#i had to say something because as someone who has struggled with this topic

[kuroosdarling]

reminder: you and your writing are more than good enough. screw anyone that makes you and your amazing talent feel any less than they are. i’m so proud of you for continuing to write and produce content on here. sending love to those who are having a tough time right now. <3

just because you are unaffected by a certain situation doesn’t mean you can talk over the voices of those who are and try to negate their feelings.

[crippleprophet]

i don’t understand how people can be so fucking cruel about people who can’t read much (including people who aren’t literate, though this post is from my experience with chronic illness). like, one of my main motivations behind posting excerpts of butch+femme writing on my main (@campgender ; it’s fine to go through my bookshelf tag but please only followers age 18+ on that blog!) is that it is fucking hard to read a full book!!

my reading comprehension & stamina decreased drastically when i developed ME, & while i’m overjoyed that i’ve recently regained a lot of that particular ability since getting blackout curtains, there are absolutely still texts i can’t even begin to parse that i once would’ve loved digging into — texts that it would be actively dangerous for me to attempt to struggle through because it would break pacing.

idk i’m not trying to be self-congratulatory here or whatever but like. the second i could access information through this means again, the focus of my (very fucking limited!!) energy has been giving it back to my people. my life has been unquestionably, deeply shaped by tumblr users who share excerpts of theory & memoir & poetry because they were providing labor of which i was in need & incapable.

finding, selecting, transcribing, formatting, & at times contextualizing passages takes a lot of fucking time & energy, but in order for me to encounter certain concepts, experiences, & histories, it’s work somebody else had to do, because i couldn’t read 200 pages of research or anthology in order to encounter the 10 that would change my life — but posted 2 or 3 pages at a time, i could save that in my drafts to get through on a good day, & quotes that were only a couple lines i could usually read right when i encountered them.

so, in memory of the years i spent unable to access theory through anything other than excerpts & secondhand summaries,

and in anticipation of the years to come where i will live the same,

and in acceptance that the brain is a muscle, in love of we the exercise-intolerant,

to you, dear reader — whatever form & frequency & duration that reading may take, even if it’s no further than this post — i make my motherfucking covenant: the issues i discuss around pulling quotes will be about the political act of the ellipse and the ethics of transcription, not shaming people for the methods of accessing information that are available to them. as often & as long as i am able, people can ask me to explain something or summarize in plain language and i will meet them with respect, interest, & effort. if someone’s looking for information on a particular topic, identity, experience & doesn’t have the energy to find it, i’m gonna give what i have towards filtering through the bullshit for the gems.

according to our abilities. according to our needs.

and the next time somebody tells you it’s not ableist to say everyone has to read [whatever work], tell them to go put their precious ability to better use in making it more accessible.

[asuyaka]

i keep like, struggling to click the 'ask' button, BUT—i love the taking care of geto little one shot. so what about helping him with nanako and mimiko? like he just shows up at r!'s house late as hell with two little girls with him, bc he has zero clue as to how to take care of them. m!reader is pref but idc. i love ur writing btw (＾▽＾)

★ - yesyesyesyes!! 'm soo inlove with the helpin' Suguru agenda !! ヾ(≧▽≦*)o

☆ - Girldad! Geto Suguru x Male Reader

♡ - off topic, but 'm love your writin' s'much!! really 'm inspiration t'keep writin stuff like this (≧◡≦) ♡

You were borderline asleep in your room after staying on the phone with Gojo for a few hours until he fell asleep.

It wasn't always like this, he could usually fall asleep on his own but that was when Geto was there with him. Now that's he's become a curse user and has turned his back on the Jujutsu world, everything has basically fallen apart.

Your sleepy eyes glance at the time, the saturated red of '12:42 AM' oozing into your pupils.

You try not to think about Geto so you can get some sleep for the first time in a few weeks. You two were... you're not really sure what your label is.

You two have talked, kissed, cuddled, and gone on dates, but Geto never actually put a label on your relationship and now he probably never will.

A sigh leaves your lips as you cuddle your pillow. Thinking of those big arms that used to wrap around you to keep you safe, or that warm chest that you couldn't help but use as pillows.

Needless to say, you missed him.

You weren't sure how long you stayed there almost on the verge of tears before there was a knock at your front door.

Yeah, you weren't going to open that because— A, you've seen enough horror flicks to know that there's a 99.9% chance that it's a serial killer behind the door, and B, it's 12 AM. You aren't stupid enough to open the door this late.

The knocking persisted. Getting heavier every second you didn't open it, and deciding you didn't want a noise complaint and realizing you were a sorcerer, you begrudgingly got up to open it.

You, surprisingly, were right. It was a serial killer.

Of all the people you thought it could be, you didn't think it would be Geto fucking Suguru outside your door.

"Geto? What are you—" You stopped yourself when you finally saw the two girls behind him.

His expression was something like fear and desperation as they clung onto his clothes, looking at you with weary eyes. "Please, [Name], I need help."

That took you for a spin. After the Star Plasma Vessel, you had to pry it out of him that he needed someone to take care of him, someone to help him, and now he's coming to you with two unknown children willingly asking for it?

Without a word you open your door wider, letting the three of them file in and take a seat on your couch.

You close the door, wiping the tiredness from your face and taking a deep sigh. Yeah, this was going to be a long night.

"What is it, Geto?" You ask, taking a seat on the opposing couch and staring at him. You hope your tone doesn't come up as too mean, you were just really— really tired.

The two girls never left his side. They have masks on, one of the girls with light brown hair, a white hoodie, and a black skirt was pressed on his left while the other with black hair, a black hoodie, and white skirt was pressed against his left, holding a small doll in her hands as well

"They're sick. I've tried everything, medicine, letting them rest, dilating their food but nothing's working." Geto's voice sounds helpless and it honestly scares you because this is the same Geto who went against the Sorcerer Killer.

The same Geto who killed a village, scared over the fact his two... daughters(?) were sick.

The thought brings a smile to your face as you squat in front of him, a soft expression on your face.

"What're your names, hm?"

The girls squeeze him tighter but you don't take offense to it. They're staring at a random man they've never seen before so they're obviously cautious.

"It's okay, he's my— my boyfriend, he's not going to hurt you." You notice the small pause in his voice but you won't speak on it. Not now at least.

The girls look at each other before looking at you. "Nanako." The blonde one says, her small finger pointing at the black-haired girl. "Mimiko. My sister."

You can see the adoring smile on Geto's face and you can't help the smile that tugs on your face. "Mind telling me how you guys feel? Any fevers?"

"My throat hurts and my nose is stuffy. My body feels hot sometimes too." Nanako says, interrupting herself with a cough. Geto shushes her softly, rubbing her back so she can get over her coughing fit with the comfort that her dad was beside her.

You get up, using the back of your hand to feel their foreheads. "Yeah, sounds like hay fever. You mind getting something to drink? Make sure it's hot, but not too hot to burn them."

Geto looks surprised. Maybe he didn't think you'd help him after the whole village incident— he's legally classified as a serial killer, and he's heard from word of mouth that he's a kill-on-sight curse user— but he gets up anyway. Nanako and Mimiko following behind like a pair of ducklings.

Rummaging through your medicine cabinet, you try and find fever and congestion medicine for kids. You have some, surprisingly, it's fresh and isn't expired somehow.

You don't even remember buying it— you don't require it as you didn't follow the 'strongest duo' pipeline of adopting children after the duo split up.

Walking back into the living room, you walk in on Geto blowing the steam off their cups, the recognizable scent of hot chocolate permeating the room.

"You didn't tell us you had a boyfriend, Geto-sama!" Nanako whisper yells, slightly wincing when she drinks her drink too early.

"He's pretty..." Mimiko's voice is so soft, it sends a pang of endearment through your heart. Is this what baby fever feels like?

You wait to hear what Geto says. It isn't eavesdropping if it's in your home, right?

"Yeah, sorry for not telling you it's just... complicated between us." Geto breathes out, kissing their heads as they continue to sip on their coacoa.

Complicated is one word for it, but you keep your thoughts to yourself. Announcing your arrival with an unnecessarily loud shutting of the cabinet.

"So how are you two doing? Feelin' any better?" You ask, placing the medicine on the table in front of them.

Nanako nods excitedly and Mimiko keeps it down. While waiting for them to finish, you decide to put on a movie. The Nightmare Before Christmas, a classic you, Gojo, Geto, and Shoko watched on Halloween when you were first-years.

You catch Geto's nervous glances at you but decide not to speak on it, again. It was adult business, and his kids were around.

The girls take their medicine, it's bitter, but you're sure it'll work. They persuade their dad to letting them sleep over after realizing you have a pillow fort in your room.

You don't really know why you never take it down. Maybe it's because you're too lazy, or you like being reminded of the first place you and Geto had your first kiss, but that's a whole can of emotions you're afraid of opening.

They fall asleep holding each other's pinky. Several of your stuffed animals surround them as their bodies move at the same time rhythmically. Maybe it was twin telepathy, who knows.

Now that it was only you and Geto alone, it was... awkward to say the least.

"I'm sorry for dropping in on you like that," Geto says too afraid to look you in the eye.

"Why didn't you take them to the hospital if you didn't know what was happening?" It's a genuine question, you're sure the doctors would've noticed it was a hay fever quicker than you did.

"I'm not letting those monkeys anywhere near my daughter."

Ah, you forgot he hates non-sorcerers.

You let out a breathy laugh, flopping on the cushion next to him. "I'm your boyfriend now, hm?"

Geto blushes at that. "We never technically broke up, so..."

You smile. Even after his mild— they're not mild, they're very serious— crimes, he's still the same Geto Suguru.

The same Geto Suguru you fell in love with.

"I missed you, you know?" Your voice is barely above a whisper, it's vulnerable.

"I missed you too." His hand is on your cheek and he presses a small kiss on your lips.

You've missed this, you've missed him. His hands, that boyish smile on his face the rare times you manage to get him flustered, his smooth saccharine like voice, everything about him.

As he holds his body against yours, hands intertwined and cursed energy mixing together, you realize you never want to let him go, you don't want this to end.

You want him to stay with you until the end of time.

[avatar-anna]

Can you write something about reader having an ED and Harry doesn’t notice at first but then starts to notice And then eventually helps you through it?

Try To Find a Way Back

trigger warning: mentions and direct references to eating disorders. please be cautious if you find this topic triggering

so, i don't know a ton about eating disorders and what it's like for someone who has one to be actively struggling with it, and writing about something i don't completely understand makes me nervous bc i don't want to get it wrong. however, since you asked, i'm going to do my best to write this!

in case anyone is curious, this is the article i referenced while writing

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

"I just don't understand what her issue is. If I was in her shoes, I'd get help. It's that simple."

"I don't know if—"

"I mean, it's not like struggling with eating makes her special. Like, everyone has body image issues and we just deal with it. Harry will probably break up with her because of all the reassurance she needs. Poor guy probably didn't know what he got himself into when he asked her out. God what a headache for him."

You backed up slowly, not wanting to hear the conversation that was so clearly about you anymore. You'd gone to grab drinks for yourself and who you thought were your friends, but now your hands were shaking so hard you worried the contents in the two wine glasses would come spilling out, glass shattering to the floor. Your heart pounded in your chest, bile rising in your throat. Finding the nearest server walking around with an empty tray and, you set the glasses down before booking it out of the club.

Tears were already starting to pool in your eyes as you ordered an Uber to take you home. Phoebe was one of Harry's friends, but she'd been kind to you since the day he introduced you to her and the rest of his close knit group of friends he'd had for years. You'd been incredibly nervous. You were an outsider, not a model or a writer or a musician or an actor. You weren't extraordinarily talented or beautiful, you were just...you.

None of that seemed to matter to Harry, though. He'd been nothing but flirtatious since the moment he met you. Well, once he was able to look past his nerves. He'd been a bit of a stuttering mess at first, and it wasn't until an hour into talking to him where he really got comfortable enough to flirt, and flirt he did.

It took not one, not two, but three tries to get you to go out with him, your insecurities getting in the way the first two times. But that had been a few months ago, and now you were pretty sure you were in love with him, except now you knew his friends hated you.

She doesn't understand, you thought. It isn't so black and white. You would love to just fix yourself, to make yourself see a doctor, seek help. But eating disorders were a behavioral disease, and when you were in the thick of it, it was hard to shake. You'd told Phoebe about your struggles with your weight and eating disorder in confidence, thinking she was someone you could confide in, only to find her mocking your pain behind your back to someone else, and now you didn't know what to do.

Your phone buzzed with a text message, and you tensed when you saw who it was from.

Bubbie: hey where'd you run off to?

You: not feeling well. heading home

Bubbie: why didn't you say anything? let me take you home

Wiping away a tear, you typed out a text. In most cases, being around Harry would've brought you comfort, but right now, you just wanted to be alone. You couldn't let him see you like this, so unsteady.

You: it's ok. enjoy your first night back with your friends. kissies xx

*.*

You'd been avoiding Harry for the last week and a half. Phoebe's words sent you into a bit of a tailspin, and shame kept you from speaking to him, not wanting to involve him in your issues. Because you realized Phoebe was right. To some extent. You should've been able to ask for help, you should've been able to tell Harry how much you were really struggling, but your shame kept you from reaching out to anyone or asking for help, along with the desire to keep up your habits, which created a toxic cycle.

"It seems like this boy is doing you more harm than good, honey," your mom said over the phone. She was the only one you told about what you overheard Phoebe say.

"He's not the problem, Mom. I just—"

"You were doing so well up until you started seeing him. I just don't want you to slip again. I worry about you, and if being with that boy is causing you problems, then you need to look at the bigger picture."

Her heart was in the right place, it really was. Your mom had been there for a lot of your darkest moments and was rightfully protective of you and your health. But Harry really wasn't the problem. He'd never made you feel like you needed to change your body for him, it was quite the opposite in fact. He constantly praised the way you looked, and not because you needed reassurance or asked him to, despite Phoebe's assumptions. He just really thought you were beautiful.

"I can't just live my life alone, Mom," you said eventually, not wanting to admit more. "He makes me happy."

You heard your mom sigh, but she thankfully didn't press the matter further, even though you knew she had lots to say. She always had lots to say where your boyfriend was concerned. The last thing she said on the matter was, "Just...be careful."

Once you hung up the phone, you fell back against your bed for a few minutes before standing up and walking to your kitchen. A trip to the grocery store was in order, just based on the meager items in your pantry and refrigerator—pasta and no sauce, cereal but no milk, veggies but they weren't organic, and did you really need the family size bag of Doritos—

You took a breath, willing those thoughts away. You were fine. You were just upset about what Phoebe had said about you, nothing more. "It's just the grocery store," you murmured. "You go all the time."

*.*

The grocery store had never looked bigger. There were too many labels, too many colors, too many brands making promises of health and wellness. Your hands gripped the shopping cart until your knuckles were white, eyes wide as you carefully browsed the aisles. Everyone else was going about their business just fine. You watched as people grabbed what they needed with ease, scratching items off their lists and moving into the next thing.

