart? You wanna get out of here?”, his hands are still on the sides of your head, his eyes full of worry now.

“I- I need-” your breathing is getting harder and harder. “I’m sorry, I need to get out of here, I-” you push his hands away from your face.

He lets you, raising his hands in surrender. “Ok, ok darlin’, my truck is parked just outside, let me-”

“NO- No,” you don’t let him finish his thought, “I’ll leave on my own, I’m sorry, I can’t-” you just want to disappear, you know how you must sound and look but it’s out of your control.

“No, I didn’t mean it like that darlin’, I just wanna make sure you’re safe-”. But you’re not listening to what he’s saying to you, not really.

He wants to touch you again, hold you, make you feel safe. Protected. He wants you- no, needs you to know that it’s ok.

But he’s a stranger to you, so he resists the urge.

You walk away from him, unlock the door, open it forcefully and burst out of the bathroom, looking down. You don’t want to meet the eyes of the intruder outside the door. Any eye contact would make you feel vulnerable right now, exposed. With your head down you reach for your bag and jacket left on the stool you were sitting on, -what were you thinking, you could have been mugged- and you run to the exit door.

The man is right behind you, searching for you in the packed bar. You grab the handle, you open the door and you stand still for a moment turning your head to look at him one last time.

His eyes catch the door movement and his gaze locks with yours. His expression is sad and worried, not an ounce of anger or disapproval.

I don’t even know your name, you think with sadness.

He’s making a move to come after you but then you let yourself out of the bar. The stranger doesn’t have time but to whisper “I don’t even know your name..”

ONE WEEK LATER

You’re looking yourself in the mirror while you’re getting ready for dinner. Trish wants to introduce you to her cousins; although you and her are best friends, you never got to meet them. Maybe because you both lived out of Texas, before. She came back not so long ago, you followed to get your life back. Now that you’re living with her, she wants the four of you to hang out. She says they’re great guys. Joel and Tommy. Whatever.

You’re looking harder in the mirror now, searching for any sign to indicate what happened a few days ago at that god’s forsaken bar was real. A bruise, a bite, a redness, anything. But there’s nothing. Like he didn’t want to leave a trace. Like he was a figment of your imagination.

Half of you wants to forget about him, half of you is hanging on tight on every little detail you can recall of that night.

Of him.

His deep voice, the warmth of his eyes, his smart smile, the way he put your body on fire with minimum touch. You wish he would have fucked you hard and fast against the sink, before you had time to overthink, before you became a coward, to leave you with something more to remember him by.

You still feel the burn between your legs every time you think about him. And as many times as you tried to extinguish this fire inside you, with your fingers, or your pillow, or your vibrator, it just. Isn’t. Enough.

Just- get him out of your head, you force your mind. You don’t even know his name. You spilled your guts to him, almost fucked him and you don’t even got his name. Who does that?

Well, he didn’t get your name either, but obviously that was not the same. He looked like he knew what he was doing and if he does it that often, at the end of the day what does another name matter?

Joel is grabbing his wallet and cellphone off the console next to the door yelling to Tommy and Sarah, “Guys, you’re coming yet? We’re gonna be late, Trish is gonna be all over us, come on.”

Tommy and Sarah pause the movie they’re watching with an audible groan and emerge from the living room, putting their shoes on. “What is tonight about, again?” Tommy asks in boredom.

“Uh, not really sure, we’re gonna have dinner together and some lady friend of Trish is gonna be there, I think she’s letting her stay with her for a while.” Joel mutters.

“Oh, a lady friend,” Tommy insists, winking his eye to Sarah and she rolls her eyes to him. “Is she hot or what?”.

Joel glares at Tommy “Don’t know, don’t care Tommy, I think she’s got kids or something. Take the toolbox to the truck to fix the bathroom cabinet since we’re going.”

Tommy looks disappointed “Damn, not my cup of tea, then.”

“You and me both.” Joel sighs through his teeth. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”

You hear the doorbell ring and you check on the girls before you make your way downstairs. They’re asleep on their beds. You can finally relax. You hear Trish calling you, “Hey, babe, they’re here!” As you go down the stairs you see a handsome man with dark curls entering the hallway along with a young woman in her twenties.

“Heeeey, you’re here!!” Trish sounds so exited. “Hey cousin, it’s been a while!” Tommy responds, hugging her with one arm around her waist. Sarah takes her turn hugging her aunt in silence and with a warm smile.

Then the three of them turn to the sound of your feet on the stairs. “And that’s my friend I was telling you about!” Trish introduces you by name and you approach Tommy and Sarah to handshake them.

When you look at Tommy’s face from a closer distance he seems familiar to you in a strange way, but you don’t give it any more thought. He looks like someone who likes what he sees, judging by the flirty smile he gives you. “Hi, darlin’, nice to meet you!”, is his first response to you. You smile politely “ You, too!”

You turn your attention to the young lady then, Tommy’s eyes still linger a little too long for your liking. Not because he’s not easy on the eyes, far from it. You’re simply not ready for that. And you proved that to yourself last week. You let the most handsome stranger you’ve ever met, slip through your fingers. You didn’t even got his name.

Idiot.

Jesus Christ, not now, let him go, focus. “Hello Sarah, I’ve heard a lot about you, it’s nice to put a face to the stories!”.

Sarah laughs, glaring at Trish “I bet the stories are really funny! I only hope my aunt exposed herself, too, in the process!”

You give Sarah a one-sided smirk, looking at her conspiratorially, “Well, you know Trish, she’s never holding back!”, you all laugh vividly.

You already feel more relaxed, Tommy and Sarah seem so nice, easy going, it will be great to make new friends. Trish was right for wanting you to meet them so soon after you arrived here.

It brings an air of normalcy, it feels like, although slowly and fucking painfully, your life takes an actual.. shape. You’re here. You exist. You are being seen as a living human being. You are talked to, admired, cared for, building a circle of people in your life, each one with their own place and role in your heart. And that means you’re trying. You’re not giving up, you’re moving forward, for you, for your children most importantly. These thoughts create a warmth inside you, a sense of hope that everything’s going to be ok.

And then it happens.

His voice is the first thing you register as he makes his presence known. “Goddamnit Tommy, I asked you for one thing before we leave the house. One.”, he addresses his brother from a distance. “Of course I have to remember everything myself.”, he mutters to himself, shaking his head disapprovingly.

The hair on the back of your neck is rising. You could recognize his voice among thousands. But that couldn’t be right. It can’t be. There is no way the voice will match the face. So, you turn your head to the entrance.

First, you see his boots going up the stairs of the porch, next your eyes land on his lower and then upper body, fit thighs, covered in dark jeans, thin waist hugged by a black belt, broad torso clothed in a black t-shirt and a green flannel. You don’t consciously recognize what -or who- you see yet, but your heartbeat spikes and your breathing becomes quicker.

You look further up, his head is tilted down, he’s trying to put his car keys in his front jean pocket, the salt and pepper curls looking oddly familiar.

And then he raises his head.

It’s instant.

Your heart skips a beat, your breath catches on your throat, your mouth goes dry, you stomach clenches, your body feels on fire. Even your fingertips feel numb. Your mind floods you with memories of him.

His scent, his touch, the need he awakened inside you. His gaze locks with yours, like that night, stopping him in his tracks, right before the entrance of the house, both of you unable to look anywhere else. He keeps staring at your face, fearing that if he so much as roams his eyes to the rest of you, you’ll disappear.

You can’t quite read his expression, he looks- well he looks hot- but apart from that, he seems surprised, disturbed, almost.. pained?

Somewhere from behind you, you hear “Uuuuh, and this sunshine, is my brother, Joel.”

Joel.

[eldritch-spouse]

What happened with original Icons? You know, Asmodues, Mammoth, Satan, etc. Where are they? Are they dead? Are they ancestors of modern Icons?

(Your aimless questions attract the attention of a humble historian, who, maybe out of pity, or perhaps out of loneliness, sits beside you. His posture is mildly concerning.)

" I can tell from the names alone you're the Christian type, right? You must be. "

(He nods to himself.)

" Do me a huge favor. It grates on my nerves having to listen to these fables getting perpetuated for endless centuries -Even my old man wouldn't shut the fuck up about it, may Dorem be kind to him- Forget everything you heard about the sins and the originals. "

" It's all wrong. All of it. You wouldn't believe me if I told you how bastardized the history of this planet and its annexes has been. By your kind specifically. You erased history! It's miserable! You've been living your little lies for a shameful eternity... I guess I understand why. "

(There's a huff.)

" You couldn't even get their names right... "

" Of course they're dead! Do you even know the rulers of today's Perdition? Dead and burned to a crisp, their ashes bathe the grounds of the Rings modern demons walk upon -Oh, the Fragmentation Wars were something truly spectacular- I wish I had been there myself sometimes. "

" Listen kid. Even we have difficulty putting it all back together, thanks to all this damage being constantly spread. I know demons who are more disconnected with their past than you- At least you know there's Icons out there! I've met some fucking skid marks that think 'Satan' is still bumbling around... "

" I'll tell you right now, three of 'em got nothing to do with the originals. Vorticia, Livius and Kalymir. "

(He tuns to face you better.)

" You know how Wrath is, right? Any nut can just have a go at the King, and if they win, they rule. Kalymir doesn't have a single royal bone to him. And that fucker's got a lot of bones... "

" Vorticia is an impeccable Queen, if you ask me. She's better than whatever the fresh fuck Gluttony could have got stuck with, but we're mostly positive she comes from adjacent families. Close to the court, y'know? "

" And Livius... It's a bit hard to tell with all the massacres in Envy's royal lineage, though you can probably safely bet that he was a cousin of the last prince. An ambitious cousin, eh? They say 'keep your friends close but your enemies closer'- I don't think it worked out that well for him. Keep Livius ten feet away from you at all times, those hands reach far. "

" Don't worry about any of that though. If you ask me, us history enthusiasts are going to have some bright days ahead, now that there's two whole highers settled on the surface. "

(A tail can be heard swatting beneath long, weathered robes.)

" Two of them, you hear me? You and I? We're going to bare witness to a new age! Aren't you excited?! "

" We're talking about THE Goddess Miara and the Plaguemaster -You don't even know who those are, you poor idiot, it's not your fault- And I just know they're in contact. I know it! "

(The demonoid coughs, scratchy voice cracking.)

" Anyway. We should talk more sometime. "

(You get the feeling he wants company really bad.)

[olderthannetfic]

re people regretting transition or detransitioning.

My little cousin experimented with gender for a bit in her late teens before deciding that she was a cis girl after all. The experiment involved clothes shopping, a haircut, and asking her friends to call her by different pronouns, and lasted for maybe two months tops.

Some of my our family members are generally supportive of that, and view it quite reasonably as a young person exploring various options before finding herself. The dumber and meaner ones, on the other hand, say she detransitioned and is proof that trans people are just playing around and that anyone teen who transitions will come to regret it.

And then they turn around and say they're happy for me and proud of my transition. Because I didn't get anything figured out until I was well into my twenties, and I didn't get to start HRT until I was past 30. These family members are actually dumb enough to think it's an age thing, and that my having to suffer for decades was somehow a good thing.

If the "worst" that happens as a side effect of trans acceptance is a bunch of teenagers getting dumb haircuts and wasting a few hundred bucks on clothes they won't wear again, I don't see how that's a negative side effect at all. That's just what teenagers do.

