#its not the writing its not the acting its not the circumstances admit that its YOU

[mrgaretcarter]

It's really physically painful to me how willing people are to overlook even the possibility of romance between women in fiction and also how much they simply do not admit that they have this resistance, and I know, I know, that's how it always is, I know that even in real life people will see pictures of women literally kissing on the lips and still say they seem like very good friends, and yet it never stops being so incredibly frustrating because it's so pervasive even from people who would consider themselves open minded or allies

[strwbmei]

summary: what could've happened if angell chose to be selfish for once

contains: desperate/emotional sex, transfem!angell, fem!reader, angell tops, marking, creampie, cunnilingus, fingering, angst no comfort, whatever the opposite of reunion sex is, parting sex???, mentions of crying but not in a sexy way, mentions of blood (also not in a sexy way), tw kidnapping, but you kind of learn to live with it, whatever the hell is going on in angell's event, everything is consensual and soft despite the alarming tags, mentions of drugs but it's unrelated to the smut, unresolved feelings on both sides, tw murder unrelated to smut, devirginifying sex i forgot what it was called, set in between Ditty Nightsong and Angell's interrogation

pairing(s): angell x chief!reader

a/n: I HAD to write this after finishing her event. Seeing Angell and the chief slowly get along despite their circumstances was such a treat. Also, first PTN fic!

You're tidying Angell's room up, careful to not make any noise since you don't want to wake her. Seeing the piles of pillows and clothes on the floor, you can't help but sigh. How has she lived like this for so long?

A faint song plays in the background. It's obvious the record player has seen better days—it's one of the more used appliances in this house. The song playing is the one Angell listens to while on the job. Huh.

Days are passing by, living this lie,

Not knowing what we're looking for,

As you dust off the furniture, you can't help but smile faintly. A change of pace like this is nice once in a while. Your only worries are preparing meals and doing maintenance around the house, which Angell doesn't even require you to do. Just something to keep you busy, you suppose.

It helps that she isn't a picky eater. Despite your lackluster culinary skills, Angell finishes each meal without complaint. She's even made a few positive comments lately. Maybe you should try making a meal for the sinners once you return to the MBCC.

Oh. Right. You're returning to the MBCC.

Gray, these walls are gray and there's no sky.

There is no hope, there is no soar.

I know somewhere there must be more.

It feels... weird to admit, but you've grown fond of this lifestyle. A domestic life with Angell like this is comforting, as long as you don't consider the fact that she'll definitely hand you over to her client as soon as she gets in contact with them.

Maybe you're just like the goldfish in her apartment, swimming blissfully in their tank as they stay oblivious to the outside world. You doubt Angell would be able to take care of them if she moves houses again.

You gather the clothes from the floor, catching a whiff of dried blood and sweat. Yikes. You wouldn't be surprised if the tank top you were holding had a whole ecosystem inside of it. It wouldn't hurt to wash these later, you think to yourself.

Just as you're about to finish putting the clothes away, you feel someone suddenly pull you into a tight hug, as if you'd escape from their grasp otherwise. It's Angell. You can hear how shaky her breathing is. It seems she had a bad dream.

"Don't go,"

The words Angell had been holding herself back so desperately not to say inevitably leave her, like a clock knowingly marching towards the hour of its death. She's glad that you can't see her right now with how her lips are quivering. You can still feel her hands trembling around you, though.

It's all so stupid. Angell is so stupid. She let herself get used to you, your warmth, and your kindness akin to sunlight so bright it hurt her eyes. And where has that gotten her? Naive; borderline delusional. Possibly dead, too. What have you done to this assassin, Chief of the MBCC?

"Please."

You feel as if you're meeting Angell for the first time when she says this. She has never acted like a dangerous hitman at home, but she has never acted so... desperate, either. You don't mind seeing another side of her, but the sudden change in demeanor is perplexing.

"Angell?" You call out. The woman's grip on you gets ever so slightly tighter in response. "Everything's okay. I'm here." You're not going anywhere—or so you'd like to say. Your relationship with her, if you could even call it that, is already far too filled with lies for you to add one more.

You can feel Angell's muscles tense around you. She holds her strength back, protecting you as if you were but a candle flickering in the wind. You feel safe. "Sorry. Did I wake you up?" Although most of Angell's actions are obscured from your vision, you can feel her shake her head.

"Don't leave me."

The two of you are captive and captor. Not roommates, and most certainly not lovers for Angell to say such things. She could end your life at this very moment if she so wished. So why is it that Angell is the one who finds herself powerless in your grasp?

You stay silent. If you were being honest, you don't want to leave her either. But the world doesn't work that way. You have responsibilities; the both of you. There are more pressing matters for you to handle than adjusting the hands of a clock and feeding goldfish.

Angell knows this. She values professionalism and credibility far more than her personal preferences. That's the only reason why she kept you here in the first place. Which is why you don't understand what exactly has gotten into Angell; what has pushed her to give up her creed like this.

Sensing the mutual hesitation in the air, Angell pushes you down onto the bed. Her eyes are slightly swollen and red, as if she had just been crying. You wonder what she had been dreaming about. You want to comfort her.

In this state, she'll listen to whatever you say, whatever falsehoods you feed her. Tell Angell everything will be alright and that your time together won't end. She'll believe you this once, even if it leads to her death.

You're pinned under Angell's weight, but you aren't afraid. There's something about her that ironically makes you feel safe, despite how aloof she can be. Angell doesn't shy away from your touch, either, even if she knows that you could use your shackles on her. "Angell..." Your hand reaches up to cup her cheek. She instinctively leans into it. "You're not alone anymore."

Angell's eyes widen uncharacteristically from your words. She tries to act unaffected, but you feel her breath hitch. Is it true? The walls she had built around herself to shield herself from others had eventually turned into a prison isolating her from the rest of the world. Could Angell... really break them down?

She does what feels most natural and leans in to seal your lips in a passionate kiss. It's desperate like a symphony of sorrow, yet as gentle as if she were handling a delicate flower. Angell's inexperience is clear.

How unfair. A kiss is something that you should only share with someone that you love.

And still, you return it just the same. You mirror her fervor as you chase after her lips, your elbows propped on the mattress to hold you up. Its softness and warmth is a pleasant surprise. Most likely because Angell only used to sleep on the couch before you came into her life.

She detaches herself from your lips after what felt like forever and a day. Angell's brows are furrowed, and her eyes are hesitant. She gazes at you as if to ask, is this really okay?

Whether she's asking if this is okay with you or if it's okay for her to indulge in her desires for once, you have no idea. It doesn't matter. The answer to both questions remains the same.

This time, you're the one to pull her into a passionate make-out. Angell groans, eagerly savoring each kiss as if it'll be her last. You brush her hair away from her face.

"Everything will be alright." You promise, both to yourself and the to woman in front of you. But you're wrong. How could Angell ever be fine without you?

She can abandon this house, her pride, or even her life if need be. But you? Oh, god, not you. How could you get Angell used to your warmth and kindness, just to rip it all away from her?

It'd be less cruel to treat her with mockery and disdain. It's what Angell is used to and it's what she believes she deserves.

"No," she says firmly. She buries her face into your chest, her arms wrapped around your waist. "Don't go." For some unknown reason, Angell is convinced that you're going to leave.

There are still a few days until the "gig" she took expires, and even then, she can choose what she wants to do with you afterward. Angell could keep you locked up here for as long as she wants, and you wouldn't be able to do a thing.

But she isn't that kind of person.

Angell doesn't belong with those scum on the dark web. Her heart is unadulterated by the filth surrounding her, and despite how she acts, you know Angell loves helping people deep down.

"I'm here." You comfort her. Once again, you have to stop yourself from telling her that you'll stay. It seems you accidentally said that out loud, though. "...Liar." Angell mumbles, lips now trailing along your jaw and neck.

Sighing in bliss, you remove your coat to give her more space to work with. You toss it to a corner of the room. You'll clean it up again later. Her hands roam around your torso, exploring to find the buttons of your shirt.

Frantically, Angell works to remove them. She rushes as if she's going to lose you any moment now, not even bothering to remove her own clothes yet. "Don't go..." Angell pleads again before her mouth bites softly from your collarbone to your breasts. She unclasps and removes your bra as she goes.

"Angell..." You sigh her name as she fondles one of your breasts. She touches you with a gentleness she's never shown anyone else. When Angell looks up at you, her eyes reflect an emotion that you can't identify.

Longing? Regret? Lust? You can't tell. Honestly, you don't know how you feel about her either. You thought that Angell was weird at first, but you always believed that she had a good heart. You've grown fond of her as time passed—too fond. Angell isn't the only one wearing her heart on her sleeve, apparently.

For the first time, she calls your name. Not "Chief," but your name. God, it's stupid how such a simple thing has your heart racing when you're literally about to fuck. Since when has your kidnapper gotten you so smitten?

Angell's hands, strong albeit a bit slim, map out every plane on your body. She savors the feeling of each curve and dip and takes her time etching it into her memory. Lips work to kiss every inch of your now exposed skin, occasionally leaving small bite marks.

Not once has Angell treated you like the Chief of the MBCC. She knows of your identity and the good deeds you've done, yet she treats you like any other person. It's one of the many qualities you've grown to love about Angell.

