#i can’t believe I’m adding those tags but how and ever

[ladamedusoif]

Yesterday was the anniversary of the violent ending of the student occupation of Columbia University in 1968.

(This is a long-ish post; it is political; you’ve been given fair warning, but I can’t be silent on this today, my principles are my principles.)

Last night, hordes of heavily armed NYPD swarmed onto Columbia and City College’s campuses in upper Manhattan and proceeded to dismantle the peaceful encampment and occupation by students in protest at the university’s continued support for the Israeli regime and, by extension, the ongoing genocide in Gaza.

As some of you know, I am an academic. We think of ourselves - or should think of ourselves - as a global community. The students and faculty of Columbia and City College, like the students and faculty of the universities destroyed (and their communities murdered) in Palestine, are my colleagues, my people.

The student journalists on WKCR last night were so young, so brave in what they were trying to do, to keep reporting and make sure their story was being told. Meanwhile, the focus on Columbia meant eyes were turned away from the NYPD’s assault on City College, which has a much more diverse and working-class student body.

Student activism has always been an important vector for change. I do not know how we are supposed to teach our students that they can change the world, watch them try to put that into action, and then somehow stand silent while the riot police drag them out of their campus in zip ties.

Today is International Worker’s Day, traditionally a day of activism and solidarity, and with this in mind, here are some links to show support and solidarity. I’m trying to find a verified bail bond fund for students at the moment.

UNWRA:

MSF/Doctors Without Borders:

International Red Cross:

[vangelini]

Boyfriend For The Night (Part 2) | Spencer Reid x Reader

Part 1, Finale!

Summary: After a few too many drinks, Spencer takes you back to your place, and you say something you might regret when you sober up…

Tags: fluff, more pining idiots, BAU!Reader, Fem!Reader.

Warnings: Alcohol consumption

Words: 2.3k (whoopsie)

|

“Reid is my boyfriend, for the night,” you smiled, taking a sip of your drink. It was, supposedly, just for the night, but Spencer liked the sound of that.

And, admittedly, so did you.

“Just for the night?” Morgan laughed, his bright, white smile teasing you two.

“Well, we’ll see how he does and go from there,” you joked. Reid couldn’t help but laugh a little at your comment.

“Well, I intend to impress,” he rubbed his thumb along the back of your hand, laughing under his breath while looking down at you. Penelope hit Morgan on the shoulder, drawing his attention toward Reid’s little look of love. He just laughed, turning back to his conversation with Hotch.

“Those two are so screwed.”

The night went on as one usually does. Some of the team split off into different games, dancing, or their own little conversations. You and Spencer were of the latter group.

“I can’t explain WHY The Princess Bride is my favorite movie, it just is!” You feigned defensiveness, leaning into the seat behind you, laughing. “Why don’t your profile it out of me,” you smiled at Spencer. He laughed, taking a drink of his club soda.

“Fine,” he set his drink down, turning to you. “I think…” he leaned down, leveling his eyes with yours, glancing between both of your irises. “I think it’s probably because, ever since you were a child, you’ve been escaping with fantasy,” he sat up. “It would be safest to assume you identify with Buttercup, that you long for someone close to you to come sweep you off your feet and solve all your problems,” he narrowed his eyes. You looked gently up at him. “But,” he sighed, leaning back. “Knowing you, I’d say you like Westley,” he smiled. “You grew up less wealthy and have worked your whole life to protect the people you love. It’s a movie that makes you believe there’s hope in the world,” he took a long sip of his drink.

Your jaw hung open in shock. “When did you learn so much about The Princess Bride,” you smiled, leaning your head on your hand.

“Garcia made me watch it,” he shrugged, laughing.

“Okay, fine…” You took a sip of your drink, head spinning a little. “So what’s your favorite movie, then, hm?”

He didn’t hesitate before responding, like he had clearly been wanting to talk about it. “L’age D’or,” he spoke with his hands. “It’s a-a seminal surrealist film that was actually co-written by Salvador Dali,” he smiled wide. “It used Dali’s classic absurd style and shocking imagery to critique the bourgeoisie and the Catholic Church. It, uh, was so controversial, actually, that it led to riots and bans,” he continued on about vignettes and taboos, but you just stared at him with a smile, eyes glazed over with pure adoration. Some time after he went on about Luis Buñuel’s other works, you realized you were absolutely whipped for this nerd.

You must have been off in la-la-land, because Reid got a little closer to you to get your attention. “Are you okay?” You snapped up.

“What, yeah, I’m good,” you smiled, smoothing down your slacks. “I’m gonna get another drink,” you smiled nervously, standing up a little too quickly. You stumbled a little, causing Reid to reach out and steady you with his hands. Morgan noticed.

“Hey, Pretty Girl, how many of those have you had?” He gestured to your glass.

“Probably too many,” you smiled half heartedly, realizing you were likely a little more than tipsy. You also started to notice how tightly Spencer’s hands steadied you. “It’s getting late, anyways, I’ll go call a cab,” you started to reach for your phone, but Spencer stepped in.

“Hey, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Pretty Boy is right,” Morgan added. “Someone should take you home.”

“Guys, Im an adult, I don’t need a babysitter,” you laughed, speech slightly slurred. Yeah, you were definitely drunk.

“It’s fine, I can take her home,” Spencer gave a tight-lipped smile to Morgan. He turned to you, ignoring Morgan’s small, concerned smirk. “It’s not safe to go home alone while inebriated,” he took his hands off of you, and you noticed how he flexed them a little. Interesting. You would have to analyze that in the morning, maybe when you weren’t so intoxicated. He pulled his crossbody bag over himself and grabbed your hand, leading you from the booth. “I’m still your boyfriend, for the night,” he smiled.

You couldn’t help but giggle at him.

“Okay, okay, whatever, pretty boy,” your hand tightened around his. The nickname felt different, coming from your lips, he thought. Somehow, it seemed like less of a nickname and more of an observation. He shook it off. “I don’t live far from here, we can walk,” you spoke as you both stepped out of the bar, the biting cold air hitting your skin. You wrapped your arms around Spencer’s, his biceps wrapped up nicely by his cotton sweater. You smiled, and, you couldn’t see it, but so did he.

“Sounds good,” he barely squeaked out, just content to be settling into your touch.

The walk was peaceful, passing by a river or a park, street lights illuminating the sidewalk. They cast a warm glow on the night, shining in Spencer’s eyes, glimmering as he glanced down at you stumbling by his side. The breeze was slightly shielded by Spencer’s towering figure. He relished the feeling of your grip, a sense of security he didn’t know he craved. And, for a moment, it really did feel like you two were a couple.

He helped you up the steps to you apartment. “Such a gentleman,” you joked. He laughed lowly.

“I’m trying to make sure you don’t eat concrete, but if you’d rather I didn’t-”

“I’m kidding, i’m kidding~” you slurred out, pulling out your keys. It danced around the lock a few times, since your vision was blurred, but with some help from your temporary boyfriend, the door pushed open and you were met with the warmth of your apartment. You couldn’t help but sigh, throwing yourself down on the couch. Spencer locked the door behind the two of you, watching you kick off your shoes.

“You should take your contacts out before you fall asleep,” he put his bag down. “Sleeping with them in can increase your risk of infection up to eight times,” he more than scurried over to your kitchen, filling you up a glass of water.

“Speeence, that’s so much work,” you threw a throw blanket around your arms.

“I know, sweetheart, but I don’t want you coming in to work tomorrow with dry eyes and corneal damage,” he set the glass down on the coffee table, kneeling in front of you. You were so tired, you didn’t notice the nickname. He didn’t seem to, either. “Come on, you need to take them out,” he reached for your arm, taking a hold of your wrist. His voice was gentle, laced with a genuine concern, and his touch was reverent. As you looked down to where his sturdy hands held you, you realized, for a moment, how deeply you cared for him.

He knew alcohol made your inhibitions nonexistent, but he didn’t expect you to start crying. “Hey, hey, hey, what’s wrong,” he grabbed the side of your face, wiping a tear off your cheek. His hands were just so soft, it made you tear up more.

“I-I don’t know,” you sobbed out. You really didn’t know.

“Hey, it’s okay, drink this,” he handed you the glass of water. As you took a sip, he moved his hands to your knees, soothing small circles into them. “Why are you sad?”

You sniffled, looking down at his face. His brows knitted together, eyes beaming up into your own. You could have SWORN you saw his heart beating against his sweater. “Because I love you being my boyfriend, and I’m tired of pretending I don’t,” you were a little embarrassed, but you were drunk, so it barely mattered.

Spencer’s heart rate spiked, and a rosy tint started rising in his face. “You don’t mean that,” he soothed, voice just above a whisper.

“I do,” you looked straight into his eyes. They were glazed over in something you couldn’t describe and probably never would.

“According to research, a-about 63% of people have admitted to saying something they regret while intoxicated,” he reasoned out, holding onto your hand.

“Another study found that 54% of those confessions are things they genuinely feel, Spence,” he realized you clearly weren’t out-of-it enough to not hit him with his own statistics. He couldn’t speak, and he really couldn’t think either. His adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, eyes dancing around your face. His heart jumped up and down as an innocent desire swept through his veins.

Did you really mean that? Was he not the only one who stole small glances in the bullpen? Was he not alone in his heartbreak when watching someone else flirt with you? Surely, this was a symptom of the alcohol. Maybe-

“It’s so hot in here,” you broke the silence, breaking away from him. He swallowed hard, eyes moving hesitantly away from your face.

“I’ll uh, I’ll change your thermostat,” he stood up, moving towards the hall.

“Thank you, Spence,” you lied down, sniffling once more.

He gave up on having you take out your contacts or change your clothes. He just spread another blanket over you, shutting off the lights. He even took the liberty of setting your alarm. Before he left, he heard you mumble a small, “Good night, Spence.”

He smiled, sighing.

“Good night.”

—

“Hey, Pretty Girl, didn’t have too much fun last night, did you?” Morgan laughed. He couldn’t see you rolling your eyes under the sunglasses that shielded you from another migraine.

“Ha-ha,” you set your stuff down. “That’s me laughing at your funny joke.”

“Honestly, I’m shocked you didn’t show up with Boy Genius, this morning,” he crossed his arms. “Leaving together from the bar, going back to your place-“

“Derek, nothing happened,” you huffed. At least, you THOUGHT nothing happened. The events of the last twelve hours were an honest blur.

“Okay, okay, I yield,” he threw up his hands, going back to his own work. You turned to see Spencer walking in at about the same time.

He had replayed your words in his mind about a thousand times, maybe more. Did you really mean it when you said you loved having him as your boyfriend? Maybe you said that to every guy who took you home drunk. He thought going through all the possibilities would make it easier to face you, in the morning. He proved himself wrong.

You pulled off your glasses, standing up. As he sat down at his desk, you leaned over it.

“I wanted to say thank you for last night,” you spoke softly, not out of secret, but out of vulnerability.

“It’s no trouble,” he smiled. “I just wanted to make sure you got home safe,” he looked up at you, moving some files around his desk.

“I really, really appreciate it,” you spoke apologetically. “I wasn’t too much… trouble, was I?” You smiled nervously. “When i’m inebriated, my inhibitions tend to…” you trailed off, trying to find the words.

“Disappear?” He smiled, laughing a little.

“Yeah…”

“You weren’t any trouble,” he reassured you, voice steady. “Actually, it was,” he smiled. “It was nice.”

“Nice?” you laughed, feeling your headache melt away at his soft voice.

“Being able to take care of you,” he defended playfully. “I don’t usually get to do that; it’s usually the other way around,” he tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear, looking up at your soft smile. “There was something I wanted to talk about, though…” Your heart skipped a beat.

“Crap, did I do something weird last night? I’m so sorry, if I did, I never-“

“No, no, nothing like that,” he laughed nervously. “You uhm…” he grabbed the back of his neck. He wanted to know if you really felt the same way he did. He wanted to know if you would hold his hand like that while sober. He wanted you. “Would you like to, maybe, get together sometime again?” He squeaked out, smiling shyly. “Maybe, this time, without the alcohol?” You smiled at his offer.

“I absolutely would, Spence,” you giggled out, tapping a nail habitually on the screen dividing your desks. He sighed a sigh of relief.

“Cool,” he pursed his lips together in a smile.

“Cool,” you mirrored him subconsciously.

Maybe it wasn’t just for the night.

(‼️💕THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO REQUESTED PART TWO. REQUESTS ALWAYS OPEN💕‼️)

[harrysmmm]

hello, love! i originally put this in the comments but it might get lost in your notifications. anyway, if you are up for it, do you mind writing a second part for magically annoying? i need jealous draco 😩 anyway, if you do it may you please tag me in the comments or something so i am brought back and dont forget? thanks so much! dont feel pressured to write it 🩷🫶🏻

have a wonderful and lovely day/night <3

thank you love for the inbox! hope you like it !!! ♡

Draco Malfoy x Y/N (f!reader)

Setting: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

Summary: where Harry and Draco have a crush on you at the same time and they both ask you to the yule ball. (part two)

part 1

W/C: 2.4K

Taglist: @mrsmikaelsxn @Iail1010

masterlist here

✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚ ᴍᴀɢɪᴄᴀʟʟʏ ᴀɴɴᴏʏɪɴɢ - ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ

Mixed feelings. That’s how you would describe the way you felt at that moment.

You were staring at yourself in the mirror. A long velvet dress was framing your body, embellishing every edge, every curve of it. Your shoulders were naked, leaving your collarbones with no room for imagination. You paired up the dress with cream high-heels that matched your hand purse.