--

Grrr. Fucking assholes.

A lot of the "Oh noes, what if you regret it?" stuff comes with a huge side of "What if your WOMB is no longer able to make BABIES after you POISON yourself?" nonsense too. I see plenty of transphobia of all sorts in all directions, but the specific fretting over transition is so, so, so often about how every uterus should be used as a baby factory. People say this shit with a straight face who would never support that idea if you forced them to face the subtext of what they're saying.

There are, genuinely, rare people who do regret it, but it's way more common that someone either experiments with entirely reversible things or takes hormones for a while and then decides to stop taking hormones without actually characterizing it as "regret" themselves.

It's usually other people imposing that narrative from the outside, aside from rare cases where there was some level of coercion to do medical procedures the person was never that into in the first place (e.g. transitioning in order to be legally allowed to change pronouns on ID or getting a boob job at a partner's behest—a thing that afflicts cis women too).

I remember a friend from school years ago going "What if I'm wrong?" and even at the time, I was like "But what if you're right and then spend 20 years waiting to be sure while being miserable?"

In this, as in most other big life decisions, I think you should take your best shot, not second guess yourself, and if you change your mind years later, you can deal with that then. But yes, so many people think there's some sort of virtue in decades of misery as you either can't figure out what's wrong or know what's wrong and are denied access to medical care.

I questioned my gender in my teens back in the 90s. I just didn't do anything that made other people particularly aware of it at the time and ended up deciding that gender is a big lie and who cares. This is probably more common than people think.

The main upshot was that I ended up reading an incredibly dense book of journal articles on third gender roles that was a bit of a headache for a 14-year-old.

[rayshippouuchiha]

Ray, could you and your lovelies please explain to me what it is that I did wrong?

Earlier today, I agreed to take my little cousin (6y.) to the movies, an hour before the agreed upon time I got notified that her friend (7-8y.) would be joining us. When they drop them off, my aunt gives me money (shoves it in my hand) for my cousin's expenses and the other girl has her own money.

Without thinking, I buy the three of us the tickets and let them buy their drinks and popcorn. After the movie they are picked up by the friend's mother. I later get a call from uncle that he will give me money for the little girl's ticket, I tell him to think nothing of it but he insists.

My parents are calling me an idiot for doing that (paying for her ticket) and not asking for the money from her. They say I'm naive and "What was I thinking?!" and that I "shouldn't be doing charities like that if the kid can pay for herself" and "If you're going to treat anyone then it should be someone who can't afford it or is your relative."

I wasn't thinking at all when I was buying the tickets, I just instinctively bought the three and didn't ask for the money – how could I ask her to pay me back? I didn't tell the mom but I guess the girl did? She didn't try repaying me in the cinema, though. My mom says that it's the girl's mom that feels insulted by my actions.

Ray, I don't understand. Last time, I paid entirely for my cousin since her parents didn't give me money. I've treated the little neighbourhood kids in the past as well. What's wrong with what I did? The girls had fun, didn't they? Why should it matter? Why am I being called an idiot for doing something like that?

I'm sorry that I'm a bit late darling.

Honestly? In my opinion you didn't do anything wrong at all. You did a kindness with your own money and if other people have an issue with that then that's on them. Don't let them make you think otherwise. Keep being kind but take care of yourself as you go.

That being said I think the only people with a right to say anything are the family of the little friend you paid for. But that's only because I understand that, for most people, money can be a sensitive issue. Just, in general. I don't think you paying for her ticket is any reason for them to honestly feel insulted, especially as you didn't bring it up or attempt to gloat about it, but i've also seen situations similar to yours go nasty. So I can understand the uncle wanting to pay you back to remove any issue before it could pop up. Again, it's a general issue and not something I'd consider specific to you.

Also people tend to react differently about family spending money on the kids and "outsiders" doing it.

If you decide to do the movies and stuff again with the kids and you want to treat them? Have them buy their tickets and then you buy snacks/drinks/popcorn. People tend to be less weird about that because technically the concessions are something that can be shared.

[russian-spider]

I rewatched Richie and Tiff's scene from "fishes" today (the one they have in Donna's bedroom), after binging the show recently, and I realized I had overlooked something, because there was so much going on and it was exhausting. Something about Carmy. Richie and Tiff talk about him, how he made sprite for her, but instead of praising him, they just keep saying he's weird and why would you try to get him to date Claire when she's so nice. And even though I wish Richie had said something good about Carmy, I don't hold it against him because that's what their relationship was like then and we know how much he loves him. But I feel like, from the start, I had been taking Richie's side, in a way, because he was so funny and interesting to watch, he was this loser looking for a purpose and I could not not root for him. I was rooting for Carmy too, but when we met him he's already a big time chef, he's made it in the world, we know he's talented and successful and too good for the Beef. He's this man who Richie has known since forever that's younger than him but has achieved so much more and is now his boss, how can Richie not feel shitty about it? So, I watched the show hoping Richie would earn Carmy's respect, get some self-esteem back. But I think I got it wrong. I think he already had Carmy's respect, but Carmy didn't had his.

I believe that, when you grow up around someone, no matter how many years pass, you will always be who you were to them, and no matter how much you change, you will always regress a little when you're with them, back to that old dynamic. The Carmy we met is not the one Richie knows. His Carmy is shy and bad with people, lonely and artsy and different. He's Mikey's baby brother, always following him around and trying to get his attention. Always on the defensive, because they do give him a hard time (assholes). He's young, he's short, he's… weird (as if they're all so normal!) And Carmy's Richie is not this middle aged divorced man with nowhere to go. He's someone that became part of his family because Mikey of all people loved him so much. He was his best friend, his right hand man at the restaurant, always part of his stories. I believe when Carmy said "I always thought my brother was my best friend, except everybody thought he was their best friend" he was thinking of Richie specifically. How could he not be hurt by that? Richie had what Carmy wanted, and he could have simply hated him, but he saw his good qualities, the ones he was lacking ("he believes in you, he said you're good with people") He never rejected Richie the way he did Pete, for example. And it's different but it's the same because Pete's an outsider who became part of the family through (Natalie's) love, but they don't like him (which I think it's super unfair btw).

And what I didn't realize at first was that Carmy was also looking for Richie's approval, not just Mikey's. That's why when Richie judges him and calls him Donna in the finale it hurts him so much, not because how dares this loser lecture him, but because his opinion matters. He screams about how Richie is nothing without him and how much Richie needs him as a defense mechanism, because he's so afraid of not being needed by the people he loves and he needs Richie too (of course it makes him furious when Richie says it). Even in the first episode he's like "how fucking dope is that, cousin?" like did you see what I did? did you see how I brought all these clients to the restaurant? He insults him, but he listens to him, asks for his help, cares what he thinks. Meanwhile Richie scofs at Carmy's achievements, partly because they make him feel less than, and partly because this is Carmy, so how impressive can this really be? Just some pretentious shit he learned from people as pretentious and weird as him. Until "forks". Until he finds purpose in a place where Carmy is so respected that there's a picture of him framed. And later Richie tells him "I get it" and I thought 'how nice he finally understands what Carmy is trying to do and how they want the same thing now' but it's so much more than that. He finally gets the importance of what Carmy has done, how difficult it was, how amazing he is. For the first time he saw Carmy from the outside, not like the kid he knew but like we the audience see him, and understood. Maybe that helped with his self-esteem also, because having Carmy as his boss doesn't mean he's a loser, it means he works with the best.

Anyway, I hope at some point we get to see Richie defending Carmy when he hears someone talk shit about him, or just talk proudly about him to someone, maybe even to Tiff, to show his growth.

And I know Richie said "you're all I've got" and Carmy said nothing back and I felt so bad for Richie, but Carmy's just not used to that, he doesn't know how to react, because that is -was- not how they talk to each other. But he's trying so hard to not be shitty and to be there for the others while his mind is screaming at him that he's a failure and needs to give up joy if he wants to feel like he has value, because his self worth is so tied to his job that he'd choose it over love... Idk I think it's very important not only that Richie loves him, but that he values and respects him, because these are two very different things and Carmy isn't used to getting that from him. Mikey never told Carmy "good job" like he wanted so badly to hear, but Richie could.

[mugentakeda]

okay more runaway fire fam hcs

-zuko gets gift giving as a love language from ursa. ursa loves to go to the market after work and parooze. she loves finding shit that she thinks the kids would enjoy. knick knacks and shit. she has a fondness for earth kingdom jadeite.

-ursa gives zuko and azula little potted plants from the florist and tasks them with the assignment of taking care of them as long as they can. competition comes second nature to them, and its gonna be hard for her and lu ten to shake that off, but for now, maybe ursa can make a compromise by having them compete in nurturing. hopefully, what they learn from that will stick.

-when azula and zuko arent nosing around the town, theyre messing around in the surrounding forest. one day zuko wants to see if he can cross the water and explore air temples, but for now hes gonna scout the area. the amount of trees are good for practicing stealth, even if he doesnt have his dao.

-zuko finds a baby sparrowhawk-lynx with azula. they agree to take him home and work together to convince mother and cousin lu ten to let them keep him.

-ursa is dismayed at the idea of having any kind of furry animal around the house and getting fur on their clothes and rugs. she also swears that feline type animals all smell strange. lu ten is dismayed at the idea of having a lynx around the house because they get fucking huge. (he never makes the point that its a wild animal, and not a toy- because zuko and azula do have the discipline to care for an animal. and lu ten can trust azula to be able to defend herself and zuko if something goes wrong when he isnt around)

-they keep the sparrowhawk-lynx.

-they couldnt agree on a name for him so until they could they started calling him "Beast" in the meantime. unfortunately this ends up sticking so neither of them end up getting to pick a name.

-ursa takes all but two days to warm up to him because hes a cute little baby that likes to rub his head on her skirts. ursa is a weak woman to cute animals. she starts cradling him like a newborn and baby talking him. azula will not stand for both her AND zuko babying Beast. she keeps trying to train him to attack things or wrestle with her but he just crawls on her and licks her face.

-lu ten warms up to Beast as well but also treats him and talks to him like a human child. this is a problem because Beast is a sparrowhalk-lynx that can only understand basic words and not full sentences. so whenever lu ten tries to scold him for using their shoes as chew toys he just stares at lu ten blankly. pet idiot baby :(

-hot garlic chili oil and kimchi is something that has to be made in very large batches. theyve gotten used to the mild and savory flavors of earth kingdom style food but they also cant live without at least SOME spice. ursa is working on a whole section of her back garden that will be dedicated to just hot peppers so they dont have to keep buying it from the market

-nobody has a specific role or chore assignment in the house. they just do it as it comes. it doesnt matter who all does it, or how its done. azula likes washing dishes more than folding laundry, so zuko does the laundry with lu ten. but azula doesnt like doing dishes alone after curry dinners with their thick sauces that stick on the plates, so on those days, she splits it with ursa.

-lu ten has found the perfect spot in solitude to keep up azula and zukos training- up a tall rocky trail, near a cliff that faces where the sun rises.

-lu ten keeps azula and zukos lessons conjoined rather than doing it by skill level, because the ones lu ten took were different bending courses from the ones ozai had azula and zuko take, so its new material for them both. on top of that, lu ten has to also take the time to do life lessons with them too. instead of proverbs, lu ten prefers the approach of the way he best learns- making each lesson a group discussion. lu ten thrived in the court, and loved nothing more than waiting and listening, in order to dissect the natures of the councilmens hearts. open discussion is blunt and confrontational. lu ten likes proverbs, but doesnt see them as very effective when it came to foundational lessons. their vagueness leaves too much room for misinterpretation, and azula and zuko were never allowed to leave their parroting phase by ozai, so lu ten has to be very careful about what he says, lest he starts planting even more stupid shit in his cousins' brains without thinking.