The atmosphere in the room gets warmer, and you use it as an excuse to take off her leather jacket. The other woman is left in her tank top and pants. The prominence of her collarbones sadden you, although it's gotten better since the first day you were brought to this safehouse. You wish she'd take care of herself more.

Angell's hands stop at your belt. You enjoy the few seconds of her struggling with herself before she speaks up. "Can I...?" You smile at her consideration for you, making sure that you're fine with what she's doing. "Yeah. Go ahead."

Office wear is such a hassle to take off, you think to yourself as you help Angell take off your pants. Are all those layers really necessary? Again, the piece of clothing is tossed away to god-knows-where.

Immediately, the woman pounces back on you, now leaving kisses along your stomach as she holds onto your hips. You trace her scars softly with your fingers. You can't imagine the hardships that Angell has been through. You're happy to provide any sort of respite to her.

In the moment Angell stops to look up at you, there is an undeniable air of sadness and guilt. In an attempt to cheer the woman up, you tuck her hair behind her ears and attempt to tease her. "Don't miss me too much."

As you expected, Angell stays silent. You can feel her relax a bit, though—that's a win in your book. She finds comfort in how you never change. Angell slowly dips the pad of one of her fingers into your folds, careful not to hurt you. "Mm... Angell..." You bite back a moan.

"You can go faster. I can take it." You reassure the woman through heavy breaths. It's honestly embarrassing how wet you are, but Angell takes it as a sign that she's doing good. She's become more confident; now thrusting her finger inside of you all the way, albeit still at a gentle pace.

Angell is observant. She looks for what motions earn the most positive reaction from you with an almost deadpan look on her face as if she's not literally fingerfucking you into the mattress. It shows how focused she is on making you feel good.

"Is this your first time?" Angell asks suddenly. She doesn't look at you. "Yeah... Why?" You respond. Angell stays quiet, continuing the movement of her fingers. The question caught you a bit off guard. She didn't seem like the type to refuse to mess with virgins or care about the status of anyone's virginity in general.

Just when you let out a moan from her grazing your g-spot, a realization hits you. This is Angell's first time, too. You doubt she's ever had any real romantic experience before, much less sexual. It's no wonder she seems so nervous. You make a mental note to reassure and praise her.

Angell takes notice of how you let out a sound whenever she grinds against a specific place and abuses the same location with each thrust of her fingers. When she sees you trying to grind against her hand, (because of how good it feels, but she doesn't know that) she takes it as a sign that you need more.

"I'm going to add another finger," Angell says more like a statement than a question, but she waits for your approval before doing so anyway. You've never felt so full. Her years of experience using a sword have calloused her hands ever so slightly, and although you feel bad for what led her to a life of crime, damn did it feel good rubbing against your walls.

Angell loves the way you moan her name. She can't get enough of it; she wants to hear it roll off your tongue like a starving wolf longing for prey in the dead of winter. She listens to the sound of each letter eagerly, as if engraving it into the very essence of her soul. She wants you to say her name over and over again, and only hers. As is in the present and as will be in the future.

Angell's own selfishness surprises her. Maybe she's just like the greedy criminals she has both killed and worked for. Angell has never denied the possibility—she's not the saint that you think she is. There is blood on her hands, and not even the purest of oceans can wash it away. She has long since come to terms with her fate of isolation.

You arch your back into her touch, your arms wrapped around her back. If not for the tank top she was wearing, you're sure you would've left some claw marks along it's broadness already. You have to stop your legs from closing on their own, the overwhelming pleasure proving to be too much. Soft moans and the scent of sex fill the room. "Feels so good, Angell..."

She takes a deep breath, the only things filling her senses being your sweet voice and the feeling of your warm pussy stretching to accommodate her fingers. You have no idea how long Angell has wanted to touch you like this. You do things to her that she can't explain.

Your moans increase in frequency, getting higher pitched as you feel yourself nearing release. It seems Angell is a natural at using her fingers, seeing how she's about to make you cum quicker than you could ever get yourself to. "Angell... I'm-"

Before you can warn her, your legs tremble and you cream all over her hand. After continuing her movements to help you come down from your high, Angell pulls her digits out, fascinated by the string of cum connecting them. Much to your surprise, she puts both fingers into her mouth.

"...I've never tasted anything like this before." Angell remarks. Her sense of taste is dull—she isn't exaggerating when she says she can't tell apart food that's edible from food that's spoiled, or raw from burnt. But you? Your taste is as distinct as it can be to her tongue. You've ignited a dangerous fire in the woman.

"More." Angell demands, positioning her head between your legs. Just as you're about to protest that you're still sensitive, she speaks up again. "Can I?" Angell tilts her head as she asks for permission. Fuck it. You know you wouldn't be able to refuse her and her annoyingly adorable personality anyway.

You sigh at your lack of self discipline when it comes to Angell. "Yes, you can." Those words are all it takes for her to dive headfirst into your dripping sex. Angell's tongue explores your warmth with a newfound confidence, using what she's learned from fingering you to eat you out as skillfully as possible.

God, she's absolutely addicted to your taste—to you. Angell can't get enough of how you squirm under her touch; how you moan her name so wantonly. She'd stay in between your legs for forever if she could, but forever is not a luxury that the two of you have.

Angell wishes that life would be as easy as adjusting the hands of the clock. She wishes she could turn everything back to how it used to be. Angell would hold on to every passing moment with you like a painter desperately trying to capture the perfect sunset before it fades.

Each wet lick up your slit is greedier and hungrier than the last. She's gentle with you, yes, but you can feel the weight of the underlying desire that's been building up in the pit of her stomach for god knows how long. What Angell feels for you is akin to a devouring darkness: once you get entwined, there's no going back. Whether that applies to you, her, or both of you remains unknown. Maybe you know the answer but choose to ignore it.

Body still awash in the aftermath of your previous orgasm, it doesn't take long for you to feel that familiar coil in your belly building up once again. It takes all of your strength to resist pushing Angell's head down between your legs. Well, not that she could go any further. Too busy moaning Angell's name to warn her with words, you hope that she'll get the message with how your legs are trembling.

Sure enough, you cum with a breathless gasp soon after. She eats you out through your high, careful to lap up all of your fluids without overstimulating you. Angell is a quick learner, after all. You're left panting for breath after two consecutive earth-shattering orgasms, yet Angell hasn't even gotten undressed. That won't do. Aside from the damage your pride would take, you want to return the favor.

"Angell, lay down for me, will you?" You ask of her through your heavy breathing. Although Angell has her doubts, she immediately follows your command. "I'm not tired yet." You chuckle at her words but shudder to think about its implications. The stability of your legs would not survive after getting eaten out by Angell again. Though, the same might be said for what you're going to do next. "I want to make you feel good too."

You sit with your thighs on either side of Angell's legs, already working on removing her clothes. Once they're off, you're quick to capture her lips in a chain of soft, yet lustful kisses. She gives in to you more easily than you expected. You had the impression that Angell would be the type to want to be in control of everything at any time, but she lets you lead this dance.

Although the woman is probably unaware, the size of her boner is huge. Seven inches at the very least. You bite your lip at its sheer girth. You'd be lying if you said that you never had any doubts about it fitting inside of you, but it's nothing you can't handle... probably. As if reading your thoughts, Angell speaks. "...I don't have any lube."

Your eyes wander to the bottle of lotion you put on her bedside table, (which was the only surface available for it at the time,) but you eventually decide against using it since it's most likely expired. "It's fine. We'll start out slow."

Angell likes the insinuation that you'll go faster once you're more comfortable. She helps you align yourself with her cock, gently holding you by your hips. Although Angell has her hands on you, she lets you control the pace and only tries to assist when necessary.

With bated breath, you sink onto the tip. Her length feels endless, filling you up completely inch after inch. Angell relishes in how your eyes almost roll into the back of your head and the moan you let out when you finally take her inside entirely. Still, she places your comfort and pleasure above everything else. "Are you sure about this?"

Your chest heaves as you get used to the sensation of feeling so... full. It takes you a few seconds to reply. "This is nothing that the Chief of the MBCC can't handle," Angell smiles at your reply. Your act of false bravado isn't fooling anyone. It gives the woman a sense of pride to have such an important figure of society in her hands like this.

Just being inside of you has Angell biting her lip. She'd never imagine in her life that she'd be able to sleep with anyone, much less someone as kind and beautiful as you are. The intimacy of it all makes everything that much more pleasurable, and Angell hopes you feel the same way.

The two of you stay like this. Both of you are aware that you don't have much time left, but you're not in a rush. Rather, you take the opportunity to enjoy this moment thoroughly. It takes a while for you to get used to Angell's sheer size, and it also takes her a while to get used to these unfamiliar sensations.

Angell is barely able to conceal the pure ecstasy she feels when you start moving. Your pussy is just so tight. She's not one to masturbate often, but she can say with confidence that being inside of you feels miles better and much more personal than rutting into her hand just to get rid of her morning wood.

You take Angell down to the base, albeit with much difficulty at first, and start off by grinding. You roll your hips back and forth, the tip of her cock almost kissing the entrance of your cervix. Angell grips your waist harder, but still lets you control the pace of your lovemaking. Her trust in you makes your heart flutter.