How did they know which bread to buy? How did they decide on a cereal? Whole grain or multi grain? They didn't even look at the nutritional facts before putting something in their carts, didn't stop to do the math, counting calories and carbs and grams of sugar against what they already had. How could they just exist without caring about—

Your phone buzzing pulled you from your anxiety-riddled thoughts. With shaking hands, you pulled your phone out of your oversized zip-up, Harry's face popping up with the notification that he was calling you.

"H—Hello?"

"Hey, you! I feel like I haven't heard from you, so I thought I'd call and check in."

You smiled, despite the anxiousness that still had your shoulders tensed. "Sorry, I've been...busy."

"God, me too," Harry said woefully. "But I've let work get in the way far too much this week. I need to see you. Are you free tonight? I can come over and make dinner for the two of us."

The word dinner filled you with dread. That wasn't a good idea right now. The idea of anyone seeing you eat, even Harry, felt terrifying. But what could you do? Saying no would involve having to explain yourself, and you wanted to do that even less.

"I'd love to," you said, all that anxiety coiling in the pit of your stomach.

"Yeah? You're in for a treat, I happen to be a fabulous cook."

"Can't wait."

You couldn't even feel excited to see Harry. The dread of having to sit through dinner took up too much space in your mind. You tried to will it away. You liked Harry too much to let your mind get in the way of messing up the good thing you had going.

*.*

A few weeks later, and you were at Harry's house for dinner again, only this time it wasn't just the two of you.

Your date with Harry went better than expected. You picked at your food and pushed it around, shame eating away at you as you lied through your teeth about not feeling very well when Harry asked why you'd hardly eaten anything. He'd been so sweet, making you a cup of tea, laying down with you on his couch to soothe your fake stomach ache, kissing the top of your head and rubbing a hand over your stomach comfortingly.

You felt horrible for lying to him, and you very well couldn't come clean after the fact, but it was better than talking about it. The less you talked about it, the better.

Tonight, you'd been carefully picking at your food again, making sure to take bites that were big enough to look normal and trying not to look like it was making you physically unwell. Each bite was excruciating, your mind telling you not to eat anymore and that you could never exercise all those calories away. It was all you could do to not focus on all the ways you knew how unhealthy this dinner was. It didn't match at all with your diet journal and you'd have to make up for it by—

"—just so hard, don't you think, Y/n?"

"Huh?"

Phoebe smiled at you, but it didn't feel very friendly. You'd avoided talking to her all night so far, had even taken the farthest seat away from her at the table.

"We were talking about how hard it is to live here in LA," she said, gesturing vaguely to the people around her. "It feels like there's a new diet trend every week, and it's just so hard to lose weight while not looking completely anorexic—"

"Phoebe," Harry said tightly, cutting her off before she could finish.

Your grip was tight on your fork, unable to meet anyone in the eye. Did they know? You'd been careful tonight, and any of the other times you'd seen Harry or his friends recently. You didn't want their pity or their questions or their judgement. Nothing would've been worse than the disappointed look on Harry's face, or the look of disgust if he discovered the truth.

That still wasn't enough to stop, though.

"What? I didn't mean to be offensive. I'm just saying how hard it is to get to that perfect size. Y/n knows what I'm talking about. God, I feel like I can taste every calorie I eat, can't you, Y/n?"

"I—Not really," you said meekly. This was not the conversation you wanted to have right now, especially since it felt like you could feel everything you'd eaten tonight, every single bite, sinking to the bottom of your stomach.

"God, I wish I could just throw it up, you know? Then I could eat whatever I want and not feel guilty about it. No more diets, no more counting calories, I could—"

"That's enough," Harry said, voice sounding harder than you'd ever heard it. He glared at Phoebe, whose mouth was still open from stopping mid-sentence. Her eyes were wide with shock as she tried to justify her conversation topic.

"Excuse me," you murmured to Harry, standing up on shaking legs to step away from the table.

"Y/n—"

"I just need to use the restroom," you said, trying your best to talk around the lump in your throat.

You went upstairs to one of the guest bathrooms where you wouldn't be disturbed, though you locked the door to the toilet for good measure. Panic and guilt and self-loathing swirled through you, tears burning your eyes.

For weeks, you told yourself you had it under control. Your behavior was strict, but not worrisome. And effective, too, but that only made guilt and shame mingle with the feeling of success. Your jeans were loose, but you took to wearing baggy clothes so no one would notice. The scale in your bathroom got lower, but it never seemed low enough. Your stomach was taught, rib cage starting to poke through skin, but that just made you feel even worse about yourself and how quickly things escalated. It was a neverending cycle, but as you continued to lean over the toilet, you told yourself it would be just this once. Just this once and you wouldn't do it again. Just this once—

"Y/n? Can you let me in?"

Tears fell harder when you heard his voice. You couldn't let him see you like this. You couldn't face the humiliation, how disappointed he'd be when he realized—

"Y/n, open the door, or I'll break it down, I swear to God," Harry said with urgency in his voice.

Wiping your eye and then your mouth, you stood up, trembling as you turned the lock. You opened your mouth, unsure if an apology or an explanation would come tumbling out of your lips. But Harry pulled you to his chest before you could say a thing. You couldn't help the sobs that wracked your body as he held you up. His hand held the back of your head fiercely, but not harshly, the other one pushing you as close to him as he could.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I should've said something sooner. I knew something was wrong, but I didn't realize—I never should've—I'm so sorry."

You didn't find out what Harry thought he shouldn't have done because he rested on top of your head, kissing you repeatedly. He squeezed you so tight, as if he worried you would slip away if he didn't. You couldn't focus on anything else but your own emotions, too ashamed at being caught and guilty for having slipped so far in the first place.

"I was okay," you sobbed. "I thought I was okay. I thought—I thought I could control it."

Harry finally leaned away from you, just enough so he could hold your face in his hands and look you in the eye. "This is not your fault. Do you understand? It's not your fault."

More tears streamed down your face, but Harry's thumbs were there to wipe them away. His eyes roved over your face, searching for something, but you didn't know what. Eventually, he said, "There's so much I want to say, but I think for now...I think you should rest."

You agreed, so you didn't try to object. You were exhausted, just wanted the whole evening to evaporate into thin air. You didn't even care if Harry's friends were still in the house or not, you just wanted all the thoughts in your head—the ones still screaming at you to finish what you started and the ones begging you to let Harry help—to stop.

"I just want it to stop," you mumbled.

Harry rested his forehead against yours, breathing in deep. "I know."

*.*

"You're doing so well, love."

It didn't feel like it. In fact, you felt the exact opposite of well. But Harry was holding your hand as you walked through the aisles of the grocery store, his encouragement pushing you to take each step. "I don't think I can do this today."

"What did your eating disorder say to make you think that?" Harry murmured, causing you to grumble under your breath, but it did the trick. You took another step and grabbed the jar of pesto off the shelf.

He'd been doing that a lot recently. Ever since you came back from the treatment facility, he talked about your eating disorder as if it were a separate person, like it was a little devil with red horns talking over your shoulder and not a disease. It grated on your nerves at first because it made you feel like he was talking down to you, and because he was right. Your eating disorder had been the voice in your head and making you make unhealthy decisions. How he saw it first, you had no idea, you were just thankful he was still here, still with you on your road to recovery.

The trip to the grocery store took longer than it probably should've, especially since you only needed a couple things. But the minute you stepped inside, your body tensed up as you took everything in. It was a struggle not to turn packages over to read the nutritional facts, and even harder to put things in your cart. Today was re-introducing day, which meant eating a meal that had foods you'd actively avoided in the past. It scared the shit out of you, which was why Harry was here.

He'd been incredible, more patient than other people would be. He put up with your mother's harsh words when she blamed him for your relapse, he was there every day he was allowed to visit, and he picked up every phone call when you eventually came home. Whether it was to talk you down or talk about random things that came into his head to distract you from dangerous thoughts, he was there.

You honestly didn't know what you did to deserve him.

"How can I help?" Harry asked when you came to another stop.

"Do we really have to buy the parmesan cheese?" you asked, eyeing the aisle filled with various cheeses with a queasy stomach.

"I think you can do it," Harry said, not entirely answering the question. "I can tell you a story while I put it in the cart for you, if that helps."

"Okay," you said, not really sure if it would.

"Right, let me think for a moment," Harry said, mostly to himself. "Oh. Got it! Okay, so one time I went on this blind date, right? And I normally don't like them because my friends seemed to think I can't function without a partner, which is horribly embarrassing, and I normally have a horrible time, but I went to the bar I agreed to meet this person at, and—"

"What? You hated it?" you asked. Part of you thought it was weird that Harry was talking about a date with someone else, but it was doing its job.

Harry raised his brows at you. "I talk, you push."

You rolled your eyes, but pushed the cart another inch, trying to focus on his voice and not where you were headed.

"As I was saying, I get to the bar, and I'm like, holy shit, because I see the most beautiful girl I've ever seen in my life, and as I go over to talk to her, someone calls out to me, and I realize the girl I saw wasn't who I wasn't supposed to go on a date with, it was someone else. But I can't just ditch this other girl even though I'm dying to just go over to the girl by the bar, so I stay put and try to engage in conversation and laugh when I think I'm supposed to, but I just—All I could think about was the girl in this cute little mini skirt and vest and what was making her laugh so damn much."

"Mini skirt and vest...at a bar...Wait, you don't mean—You were on a blind date when we met?"

The bar in question wasn't one you frequented. It was an upscale one, and you went because your friend dragged you inside, curious to see if she could get any CEOs to buy her a drink, and you...you were just there to make sure your friend got home okay. But somehow you bumped into Harry, though now you supposed you knew why.

"Not technically," Harry said. "The date was over when I walked up to you, and, well, you know the rest. I charmed the pants off you."

You snorted. "That's not what happened."

You'd known who Harry was when before he introduced himself, it was kind of hard not to. You'd seen music videos and heard his songs on the radio and seen him on your TV more than a handful of times, but it was definitely surprising to see him in person, especially because on screen he seemed so chill and cool and cute, the Harry you met was cute, but he could hardly get a word out.

"Nonsense. I remember it differently," Harry said with a sniff.

"You were so nervous it was so cute," you said, wrapping your arms around one of his while he took a turn with the cart.

Kissing the top of your head, he said, "If that's how you want to remember it, fine. But I do remember talking to you for hours and feeling like no time had passed at all. We closed down the bar, do you remember?"

"Mmhm," you said, nodding against his shoulder. "And then you tried to take me home."

"Can you blame me? I met the girl of my dreams, I couldn't just let you leave."

"You mean that?" you asked, looking up at him.

With everything you'd been through recently, it surprised you to know Harry was still with you. This battle you were fighting was lifelong, and you wouldn't have blamed him for leaving somewhere down the line. You loved him, and it would've hurt like hell, but you would've understood. But he never did, and every time you asked him about it, he just said he wasn't going anywhere.

Eventually, you stopped asking.

"I do," he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "You did it, love."

"What?" Raising your head off his shoulder, you looked around. You were at checkout, all the items you and Harry set out to buy today sitting in your basket. "We did it."

"You did it, Y/n. I'm so proud of you."

Relief rushed through you. It was one hurdle, just one, but each one was a victory, and Harry was there to help you celebrate each one. It was too public to kiss him, even though you felt the urge to, so you squeezed his hand and kissed the top of it instead.

"I love you," you whispered.

"I love you too," he said, taking you by surprise when he tilted your chin up for a brief kiss. "You ready to check out?"

Anxiety filled your belly once more as the weight of your situation bore down on you once again. Squeezing Harry's hand again, you shook your head.

Harry wrapped an arm around your shoulders and tucked you into his side. The warmth emanating from him was a comfort, and you breathed in deep, letting the scent of his cologne and laundry detergent flood your senses to distract you.

"Don't listen to the disease, Y/n. Listen to me, okay? How about another story?"

You nodded. "Please."

"You're going to be alright, Y/n, I promise," he said.

And maybe you didn't believe him completely now, but you trusted him enough to believe it for you until you did.

[vivmaek]

ASTROLOGY OBSERVATIONS PART SEVEN (roast edition)

Libra Suns are soo oblivious sometimes. I can never tell if they’re doing it to get something or if they’re actually having a dumb blond moment. 

People with Mars in the 2nd house need to learn how to share. They become territorial over their possessions. As children, they were the types of kids to show off a cool toy and then go, “but you can’t play with this one because it's special.” 

Mars in Pisces are the types to make a passive aggressive comment under their breath, and then when someone calls them out, they go, “I didn’t say anything!” 

When people who have Mercury in the 8th house become obsessed about something, they will never shut up about it. Just when you think you’ve managed to steer conversation into a new direction, they will find a way to bring up whatever topic is plaguing their mind. 

Pluto in Sagittarius generation is so self-righteous. Everyone is overly aggressive with their opinions, everyone thinks they’re right, and everyone is under the impression that we’re going to be these revolutionary radicals who will serve justice to those oppressed when most spend their time on the internet trying to cancel people. Like seriously we get so heated over nothing sometimes. I think that's because this generation really struggles with misdirected passion. I’m excited for these Pluto in Aquarius babies tho 

Aries Moons and their temper tantrums, that's all. 

People who have their Mars in Taurus will destroy things when they get angry, literally like a raging bull. They make a mess and fling things around, like what is that accomplishing?? And then afterwards they clean it up like nothing ever happened. 

The uncomfortable look on a Gemini Moon's face when someone starts to cry, they wanna leave asap and are looking for the nearest exit. 

Leos will cry, scream, and throw a fit over their hair. DO NOT MESS WITH THEIR HAIR. It's the one quality they like about themselves. A bad haircut or color treatment will have them SPIRALING. Like a serious identity crisis. They die inside when someone goes, “It's just hair, it will grow back.” 

Mercury Libras and the lies they spread! They lie about the smallest things and it's usually in an effort to people-please. 

People with their Mars in Sagittarius are psychos when they're mad. They lack the foresight to see how they’re putting themselves and others in danger. I’d say they are the most likely to carry out some form of revenge.

If you’re dealing with someone who has their Venus in the 8th house, make sure to establish some firm boundaries. They will just keep taking if you let them.

Venus 11th housers cause so much drama every time they develop feelings for one of their friends, I never seen this not cause tension within a friend group. 

12th house stelliums and the way they always maintain distance, and everytime you get too close they pull back, actually super frustrating. Also the silent treatments they pull! They’re not even doing it to punish, they're just doing it because they’re uncomfortable, but it still ends up feeling like a punishment for the other person.  

Mercury in Taurus individuals are sometimes too blunt. I honestly really love this quality hehe, but I have to admit they’ve offended me just by pointing out the obvious. 

Aries 11th housers always feel like they’re in competition with their friends. 

Moon Trine Uranus and crying at the most unexpected things. I have this friend that I’ve known since middle school, never saw her cry once. Even when we graduated and said our goodbyes for college, nothing. Then a year later, we were watching the finale for Euphoria together, and this girl started bawling at the end. I was like out of all the things to make you cry this is it?? Haha, I love her. 