[dreamwritesimagines]

Enamored [39] - Honeymoon

A.N: Thank you so much for your amazing feedback my loves, you’re amazing!❤ I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please let me know what you think, thank you! ❤ And as always, thank you @theskytraveler for helping me with the chapter and the story❤ 

Summary: Ultimate happiness has no room for distractions.

Warnings: Regency era society and social rules, mentions of sex, some gender specific language and terms, kissing.

Word Count: 9200 

Series Masterlist

 For all your life, you had kept telling anyone who was listening that the happiest day of your life would be when you would get married to the love of your life, and your wedding day was the proof that you were right. You felt nearly dizzy the whole time because of the excitement running through your veins, and you were sure that this was the happiest you could ever be.

But you were wrong in a way.

Your wedding day was perfect, but even that had somehow paled in comparison to what would follow.

Ultimate euphoria of your wedding night.

The fuzzy fog of sleep slowly melted off of you when you felt a soft caress over your hair and you heaved a content sigh before your eyes fluttered open, your heart skipping a beat immediately. You were lying on his hard chest, your arm thrown over his torso while he nuzzled his nose into your hair, inhaling deeply. You raised your head to look up at him, the sight of his soft smile almost overwhelming before the memory of last night flashed in your mind, making fire spread over your cheeks.

“Morning darling,” his raspy voice sent a spark through your system and you let out a small whine, then buried your face into the pillow, making him chuckle.

“Oh no, none of that,” he murmured and you felt his weight shift on the spot beside you before you felt him gently dragging his fingertips over your spine, waking goosebumps. He pressed his lips on your back, a shudder running down your spine and he pulled back to push your hair behind your ear. You paused for a moment and turned your head to the side to look at him, biting on your lip.

“What are you doing?” he asked and you scrunched up your nose.

“Hiding.”

“Why?”

You shrugged your shoulders, playing with the edge of the pillow, your face still burning.

“I’m your husband my love,” he murmured, leaning in to nudge your nose with his. “You never have to hide from me.”

You let out a giggle and stole a kiss from him, letting him pull you closer into his warm embrace. You still weren’t completely comfortable being without your clothes on but you were very much comfortable and content with the fact that he was without his clothes on.

“How do you feel?” he asked softly and you tried to focus rather than admiring just how handsome he looked in first light of the morning with messy hair and a perfectly relaxed smile playing on his lips.

“I feel…” you trailed off, trying to find the right words. “A bit strange. Both incredibly happy and incredibly sad.”

He pulled back a little to look at you better.

“Sad?” he repeated. “Why?”

You heaved a sigh and turned in his arms before you rolled onto your back, the silk sheets gliding over your skin.

“Now that I know how it feels,” you mumbled. “It’ll be nearly torture to wait until the next month.”

His brows furrowed. “What?”

“The next month,” you said. “When we are allowed to do it again.”

“Allowed?” he repeated and you nodded your head.

“Yeah,” you said. “We are only allowed to do it once a month, so we will have to wait.”

He tilted his head, that mischievous grin appearing on his face again.

“As much as I hate to admit, it makes sense in a way,” you mused. “I mean, surely no married couple would leave their bedroom if there wasn’t some sort of rule concerning this…all this.”

“Who told you that?”

“Cece,” you said. “Before she married Elias, she heard it from her sister who heard it from their cousin’s maid. A lady can only come to be with child once a month, so by extension we’re only allowed to do it once a month.”

“That’s not—”

“And despite of that, Cece and Elias spend an ungodly amount of time in their bedroom!” you cut him off. “What else are we to do then?

“Darling…”

“We could play chess, but I play chess standing up sometimes,” you said. “I can’t focus otherwise. What else…oh I could finally teach you French or—Anthony!”

You were cut off when he grabbed you by the waist and got on top of you, making you giggle as he settled between your legs, your whole face burning when you felt the proof of his desire.

“What are you doing?”

“We’re allowed, as you put it, to do it whenever we want darling,” he murmured, stealing a kiss from you but you pulled back slightly, then tilted your head.

“I told you, you’re not supposed to trick me now that we’re married!”

“I’m not tricking you.”

“Yes you are!”

He chuckled. “And what makes you think that?”

“A lady can only come to be with child—”

“Mm hm, we’re not exactly doing it for that though, are we?”

The burning in your cheeks got even worse. “Well…no.”

“Then?”

“Then you’re still trying to trick me because if every married couple could do it whenever they wanted, the world would stop,” you said with your nose in the air. “People would do little else.”

He bit down on a smile. “Right.”

“So surely there must be a rule that they forgot to tell me.”

He shook his head, his fingers caressing your hair as he looked down at you, his eyes full of love and you felt that familiar excitement rushing through you, laced with a desire so heavy that it made you nearly lightheaded.

“No rules my love.”

You blinked a couple of times, stroking the tip of your pointer over his chin.

“That’s a dangerous statement, you know.”

He dipped his head to nibble at the tip of your finger for a moment, making you let out a shuddered breath as those tingles came back. “And why is that?”

“Because I’ll crave you all the time.”

That drew a chuckle out of him. “Well, that right there is the dangerous statement sweeting.”

You raised your brows, biting on your lip. “And why is that?”

“Because I crave you all the time,” he said, making your cheeks burn but you managed to find the words through the hunger pulsing through you.

“Do you?”

He leaned in to brush his lips against yours, making your eyes flutter close as he dragged his fingertips up your leg, awakening fire under your skin.

“How about I demonstrate just how much I crave you?” he murmured into your ear before his lips trailed down to your neck and you heaved a sigh, wrapping your arms around his neck.

                                               *

Much to your surprise, for once you were both right. You craved him all the time and he seemed to be more than happy to show you just how much the feeling was reciprocated.

You had no idea how you were going to act appropriate once you two would go back to London. It was as if you were under a spell, everything but him seemed to be in a fog; you couldn’t focus on anything and apparently it was the same for him. One whiff of your scent, a small touch, even a mere glance was more than enough for his desire for you to spark.

The responsibilities of your new role as the lady of the house were endless and the very first one was to meet the staff or at least see the whole house but you and Anthony hadn’t really left the bedroom long enough for you to have introductions or explore the estate. Anthony had his own responsibilities of course, and he knew he had to see to them;

As begrudging as he was on the matter.

“Don’t leave the bed,” he told you in between kisses. Contrary to your half naked state in your thin shift you had put on after your bath –after he had most pleasantly interrupted it to join you in the tub, even the thought of what had happened was enough to send fire to your face- he was fully dressed, yet that didn’t seem to convince him that it was time to leave. “Don’t even get dressed, I will be back as soon as possible.”

You giggled before your lips met his again.

“Mon amour,” you said as he buried his face into your neck. “This urgent business of yours gives me the time to meet the staff, so don’t worry. Take your time, I will be here when you come back.”

He heaved a sigh and pulled back to steal another kiss from you, your eyes fluttering close before your forced yourself to focus.

“Go!” you said with a laugh as you gently pushed at his chest. “Before I change my mind. You’re not the only one with duties to attend to, Viscount Bridgerton.”

He chuckled and pressed his lips on top of your head before he pulled back.

“See you soon my love,” he said and walked out of the room, and you fell back on the bed, still smiling wide.

The knock on the door made you turn your head and you heaved a sigh.

“Come in Lucie!”

The door cracked open and Lucie peaked her head in.

“I was just about to send for you,” you said, sitting up in bed and she stepped inside.

“Good morning my lady.”

“Good morning!” you said. “How are you on this fine day?”

“I’m quite well,” she said with a smile. “I’d ask how you were, but it’s quite clear.”

You beamed at her before stretching out in bed, raising your arms over your head.

“Love is the most beautiful thing in the world Lucie,” you said. “Can you please pull me a dress?”

“Of course,” she said and went to the connected room before walking back to you.

“Well, the bed in there remains untouched,” she commented, making you grin.

“Anthony says we can use it as a wardrobe for me,” you said. “And this room is to be our bedroom.”

She grinned back and held the gown up for you to see and you nodded, then got off the bed. Lucie helped you into your corset, then started lacing it.

“Have you met the staff?” you asked and she nodded.

“I have.”

“And?”

“Well, most of them are very nice and pleasant.”

You raised your brows. “Most of them?” you asked and she shot you a look.

“Mrs. Weston, the housekeeper,” she said. “She seems to be a bit too stern.”

You hummed.

“I could tell,” you murmured as she helped you put your gown on and you sat down so that she could do your hair. “I haven’t exactly had the chance to talk to her, but my first night here and her glances alone…”

“She can glance at you all she wants, you’re the lady of this house and the house in London now,” Lucie said. “She can’t be unpleasant with you.”

You clicked your tongue, deep in thought.

“Lucie?”

“Hm?”

“I need you to be my eyes and ears in the staff,” you said. “About anything of importance. I cannot afford to make a mistake at this point, I just got here.”

“You think she will cause a problem?”

“The housekeeper is one of the most important people in the staff,” you said. “My mother always said the lady of the house must have good communication with her so it’s better to be safe than sorry. I must prove myself of my new title, the key to that is to make sure I know everything that’s happening here.”

She nodded her head and pulled her hands back.

“There,” she said and you grabbed the earrings on the vanity to put them on. “But if it makes any difference, I’d say your husband is very happy with how you handle your new title.”

“Lucie!” you said with a giggle as you stood up, then left the room with her to walk down the hallway, looking around.

“I must get to know the house as well.”

“I’ve had the chance to explore it in the last couple of days,” she said. “Seeing that there was nothing else to do, and that you didn’t have any need for my services.”

You faked a gasp. “Such scandalous talk.”

“But I think the etiquette requires you to get your tour from Mrs. Weston.”

“Oh that will be fun,” you murmured and shook your head. “No, I must keep an open mind, first impressions are rarely correct.”

“I’ve had my tenth impression to be honest, it’s kind of similar to your first impression.”

You heaved a sigh and turned to her.

“I’m starving,” you said. “Lucie, you know how I take my breakfast. Would you please go to the chef and tell her to prepare it for me?”

“Of course, where will you take it?”

You thought for a moment.

“The drawing room,” you said. “It feels a bit strange to eat alone in the breakfast room.”

“Sure, I will be right back,” she said and walked away from you and you looked around.

“Drawing room,” you murmured to yourself and turned the corner, the drawing room in question was one of the rare rooms you actually knew in the house, so you found it fairly easily, but when you approached it you heard someone say your new title so you stopped dead in your tracks to hear it better.

One of the voices sounded like it belonged to Clara, the maid you had met on your first night and the other had to be another maid you had seen with her—Annie, if you weren’t mistaken.

“John says they had to take four trips to the carriage and to her room to carry all the chests, and those are the clothes for a week,” Annie said. “Can you imagine?”

“Well you saw her wedding gown,” Clara said. “That was the most beautiful gown I’ve ever seen. Besides, are you really surprised? She’s a duke’s daughter.”

“I didn’t even know Lord Westcliff had a sister,” Annie said. “He has always been so polite though, I hope she’s like him.”