“I swear this pin on my hair won’t stay put,” Hermione said from the other side of the room.

“I can’t believe you don’t have a spell for that, Hermione,” you teased a little bit.

“There’s no reason for a spell for hair, Y/N.” She approached your mirror and stood next to you. “Besides, I’ve tried to cast one and it’s not possible.”

“Are you guys talking about hair spells?” Luna Lovegood was standing at the doorframe of your dormitory. How the hell did she get in the Gryffindor common room? “I know a bunch of them. I made these two-side ponytails with one of them.”

“Well… you shouldn’t be here Luna!” Hermione exclaimed.

“Cool it off,” you advised here.

“I mean, this is the Gryffindor area. You’re not supposed to be here.”

“Neville let me in. I’m going with him to the ball. Apparently, Ginny ditched on him. How curious, I thought she was after him, but guess she’s not.”

“Well, you look stunning, Luna,” you added. She did look pretty, in her own way. She was wearing an aluminium dress, or that’s what it looked like, coupled with hanging balls of cotton on the edges. Her face was decorated with shiny, glittery makeup.

“Thank you, Y/N. Your dress is really pretty, it highlights your body. I’m sure Harry is going to think the same.”

The name had been dropped. Harry. Harry Potter. Harry Bloody Potter. That was your date to the ball. After the incident with Malfoy, Harry was by far your safest bet. And besides, he did ask you first.

You had spent those past few weeks thinking how, when the moment would come, you wouldn’t think about the incident with Malfoy.

How you would not think about his eyes staring into yours with your wand up.

You would not think about him getting closer with a smirk on his face.

Not think about his eyes going up and down your body.

Think about his hand making contact with your waist.

His lips painfully slow when brushing yours.

His lips.

Draco Malfoy.

It was going to go downhill.

It was tradition that boys would get to the entrance first. They would all be waiting for their ladies to go down the stairs, greet them with a soft kiss on their hand, and show them to the Great Hall.

Hermione and Luna had already left - you were still passing your fingers through your hair in an attempt of putting it together. Although your hair was already in its place, you needed an outlet to where to put your twisting feelings on.

You stared at yourself in the mirror again.

Why bloody Malfoy? Why him?

While you were trying to find an answer to the rhetorical question a silly smile got in your face.

No. No. No.

You were giggling like a twelve-year-old with a crush on another twelve-year-old. Pathetic.

Besides, the thought of him didn’t deserve any of your time. The butthead hadn’t even looked at you since the incident. In fact, his little pranks had become even more annoying, even more personal, if that could ever happen. He had faked a letter from Professor Snape that had put on your desk in Charms class. The letter described as followed:

“Miss Y/L/N, Your scores on the test about deadly potion mixing have been the lowest I have ever seen in all my teaching years in this school. I’m afraid you will be suspended in advance and hope to pass next semester. I won’t tolerate a Gryffindor mocking my course, nor my teaching methods. I must take 30 points off Gryffindor. Yours sincerely, Professor Snape P.S. the same applies to Potter. Also the points.”

You teared up that day. And if it wasn’t enough, when you went to see Snape and found out it was fake, he took ten points off Gryffindor for being so naive and believing it was true. He also took ten points off on Harry, for being, once again, mingled in the sauce.

And putting everything aside, you couldn’t lie to yourself and pretend you weren’t going to look for his face that night. You couldn’t pretend you were not going to wonder about what would’ve happened if you had said yes to him. How you would slow dance together; how everyone would think you were the most unthinkable couple, but that deep down you were killing the game.

You brushed all of those feeling off, looking at yourself in the mirror forcing it to be the last time. You turned around and headed to the stairs before the ball began.

Harry was patiently waiting for you. He had been looking on and off to the stairs since girls started to come down. He was really nervous about the whole situation and for the first time, it didn’t have to do with him being the centre of attention as one of the champions of the Triwizard Tournament. He was nervous because of you. He had been wanting to ask you out since the beginning of the course, but never had the guts to do it, knowing that a friendship was at stake. The moment you said yes to him after dinner, his belly exploded in thousands of butterflies, and he promised himself that he would try to act as a gentleman for you that night. Because you were the most lovable person he had ever met.

Suddenly, you made the entrance on the stairs. His gaze immediately went to you - how your hair fell perfectly from your shoulders; how the tale of the dress would follow your steps when you went down; how your eyes would magically swing between the stair steps and him. He was taken by the view. Once you had come down, he greeted you with his arm.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

He wanted to say how good you looked. He wanted to, but something blocked his throat, and he was almost unable to speak.

“Hum… you… hum… shall we?”

You got the hint. “We shall.”

You two got in the line of the champions, who as tradition, entered the ball first and opened it with the first dance. While McGonagall was counting you to make sure everyone was at their place, you scanned the room looking for a certain bleached one.

There you found him.

He had his arms crossed with Pansy Parkinson’s. He was gracefully talking to a Durmstrang student as if it was a sort of haute-classe yearly networking party. You hated how he seemed so unbothered, so natural. He looked naturally happy. You hated it because all you could do was fake.

You decided you were going to give him a little bit of a show.

The trumpets started echoing and everyone stood in both sides of the Great Hall, except the champions and their partners who were waiting for the sign to walk up to the dance floor. When McGonagall gave the green flag, the line started to move, every couple having their arms crossed with one another. You decided to hold Harry’s hand. He looked surprised at you but didn’t move his. You were walking down the aisle, most people noticing the subtlety of your tangled hands. You peripherally looked at Draco, and noticed he had a blank expression on his face when you passed next to him. Was that jealousy? Indifference? Oblivion? You couldn’t keep thinking of interpretations when Harry’s hand got to your waist, beginning just like that the first dance of the ball. You gracefully moved with him, having internalized the compass weeks prior. You swung from one side to the other for exactly three minutes and forty-six seconds when you stopped the dance, and everyone clapped. Harry’s eyes were mesmerized on yours, seeming oblivious to what was happening on the outside.

“Y/N, I-” He started a sentence, but he rapidly stopped talking, getting closer and closer as seconds went by.

Was he going to…? You couldn’t succumb to that happening.

“If you’ll excuse me, I need to use the restroom.” And just like that, you left the dance floor in everyone’s eyes.

You got in one of the cubicles of the restroom. You locked the door behind you and melted on the floor. You were so conflicted… why all of a sudden did Harry have so much interest in you? And why did Malfoy tell you all those things a month ago and didn’t even lock his eyes with yours since?

“Y/N?”

It was Hermione’s voice.

“Yeah, here,” you replied, getting up.

“You okay?,” she said.

“Yeah, just a sec.”

You flushed to pretend and got out of the toilet.

“You don’t look okay.” Hermione knew you all too well.

“Just a little overwhelmed, that’s all.”

“Did the people overwhelm you or did Harry do it?”

You waited a few seconds to reply. “Both.”

“About the people, the hardest part already ended, we already opened the ball. About Harry, you should hint him that you don’t feel the same.”

“I don’t want to hurt him.”

“It’s inevitable. Sooner rather than later.”

She didn’t know about Draco. You hadn’t told a soul about what happened. Mostly because you didn’t understand it yourself, but also because keeping it a secret made it more exciting – it was like your chocolate sweet before bedtime. You wanted it all to yourself.

You went over to the sink and started washing your hands.

“And you with Viktor? Have you two talked a bit?”

“Well, he doesn’t really talk. In fact, he doesn’t talk at all.”

“Stunning,” you replied.

She grinned back at you.

You both exited the bathroom and went to both your respective dates. You saw Harry sitting down on one of the tables, talking to Ron. You joined them.

“Hey, sorry for earlier.”

“Hey. No, it’s fine. Everything alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, no worries.”

“You wanna dance, maybe?”

“Sure.”

He gave you his hand and showed you to the dancefloor. A lively rock song was being played and both of you started moving to the rhythm, having fun more than dancing. That was until you looked at your left and saw that someone couldn’t stop staring at you. You and Draco locked eyes with each other while he was also dancing with Pansy.

He put his hand on her waist.

You placed your arms around Harry’s neck.

He pulled Pansy closer to him.

You slowly got closer to Harry’s face.

That was until Harry cut the scene.

“You wanna go for drinks?”

You were surprised. Wasn’t he into you? Why was he not adhering to what was happening, even if you weren’t technically doing it to him?

“Okay,” you replied.

You both exited the dancefloor and headed to the drinks counter. He served you some punch.

“Y/N, I-”

“Mr. Potter,” McGonagall blurted, “you must come with the other champions for the ceremonial speech.”

“The ceremonial wha-”

“Come, come. There’s no time,”

He looked at you one last time before being swollen by McGonagall’s anxiety. You looked at him leaving until someone disturbed your moment.

“No more boyfriend, Y/L/N?” Draco’s voice made an alarm in your heart go on.

You looked right at him. “I could ask the same thing.”

He smirked at you.

“What are you drinking?”

“Why do you care?”

“Woo-hoo, you were swollen by a dementor or what?”

“So funny, aren’t you?”

“So pissy. It’s because Potter left you?”

“You know, you sound like a kindergarten.” You stopped looking at him and drank more of the punch.

“Now that your boyfriend left, what you doing tonight?”

“What do you mean? We’re in a ball.”

“I stick to my question.”

You sighed. “I will stay at the ball until I’m tired and I wanna go to sleep.”

“Pity, I thought you might wanna get your wand back. Taking into consideration that tomorrow we still have class.”

You looked back at him, astonished. “My wand? Did you take my wand?”

“Who said I did? I’m just making a point here,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders and smiling.

“Draco, where is my wand?”

“Funny you ask because, it will only appear if you really need it.”

You got the hint. You looked one last time at Draco and rolled your eyes. You exited the ball with fast steps and headed to the seventh floor, left corridor, where the Room Of Requirements could be found. You closed your eyes and focused on your wand. Suddenly, where there was before a wall a door appeared. You got in.

The room was full of antic objects. You started by looking at the floor to see if Draco had thrown it, but you couldn’t see it. It was going to be impossible will all the number of objects.

“Looking for this?”

Draco’s voice echoed in the room. You turned around and there he was with your wand in hand.

“Draco, I’m done with your silly games. Give it back.”

“Come take it.” He kept it in one of his pants’ pockets.

“Draco,” you sighed, still you stood in front of him

You put one of your hands in his pocket to grab the wand and he immediately got closer to you. So close your lips were almost brushing each other.

“Hi,” he said.

You didn’t reply and with the willpower you have left, you tried to grab the wand. He got even closer, his crotch making contact with you. He had a boner.

You paralyzed and eventually, looked up at his eyes.

He was staring at you with no smile this time. He looked desperate and lustful. He pulled your head towards his, and his lips made their way to yours.

He started kissing you softly, only both of your lips playing with one another. Then he started introducing his tongue and biting your lower lip so hard it made you moan. You grabbed his neck and pulled him closer to you. He moved one of his hands to your ass and squeezed it a few times. He let out a moan.

“The Room of Requirements,” you started saying between kisses, “only opens when you need it.” He tried to shut you up with his mouth but you continued. “How did you get in?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” he asked you, ending the kiss and staring into your eyes. “I needed you.”

Enamoured. That’s how you would describe the way you felt at that moment.

[thatneoncrisis]

It’s coming of less like “lol you poked the bear” and more like “people are questioning if you’re transphobic or not” especially since a lot of the fics you were trying to satire are by openly trans people who are active in the community.

I saw your explanation in the notes of the fic but there’s quite a few people who hit the back button asap right when they read that scene of harrow expressing horror after undoing Gideon’s pants. I can see why for some it felt like, “lol how dare trans butches write escapist fantasies about their experiences with desire I can’t believe you thought this was for you!” combined with your admitted inability to understand how anyone can enjoy porn that’s ooc, execution fell rather flat for some. And I’m sorry, while I read the note and understand your intent, pulling a move like that and going “it’s satire it’s satire!” Really comes off a certain way

i see. like i assumed this is, in part a major misunderstanding

i dont know if any of them are ever going to see this but if they do on the record- the problem was not gideon having a penis. the problem will never be gideon having a penis. it was about the specific way it looked, an organ that was over a foot long with a circumference bigger than her wrist. I under trans women have written fics with gideon having a huge crazy style dick. i also have spoken to many trans women in the fandom, and they arent a monolith. a lot of them hate it and it makes them dysphoric and cannot read any fics tagged wit trans women as the majority of them skew thag way. a lot of trans women in fandom are written as cis women with big cocks. theres no talk about how estrogen would affect them physically or sexually, ad it alienates a large portion of fans. THAT is the point i was trying to make

in the fic itself, harrow and gideon are both trans women. its just more obvious with gideon because it reflects a wider trend of people defaulting her, the butch brown jock girl, to not only being trans, but having a massive cock about it. its rarely like, an actual element of her character, its just kind of a dildo thats attached to her

and its not that i dont understand HOW those things can be appealing to people who arent me. the issue arises when this is about 80% of the tag. i have to dig and dig for something that doesn't feel like a caricature. i dont know most of the authors on ao3, and i particularly don't feel like googling each one of them to see if theyre transfem or not to see if that makes content any less off putting

as a final note, i have admitted that the fic does function more as a vent than satire. i hope this is clear

[asdfghjklmals]

THE CURSED CHILD: YUTA OKKOTSU✩༶‧˚

GENRE + T/W: sfw, fluff, angst. mentions of unaliving from jjk0. WORD COUNT: 2.6k words. TAGS: satoru gojo x fem!oc, established couple. student!yuta x sensei!oc, strictly student and sensei, nothing innappropriate.