The Pluto in Virgo generation hands out criticisms left and right. If my friend's parents had this placement, I always felt like they were judging me. 

Capricorns and their obsession with money, and also how they fail to realize that not everyone else is driven by monetary gains. 

Aquarius’s love to act like their egos aren’t big. The only reason why Leos get checked more on this is because of their bold sense of expression. 

[nordickies]

Sweden Headcanons

I compiled a list of big and small headcanons I like to implement in my work when writing Sweden's character! More may be added if I come up with them. Feel free to steal them in your own work

Read the whole list under the cut!

Physical Features

Sweden is one of the tallest nations at around 2,00 m / 6′ 7″. He has a heavy build with notable muscles on his upper body. Though, he gets bloated very easily, especially after a heavy meal, so his body definition varies a lot.

Sweden is physically in his early to mid-thirties.

As a teenager, Swe usually experienced nausea and dizziness from growing pains. Definitely didn't help with his already bad temper and moodiness.

Sweden has cold hands constantly.

He tans quite easily during summer. In his youth, he had visible sun freckles.

He's not as fit as people might think at first. His grip is firm, and he can lift. But make him run stairs, and he's out of breath. That is probably why you'll never catch him running - even in a hurry.

Swe has frown lines on his forehead and around his eyes, probably due to squinting so much before getting his glasses.

He has a small silver cross necklace, which he obtained from his long travels in his youth.

Personality

Sweden is stoic, but he's not that serious - even though he might appear to be so. He just has an unfortunate face, according to Denmark. Norway says Sweden is friendly; he just doesn't act like it. Swe has a playful side to him, and even he isn't above banter from time to time. He is even a bit sassy. And while he might be a man of a few words, he has a sense of comedic timing. He often manages to make his friends crack up in inappropriate situations, and people never believe them it was due to Sweden.

Sweden has an eye for quality. He's also a bit frugal and refuses to throw stuff away, especially if he could fix it with little effort or repurpose it for something else. For most of his life, he had to deal with limited resources anyway, so his thrifty tendencies continue to this day. People tease that Sweden prefers crisp bread (knäckebröd) because he's too frugal to bake fresh bread every day

He is known to be innovative! He'll ponder his head empty to devise a solution to a given topic, and sometimes, they can be pretty creative and unexpected. He has a lot of fantastical creativity, and his thinking process is a big mystery to everyone else.

He cherishes silence and personal space. Loud noises and massive crowds of people make him very uncomfortable, so he avoids situations like that beforehand.

Sweden takes things very literally at times, and he can take things to heart. He'll always go out of his way to do his best and put on the best show, down to a single detail. If someone requests a cake with flowers, he'll spend the entire night crafting marzipan daisies and placing them individually

Sweden could be described as somewhat of a control freak. He'll get highly anxious if he's not in control and making decisions - or kept in the dark about matters that concern him. He has always been self-driven, and he can become quite rowdy if he's forced to follow other's orders.

Sweden is a bit of a mother hen, taking care of people and providing for them at all times. Though sometimes, he takes this role a bit too seriously. Sweden has a tendency to get involved in other people's business and try to come up with solutions for their problems, which his neighbors don't always appreciate.

Because of his rational and calm nature, people often seek Sweden's advice and help. Well, at least people who don't have to deal with his unprompted advice constantly.

He has always struggled with being a bit selfish. Not that he lacks the skills to share or be empathetic, but he always seems to put himself first. People often need to adjust to Sweden's comfort and needs rather than the other way around.

He's definitely the most family-oriented out of the Nordics. He has always wanted to be a parent, even if others never really understood it. Even as a teen, he would look after the youngest members of his family, ensuring they were clothed and fed.

Even though he's not very sociable, he hates being alone for long periods of time. Since he has always lived with others, he wants life, color, and chatter in his home. That's why he has arranged a free "open door" policy in his house. His family (and adoptees) are welcome in his place at any time

But, even though Sweden is tolerant and welcoming, it sometimes might backfire on him if his visitors aren't too caring. Denmark and Finland are particularly good at this and leave the place messier than they found it. Meanwhile, Norway empties Sweden's fridge and pantry before he's on his way (which he just calls harrytur). Sweden is non-confrontational and rarely dares to bring it up, though.

He finds work-life balance extremely important. He takes his job seriously, but when the clock hits 4 p.m., he's already out of the door. This can annoy his overachieving coworkers sometimes, but this is a subject Sweden just won't give in. He is highly productive and a hard worker - it just happens strictly during office hours. He remembers to unwind by taking a week off at a cabin or simply having coffee breaks multiple times a day.

Swe sticks to schedules and usually shows up early to be on time. He's punctual and expects things to be done on time with efficiency. Swe has a personal calendar that he follows, and events, such as dinners, need to be planned in advance with him. He also follows a tight sleeping schedule.

Sweden is candid and answers others' questions bluntly. Interviews are a nightmare with him. Small talk is difficult with him, and he'll stay quiet if he has nothing to say. 

Sweden expects honesty. He wants to know if he has upset someone and, in return, wants to talk things out. Resentments, petty disagreements, and gossip annoy him greatly, especially if the other person expects him to recognize when he has done something wrong.

Sweden doesn't feel that awkward in social situations unless he can tell the other person is finding his silence uncomfortable. Swe becomes more shy and uneasy if he has to fake small talk. You'll get the most out of him when you bear his silent breaks.

Sweden can come off as nitpicky or even snobbish; he cares about the little details and, in true artistic fashion, can be a perfectionist sometimes. Whenever he's nervous, he starts focusing and fixing the tiniest of details in his work.

Sweden has a lot of confidence in himself and his abilities. Maybe, at times, a little bit too much, which makes him proud. Especially in his youth, he considered himself invincible and constantly overestimated his capabilities.

His tendency to be taciturn and not talk about his problems puts him at odds with people around him. Usually, the issues build up when he refuses to confront them. Combining this with the fact that he believes himself to be in the right - and solving issues with pure logic, it seems like he forgets to consider the emotional side of things. He can't understand why others don't see the world rationally like he does.

Hobbies

Sweden has a workshop in his house where he likes to go and work on DIY projects, make various crafts, or fix broken items. In there, he could spend hours pondering and trying to find solutions to problems - not only on broken appliances but his personal issues as well. Also, the workshop offers Swe a form of escapism. It's his domain, where he prefers to be alone (His little snickerboa, if you will)

Handicrafts allow him to express himself and carry out his wild creativity and imagination. He takes pride in his art; every item is made with love and thought. Besides making furniture, Swe is skilled in glass crafts. Sweden is also a skilled artist. Though it's more of a hidden talent. People never see him draw, but if you get him a pen and paper with a basic prompt, he will draw like a professional. He paints Christmas cards every year and sends them to other Nations.

Sweden is quite active and tries to get himself moving through everyday activities, such as house chores, biking, or even just taking the stairs. He likes going on long city hikes and can play a football or ice hockey match if asked to. But nowadays, he has begun to enjoy more relaxed sports, such as golf.

He loves cooking; Swe appreciates and values quality food. Perhaps he's not a culinary chef, but he can make any comfort homemade food if asked. Sweden is consistently in charge of the food in get-togethers and family gatherings. He's also a great baker but doesn't have time to focus on that hobby. Nevertheless, he always ensures at least a few types of cookies, buns, or other pastries are available. It's important to take a break occasionally and sit down for a cup of coffee.

Sweden enjoys a variety of music. He hasn't really mastered any instrument, but he loves singing group songs at events. He considers music a big part of his life, and he really enjoys musical events.

He is a plant mom with thriving houseplants all over his residence. Iceland is jealous of him because his own houseplants seem to always die as soon as he attains them. Sweden also has an impressive outdoor garden during the summer.

Sweden is obsessed with crime shows and literature; he's always in the process of reading the newest thriller books.

Lifestyle

His human name is Björn. His nickname "Nalle" (teddybear) can be used as a term of endearment - or annoyance, depending on the person and context. Though he has had multiple names throughout his life, such as Berwald.

Sweden is skilled in mental math, though not in a "superhuman" way. Sweden is an experienced merchant and builder who can solve basic math problems immediately in his head. He's definitely more talented mathematically rather than linguistically.

Sweden feels the most at peace when he's prepared for the future. Even on vacations, he'll fix his porch, paint the house, or do massive spring cleaning. On cabin weekends, he'll maintain the boat or drive the other Nordics crazy for using the lawnmower early in the morning

He's a recycling freak who takes the matter very seriously. He'll definitely let you know if you have done your recycling wrong and scold you for it

Despite his quiet and seemingly shy nature, Sweden likes hosting parties and events. He can even give a short speech if he's allowed to prepare for that beforehand. Swe doesn't go from table to table chatting with people. Instead, he'll ensure there are activities, games, music, and enough food and drinks for everyone.

Sweden has a tendency to socialize through activities like games or quizzes. People groan when Sweden has to bring yet another board game to a party, but that's just his way of ensuring people have something to do. And if he doesn't have a particular activity to participate in, he might just sit in silence the whole time!

Swe can handle booze very well, only becoming talkative. While he's reserved and quiet sober, he bubbles up immediately after a drink or two. Usually regretting his loud mouth the next day.

Swe has always had a hard time learning second languages, which is one of the reasons why he appears so quiet. When he can speak his native language, he's way more talkative. He often forgets words when talking in different languages, and that's when his insecurities and nervousness take over.

He speaks Swedish and will hesitantly admit that he understands Norwegian and some Danish just fine due to their long relationship and exposure to each other's languages. He speaks English and used to speak French and (Low) German. He also used to know Latin and Old Norse but has forgotten them both.

Swe thinks rules are rules, and in his household, candy can only be eaten on Saturdays.

Sweden has an inherent sense of style, perhaps due to his tendency to care about the little details. He wants his home and personal style to look nice and put together, and he spends a lot of time focusing on them.

Due to his big size, many spaces aren't made for him, especially abroad. He finds it embarrassing when other people notice this and try to offer him special treatment because of it. He hates to cause extra trouble.

He experiences "sunshine guilt" very often. If it's a beautiful day outside, Sweden can't sit inside without feeling guilty, like he's wasting his time. He will often tell people to go outside and appreciate the short summer that they get. And when the first rays of sunshine appear in spring, Swe might drop whatever he's doing and face the sun with his eyes closed - just taking it all in and immediately feeling better. He also starts having picnics and hanging out in outdoor cafes early in the year, regardless of weather or temperature.

Sweden has calmed down immensely from his youth to the point some consider he has gone soft, acting like an old man with no ambitions. But maybe nowadays, he puts in the effort to enjoy the things he values in life. And as a result, he's pretty content with how things are going for him.

[tocomplainfriend]

VIV is constantly criticized by her own fault.

TW: Mention of: SA, Rape, Transphobia, fat phobia, Antiblackness.

(Hey, i'mma probably do a post eventually about episode 4. Btw, awfully shit, worse than I thought it could be... BIG TW OF R-PE AND SA IF YOU'RE GOING TO SEE IT. AND TW of the minimization of those topics too.)

(SORRY FOR BAD ENGLISH IN THIS POST TOO)

BUT I NEED TO CALL ATTENTION TO THIS! One of the reasons I criticize a lot of Viv specifically is because of how much she puts herself out there. She sees something she posts on Twitter about it a shit ton (even on "threads" lol). AND because of how lacking of improvement she has being. (I personally know people I have considered terrible when we were teens, but I have seen legit improvement from them in recent years. They seem like people who struggle, but got to grow up and made up for any problems (or pain caused to me or others). People have the ability to change and become better. Something that matters at pointing out issues or discussing-is the idea of creating change on others. It is better to get someone to change for the better than to cast them into the forever jail of nothingness (unless, IDK, they Sexually Assaulted someone, for example). Specially when they are young people. Doesn't mean YOU have to stick with other people that hurt you, no. Doesn't mean people get to do what ever and get away with it.

BUT All of this problem I have seen from Viv are from age 19-30. (you can change at anytime btw) And see constantly repeats herself and her actions. Seems to have never accepted criticism (said by herself too), and never able to see her own faults. The fact that is a continuous behavior is a problem, how she always responds is awful. My post of "Viv has being transphobic for 10 years", was to signal that. If she really had changed over those 10 years to a genuine thing- I could've taken that! But no, the shitty double standard against trans men... the weird treatment. THE MANY STORIES OF EMPLOYEES GETTING MISGENDERED HEAVILY, TOO.

(I know people who were transphobic [When they were teens mainly], that Genuinely improved and changed their beliefs. Now they treat trans people with respect and care! And still learning about gender-fluid people, too!)

It just seems to be further and further away from getting better! The fact that she only decides to take in account voices from SA victims that agree with her- it's painful as a victim, my self!

And yes, people who sent gore or dumbass shit to Viv (or the team) don't help. And go get help why you're looking and sending Gore to anyone. (Also, stuff like this does lead to people not listening to others people genuine callouts). The fact that I criticize something doesn't mean I agree with the people that go and do shit like the thing I just mention above.

AND ALSO A IMPORTANT THING HERE!

This drawing was created by DollCreep. BUT ALSO FUCKING REMEMBER this was done in response to the shit that Viv drew of him.

If you didn't know Viv drew a transphobic caricature of DollCreep using the name Jojo (his old nickname). This put together with a shitty anti-sjw meme video. DollCreep is a transman, Viv drew a character based on him. A furry wolf girl, If you can see in the image the main thing listed below the character name is the fucking "Sex=♀️". SO ON PURPOSE, CHRIST. Like... AND YES-is shitty from both to have drawn this (even if it was in respond) mainly immature in DC part. But that, or any toxicity coming from DC, doesn't delete the transphobia here. (imagine drawing a racist caricature of a poc person, because they are shitty to you). THE POST LINKED ABOVE SHOWS THE SITUATION, and in the end of the day. Viv says that DC is an abusive shitty person to her, but never realizing her own faults or anything she could'be possibly done wrong! (and again, any wrong done by DC in general can not be deleted by the fact of having being treated badly. If he did shitty stuff himself, that doesn't delete the wrong done in general to him or to others by viv)

Here about transphobia:

(this is like 8yrs old too)

Again, she never acknowledges anything that she might have done wrong. "She is a thoughtful person, that wants tor write queer and disabled characters! She wants to tell empowering stories of..." It doesn't even feel close to that when people bring up actual problems in her writing that are stereotyping or bad, and she just yells and cries. It all feels like empty sticks she is only interested in in the surface level, she doesn't want to actually deal with.

When she says "This characters is black guys ♡♡♡" and then the fucking 7th, a grayish character with zero black features. She can not actually try and draw a black person with a different hair texture, she'll faith is hair isn't straight and spiky (has done this so much too). She is all for positivity and diversity (can not draw more than 1 character that isn't a fucking stick with the same stupid face).