“I’d say she is,” Clara said. “She smiles a lot, and so far she has always said thank you whenever she asked me for something during breakfast, that’s a good start….I mean, not that Mrs. Weston approves.”

You pulled your brows together.

“Oh please, that hag wouldn’t—”

“Shh! Annie!”

“What?” Annie let out a giggle. “I’ve told her two days ago I needed new shoes but she doesn’t budge, all because she’s mad at me. Well guess what? I’m mad at her back.”

“As I was saying,” Clara told her, barely containing her laugh. “I heard her and Mr. Kinsley talk about her the other day. About how she was so enthusiastic on her first night here, running from room to room.”

“It’s her house now, I’d want to see everywhere too.”

“Well, she doesn’t approve,” Clara said. “She said it was very unbecoming of a viscountess to act that excited.”

You pulled back slightly, your heart dropping to your stomach.

“Pfft, as if Weston’s approval means anything. Lord Bridgerton is completely besotted by her.”

“Oh that much is clear, they barely spend any time outside their room. And have you heard that last night, apparently in the dining room…”

A fire spread over your cheeks and you stepped away from the door to walk a bit farther from the room, then started walking back to it, making sure your heels were echoing in the hallway. The hushed whispers seemed to have ceased when you got to the entrance of the room and both of them jumped on their feet.

“Good morning,” you smiled at them and they curtsied immediately.

“Good morning my lady.”

“Apologies my lady, we were…under the impression that—” Clara started but stopped talking as soon as Annie elbowed her in the ribs.

“We’re almost done my lady.”

“Oh no need for that,” you said, waving a hand in the air. “I’m actually quite glad I ran into you, how is your day so far?”

“It’s been very well my lady,” Annie said and Clara nodded.

“It’s a lovely morning.”

“It really is!” you said as you sat down, then motioned at the sofa across from the armchair. “Please.”

They exchanged glances for a moment before sitting down on the sofa.

“I will not take much of your time,” you said with a smile. “And no one is in any trouble so please don’t be worried. I was merely hoping we could have a little chat if that’s alright with you?”

Annie nodded fervently. “Of course my lady.”

“My mother had quite an uncommon way of running our house back in Paris compared to other households I’ve seen,” you said. “And I intend to adapt it as much as possible. I don’t really see the point in being so formal which I’m…guessing you’ve had an inkling about?”

They both repressed laughs and you let out a giggle.

“I recognize that the norm is for you to go to the housekeeper for any needs so that she can let me know, but if there’s anything you think I should hear in person, make sure to tell me. Especially when there’s a huge change like this in the house and the family, sometimes things get forgotten or looked over either by accident or by design, so please keep in mind that you can always come to me, now or anytime.”

They looked almost confused.

“I understand that you have a lot of duties,” you said. “But the way I was raised, I was taught that one of my duties in the house is to make things easier for you just as you make things easier for the family. I would ask you to help me ensure you’re happy to work with us, alright?”

Annie smiled wide while Clara nodded her head.

“Thank you my lady.”

“Of course,” you said. “I will ask everyone as well as asking Mrs. Weston for a list but is there anything you need nowadays?”

Annie shifted her weight and took a deep breath.

“My lady, I’ve had an accident in the stables the other day,” she said. “I’ve told Mrs. Weston as well, which I’m guessing she will tell you but in case she forgets, I am in need of new shoes.”

“I will see to it immediately,” you said. “And Clara?”

“No my lady, but thank you so much for asking.”

“Very well,” you said. “I shouldn’t keep you any longer, thank you for your time.”

They both curtsied and you cleared your throat.

“And could you please tell Mrs. Weston I wish to see her?”

“Of course my lady.”

“Thank you!” you said as they left and there was a shuffle by the door before Lucie showed up carrying a tray.

“What are you doing?” you asked with a laugh and she shrugged her shoulders.

“I am to fix your wardrobe so I figured I could bring with me since I was going to come here anyway,” she said. “Do you need me for anything else? It should take me an hour.”

“Don’t worry, it will probably take me at least that long to finish my breakfast and go downstairs to meet the kitchen staff,” you said and lowered your voice. “At least after I finish talking Mrs. Weston.”

She made a face. “Are you sure you don’t want me here?”

“No, I’ll handle it,” you said before squeezing at her hand. “Thank you though.”

“Of course,” she said and walked out of the room. You took a sip of the tea, closing your eyes and trying to push down the nervousness before someone cleared their throat, making you open your eyes again.

“Mrs. Weston,” you said, sitting up straight. “Hello!”

“You asked for me, my lady?”

“Yes,” you said. “Please sit down.”

She lingered for a moment before walking to sit down on the sofa.

“Would you like some tea?” you asked. “Shall I ask someone to bring you a cup?”

“No thank you my lady.”

Alright then.

This was going to be quite difficult, you could already tell.

You nibbled on your lip and took a deep breath, then offered her a small smile which she didn’t return.

“How are you Mrs. Weston?” you asked. “I couldn’t really get the chance to talk to you since I came here, but I was hoping we could fix that today.”

“Of course,” she said. “It is good to see that you’ve finally found the time to talk to me, my lady. You seemed to be too busy attending your…other duties.”

You blinked a couple of times, trying to ignore the fire burning your cheeks before you sipped your tea and cleared your throat.

“I am certain that Lady Bridgerton was quite perfect at running the household,” you said and she nodded.

“She is.”

“And I will be taking her as an example as well as my own mother,” you said. “It’s my intention to make sure things are running quite smoothly, but with certain changes.”

She frowned for a moment. “Changes, my lady?”

“Well, yes.”

“With all due respect, I do not see why we should change anything when everything is already running smoothly,” she said. “What changes exactly?”

“Well, yesterday while Lord Bridgerton and I were coming back from dinner,” you said, your heart skipping a beat at the memory of what had happened at the dining room. “It caught my attention that almost all of the guest rooms are locked?”

“Yes my lady, we do not get many visitors when the family isn’t here as you probably know.”

“And when the family is here? The guest wing, what happens there?”

“They are prepared for the guests when the guests arrive.”

You nodded.

“I figured as much,” you commented. “Well, back in Paris my mother was incredibly social, so we had guests almost every week. Therefore, the guest rooms were always ready because they were barely ever unoccupied. And I’m planning on inviting a lot of people when the social season is over, at least my father and my brother and of course his wife as well as my cousins, so I would like it if we keep the guest rooms ready by that time.”

“My lady if you don’t mind me ask, how many guest rooms did you have in Paris?”

“Seven.”

“We have thirty.”

“Oh I’m not saying we should keep all of them ready,” you said in a haste. “But at least two of them should be ready at any notice.”

“My lady,” she said with a sigh as if explaining math to an overly emotional child. “It would cause some expenses.”

“I shall go over the books during my time in London,” you said, forcing your voice to remain calm despite her tone. “I’m quite good at finances, I’m certain I could find a way. I’m not trying to create an expense out of nothing, but I also want the house to be ready for my guests. And I really don’t like having a huge part of the house completely unused and empty.”

“My lady, I understand that you’re quite excited about your new role and the estate, but considering you haven’t run a household this big, I think you should at first follow your examples.”

The condescending implication behind her words made you pull back slightly and you took a deep breath, then managed to smile.

“I am excited about my new role and the estate yes Mrs. Weston but I think you are mistaken, this is not my first time seeing a house this big; my father is the lord of Stormview Park,” you said, looking her in the eye. “And my mother has made sure that I have been educated in every part of how to run a household, so while I do appreciate your advice, I do not seek it at this point.”

She raised her brows. “I see.”

“At least two of the guestrooms will be ready by the time we come back,” you told her. “And I like lilies in the guestrooms so please make sure to put some in the vases there.”

“I cannot do that my lady.”

You pursed your lips together. “And why is that?”

“Viscountess Bridgerton prefers tulips in the guestroom.”

You tilted your head.

“I think you meant Dowager Viscountess Bridgerton, Mrs. Weston,” you corrected her, your voice almost silky. “Because Viscountess Bridgerton prefers lilies as I’ve just informed you.”

She narrowed her eyes at you only for a moment before her expression turned stony and you shot her a small smile.

“An easy mistake to make,” you said. “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll get used to it.”

“Anything else, my lady?”

“Yes actually, I will meet the staff in person but please make sure that I have a list of their needs by this evening,” you said. “And Annie needs new shoes, please see to that also. Thank you.”

She stood up and curtsied, and walked out of the room and you slouched in the armchair, suddenly losing your appetite.

“Great…” you grumbled before pushing yourself off of the seat to make your way downstairs to meet the rest of the staff.

Overall, they seemed to be very nice people, though they were a bit shocked to see you. After having met and talked to all of them, you went upstairs to your and Anthony’s room, telling Lucie she could take a break before you flung yourself on the bed.

Maybe the housekeeper in London would like you better.

Or maybe Mrs. Weston would change her mind about you. It was very clear that she was under the impression that you were just a ditzy, inexperienced girl who knew nothing about the duties of a viscountess rather than an educated lady who was ready for the task. Your mother had spent years making sure you had learned what it took to be the lady of the house, so much that you didn’t even remember a time in your childhood that you had a completely free day.

Throughout your childhood you had been tutored in singing, playing the piano and harp, dancing, knowing multiple foreign languages as well as Latin and Greek for the ancient books, drawing, painting, sewing, needlework, elegant handwriting, history, literature and poetry. You had also been tutored in fencing, riding and shooting because of your endless energy, as your mother had put it, and politics because it had seemed interesting to you, though some of your mother’s friends had criticized her for letting you choose your own interests.

And as you had grown up, the tutoring had become more about your duties as a future mistress of the house. You were educated in mathematics to be able to manage the household finances and to assist your future husband with estate business, supervising and handling the domestic staff of your future home, and determining how to meet the needs of families living on the estate. Your education hadn’t stopped there of course, you were also taught how to host dinners, social gatherings and providing entertainment for people in the ton.

So no.

You weren’t a clueless girl who had no idea how to handle such an important title.

You were snapped out of your thoughts when you heard footsteps approaching before the door opened and Anthony stepped in, making you sit up in bed.

“You’re back!” you said, a smile lighting up your face and he strode to you to kiss you, making you giggle.

“I am, my love.” he murmured. “And I missed you.”

“I missed you too!” you said as he pushed you up on the bed, drawing a squeal from you before he got on top of you, your heart beating in your ears, that familiar warmth appearing between your legs. He threw his waistcoat somewhere in the room before tugging at the laces on the cleavage of your gown, and you tried to focus.

“Mon amour,” you said as his hand cupped your cheek, the other still unlacing your gown. “Wait a moment.”

He pulled back to look down at you and you couldn’t help the pout appearing on your lips.

“I don’t think Mrs. Weston likes me.”

He blinked a couple of times. “…What?”

“I don’t think she likes my presence here.”

“Weren’t we just saying that we missed each other?” he asked, his hand slipping from your cheek in defeat as you frowned up at him. “How did the housekeeper get involved in this?”

“Anthony!” you protested. “Housekeepers are important figures within a household. How do you suppose I can make her like me?”

“Darling…”

“She doesn’t approve me.”

“I don’t care about her approval,” Anthony muttered before stealing a kiss from you. “And neither should you.”

“But of course I care about her approval,” you insisted, “If anyone in the staff doesn’t like me—”

“They will all love you,” he cut you off. “I assure you.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. Can I go back to what I was doing just now?” he asked, making you giggle and you nodded, then wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him into a kiss.