With Angell's hair splayed like flowing rivers on the sheets, her eyes fluttered shut, and soft moans escaping her mouth now and then, you aren't able to resist the desire to kiss her. It starts with a small smooch on her neck, then two. And then these kisses turn into hickeys one after another.

The feeling is weird and alien to Angell, but she surrenders herself to you all the same, even tilting her head to make it easier for you. You feel bad about leaving them in such obvious places, but knowing her, she wouldn't bother to hide them. And you'd be right, because if anything, Angell would wear them as a badge of honor. Who cares what other people think of her sex life?

Up, and down. Up, and down. You move your hips at a steady pace once you get the hang of it. You relish in the way the sides of her cockhead rub against your walls so deliciously. As you're straddling Angell and leaving more hickeys wherever you can access, she gets an idea to play with your clit while you ride her. You seemed to like having it stimulated earlier.

Soon after, the both of you are a moaning mess. This small gesture makes everything feel a hundred times better for you, and in turn, you move faster. You lift yourself enough so her tip is barely inside of you, and immediately bring yourself down again.

Angell curses under her breath. She holds onto you as if you'll disappear otherwise, chanting your name like a mantra; like a sinner begging for forgiveness. The sight of you bouncing up and down on her cock while looking down at her so lovingly is enough to make the inexperienced woman swoon.

"I'm close..." Angell warns. You don't care. In fact, you seem to be riding her harder; trying to milk her for all she's worth. "Want you inside." You lean forward to kiss her. Angell chases after your lips fervently, her hands holding you close as you continue to move your hips while her thumb presses down on your clitoris.

You swallow each other's muffled moans. The only thing that matters to the both of you in this moment is one another. You'd freeze time and stay like this with Angell for eternity if you could. She cums with a strained groan, and you feel her seed filling you up. It's oddly comforting to know that Angell has left a mark inside of you.

You continue your ministrations slowly, and yoi have an orgasm of your own soon after. The mixture of you and Angell's fluids form a white ring on the base of her cock. It doesn't take long until the two of you collapse next to each other, breathing heavily as sweat runs down both of your bodies.

Although you feel refreshed, you have no idea how to handle this. Your relationship with Angell, your return to the MBCC, everything. The confusion is understandable considering you literally just slept with your kidnapper who's been holding you captive. You'll cross that bridge when you get there, you suppose.

Seeing Angell stare at you, most likely with no idea how to proceed either, you feel like you should say something. "That was great, Angell. Thank you." She smiles at your words before pulling you into a cuddle. Angell really is just like a cat, you think to yourself.

With these thoughts in mind, your impulse to scratch her behind the ears just like you would to a stray cat on the side of the road win. Before you can retract your hand to apologize, Angell leans into your touch, sighing contently. You swear you hear her purr, even.

"You really... don't want to stay at the Bureau?" You ask. You regret letting those words leave your mouth, but you can't bring yourself to care now that you're running out of time. You're more than willing to fight for her. "You'll be safe. You can have my red bean soup any time you want."

Angell knows that you mean each word that you say. You won't let anyone from the dark web bother her, and even though you have responsibilities, she knows that you'll fulfill your promise. That's why it hurts.

"Tomorrow. I'll give you my answer tomorrow." Angell speaks up, just as you start to fear that you might've ruined this intimate moment. Her words give you hope. It's faint, but it's there. You'd like to say that you wouldn't, but you'd cling to any chance to spend more time with Angell; have her by your side even if only for a second more.

However, the woman has already made an irreversible decision: one that she fears has consequences that she'll be carrying for the rest of her life. For now, both of you are content with your current state.

"Stay with me," Angell mumbles, trying to enjoy your scent and affection the best her tired body can manage. A thought passes both of your minds as you're entangled in each other's embrace: it'd be nice if we could stay like this forever. It saddens Angell to know that that thought would only be left as an 'if.' "Just for a bit longer."

"Tomorrow" never comes. Tomorrow will never come without you by her side.

Angell wakes up. The bag containing her trusted blade is held near her body. She finds that she hasn't been able to let go of it ever since you've left her—or rather, ever since she left you. It's the only thing left of the time you spent together. It's the only thing that assures Angell that you were real, not just an illusion.

A lot of things have changed. She finds herself sleeping more. Angell clings to her memories with you through dreams, even trying to "make" new ones whenever the chance presents itself. She's also taken less assassination jobs lately, instead picking odd jobs that you'd be likely to choose for her.

Angell remembers the last one she took. The man was a leader of a drug cartel, infamous for getting young sinners addicted and using them to transport goods. The world would be better off without him, and Angell was no different. He had a wife and a toddler son. He called for his wife's name before he drew his final breath. Perhaps he too was but another victim of the cruelty of this side of the world—perhaps he too wanted to escape the void of the dark oceans and live under the sun's warmth.

Angell is too far gone. A shark cannot start living on land, no matter how much it wishes. She belongs in a bottomless abyss where the sun must not pierce through, while you belong on the other side of this fucked up world, risking your life to save everyone that can be saved. Angell is not a part of that group. She feels your sunlight faintly, but as much as she wants to bask in it, it cannot pierce through the deep waters of her heart. It must not.

Maybe things could've turned out differently if she met you earlier.

Angell stands up from the dusty couch. She is the only one in this desolate home. You're not there to scold her for sleeping on the sofa when she has a clean bed. Not even her goldfish keeps her company on these cold nights—but she trusts that you've taken good care of them. You've always taken care of everyone around you, but who's going to do the same for you?

Particles of dust float in her apartment. She finds that there's no reason to clean it up. Once again, her fridge is full of nearly expired, barely edible "food." As Angell gets ready to head out, she sees her reflection in the shards of broken glass on the floor. It was from a vase that came with the safehouse that she knocked over and forgot to clean. Huh. It looks like she's been crying.

You wake up in a cold sweat. The coolness of your desk against your cheek is unpleasant. The arm you've been using as a pillow is numb. You scramble to sit up straight and look at the time: 2:48AM. Most of the Bureau is asleep. A blanket that you didn't even realize was resting on your shoulders falls off of you, most likely Adjutant Nightingale trying to make sure you don't catch a cold.

On a tray set apart from the paperwork you had been working on, there is a note, a sandwich, and a cup of iced coffee. You assume the perpetrator is the same as the person who wrapped a blanket around you, and as it seems from reading the note, you were right. The contents are a mix of Nightingale's concern for you and scolding you for not taking care of your well-being.

You feel bad for worrying her all the time. Honestly, you're surprised she hasn't resigned yet with how often you get kidnapped. It's not just Nightingale either, even some sinners have noticed the bags under your eyes and how distant you've been acting ever since you came back. You should really pull yourself together. If not for yourself, then for the sinners who rely on you, the Chief of the MBCC.

Why do you keep dreaming about Angell? You've been betrayed many times before, and although you'll never get used to it, you've always gotten back up each time quicker than the last. What is it about her that's so different? Why does she affect you so much?

You open your laptop with a newfound sense of determination, but this time, it's not for work. If you want to stop a problem, you should tackle the source of it, right? Or maybe that's just an excuse. You're going to find her, and along with her, answers. After you press the 'enter' key, the simple yet eerie screen you've grown familiar with welcomes you back:

"Welcome to DisMyth"

[redroomreflections]

II HANDS II HEAVEN 6

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: Natasha Romanoff and Reader reluctantly team up for a couples retreat mission. Despite initial resistance, they find themselves drawn together by unexpected circumstances and shared experiences.

W/c:4k

Notes: I listened to Beyonce's album and wanted to write something to this song

Summary: Natasha Romanoff and Reader reluctantly team up for a couples retreat mission. Despite initial resistance, they find themselves drawn together by unexpected circumstances and shared experiences.

Masterlist | General Masterlist

w/c: 4.5k

last part

Walking back into the hotel room, the atmosphere shifted noticeably. It was clear Natasha had been somewhat irritated since your departure from the pool area. After a few drinks, you could feel the effects setting in, and you had spent the past few hours playing the role of the devoted, albeit overly enthusiastic, spouse. Add to that the fatigue from earlier road-tripping, and all you wanted now was to fall into bed.

You bypassed changing clothes or freshening up, collapsing into the plush decorative chair directly across from the bed. Stretching out your legs, you nestled the styrofoam container brimming with chicken wings in your lap before eagerly digging in. Eyes closed, you hummed in contentment, savoring the delightful blend of honey barbecue that teased your taste buds.

Meanwhile, Natasha moved about the room with abrupt, almost exaggerated movements, clearly too irritated to engage in conversation. Her actions spoke volumes as she pulled her hair into a tight bun, signaling her need to unpack and decompress.

With a half-lidded gaze, you paused your chicken wing feast to address Natasha. "You know, I think I'd like you to have a nickname for me," you suggested.

"Why bother?" Natasha muttered under her breath, her frustration evident in her tone as she continued with her task, seemingly unwilling to entertain the idea.

With a casual wave of a chicken wing, you made your case. "It shows you love me, that you care for me, that you actually don't hate being around me," you explained, emphasizing your point with a playful gesture. As a droplet of barbecue sauce threatened the fabric of the chair, you skillfully intercepted it, sucking the sauce from your finger with a satisfied hum. Food always tasted much better when under the influence.