She can not write relationships in general. She cannot do gay couples, then don't lean on the stupid old uke uwu defenceless x big rough seme protector stuff. Again, all the interactions with Husk and Angel are sexual harassment. They are already a revealed future couple (and episode 4 is terrible for them, specially with that song). Stolitz is toxic, and predatory. That is not acknowledged, and all Stolas's predatory behavior and power dynamics are put in the background, cause- "look how sad Stolas is :(! HIS DAD IS SOOO MEAN, HIS WIFE IS A BITCH". All her gay characters are in pure surface: over-sexual twinks that are assholes, which also fit into the top/bottom as personality boxes.

Any other point includes sexual harassment as a joke. BUT KNOW SHE WANTS TO BE LIKE "GUYS SA STORIES MATTER, LOOK AT WHAT I WROTE" as if she didn't lean back into the problem of the diminishing of SA and r- (in general and done to men) with her jokes in HB. With all the sexual harassment that Angel Dust puts on Husk and others. (AND YES THERE IS NO WARNING IN EPISODE 4, FOR ITS HEAVY TOPICS! I do believe all series/movies with this need it. SPECIALLY IF IT'S SO GRAPHIC! "Sexual content" is not the same as a warning for SA or R-pe. An adult can see a movie with sex or sexual nutidy- when they see that- but it's different to get straight assault on screen. Victims can watch movies/series with sex in them all good, you cannot just group consensual sex in the same assault or R-pe...)

The thing where Mammon (the only fat character that isn’t from the fucking background.) is like FIZZ YOU NEED TO LOSE WEIGHT. AS IF SHE COULD EVEN DRAW ANY DIFFERENT BODY SHAPE WITHOUT DYING. Like there is only Mimzy (hasn't appeared yet, not given any importance. In the female lead show). Mammon the piece of shit (does the same as Blitz, but he is actually fully bad.) His design is done with 80 fucking layers on top. Like all the test of the skinny character's clothes suck up to their body except for Mammon. His body is hidden in layers upon layers of clothing (that's all you got?). All you main guys need to fill "the skinny have nothing men" and "skinny woman with big hips and legs, but no fucking stomach"?

AND YES! VIV DOES DO THE FUCKING, "FAT = FOOD LMAOOO". You know the thing HH fans and hater where like the "Bee needs to fat thing is bad, cause of fat = food (only food) is reductive and shitty"

(Can I refer to how the show Bojack H, make Diane gain weight cause of anti depressants- and it wasn't a joke! And she was happier too?)

(mine, from post right below)

... like is a bundle of issues. And Viv will never accept that she might be /or is wrong. That's why it hits the fan with stuff. -And again I liked many of the little concepts and stuff in HB and the original pilot of Hazbin. Shit- I still like Sir Pentious and Nifty. I do like Mammon as much as he is a pack of problems to call out, I fucking love the piece of shit Australian jester- The artist work hard on it, and I'm happy it's an openly queer! (as limited as it gets, too....). I liked Huni-cast, I loved the original voice cast! -and that happens! I could be writing this about other stuff too, not only Hazbin... if I created this blog earlier- IT WOULD ALL BE ABOUT RWBY, DANGANRONPA, even svtfoe...Ladybug... or Agretsuko's ending too. So yeah, sorry for the long post (as if all my post weren't)

[gold-rhine]

Afab! Scaramouche x GN! Dom reader first time

A\N: I guess technically it’s hurt\comfort. sigh. I don’t like to center my writing of trans characters on negative emotions, if you’ve read my previous stuff, you know when I write afab! male characters it’s like. Just guys, who happen to have pussies, having sex. And that’s how I initially started to write Scara’s afab first time prompt, but his canon storyline is so overtly about struggle of dysphoria, anxiety and self-hatred that it felt wrong to not incorporate it into my explicitly trans fic. So I had to rewrite it completely and I’m taking his part out of the compilation so ppl who want to avoid heavy topics and just have a good time reading smut can skip it. Otherwise, give it a try if you like complicated brats, I think it’s one of my good pieces and it has a happy ending.

Warnings: not sfw. graphic descriptions of dysphoria, anxiety attack, dissociation, angst, self-hatred, allusion to self-harm. Fingering, edging, overstim, spanking, oral (character receiving), vaginal sex. Cock stands for strap too, as usual.

Wordcount: 2k

You try to start slow and gentle with him, but he huffs mockingly.

“How long are you going to be wasting my time?”

“This is literally your first time, you little git.”

“Maybe you mortals need to be coddled, but I’m not a weakling.”

But despite his bravado, he’s tense when you kiss him, he doesn’t know how to properly kiss you back and what to do with his hands, so they just limply hang down. When you start opening his clothes to reveal his chest, he’s becoming more and more wooden. You try kissing him, his cheek, his neck, but it doesn’t relax him and he refuses to meet your eyes, still painfully clenched up, jaw locked tightly, like he’s preparing for something bad that he needs to just get through. He is not out publicly yet, still clinging to the belief that if he conforms to her expectations well enough, his mother will accept him. He’s so critical of himself all the time, especially of his body, which is just horrible and wrong, he hates seeing it himself and hates even more the thought of someone else seeing him naked.

“Hey, are you okay?” you ask quietly. “We can stop.”

“No!” he snaps. “I’m great. I don’t need to stop, are you stupid?!”

He wants you, is the thing. He wanted you for some time, got butterflies in his stomach, fantasized about you at nights. He wanted you more than anyone else in his life. So if he can’t bear even for you to see him, to have sex with him, then obviously something is deeply, fundamentally broken in him, no hope for him at all.

So desperately, he tries to find a roundabout solution. He’s still wearing a skirt, which he normally hates, but now it’s convenient, you could fuck him without taking it off.

“We don’t have to take off my clothes. There’s nothing good to see anyway. ”

He sounds frantic and frustrated, eyes alight with anger, and this does not look like a good situation to continue to you.

“It’s not a big deal, we can do it some other time when…”

“It’s just a cunt, you don’t need to see it!” He finally meets your eyes and you realize the brightness in them is not from anger, it’s from held back tears, because he believes you are rejecting him no matter what you say, “Why wouldn’t you just fuck it?!”

He hates his body and he doesn’t even want to have a pussy, but somehow subconsciously he feels like the one he has is also wrong, not even good enough for fucking, that whoever sees it will also recoil in disgust, as he does when he sees himself in the mirror. It’s ridiculous and he knows it, but he can’t help feeling like this, and he hates himself even more for this idiotic, nonsensical weakness, so this spirals into this vicious, unending cycle of self-disgust that he can’t see a way out of. What the fuck is so wrong with him that he can have a person he wants so much touching him and still be petrified, when it’s so easy for everyone else, and when…

You scoop him into your arms, turn him around so he doesn’t have to face you and hug him close to your chest. When he gasps and tries to protest, you clasp your hand over his mouth, kiss his ear.

“Don’t worry baby, I won’t look. But you need to calm the fuck down.”

He wants to struggle, but he’s so touch starved that when you embrace him, your warm breath on his skin makes him melt, especially combined with the wave of relief from your promise. He stops fighting you, curls up into a little ball in your arms, hiding his blushing face in a pillow, humiliated by how good it feels to be held, how little it takes.

“You don’t want me,” he says, miserable, but stubbornly proud, when you let go of his mouth. “You just pity me. I don’t want you to be here just because you feel bad for me.”

“I want you. I just wouldn’t want to fuck someone while they’re having a nervous breakdown. You or anyone else, for that matter.”

“It’s fine,” he says firmly. “I’m fine. I will be fine. Just do what you want to me, ignore my reactions, and soon I won’t even feel anything. It’s okay. I’m a puppet.”

It’s the conviction in his voice, the absolute certainty that there’s no better option that breaks your heart a little.

“Fucking hell, do you even hear yourself?”

“Why?” he says, face pressed against pillow, but calm, limp in your arms, a puppet with cut strings, and you hate it. ”It’s true, I am not like normal humans. You don’t have to treat me as one. It’ll be easier for the both of us, in the end.”

Maybe I just want you to feel good, baby.”

“Pffft,” he snorts like it’s ridiculous, like you’re naive and this option is not even on the agenda, and also so stupid he doesn’t even want to argue about it. “Even for humans, first time is supposed to be painful.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“No, everyone knows it, and…”

You clasp your hand over his mouth again and he starts squirming, noises muffled by your palm, but his protests die down as soon as your other hand starts siding down his body. 

“You’re so bossy for a little brat, aren’t you?”

You flip up his skirt and slap his ass, and he jolts up in your arms, gasps against your skin. You stroke the affected skin first gently, then with more and more pressure, until groping it, fingers digging into his tender flesh. “Maybe be a good doll and let me handle this for you.”

He didn’t know it could feel like this, not even when he came thinking of you before, so good, like he’s safe, being taken care of, but also so sweetly helpless, unable to resist. His head is light and dizzy with desire when you caress his thighs, nervously and instinctively clenched up, and he can’t remember his millions of concerns when you whisper “Open up for me, baby.”

He lets your hand between his legs, you slide into his panties and find him already wet, but when you stroke his clit and quietly tell him “Good boy,” it runs through him like lightning, eyes opening wide, moan escaping from his lips, his entire body arching up against you. 

“Yeah, that’s right, baby,” you keep caressing his clit, and he writhes more and more against you. “Doesn’t it feel good?”

His hand grips abruptly at your wrist, his slender fingers digging deep, and for a moment you think he’ll try to tear you off him, but then you realize that instead, he presses you closer to himself. You smile against his neck, the hand that kept at his mouth slides down, stroking his throat and down to his chest. At the same time, you slide your other hand deeper in between his legs, find his wet, pulsing entrance. You push two fingers into him, and he shudders against you, his fingers clenching at your wrist, but his cunt is wet and ready for you, stretching sweetly and leaking, his hips bucking against you. His breath is quick and frantic, heart beating rapidly, and then his fingers find your hand that isn’t buried inside of his pussy, leads it down his chest and then under the clothes, under the bra, to find and caress his small tits, and he whines sweetly, arches up, hard nipples poking at your palm. But when you take your fingers out of his pussy and press the head of your cock against his entrance, he tenses up again, his muscles spasming.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing! Just do it! It’s supposed to feel good for you when it's tight, isn’t it? So just fuck it, I can take it!”

He shuts up with a tiny gasp when you press your teeth into the side of his neck, which lets you keep groping his tits.

“I’ve never met someone, for whom a ballgag is so obviously needed for survival before. It’s going to be okay, baby, relax.”

You stroke his clit and massage his breasts, cutting his protests short, his hands clutching helplessly at yours, not trying to stop you, but just trying to be grounded. 

“What if it’s not going to be okay?” he asks quietly, his face buried in a pillow. “What if I’m just built wrong, if it’s just always going to hurt when you try to fuck me?”

“Then we’ll figure out something to do that doesn’t involve penetrating your pussy. It’s not that hard, baby.”

“You would do that for me?”

“Of course, don’t be ridiculous. I’m not going to leave you just because I can’t fuck your cunt.”

“Really?” he asks, choked, trying for sarcasm, but failing badly, a raw edge in his voice. 

you would just switch to eating him out, but he seems pretty hung up on the inability to take you in, but from how easy it was to fit your fingers into him, how he seemed to enjoy it, you’re pretty sure the issue is psychological. So you stroke his clit, squeeze his breasts and kiss at the side of his jaw. You can feel his entrance involuntarily pulsing open and you push the head of your cock into him, feeling him stretching wider. He turns his head to you in alarm, but you catch his mouth in a kiss, keep caressing his body and slowly moving deeper into him. His fingers move from your wrists to intertwine with your hands, and when you squeeze back, he comes so quickly in your arms, before your cock is even fully sheathed inside of him. 

You hold him through the orgasm, then slide out of him, but then he turns in your arms, until he’s under you, he’s looking up at you, instead of being held. 

“I want more,” he breathes out, hot and heavy, and before you can think of the answer, he pulls his clothes open, opening his bra and revealing his chest, and then tugs his skirt and soaked panties down. He lies under you, both trembling and determined, his breath fast and nervous for exposing himself to you after trusting you won’t be disgusted with him, that you’’ll *want him*. 

“You’re so beautiful,” you run your eyes over him and kiss him, hard, and he presses himself against you, kisses you back with desperate abandon, but still when you break away from each other, he asks, his voice small. “Really?”

In response, you pepper him with hungry kisses, from the neck down the chest, ribs, stomach until you cover his swollen pink pussy with your mouth, while he’s leaking sweetly under your lips. When he comes, and he comes quickly, moaning loudly, you pull him close and kiss his lips with the taste of his own arousal.

“Really,” you tell him softly, while he’s blushing, soft and squirming against you. He shoots you a wry little look that you already came to associate with trouble coming, and says, trying to sound superior, but failing because of mischievous little smiles breaking his act

“So you like this body? That’s so degenerate of you, who would even like something so ugly and…”

He yelps and shuts up when you forcefully turn him over to lay on his stomach and slap his ass, but he looks pleased afterwards.

“There are much better ways to get spanked, you little brat.”

He arches his back, popping up his ass and spreading his thighs to show off his wet flushed pussy, entrance pulsing up open for you. Then he looks at you over the shoulder, eyes glinting in excitement, and sticks out his pink little tongue at you.

“Oh really?”

[spiderfreedom]

my suffering is profound and legitimate, yours is frivolous nonsense

Just reading a blogger I like but I had to laugh because she was talking about how beauty practices are bad for women's mental health, and she left a note saying "unlike gender affirming care! gender affirming care improves people's mental health and it's nothing at all like cosmetic practices."

TIL, when an older woman gets botox to remove her wrinkles and avoid facing the inevitability of decline and death, her problem is spiritual/structural and she needs to Do The Work to deprogram her ageism, unlike people with dysphoria, who of course have legitimate claims to cosmetic alteration.

And it is cosmetic - no part of the body that is altered by HRT or SRS or any of the feminization/masculinization surgeries is failing to function or functioning poorly. The problem is with the brain, which perceives the body parts as foreign or undesirable. We may sympathize with someone struggling with such a condition, but that does not change that the body parts being altered were already healthy and the alterations are cosmetic, and the relief being brought about is mental.

But plenty of trans people openly admit that separating body dysmorphia and gender dysphoria is a losing game. Contrapoints's video on "Beauty" (transcript) has the observation that she feels least dysphoric when she is meeting feminine beauty norms:

But I also think that trans people often talk like gender dysphoria is this intrinsic, personal experience that's always 100% valid and never has anything at all to do with the external pressure of beauty standards. But in fact, gender dysphoria is not sealed away in a vacuum away from the influence of societal ideals and norms.  [...] When I try to psychoanalyze myself, I find that my desires to look female, to look feminine, and to look beautiful are not exactly the same, but they're woven together so tightly that it's kind of difficult to untangle them. And the opposite is also true, that for me feeling mannish or dysphoric usually goes along with feeling ugly. I don't have a lot of days where I walk out the house thinking "well, I'm giving femme queen realness, but apart from that I look like absolute shit". 