                                               *

You were beginning to think that you could just stay in the Aubrey Hall with Anthony for the rest of your life and you would be the happiest person in the world.

You were quite certain that you were the happiest newlywed already.

You ran up the stairs, darting past the maids with Anthony chasing you and you let out an excited shriek which turned into a giggle as you jumped the last two stairs, the long, flowing skirts of your gown narrowly escaping from Anthony’s grasp. You turned the corner to your bedroom, your laughter echoing through the hallway.

“I’m not giving it back!” you called out and Anthony let out a laugh, still coming after you.

“Oh we’ll see about that,” he said and you ran into the bedroom to round the table just so that you could have something to put between you, unable to stop the wide grin on your lips. Anthony closed the door behind him and went to the other side of the table, his eyes glimmering with mischief and he tilted his head.

“Give it back and maybe I will let you walk away.”

You shook your head, still holding the handkerchief tightly in your hand before sticking your nose up in the air.

“It’s mine now I decided.”

He grasped to the edge of the table and went to the right as soon as you took a step to the right, another giggle escaping from you as you stole a look at the door, nibbling on your lip. He followed your line of sight, then tut tutted.

“You never admit defeat, do you?”

You heaved a sigh, and shrugged your shoulders.

“There’s a first time for everything,” you said and held out the handkerchief, extending your arm to the right but as soon as he took a step you went to the left of the table.

“But not this time!” you exclaimed as you ran to the door but he was faster than you. Before you could even reach the door, he had already caught up with you and lifted you into his arms, making you let out a squeal. The handkerchief slipped from your hand and you started laughing while he carried you to bed then he dropped you there, his body covering yours in a second. A happy smile was playing on his lips as you looked up at him, still giggling.

“The statement on it is no longer correct,” you said. “Why do you want to keep it?”

“It’s the first thing you gave me.”

You frowned. “But it was not intended to be polite.”

“Oh I know,” he said with a grin. “I still like to carry it with me.”

“I will embroider something else on it,” you insisted and he raised his brows.

“Do you promise to give it back?”

“We’ll see,” you taunted him, tilting your head up to capture his lips with yours, raking your fingernails over the nape of his neck but before either of you could do anything else, you heard a knock on the door, causing Anthony to withdraw from you with a small growl.

“Leave!” he called out and your jaw dropped.

“Anthony!” you whispered and heard Mr. Kinsley’s voice from the other side of the door.

“My lord, your brother is here.”

You and Anthony exchanged glances for a second, and you pulled your brows together while Anthony dropped his head to your shoulder.

“Which one?” he asked and Mr. Kinsley cleared his throat.

“Mr. Benedict, my lord. He’s waiting in the main drawing room.”

Anthony heaved a sigh and lifted his head again. “Did someone die? Or get maimed?”

Mr Kinsley hesitated for a moment. “Um—no my lord.”

“Great, tell Benedict I will fix that situation as soon as I get there,” he said and you pushed at him slightly while Mr. Kinsley walked away from the door in a haste.

“Don’t be like that,” you chided him. “It’s so lovely that he came to visit!”

Anthony got off of you and you rushed to the mirror to make sure you looked presentable while he fell back to the bed quite dramatically, letting out a groan that sent those tingles right between your legs.

“It’s our honeymoon,” he said in an almost sulking manner, oblivious to the shaky breath you had just let out before you tried to pull yourself together and focus. “We’re not supposed to be getting visitors.”  

“Perhaps he missed you!”

Anthony pushed himself off the bed, running his hands through his hair before fixing his shirt.

“I have to admit, I thought your brother would be the one to show up uninvited, not mine.”

“Strangely enough, I also thought that,” you pointed out as you both left the room and made your way to the drawing room. “I half suspect Elias will jump out of shadows when I least expect it.”

“Ah no, I imagined him bringing the door down.”

“Like with a battering ram?”

“No like riding a horse into the house.”

“I can actually see him doing that,” you said and entered the drawing room with Anthony, then smiled wide and rushed to hug Benedict.

“Benedict, welcome!”

“Does the term honeymoon sound foreign to you?” Anthony asked him as you pulled back. “Do you not know what it is?”

Benedict looked from him to you, then blinked a couple of times.

“You two are alive?”

“What?”

“Why wouldn’t we be alive?”

Benedict let out a breath, shaking his head.

“You said you would be here for a week and return to London?”

“Exactly, so if you can get out now—”

“It’s the tenth day.”

You turned your glances from Anthony to him and frowned while Anthony scoffed.

“No it’s not.”

“Are you serious?” Benedict exclaimed before grabbing a newspaper off the table and held it up for you and Anthony to see. “Check the date!”

Your eyes fell on the date on top of the newspaper and your jaw dropped while Anthony paused for a moment, then tried to pull himself together to cover his surprise.

“It’s been ten days?” you asked and Benedict nodded.

“Please tell me you’re jesting.”

“Even if it’s the tenth day, you could’ve just sent a letter—”

“We did!” Benedict cut Anthony off. “When was the last time you checked your letters? You didn’t write back, mother sent me here to check whether something terrible has happened.”

“Oh my goodness.”

“Elias is driving everyone crazy because he has some mysterious news but he refuses to share until you two are in London. The worst kept secret if you don’t mind me say, he will just tell us about the museum.”

“What museum?”

“Cecily’s museum, which is opening tomorrow night by the way, both of you have to be there. Elias wanted me to tell you that.”

You tilted your head. “Elias has a museum devoted to Cece?”

“No, Elias bought a museum to Cece as a wedding gift.”

“What?” you gasped. “I didn’t know about that! That’s such a wonderful gift!”

“I still can’t believe that’s his wedding gift.”

“For a moment I thought he created a Cece museum,” you said and Anthony paused for a moment.

“That’s… something he would do actually, now that you mention it,” he said before turning to Benedict. “As you can see Ben, we’re both fine so you can go back and tell mother that.”

Benedict frowned and motioned outside. “I came all this way, it was a long trip. I need some rest.”

“Go rest at an inn.”

You gasped. “Anthony!”

“He’s an artist, suffering will be good for his art.”

“He’s your brother.”

“I have other brothers who didn’t show up out of nowhere during my honeymoon.”

“He’s your heir.”

“She’s right Anthony, I’m your heir,” Benedict shot him a grin and Anthony narrowed his eyes at him.

“I was working on alternatives before you interrupted—” he retorted but stopped talking as you elbowed him in the ribs.

“Benedict, you’re staying the night. I insist.”

“Thank you, my dearest sister-in-law.”

“And tomorrow we can all go back to London together.”

“What?” Anthony said. “Y/N—”

“People are worried about us!” you cut him off. “And we must be there for the museum opening! Benedict, you can come back to London in our carriage tomorrow, your horses should rest for another day.”

“You can follow us later on with your own carriage.”

“Anthony, he doesn’t want to stay here alone!”

“Yes he does.”

“No I don’t,” Benedict quipped, making Anthony glare at him. “And surely we must do what makes the lady of the house happy, don’t you think so? I’d love to come with you to London sister.”

“Then it’s decided!” you said and Anthony shook his head slightly.

“Unbelievable.”

“Y/N, have you had a chance to explore the grounds yet?”

“I haven’t yet, no.”

“Well, allow me to change that while Anthony catches up on his letters and you catch up on what has happened in London while you were away.”

“Aw I’d love that!” you said and kissed Anthony on the cheek before linking your arm through Benedict’s and you both went downstairs to step out of the house.

The grounds of Aubrey Hall were absolutely breathtaking, so much that for a moment you could only stare at the view around you, half chastising yourself in the head for not exploring it sooner. After crossing the endless beautiful green, Benedict showed you the woodland garden and led you through the graveled walk, going past the colorful flowers beds and the greenhouse. Away from the stables there was a gorgeous marble fountain and many garden benches, and further there was a gazeebo in a small corner of the huge garden, as if a hidden spot. Benedict had also told you they had a small forest farther away, -no doubt for the game shooting- and you had gotten to see the small boat house and the palladian bridge before you both sat down by the lake.

“So you must tell me more!” you said making him chuckle, “What else happened while we were away?”

Benedict thought for a moment, then snapped his fingers. “Apparently Mr. Sinclair has a lady to dedicate his poems to.”

You grinned wide. “Jane Longmore?”

He pulled back. “How do you know?”

“I introduced them,” you said, your nose up in the air. “Because I could tell they would make a fine pair.”

“And when did you do that exactly?”

“At the engagement ball.”

Benedict stared at you. “You were matchmaking people during your engagement ball?”

“Two people to be exact,” you corrected him. “I hardly had any time to focus on other potential couples, but as soon as I get back…”

He shook his head slightly. “Just keep your matchmaking away from me.”

You faked a gasp and pushed at his shoulder.

“And why is that exactly, Mr. Bridgerton?” you taunted him. “I thought all artists chased after love.”

“Love, yes,” he said. “Not marriage though. And not even your quite impressive record of fixing love marriages can make that happen just yet.”

You let out a laugh. “Make sure to remember this conversation, because I shall remind it to you on your wedding day to a lady you’re completely in love with.”

He rolled his eyes at you. “You sound very sure of that.”

“I am. I have a gift in matters of heart.”

“One could say a gift is nothing but practice and stubbornness, it seems to be true in your case.”

“Benedict,” you said. “I married the love of my life.”

“I’m well aware.”

“So now, every around me has to marry the love of their lives,” you said. “That’s just how it works.”

“I doubt that’s how it works Y/N.”

“I shall make it work that way,” you insisted, making him chuckle and he held up his hands, gesturing surrender.

“But hey, all jokes aside,” he said. “You are the love of his life too, I hope you know that. I’ve never seen Anthony lose the track of time for ten days.”

You giggled. “I apologize for that.”

“No don’t,” he said, shaking his head. “He’s the happiest he’s ever been. I grew up with him, I would know.”

You nibbled on your lip, still smiling. “Thank you Benedict,” you said. “It means a lot to hear that.”

“Telling the truth is the least I could do,” he grinned. “For not letting him make me sleep at an inn.”

“He would never do that!” you said with a laugh and he scoffed, then got up.

“I’ll take your word for it,” he said and offered you his hand, then pulled you up to your feet. “Now come on. Something tells me he will be quite grumpy at dinner if I keep you away from him any longer.”

As you had expected, you had a lot fun during dinner and you were sure Anthony did as well, though you could tell that he was still grumpy about going back to London. You understood how it felt very well, you weren’t ready to go back either, especially now that you knew the true bliss of having him all to yourself, but—

You knew you couldn’t keep him from his duties, or yourself from your own duties for that matter.

And considering people were obviously worried enough to send Benedict, it was time to go back.

Towards the bedtime, you had excused yourself from the brothers to go over everything that would be taking place while you were gone, and had made your way to the bedroom with Lucie.

“I know we will be back soon but I still want to make sure everything goes well while we’re gone,” you said as she worked on undoing your hair.

“That’s understandable.”

“And I told them they can directly write to me,” you said. “My mother always said, while housekeepers are important, sometimes the staff must talk to the employer directly, and I agree.”

Lucie smiled. “You’re following your mother’s example then?”

“My mother’s and Lady Bridgerton’s,” you said. “Mrs. Weston seems to not like it, considering she looked somehow angry today but…”

Lucie’s eyes found yours in the mirror before she averted her eyes, making you tilt your head.