“It’s not like this relationship is real.” Natasha raised a brow.

“Okay, rude,” You paused mid-bite, considering Natasha's words for a moment before responding. "Maybe not in the traditional sense," you admitted, your voice softening as you met her gaze. "But that doesn't mean it's not meaningful in its own way. We've shared so much together, haven't we?"

“In what the last two days together? All I know about you is your favorite position and I don’t see how that is helpful,” Natasha shrugged. She was so over this conversation. She stuffed the last of her things into a drawer and turned to you.

With a playful grin, you retorted, "Hey, it's quality over quantity, right? And besides, you're exaggerating. You know way more than just my favorite position." You chuckled watching Natasha’s face and realizing perhaps your attempt at humor wasn't landing as well as you hoped. Natasha's annoyance was palpable, but you couldn't help but find amusement in the situation.

“You’re drunk,” Natasha shook her head.

“I didn’t take you for the passive-aggressive type.” You frowned before biting into another chicken wing.

“Yeah?” Natasha questioned.

“Not at all,” You continued. “Mean. It’s a given. Professional. Check. Flexible even? Though I have only seen it in the gym I’d say that’s a check. But passive-aggressive? Nah.”

Natasha's eyes narrowed slightly as she crossed her arms over her chest, taking a deep breath before speaking. "You know," she began, her voice calm but with an edge, "it's not about being passive-aggressive. It's about boundaries. You waltz into my life, acting like it's all a big joke, and expect me to play along with your whims."

She took a step closer, her expression serious. "I get that you're trying to lighten the mood, but there's a difference between being playful and being dismissive. Just because you find this amusing doesn't mean everyone else does."

Pausing for a moment, she glanced at the mess around you, the half-eaten chicken wings, the lingering scent of barbecue sauce, and then back at your face. "And for the record, knowing someone's 'favorite position' doesn't make a relationship. Respect, understanding, and communication do. Maybe you should think about that before asking for nicknames."

With that, she turned back to her task, her movements deliberate and precise, clearly signaling that the conversation was over.

You swallowed slightly before standing from your seat.

“Have a wing,” You offered.

Natasha paused, her back still turned to you, before letting out a long sigh. "I'm not hungry," she replied tersely, continuing to organize her things. The tension in the room was still there, but you weren't ready to let the conversation end on such a sour note.

"Come on," you said softly, taking a step closer. "I'm trying here. I know I mess up sometimes, but I care about this. Can't we just... have a moment of peace?"

Natasha stopped what she was doing and turned around slowly, her eyes meeting yours. There was a flicker of something in her gaze—maybe curiosity, maybe exhaustion. She hesitated for a moment, then walked over and took a wing from the plate.

"One wing," she said, her tone still guarded. "But this doesn't mean everything's okay."

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Fair enough," you said. "It's a start."

Natasha sat on the bed, her body language still stiff and guarded.

"I'm not as drunk as you think. I'm just feeling really good after a long day,” You shrugged. “You’re kind of a buzzkill.” You add, hoping your comment doesn’t come across the wrong way.

"I'm not a buzzkill," She retorted, her tone defensive. "Also, I thought we were past the insults."

"Of course, you're not a buzzkill, especially not when it comes to people you like," You said. “I don’t make the list so it’s only right if you assert your dominance over me or something. Which if you were my real wife I would have taken care of that already.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Natasha tilted her head.

“I’m not trying to be slapped with a harassment demerit or whatever so I’ll keep my comments to myself,” You stood, standing on the tip of your toes as you stretched. Natasha’s eyes followed your movement for only a second more. “I caught some leads today. There’s a bonfire tomorrow we’re going to. We met a new couple. Though I’m half convinced Leslie is too good to be true. That’s progress.”

“I guess it is,” Natasha relented. “I’m going to hit the shower.”

“Leave me some hot water,” You called after her. You stood in the middle of the room and looked around, lost and confused. What to do now?

As Natasha disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of running water filling the silence, you took a deep breath and decided it was time to fall back into your routine. Years of being a spy had taught you the importance of staying grounded, no matter where you were. You moved with purpose, channeling your focus to maintain a sense of normalcy and readiness.

You quickly checked all the locks and ensured the windows were secure. Double-checking the room for any potential surveillance devices or hidden threats was second nature. Satisfied, you placed a small doorstop under the main entrance for an added layer of security.

You drank a full glass of water and tossed all your trash into the bin.

With the room secure and your immediate tasks completed, you decided it was time to unwind. You picked up a paperback novel from your bag, one of the few comforts you allowed yourself on missions. You settled into the comfortable chair in the corner of the room, the soft lamp casting a warm glow over the pages.

You didn’t know how long it had been, and you didn’t realize you’d fallen asleep. The sound of the shower eventually ceased, and Natasha emerged, looking somewhat more relaxed. She glanced at you and gave a slight nod before heading to her side of the room. You returned her nod with one of your own.

With one last glance around the room to ensure everything was in its place, you turned back to your book, content to spend a few more minutes immersed in its pages before eventually turning in for the night.

You ensured that your shower was as luxurious as the decor suggested. The water temperature was perfect, and the pressure was strong, washing away the grime and tension of the day. You allowed yourself a few moments to enjoy the warmth and relaxation, something you rarely had the luxury to do.

After drying off and changing into comfortable clothing, you took one last glance around the room. Everything was secure and in place, exactly as you left it. The windows were locked, the doorstop was firmly in place, and your equipment was within easy reach.

You glanced over at the bed, where Natasha lay with her back turned toward you, the soft rise and fall of her shoulders indicating she was still awake.

With quiet steps, you approached the bed, the dim light casting soft shadows across the room. You pulled back the covers and slipped in, the cool sheets contrasting with the lingering warmth from your shower. As you settled in, you could feel the tension in the air, a silence hanging between you.

You lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, before finally breaking the silence. "Natasha," you said softly, testing the waters.

She didn't respond immediately, but you could tell she was listening. You waited, giving her the space to speak if she wanted to. After a few moments, her voice cut through the quiet.

"I don't like the nicknames thing," she said, her tone firm but not unkind. "It's not my style."

You turned slightly to face her, even though she remained turned away. "Okay," you replied gently, accepting her words without argument. "I understand."

There was a pause, and you could sense her considering her next words carefully. "It's just... I need things to be straightforward," she continued, her voice softer now. "No games, no pretense."

"I get that. And I'm sorry if I pushed too hard. I just wanted to lighten things up a bit."

Natasha sighed, her shoulders relaxing just a fraction. "I know," she admitted. "But maybe we can find another way."

A small smile tugged at your lips. "Yeah, we can do that."

The silence returned, but this time it felt different—less heavy, more understanding.

“I like the touches,” You spoke. Natasha’s head lifted slightly, and though you couldn’t see her in the darkness, you could tell she was looking at you. “What I mean is, “ You continued, choosing your words carefully. “I am appreciative that you asked me if I was okay with it. Which I am. You’re not creepy or threatening.”

Natasha remained silent for a moment, processing your words. When she spoke, her voice was softer, less guarded. "I'm glad you feel that way. It's important to me that you feel safe."

You nodded, even though she couldn't see it. "I do. I know this whole situation is... unusual, but having clear boundaries and respect makes it easier."

She sighed a sound that conveyed both relief and contemplation. "I guess we're both trying to navigate this the best we can."

"Yeah," You agreed, a sense of mutual understanding settling between you. "And we're getting there, one step at a time."

Natasha turned slightly, her silhouette visible in the dim light filtering through the window. "Let's just keep being honest with each other. It might not make everything perfect, but it will help."

You smiled again, feeling a warm sense of connection. "Deal."

With that, the room fell into a comfortable silence once more.

With that, you closed your eyes, the tension in your body finally easing as you allowed yourself to drift toward sleep, comforted by the small step forward you had taken together.

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

The first light of morning barely peeked through the heavy curtains when Natasha woke up. Years of disciplined routine had honed her internal clock to perfection. She moved silently, careful not to disturb the still-sleeping form beside her. Your soft, steady breathing filled the room, a stark contrast to Natasha’s alertness.

She slipped out of bed, her movements precise and efficient. She grabbed her workout clothes from the chair where she had neatly placed them the night before, dressing quickly and quietly. She tied her hair back into a tight ponytail, her mind already shifting into the focused state she reserved for her morning workouts.

As she laced up her sneakers, she glanced back at you. She would offer to wake you but she’d rather not poke the sleeping bear. The last time she done it you’d been grumpy the entire ride to th airport. Besides, she would like to spend some time alone to think about some things.

She grabbed her water bottle and quietly exited the room, the door clicking softly shut behind her. The hotel gym was quite a walk from the bungalows, giving Natasha some time to scope out the place. There were fewer people out than last night which was to be expected. The gym was a well-equipped space that Natasha found surprisingly adequate. She liked to start her day with a combination of cardio and strength training, a routine that kept her body in peak condition and her mind sharp.

She started with a warm-up on the treadmill, the pounding of her feet against the belt synchronizing with her thoughts. She increased the speed, pushing herself into a steady run, her breath coming in controlled, even intervals.