Max Robinson's book "Detransition," from an FTM perspective, points out how the prospective trans man views his suffering as unique from and distinct from women's, even as the surgeries they seek are not especially different:

The stereotypical cosmetic surgery patient is seeking to become closer to being perfectly feminine - she wants to be beautiful. Transitional cosmetic surgery, on the other hand, is widely understood to mark the patient as ex-female and therefore unfemale; this is part of the meaning FTMs seek to create through surgery. FTM desire for cosmetic surgery is positioned as something totally different than the stereotype of a woman who 'merely' seeks beauty at her frivolous leisure. FTMs are deemed to have a rare affliction that needs urgent, life-saving treatment. Conversely, there is nothing more common than for a woman to become obsessed with her socially-deemed 'unsatisfactory' looks and desperately seek to change them, believing that such a change is the only thing that can restore her quality of life. This comparison will feel like an insult to the FTM. It will feel that way because we believe other women's suffering doesn't matter, and recognize how much ours does. Women's suffering is ordinary but ours is extraordinary. For us to matter, we must be differentiated from the silly little woman who wants to be pretty so badly she'll pay thousands of dollars (now billable to credit cards and loan programs designed to pay for elective surgeries!) to risk her life and health. These women don't need to be fixed; we do. FTMs know that we don't deserve a woman's fate but have not yet realized that no woman does.

I have more to write on the topic of the relationship between gender identity and beauty culture, but I'll end this one here. It makes sense that somebody who is identified with the opposite sex would also be affected by the standards of beauty expected of that sex. (Non-binary identification is more complicated and requires separate treatment.)

[zeldasnotes]

ASTEROID NOTES ☠️

READ BEFORE YOU PROCEED: These notes are about some very serious topics so you should NOT read this if you are sensitive. Butthurt comments will be removed since you have been warned. Please dont read this post if you are under 18.

⚠️🔞TRIGGER WARNING: Mentions of eating disorders, sex, abuse & trauma.

Sado(118230) conjunct Mercury can make a person very verbally abusive. This is the kind of person who knows exactly what to say to hurt you. They pick up on peoples insecurities very quickly. Can say something just to get a reaction out of someone. If they have a lot of Neptune and Venus in their chart they will mostly gossip behind peoples back but if they have Mars dominance they will be more straighforward.

Asteroid Paine(5188) shows what kind of pain you will suffer in your life. Paine conjunct Mars is physical pain, might have been a victim of assault or physical bullying. Paine conjunct Moon is one of the most painful ones. This person might have been a victim of a lot of emotional abuse in their childhood.

If you have Lilith in the 4th house your mother might sabotage you because she wants to keep you close to her. There are people with this placement who still lives at home in their 40s(nothing wrong with that ofc) and their mothers made it so that they will never be independent. This can sometimes be because the mother is lonely and uses the Lilith kid as her friend and confidant. The mother might abuse you to submission.

Excalibur(9499) conjunct personal planets gives a strong sense of self importance and if its conjunct the Moon this wont be seen by others. Because the person might not act arrogant outwardly but they have a deep rooted sense of self importance that can blow up if they are not treated as special. If this asteroid is conjunct Ascendant this will be seen by others. If this asteroid is also conjunct asteroid Medea(212) they will make anyone who doesnt treat them as important suffer the consequences.

People with Lilith in the 8th house be prepared to be accused and suspected for a lot of nasty stuff only because of your aura. But dont lose yourself, YOU know who you are.

People with Madhatter(6735) conjunct Midheaven might have been publicly accused for stuff they didnt do. And were made to suffer horrible punishment by society. Might have a reputation for doing something they didnt do.

If you see a person with Sado(118230) conjunct North Node in their natal chart be careful. Because anything conjunct North Node is a life theme.

Ive seen people with asteroid Ohno(5180) and asteroid Hazard(9305) conjunct Ascendant be people who created a lot of issues for anyone who got close to them.

Asteroid Lie(26955) conjunct Moon or in the 4th house is someone who had to learn how to lie in childhood, making them an extremely good liar in adulthood.

Maniac(228029) conjunct Ascendant,Sun or Moon can struggle a lot with mental health and people might see them as a maniac because of lack of understanding.

I found Moon & Ceres(1) aspecting Pluto to be the most common aspects for people suffering from an eating disorder. Also Lilith 2nd house.

Asteroid Split(12512) conjunct Mercury can be hard to live with because the is a split to the personality, thought process and mentality. One part of them says ”save that money for hard times” and the other part says ”spend it on unnecessary shit!”

Lilith in the 2nd house can give a self esteem so low that they start to self destruct to the point of being a danger to themselves. Especially in the form of illegal activity and unprotected sex. The hatred these people can feel towards their bodies is intense. And most times its because people have been abusing them and obsessing over their looks out of envy, and they listened and let the hate get to them.

Lilith in the 3rd house (if afflicted) might enjoy lying and playing mindgames to feel superior or just for fun. They got a really good imagination.

Lilith in the 11th house can signify someone who has been horribly victimized by a group of people. 11th house rules groups of people. For example Pamela Anderson who got this placement and she was gangr*ped as a teen.

Child(4580) in the 8th house or conjunct Lilith can mean you were seen as sexual and noticed by disgusting people as a child. In worst case can indicate abuse.

Be careful with making any deals with someone who got Swindle(8690) conjunct personal planets. This asteroid conjunct Mercury is someone who can talk anyone into anything.

I also saw Child(4580) conjunct Neptune and Lilith in the 1st house in a chart of a woman who was in a relationship with MUCH older men and she sounded and looked like a child. They admitted on the show(true crime) of being mesmerized by her young looks and young voice.

Ceres(1) Square Pluto can create an obsession with the body so much so that the person is afraid to show themselves naked or in tight clothes. There could also be a fixation with nutrition. Sometimes it can become so extreme they might even hate their body.

After watching a true crime show I looked at the chart of someone involved in a murder. She got someone else to do the murder for her but she was the mastermind behind it and got away with it. She got Fortuna(19) conjunct Pluto and Mars. The day of the murder transit Fortuna was conjunct her natal Ascendant indicating she was extremely lucky and would get away with whatever she did that day.

Memoria(1247) conjunct Nessus(7066) is an aspect Ive seen in a person who often lies to others about what happened. Might be a gaslighter. Will tell you that you did something you never did. She abuse people by using their bad memory.

BOOK AN ASTEROID READING ➞ PRICES

©️ 2023 Zeldas Notes

[lolaandthens0me]

Do you ever feel embarrassed or shamed for wearing diapers or do you embrace it head on..

Hello king d and thank you for this question.

Shame is a prevalent topic and something I know many of my friends in this community have in the past or are currently dealing with. Shame is a complex thing and can be so debilitating. The first thing I want to say is you are not broken. I'm saying this to all of us, including myself.

Also - you are not alone.

As someone who was not "factory-installed" with a diaper fetish, I avoided those early years of feeling so alone and different for liking this. I think this is a big part of why I've never experienced shame in wearing diapers. I didn't start wearing until I was 30. I didn't have an interest in wearing diapers until then, and I was ushered into this community with love and encouragement by my ex. I feel so lucky that my story was one of mutual exploration and enthusiastic interest in diapers.

I have however experienced shame in other areas of my life, as most humans have. My biggest struggle with shame in my adult life has been in realizing my desire to be with and love multiple people. And in my decision to leave my marriage of 16 years. As necessary and freeing as that whole transition has been, I felt extreme guilt and shame in choosing to live a more authentic, more kinky life. I'd ask myself, "Why couldn't I just be happy in the wonderful, loving, charmed life I had?" It's because it just wasn't me. Or perhaps, it just wasn't me anymore.

Things that have helped me get over this shame include talk therapy, yoga, gratitude exercises, and surrounding myself with people who I feel see me for me and love me in all of my authenticity. This includes all of you! Getting more involved in the abdl and greater kink community has helped me accept myself and all of my beautiful, kinky quirkiness a hundredfold. When I finally stepped out into the world of meeting people in person and going to events, this is when my guilt started to move through me in a profound way. Meeting and bonding with others in this community helped me gain confidence in showing my more authentic self to others outside of kink as well. I started loving myself more because love was reflected back to me in the warm embraces and deep conversations I was having. I was able to share more about my desires of the different kind of life I wanted to live. I found that a wider circle of more open-minded and accepting people organically grew around me in all areas of my life. This helped dissipate that guilt for leaving my old life little by little. My shame dissolved into wisdom gained and loving compassion for those around me. I focused on helping people and have been able to turn that shame into loving acceptance and guidance.

No matter what "different" kinks you are into, you are part of a community. Embrace that community. Find the time and will to get in the car and drive 3 hours to the nearest munch. Reach out to that person online that seems like you or you find interesting. Share your unique self with others and I bet that your shame will start moving through you as well.

[stuckinapril]

how do u overcome the fear of failure when ur not instantly good at something? i’ve been interested in engineering for a long time but i didn’t major in it because the high level calc and physics courses didn’t come to me naturally and i’m a perfectionist who hates failing or struggling 🥲

No one is too dumb for something. It’s not that you’ll just “never get” physics or calculus—it’s a matter of playing around w the material and seeing what works best for you. It doesn’t make those who process things at a faster pace superior to you; it just makes them different. Ik it might sting to struggle for a little bit, I’m also a perfectionist and I still have moments where I want to avoid topics bc I fear failure, but think of how satisfying it will feel once you get the ropes down & things just start making sense.

You have to put your desire to grow over your aversion to struggling at it. I’m personally terrified of stunting myself by never pushing myself hard enough, and that usually keeps my ego in check when it comes to stuff like this. If you’re not struggling, you’re not growing. Period.

You’ll have more to say by the time the interim of discomfort is over. This world is oversaturated w nepo babies / protégés / people who’re just naturally proficient… but they don’t have much to say as far as struggling to get good at something goes. The most digestible analogy I could think of is having acne & wanting to consult someone about it. Who do you think would have more to say about that: someone who never struggled w skin problems a day in their life, or someone who had major skin problems but now has glass skin? Probably the person who struggled but paved their way through it.

No one is going to point at you one day and laugh at you for having once struggled in physics or calculus. Once you’re an engineer you’re an engineer, same as anyone else. It’s very rare for people to care how long it took you to get to the finish line. They just care that you’re there.

My neuroscience prof said this once & it literally rewired my brain—but half the mental battle is just thinking that excelling at something is in your future no matter how long it takes, how hard it may be, or what you have to do to excel at it. Literally just telling yourself “I know I’ll get good at physics and calculus no matter what, I just need to figure out how” will help you sm. This is my form of manifestation lol even if I don’t believe in manifesting or anything like that. It’s legit just telling myself that I’ll get what I want eventually, so long as I work hard for it.

[onceuponaoneshotfanfic]

Something There (Chapter 12)

6.8k words

Roy Kent x Reader

Warnings: Language, fluff, references to smutty things, absolute fluffy fluff

Series Masterlist

A/N: This has... taken a while, lol. Honestly, I've been struggling with how to end this, mostly because I don't want to say goodbye to Roy and Bucky! But, all good (or at least halfway decent) things must come to an end. (Plus, I already know there'll be some blurbs featuring these two!) I hope you enjoy, and thanks for coming along for the ride ❤️

“What would you say is your greatest accomplishment?”

Roy nodded towards me and smirked. “Can I answer for her?”

Another “Manager Monday”. Apparently, people liked seeing Roy and me sitting together and answering questions. According to Keeley, the internet referred to us as the “Mum and Dad” of Nelson Road. It was weird and a little flattering, if I was being honest. And, frankly, getting to goof around and not-so-subtly flirt with Roy on camera during work hours was a pretty good deal.

“No, you cannot,” Keeley chuckled. “Go on then, greatest accomplishment.”

“Winning my Olympic Gold Medal,” I answered, elbowing Roy when I heard his good-natured snicker. “It was something my grandpa and I talked about for as long as I can remember. And he did come see me win it. After that, whenever he introduced me to people, it was always, ‘This is my granddaughter. She’s an Olympian.’” I smiled at the memory before turning to Roy. “What’s yours? That year you led the league in red cards?”

Roy’s smile had my heart doing somersaults. “You fucking know it.”

With lots of laughter and poor attempts to hide our flirting, we got through a couple more soccer-related questions before Keeley broached the topic we both knew she was dying to get to.

“So, the internet has been debating between two couple names for you two,” she announced mischievously. “‘Boy’ and ‘Rocky’. Which do you prefer?”

Roy rolled his eyes. “Keeley,” he growled, as I snorted, “We’re not answering that.”

While we were more than happy to let our friends at Nelson Road know about our relationship and annoy them with our PDA, we had agreed not to make any big public show of things- at least not until the season ended. We were enough of a distraction when we were just a few blurry photos the night of the gala; we didn’t want to take away any more media attention from the club, not when our teams were on the verge of something great.

Keeley rolled her eyes. “Fine, fine. But once you two go public, you know better get used to those questions, alright? Because you guys are really fucking cute, and the internet loves you already.”

“We are pretty cute, I’ll give you that,” I chuckled, taking Roy’s hand and smiling at the grumpy coach- my grumpy coach.

In return, he leaned over and pecked my lips gently. “That better not fucking end up online,” he warned Keeley, thick eyebrows raised threateningly.

“We’d break the internet with that little kiss,” she teased, winking at me. “Better be nice to me, or I’m leaking that clip.”

“Careful,” Roy replied with a nod in my direction, affection sparkling in his eyes. “I heard this one’s got a mean right hook.”

~

Roy leaned on the doorframe, enjoying the view. Who would’ve thought that just watching someone put on makeup would make him so fucking happy?

But seeing her standing in front of his bathroom sink and applying that red lipstick had his heart skipping a couple beats. He liked this domestic thing, the sleepovers and the driving to work together and the making dinner and… everything. He wanted more of it, he realized. He wanted more of her. The word was on the tip of his tongue, the word that had been floating around in his head since they got together, since the gala if he was being honest. Maybe even before that, he didn't fucking know. But it was too soon, he knew. Things were already going fast enough and, although she was diving in headfirst just as hard, Roy was still worried about scaring her off.

Her playful eyes met his in the mirror. “Can I help you, Kent?” she teased.

He shrugged and pushed himself off the doorframe so he could stroll over casually. “Just admiring the view.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed a slow kiss to her cheek. “I like when you wear that color.” Another kiss to her temple. “Especially when it ends up on my neck,” he hummed.

“Fuck off,” she chuckled, elbowing him gently. “Come on, let me finish getting ready. Otherwise, you’re going to be late to your game, Coach.”

“Fine,” he growled. “But after the match?”

She whirled around and grabbed his face gently, her eyes bright. “After the match, I promise my lipstick will be all over your neck.” She pressed her body close to his. “And maybe some other particular places.” Her red lips formed that smirk he loved, the one he couldn’t believe he used to find annoying. “But only if you win.”

Roy grinned, eyebrows raised at her appealing offer. “Well, lucky for me I’m the manager of a winning team.”

“That is lucky,” she purred, nudging her nose against his. “Now then, can I go put on my new Greyhounds kit?”

His grin widened. “You got a fucking Greyhounds kit?”

She shrugged. “Of course. I’m part of Richmond. I like the fellas. And I’m pretty obsessed with their pain in the ass manager.” She smiled. “It’s about time I start rocking some Greyhound gear.”