“Lucie?”

“Yes my lady?”

“What is it?”

She pulled her hands back when she was done and you turned around.

“What happened?” you insisted and she cleared her throat.

“I think I might know why she looks angry.”

“Why?”

“Well, I heard some of the maids talking about it today,” she said. “While you and Mr. Benedict were enjoying the gardens and Lord Bridgerton was in his study, he called Mrs. Weston to his study.”

You pulled your brows together.

“What for?”

“Well, the maids were whispering about how he said…” Lucie trailed off and shrugged her shoulders. “Well no one knows for sure, but it was along the lines of; My wife is the lady of the house now, make sure that you treat her with respect.”

“What?!” you exclaimed, jumping from your seat. “Oh no no no, Lucie please tell me you’re joking.”

“Look on the bright side!” Lucie said in a haste. “Maybe now Mrs. Weston—”

“Will never respect me!” you finished her sentence for her and she thought for a moment.

“We don’t know that,” she said. “Maybe in England that is how it works.”

“No it doesn’t,” you insisted, shaking your head. “It’s not how it works anywhere, let alone here! My mother was very clear about this and now…”

Lucie shot you an empathetic smile. “I’m sure it will be alright,” she said. “He knows them better than you do after all, it could make things easier for you.”

You gritted your teeth, letting out a furious breath.

“Thank you Lucie,” you managed to smile at her. “You may leave, it’s been a long night.”

She curtsied and walked out of the room, closing the door behind her. You started to pace in the room, tugging at the roots of your hair, trying to keep your anger under control.

That was the last thing that was supposed to happen.

Supervising the staff was your responsibility now, and the moment Anthony got involved in this, it would give the staff a very clear message; that you needed his help.

It would undermine your authority, and it was a terrible impression to leave.

You snapped out of your thoughts when the door opened and Anthony entered the room.

“Sorry about that, Benedict said—” he started but tilted his head when he saw your glare. “What happened?”

You pursed your lips and crossed your arms, leaning back to the table.

“Anthony,” you said, “Please tell me you didn’t talk to Mrs. Weston on my behalf.”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“I did,” he said, his nonchalant tone signaling he didn’t even know why you two were even talking of it. “Earlier today. Why?”

You let out a breath. “You told her what, exactly?”

“That she should respect you.”

You nodded slowly. “You told her to respect me.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you insane?!” you exclaimed, making him tilt his head like a confused puppy.

“Why? She should respect you.”

You let out a whine, throwing your hands up before digging the heels of your palms into your eyes, then you lowered your hands to shoot him a look.

“Anthony,” you said, desperately trying to keep your voice calm. “Mon amour, I appreciate that you’re trying to help, but you’re not supposed to get involved in this.”

“You told me about it.”

“Not for you to get involved!” you whispered through your teeth as footsteps passed outside the door, probably a maid. “Do you have any idea what kind of a position that puts me to?”

He blinked a couple of times. “What do you mean?”

“You undermined my authority—”

“I did no such thing!” he defended himself and you threw your head back.

“It’s not your responsibility to handle the staff, it’s mine,” you insisted. “The only time you get involved is when we’re hiring or firing someone. Otherwise, you stay out of it!”

He raised his brows. “I barely got involved.”

“Oh no, you got very much involved and now she will think that I made you say that to her!” you pointed at the door. “She will think that I can’t handle this whole thing, as if I don’t have a clue on how to—ugh!”

You walked to the bed and flung yourself on it, pressing the pillow over your face and felt the bed dip beside you before Anthony pulled the pillow off of your face. You narrowed your eyes at him and he grinned at you, making your heart skip a beat.

“I’m still angry,” you said with a pout and he chuckled.

“I could tell.”

“Why didn’t you ask me before?”

He shot you an apologetic look. “I honestly didn’t think about it.”

“But mon amour you must from now on,” you said as you sat up in bed. “We must work through these issues like business partners, and if you get involved without consulting me, it will put me in a difficult position as well intended as it was, especially considering I must—” you paused and he pulled his brows together.

“What?”

“Considering I must prove myself.”

“Prove yourself?” Anthony repeated in disbelief. “My sweeting, you don’t have to do anything of the sort.”

“Anthony—”

“All I care about is your happiness,” he cut you off, his voice determined. “That’s all. You can…paint the whole house in black or turn the ballroom into the drawing room, I really don’t care as long as it means your happiness.”

You could feel a smile warming your face and you tilted your head.

“I do have certain plans about the ballroom now that you mentioned.”

He smiled back and shrugged his shoulders.

“That’s your responsibility,” he said. “I’m not getting involved.”

A giggle escaped from you and you grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer.

“Right answer, Lord Bridgerton,” you murmured before you captured his lips with yours, letting out a laugh as he rolled you over so that he could get on top of you.

                                             *

The next day, you and Anthony and Benedict had left Aubrey Hall around the afternoon and by the time you had gotten to London, it was already evening. The coachman had taken you straight to the museum and as soon as you had entered the building, Anthony’s family and your family welcomed you quite enthusiastically, asking you a thousand questions. It hadn’t escaped from your attention that the guests only consisted of your, Anthony’s and Cecily’s families but you couldn’t even point that out in the chaos.

Your father wasn’t so happy about you extending your time in Aubrey Hall but Aunt Lavinia seemed to be much more understanding. Cecily had only winked at you, whispering she would be asking you about details later, so it was clear that she didn’t have any hard feelings about the change in your supposed to be a week long honeymoon.

Elias, on the other hand…

“I cannot believe you kidnapped my sister!” he pointed at Anthony after he was done hugging you, and Anthony rolled his eyes.

“First of all, it’s her house now Eli,” he said. “Second of all, you do realize that you’ve sent us seven letters in ten days?”

“Why didn’t you answer any of them?”

“I can’t believe you bought Cece a museum!” you interrupted their banter and Cecily let out a giggle.

“I too cannot believe that.”

“Can we see the artworks yet?”

“We’re waiting for Hugh and Ken to arrive.”

“Where are they?”

“A tavern I’m guessing?” Cecily said while Anthony pulled you closer and you snuggled into his arms while he buried his nose into your hair. You grasped at his forearm, squeezing it lightly, ignoring Elias’s whine of discontent.

“I’m so excited to see more of it,” you said, “Why did you not tell me about it before Elias?”

“Because I know you’d tell her,” Elias said. “It was supposed to be a surprise to the love of my life.”

“Cece! Elias!” Iona called out and they both turned their heads.

“Excuse us for a moment.” Cecily said and walked to Iona and Aunt Lavinia with Elias following her. You sipped your drink before turning around in Anthony’s arms to look up at him.

“So I’m guessing I will pretend like you didn’t in fact miss my brother?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said almost too fast and you let out a laugh.

“Seven letters?”

“I read them all yesterday,” Anthony said, “The tone got more and more urgent as the days passed.”

“I don’t blame him actually,” you admitted. “Ten days? How did we not notice that?”

He shot you a mischievous smirk, running his knuckles over your jawbone before holding your chin between his thumb and pointer.

“We were a bit occupied darling.”

You let out a small giggle, then turned your head when you heard a familiar voice by the entrance.

“Apologies, apologies!” Hugh said as he walked inside after Ken. “Are we late?”

“Just a little.”

“Oh the lovebirds are back,” Kenneth nodded at you and you waved at him.

“Ken. Hugh.”

“Good to see you two again,” Hugh said. “Did Elias drag you back to the city?”

“Benedict did,” Anthony said and Elias cleared his throat.

“Can we have everyone’s attention please?” he called out and you and Anthony approached the small group to hear them better. Anthony’s arms sneaked around your waist as if he couldn’t help himself and you leaned back to his chest, sipping your drink.

“We’d like to welcome you to…my museum I suppose—Dear God, it feels very strange to say that,” Cecily said, drawing laughter from all of you. “Elias brought me here a couple of days ago and stopped in front of my favorite painting, and told me it was mine, and I naturally thought he was talking about the painting itself, but apparently he was talking about the museum.”

Elias grinned, raising her hand to place a kiss on the back of it. “Cece’s gift to me is much better than my gift to her.”

Cecily bit down on her lip.

“We wanted to have our family only for this opening,” she said. “And to give you the news at such a wonderful evening.”

You tilted your head, watching them and Cecily shot Elias a smile before turning to the small crowd.

“We’re going to have a baby!”

You gasped, your hands shooting up to cover your mouth, and you weren’t the only one who was shocked by the news. The whole room erupted into chaos but you rushed to the Cecily before anyone else could to hug her tight, a huge smile lighting up your face.

“Oh my God!” you said as you pulled back and her mother and her siblings came closer. “Cece!”

“I know, it’s insane!” she whispered and Anthony hugged Elias to smack him on the back.

“Congratulations,” he said and turned to Cecily with a smile. “To both of you.”

“Thank you!”

Your father had already pulled Elias into a hug and you stepped back, pressing a hand over your chest, squealing and bouncing on the balls of your feet as Simon and Daphne approached to congratulate them.

“This is such wonderful news!” you told Anthony, and he wrapped an arm around your waist, his other hand stroking your hair.

“It is,” he said. “Also explains the seven letters.”

“I’m going to become an aunt!” you told him. “Anthony, we must gift them a crib, and—and baby clothes and toys—oh my God I’m going to buy them so many baby clothes and toys.”

He let out a laugh and pulled you closer to kiss your temple, the excitement still pulsing through you.

“Do you think there are any shops open at this hour?”

“The baby isn’t coming right now my love,” he reminded you. “I think we can wait a while before doing all that.”

You heaved a dramatic sigh, then grinned at him.

“Very well then,” you said airily. “I suppose I can wait until tomorrow if I must.”

Chapter 40

[padfootdaredmetoo]

Hi hope you are fine can you make a fic where Charlie and ruby had a younger brother ,who is Lizzie's pet. so both Charlie and ruby along with their cousin Billy played a prank on him saying he is adopted. So after that whatever happened he thinks that is because he is adopted then the truth came humorously that he is not adopted infront of whole family.

Hey love,

This is a bit on the shorter side and I did change it a bit, but hopefully you like it! Today went well for me and I'm avoiding falling into the pit of despair by writing. Thank you again to everyone who offered support <3

Warnings: Sad kids

Things were always moving a little bit faster than you at Arrow House. No matter how hard you tried your little legs couldn't keep up. They were clumsy, and you often skinned your knees on the ground. Ruby used to help you all the time, but you felt that she would rather run ahead with Charlie these days. 

While sitting in the patch of mud you had slipped in, you sighed remembering the real reason you didnt fit. You were adopted. You thought back to that night, angry at yourself for not having been tough. The cousins were telling spooky stories, you had gotten scared and tried to cling to Ruby. Such a baby’s mistake. Billy had said that you were scared because you were adopted. That your dad never got scared, which was true, so naturally you weren't his son. 

You had tried to push his words out of your head since, but every time you landed on the ground, knocked something over, or couldn't play the game well, the words came back to haunt you. You weren't really a part of the family. 

Lizzie came to help you and you looked up at her feeling embarrassed. She wasn't even your mum, she shouldn't have to help you all the time. You got yourself up and walked back to the house. You brushed off her attempts to help you no matter how much you wanted her help. 

These feelings only weighed you down further as the family came around. The other kids were too loud to compete with. Tommy was busy, he didnt have time to waste on a little boy who got scared. This information didn't soothe the ache in your heart as he would twirl Ruby in the air, or ruffle Charlie’s hair. 