SYNOPSIS: oc gojo girlfriend and satoru save a student from a secret execution, and his name is yuta okkotsu. AUTHOR'S NOTE: my take on how oc gojo girlfriend would've met yuta and how yuta sees her. this is the start of a new mini series called the cursed child(ren), and it's basically how oc gojo girlfriend meets satoru's students. REMINDER: if you want to imagine yourself in oc gojo girlfriend's character descriptions instead, please do!

it was your lunch hour at jujutsu high, and satoru was hiding in your office. and when you say hiding, you meant that he was avoiding his sensei duties.

“you can’t stay in here, i have to leave soon.”

you sat in satoru’s lap as he brushed your black hair behind your ear, “where are you going?” he asked curiously.

“the school directors said that there’s an issue at one of the public high schools. i’m guessing a curse they need someone higher than a grade one sorcerer for.” you muttered. you wondered why the other sorcerers couldn’t handle the issue. you rarely went on missions nowadays.

“i can go with you if you want.” satoru suggested.

you looked at him and glared, “you promised maki that you’d help her with her close combat, so no.” satoru had three first year students this year: maki zen’nin, toge inumaki, and panda.

“we haven’t been on a mission together in awhile haven’t we?” satoru reminisced, “we used to have so much fun when we were students, don’t you think?”

you thought about yours and satoru’s routine when you were younger. you would drop off megumi and tsumiki at their elementary school, grab lunch at your favorite cafe in shinjuku, complete your mission, and then grab dessert. those were the times. (read 'seeing red' here)

“unfortunately we’re adults and have real responsibilities now. like looking after the students and raising teenagers.” you chuckled, “i have to go, sweetheart.”

you caressed satoru’s cheek with your left hand and kissed him goodbye. he pulled you closer before you started to giggle, “satoru! i have to go now!”

the sly sorcerer snuck two more kisses before letting you go. you blew him a kiss before shutting your office door behind you, leaving him with his signature shit-eating grin.

the school directors’ meeting room

“so you want me to go find a child? for a secret execution?” you couldn’t believe your ears. how could these rude, old school directors expect you to bring a child back for them to execute? your motherly instincts started to kick in. you could never imagine executing a child the age of megumi and tsumiki.

"there are reports that there is child by the name of yuta okkotsu that is harboring a special grade cursed apparition by the name of rika orimoto." the school director stated.

another school director added, "he's already injured four of the high school students, three grade two sorcerers, and a grade one sorcerer."

"and you're asking me to retrieve the child because the grade one sorcerer couldn't do it?" you asked, annoyance in your tone. you were rarely ever summoned for missions due to the fact that you could heal. healers were important to the jujutsu community, so they were usually the last ones summoned.

"precisely. bring him back to us."

you left the directors' meeting room and rolled your eyes. throughout the years of being a special grade sorcerer, you and satoru shared one thing in common: your hatred for the directors and their old school way of thinking. you were glad yours and satoru's grandparents weren't so old-fashioned.

the only reason why the directors didn't turn to satoru is because they wanted a secret execution. if satoru knew about this, he would've intervened as the gojo clan's influence would allow him to do so. you didn't agree with the secret execution either, but you knew that they turned to you instead of satoru because they hated to ask that man for anything. you would tell satoru as soon as you got back.

sugisawa third high school

akari drove you to the school that yuta okkotsu was held up at. as you pulled into the parking lot, you felt the cursed energy radiating from inside the school. it was a vast amount, something that you haven't felt in a very long time. it also felt familiar, similar to satoru's.

"that's not a good feeling", akari said from the front of the car, shuddering as she sensed the cursed energy as well, "you sure you'll be okay? does gojo know you're here?"

"it's fine, akari. i can handle it. satoru is busy with his firsts years right now."

"be safe, (y/n)." akari said as she saluted you.

you nodded to her and set the veil, raising your two fingers, "emerge from darkness, blacker still. purify that which is impure."

a veil started to surround the school. you summoned your shikigami spirit birds. they flew around for a moment as their feathers started to ruffle. that meant that they sensed danger. they flew a few feet ahead of you as you summoned 24 ice shards, circling you. (a/n: did anyone notice that oc gojo girlfriend can now summon 24 shards compared to 12 when she was younger in older fics? she's even stronger in the present.)

you walked into the school and could sense intense cursed energy coming from the classroom that yuta was supposedly in. you opened the door to see him. he was having a complete mental breakdown. his hands enclosed his face, body crouched in a corner, hyperventilating. you waved away your ice shards as they melted into thin air. he was not a threat to you.

"are you yuta okkotsu?" you asked him.

he looked up and shouted, "stay away!"

you stayed calm as force was not going to be helpful here, "yuta, my name is (y/n) (l/n). i'm here to help you." you reached out to him.

yuta's eyes filled with tears, begging. "stay away. i don't want to hurt anyone. everyone that was sent here was hurt because of me."

"don't worry. you can't hurt me, yuta." you said as you crept closer to him. he winced as if he was anticipating something to hurt you. you summoned your water veil, enclosing yourself in a ball of water that made you untouchable to most curses and cursed techniques.

you reached your hand out of your veil of water, "come with me, yuta. there's someone i want you to meet, his name is satoru gojo. we can help you control this curse and help people with it. you won't have to hurt anyone anymore."

yuta looked up at you reluctantly, he slowly reached out to grab your hand. you quickly pushed into his pressure points on his forehead and knocked him out. (a/n: yup, just like satoru did to yuji) you summoned a water veil around him. before you took yuta out of the classroom, you noticed a knife that was turned into a tangled and twisted dagger.

"spirit birds... take that knife. bring it back to satoru."

your spirit birds took the knife and stored it in their shadows. they loved satoru, so they were happy to bring him a gift. you started to think your spirit birds liked him more than they liked you.

you drew the veil down as you walked towards the car.

"akari, call satoru right now. have him meet me in the dungeon."

"got it."

at the jujutsu high dungeon

satoru examined the knife that your spirit birds had brought back to him, "so, the elders went behind my back and asked my own girlfriend to bring them a child to execute?"

you ignored his recap of your story, "we have to save him, satoru."

"of course i'll save him. he's only 16 and underage. who do those damn higher ups think they are?" he said angrily.

you suggested to him, "we can teach him how to control this curse. i'm sure of it. there's no reason to execute him. what do you think about him joining maki, panda, and toge?"

"i think it would be a good idea."

"he's been through a lot," you sighed as you looked at the student who was sitting in the chair, tied up, and out cold. ofudas and different jujutsu seals were painted all over this dungeon.

satoru patted your shoulder, comforting you while you both looked at yuta. you rested your head against satoru's arm as you held his hand.

"did you sense the cursed apparition while you were at the school?" he asked curiously.

"i just sensed what you're sensing right now. the cursed apparition didn't appear when i got to him."

"i see. i'll take care of things, babe. just leave it to me."

the next day

satoru had met with the school directors right after you told him about yuta. and of course, he was able to get yuta's execution suspended. in return, he would have to take him in as a student so that jujutsu high could learn more about the special grade curse that attached itself yuta.

you made sure that yuta had his dorm room accommodations, that his student id card was made, and that he had a uniform ready to go for his first day.

"you really want to give him a white uniform?" you frowned. you thought that white uniforms were ostracizing. white meant that your powers were unstable, and it was something that you had to wear briefly when you first joined jujutsu high over ten years ago.

"he'll get out of the white uniforms in no time." satoru said confidently, "i know you hate putting the kids in white uniforms because it reminds you of when we were students." he kissed your temple.

you handed him a packet of all of yuta's paperwork and his student id.

"he's a special grade." you said to satoru as you looked at yuta's student id card.

"just like you and me." satoru grinned.

"should we go escort him from the dorms?" you asked your boyfriend. he smiled at you and looped your arms around his, clasping his palms together to teleport you both to the courtyard.

*********************************

yuta's first day of school was eye opening for him. satoru mentioned that he assigned yuta on a mission with maki. he was able to save the two missing children at the elementary school and an injured maki, and exorcise the curse by summoning rika orimoto (satoru got an earful for that one).

it was the moment where maki asked yuta why he enrolled at jujutsu high where yuta realized what he wanted to do. he didn't want to hurt anyone anymore. originally, he had wanted to run away and disappear forever, but satoru had told him that he would be lonely if he did that.

yuta wanted to be surrounded by people, he wanted to be relied on by others, and he wanted to believe that it was okay for him to keep living.

three months later

yours and satoru's main goal in life now that you two were older? it was to create a supportive environment to raise intelligent allies. both of you promised to protect the up and coming generation of jujutsu sorcerers, making sure that they would never have their youth taken away like satoru's was taken from him. (read 'learn to love' here)

the past three months, yuta had made tremendous progress as a sorcerer. he trained hard every day. he was even able to defeat suguru geto during the night parade of a thousand demons...

today, you were having your quarterly meeting with the students at tokyo jujutsu high. this meeting was a review of the quarter, a chance to catch up with the students to see how they were doing, and to see what they needed to do to be on track for high school graduation and their promotions to the next grade of sorcerer. (read ‘graduation’ here)

yuta knocked on your office door. he was right on time for his 1pm appointment.

"come in." you called out. putting his folder at the top of the stack of folders you had on your desk.

"hi (y/n)-sensei." he said with a smile.

you smiled back at him, "hi yuta. how are you doing?"

"i'm doing fine. is gojo-sensei doing okay?" he asked with concern. satoru had taken some time for himself after the incident with suguru last week. you knew he was at home collecting his thoughts and deciding how to be present for his students after losing his bestfriend for a second time. (read 'to be present' here)

"he's having a hard time, but he will be okay." you reassured him, "yuta, satoru wanted me to ask you if you would like to do some private training in africa."

"africa? that's pretty far." yuta said, "and that would mean that i would have to leave maki, inumaki, and panda..." he sounded sad when he mentioned his friends.

you related with him, seeing that it was going to be a hard decision for him, "i understand if you don't want to go. all your friends are here. i would've felt the same if i had to leave satoru and shoko."

"would i get stronger if i went, (y/n)-sensei...?" yuta asked quietly.

you watched yuta as he shifted in his chair, he was looking down at his feet.

"you would gain valuable experience by going. yuta, you're going to be such a strong sorcerer when you get older. hell, you're already so strong compared to most sorcerers your age. i know even megumi looks up to you." you said to him.

"if i can get stronger and protect the people i love, i'll do it." he confidently said.

"well... that didn't take much convincing." you chuckled as yuta blushed. "you can always come home whenever you want too. don't worry about the finances and lodging, i'll take care of everything for you." you smiled at him.

"you really are the best, (y/n)-sensei..." yuta said softly with a smile, "so, who's going to be training me while i'm there?"

you grinned from ear to ear as you remembered interrogating a specific sorcerer with satoru, threatening him to train yuta or else.

"miguel."

EXTRA:

"yuta, if anything happens to me, i need you to take care of the current first and second year students," satoru said, "i've got a bad feeling. i'm especially concerned about the first year, yuji itadori. just like you, he was up for a secret execution. if you could watch over him, i'd appreciate it."

"if anything happens? like you getting a girlfriend?" yuta asked, no jokes aside.

“oh, you're a comedian now, huh?” satoru retorted.

"well, i can't imagine anything else that would happen to you." yuta chirped as he walked side by side with his sensei.

"and for your information, i do have a girlfriend."

yuta asked curiously, "the sensei with the black hair and green eyes?"

"how did you know?" satoru asked. he never told his students about you. he liked to keep them guessing and let them find out on their own.

"just had a feeling." yuta said with a smile.

you were the one that had gotten yuta's paperwork ready when satoru suggested for him to train with miguel in africa. you were also the one who made sure he had somewhere to stay and that his finances were taken care of while he was away. miguel always preferred to talk to you instead of satoru in regards to anything that concerned yuta.

your job at tokyo jujutsu high was more than just administrational, you took care of every student, just like a mother.

yuta had a hunch that you were the woman that kept his childish sensei in check. there was something about the way gojo-sensei would mention your name in such an endearing manner, the way he looked at you when you would come into his classroom to give him paperwork while you flashed your signature cheeky smile at him, and of course, the way he was always quick to end a lesson or spar so that he could sneak away to your office to "speak with administration."

"i know what you're thinking, sensei." yuta said out loud, "i'll take care of (y/n)-sensei too."

satoru scoffed in surprise. he knew you would be able to take care of yourself, but he was grateful. grateful that his students loved you just as much as he did.

"thanks, yuta. i appreciate it."

© 2023 ASDFGHJKLMALS — ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. PLEASE DO NOT COPY, TRANSLATE, OR REPOST MY WORK.

DIVIDERS PROVIDED BY @/ANLIAN-AISHANG

[allthemeninmybed]

Coming to the surface Part IV

Part I, Part II, Part III Summary: Reader is a member of the band’s photography crew and they are barely ever on the same page with Vessel. They both think highly of one another but it’s merely professional. At least they think.