Roy’s heart was soaring. He loved wearing her name and number on his back, even if it made their relationship obvious to anyone who was paying even an ounce of attention. And he’d be lying his ass off if he said he hadn’t pictured what she’d look like wearing his name on a kit. Granted, some of those pictures in his head were in his bed rather than at a match, but still. What a fucking dream come true.

“Alright,” he sighed, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Hurry up then, Coach.”

Roy probably would have skipped to the living room if it weren’t for this shit knee. With no one around, he didn’t bother hiding his stupid grin, the one he found himself wearing quite often these days. The internet had gone a bit wild with images of him wearing her name on his Whippets kit; he could only imagine the silly little fan edits and TikToks that would surely follow this match.

“What d’you think?”

Roy’s old man heart nearly stopped in his chest. The bright red and blue material hugged her figure perfectly, tempting him to rip it off of her and forget all about his match. The little Greyhound logo settled beautifully over her heart, just like the Whippets manager had weaseled her way into his. He was officially obsessed with the picture in front of him, he decided.

“Fucking perfect,” he hummed. He twirled his finger in a circle, eyebrows raised. He just needed to see one more thing. “Give us a spin, then.”

Her grin widened as she turned around, something mischievous in her eyes. Roy sat up a little straighter, unashamed to be so obviously excited to see-

“Does that fucking say Tartt?” he spat, pure disgust smeared across his bearded face.

Her laughter rang in his ears, almost magical enough to make him forget about this absolute betrayal. He narrowed his eyes at her as she turned back around, shameless amusement on her face. “What’s the matter, Roy?” she teased as she made her way over to where he slumped on the couch. “Don’t you think I look good?”

He reached out and tugged her onto his lap, doing his best to keep his stern expression. “I think,” he growled against her shoulder, pawing at the material, “that you need to take that fucking thing off.”

With a giggle, she grabbed his wrist and looked at his watch, reminding Roy of the night of the gala- their very first night. “Ah, no time to change, I’m afraid.” She pressed a gentle kiss to his temple, careful not to leave any lipstick on his face. “Let’s go, Kent.”

Still grumbling and growling, Roy allowed himself to be pulled off the couch and dragged out of the house. When she wasn’t looking, he shook his head and smiled softly at her. Even with such a stupid name on her back, Roy still thought that seeing her in a Greyhounds kit was his new favorite sight.

He just couldn’t wait to rip the damn thing off of her.

~

“Let’s fucking go, Greyhounds!” I screeched, ignoring the way Keeley covered her ears.

After everything that had happened this season, both on and off the field, it was hard to believe it was coming to an end. Tonight, the Greyhounds were only one victory away winning the Premier League. And, after weeks of wearing Jamie’s name and other players’ names on my back just to mess with Roy (and the internet), I was proudly wearing his name and our number on my Greyhounds sweatshirt.

Keeley leaned close and held out her phone. “You’re already trending,” she teased, showing off a blurry photo of Roy and me entering the stadium, with me wearing Roy’s name and my signature red lipstick as I smiled up at the Greyhound manager. “And so is this.” There was Jamie Tartt, entering the stadium, wearing a fanny pack and, as usual, a hat. Unlike usual, this hat didn’t say “ICON”; instead, it proudly proclaimed “ROCKY”.

I rolled my eyes as the guys took their places on the field. “Is that a reference to that stupid ‘couple name’ thing?” I groaned. “Because you’re all supposed to be helping us keep quiet, you know.”

The sly way Keeley narrowed her eyes had me almost squirming. “Yeah. Because the way you two act during Manager Mondays and wearing each other’s kits is really discreet.” Suddenly, her suspicious expression turned somber, giving me a new urge to fidget. “How’s it all going by the way? You and him? The two of you seem pretty damn happy these days.”

“We are,” I assured her, not bothering to stop my wide smile from filling my face. “He’s… well, you know how he is.” I gave a soft chuckle as I looked down to the pitch and watched Roy lean over to say something to Coach Beard. Perfect, I decided. That was how Roy was; perfect. From the way he stood during games, shoulders squared and all business, to the way he always stole a quick kiss when our paths crossed at work, to the way his strong hands tenderly adored me in bed, to the lazy afternoons on his couch, to the phone calls and texts that flooded my phone whenever we were apart, to the way he made me laugh and smile in between all those moments. Roy Kent was fucking perfect. “He’s Roy.”

Keeley’s voice brought me out of my thoughts. “I do know how he is,” she said carefully. The little clearing of her throat had me turning my eyes to her. Her eyebrows knitted together, as if she thought I would slug her at any moment. “And I hope this isn’t totally inappropriate, but we were talking last week- and he was saying he’s so fucking happy,” she quickly added, probably seeing my slowly raising eyebrows. “He’s just worried about being… clingy?”

I couldn’t help but laugh at how completely apprehensive my friend looked. “Oh, Roy’s clingy as fuck,” I said. “But I like it.” I shrugged, my eyes returning to the gruff man on the pitch that had weaseled his way into my heart. “I… I’m clingy too,” I admitted. “I think that’s why we work, actually. We’re both pretty intense people, we both do everything at full speed, you know? So, one person’s idea of ‘too clingy’ is my idea of ‘absolutely fucking perfect’.”

The smile on Keeley’s face was filled with joy and a bit of relief. “I’m so happy to hear that,” she said, grabbing my hand and intertwining our fingers. “Really. He deserves the best and you-” She smacked a kiss to my cheek. “-are the fucking best, babes.”

~

The tips of Roy’s fingers tingled as he stared down Jamie, who was making a mad dash towards their opponent’s goal. There were only moments left before stoppage time ended in a tie and the match inevitably went to extra time, which had been a dangerous place for the Greyhounds all season long. If Jamie couldn’t beat both the clock and goalkeeper, it felt like their season would end in defeat. And Roy couldn’t have that. Not this season. Not when everything seemed to be ending so well, on and off the pitch.

Only one defender stood between Jamie and the goal. Roy held his breath as he watched Jamie move this way and that, doing a maneuver he knew Tartt hadn’t learned from any of the coaches on the pitch; he’d learned this particular move from the Whippets. And he’d apparently learned it well, because suddenly Jamie was in front of the goal, kicking the ball and-

“JAMIE TARTT SCORES!”

Less than a moment later, the familiar sound of the referee’s whistle had all of Nelson Road in pure pandemonium. Roy sprinted onto the field, not caring about his stupid knee, and was instantly swallowed by the swarm of blue that was his team. He grabbed and hugged whoever was close by, not caring to see anything other than their wide eyes and wider smiles. He wondered ever so briefly if anything in his career would ever live up to this moment; he knew nothing before ever had. And, if he was being quite honest, he could live with this being the happiest moment of his career.

He was hugging Jamie tight, mumbling something about being fucking proud of the prick, when he heard some of his players call his name in teasing voices. He knew those tones; he’d been hearing them a lot lately, caused by one thing- well, one person- every fucking time.

Sure enough, when Roy glanced over his shoulder, the sight made his smile grow.

There she was, clad in her Greyhounds sweater, running at him. He knew she’d regret this run in the morning- they’d probably spend the whole next day icing ankles and knees- but she didn’t look like she cared. In fact, she looked like she didn’t care about anything other than Roy.

She threw herself into his arms and let him envelop her in a tight hug, one far too tight for two platonic managers to share.

“I’m proud of you,” she huffed into the crook of his neck. “So fucking proud, Roy.”

He released her slightly so she could gaze up at him, her eyes full of adoration and joy. Deep in his chest, Roy held a hope that she would stare at him like this for the rest of their lives. “Fucking come here,” he murmured, his hands leaving her hips to cup her face.

At some point over the season, Roy had lost count of how many times he’d kissed this woman. There were some kisses that were irrevocably stamped on his heart- their first kiss while sitting on his couch listening to Sam Cooke, the kiss in the rain after he’d given her the Team USA football, the sweet kiss they’d shared after he asked her to be his girlfriend- but this was probably his favorite so far. It was soft and slow, and it made the roar of the crowd go silent in Roy’s mind. He knew there was no going back from this; there would be photos of this kiss in the papers, and he’d definitely be asked about it in the post-match press conference. They’d once again be the subject of rumors and speculation, with Twitter users trying to put together a timeline and reanalyzing every little interaction they’d had over these last few months. It was going to be pure fucking hell.

But thankfully, his own personal heaven was in his arms.

When they parted, she wore a wide grin, the kind that made his heart skip a beat. “Congrats on the win, Coach,” she chuckled as she ruffled his hair. “Can’t believe you guys beat us to it.” She kissed his lips effortlessly, as if she kissed him on the pitch every day. “Whatever happened to ladies first?”

Roy shook his head and tightened his grip on her. “Just means the Whippets get to be the grand finale.”

“Grand finale,” she repeated, giving his jacket a tug to pull him back to herself. “I like the sound of that, Kent.”

Roy could’ve stayed on that pitch forever, holding her and kissing her, finally able to show everyone how he felt about her and how she miraculously felt about him. The feeling of winning the whole fucking thing, and having his girl in his arms, and hearing his team shout and celebrate, it was intoxicating as hell.

But, as Keeley reminded him with a giggle, there was pomp and circumstance to get through.

His whole body shook with excitement as he stood by Rebecca’s side and received the trophy. In the smiling crowd, he locked gazes with those familiar eyes. Could his smile get any bigger? he wondered. Surely that would be the morning headline: Richmond’s Roy Kent finally knows how to smile. And damn, if it wasn’t something he wanted to keep doing.

Once things began to die down on the pitch, Keeley began herding him towards the press conference he still had to do before celebrating with the team. He kept an arm wrapped around the Whippet’s manager as he finally made his way through the halls, to the familiar door that led to the press room. He paused in front of it, thinking about all the less-than-stellar moments he’d had in there. Announcing his retirement. Watching Jamie have a meltdown. Throwing a chair at George fucking Willows after being asked about Keeley. Being asked intrusive questions about his love life and the drama of this season. Some crappy things happened in that room, he admitted to himself.

But today? Today he walked in with his head held high; for the first time in a long time, Roy Kent felt nothing but good about himself and his life. His team was officially the best in the Premier League, and he had the girl of his dreams to kiss after the match. He allowed himself a smile as he settled in front of the cameras, enjoying the surprise on the reporters’ faces when they caught sight of his expression. In the back of the room, Keeley gave him a thumbs up before wrapping her arm around the Whippets’ manager, who shot him a wink that had his stupid grin widening.

Yeah. This might be the best fucking day of his whole fucking life.

The clamoring began before he even sat down. Roy rolled his eyes, albeit good-naturedly for once, and pointed to a familiar face, a reporter he didn’t fully hate. “Yeah?”

“Coach Kent, how does it feel to lead the Greyhounds to do the impossible?”

Roy leaned into his seat, determined to at least look relaxed. “Feels fucking great,” he said. “And I’m going to ignore that ‘impossible’ thing.” He smirked at the tittering from the reporters. “Because honestly, this team is fucking incredible. And anyone who thought this was ‘impossible’ for those lads hasn’t been paying attention.” After answering a few questions about the season and the match, he could see the journalists beginning to get restless. It was clear what they would be asking next. He pointed to another raised hand. “You.”

“A certain coach had an… interesting way of congratulating you,” the reporter asked in a timid voice. “Anything to say about that?”

For a moment, he glanced to the back of the room. Not to Keeley, like he usually did during these things, but to the pair of eyes that gazed back with a beautiful mixture of adoration and teasing. Another wink encouraged him to lean forward on his elbows and ignore the heat rising in his cheeks. “There’s a lot I can say about that,” he chuckled. “But, all I will say is this-” He looked directly at those bright eyes. “-I’m fucking mad about that woman. She seems to think I’m alright, which is nice. And she continues to be one of the most impressive managers I’ve had the honor of watching on the pitch. And I am looking forward to seeing her and the Whippets kick some serious ass next weekend.”

More questions were hurled at him, mostly excited and kind ones, but Roy didn’t really hear them. He was too focused on trying not to simply sit and stare at that pretty face that smiled at him and made him feel like he’d won more than the Premier League.

~

I pulled my dark blue blazer on and turned to get a good look at myself in the mirror. Dark blue blazer, white blouse, best jeans, hair up in a ponytail, red lipstick applied, necklace my grandfather had given me around my neck. This was it, I decided. This was the outfit of a Women’s Super League-winning coach.

“You look fucking amazing.” A pair of strong arms wrapped around me as a scruffy kiss smacked my cheek. “Like a fucking winner.” Roy smirked at me in the mirror. He looked damn good in his white Whippets kit, the number six on his back and something that kind of looked like love in his eyes. If my entire season wasn’t on the line, I’d be debating ripping off that jersey and throwing Roy onto the bed. “Gonna wear your gold medal?” he teased.

With an eyeroll, I slipped out of his grasp and sat on my bed. “Just toss me my sneakers, Kent.”

Roy raised an eyebrow as he moved towards my familiar Converse that sat perfectly next to the closet. “Wow, I get to touch the Match Day shoes? What an honor.”

“Yeah,” I chuckled as I took the shoes from him and tugged them on. “I’m hoping your luck from last weekend rubs off on me and the Whippets.” I knew that underneath my joking tone, he could hear my nerves. Roy always seemed to know what was going on beneath the surface.

Sure enough, he sat down next to me and took my hand. “Oi.” His voice was as soft as his gaze. “You’re going to be fucking brilliant.” He kissed my forehead. “Your team is incredible. You are incredible. You’re Coach Bucky. World Cup winner, Olympic champion, NWSL Coach of the Year.” He shook his head as he rattled off my résumé with a smile on his face. “You’ve fucking got this.”

“I know.”

He raised his thick eyebrows at me expectantly. “But?”

“But…” I sighed heavily and let my head fall against his shoulder. “There’s just so much pressure,” I murmured. “It’s our first season. And with all of my personal drama…” I closed my eyes. “I have to win. I have to show that I’m a fucking winner. If I don’t, I’ll forever be that slutty American who slept with Roy freaking Kent.”

He gave me a light shove. “Oi, I thought you liked sleeping with Roy Kent.”

“Roy,” I huffed. “I’m being serious. I need to win today. I have to prove that I deserve to be taken seriously. Everything I’ve built this year is on the line. If we don’t do this, I don’t know-”

“Babe.” Roy shifted and lifted my legs until they draped over his lap. His arms felt like a warm blanket as they wrapped around my waist and tugged me close. “You don’t have to prove shit to anyone. You’re lightyears better at this job than I am-” A snort slipped out of my nose. “-and everyone knows it, no matter what happens today. You are brilliant and accomplished. And if it’s not this year, it’ll be next year.” He gave me a squeeze. “But I believe in you. Your team believes in you. Rebecca and Keeley and all the Greyhounds believe in you. Fuck what anyone else says.” He kissed my forehead, lingering for a moment. “You can always just punch them anyways.”

Fucking Roy, making me laugh and forget my anxiety. As I smiled through my nerves and kissed his mouth, probably smudging my lipstick, all I could think was how badly I wanted him to make me laugh for the rest of my fucking life.