After her cardio, she moved to the free weights, her muscles welcoming the familiar burn. Each lift, each rep, was a show of her strength and determination. The workout was as much for her mind as it was for her body, a way to center herself and prepare for the day.

She ended the workout with stretching. As Natasha sat on one of the floors of the gym hotel her mind drifted to the mission. The bonfire scheduled for later that evening was meant to provide an opportunity to gather more information about the people involved and potentially uncover any hidden agendas. Yet, as she reviewed the events of the past few days, Natasha couldn't shake the feeling of unease that lingered in the back of her mind.

So far, nothing had raised suspicion, and Natasha wasn't entirely surprised by that fact. The resort had managed to stay open despite multiple scandals, which suggested that there was more to the operation than met the eye. It was clear that someone was pulling the strings behind the scenes, but identifying who and why remained a challenge.

Natasha's analytical mind raced through the possibilities, considering every angle and scenario. She knew that she couldn't afford to let her guard down, even for a moment. The mission was too important, and the stakes were too high to risk overlooking any potential threats.

*********** You heard the soft click of the hotel room door and rested your head on the pillow once again. Natasha was going to work out at this indecent time, and you weren’t one to stop her. You knew that both of you needed this alone time to stay sane and keep charged. You could understand that your personality was a little strong at times and made a note to yourself to tone it down. The last thing you needed was to be labeled as difficult to work with.

With a sigh, you reached for your phone on the nightstand. As you unlocked the screen, an idea sparked in your mind. Pulling the covers up around you, you quickly snapped a selfie, making sure to capture your bedhead and the early morning light filtering through the curtains. It was a candid moment, one that felt strangely intimate despite the distance between you and Natasha.

You attached a simple message to the photo before hitting send: “Morning vibes. Hope your workout is going well. See you at breakfast?”

Sending the message off, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction. It was a small gesture, but one that spoke volumes about the growing rapport between you and Natasha. If someone were to get a hold of your devices, there would be enough evidence to convince them that your fake relationship was real. It was a risk, but one you were willing to take for the sake of the mission.

As you waited for Natasha’s response, you couldn’t help but feel a twinge of nervousness. Would she appreciate the gesture, or would she see it as unnecessary? You knew that Natasha was practical and focused, not one for frivolous sentimentality. Still, you hoped that she would understand the underlying message behind the selfie.

When her response finally came, it was short and to the point: “Thanks. Breakfast sounds good.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at her dry response. Leave it to Natasha to cut straight to the chase. But despite the lack of enthusiasm in her message, you couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, she appreciated the gesture more than she let on.

With a grin on your face, you set your phone back on the nightstand and turned to find sleep again. You would need it.

*********** You met Natasha at the breakfast buffet offered by the resort, a spread that was far better than anything you experienced in most recent times, no offense to Tony. The array of fresh fruit, pastries, and gourmet coffee was impressive, and Natasha couldn't help but raise an eyebrow in appreciation as she filled her plate.

As you settled into a table by the window, you couldn't resist commenting on the breakfast spread. "I have to admit, this beats room service at the Tower any day," you remarked.

Natasha nodded in agreement, though her expression remained neutral. "It's certainly a step up from the usual fare," she replied, her tone cool and composed.

“Don’t get me wrong Tony’s stuff is awesome but it’s nothing like this,” You bite into a piece of crispy bacon. “What do they say about billionaires being cheap again?”

Natasha arched an eyebrow, a hint of amusement dancing in her eyes. "I think it's more about being frugal than cheap," she replied, her tone dry. "But I suppose it depends on the billionaire in question."

You chuckled, enjoying the easy banter between you. “How was your workout?”

Natasha looked up from her plate, her expression unreadable. "It was adequate," she replied simply, taking a sip of her coffee.

You nodded, sensing that she wasn't in the mood for small talk. "Fair enough," you replied, deciding not to press the issue further.

The conversation lapsed into a comfortable silence as you both focused on finishing your breakfast.

“I, um, do you cook?” Natasha asked, breaking the silence with a tentative question.

“Of course I do,” You smiled, sensing an opportunity for a topic of conversation. “You can’t enjoy food as much as I do and not be a great cook.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, a hint of skepticism in her expression. “Is that so?” she replied, her tone curious.

You nodded, taking a sip of your coffee before continuing. “Yeah, I actually enjoy cooking. It's a way for me to unwind and relax after a long day. Plus, there's something satisfying about creating a delicious meal from scratch.”

Natasha considered your words for a moment before speaking again. “Funny, I don't think I've ever seen you cook in the Tower,” she remarked, her tone casual but observant.

You chuckled, a sheepish grin spreading across your face. “Well, to be fair, it's not like I had much opportunity to cook there. Tony had a chef on staff, and the rest of the team had their own preferences when it came to meals.”

Natasha nodded, seeming to accept your explanation. “I see,” she replied, though you could tell there was more to her curiosity than she let on.

“Oh, but I have cooked for a few people,” You added. “I've made meals for Wanda and Vision, and Sam on occasion. Monica Rambeau too. Everyone else pretty much does their own thing when it comes to food.”

Natasha's interest was piqued by your mention of cooking for Monica Rambeau. “Monica Rambeau?” she echoed, her tone intrigued.

You nodded, recalling the times you had prepared meals for Monica during her visits to the Tower. “Yeah, she stopped by a few times when she was in town. We had some good conversations over dinner,” you explained, a fond smile playing on your lips.

Natasha's expression softened, but there was a subtle flicker of something in her eyes. “I see,” she replied.

You caught the slight shift in her demeanor but didn’t bother questioning it. You didn’t want to ruin a good thing.

The conversation ended there as you were interrupted by the arrival of another couple, who approached the table with eager smiles. The man, Marcus, was tall and well-dressed, while the woman, Anna, exuded an air of sophistication that seemed at odds with the casual beach resort setting. They were slightly younger than you and Natasha, and their enthusiasm for the resort was evident in their animated conversation.

"Good morning! Mind if we join you?" Marcus asked, his tone friendly but a little too eager.

Natasha exchanged a glance with you before gesturing to the empty chairs opposite them. "Please, have a seat," she replied politely, though her guard was already up.

“I’m Anna and this is my husband, Marcus Blattler.” Anna waved from her seat.

“I’m Alexis and this is Joan,” You greeted back kindly. “Nice to meet you both.”

"So, how are you two enjoying your stay so far?" Anna asked, her smile bright and sincere.

You shared a quick look with Natasha before answering, "Oh, it's been wonderful. The resort is beautiful, and the staff have been incredibly accommodating."

Natasha nodded in agreement, her tone perfectly measured. "Yes, we've been thoroughly impressed with the amenities and the level of service."

Marcus leaned in, his eyes sparkling with curiosity. "And what brings you to the resort? Are you celebrating a special occasion?"

"Actually, we're here on a sort of mini-vacation," You replied smoothly, your smile never faltering. " Our first anniversary as a married couple. Just taking some time to relax and unwind."

Anna's eyes widened with interest. "That sounds lovely! Do you two come here often?"

"Oh, this is our first time here," You replied, a note of casualness in your tone. "But we've heard such great things about the resort that we couldn't resist giving it a try."

“Yeah, so far it’s been great,” Natasha played along.

Anna's eyes sparkled with curiosity. "Have you two heard about the bonfire they have here every week? It’s tonight," she asked, her voice tinged with excitement. "It's such a romantic setting, with the firelight dancing on the beach and the sound of the waves in the background. It's one of the highlights of our stay here."

You and Natasha exchanged a glance, inwardly relieved that Anna had shifted the conversation to a more innocuous topic. "Actually, we haven't heard much about it," you replied, feigning ignorance. "But it sounds lovely. Maybe we'll have to check it out tonight."

Marcus nodded enthusiastically. "You definitely should! It's a great way to unwind after a day of activities. Plus, you never know who you might meet around the fire," he added with a wink.

Natasha's interest was piqued by Marcus's mention of meeting new people. "Oh, really?" she asked, her tone carefully neutral. "Do you and Anna go to the bonfire often?"

Anna smiled, her gaze lingering on Natasha momentarily longer than necessary. "Oh, we're regulars," she replied, her tone casual but her eyes betraying a hint of something more. "It's a great way to meet other couples and make new friends. You never know who you might run into."

“Well count us in,” You smiled. “Now that you mentioned it, an older couple by the pool yesterday informed us about the bonfire. I really hope it lives up to the hype.”

“Great. It will.” Anna nodded. As the conversation with Anna and Marcus continued, you couldn't help but notice Anna's overwhelming enthusiasm and friendliness. "So, y'all are celebrating your anniversary here?" She chirped, her smile bright and infectious. "Isn’t that just the sweetest thing!"

You chuckled at her energy, finding it endearing yet slightly overwhelming. "Yeah, we figured a beach getaway would be the perfect way to celebrate," you replied, your smile mirroring hers.

Natasha nodded in agreement, though her expression remained guarded. "It's been a pleasant escape from the hustle and bustle of city life," she added, her tone polite but distant.

Anna's eyes widened with excitement. "Oh, I just love a good beach vacation!" she exclaimed, her southern drawl becoming more pronounced. "There's just somethin' about the ocean air and the sound of the waves that soothes the soul, don't y'all think?"