Pairing: Vessel x mid-size/plus size fem!reader

Warnings: smut, 18+ language, sexting, slight oral fixation

Word count: 903 A/N:  I hope you like it, please, don’t forget to give me feedback! And let me know if you want to be tagged in the next part! 🖤 “Oh believe me, I want to know, I’m… more than eager to know…” “Okay… let me make sure I get this right. You’re all worked up because you’re reading about me fantasizing about you, right?” “Yes…” “I can’t explain how much that idea turns me on. Just the fact the you acknowledged it; it’s getting me... hard…” “You turn me on so much… You did that night too, you’re so magnetizing, I can’t believe that this is really happening…” “Just keep talking like that. You have no idea how hot it is.” “I’m imagining you here with me…” “Keep going…” He was prepared for everything but not this. He thought that you’d tell him you need more time or that you wanted to be left alone but this. This is everything to him. “Go into as much detail as you want. I want to know exactly what you’re wishing I was doing to you…” “I imagine you kissing me. You’re taking it slow but you’re firm with me… I’d let you have your way with my mouth, I’d bite your lips, I’d… I’d take your tongue and suck on it…” You press send, thinking that it was too much. I’m going crazy, right? You ask of yourself. “Sorry, I don’t know what’s gotten into me, I need to touch grass…” “Oh god, yes, so much yes…” He replied to your first message and then quickly added another one. “No, no, please, don’t stop.” “You’d brush your thumb over my lower lip… I’d take it into my mouth, making the most delicious sounds ever… then you’d push your index and middle finger in… I’d suck on them, those long, delicate fingers of yours…” This is insane. You can feel yourself throb, your panties getting soaked by the minute. How can he have this much effect on you? “Keep going…” “Your fingers would feel heavenly in my mouth but… I’d want something else… some other part of you…” Jesus, I’m unhinged, I’ll probably scare him away for good, you think to yourself. “Let me guess… my…” “Yeah… I want to wrap my lips around you… I’d be kneeling in front of you or however you like it, I’d worship it, I’d worship you… God, I got all excited just thinking about it…” “Christ…” His pants feel more and more uncomfortable as he reads your texts. “I wanna choke on it… Would you like that...?” “Fucking hell… you know exactly how much I would, don’t you?” His body is burning up, there’s no turning back from here, so he continues. “You have such an innocent and kind way about you but behind those eyes – behind those innocent appearance you have the mind of a fucking deviant…” “Don’t you like how I am…?” You might have been too much for him this time, you must have been. This whole conversation is coming to an end now, probably. “Of course I like it… God, it’s hot how you keep playing with me. I bet you get off on making me feel this way, making me desperate for you. Am I right?” “Yes… I’m… taking care of myself… to the thought of you…” “Are you serious?” His breath quickens immediately as you send that text. “Yes…” “Fuuuck… This is the worst… that I can’t see you doing it…” “Wanna hear it…?” I’m gone crazy, officially, you think to yourself. The truth is that you don’t care anymore, you text what you really think, what you really feel, this whole situation needs to unfold, you need to know what’s going on in his head. “You have no idea how much I wanna hear it…” He's neck deep now. “(Y/N)…” “Yeah..?” “Please…” After contemplating what you’re about to do you send him the voice message, your voice breathy and shaky. You’re quiet but you make sure he can hear you perfectly well, you’re moaning and whimpering his name softly. “Holy… shit. This is… it’s hot as hell…” He quickly adds another text. “I have to excuse myself…” “What… why?” “You can imagine, right?” “I don’t wanna imagine it, I wanna hear you too…” He hesitates. Jesus, is he really going to do this? It’s too risky but you have already done it for him, it’s only fair.

What if you heard something you didn’t like? What if I turned you off? What if I sound silly…?” “I already love your voice either you sing or speak… I could only image how hot you sound moaning…please, Ves…” You’re getting so needy it’s pathetic. It’s been a few minutes since you sent your last message, you’re getting concerned. “I can’t believe I’m doing this. Here it goes…” VOICE MESSAGE SENT You press play not realizing what you've gotten yourself into. His pants and moans are delicious, he sounds unsure of what he's doing and it only fuels your desires about him. “My god…I can’t get enough of it… oh god, I wish you were here, I want you…” “Yeah?” “Yeah. Badly.” You don’t know how this is going to end but you just don’t care anymore. He needs to know that you want him, that you can only think of him, nothing else. “Tell me then… how badly?” “Come over.” What am I doing, you think to yourself. “Don’t tempt me, love.” “I’m not joking Ves. Come over. I’m done resisting.” “I want you to know that if I say yes to this there’s no turning back. No more games, no more bullshit, just you and me. You say to word and I’ll come over.” “I want you here.” “I’m on my way.” My lovely tag list 🖤 @delacroix471 @iitwo2 @romyislief @dangerkittenclaws @clubfairy @itslolitasworld

Part V is on the way!

[amethystfairy1]

Amethyst I love you and I hate you SOOOOOO MUCH RIGHT NOW

because in one hand OMG THEY ACTUALLY DID IT THEY SAID I LOVE YOU AND HAD SEX NO WAY

but on the other hand GOOD LORD THEIR RELATIONSHIP IS GOING IN CONCERNING DIRECTIONS

Because even in this chapter the fact that Tango was already just so upset at the thought of Zed leaving despite the fact they’ve only been together for like a week and I know it’s normal and even healthy in some ways to be possessive (trust me I’m kinda like that with my own friends) but there is just this certain irk I get every time I read some of the lines in this fic

“I don’t ever wanna let you go!” Zed declared with all the oblivious brashness he always managed. Tango felt his cheeks warming even hotter, and while he hadn’t grown anywhere close to hot enough to burn, his flares were crackling even brighter, snapping and sparking from his true feelings on the scenario.

Which were utter contentment, of course.

this was what he’d been burning for all his life

But I couldn’t care less. Because he’s touching me.

Zed was rapidly coming to the conclusion that as long as Tango was looking at him like this, he’d be whatever he liked.

Zed just wanted Tango to be happy. He was already so happy just feeling this sense of fulfillment again after so long shredded apart. So it was fine. He'd be fine.

Tango wasn’t nearly as obsessive with knowledge as his boyfriend, but if that knowledge was about his boyfriend, all of a sudden, he felt insatiable.

It was fine.

Taken.

Tiny little piece. Just a sliver, just a fraction, just something enough for Tango to cling to during his every sleepless night and know that he might finally be getting something right

he mentally beat himself up over that, he let go of Zed’s hand and spun.

How could he possibly be mad?

Some lightly scalded fingertips, after all, had landed him in this situation.

He let Tango do as he pleased.

He’d be happy with anything if Tango just kept touching him.

He chased that contact like he was starving for it because, really?

He was. 

even if that was all just novelty. And if was novelty? Then Zed would take that. He’d take anything so long as he had Tango.

wherever they ended up, heaven or hell, it didn’t matter.

I know like at least half of these weren’t written as foreshadowing and were just supposed to be cute romantic lines but fuck it when you put codependency in the tags I’m gonna overanalyse lines like these. Honestly I had a sneaking suspicion that their relationship might be a bit more obsessive than normal since Sightline Sunrise when we first had Zed describing how Tango was sealing the cracks and I was like “Hey maybe this is a bit much” but I just ignored it because I thought I was just looking too deep into things BUT NOW!!!

I can’t just ignore the constant dread I feel as I reread some of these lines but you do SUCH a good job and sneaking them into the fic that I feel like I’m stretching them most of the time and I just like “I’m reading too into this? Am I? I might be going crazy.” But you added the codependency tag????? But like no-one else is actively questioning it?????? I feel like fucking Iskall screaming into a void of nothingness with an unhinged conspiracy theory that no-one believes? I think I’m going crazy.

Screw you Amethyst and introducing me to my first ever Zedango fic and making do insane over them SCREW YOU!!!!!

Ahhhh…

Only cute lines?

You underestimate me my friend 🙃

I never promised that all these relationships would only be healthy happy fun time, I mean, you’re spot on with all of those lines you pulled. Iskall would be proud! 😆 I don’t wanna say too much and spoil where we’re headed with this, so let me just say that your concerns are…well-placed. But through it all at the heart of their big tangle of issues these two idiots DO love and care about each other first and foremost. They’ve just got…a tiny little extra sprinkle of obsessiveness in there that’s on brand for them, and that toooooooootally won’t come back to bite them in the ass later 😉

I’m so glad you’re insane about my Zedango! Thank you for this lovely ramble I can’t tell you how much I love it when people analyze my stories for stuff like this! 💖💖💖

[rweoutofthewoods]

Hi ! I wanted to ask you what’s your opinion on peter’s betrayal? the only explanation we’re given is that he was a coward and while I do think that’s true, I can’t stop thinking that a coward with no ill intentions would just run away. So why? I mean he could have escaped both sides in his rat form and leave the country.

OH let me talk my shit on Peter!!

My thought process has always been that Peter was insecure and jealous. I honestly think it’s jkr not fleshing him out in the books because like… when u think about it Peter was a Gryffindor too? And who else was one who seemed cowardly at first and jkr made a point of highlighting his unique bravery? NEVILLE?? Like he had his own brand of bravery and she made it a theme to show him coming into himself and that not all forms of bravery mean you’re rash or bold, but what about Peter? If that’s what she was trying to show, Peter was a Gryffindor too… I don’t think he was simply a coward. He wasn’t just spineless bc that’s contradictory to the other points made in the book...

I think he spent years following the other marauders around, seeing James and Sirius especially who were popular and attractive and charming. Even Remus who may have seemed more like the odd one out was still obviously respected and cherished by James and Sirius. I mean they went through great lengths to help him during the full moons. But what do we know about their relationship with Peter? We never heard anything about the other marauders doing anything for him or valuing him to that extent. I think Peter was always more so along for the ride. And they all had their very close relationships and Peter often found himself excluded. Now I’m speaking strictly in canon terms, so I won’t cite Wolfstar but also say that relationship did exist that would be an added relationship in their friend group, and Wolfstar aside I do think Sirius and Remus still had a close and special connection and Peter?? He was always tagging along, trying to be involved but somehow still feeling excluded and like an outsider. There wasn’t anything particularly exciting or interesting about him, and I think I remember the books saying he wasn’t attractive? But idk if that’s simply bc he was in rat form for so long. Either way he was an insecure, odd one out of a teenage boy. And looking at real life, well it’s not unheard of for those kinds of people who don’t feel accepted or celebrated by society to become radicalized.

Also, keeping in mind how YOUNG they all were. Peter was barely an adult when he betrayed his friends. And I’m not sure how long he was involved with the DE before Lily and James died. He could have been recruited very young. And I have no idea HOW he came to be working with Voldemort, I don’t think JKR ever gave any details on how that came to be…

But I imagine a jealous, insecure, and probably scared young man could easily be turned. his envy could fester into hatred and bitterness towards his friends when times became more desperate and there was a war going on. Voldemort probably seemed like a chance for Peter to finally have his power and glory, to prove that he was better than his former friends who looked down on him. And look at Tom Riddle, he was a half blood who hated muggles because he was treated badly by them and abandoned, an outsider etc. there’s a kinship there, hatred spreads easily. And I don’t think we ever learn if Peter actually believed the Death Eater’s blood purity rhetoric. Was he a believer? Or did he just want power and vengeance and thought going to the opposite side of the friends that he thought mistreated him would give him that?

So in short: jkr left a lot of holes and uncertainty in Peter’s character, but I fully believe that it was his own insecurities and envy turned rotten that led him to that betrayal. Not just cowardice. Because he was a Gryffindor too!! And as terrible as it was, it takes some guts to sell your oldest friends out to Voldemort. Maybe he thought he had little choice and was saving himself by picking the winning side, but to kill and frame your own friends? That’s shows resentment and hatred.

(Also Remus initially got off easier, he wasn’t dead or in Azkaban so if he was the kindest to Peter out of all the marauders that tracks.)

[solarwynd]

Solar, we need a plan to abolish Twitter as a whole. It’s truly madness. Why did I just click on Always with rose tag or something and see an SA edit and cocaine???? And then checked Suga challenge by Blinks and Tokkis where they are doing DUIs pretending like ARMY? Like ARMY are unhinged, Blinks are unhinged, NewJeans fans have somehow inserted themselves in this? JJKs have been whining since the beginning of Who and now with who radio ad claiming Jimin’s US streaming chart acclaims have fully lost their marbles. Jin solos are complaining because some Gucci event was cancelled and also Run Jin isn’t getting the same promo as Are You Sure (one is a YouTube show, one is on Disney, but who has common sense). TH fans are upset because Jin got Gucci. KARMY is legit split in half. Panchoa has never published these many articles in less than 24 hours. Shippers fighting in every corner. This platform is hands down not doing anyone any good. We need to destroy this.

Yea I saw…

Can’t stand how hypocritical armys are because they love acting like they have morals when it comes to what they think pjms are doing to JK but when it comes to BlackPink they do the exact same thing they’re accusing us of doing en masse. And then you have them silent yet again when JJKS are actively leading another hate campaign and spreading lies about Jimin and his numbers. Just aggy ash.

But Tokkis have been on some shit for a while now. Like ever since the army and payola tap dried up, feels like they’ve given up on actually moving for those girls or becoming more efficient for them (especially with a supposed comeback in December) and instead have decided to become trolls the same way blinks are.

On Jin’s show…I mean maybe it’s because I’m in my own Jimin only corner but even from the times I do creep on army twitter…who’s really watching it? Jin can be funny, but he’s not gonna hold my attention. It was never gonna get the kind of hype behind it like a show ft. JK and Jimin on it even if it was promoted.

Karmys are a mess though I have seen that but lbr. If half or even all of karmys decided to drop BTS their absence would not be felt cause they have not supported BTS in earnest in years. I think BTS’ time as a digimon over there is over. I still believe the comeback might do good but I can’t see them pulling Dynamite numbers again.