You pulled away and tried to get used to doing things on your own. Charlie and Ruby seemed happy that you didnt bother them anymore.

____________________________________________________________

There was a big ball being held at the house and Ruby was convinced that it was because she was a princess. That Tommy was looking for her prince charming. You felt even more sick at the thought of being introduced and shown off as one of the Shelby family. They were supposed to walk out with Lizzie and Tommy, and then Esme was to take them downstairs to hang out with the cousins and Finn. 

You looked down at the fancy suit they had put you in and tried to imagine yourself being tall like Tommy. Tall, and Feared. But no matter how tall you imagined yourself you knew that you wouldn't grow right. You would look however your real parents looked. 

Were they tall or short? 

“Come on, times almost up.” Tommy’s voice made you jump. He surprised you by picking you up into his arms. You tried to hide your face ashamed of the tears forming in your eyes. 

For a small moment, you felt that your dad had tried to find you specifically like they wouldn't go out without you. 

“Hey, now. What’s wrong?” He asked. 

“You don’t have to take me out there.” You whispered feeling so small. 

“Can’t be a Shelby entrance without all the Shelbys” He answered easily. “It’s alright if you're shy, I’ll carry you.” 

“No, but I’m not a Shelby.” The tears fell and you looked up at Tommy watching his eyebrows come together. 

“Not a Shelby Eh?” You nodded sniffling. 

“Look at me.” You tried to maintain eye contact with him but it was a challenge. “You are a Shelby, I’ve worked very hard to build a life for you that you can be proud of - ” 

You didnt understand what he meant. 

“But everyone told me I’m adopted it doesn't matter what kind of life you're proud of.” You stumbled on the words and it took Tommy a long moment to answer. 

“I watched over you in your mum’s belly for nine months, I watched you come into the world, and I was the first person to hold you. There is no way you're adopted.” 

“Your lying. I get scared, you never get scared so cousin Billy told me that it’s because I'm adopted.” 

“Cousin Billy is full of shit.” He laughed. “I’ll tell you a secret.” He lowered his voice to just a whisper. “I get scared all the time. I just learned not to show it.” 

“Oh. I should hide it then? Just push it down?” You were so relieved that there was a way to get better. Your father stared ahead for a long moment till Mum yelled at him from the top of the stairs. 

“No” His eyes flashed down to you finally. “If you're scared, tell me.” 

“THOMAS” Your mother called from the stairs and you watched your dad roll his eyes. 

“You ready then?” He asked you and you nodded happy that he held you tightly the whole time. He carried you down the stairs as everyone was announced. Some old people pinched his cheeks and cooed at him. Then your dad sent you off with Esme with a wink. 

She held your hand and you thought about telling her about Billy. Anger filled your tummy and you decided you would have to handle this like a grown-up. How your dad or uncles would handle it.

“Alright, Finn?” Esme called and Finn rolled his eyes from where he had perched himself in the widow sill. Esme laughed then let go of your hand and left. You looked around the room still angry. 

Finn was on the opposite end of the room as Billy, so it seemed like a good time to strike. You walked over grabbing a toy truck from the ground. 

He paid no attention as you walked over. 

“I am not adopted.” You announced with a new sense of power.

“Yes you a-” You didnt let him finish as you smacked him hard across the cheek with the toy truck. You felt guily as soon as you had done it. Finn almost fell trying to get off the window sill and scooped you up into the air before the bigger boy could retaliate. 

“WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT FOR -” Billy let out a loud groan. Finn tried to compose himself, but you could tell that he wanted to laugh. 

“I AM NOT ADOPTED.” You shouted at him. 

“Alright, no one is adopted. No hitting.” Finn looked at each of the boys. Despite the age difference between you and Billy both of you knew that Finn was the coolest person on the planet. He had cigarettes and girlfriends, he could drive, and his hair was all swoopy. 

Both boys apologized and the night continued on. You didnt try to chase after everyone, and eventually, Finn came and put you on the window sill with him. He read you a storybook that had no pictures, but it was just as good because he did the funny voices. You hoped that he had enjoyed it just as much as you did.

[miracles-and-butterflies]

For silenced: Is anyone going to try to stop Dolores?

Dolores is halted in her action. It gives her a moment to breathe and for her temper to cool, as her eyes find the source. Mirabel’s hand gripping onto her arm. Her primita is panting (as quietly as she can), clearly out of breath from chased after her on such little legs, but trying to keep calm and internally plead with Dolores.

They’ve done this before.

Staring each other down until the other gives in? That has happened a lot. It comes with being intellectual equals and awfully stubborn, the adults use to say. But more specifically, in relation to the miracle and her gift, Mirabel once caught her on her way to blow out the candle.

It couldn’t have been too long after Camilo’s ceremony, where his role of being an entertainer came to fruition and suddenly noise increased tenfold in Encanto. She had tried to do her best to deal with it. She’d adapt in time. That’s what they said, that’s what they promised her. But each minute, each hour, each day, each week, proved them to be nothing but excuses. This wasn’t something a child could bear.

And it’s not something a child should have to bear either. Most children, those who are fortunate or unfortunate enough to not be born Madrigals, have no gifts. No blessings or need for such responsibilities. Having a miracle was not a normal thing and perhaps, for the first time, Dolores was at an age where she fully understood that. Perhaps that’s why she tried to blow the candle out at the time. She doesn’t quite remember now.

The days before Mirabel’s ceremony seem like dreams. They could be real, they are real, but it doesn’t feel like it.

The adults were busy in the garden at the time, entertained by Camilo’s impressions of them. Isabela was sat in front of Abuela, who carefully braided pink flowers into her hair, and Luisa was helping her father not get his fingers caught in one of the foldable chairs.

Dolores tiptoed her way quietly through Casita, hands clasped in prayer - asking that God, in his kindness, would grant her this one blessing. Let her blow out the magical candle and lose her gift. Let her be free of this burden.

No sooner had she reached for the doorknob of Abuela’s door, had Mirabel suddenly grasped her hand. Smiling, the almost-five-year-old was giggling with excitement about having learnt the “C” scale on the piano and if Dolores would be kind enough to listen, to see if she was any good like her or Tío Agustín.

If Mirabel had appeared only a second later, she would have gotten in and been able to make things right. Hell, she would have saved her cousin all the trouble of her gift ceremony going wrong in a few weeks time. But God had decided not to let her do this. She was bitter. Every chance she had was always ruined, similarly.

And now… she has her chance.

Mirabel, for her part, doesn’t say a word, just stares imploringly.

By this point, the rest of the family have also appeared, gathered amongst the crowd of townspeople. Camilo and Isabela are still floating nearby each other, Luisa a step or so behind them. Abuela looks apologetic to the silent voices asking for her to help them. Tío Bruno looks to be mouthing “sorry” to Señora Pezmuerto and Padre Flores, which might be ironic giving their history. Antonio has been entrusted to the care of Tía Julieta and Tío Agustín, allowing her parents to once again try to reach her.

Mirabel presses her thumb gently against the pulse point in Dolores’ wrist, refocusing her attention on her. Grounding her.

Where’s your mind at, Lola?

I don’t know… Strange. I don’t like it. Everything is so silent.

It is quiet.

…For now.

I don’t think it counts when nothing has the choice to be quiet, incapable of noise.

I never got a choice. They never gave me a choice.

I know. I’m sorry.

It’s not your fault. You didn’t either.

But we have one now. Long overdue but it’s here.

I don’t.

You do. Think about your choices, you won’t gain anything this way. You admitted yourself the forced silence is uncomfortable.

I… I can’t take that risk of trusting them again.

I know it’s hard, but I will help you through it, I promise. Dolores, you can do it.

There’s a rattle through the crowd. Like an itch in the back of her brain, her ear, that needs to be scratched. They need to be silent.

Her little cousin glances around, panicked, when she starts to hear it. She looks like she’s internally praying for them to be quiet too - how wonderful that she can make that happen for the both of them!

…Dolores?

No.

Don’t think about them. I know they are frustrating; but don’t silence them.

No. I can’t.

Dolores, no, please—

I can’t and won’t stop. This is my gift, I will use it however I see fit. I can finally hear, now that they’ve stopped talking. I can finally hear me!

[siriusblack-the-third]

I really loved that Marauders Dark Academia post <333 I was wondering if you have any other Indian James Potter headcanons? About him or his family etc

Ohhhhh i have sO. MANY.

He does that thing where you slurp chai, click your tongue and say 'haaaaa!' Sirius and Remus give him so much shit for it for the first couple months, but then they start doing it and Peter finds it annoying and suddenly everyone in Gryffindor is being subjected to extremely exaggerated 'haaaaa!'s

He absolutely loathes it when people say British food tastes good. He gets into so many arguments with Peter about it because "come on, mate, that's the sweetest chai my mother makes, she's even skipped the ginger, how do you find it spicy?* "It has cinnamon, Jamie." "Cinnamon is fucking sweet, you little—"

He's obsessed with literature and poetry. Like, even obsessed is a mild word. People think Remus is the type to read books but no, wolf boy over there wouldn't touch a book if he didn't abso-fucking-lutely need to. James is the real bookworm— he got it from his Baba, who waxed poetic about Rabindranath Thakur and Vivekananda and Ghalib and Faiz Ahmad Faiz and told James that their writing was amazing and then there's this little boy reading under his covers with a little ball of not-so-accidentally conjured light which is how he gets his glasses before he even goes to Hogwarts.

He's three quarters Desi. His mother was from India, and his father was half Indian, because James' paternal grandmother was also from India. Specifically, both women were from pureblood Maratha lines.

He does the head movements. All the head movements. Sirius picks it up after spending literally all their time together, and Remus and Peter laugh themselves sick about it so many times, oh my gods.

Sirius learns Marathi, Hindi and Urdu from James' parents in secret and surprises James during the holidays after sixth year because he has the proper accent down and everything. James cries (but he won't admit it)

The Potter family, except James' paternal uncle Charlus and his wife Dorea, live in India till right before his 11th birthday, when the Indo Pak war breaks out. Then they move to England.

James has so. Many. Cousins. He can't remember the names of half of them and he hates how the atyas and the maushis and the mamis pull his cheeks when he visits the country, but he puts up with it because family is important to him. Also he loves playing with the toddlers and babies, they're fucking cute.

Loves kajal so much it's borderline unhealthy. There will always. Always. Be a line of black under his eyes, winging out slightly at the outer corners. Sometimes, when he's feeling himself, he will draw the wing out to a dramatic, bold style that makes the light brown of his eyes look so much more beautiful (Lily drives herself crazy over it).

Absolute pants at waltzing. He loves the music, sure (he can play almost every sheet of piano music he can find on the first try bc baby boi is a Pureblood brat /affectionate/), but he hates the dance style. He'd much rather wrap his ankles with ghungroo and dip his fingers into alta dye, because bharatnatyam is the ultimate dance form and you are wrong if you have any other opinion.

He was really good friends with the Patil twins' parents and family. They would get together to talk shit about the gore loka and Sirius would get mock annoyed that James almost never took him because "Jamie we're practically married already what the fuck mate"

He's really fucking good at maths and arithmancy, and he really fucking hates it. Stupid numbers and their stupid calculations kashyasathi kartoy mi he kay upayog tari ahe ka hyacha (marathi— why am I doing this is this even of any use) but he has a point to prove to snivellus and fuck if he isn't proving it. It also helps that his mother made him complete all fourteen levels of abacus (seven basic and seven advanced) by the time he was fourteen.