You nodded, impressed by Anna's enthusiasm for the beach. "Absolutely," you agreed, silently noting the warmth and sincerity in her voice. "There's nothing quite like it."

“Well, we’re going to let y’all get back to your day,” Marcus excused the two of them, his tone friendly but with a hint of urgency. “Anna and I are going to go ahead and find us an excursion.”

Anna leaned forward, her smile bright and inviting. “Why don’t we exchange numbers?” she suggested, her southern accent adding a charming lilt to her words.

“Sure, that sounds like a good idea,” you replied, pulling out your phone and exchanging numbers with Anna and Marcus.

Natasha followed suit, her movements precise and controlled as she entered Anna and Marcus's contact information into her phone. Despite her reservations, she remained polite and composed, unwilling to give Anna and Marcus any reason to suspect that something was amiss.

As you exchanged pleasantries and bid Anna and Marcus farewell, you turned slightly back to Natasha.

“Is it me or does it seem we’re the only new couple,” You asked.

“Hmm, no, I see it too,” Natasha glanced subtly around the room. “It could be we simply haven’t met other first-timers. Might be something to take note of.”

“Got it, boss,” You nodded. The bonfire was only eight hours away. You were excited to see what was in store.

[dearmura]

you and riki as the 8th member of enhypen

☆ cause too much trouble together that you have to be separated by the members/management...

☆ are way too confident in telling him off and are quickly humbled when he reminds you of his height

☆ say that you "hate" one another when you're rlly each other's best friends

☆ members low-key ship you and made a separate gc placing their bets on how long its gonna take for one of you losers to admit your love....

☆ always sneaking into each other's beds in the middle of the night

"y/n, are you awake"

"no, leave me alone"

hearing a low chuckle, you soon feel a pair of arms wrap around you, his legs immediately tangling themselves in yours as they always did, fitting together like puzzle pieces as his nose buries itself in the crook of your neck

☆ even though you tease each other, he still has a whole other level of gentleness when it comes to you that the members are low-key jealous of😒

☆ loves seeing you in his clothes but will never admit it (blushes so hard that the other members tease him for it)

☆ never acts upon it for obvious reasons but can't help but feel a little jealous when he sees you having fun with the other members, wishing you would give him that same attention instead

☆ pretends to be grumpy but secretly loves it when you crawl into his bed, snuggling up into him in attempts to fall asleep as he prays you don't hear his heart practically jumping out of his chest

☆ admires you from afar knowing that you could never be, wishing that in some other world, in other circumstances, you'd be his and he'd be yours...

a.n: dearmura active era?? sorry I've been out for so long😞 I've been so busy and just don't have the same time I did in the summer...I'm hoping to come back and write you guys some more whenever I get the chance but motivation is running low🤕

[precious-little-scoundrel]

Dear John || Tell me you didn’t

Dear John || Masters of the Air fanfiction

Series Summary: Major John Egan wasn’t the pen-pal sort but a couple of hours into a dark night full of writing condolence letters he finds himself wondering why he never tried his hand at the nicer forms of correspondence. Who better to reanimate his numb inspiration than the glamorous Miss Lana Tierney? -the army’s girl next door, the pinup so prolific she was practically a wall paper print and Bucky’s long-standing cinematic crush. It’s not like she’ll read it anyways, tucked up in luxury in Beverly Hills with carts of tedious fanmail burned in her back yard each day, his letter will get lost in the mix. It’s harmless. That thought -and the booze- may loosen his pen a little too much but it’s alright, it’s not like she’ll read it. Right? Right.

Circa: August 1943

Plot: Gale Cleven learns that not only did his best friend send dubious fanmail while blind drunk, he seems to have singled out with his indomitable luck the one starlet of the silver screen capable of matching his depravity

Warnings: 18+ for suggestive and crass content, it’s pretty much two boys acting like a couple of girls at a sleepover deciphering a dirty text from one’s crush

My thanks to my baby Bri for literally being the brains behind the plot and for Christi for assuring me this ain’t trash. We shall if y’all share those sentiments…

The referenced letter link 💌

“Tell me you didn’t.” Gale managed to keep his tone calm but he’d be lying if he didn’t admit his fingertips had gone a little chilly.

“I-“ Egan threw his arms out as if a better truth might form with a little more gesticulation but nothing came, “I did, Buck.” he admitted.

“You wrote it blind drunk.” Gale reminded him with urgency, as if the reminder of its ill calculated circumstances could snatch back his letter from out of Lana Tierney’s posh mailbox.

“I did!” He agreed, “-And I sent it blind drunk. And I never thought she’d read it.”

“I saw you eat it!” Cleven’s voice was growing angry, “I made you-“

“That may have been a botched first draft to Donny’s folks instead.” Egan winced.

Both of them lapsed again into silence, staring warily at the unopened and daintily addressed envelope in Egan’s hand like it might explode at any moment.

“You sonuvabitch.” Gale breathed, two frantic pink splotches appearing on his cherub cheeked face, judgment and disbelief making a whirlpool of his eyes. “Can’t leave you alone for a minute. What all did you even say?”

“I didn’t tell her about ACORN!” John vowed like a child swearing to their sibling regarding secrets kept from mother, “I mean, i called her that but I didn’t explai-“

“-John!”

“-and I said a lotta nice things too, I think, but, I also-“ Egan scrunched his eyes up as if to either better recall or maybe banish entirely all memory of his sentiments, “-I may have mentioned wanting to give her children.”

“JOHN!”

“It can’t have been that bad, she wrote back!” Egan defended with wounded hope, holding up his still sealed prize. “Buck, swear to God, I never thought she’d read it.”

Gale slumped down next to him on the bed as if the ordeal in voyeuristic stupidity had taken something out of him. “Maybe she didn’t.” he suggested grimly. “Maybe it’s from her attorney tellin’ you to never contact her again.”

He was enjoying ruining this moment a little too much, and now Egan was growing angry he had waited to open it until confiding in his friend. Not a little anxious, and not a little smug, Egan flipped the envelope over, ready to tear its flap. That’s when he saw the kiss print. “Ha!” he barked, flipping it back up and shoving it directly in front of Gale’s crossing eyes, “Do lawyers leave lip prints?” he questioned cockily and when Gale pulled far enough away to ascertain for himself, he gave a conceding nod.

“Huh.”

“Yeah, huh.” John goaded but his heart beat a crazy and skittish rhythm as he slipped his finger inside the fold and tore at the slip.

Lovely, scented, gold embossed stationery came into view, it made Egan question how well he had washed his hands the paper was so white and pristine.

“Well?” Gale kept to a respectful distance of half a foot away from his friend on the bed, and being a good sort of man, he was not snooping or side eyeing private correspondence.

“Uh, yeah, right.” Bucky rallied himself and unfolded the missive fully, forcing his eyes to focus on deciphering charming, school girl cursive. “Get over here, Buck.” he griped at last as it was hopeless to make headway between his own nerves and Cleven’s hovering presence.

Gale didn’t move and Bucky didn’t expect him to so he scooted over herself, smashing him on the edge and held the letter out as they both leaned in.

“Dear John, -I’m sorry Major Egan, I just had to.”

“Oh shit.” Bucky swore in realization.

“She’s funny.” Gale’s tone was ever so mild.

“Nah she’s, Buck, she’s quoting me back to me I told her -nevermind, let’s see-“

They peered back at the letter together, Cleven more invested that he’d ever admit and Bucky’s heart doing the oddest little flips at the realization that someone gave enough of a damn to write this sorta thing back to him.

“Heartfelt.” Gale murmured her choice of words for Bucky’s letter aloud with something close to relief, only to be then followed by a groan- “you did not write the word ‘knockers’ in a letter to a woman!”

“You're right, you’re right,” Egan ducked his head, repentant, he wouldn’t have been the least surprised if he got a wallop from Cleven for it, “awful of me. I admitted it even then. She admits it. Let’s move on.”

“RACK!” Cleven growled moments later in growing disbelief. “Jesus, John.”

“Oh don’t act better than all of it, you know she’s got the best melons out there-“

“-you’re the one who felt compelled to write a nice young lady and tell her as much.” Buck stabbed an accusatory finger dangerously close to Egan’s nose, “And used vulgarities while at it.”

Egan gave a defensive shrug and began his reading anew. “She said she’s fizzing…over making babies.” he whispered, “With me.” John was awed and this time Cleven had no rebuttal, just ever growing wonderment on his ever reddening face. “And she says here, look! she says you’re a bad boy for breaking us up that night! HA!”

“She’s being polite Bucky,” Gale cautioned, worried at where this surge of confidence might lead, “she didn’t admit to remembering a bit of it. They send girls to school to let fellas like you down easy.”

“Aww, now she says to give ya a kiss.” Egan cooed, saccharine and wicked, “See, she’s so nice and you’re the one who’s awful, doubting her like that. She says to give ya one if you’re the sort to take it well, are ya Buck, huh? Are you? Huh?”

“No, no! Jesus, get off me!” Cleven exerted every bit of his wiry strength to lug off the sudden onslaught of Egan’s heavy embrace as they folded together back onto the bed, John’s mouth making sickening smooching noises against Cleven’s baby smooth cheek, mustache a foreign and terrifying tickle on his jaw. “Get the hell off me, what is wrong with you?”