Honestly idk what’s gonna happen come 2025. Cause HYBE’s in the gutter with everything that’s been going on. But I can’t really bring myself to care about the fate of anything in the end either.

[boots-with-the-fur-club]

Chapter 1 of These Are Not Our Masks!

@daboyau

@iobsesswaytoomuch

@that-0n3-shr00mi3-guy

Let me know if anyone wants to be added to the tag list!

“This person clearly wasn’t media literate enough to truly understand the beauty of Jupiter Jim Pluto Vacation 4, so I graciously decided to school them.” Donnie puts a hand to his chest smugly.

Leo taps away at his phone with a smile on his face.

Donnie’s phone vibrates.

“Gasp! ‘Just because I have a five head doesn’t mean I know everything!?’ How do they know how big my forehead is!?”

Leo glances at a make believe audience with a smirk.

“Just block ‘em Donnie.” Raph advises.

“But then they win! And I have never lost an internet battle before!”

“What about that one time in the Atomic Lass forum?” Mikey comments.

“We don’t speak of that.”

Raph chuckles before something catches his eye.

“Hey guys! Shiny trash!”

The other three ooo at the prospect of something cool having been thrown away.

They all stare at each other for a second before sprinting towards the alleyway, shoving and pushing all the while.

So distracted, none of them notice the several figures rushing away further into the alley.

Leo swipes the item first.

“Ha! It’s mine-!” He pricks his finger and drops it out of surprise.

Raph snatches it up.

“Wrong! Raph’s got it! And he ain’t sharing!”

Leo pouts and holds his hand.

“No fair, that thing has it out for me! It bites!”

“It can’t bite, Leo. Masks don’t have teeth.” Donnie corrects, hand snaking up to try to get it from Raph.

“Oh is that what it is?”

The item is a metallic red with black, almost lace looking patterns. The sharp areas are constructed almost like some kind of warrior’s helmet.

Raph smacks Donnie’s hand away and raises the mask up high.

“Looks like it, and I told you, Raph ain’t sharing!”

“No fair! This is the coolest trash we’ve found in weeks!” Mikey whines, trying to climb up on his shell.

Raph picks up Mikey with his other hand and places him back on the ground.

“Spiky guy gets the the sharp mask thing! Those are the rules and I’m the spikiest guy here.”

A thought occurs to Donnie.

“Maybe I should take a look at it with my goggles.”

“You are such a sore loser.” Leo nudges him.

“You do remember pieces of the armor we’re looking for wound up in the trash, right?” Donnie raises an eyebrow.

“None of the pieces looked nearly as cool as this mask does.”

“For once, Leo’s right. It’s got the coolest color a turtle can wear.” Raph smirks as he places it on his face.

Donnie is less than enthusiastic at being called out despite their statements being mostly correct.

He swipes his goggles down and his heart nearly stops.

The mystics in the mask are at extremely high levels, but that’s not even close to being the biggest issue.

It’s spreading.

“Take it off.”

“Come on Donnie, red’s not even your color. How’s it feel being fab, big guy?” Leo comments, leaning on Raph’s arm.

Something squirms out of the sides of the mask.

“Take it off!” Donnie screams, reaching out.

Leo only has time for his eyes to widen before a fist suddenly slams into the side of his face.

He’s sent flying right into a wall where his shell painfully absorbs the blow. Most of it, anyways.

This is a harder hit than Raph usually ever gives so he was completely unprepared.

“Raph! Why did you do that!?” Mikey rushes over to Leo.

Donnie grips his tech bō tightly.

“R-Raph?”

His brother turns to him slowly before grabbing him by the throat and lifting him up.

Donnie struggles, hitting a hand against his arm.

Mikey looks back and gasps.

“Raph! Stop! What are you doing!?”

Raph cocks his head sharply to stare at Donnie, completely ignoring Mikey.

“Help Donnie, I’ll be fine.” Leo winces.

Mikey frowns but nods and goes back to them.

Raph sees him, looking with a calculated gaze.

He uses Donnie to hit Mikey with and sends them both tumbling to the ground.

They both groan in pain.

Raph moves faster than he should be able to at them.

Leo suddenly moves just as quickly, his odachis drawn and being used to block the next hit.

“Guys, I am definitely not going to be able to hold him back for long! We need to do something!”

Donnie comes to his defense, jabbing his tech bō into the crook of Raph’s neck and sending a wave of electricity through him.

Raph actually growls at them.

No.

It’s more of a roar.

The tendrils coming from the mask squirm like they’re in pain until Raph opens his mouth wide and bites down, chomping the bō into two pieces.

Donnie barely catches the half that wasn’t in his grip.

He stares down in horror at knowing that this could easily have been an arm, potentially his or Leo’s.

Mikey takes this opportunity to jump onto Raph from behind and tries pulling the mask off.

Raph slams him right into the wall behind them as hard as he can.

Mikey shouts in pain and slides down onto the ground when Raph moves away.

Leo goes back to having to keep Raph from hitting him and Donnie.

Things only get worse when a bunch of Foot Soldiers suddenly start rushing into the alleyway.

“Donnie. Grab Mikey.” Leo says so seriously that Donnie is caught off guard.

Donnie dives to avoid Raph grabbing at him and pulls Mikey close to him.

“I got him, but we need a way out!”

Leo looks at Raph and smiles unsteadily.

“I won’t leave you behind big guy, promise.”

Donnie wracks his brain for Leo to be able to keep that promise somehow.

“If you buy me time, I could try to get my battle shells to-“

“I love you guys, tell dad what happened!”

“What!? Leo-!” Donnie is interrupted by the portal that appears under him and Mikey.

Leo closes it right away, barely avoiding any of The foot getting to it.

Raph quickly gets fed up and starts coming after Leo again. There’s no opportunity for him to open another portal with both his brother and The Foot being so unrelenting.

His odachis get broken anyways when Raph grabs and snaps them like they’re two twigs.

Leo has no way of defending himself against the blows anymore except with his arms and dodging.

Raph’s ferocity and the sheer numbers against him leave Leo open to something grabbing his ankle.

He flails in the air before realizing what exactly wrapped around it.

The Foot stop attacking and even Raph seems more still as the looming figure approaches.

“Draxum! What did you do to my brother!?” Leo yells through gritted teeth.

He wants to wipe the smug look off the dumb sheepman’s face.

Draxum approaches Raph first, examining him like he’s window shopping.

Raph growls and looks ready to use his strong jaw against the helmet Draxum wears but seems held back by something unseen.

“He’s twitchier than I thought he’d be. No matter, the job has mostly been done.” Draxum observes.

“Stop pretending I’m not here! Tell me!” Leo insists, swinging in the air due to his angry movements.

Another vine approaches Leo, this one with a flower right in front of his face.

Leo stares at angrily and with confusion before it sprays him in the face.

He coughs as the pollen irritates his lungs.

“Ew, seriously!? Talk about….insult to….injury….” Leo trails off, the energy in his body waning.

His eyes slowly shut despite how much he doesn’t want them to.

When he wakes up again, both his arms and legs are held against a wall with thick vines.

He struggles heavily against them.

“You’re not getting out of there, turtle.”

Leo looks over at the source of the voice.

“Foot Recruit. They bump you down to prisoner guarding duty?”

She punches into the wall next to his head.

“No! I just came to relish in your capture.”

“Then why did you do that!?”

Foot Recruit removes her fist.

“Because you are always annoying but I’m not allowed to hit you yet.”

Leo tilts his head.

“Not that I’m complaining, but why not yet?”

She smirks.

“You’re going to be working for us, just like your brother.”

Leo tenses.

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re a fool for assuming Draxum didn’t make more than one mask.”

“How many did he make!?”

“Are you too dumb to remember how many brothers you have?”

Leo struggles more violently.

“Do you even want us working with you!? You hate us! Let me go and we can go back to being enemies!”

Foot Recruit turns away.

“With me? No. Draxum and I are partners! You’ll working for us both, for the entire clan! We’ll get the rest of the Dark Armor in no time with you out of the way.”

Leo’s heart nearly stops.

Could Draxum have…?

He really, really hopes not.

Especially if he’s about to experience what it does.

Leo swallows nervously.

“You think Draxum sees you as an equal? You’re human. He’s trying to get rid of humanity. All that’ll happen is him using you or worse!”

Foot Recruit scoffs.

“I know what I’m doing and what you’re trying to do. Draxum warned me.”

“Warned you!? About what!?”

“What he made you to do. It made me see why you kept interfering so well. It also made me see that you’re only pretending to be so dumb.”

“I am not pretending! I swear!”

“Silence! There’s no escaping your destiny, turtle. You’ve already done so for too long. Be honored to be a part of the Foot Clan.” She walks off.

“No! Come back!”

Someone else takes her place in the room.

“I see you were trying to put my work to good use.” Draxum smirks.

“Your work? Trying to take credit for the less absent father in my life?” Leo fakes a cocky smile.

Draxum walks close to him.

“I would have been in your life if I knew you existed sooner, and if you hadn’t been fighting me this much.”

Leo immediately feels uncomfortable from this proximity.

“You dropped me off a roof! Am just supposed to believe you!?”

“Fair point, which is why I made these.” Draxum grabs his face.

Leo tries to thrash his head around but the grip is too strong.

“Don’t touch me!”

Draxum tightens his hold as one of his vines holds up a new mask.

The expression of it looked like both a tragedy and comedy mask, one half of each. It’s metallic blue with a square checkered pattern and red lines over the eyes.

It reminds him of a jester.

“I would prefer keeping your face unobstructed, but no matter. I’m sure the skills I gave you will triumph.” Draxum starts bringing the mask to his face.

Leo keeps struggling.

“Wait wait wait! Can’t we talk first!? You can try to convince me again! Or explain your evil plan! Don’t you want a nice evil monologue!?”

“I could, but I won’t give you time to stall.” Draxum places the mask on him.

Leo screams out as something feels like it’s digging into his skull.

Draxum takes a step back, arms folded over his chest while he waits for the yelling to subside.

Eventually it does and the vines finally release Leo.

He falls onto his hands and knees.

“I’m aware that Lou Jitsu has given you a name twice before. While he has immense physical prowess, names are not included in his talent. When I imbued these masks with some of my own mystic energy I corresponded commands with your true names. Artemis! Show me what you can do!”

Portals start appearing all over the place despite Leo not having his weapon.

He slides into one and Draxum’s eyes dart to each of them to try to guess which one he’ll leave from.

The moment he sees something come out of one his vine grabs it.

It’s just Leo’s fanny pack.

Draxum gets pummeled into by a blue blur that disappears before he can react.

It happens over and over again as Leo propels himself through different portals at high speeds.

Draxum sends out his vines again near every portal to stop him.

When one does catch him, he rips it apart and tosses it through another portal to hit Draxum in the eye.

While he’s distracted, Leo tackles him and goes for the throat.

“Artemis! Stop!” Draxum commands.

Leo barely stops with his fingers mere milliliters from Draxum’s neck. His breathing is heavy, but at the same time, it sounds like he was just itching to finish the job.

“Get rid of your portals.” Draxum orders.

Leo hesitates but the portals go away one by one.

Draxum smiles widely.

“Excellent.”

[captain-gillian]

fic pride friday

Rules: Post your favorite line or passage from as many of your published works as you’d like. Let yourself feel proud of your creations! Tag as many people as you post snippets, so your fellow fic friends can be proud, too.

thank you for the tag @lemonlyman-dotcom i'm using this to try and be kinder to myself in how i think about my own writing

strays (5 + 1 of TK attempting to bring home a 'pet' from a call, Nancy POV)

“Carlos has been talking about maybe getting a cat…” TK muses. Here we go again , Nancy thinks.  There’s no mistaking the look on her partner’s face; she’s seen it more times than she can count—he wants to take this wild animal home. She knows his heart is in the right place, but the sooner Carlos relents and lets him get a cat—or a fish, or a hamster even, any kind of pet—the better as far as she’s concerned because talking him out of bringing home new ‘pets’ every week gets exhausting. “Dude, stop, don’t even say it.”  “You can’t possibly know what I was going to say.” “I know you, TK. You were going to suggest that murder mittens over there might be a good cat for you and Carlos to adopt, but the answer is no.” “Murder mittens? Look at him, Nancy—he’s just a little baby.” TK says, gazing longingly across the room at the tiger cub. “TK, I can’t believe we even need to have this conversation. You can’t raise a tiger in a downtown apartment. Tigers aren’t pets, or did you forget why we ended up here in the first place?" “Oh, but look at him. He’s only a baby. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.” “This week, he’s a baby, sure. But do you know what babies do, TK? They grow up, and then you will be the one calling 911 because your 200-pound murder kitty went for the jugular, and when that happens, I’m not coming to save your ass, dude.”

nothing a kiss better can't fix (soft tarlos)

“Seriously, it’s nothing, TK,” Carlos says as he leans against the back of the 126 ambulance with his worried fiancé methodically checking him over.  “It’s not nothing, Carlos. You’re bleeding .” TK tells him, trying to gently guide him towards the stretcher. “Now, will you please sit down and let me treat you?” “I’m okay, TK. Breathe,” Carlos says, taking his fiancé’s hand. “This is nothing a kiss better can’t fix.”  “Is a kiss better for a certain flu-riddled fiancé of yours, perhaps exactly how you ended up in this situation, dude?” Nancy asks with a raised eyebrow and a laugh. “First of all, I’m not ‘flu riddled’,” TK tells her, putting dramatic air quotes around his words. “And second, how do you know about that?”  “When are you going to just admit I know everything,” Nancy tells him with a grin before adding. “Also, you’re both, like, hella predictable.”