~

The feeling of pride in Roy’s chest was unlike anything he’d ever felt in his life. The energy of the stadium vibrated through his whole body, and he couldn’t help the lump in his throat when he saw how absolutely packed the place was. He walked confidently into the owners’ box holding Phoebe’s hand tight. He smiled down at his bouncing niece, with her bright eyes and her own Bucky kit. She was talking a million miles a minute, reminding him of Keeley, chattering all about how well she knew the Whippets would do and asking if Roy was really going to take her onto the pitch after the match if the Whippets won. Her yammering only stopped so she could give Keeley a hug and take her seat next to the blonde.

“Ready to see your girl in action?” Keeley teased over Phoebe’s head as Roy took his seat.

His broad smile would have been enough of an answer. “She’s gonna be so fucking brilliant,” Roy laughed. “I can fucking feel it.” He narrowed his eyes at Phoebe’s expectant face. “Add it to my tab,” he grumbled.

To his surprise, Phoebe shook her head. “You get a free pass today, Uncle Roy,” she informed him earnestly. “It’s a very big day for Bucky and you’re probably very stressed.” She nodded, her demeanor comically matter of fact. “So, I’ll let it slide. Just for today.”

“Thanks, Pheebs,” he chuckled, kissing the top of her head. He nodded to Rebecca as she took her spot on Keeley’s other side. “Boss,” he greeted with a salute.

“Coach Kent,” she replied, a sparkle in her eye as she saluted back. “Beautiful night for a game, hmm?” Despite her calm tone, Roy could see the way her fingers drummed on her lap nervously.

He smirked at her. “Ready to be the owner of two winning teams?”

She shook her head, holding back a laugh. “Not thinking about it,” she announced firmly. “I am just going to enjoy the match, cheer for our girls, and feel proud of them no matter what.”

Keeley, Roy, and Pheobe all just stared at her until a smile broke out across her face.

“Alright, yes, I’m fucking ready!” She turned her attention to the field, where the Whippets were beginning to line up. “Let’s go, Whippets!”

The quartet were joined in the box by Beard and Nate and Jamie, who looked quite comfortable wearing Kira Malone’s name on his back. There were deafening cheers all around as the Whippets were introduced. Roy’s whole body felt warm as he bellowed their names; even without being head over heels for their manager, Roy would feel beyond proud of these women. He’d watched them work all season long, through sweat and injuries and fatigue and the harsh media. And they’d done it all with smiles on their faces and their heads held high. They were impressive and inspiring, and Roy already knew they would win that trophy.

And they had ninety minutes to do it.

After the players were introduced, the Whippets’ coaches stepped forward to shake hands with the opposing coaching staff.  Of course, every eye in the owners’ box turned to Roy with mischievous smirks on their faces.

Not that Roy noticed. He was too busy jumping to his feet so he could cup his hands around his mouth and bellow, “Let’s fucking go, Buck!”

With that colossal voice of his, no one was surprised to see the manager look up in their direction. Her red-lipped smile was clear as day, and they all oohed teasingly when they saw her blow a kiss up towards them.

“Obviously that was for me,” Jamie joked, turning around and winking at his manager.

“Fuck off,” Roy chuckled as he resumed his seat. He gave the striker a light shove before turning his attention back to the pitch. Fuck, how was he supposed to focus on the match that was starting when she was down there, looking strong and confident and powerful- not to mention gorgeous. His heart hammered in his chest as he watched her in her element, shouting excitedly at her team and reaching out for Luke’s hand every now and then. Some part of him wanted to watch her forever; the other part of him couldn’t wait for the ninety minutes to end so he could wrap his arms around her and celebrate her victory.

A stray piece of popcorn smacked him in the temple and diverted his attention.

Keeley shot him that shit-eating grin and tossed a fresh piece of popcorn into her mouth. “You’re drooling, Roy-o.”

He narrowed his eyes at her and reached over Phoebe’s lap to steal a handful of Keeley’s popcorn. “Yeah, yeah,” was all he could manage. He smiled down at Pheobe, whose attention was rapt with the match in front of her. “Having fun?” he asked loudly, amused to find that her trance was just as intense as the one he’d just been in.

All the little blonde could do was nod, mouth slightly agape, as she watched the Whippets score their first goal of the match. The entire stadium was on their feet, deafening with their shouts and cheers as the players embraced. But of course, the only thing Roy could see was their manager and the way she looked up at the owners’ box, right at him.

~

Lucas was holding my hand so tight he was going to cause permanent damage to my blood circulation. Not that I cared; we had succeeded in keeping the game tied 2-2 all through stoppage time, and now Amanada Camacho had managed to secure a penalty kick. With my free hand, I gripped my necklace tightly, as if the little gold charm would somehow direct Amanda’s kick into the right direction.

The forward made her move, running towards the ball, and gave a powerful kick-

That sailed perfectly into the corner of the goal, out of the goalie’s reach.

In unison, Lucas and I let out sharp screams and crashed into each other’s arms, trading kisses on cheeks and foreheads. When the referee blew her whistle, we sprinted onto the field, greeting our mob of Whippets in a pile of hugs that evolved into a mountain of players and staff tumbling over each other. It was loud and chaotic- and beautiful. Somewhere in the reveling, tears had formed in my eyes, but they didn’t fall until I found myself face to face with Rebecca’s glowing smile and own teary eyes.

“Well done,” she said simply, wrapping me in a tight hug. “Well fucking done.”

I melted into her embrace- fuck, how was this woman so perfect that even her hugs were the best?- and finally let the tears fall. “Thank you for believing in me,” was all I could manage.

She shook her head. “That’s just the Richmond way,” she chuckled as Keeley approached us.

The blonde wrapped us both into a group hug, chattering about how brilliant the girls had been, how brilliant I had been, how we were going to have the biggest celebration ever once we left the stadium, how I’d better have brought a change of clothes like she’d instructed me so we could party properly.

But her excitement was drowned out by my beating heart when I caught sight of a pair of beautiful brown eyes sparkling at me.

“Kent!” I shrieked, breaking free of my bosses’ warm embraces. I sprinted towards him, this time under stadium lights and falling confetti rather than pouring rain, and launched myself into his arms. He caught me with ease, lifting me and letting me wrap my legs around him. With a couple of first place finishes under our belts, we were finally free to be as publicly insufferable as we wanted- which I planned on taking full advantage of. I figured a dramatic kiss on the pitch was a good start, and Roy seemed to agree as he attached his lips to mine hungrily.

“So. Fucking,” he huffed into my mouth between kisses, “Proud.” He held me tighter, pressing my chest harshly to his. “You’re amazing.”

I finally removed myself from the kiss so I could bury my burning hot face in his shoulder. He let me plant my feet back on the ground, but kept his arms firmly around me. “Roy,” I murmured, realizing I had something important to tell him. “I-”

“Bucky!” Phoebe jumped onto my back, nearly knocking me over.

“Pheebs!” I laughed, turning away from Roy so I could hug his niece. “I’m so glad you came,” I gushed. “Your team wins a championship next, right?” When I glanced up at Roy over Phoebe’s head, he was already gazing at me, something soft on his face. He’d been doing that a lot lately, I realized as I returned his smile. This gentle stare that held something significant, something I felt sure one of us would break down and say soon. Something I’d wanted to say since I first ran out in the rain to him.

But I didn’t have time to think about that. Not when my team was calling for me to join them to be crowned the Women’s League champions and hoist the trophy in the air and beam with pride as cameras flashed in our faces.

I was still beaming as I held Roy’s hand in the club the Greyhounds and Whippets took over to celebrate both of our victories; Rebecca was something of a blubbering mess as she took the microphone early in the night and thanked both clubs for their hard work, thanked our coaching staffs for surviving the wild ride that had been our season (Beard raised his eyebrows in our direction, clearly remembering being frustrated enough to lock us in a shed), and above all thanked Keeley for being her partner in the adventure of establishing what she knew would be a great legacy of women’s football in Richmond.

By the time Rebecca finished and called me up to make my own speech, I was close to joining Rebecca in her tears; unfortunately, I knew I wouldn’t look as graceful as she did once my waterworks began flowing. So instead, I focused on smiling as I kissed her cheek and took the accepted the microphone from her.

“How’re we feeling, Richmond?” I was answered with cheers and shouts from our teams and their loved ones. “I’ll try to keep this brief so we can get back to partying- although my Whippets probably already know I’m not as capable of brevity as the Greyhounds say Coach Kent is.” The mere mention of Roy’s name provoked catcalls and wolf whistles from both squads. “Calm down,” I laughed, shaking my head when I caught Roy’s not-really-annoyed eyeroll aimed at Jamie. “I just want to say thank you,” I continued once the commotion subsided. “Thank you to the Whippets, for all of your incredible work and dedication. I think we made it clear to the Women’s Super League and all of England that W.F.C. Richmond has arrived.” Cheers again filled the club, as well as my heart. “Thank you to our fearless leaders Keeley and Rebecca, for believing in us every step of the way.” Keeley’s little bow alongside Rebecca’s refined wave had me giggling into the microphone. “A special thanks to our dear Greyhounds. It was an adjustment learning to work together-” Coach Beard’s exaggerated groan could be heard loudly over everyone else’s teasing hums. “-but we managed.” I shot Roy a wink that was returned with a blown kiss. “And, personally, more than anyone else I have to thank my right-hand man.” My eyes found Lucas’s. “Luke,” I sighed. “You formed me into the player I was so proud to be. You mentored me into the coach I’ve become. You were insane enough to follow me here for this adventure, you held my hand during every scary moment and picked me up every time I fell. We came here for greatness-” I shrugged, gesturing to the assembled group of champion athletes. “- and I think we fucking found it.” Both teams hollered in agreement, but still managed to hear my last few words: “Richmond on three! One, two, three-”

“RICHMOND!”

In a blur of cheers and hugs and kisses, I finally found myself back in Roy’s embrace, accepting the chaste kiss he pressed to my lips.

“Wanna sneak off for a moment?” he hummed in my ear. “After that, I need to give you a proper kiss. And if I do that here, I think Beard might actually be fucking ill.”

I leaned into his touch. “Can’t have that,” I teased back.

We wandered away from the bar, ignoring the eyerolls from our friends when they caught sight of our lovesick expressions. We had warned them early on; they were going to miss the days of our screaming matches and insults. These days, instead of walking in on arguments, they walked in on make out sessions. Jamie had more than a few times accused us of trying to make him go blind. Even Keeley grimaced when I asked if she wanted to continue Manager Mondays next season, clearly regretting asking us to be more affectionate once we were public.

All season everyone bitched at us about getting along. We were only giving the people what they wanted.

Roy clearly knew what he wanted when he found a dark, isolated corner where he could press my back against a column that hid us from view. His mouth melded with mine as his hands lazily stroked up and down my sides. I sighed against his kiss and snaked my arms around his neck, pulling him flush against me. My mind was filled with thoughts of the weeks ahead of us; sure, we’d have a shit ton of press, but once the circus was over, this was all I wanted to worry about. We’d floated the idea of going on some fabulous vacation together, turning our phones off and isolating ourselves in a little bubble of sex and food and laughter. I’d told Roy we could settle plans once the seasons were ended, which he had seemed thrilled about. Or at least as thrilled as Roy could manage. But as I kissed him harshly and melted in his arms, I briefly considered that spending our entire break locked in his house with nothing but takeout, movies, and his bed sounded just as good as whatever destination he had in mind.

Still, we’d worked hard and gone through a lot; we deserved a damn vacation.

“You’re fucking incredible,” he mumbled as he began to wander down my neck. “Seeing you on the pitch today… and up there with your speech…” He groaned softly and pressed a slow kiss to my collarbone. “Don’t think I’ve ever loved you more than I do right now.”

My grip on him tightened as my body tensed up. Not bothering to hide my wide smile, I tugged at him until his face was inches away from mine. “You love me?”

His smile was sloppy and bashful, my favorite sight. “Fucking ’course I do,” he murmured as he brushed some hair out of my face. “You’re something special, you know that? I think I’ve loved you since that moment in the shed at the fucking retreat, hearing you say we were both going to win the whole fucking thing. Called it ‘fairy tale shit’.” He touched his nose to mine. “This right here, this is some fairy tale shit.”

“It is,” I breathed before closing the space between your mouths, pulling Roy into a tender kiss. Before I could deepen it into something a bit harsher, he pulled back, eyebrow quirked playfully. “What?” I chuckled.

“I love you,” he whispered, raising both eyebrows now.

I nodded, trying to hide the grin that was growing on my face. “So I heard.”

He rolled his eyes and took my face in his hands. “Anything you care to say to me, Coach Buck?”

He knew. Of course he fucking knew. He knew from the way I kissed him and the way I looked at him and the way I held him close whenever I could. He knew from the way we made love at night and made breakfast together in the morning. He knew from the way our fingertips brushed when we passed each other at work. He knew from the million little things we shared every day.

But sometimes, a fella needs to hear the words.

“Fine,” I huffed, all faux exasperation as I tugged his face back towards mine. “I guess I love you too.”

Taglist: @optimisticsandwichgladiator@reading-blogs@callmecasey81@ladygrey03@puckyou-forpuckssake@royalestrellas@shineforever19@rae4725@burnafter-reading@her-fandom-sanctum@infinetlyforgotten@giggling-sewer-ginger@whataloadofmalarkey@agentstarkid@kingleahhh@tortilla-maria1@geekgirl1996@amatswimming@meg-ro@spicyraccoonlordking@spaghetti-dad187@needlesthreadandbuttons@elissaaa@imsoluckyeverythingworksoutforme@reverieisaway@djskakakaksjsj-blog@thatonedogwithablog@allthetroubleiveseen@sunderland-6@netflix-addict@paranormal-is-my-life@jill2629-blog@itsbuzzfeedbitch@pretzelactivist@amieinghigh@kashee-h@beingalive1@mythicalbinicorn@needyomega@kno-way-home@janalustare@sssatorus@its-a-rich-mans-world@confessionsofatotaldramaslut@hesitant-alien33@katie-sheep-111@bonesbonesetc@seacactusplant@thebookwormlife @dreamscape22 @rae4725@timelordhunterandmysterysolver@littleesilvia@anonurs@itswhateveripromise@chewymoustachio @gcidrvsh @katdahlali @ohwauwdoritos @lemoonandlestars @perfectwhispersvoid@seatbacksandtraytables@kingleahhh@maackiimoo @isuspectitwasthenargles @bannsshheeebiittcchhhh @charkachow @gcstnml @queen-of-the-downtown-scene

[pluviophiliced]

“Not moving on is worse.”

In the context of season two, I struggle to reconcile the intersection of sincerity and comedy, and the idea of what pains and traumas we are meant to understand at the deeper level of what trauma is with those that serve only the purpose of comedic timing. This isn’t limited to one character, but rather to the season as a whole.