“I’m riled, just like her, that’s what’s wrong.” Egan replied vehemently, pulling his face away but keeping a perturbed Buck beneath his greater weight. “And maybe one day you’ll know what that feels like, Goldilocks. See, says right here: *I can feel my pulse somewhere besides my wrists* Do you hear that?” He demanded, still holding the letter aloft as Gale looked up at him with the sort of patience people reserve for lunatics liable to murder them at the least hint of movement. “I’ve made her horny.” he spelled it out and Gale’s face somehow flushed an even deeper shade of scarlet. “She wants to know what acorn means.”

“Don’t you ever tell her.” Gale warned.

“Why not?”

“It’s not even a good acronym, it’s misspelled and missing a whole word.”

“She wants it to be ‘salacious’ -says so herself.”

“No way.”

“Yes way.” Bucky flipped the letter over for Gale to see and judging by the panic in his eyes he caught more lines than that one alone.

“Jesus.” he repeated, it was starting to sound like a genuine beg for divine intervention. “Get off me.”

That itching physical impulse to roughhouse remained but Egan obligingly rolled to the side, aware Buck didn’t have what would cure his own riled self. “She says she enclosed something for the morale, said to keep it safe. But there’s not anything else. You see anything else?”

“I don’t.” Buck sounded worn down but he made an effort to look around amongst the sheets.

“Julia Jean.” Egan pondered, “Says that’s her real name.”

“Yeah, well, maybe now you can stop calling her acorn every damn time she comes on screen.”

“Don’t count on it.” Egan grinned back.

“Maybe it’s still in the envelope.” Gale suggested, tentatively picking up the air mail slip and handing it to Bucky.

Egan sat up and shook the paper between them, wondering if it was really something worth hiding from the censors like some OSS spy shit. A couple of shakes and sure enough, some slippery little card shaped thing fluttered out of a crease and wafted to the ground, settling between Buck’s boots. John’s stoic young friend bent over and retrieved it, but not without his entire spine stiffening like he’d been hit as soon as he’d caught it.

“Jesus.” it was more of a wheeze this time. Gale’s slow hand raised it and passed it over.

There wasn’t anything to say, not when confronted with such perfection. Not even a shielding arm to cheat him of the whole display, nothin’ at all but a carefully cropped photograph of the ripest pair of-

“Goddamn.” John’s tongue finally materialized a sentiment and he heard Gale’s appreciative sharp intake of breath beside him as if he’d forgotten to breathe here lately. “They’re wonderful.”

“Yeah.” Gale’s own throat sounded dry as dust, “W-we should probably stop starin’.”

“Whadda ya think she sent ‘em for?” John laughed, a rough, victorious laugh, never once dragging his admiring eyes away from them or ceasing to thumb over the shiny print. He could almost feel her warm, giving flesh under the pad of his finger, could almost imagine the pebble of a rosy nipple responding to his swipes.

“Yeah, they’re alright-“

“Alright? Alright!?” Egan repeated, incensed for his beloved’s reputation, “THESE ARE THE BEST TITS IN THE NATION!”

Gale actually looked mildly chastened, especially as his eyes strayed guiltily back to the photograph like twin marbles gravitating to the corner of a box when tipped.

“I know you haven’t seen many, Buck,” Egan goaded him further, “but take it from me -they don’t get better than this. And you better enjoy this look, it’s your last, she told me to keep them safe. So see this? These? This pair? S’why we fight, Buck.”

“Don’t be crass, John,” Gale stood up abruptly, less angry at his friend than at himself for his momentary lapse of discipline, “we fight for the people we love.”

“Course we do,” John grinned, “but I also happen to love these, told her so myself.”

“You didn’t-“

“I did.” Bucky was pretty chuffed, bouncing on the edge of the bed like he had her seated in his lap right now, “Everybody’s got to have a goal, Buck, you wanna marry Marj and I wanna aggressively come on ripe knock-“

“-A.C.O.R.N. yeah, yeah.”

“Acorn.” Bucky grinned in agreement.

“You gonna admit to her you didn’t know knockers was spelled with a k?”

“I did, too! Just couldn’t make it work.”

“Still doesn't work.” Buck informed, but his smile was returning, he’d not been this close with Bucky for this long not to learn to roll with the differences and appreciate that what made his best friend tick was a very different sort of morale than his own. “I’m happy for ya, John.” he conceded, as he turned to leave, “But when you write her back -and you gotta, she’s been too kind -promise me you’ll be a gentleman about it. Apologize, like the man I know you are. Drink got the better of you, just, explain it that way.”

“Uhuh.” John gave him a sober nod, still a little dazed this wasn’t some fever dream. “Kinda already did. In the one I sent.”

“She wasn’t deterred.” Gale mused, “Either you were shit at it or she’s-“

“Zesty.” Egan deduced, sucking his teeth with a manic gleam in his eye.

“Yeah, as an orange peel.” Gale snarked and walked away, past the rows of empty beds and outside into the rain, “I’ll leave you to it.”

Bucky fell back against his mattress, sudden peace and aloneness giving him a chance to soak it in a second time, carefully reading over it all again, savoring each quip, each earnest prayer and naughty subtext. Which naturally led him back to admiring her little picture, groaning in unrestrained appreciation for her assets. She’d hinted about him taking it to his bunk -well wasn’t he fast to obey! Something possessed him to flip it over and there in the corner of the photograph, written in tiny little script, were doodles of music notes along with the ever so familiar lyrics:

“Beat me daddy, eight to the bar.”

John threw back his head and let out a roar of appreciation for finding a mirrored soul. “Oh Julie Jean, honey baby, don’t you worry, I’ll beat out somethin’ for ya, that’s for sure.”

💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌

Thank y’all for reading, hope you enjoyed! Feedback is a writer’s life blood, please scream at me, I thrive off it. 💋

Taglist (Lemme know in a comment below if you’d like to be added or subtracted for MOTA fics)

@stylespresleyhearted

@ab4eva

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[skelly-words]

more bf!sukuna hcs, but he’s insufferable and stuck in my head. this is part 4…

warning: some NSFW, slight intox, minors DNI

NEVER lets you drive. he’s so misogynistic. “females are bad drivers” ass bitch. "you're gonna wrap us around a tree."

claims to despise when you baby him e.g. forehead kisses, scratching his back to put him to sleep, even fucking cuddling. don’t believe that shit for a second but pretend to and stop until he starts acting grateful.

way too confrontational to be taken out in public. just pretend you don’t know him when he’s pulling a gun on someone who stepped on his shoes.

you’d be broke if you bailed him out of jail every fucking time. at least let him marinate there all night before folding or call his dad to do it instead.

so messy. it's unintentional, but sukuna just leaves a trail of disorder in his wake. throw pillows on the floor, shoes in the walkway, and always leaving the lights on despite complaining about the utility bill.

throw him outside to do yardwork or something. he loves that shit. putting in a couple fruit trees, maybe stepping stones. by the end of the summer you have a tiered garden with slate retaining walls and an automatic irrigation system.

why does he have a green thumb? he's in a secret competition with the neighbors for prettiest lawn. and yet, you manage to kill the little succulent garden he planted for you.

a minimalist (derogatory). sukuna is always trying to throw your trinkets and knickknacks away when you're not paying attention.

he loves getting a little fashion show after you buy new clothes. it's one of the few cute things he'll admit to enjoying. it doesn't matter if the outfit is skimpy or modest, hearts are popping out of his eyes like in a fucking cartoon.

doesn't apologize under any circumstances. the word 'sorry,' isn't in his lexicon. however, he will leave his card on the counter before heading to work and pick up flowers on the way home and make reservations at your favorite restaurant. don't expect to hear a real apology though.

super duper tender-headed. you can't even detangle it without him whining. might cry if you try to do braids, twists, any kinda style. fucking pussy

irritating asf. actually hate him, idk why i’m writing this. i'd probably poison him and collect the life insurance.