sugar, butter, flour (5 + 1 TK and Gwyn baking)

His father and Carlos have always assured him that Jonah will know her through him, but as they stand in the kitchen, he wonders how he can ever live up to the task. TK is uncomfortably aware of the ache of grief in his chest alongside a sharp streak of guilt. Guilt that he got 28 years of her love but spent so many of them pushing it away, too deep in the spiral of addiction to accept it. Those were years Jonah will never get, and TK wasted them.

and again (nancymarjan)

And then before she can dwell on it any further, the countdown hits midnight, the fireworks start in the distance, and Marjan kisses her. It’s like nothing she’s ever felt before, and while Nancy has never been a believer in destiny or soulmates, right now, at this moment, it’s undeniable that Marjan is her soulmate. 

when everythings made to be broken (introspective carlos/a 4x01 coda)

He takes a deep breath and silently tells himself, “You can do this,” and suddenly, he’s nineteen again and doing whatever he can to be a good son and live up to expectations. He’s standing at the altar trying to convince himself he can do this, that somehow he’ll be able to love her like he’s supposed to—like God wants him to—because his parents need him to, his family needs him to. He’s silently praying that, in time, he’ll be able to love like she deserves. She’s his best friend, and he can learn to love her like this, surely—he owes her that. But it doesn’t work out—despite his best efforts, he can’t love her the way she deserves, so he moves out, and she starts dating again, and he’s ready to drown in his shame. And then she disappears, and as the months drag on without a single credible lead, he goes through all the stages. 

no pressure tagging

@fallout-mars @paperstorm @literateowl

@reyesstrand @welcometololaland

[countrymusiclover]

45 - The Rightful Queen

Part 46

The Lion Knight and Dragon Princess

Tags- just send an ask to be added @cdragons @kmc1989 @starkleila @noirrose21-blog @lover-of-books-and-tea

Cersei snapped at me spinning around on her feet and nearly collapsing to the stone floor by who she was before her. “What are you looking at - J -Jaime.” Biting my lip I prayed that she would believe the little white lie that we were doing right underneath her nose.

I kept my gaze on the twins who moved to the center of the room embracing one another in a tight hug. Cersei buried her face against the fabric of his tunic shirt. He wrapped his arms around her body, burying his nose into her short blonde hair before he tilted her face up to look into his watery eyes. “Cersei.”

“You’re hurt.” She muttered through some tears when he winced after she had pushed her heads against his chest.

Jaime shakes his head, lifting her chin back up so she’d focus solely on him. “It doesn’t matter.”

“You’re bleeding.” She sniffed crying more tears, removing her hands off his chest seeing her hands covered in blood from the wound he appeared to have gotten injured at.

My husband brushed her hair out of her eyes. “That’s not important. We need to get out of here before they come for you. You can’t keep the throne anymore.”

“Give up the throne, do you hear yourself?” Cersei drew her head back and he dropped his hands from the side of her face.

Jaime didn’t give her a verbal response instead he grabbed her face in his hands a second time and he smashed his lips down upon hers. I lowered my gaze to the stone floor hating how it looked to watch them kiss since they were brother and sister. “If you wish to live and not be killed it’s the only way.” He broke the kiss resting his forehead down upon hers.

The golden lioness shoved her hands against his chest angrily. “I will not give up my power. I have worked too hard all of my life to have this. I refuse to let anyone take it from me!” Cersei stomped her feet on the stone floor getting more frustrated.

I lowered my right hand downward to the sword on my hip, wrapping my fingers around the blade handle. “Cersei, you have one chance here to bend the knee and give up your crown. Once you do that you’ll get to live-“

“Go to hell you cunt!” She whipped her head back around in my direction, baring her teeth.

I glared at her, stomping up to her where we were nearly chest to chest with one another. “I’m glad you never were betrothed to my brother Rhaegar. He was the greatest person I have ever known. He gave genuine care about the smallfolk unlike you did. You are just like my father was when he burned everyone with Wildfire.”

“You have no right to speak to me in that tone. I am the Queen! - argh! What - what do you think you’re doing?” I quickly spun the blonde around where her back was against my front. I snatched the dagger out from inside one of my combat boots and pushed it lightly against her throat trying to be as confident as she was when she did the exact same thing to me years ago.

Cersei struggled to fight against my hold, thrashing whatever way she could but I pressed the dagger a little harder against her throat drawing blood. “It doesn’t feel too good does it. To be in the same position you had me in all those years ago. Now listen to me, I don’t wish to hurt you and I won’t do anything so long as you bend the knee and address the last Targaryens as rulers.”

“Vaella, let her go.” Jaime raised his voice at me.

I clutched the handle of the dagger I was holding to her throat. “She attempted to kill our daughter, Jaime. She’ll keep coming after our family - what else are we supposed to do?”

“Come here.” Jaime crossed the room yanking the blonde from my grasp with one arm holding her against his chest. His other hand reached down and I watched him grab a hold of a very thin sword attached to his hip. “I need you to listen to me very carefully. You need to listen to me.”

Cersei spat in her brother's face. “What could you possibly have to say to me? You’ve always been the stupidest Lannister.”

“The North Remembers.” Jaime simply declared down to his sister.

Cersei knitted her brows together in such confusion. “Wha-what?”

“My name is Arya Stark. I want you to remember that before you die.” Jaime raised his hand with the tiny sword in his fingers stabbing her in the middle of the stomach and lowered her body to the stone floor. He raised his other hand removing a face mask and showing Cersei that it was in fact the youngest Stark daughter who everyone else believed was dead after she had killed her father.

Cersei began gasping for breath while I crossed the room lowering myself down on one knee to be level with her in her very last moments. Brushing her short hair from her face I slide my dagger back inside my combat boot. “I tried to offer you another way, Cersei and you didn’t take me up on it. You are no longer the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“Vaella! Vaella!” Lifting my head up sharply I recognized the familiar voice booming throughout the halls of the Red Keep.

Arya turned her head in my direction, we could now both hear the loud sound of bells from the tower ringing through the streets meaning Jaime and Tyrion must have agreed on a side plan like we had. “Are you going to find him?”

“Stay here. I’ll be right back.” I nodded, raising myself up from the ground and bolted out of the room and around multiple corners throughout the huge castle. My hair was flowing behind my back while my boots scattered across the stone, up and down every set of stairs I could call out his name like a wind and a prayer. “Jaime! Jaime, Jaime, Jaime!”

Halting in my tracks my boots screeched against the cold stone when I noticed that I was standing now in the center of the throne room. The Iron Throne was directly in front of me and I almost didn’t notice my feet moving forward to the throne steps. Closing my eyes I recalled a very faint memory of my mother when I was a young child the closer I got to the throne of swords.

Making my way up the stone steps I brushed the fingertips of my right hand on the armrests of the sharp chair. I pictured my mother in this moment, the moment I realized that I didn’t want what life was forced upon her.

“Momma, have you ever sat in that chair?” The innocent girl in me at the age of 8 years old asked my mother while we were walking up to the large sword chair.

Rhaella, my mother smiled down at me keeping my smaller hand in hers. “Unfortunately I haven't, dear.”

“Why?” I asked a simple question.

Mom bent down on a knee to be eye level with me, showing such a gentle look on her face. “Well because I am not the one in charge. I may wear a crown and be called a Queen but it doesn’t make me the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“Why doesn't it. Daddy wears the crown and the people say he's in charge.”

Mom brushes hair out of my face. “That’s the way of the world. Men are the ones in charge. But you, my girl , will be different than most.”

“What do you mean, momma?” I tilted my head to the side not understanding what she meant by that.

Rhaella placed both her hands on the side of my face kissing my forehead before she delivered words I would remember for the rest of my life. “You Vaella will be the best Queen there ever was because you are my daughter. You are the best version of your father and I. It will make you the greatest Queen the Seven Kingdoms have ever known.”

“I’ll do my best, momma.” I smiled down at her, throwing my arms around her neck and she hugged me back.

Turning around on my feet I sucked in a very sharp breath lowering my body down onto the cold chair of old swords. Tapping my fingers on the armrests I winced slightly recalling how many times my father had nicked his hands on the blades and drew blood almost every day. “I’ve lost count on how many times he cut himself on the throne.” Shifting my gaze upward my violet eyes landed on a set of green eyes I knew better than anyone else.

“Jaime - I was beginning to think that I’d lost you.” I released a sharp gasp bolting up from the seat and down the steps as fast as my feet could carry me.

My husband quickly made his way into the center of the room catching my body after I nearly tackled him to the hard floor underneath our feet. Wrapping my arms and legs tightly around his body he buried his nose into my messy hair. “I was terrified that something had happened. Ohh, I’m just relieved you’re okay Vaella.”

“Jaime, um - there’s something you should know.” I broke away from our embrace, running my hands up and down his forearms.

He raised a brow at me. “What happened, Vae?”

“Cersei’s dead and she had one of the Ironborn shoot down Luciya.” I nervously gulped feeling tears welling in my eyes.

Jaime’s protective mode came to the surface where he grasped my hand in his left. “Let’s go find her now.” Together we ran toward the doors moving outside as quickly as we humanly could manage.

[these-godforsaken-halls]

while you sleep I'll build a wall

2k words || read on ao3

quick tags: mumbo & grian centric (no romantic pairings), hurt/comfort, blood and injury, general fear/danger, first aid, hopeful ending; prompt: "bite down on this"

His hands shake. He’s sweating, breaths coming in frantic stutters. This isn’t out of the ordinary for Mumbo. This is, in fact, the usual state of affairs. Mumbo is anxious and the sky is blue and ah, yes, I see the floor here is made out of floor, Grian would say. Grian’s not saying anything like that right now, because he’s half-conscious and bleeding out all over said floor, and all over Mumbo’s nice suit jacket too.

likes and rbs appreciated!! <3

His hands shake. He’s sweating, breaths coming in frantic stutters. This isn’t out of the ordinary for Mumbo. This is, in fact, the usual state of affairs. Mumbo is anxious and the sky is blue and ah, yes, I see the floor here is made out of floor, Grian would say.

Grian’s not saying anything like that right now, because he’s half-conscious and bleeding out all over said floor, and all over Mumbo’s nice suit jacket too. So. Yeah, no jokes. Not — not really the time for those, right now. Mumbo might’ve joked that he wouldn’t put it past Grian to quip all the way up to his deathbed — in fact he probably has said that before, he’s probably said it more than once — but the notion is, believe it or not, much less funny when Grian is on his actual deathbed.

“Right,” he says to himself, trying to take deep breaths or something — that’s meant to help, right? Stress? It’s supposed to de-stress? — “Right, then, alright — ”

First things first: the bleeding. That’s probably the most immediate threat. Mumbo knows painfully little about first aid on this scale, because where he comes from, people respawn. (There is — there is a setting. On the server. That is set so people wake up after they die, because that’s how things are supposed to work. Mumbo is so — so angry right now, he could swear. He might swear. It’s been a near thing several times now.) He knows that pressure will do it, though, and his jacket’s a lost cause already, if that was something he even cared about anymore — he shucks it easily, fumbling to fold it into something more bandage-like, then presses it to Grian’s midsection. His — his very, very bloody midsection. Mumbo carefully averts his eyes to the worst of the damage. If he loses the last traces of his composure, Grian will definitely die. And Grian dying is not an outcome. It’s just — it isn’t one. He won’t accept it. It’s not going to happen.

The pressure does not help their situation.

Well — Grian’s internal situation, maybe. Probably. It probably helps that one. Keeping blood inside of the body. Yes. But the greater situation, the thing that’s put them both here, alone, tucked into a wood shack in a forest far from home, with a permanent death looming over Grian’s head? That one is not helped by adding pressure to Grian’s wounds, because the pressure makes Grian scream.

“No,” Mumbo says, flinching violently, voice pitching higher, “no, no — Grian, Grian you have to be quiet, mate, please —”

He pulls back, pressure abating. If they’re found like this they’re dead. Mumbo doesn’t know how Grian whisked them both away from the fight — neither of them had a stasis chamber or anything of the sort, and Mumbo’s got a sinking feeling it wasn’t legal in the slightest — but he has a hunch it was a one-and-done kind of thing, pulling on the last dregs of Grian’s strength after sustaining so much damage. Mumbo will have questions later. When Grian is not dying anymore.

There’s so much blood. It’s starting to make him dizzy, the sight and scent of it all. 

“M’ sorry,” Grian mutters, startling him a little, “Mumbo, I — I’m sorry, it hurts, I can’t.” There are tears building in his eyes, and the look that he’s fixed Mumbo with — it’s horrible. It’s the worst thing that Mumbo has ever seen. “M’ sorry.”

“No,” Mumbo blurts in response. He’s not sure what all he’s saying no to — the ridiculous apology, certainly — and maybe just everything else? This whole damned situation? Yeah, that sounds about right. “No, you —  no. Stop that. I need, I need to — here.” He fumbles for his tie, shaking hands struggling to pull it off without strangling himself. There are worse situations to be dressed in full formal attire; he doesn’t know what he’d be doing without so much spare cloth.

He gets the tie off, and he pauses for a moment to look down at it in his hands — to feel very sick, and very upset at what he’s about to do.