Season one highlighted childhood trauma and the ability to move on from that, becoming the best adult version of oneself possible. We see this evident in Ed, Stede, and Jim specifically as we are allowed to explore their pasts and their traumas — and we can presume that no one on the crew of the Revenge is without trauma (Fang’s dog, anyone?) of some kind that they carry with them. Stede handles his traumas and how to process them through running away and avoiding the issue until he no longer can. Ed does something similar, though he is able to craft a facade to use as a shield and a weapon, even if he never delivers a killing blow himself. Jim dedicates their life to revenge.

We witness all of these characters allow the defining characteristic of love to be allowing themselves to be saved and valued for who they are — not for what they can offer.

When season two opens, we as an audience see Ed at, arguably, his worst (I say arguably because we didn’t see Blackbeard in his prime, so… do with that what you will, I suppose). We see how this affects beloved and treasured characters, as well as new characters that we have yet to fall in love with. We see Fang fall apart not once but twice within the first two episodes alone. In episode two, we see Ed — a much beloved and adored character who we know intimately — lash out when confronted for his behavior. He lashes out at his crew and physically mutilates his closest confidant for daring to question him. “But that’s piracy!” And you’re right! But don’t we watch the first episode of season one highlight how much Stede Bonnet wants to change piracy? Isn’t this show supposed to be about found family, and getting better, and finding healing? In which case, we’re watching Ed behave abusively in the wake of his mental struggles as he once again attempts to hide behind the same facade that has protected him in the past. Ed suffers this breakdown in response to not one but two perceived rejections from the two people he would claim to be the most important in his life, and in a classic mental illness fashion, he barricades himself off and settles into the persona that is everything he doesn’t want to be.

His crew fears him. They’ve been kidnapped and essentially held hostage under the man they believe to have murdered their crew — their friends — and are watching him continue to devolve. Enter Izzy Hands and Jim Jimenez. Izzy is well aware of his hand in Ed’s state. “Well, he instigated it!” He did. He wanted back a version of Blackbeard who he saw as safe territory: a necessary evil for the continued survival and safety of the crew, ship, and Ed and Izzy themselves. And then he watched Edward “Only Ever Killed One Person Personally” Teach fulfill the legend he’s always been known as, and watched him become someone who couldn’t care less about life or death or anything in between. Ed surpassed and buried the version of Blackbeard that Izzy wanted to return, and he was force-fed the consequences of this with an unavoidable cruelty. “Well, he deserved what he got! Violence was always on the table, because it’s piracy!” But once again, we’re operating under the assumption that the big themes of this show are healing from trauma and being worthy of being loved even if we’ve done bad things. 

While we’re on that topic, though, let’s explore that. Ed’s childhood trauma comes from his abusive father. He carries the weight of that abuse with him well into adulthood, as well as the weight of what he had to do to survive it. What he had to do to save his mother. This season sees him abusing those around him. Despite this, despite his erratic behavior and the mistreatment of his crew, he is still loved (by crew and fandom both, if I may add). He is still loved by Stede, despite the trail of blood he leaves in his wake. Stede is still longing to find him, despite knowing what he’s done and what he’s now capable of, and this continues to reiterate that idea of you deserve to be loved even when you’ve done wrong.

And then, Stede finds him.

We as an audience witness Ed make the choice to stay alive. We watch the thought process, we see that he chooses to fight for that love that comes alongside being saved. Being wanted. Being seen for who you are and loved because of it. And up to here, I’m on board. I’m excited to see what’s next and how Ed will reconcile for what he’s done and the harm he’s caused at the hands of his mental illness — because the truth is, we harm people when we aren’t adequately being responsible for our mental illness. This is a real-world thing. We lash out when we’re hurt, or when we’re rejected, or when we’re struggling. When we’re suffering, we often can’t see past ourselves to see whether or not we’re also causing others to suffer. This does not make us bad people — and it didn’t make Ed one. And then the “apology” came and went. The only member of the crew Ed really sits and ever has a drawn out conversation with about anything is Fang, and even this is somewhat shallow. Fang absolves him and moves on. We don’t get to see whether or not Ed ponders this conversation long-term or whether or not he battles with himself over how to move on. 

We’re left with a traumatized crew who semi-accepted a half-hearted apology and a beloved character who hasn’t actually been held accountable at all. “But he apologized and wore the bell and fixed that door latch!” Yes, and? He physically mutilated his first mate, instructed him to be killed, traumatized an entire crew — and this all takes a backseat to his relationship with Stede. And what a stunning scene between the two of them in the moonlight, where Ed finds it in him to ask to take things slow. Where he recognizes his needs and vocalizes them. I left this episode feeling so hopeful, because half-baked apology aside, Ed is actively learning to vocalize his thoughts and ask for what he needs when he recognizes in himself that something is going to be harmful to him. We had a kiss, we had Ed asking for help when he needed it, we had a proposal, we had “not moving on is worse,” and even knowing only three episodes remained, I left feeling like we had been so perfectly set up to see how things were only going to keep improving. 

In the first episodes of the season, we see murderous raids and mutilated first mates and two suicide attempts (though I suppose one was more of a mass murder-suicide attempt?) and these are all thrown together. In episode six, Stede deescalates a raid from a bloodbath of his own crew and sends another crew on their way with the lessons and values that he has been pursuing since the first episode of the first season. He then, in a parallel to the French ship of season one, causes a man’s death. This is highlighted as a turning point, something that can’t be ever moved on from. (“There’s no coming back from that.”) But what about the other traumatic events of the season that are treated as jokes? Izzy’s drinking, day in and day out, bottle after bottle after bottle — coping with the reality of his life and the way it’s been altered beyond recognition. The mop he used as a makeshift leg snapping, forcing him to pull himself away from the crew with his own hands. Lucius’s mention of being sexually assaulted and Stede’s look of disgust, the way he literally runs away from the conversation. Lucius never gets to air out his traumas, not really, not with someone who listens and tells him he’s safe and allows him to talk things through. Even Pete gets ill instead of being able to offer support.

I struggle to reconcile what is and isn’t comedy in this season, or what violence is meant to be taken for what it is. The Ed and Izzy breakdowns in episodes one and two sat far too close to my chest for me to look past them into comedy — and the suicidality of both men was glossed over and moved on from so quickly, never explored. Did Izzy’s “I wanna go” in the final episode mean he never moved on? That some part of him was still lying in that room with a gun to his head? You don’t become non-suicidal in a matter of days — is there still something lingering in the back of Ed’s mind? There was never a conversation about it, and there was never anything between the two of them that could allow me comfort in knowing that they had reached some sort of understanding. This season pulled domestic abuse, alcohol abuse, and suicidal tendencies straight from my own traumas and never held anyone accountable for any of them. There was no healing. There was no real talking it through. “Well, it’s not a rom-com, so—” Except it continues to be presented as one. Shortcomings of storylines of characters that seem to have been cast aside or mischaracterized this season aside, I cannot for the life of me reconcile how a show about kindness and moving on and being loved amidst all of your flaws could have a season so wrought with traumas and yet never discuss them. Never explore them in a way that allows me to move on. I love this show and there were so many good things about this season; I love these characters, and yet I feel so disconnected from it for the first time in over a year. Not moving on is worse, sure, but moving on without accountability leaves wounds unable to heal. How do you move on from that?

[coffeeadict61]

Humans Are Weird: Auditory Processing Disorder

Report # 306

Topic: Auditory Processing Disorder

APD: disorder of the auditory (hearing) system that causes a disruption in the way that an individual's brain understands what they are hearing.

Four days ago I was doing my monthly meeting with the electrical department, receiving updates on our monthly usage, needed parts, and checking up on general morale. (The transcript of that meeting is already turned in.) After the meeting we had refreshments and I discovered Lucy (previously mentioned in report #286) pouting in a corner. I inquired what was bothering her. She said, "The ship's head medic just diagnosed me with APD but he wasn't trained to treat it." I asked for further information on the condition. She listed several of her personal symptoms. "It means I don't always catch what people say. It feels like my brain doesn't want to listen. In one ear and out the other making me look stupid to however I talk to. It's connected to my misophonia, and the fact I was born really premature."

I was unsure how to comfort her so I made no effort. This seemed to work for Lucy kept speaking.

"And what's worse is there's nothing I can do! We don't have a speech therapist aboard or even any research materials! Its starting to affect my work performance. On top of decoding, hypersensitivity, and prosodic problems, I have integration issues which mean its really hard for me to focus on what people are saying when I'm doing something. Which freaking sucks when you're part of a team!" I had no clue what she was really talking about but gave her a hug (human gesture of enveloping one in your arms as a sign of comfort or safety), and she apologized for "venting" to me.

She then spoke on how her crew mates just thought she was "slow" or wasn't good at her job. They questioned if she was capable because she would follow directions incorrectly and she was worried she'd be replaced with someone "less problematic". I tried to assure her that I would help anyway I could on her behalf. Never again will I doubt a human's sincerity.

After some of my own personal research I have made a list of the different types and their definitions for your education on the subject:

Hypersensitivity – Hypersensitivity to sound is often diagnosed as misophonia or hyperacusis. Misophonia is when people have adverse physical reactions to sounds, such as becoming nauseated by the sound of chewing or slurping. Hyperacusis, on the other hand, is characterized by a sensitivity to sounds. For some, this means that white noise can be deafening, even causing physical pain.

Decoding – Decoding difficulties involve a lack of figuring out words that are spoken. They hear the sounds, but their brains do not process them as words.

Integration – Integration applies to those who struggle to do multiple things while listening. Such multi-tasking may be writing notes and listening, or having conversations while typing an email.

Prosodic – Prosodic refers to people who have trouble with tone, inflection, and implied meaning. A question and exclamation are processed identically in their brains. Their speech is also often monotone.

Organizational – Finally, organizational, or output, is often characterized by not recalling information in a specific order or having difficulty with noisy situations.

Honestly, Humans are so diverse and unpredictable. To think that different "problems" or " abnormalities " within their mind or body can lead to even more similar issues astounds me. They are so intricate in a way my species has never been. Despite the struggles that their disorders, and conditions being, I think it's strangely beautiful. Maybe that's just me, but I have a new appreciation for them.

I am requesting the presence of a speech therapist, whether physically or digitally, to be readily available to our crew. We must also add APD onto our medics research requirements. It is not an overly complicated subject to be fluent in. I also request that Lucy's diagnoses be added to her list of wrongful termination along with her gender, age, and race. No one should feel their position is at risk because of a disorder or disability. I also request that a written copy of daily instruction be printed for her if necessary. She is one of our best electricians and I mean to keep her employed here as long as she wants.

Human Observer #5743

[buckleyx]

hi, babes! i was wondering if you could possibly write a Buck imagine where the reader has awful parents, and is just comforting ? sorry if not! i’m also sorry if you’ve already gotten this request, my asks don’t send a lot - 🪐

FIX THE FAMILY E.B

the gif i used is not mine! all credit goes to the owner!

Author’s note: Hiya love! Sorry it took a while but here u go :)) I hope it's a bit what you had in mind. I love soft buck :(

Evan Buckley x gender!neutral reader

Summary: Your sister started a project to 'fix the family' and you're not sure how to feel about it.

Warnings: mentions of bad parenting + bad upbringing and toxic family relationships but comforting buck <33

masterlist

"Not again." You sighed, cursing under your breath as you saw your screen lid up. A blue text message covered the happy lock screen picture of you and Buck. You didn't even have to guess to know who it was from. Your sister had been bugging you all night about a family dinner. You had already politely declined 3 times but she kept pushing. You didn't blame her, your upbringing was a complete different story then hers.

She still had contact with your parents, even visits them every few weeks and she made an unofficial promise to 'try and fix the family.' As much how you despised the idea you couldn't fully blame her for trying. She was the youngest and the most successful and very clear the favorite.

You love LA, your life is here now and you don't feel the need to fix anything. You are happy where you are. You build something here, something personal and safe and your not ready to see it all fall apart again.

"Everything alright?" Buck asked, his head peaking through the door. You sighed, gently throwing your phone on the countertop. Buck's brows knitted together as he slowly made his way over to you. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

Without saying a word, you tiredly leaned your head against his chest. He wrapped his arms around your waist, giving a soft kiss against your temple. "I don't know." You sighed. "It's my parents."

Buck knew you didn't have a fantastic relationship with them but the topic didn't come out often. Just like his parents. You had talked about your shared struggles but you both didn't like unnecessary mentioning it since it was such a heavy subject to touch for the both of you. You both just didn't wanna push anything. But when it did, when the topic came up in conversation, you both were as supportive as ever. Buck especially, you couldn't ask for anyone better in your life then him.

"I'm sorry to hear that." He comforted, brushing his fingers against your cheek. "It's fine." You brushed off. "My sister just thinks she can magically fix the family. I'm surprised they even let her try."

"Maybe they don't know."

"Yeah probably. I haven't seen them in so long. Why now? Why suddenly does she wants to change things now?"

"Have you asked her?"

"No not yet." You admitted, playing with his hair. "Last time I talked to them was Christmas eve."

Buck thought back at the memory and gave you a kind sympathetic smile as he recalled how the evening ended. It was a messy day full of nasty remarks and bitchy comments. First they didn't approve of your job, then of your boyfriend and then they felt the need to break everything else in your life apart. The list could go on forever. It was just horrible. Your brows knitted together as you tried your best to block out the memory. A sigh left buck's lips, he hated seeing you like this. He hated that he couldn't do more to help you. "They treated you afwul, y/n. It's okay not to forgive them."

"I know."

"I didn't forgive my parents." He admitted. "And I honestly don't think I ever will."

"If you want to contact them again, wait until your ready and when you truly want it for yourself. Not because someone forced you to. The same happend to me, I wasn't ready and it turned out into a big big mess." You fell quiet for a second, Buck was right but you had to take a moment to let the thoughts in your mind process everything. You went over every scenario about how that reunion could go before confirming that it wasn't time yet. You weren't ready. And that's okay. Maybe you'll never be ready and that's okay too.

You brushed away some of Buck's hair that had fallen in his face, your hand rested on his cheek before you leaned in and gave him a soft kiss. "Thank you." You said softly before giving him another kiss. The buckley gave you kind smile. "Come on. I'll make you some dinner. It It will help you clear your head."

911 Taglist: @roseelone @persie123 @nycbaddie @mrspeacem1nusone @ittzzgillianj @notnowtobey @princessamericachavez @campingmonkey @barzy90 @911readercollection @rapunzelflynnrider @stark3y-l3cl3rc-p3t3rs @essienoe @chloepluto1306 @zephyrmonkey @ittzzgillianj @quacksonhq @x-hey-its-paige-x

My requests are open! :)

Main Taglist: @onlinevampire1898 @reality1escaping @musicsavedme98 @zombiedixon89  @ladamari68 @angelofbowersgangwifey @incendiotriaaa   @embon   @pansexualmommamess  @mykookieme-blog  @fairyhope028  @alexxavicry  @alexloveskili @one-sweet-gubler  @attackonnat   @strangersomeone  @ahookedheroespureheart @asimplystrangemisfit @911readercollection

Let me know if you want to be added for future work!