[strayheartless]

I have more Babyroth/ First babys things bouncing round my head. So here have whatever this is:

Based on this post

I think I should make it clear that these version of ASG will grow up different. They are still integrally them but without the angst and the jealousy. Sephiroth for one, doesn’t speak the same. He’s a little less formal and up tight. He’s still quite well spoken but Sephiroth “seph” Lockhart Strife is far more likely to yell “WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK GENESIS?!?” When something goes wrong.

Genesis is far less confrontational. He’s still a pyromaniac don’t get me wrong - Cloud spends his life spraying things with fire extinguishers - but it’s usually cause he’s been messing with materia and it’s an accident rather than he’s mad and wants to burn down the world. He and Seph still get into arguments, but Gen is also far more likely to apologies when he knows he’s wrong.

Angeal is the chillest of the three kids. He likes to garden with his Uncle Barrat and and cousin Marlene; he’s quiet and cuddly; he’s a complete Mamas boy as well. Where Seph grew immediately attached to Cloud, Angeal kind of thinks Tifa can do no wrong. He likes to bake with her and helps her with food orders in the bar a lot.

Bedtime is Clouds domain. Tifa is very clear that yes, she’s their mom but she’s not giving up the bar, and Clouds work Schedule is far more flexible. Usually during the day Tifa entertains them while Cloud pops in and out on jobs, but the clock hits 4:30 pm and they swap places for the night. Cloud also tends to handle getting children out of bed. The way he sees it it he took them on, their his responsibility, Tifa should not have to deal with more than she chooses.

That being said, they are a pretty good team. It would be difficult to wrangle both Seph and Gen if they weren’t. Cloud gets them up; Tifa feeds them; Cloud handles learning; Tifa handles exercise and community work; Cloud makes dinner and introduces new foods; Tifa strong arms them into the bath; Cloud reads to them and gets them to sleep; Tifa makes sure she says good night before she leaves and checks on them when she come in from the bar. It just works for them.

When Angeal and Genesis turn up on the door step Sephiroth is about 16 months old so theirs a bit of an age difference between them that’s a reverse of the original one. He did NOT immediately take to no longer being an only child. Specifically he took umbrage with no longer being Clouds only priority.

This is because Genesis was an extremely sickly infant. They weren’t actually sure if he’d make it at some points. He’s got childhood Asthma -but he grows out of it; he is in a constant struggle to put on weight; he’s diabetic, and occasionally is right kidney just decides to give up for a bit. Vincent has hypothesised that it has something to do with his past (future?) degradation. But it’s later revealed by Tseng that “no, he was that ill as a child originally, Hollander just used to send test drugs to his parents occasionally.”

Angeals a pretty emotional kid. He’s not headstrong and rough like Seph and Gen but he cries pretty easily. As he grows up he’s still pretty easily set off and all cloud can think of is that thinly little ravenette boy who used to shuffle into the living room with his blanket and curl up next to Cloud because he had a nightmare. Clouds gone soft, Sue him.

One of the most memorable childhood incidents between the tree of them is the time Seph got Gens head stuck between the banister rails on the stairs.

Angeal once swallowed a spider and then proceeded to panic himself in to throwing up on the kitchen floor.

4 year old Seph is of the opinion that Cloud is “older than God” to which Cloud replies “it’s the stress of looking after three cracked out racoon children, it adds years to your face.”

Genesis tells the kids at school not to be mean to him because he’s uncle Vincent is a vampire and will “eat your liver with white wine sauce”. Vincent does not deny this when asked about it by a teacher at pick up time… yet nor does he confirm it. Everyone is unnerved.

Angeal insists on pulling up garden weeds and hiding them in his bed. Cloud is tired of explaining that plants are for pots ore the garden NOT for beds!

Yuffie likes to play a game when she comes to visit it’s called “did Cloud say this to his children or his dog?” Her favourite is “please do not lick the screen door, I just cleaned it!” He did not say it to the dog.

To answer Salty’s question no Zack and Aerith do not come back in this AU, mostly because they both found peace with each other. But also because they were not crack head evil lab experiments in their previous lives. Angeal gets added on the technicality that he did a lot of shit while being “conflicted by honour”

[the-elusive-soleil]

Been thinking (as a thing to maybe write in the far future) of an AU where Fingon essentially Dernhelms his way back to Beleriand during the War of Wrath, and comes and finds Maedhros et al at Amon Ereb or wherever.

Context: since his death in the Nirnaeth, Fingon has been watching the tapestries in Mandos for news of how everyone is doing. So he knows how disastrous things are generally, and he also is aware of how Maedhros specifically is Not Doing Great after Fingon's death. In a battle that Maedhros organized. If Fingon were able, he'd tell Maedhros that it's fine and he doesn't blame him, but he just has to watch.

He watches through the Second and Third Kinslayings, grieving for what his cousin/best friend/person is going through and becoming, and then he finds out about Earendil and Elwing making it to Aman with the Silmaril and pleading for aid. Against all odds, it seems like they might actually get what they're asking for.

If he can get out, maybe he can find a way to tag along with whoever/whatever is going to Middle-earth. If he can get to Middle-earth, maybe he can track down Maedhros and...something. Not kill him, he's almost certain, not if there's anything of the person he knew still in there. Honestly, he doesn't have a detailed plan beyond "get back to Maedhros and hope that this helps somehow".

In a stunning display of dissembling, Fingon manages to convince Namo that he's fully healed and ready to return to life and definitely not going to do anything reckless once that happens. This works somehow, and Fingon finds himself back in Aman. His still-living and reembodied family members are delighted to see him, and also very clear that he is not going to join the Host of the Valar and jump back into a war.

And Fingon completely agrees! He's not joining the Host so much as hitching a ride with them, after all, and he has other priorities than getting tangled up in the war.

So he basically sneaks out and disguises himself as an ordinary Amanyar soldier, and is able to keep from being discovered until they complete the crossing and start marching through Beleriand. And then once he reckons they're as close to Amon Ereb as they're going to get, he grabs a horse and slips away and rides as hard as he can.

(It's been maybe a few months since he was last able to check the tapestries for news, and he's fairly sure that nothing more can have gone wrong in such short time, but then again...)

As luck would have it, as he's approaching, he runs into Maedhros, who's out on a patrol ride and doesn't have anyone with him (because there just isn't enough manpower left to send multiple people on a patrol when one of the people in question is him).

This might also be a bad thing, though, because it means that there's nobody else around to assure Maedhros that yes, they're all seeing the same thing he is. Which means Maedhros' first response is to ignore Fingon, thinking he's an illusion/hallucination.

Fingon loses his patience with this pretty quickly and reaches out and grabs Maedhros' arm to prove he's real and. Maedhros' eyes get very scary very fast.

Because.

Namo said that Noldor who died in Beleriand would receive little pity when it came to reembodiment, and everyone has pretty much interpreted that to mean that none of them will ever be reembodied. So Maedhros' first instinct is to assume that this isn't really Fingon come back.

And he spent time in Angband. He knows how orcs are made. He knows exactly what kind of twisted makings Sauron and Morgoth are capable of.

And they never got what was left of Fingon's body back, did they?

He wrenches his arm away, hissing, and goes for his sword. "You cannot fool me. I see you for what you are--I should have known such a torment would be devised eventually. Does your master truly value my pain above the havoc you could wreak in these lands? Or does he simply believe I am maddened and desperate enough to accept the deception that others would see through?"

Fingon has no clue what is going on.

He tries to get out some kind of explanation, but Maedhros raises his sword to his throat.

"Perhaps he thought I would not be able to kill something that looked like him," he muses. "A foolish assumption. I have killed him before, if not with my own hand; I can strike down an abominable copy, when I know that his fea at least is safe in Mandos, beyond all harm."

But for all that, Maedhros can't bring himself to do it right that second, because this thing, this shell, is looking at him with Finno's eyes and speaking with Finno's voice, and once he moves, there will be a bleeding body on the ground looking like Finno's to haunt his nightmares.

And that ends up giving Fingon time to talk Maedhros down, and convince him that it's really him and that he talked his way into reembodiment and came across the sea with the Host of the Valar so that he could find Maedhros, because he saw everything via the tapestries and knew he needed to.

Maedhros makes a small, broken noise,

drops his sword,

and stumbles forward, and Fingon just barely catches him in a tight hug before he falls.

...

And I have no idea yet where to go from there besides the obvious plot points of Fingon meeting his great-great-nephews and of a less murdery and fiery solution to the Silmaril Problem at the end of the war, because my plan is also basically "get Fingon back to Maedhros and hope that this makes things better somehow".

[fierceawakening]

Like here is the thing about “you don’t choose whether you are mentally ill , but you do choose to be an asshole.”

Sometimes mental illness has the symptom of irrationality.

Take my cousin. Does he talk about the government threatening everyone because he chooses to be an asshole, or because paranoia makes him believe certain things that take a reasonable concern (most governments DO hide unethical things they do) and distort it into something unreasonable and illogical (Joe Biden specifically wants X group to suffer intensely)?

“Choosing to be an asshole” only makes sense if the person is generally rational. If their illness affects their ability to reason in itself, it can’t be that they weigh their options and choose the meanest one. That’s not how that works. That implies they aren’t fully able to weigh the options properly!

And THAT is why I think it’s not necessarily ableist to talk about how these things affect others around them. Because dealing with someone who’s bring fundamentally irrational ACTUALLY IS draining and exhausting.

Because discussions literally get nowhere. When we have discussions, we do it with the assumption that each party will change their mind a little or at least be willing to compromise. The time invested in discussion isn’t wasted because each person understands that the other has a point, or at least a point of view.

But if someone is irrational, that goes out the window. There’s no guarantee that the other person is willing to negotiate, or is even CAPABLE of experiencing negotiation as non threatening.

I remember once I had a discussion with someone on here who said she had NPD (of course I have no way of knowing if she had a diagnosis or a careful self dx or just a suspicion or, you know, maybe lied.) And she was trying to get me to be less “ableist” by saying “my grandiosity isn’t about wanting to lord it over others. It’s that I am so perfectionistic I can’t bear the thought that the truth is I’m not perfect, so I tell myself I AM perfect to forestall that pain.”

And I was just like…

That’s understandable! Yes! I too am self destructively perfectionist and it causes me great pain also! That makes you sound less scary and more relatable than the stereotype. Yes! All that!

But if you literally mean that you actually cannot bear to think of yourself as imperfect and have to immediately assert that your interlocutor is the one in the wrong: that is a conflict waiting to happen. Because sooner or later if we continue to interact, I’m going to eventually be disappointed by something and point it out, simply because we’re both human.

And if your response to that is that you are perfect, and cannot have erred, then your response isn’t going to be an apology or an acknowledgment. It’s going to be lashing out a4 me for pointing out that you’re imperfect, because you can’t tolerate that thought.

Which is going to mean that I’m going to find the interaction draining, most likely. Because I went into it expecting that you can “choose not to be an asshole” and be rational, where you can’t because from what you’re saying, “you messed up” is a berserk button that kicks you into irrationality.

THAT’S why I dislike discourse on here about severe mental illness. Because everybody talks like “choose to be an asshole” is a thing, without recognizing that cognitive distortions are ALSO a thing, and can skew that choice if they’re severe enough.