“Just bite down on this,” he says, and he — sort of awkwardly — shoves the tie into Grian’s mouth. (If Scar were here, he would be unbearable right about now. He would make a horrific joke, impossible to un-hear, and then he’d have the audacity to pretend any innuendo was accidental. Gods above, Mumbo misses Scar.) “That should — that should do it. Yeah. I’m — I’m so sorry. Grian, I am so sorry.” He doesn’t know what else to say. Here’s Grian screaming in agony, under Mumbo’s own two hands, and the first thing Mumbo does is gag him . Defensible or not, an apology seems in order.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, a broken-off whisper, and his hands find the bloodied jacket again, and he presses down.

Grian still screams. But it’s muffled this time by the makeshift gag, muffled enough that maybe it’ll go unnoticed, and maybe only Mumbo will hear it. Mumbo definitely hears it, though. There’s no getting around Mumbo hearing it. Grian screams until his voice breaks under the strain, and then he just keeps screaming, strained and rasping — Mumbo works diligently, eyes blurring and hands trembling, forcing himself to focus on the work. Tear into strips, press down, wrap tight, pull spare string from his inventory to keep it fixed in place; it’s not enough fabric for the job, so he ends up sacrificing his shirt as well, repeating and repeating. Tear and wrap and tie, tear and wrap and tie. If the wounds were any deeper, he realizes, none of this would make a difference; they’re fresh out of potions, and Mumbo certainly doesn’t know how to suture anything, and he’d really prefer not to learn how on Grian’s bleeding body. Doesn’t seem like the sort of thing that ends well.

So it’s lucky that the gashes are shallow enough to be effectively staunched. An ugly sight through all the blood, but survivable, at least for long enough to get ahold of more gold and nether wart.

Grian screams into the gag, tears streaming down the sides of his face, and Mumbo works until the work is done, tearing and wrapping and tying tight. When it’s done he sits back on his heels, breathing heavily. 

He realizes that he’s crying, too.

Grian’s screams taper off into quiet sobbing. He doesn’t move — just lies on the red-stained wooden floor, head turned to the side, arms laid limp at his sides. He twitches and shudders as he cries, and Mumbo — Mumbo really wants to kill something. 

He wants to kill people, actually — people with names that he vividly remembers, with player tags that had glowed bright against the night sky as they swung blades across Grian’s stomach, laughing — and maybe he doesn’t want it to stick , but he does want to kill them. Painfully. (He’s not got his middle name for nothing.)

That’s later, though. Right now there’s just this. There is his Grian, shuddering and crying on the floor; there is this slipshod wooden house, hastily thrown up for protection, just a few blocks across in either direction; there is a pair of beds in one corner, a crafting table and furnace in another. Mumbo takes a breath, and he gets back on his feet. Work to be done still. This is far from over.

“Here, mate,” he says gently when he returns to Grian’s side, cooked pork from the furnace in his off-hand. This is when he realizes, belatedly, that he hasn’t removed the gag yet. His heart stutters in his chest, guilt surging up his throat, and he drops to his knees at Grian’s side — ow , that’ll bruise. 

He pulls it out slowly, afraid of — of hurting Grian’s jaw somehow, and Grian coughs once it’s gone, heaving in air and hacking, punctuated by weak sobs.

“M’mbo,” he manages between sobs, voice garbled, and Mumbo lurches forward in response, cupping Grian’s face with one hand. 

“I’m here,” he says. “I’m right — right here. It’s alright. I’ve, ah, I’ve got — I’ll give you a minute, and then I’ve got some food. You need to eat something.”

Grian doesn’t respond. He shifts slightly, whimpering with the effort, and rests his head firmly against Mumbo’s knee, and Mumbo’s heart does something terrible and melty-soft and painful.

“I’m here,” he repeats, softer still.

It’s a slow process, but Grian manages to choke a few pork chops down with moderate assistance. That’ll help, Mumbo thinks, letting his eyes fall shut for a moment. Now there’s just the matter of getting them both to bed. He — he gives himself a minute, first. He’s not quite ready for that bit yet. 

Just — a second. To sit here. 

Mumbo is not a weak man by any stretch, but he is downright exhausted. Carrying Grian is one thing; getting him up off the floor without wrecking his own back is another, and doing it gently sounds impossible. 

He brushes one hand over Grian’s forehead, thumbing over the skin there, sweeping sandy-brown bangs back. His crying has quieted, but it hasn’t stopped, evident by the wet spot on the knee of Mumbo’s slacks. 

“This might hurt,” he says quietly. “I — I know it’s all hurt, so far, really. Just this last bit, then you can sleep. You’re a — a real champ. Getting through all this. You know that? Not dying on me — really appreciate that one. Don’t know what I’d do if you died, to be completely honest with you.”

It’s not completely honest at all. Mumbo knows exactly what he’d do. He doubts he'd survive it, and he doubts it would matter.

He cards a hand through Grian’s hair, soft and slow, and Grian leans into the touch, though he doesn’t respond aloud. Mumbo wonders how awake he is. His eyes are closed, but his brow is furrowed, face far from relaxed, and he’s still whimpering every few seconds.

“Right,” Mumbo says to himself. 

There are things he knows about himself now that he didn’t this morning. When he picks Grian up it will probably hurt, and he will probably make hurt sounds, and it will be very awful, but Mumbo will see it through. Not without flinching, but he’ll see it through. And that’s what he does: Grian cries out weakly as he’s moved, and it easily makes the list of the top five worst sounds Mumbo has ever heard, and he definitely does flinch, but he sees it through. He gets Grian to bed, tucks him in and settles in beside him. There’s still a little left to do before sleeping for the night — he pulls out a piece of paper from the stack in his inventory, and he spends a few minutes writing a messy list with a crumb of charcoal from his pocket.

He reads it over a couple of times, coming to grips with its contents, and then sets it aside. 

A few more minutes pass, and Mumbo notes with some annoyance that he has not fallen asleep.

“Big day ahead,” he says, mostly to himself. He’s staring at the wood wall opposite the beds. “Good job that you’re asleep, you’ll need all that strength. Not a good job of me at all, being awake. There’ll be lots to do. We’ve got to get supplies for potions — goodness, I have no idea how I’m going to accomplish that, since you’ll definitely be staying here.”

At some point Grian has rolled over and, firmly as before, tucked himself into Mumbo’s side. Mumbo shifts slightly — wincing when it earns a tiny whimper — and settles his arm around Grian’s shoulders. His heart does the soft melty thing again when Grian relaxes further into him. He goes on rambling for a little while longer, until finally he feels the familiar tug of sleep, his eyelids growing heavy.

For a moment he is alright. There is only this room, and Mumbo and Grian inside of it, tucked against each other and under wool covers, the world locked firmly outside of four wood walls. It will be sturdy enough, and they’ll be safe for one night. Everything else will come after that.

Mumbo rests his nose in Grian’s hair, and he lets himself stop thinking about tomorrow.

[darklydeliciousdesires]

The Dream - Chapter Sixteen.

Big thanks to everyone for your engagement on this, still! :) 

Previous chapters - Prologue  One  Two  Three  Four  Five  Six  Seven  Eight  Nine  Ten  Eleven  Twelve  Thirteen  Fourteen  Fifteen

Tag list - In the comments, please DM to be added/removed (note: those not engaging will be automatically removed from the tag list, FYI)

Words - 2,790

Warnings - 18+ content throughout, minors DNI!

“Dare I even believe my eyes and ears?” Keri put to David, being handed rinsed plates and cutlery she loaded into the dishwasher.  

Shaking the excess water from a large dish, his mouth upturned. “I say it’s safe to call it. I think mommy likes him.” Placing the dish into her outstretched hands, he chuckled. “I mean, god, I didn’t think I’d ever meet anyone else as obsessive over Breaking Bad as your mom is, but apparently it’s very much a common ground.”  

As soon as Angell had mentioned it over dinner, Meryl’s eyes had lit up, the two of them mostly dominating the conversation, discussing the layers of the plot, the characters, how they both considered the only redeemable characters to be either Mike or Jessie, and Angel’s theory that Walt began mimicking certain traits of the characters he killed, thus showing him as a true sociopath.  

What he didn’t reveal was that until someone had called him one, he’d had no idea what a sociopath was, checking with Google, finding that the pissed off woman he’d been having sex with very briefly was incorrect in her assertion. The term fitted Walter White wonderfully, though, he’d thought.

Meryl had listened to him with fascination, suddenly experiencing a pang of guilt that she’d assumed him to be a dead beat who hauled scrap metal around, day in, day out. She knew she could sometimes be a little judgemental, and very overprotective when it came to her only child, so thus worked hard in making an effort, even though she found that through Angel’s charming nature and ability to engage well with conversation, she truly didn’t have to.  

Her mind wasn’t one hundred percent made up, but so far, she found him to be quite likable. As for David...

“Well, little. I gotta say, I think he’s great. I like him, he's a straight up guy and seems really genuine, too. And let me tell you, you’re the apple of his goddamned eye.”

She bit her lip, looking away. “Hmm.”

“Hmm? Psht. Hmm, nothing. You’re onto something good, mark my words.” For once, she actually dared believe that she was. There he was, prepared to do the whole meet the parent's thing on only the second occasion he’d actually spent physical time with her, flying over seven hundred miles to do that, and fine with being ordered to the spare room. And he’d witnessed her various states of calamity.  

Yes. Things were looking promising, she had to admit.  

“So, I think you have the parent's approval, I haven't heard my mom laugh like that in years! She’s fun once the icy exterior thaws a little,” Keri told him much later in the night before they went to sleep, hugging him in the doorway to the spare room.

“Yeah, I think she’s great. Kinda freaks me out a little that she's only eight years older than me! And David is fuckin’ awesome, really good guy. He’s just like how I pictured him to be from what you told me.”  

His words made her beam brightly, reaching to kiss him. “Well, until the morning, you gorgeous man.”  

“Goodnight, tiny. Try not to miss me too much.”

She kissed him again, stroking his chest through his shirt. “I’ll try, but if I do, I can’t say that my hands might not wander while I imagine you there.” Licking her top lip, she winked, turning to enter her room, leaving Angel both frustrated and...  

“Get the fuck back down,” he spoke, looking to where his cock was beginning to swell in his jeans, closing the door. “We ain’t getting shit tonight.”  

The following morning, Keri was up before him, heading downstairs to find David pulling on his jacket.

“I'm just going out to pick up a paper and get some gas, do you want anything from the store?”

Stretching, she shook her head while yawning. “No thanks, I'll have a read of your paper when you're done with it, though.”  

“Okay I'll be back in about twenty minutes.” Opening the front door, she noticed that her mother’s car was absent, wondering why, at 9am on a Saturday, her mom wasn’t still in bed. Meryl loved a weekly lie in. David noticed her inquiring expression. “Ruth called her into work. Apparently, Agnes got her days off mixed up, so she’s had to go and cover for her.”  

“Wow,” she began, her eyes rounding. “I bet she was pleased.”

He laughed softly through his nose, remembering her fury, until Ruth had revealed the sweetener. “Actually, she was. She’s getting paid double time. Anyway, I’ll see you shortly.”  

Twenty minutes of a house to herself. Hearing the shower being turned on upstairs, armed with the knowledge that there were no parents currently under the same roof to catch her doing it, she decided that it was the perfect time to get her own back on the man currently standing under the jet of hot water.

Since the lock was broken on the bathroom door, she tapped it softly and called out 'only me' from the other side after removing her pyjamas, casting them to the floor as soon as she entered the white brick bathroom. Angel turned around in the shower cubicle, his eyes virtually popping right out of his head at the sight of a naked Keri walking towards him.

She could barely conceal the satisfaction at such a reaction, Angel gaping as she stepped in with him. “Move over buddy, there's room for a small person too.” He was rendered mute. “Oh, and good morning.” Fluttering her eyelashes, she stood there beneath the water, her bare skin not quite making contact with his, the large corner shower spacious enough for them both to stand comfortably in there. “Can you speak at all?”

Seeing her naked in the flesh for the first time had truly caught him off guard, the last thing he expected to be seeing that morning, but fuck, he was appreciative. Her body was incredible. Even more so than their dreams had alluded to.

Finally, after watching the water running down over her breasts, he found his voice. “Not that having a beautiful, naked woman in the shower with me is something I’d ever turn down, but if your mom or David come in now, we're dead.”

“Mom got called into work, and David went out to the store. He’ll be gone for twenty minutes. Besides, I’m doing nothing naughty. Merely taking a shower,” she stated sweetly, reaching around him to take her shampoo from the shelf.  

Damn her. “So, you're gonna stand there in front of me and expect me to keep my hands to myself, huh?' he said, his eyes travelling across her body, feeling a certain part of his begin to react to the sight he was presented with.  

Rinsing the suds from her hair, she once again reached past him, grabbing her conditioner and applying, placing the bottle back, her lips meeting his chest. “Yes, I do expect that. Maybe, though, I don’t have to.”  

She finally let her gaze fall, looking down, her smile broadening when she saw his cock standing erect, biting her lower lip as she grasped it with a gentle squeeze. “God, that’s so thick. See when we dreamed, it was always a little hazy, the exact size of your cock. I could never truly gauge what I was working with, but now, wow. The reality is a very nice, big surprise, I have to say.”

Her hand, a little slippery from the conditioner she’d just applied to her hair, ran up his shaft, her thumb stroking swirls over the very tip, pushing him back against the glass cubicle. He reached for her, Keri stepping back a little, her eyes warning him. Knocking his hand away, she closed the gap once more, her lips soft as his neck, a faint whine of a moan fluttering from her mouth. “Does that feel good?”  

Her whisper had him shuddering more than the deft ministration of her hand, slowly pumping at his shaft, kissing the column of his throat once more, a deep rumble vibrating against her lips, her tongue swiping where his beard met his neck, that black grit coarse against the soft lick. “Yeah, feels really good.”  

He twitched within the warm, slippery clutch of her grasp, his groans thickening as rapidly as his cock, her own furnace beginning to burn brightly. “You want me badly, don’t you? I bet you’d love nothing more than to bend me over right here, and bury this beautiful, big cock right up inside of me, wouldn’t you?”  

“Mm.” That soft grunt was all he could manage, their mouths meeting in a kiss of fiery honey, sweet heat burning between them as she quickened her hand, her other bracketing his throat and pushing him back when he tried to assert himself over her. It was an action he hadn’t expected from one quite so diminutive, her strength taking him by surprise.  

“Oh no, Angel Reyes. There’ll be none of that.” Her purr set the hairs at the back of his neck to stand on end, his chest beginning to rise and fall quicker, wanting nothing more than to grasp her waist, lift her up and drop her straight down onto his aching cock. “In fact, there’ll be no more of anything. I think I’m done here.”  

Releasing him, her mouth tilted into a smirk as she rinsed her hair, soaping herself down quickly before puckering her lips and leaving him there smouldering. His eyes narrowed at her as she swathed herself in towels, chuckling with amusement at his anguish. “I hope you enjoyed your preview.”

“You’re gonna pay for that, mamas.”

She pouted, licking her top lip. “To use your words, bring it.” Leaving the bathroom, the atmosphere definitely steamier than when she’d arrived, Keri went back to her bedroom, her eyes glancing in the direction of her nightstand drawer. God, she’d kill to take the edge off with her vibrator, but time wasn’t really on her side.  

After applying a liberal smothering of lotion to her skin, she dressed in her black skinny jeans and her lovely, soft, pale grey sweater that perpetually hung off one shoulder, revealing the dark leopard print undies she had on beneath. Finger combing her hair with some styling cream, she gave it a blast with her hairdryer, her tresses falling into their natural waves, Keri pinning it back to apply a little makeup, laughing as she heard Angel mutter about her being a demoness as he exited the bathroom and walked past her door.  

She was affixing her small, diamante stud earrings in when he arrived in her room, folding his arms, still glaring. “I hate you.”

Chuckling, she stood up, moving to kiss him. “Next time I have my hand around it, believe me, I won’t stop.”  

“Yeah, I’d appreciate that, rather than having to finish solo.” Just the thought of him relieving himself of what she’d stirred sent a pleasant quiver through her, kissing him hotly before they went downstairs, finding David in the kitchen, cooking up one of his mammoth sized breakfasts. Once they’d eaten, David heading over to their neighbour Steve’s place to continue helping him work on his classic truck rebuild project, Keri sat at the island reading the paper while Angel stood at the window, looking out into the garden as he drank his coffee.  

Five minutes passed before he got his true first taste of the local wildlife.

“Holy fuck! There’s a huge assed bear in your garden, come check it out!”  

“Colour?” she asked, not looking up from the paper.

“Black.”

She looked up, her face curious with anticipation. “Brown snout, and a chunk taken out of his left ear?”

“Yeah, it has actually,” he replied, puzzled at the specificness of her question for a few moments.

Her face lit up, flying from her seat at speed. “He’s back!” She ran at the refrigerator, pulling out a plate of meat cuts, taking it to the back door. “And where have you been?” she demanded, turning back to Angel and signalling with her hand that he should stay where he was.  

“Keri, what the fuck are you doing? That's about four hundred pounds of wild bear coming towards you,” he hissed, his eyes wide.

“Relax, he’s my bear,” she began, the huge beast approaching, making noises of greeting in his throat. “My mom found him abandoned on the side of the highway after his mother had been hit by a truck. He was only a few days old, so she brought him back here to raise him herself. My granddad used to do wildlife rehabbing, so she knew what to do.  

“He lived in the house with us until he got too big and was able to go back to the wild, but he comes to visit once a week or so. He thinks we’re his family, and we are, I guess, especially since he used to sleep in mom’s bed with her when he was tiny, before she made his own space for him when he got too rambunctious. He only came out of hibernation last week, though, so I haven’t seen him for months.”

Angel couldn’t help but feel his panic rise as the bear ambled closer, taking in the sheer size of the beast, but his anxious heart melted instantly when he saw it reach Keri, who put the plate down and crouched to fling her arms around his neck, the bear pushing his face against hers. “Hey boy, hey! I missed you so much! I wasn’t home when you came by last week, no, I was out taking lots of pictures of things not nearly as beautiful as you, yes I was!”

He was speechless at the sight, watching the bear put his head down and begin eating the meat from the plate, Keri continuing her talk. “We shouldn’t really feed him as it encourages them scavenging, but he’s never raided the trash, same with the neighbours either. He’s a good boy, he has his manners. He used to come back quite a lot, but it’s less regular now he’s older.”

“How old is he?” Angel asked, viewing the bear with fascination.

“He’s fourteen, and his name is Rufus! I named him after a bear in a book I read as a child.”  

He laughed, thinking it a very cute and non-threatening name for a creature who could disembowel a person with one swipe of his claws.  

“Don’t look so worried! I used to ride him around the lounge when I was nine! He’s lovely, but not good with new people, so you’ll have to stay there or he might become agitated,” she advised, her nails scratching his thick fur, Rufus fluttering his ears as he licked the plate clean of the blood trails. “Your breath stinks, boy. Yes, it does. I love you, though.” she continued, Rufus sniffing her face and giving her nose a lick before he turned and ambled away.  

“Well I gotta say it, you've got probably the most unusual pet in the world, even if he is a wild animal, and he seems to think the world of you,” he told her, stepping outside and lighting up a cigarette.

Her cheeks dimpled from her sweet grin. “Most gorgeous, big animals do.”  

Once he’d finished his cigarette, they headed out, Keri able to take him where she’d wanted to the previous weekend, up to the dinosaur museum, stopping for dinner on the way home at a steakhouse David had recommended, and then going for drinks with Ash and Rachel on the evening.  

His time with Keri was over way too soon for Angel’s liking, hating to leave her at the airport when Sunday morning rolled around, especially since he wouldn't get to see her for two weeks, with club business penned in the following weekend, making plans for her to go to him next time. She was able to fly down on the Thursday afternoon and stay until Monday morning, figuring she could head straight to college from the airport for her afternoon lectures.  

As soon as he walked back into his house, he couldn’t wait until she’d be there in it, too. After unpacking his bag, though, he saw a tiny part of her already was. His hand hit something fuzzy as he pulled his tangle of clothes out, peering down and removing what turned out to be a small triceratops beanie baby she’d obviously bought secretly at the museum giftshop and snuck in there when he hadn’t been looking.  

“Keri Jane,” he hummed, looking at the little plush toy with a smile. “Too fucking cute by far.”  

[mommalosthermind]

How do you block and filter fics with rampant racist micro aggression since that's never tagged properly and the writer will have a white meltdown if they're ever confronted with the fact their fic is racist?

I honestly can’t tell if this was in earnest or if it’s meant to be another Gotcha! Attempt from one of the anti-censorship posts I’ve annoyed people with, so I’m going to assume it’s the first and do my best to answer.

As a white woman, I am definitely not someone who should be speaking on racism, since the systemic issues I deal with are very very different.

Unfortunately, though, your experience with such a fic is going to mirror what I’d imagine is also your experience with most other forms of media which don’t flag that kind of behavior: bail. Back out. Don’t finish the thing that is upsetting you. Possibly, (as I’ve done with authors on issues that hit home for me) take note of who’s behind the thing so you know to avoid them in the future, as they’ve broken that trust.

This is also known as curating your space. I don’t remember if I go on that rant in the other two (three?) posts that seem to have picked up, but that’s the READER’s side of the equation. Find your garden and tend it well, keep it how you like it, because it is for you and you alone.

My job as a writer is to tag to the best of my ability so you know exactly what you’re bringing into your garden. I don’t want to spoil your flowers anymore than I want someone to trample on mine.

Hopefully, as people talk about this more, authors will be more open to tagging/ modifying and/or adding a footnote for things exactly like this.

Micro aggressions are especially difficult, since (again, pulling purely from my lived experiences) getting folk to agree on what ‘counts’ is rough. But as an author— I want to share my stories. That’s the point! If I’ve written it, then I damn well better be self-aware enough to tag it, and be willing to ADD TAGS so I’m not breaking trust with the people I’m trying to give nice things to. Hopefully that makes sense?

I’m gonna say that again since I feel it needs it: if you’re comfortable enough to write the Real World problem happening, you’re fully capable of being able to recognize why someone might like the warning. Be kind. Tags only work if you use them.

On AO3, I believe they recently made it possible to block an author entirely, so they no longer show up in the results for your searches.

I’ve run across exactly one author I’d have blocked if it was possible at the time, because he refused to add tags to a story that… really needed tags. And, going through the comments in later chapters, dozens of people have asked him to update tags. He claims that doing so will ‘ruin the story’ despite the graphic raped-to-death-then-magically-revived bit having literally nothing to do with the plot at all. Instead, it comes out of literally nowhere in an otherwise really well written tale, and was deeply deeply upsetting to the point that his response to my first chapter squee was “yeah, tell me if you still like it after chapter X”. (Unfortunately i am a very fast reader and had already gotten that far and bailed immediately. Dude if you KNOW it’s THAT upsetting to so many people ADD THE TAG.)

I’ll never read anything he’s written again, just like I refuse to read anything by JKR ( awful human) or Terry Goodkind (I can’t stand how he handles his female characters. At all.)

Obviously these two examples are not identical, but it’s the main comparison I have on hand.

This isn’t meant to sound like I’m belittling or downplaying that concern at all. But until people get better at tagging—and I really wish traditional books and other media would ALSO tag, because I’m very very tired of running into Specific Things without any fucking warning— you have to protect yourself and your happy place by putting up a fence, and booting unsavory things right back over it.

—side note: for those worried about spoiling the plot you can…skip the tags... just know you’re choosing to walk in blind. OR! And I wish i could figure it out—you can add! A hyperlink! That takes you to the footnote at the BOTTOM to add things that deserve a warning but might be spoilers! There’s even a tag for that! ‘More tags in notes!’ These are good and useful things! Use them so your readers can better curate their spaces!—

The system isn’t perfect by any means. There are a million ways to improve, and we’re trying! But please, please y’all use the damn tags because right now it’s the only system we’ve got. Take care of each other.

[pinkorchidsinspring]

as someone else who grew up mormon, the prairie diamond ring bracelet is the biggest reach.

as some else who grew up mormon and is bisexual and had her sexuality speculated before she ever had the chance to came out, it is INCREDIBLY harmful of yall to be dedicating entire blogs to proving someone’s sexuality. how you all don’t see that is insane to me, if she IS bisexual it is incredibly gross to be trying to force her out of the closet.

taking a queer meaning from someone’s art (aka, YOUR interpretation) does not mean they are gay. trying to force that on someone you don’t know is not cool.

Hey anon, I am fully aware that that is a big reach, the person who added it knew that it could be a huge reach and openly said that if you read the post. So while I respect your opinion about my blog, and this communities blogs, I cannot respect you calling us gross for talking about our queer interpretation of her art.

We are NOT trying to force her out of the closet. You do not see us commenting on Taylor’s best friends, and “boyfriends” accounts that they need to “get married already” or commenting on Taylor’s posts “Break up with him already 😩”. That is SWIFTIES. They get all in her business and harass Taylor and her friends, all because they want more information about her personal relationship that they don’t deserve.

We as a community just want Taylor to be happy, and that means we would be perfectly fine with her being straight.

You’re right, by the way, our opinions don’t make her gay.

For an artists who loves Easter eggs, we would believe her if she didn’t constantly queer code everything. If her top artist on Spotify wasn’t girl in red. If her music didn’t constantly reference a “best friend” that she allegedly ended her friendship with in 2017 In a romantic light. If she didn’t tag her account in the middle of a rainbow on her posts. If she didn’t have a song about the street she lived on with that said best friend. IF SHE DIDN’T WRITE THE LYRIC “I DON’T WANT YOU LIKE A BESTFRIEND” OR “SHADE NEVER MADE ANYBODY LESS GAY”.

So no anon, it’s not cool to force someone out of the closet. We would never pressure Taylor to come out. Is there some accounts that probably do? Of course, but we are not those accounts. We care about her happiness, and her happiness both in love, and in general, cannot be found in Evermore, or Folklore. Nor can it be found on Midnights with songs like Anti-Hero, Lavender Haze (that 1950’s shit they want from me), You’re on your own kid, and even sweet nothing.

You’re telling me anon, that Sweet Nothing doesn’t sound like one person wanted only sweet nothing. They didn’t want ANYTHING from her at all, in exchange for their love? That instead of a contractual arrangement, she fell in love?

You’re telling me that any of her boyfriends’ names are something she can slur til’ someone puts her in a car? I don’t know about you but kar-lie sounds more like car when slurred then Joe…

So I’m sorry anon, but in this case you weren’t in the right of accusing me of forcing her into anything. She does everything on her own terms, and we can’t, and won’t change that. We want her happiness, and it clearly isn’t being evidenced in her art thus far.

Maybe you should look at your own heteronormativity and how that affects Taylor’s sexuality. Maybe you’re a part of the reason she’s in the closet in the first place… I beg of you anon, go check out some of the amazing Kaylor Blogs I follow and look for yourself how much our interpretation of her songs is the one she means. As a bisexual yourself I know you can see beyond the heteronormative window, so please, do try.