UMM nsfw

calling sukuna something corny and dominant in bed (sir/daddy/king/etc.) out of the blue would make him nut. and he isn’t even embarrassed about it at all.

incapable of pulling off a quickie. i think this is more endearing than aggravating. he can't hit it right in just ten minutes. he'll ask for more time. and a little more. then it's been an hour and you're likely running late for something.

thinks you're hottest bent over (i'm not even projecting rn bc my ass is flat). don't worry, he thinks your face is cute, missionary is great too. but if you wore one of those pillow case ass house dresses with no panties he'd go crazy. i hate to air him out like this, but it's true. i gotta link this shit so you know what i'm talking about. makes him feral. maybe i am projecting bc i luv those dresses.

but anyway, he'd fall for the 'bend and snap' so bad (legally blonde reference). these are basically crack, sorry

occasionally forgets that foreplay is a thing and tries to go straight from light frenching to stickin it.

i feel like sukuna’s sunday nights are spent getting really high and kissing on you for hours. he just gets the munchies dude. leaving dewy spots of saliva on all your exposed skin. once he’s tasted that, your clothes is peeled off so he can drool on the rest of you. he doesn’t even realize how much of a tease he is. his mouth suctioned to your inner thigh… maybe i should just write this as its own thingy

p sure i said this already, but he’s a biter. gnaws on you like a mf chew toy. it’s an oral fixation thing, if you don’t like it buy him lots of lollipops and tic tacs.

ok i have to stop before i gross myself out. tyty for reading <3<3<3 have a wonderful day.

masterlist if you wanna read the rest

[gumbootillustrations]

dame katelyn de feu my beloved 😭😭😭

more bits under the cut!!

katelyn first shows up to phoenix drop towards the end of season one under similar circumstances to canon mcd - jeffory's about to be executed for treason, and she's desperately trying to get his name cleared before he dies. however, when it becomes clearer and clearer to her that zane's using him as a scapegoat, she decides to turn on him and side with aphmau and the phoenix alliance ahead of the battle for phoenix drop.

in ashes, ashes, jurors were originally ordained through the bestowal of relics - however, after they went missing a couple of centuries after the first war of the magi, they pretty much became just. super politically powerful guards until about twenty years before the start of ashes, ashes, when the high priest of o'khasis at the time (zane's predecessor) figured out a way to bestow the powers of the juror relics to the jurors without using the relics themselves. anyway, its blood magick and it essentially brands the jurors with a seven-pointed star on their foreheads as a mark of the ritual being completed. katelyn hates what the ritual has turned her into - even though long hair is lowkey pretty impractical in a fight, she keeps hers long so that her mark is hidden (jeffory did the same, and garroth will also grow his hair out a little to cover his mark). when she transforms, a lot of the saturation in her skin in hair is drained out due to the magick not being suuuper holy (in fact, the first casting of the ritual upset the balance of the universe so much that it woke up the primordial gods n they sicked a plague on o'khasis that garte would later blame on tu'lan biological warfare). additionally, because the magick of the ritual sort of like. blends in? with any magicks or witchcraft already present in the juror their juror form will reflect this - katelyn has fire magicks, so when she transforms, her hair turns into this sort of sickly pale blue fire. her fire is hot enough that it burns blue anyway, but yeah.

katelyn burns her juror armour the minute she can once everyone gets out of the irene dimension. for a while, she just wears whatever she can scrounge up from around phoenix drop, but when cadenza finds out about this she gives katelyn this outfit! it's definitely done out of the kindness of her heart, there definitely aren't any ulterior motives don't worry. it's a lot more of a mercenary-ish look compared to her juror armour, but katelyn likes it just fine - especially since a certain flame-haired seamstress with a winning smile made it especially for her.

a little headcanon i have about katelyn - i feel like even though she isn't great at sewing, having grown up in a minor noble house in o'khasis, i feel like she would have some skills with textiles. specifically, i feel like she'd knit and/or crochet in her down time! before everyone heads out to gal'ruk, she knits everyone some mittens/scarves/socks/etc. not sweaters, though - she's loathe to admit it, but she's a firm believer in the sweater curse. otherwise, nothing much changes except that she throws on a coat and calls it a day - i like to think that, similar to laurance, she runs a little hotter than most people due to her fire magicks sort of acting as a bit of an internal furnace, so she doesn't need to bundle up quite as much as the others.

her day-to-day outfit is pretty much her standard guard outfit without the armour. she does wear an underbust corset/belt/thing with a small pouch attached, though - its very useful for carrying around knickknacks n stuff. otherwise, there's not much else to really comment on? idk. i probably shouldve added in some scars on her arms but its 11:30 pm at the time im writing this n ive spent way too long on this dang ref sheet already so yeah.

i decided to change up her conqueror form quite a bit - the form i drew in my original lineup of the second war's divine warriors wasn't really katelyn n looking back on it i shouldve spent more time trying to get it right. anyway, katelyn's mother was from southern tu'la, and was from a merchant family with some distant blood ties to the royal family - katelyn is technically related to the king of tu'la, but the relation is so distant that she doesn't really consider him (or any of the tu'lan nobles, really) to be blood relations. it's through this lineage, though, that she's able to resonate with menphia's relic, although it definitely helps that she's the second war's incarnation of the conqueror. mostly, the design notes from her first conqueror design remain the same - all i've really done is change the colour palette.

aaaand some headshots. i haven't exactly worked out how she got her facial scars - the big one was probably gotten on her first major assignment as a juror. however, it's nasty enough that when it healed it sort of fucked up her facial muscles - the scar tissue has permanently warped the right side of her mouth into a grimace, so anytime she makes a facial expression it's pretty lopsided (it's especially noticeable when she smiles). also, i changed the titling system for the jury to be more similar to the commonwealth knighthood system? like as much as i think "lady katelyn" is sick as fuck, the fact that it's the same title used for the female spouses of lords just sorta,,, didn't sit right? i guess? so yeah. dame katelyn.

anyway, feel free to ask questions if u want! :D

[akutasoda]

FLUFF HCS FOR BSD CHARACTERS BUT READER IS RESCUED FROM AN ABUSIVE ORGANIZATION? Reader used to be in abusive organization that mostly used their (and other members) abilities and now is working in the ADA for a short time (idk mbh a 2/3 weeks or a month its up to u actually)🔥⁉️ not very talktive and sometimes acts weird because of how they used to be treated in the abusive organization but seems to actually get along with someone🔥🔥⁉️

🌚…

would like to request Ranpo, Yosano, Dazai and Atsushi / Kenji (platonic ofc) + characters u want to add⁉️🔥⁉️

ILY UR WRITING❤️❤️❤️

new beginnings

synopsis - after moving away from a dark past, you quite quickly became connected with a new coworker

includes - atsushi, dazai, yosano, ranpo, kenji

warnings - gn!reader, fluff, slight angst, comfort, implied past unhealthy relations, wc- 1.3k

a/n: hellooo! thank you so much!

you had been found by fukuzawa. found and swiftly taken in, the fate of your previous coworkers was unknown but you had made it out. fukuzawa had held your entrance exam himself, he understood your circumstances and therefore made the exception.

he had also made the decision to hide the reason for your sudden appearance in the agency and you always were very happy that people didn't ask you where you had come from. you tried to act like nothing had ever happened, but that was truly impossible. but, much to fukuzawa's happiness, you had started to bond with a particular new coworker...

atsushi nakajima ★↷

your relationship with the weretiger had manly stemmed from having temporarily sharing a desk during his first days at the agency. and in someway he had learned that you too had not been here long. and so he kind of started looking to you for help naturally, apart from when dazai was around.

he didn't think much of your strange nature, instead he just saw it as you. he even suggested early on that you both stick together - you both were rather new and could do with helping the other out! and to your own surprise you had accepted his simple offer, when fukuzawa heard of this he was simply estatic. and even when atsushi finally gained his own desk you still spoke to him the most.

it eventually got to the point where you two were practically joined at the hip, helping each other navigate through working at the agency. he never minded how little you talked he did admit that around you he seemed to talk a bit more - as if he had some new confidence. but you two had grown very close, his overly kind nature made you feel at ease in a way, and eventually you felt he could be trusted.

you never imagined telling anyone about your past, but here you were. a moment of weakness that wasn't exploited by atsushi and instead offered nothing but comfort. he could in a small way relate, after all his orphanage wasn't the best. but that meant you two could only support each other more, help each other even more.

osamu dazai ★↷

he was always eccentric, wether it was genuine or not you found it intriguing. you had felt naturally drawn to him but never imagined him holding the same interest to you ever. but in your first few days of working at the agency he had found intrest in you. firstly from your sudden appearance and weird lack of a collective entrance exam but then mainly from your personality and overall demeanour.

and thus started your relation with the man. it was quite unlikely, he was outgoing while you rather stayed to yourself but they do say opposites attract. and in that sense it worked. he never mided how you acted nor your weird personality, if anything it added to your charm. he always held the intrigue of why you were so suddenly part of the agency but was very glad he had met you.

he had felt that maybe this could be a genuine relationship with someone. he felt he could connect in a way that baffled him and the whole thing just felt right. and so your relation with dazai never wavered, it stayed very strong all the time and naturally you two just became closer and closer. admittedly he did bring out some more confidence in you.

and hence whatever way, it accidentally slipping out in conversation or you deciding he could be trusted, he found out about your past, why you so suddenly came to be at the agency. and in a way he sympathised with you, he too had come from a not so nice previous workplace - maybe he could tell you later. but that seemed to only strengthen your relationship, and now he wanted to help you.

akiko yosano ★↷

you had fist met the doctor through her striking up conversation with you. on your first day she had noticed how shy you had been but she kind of thought it was just initial nerves so wanted to make it less nerve wracking for you. and she reconned she may be one the best for a first impression, and thus striked up conversation. and in your opinion she did work in calming some nerves.

and overtime you would naturally seek out her company as currently the only person you didn't mind talking to, fukuzawa was very happy you both got along. she never minded how you acted. she had met her fair share of different people under different circumstances and thus she never minded she only saw it as you.

naturally after spending most your time with the doctor, you became very close. she was genuine and very kind towards you and that made you feel like she was trustworthy of the truth. and thus you had told her. and she was probably the best person you could've told. she had a similar experience with after the great war and maybe she would tell you about that and that meant she understood it on a more personal level. and therefore she would offer nothing but support.

ranpo edogawa ★↷

ranpo had interested you from day one. he was very confident and self-assured, something you no longer were. but no matter what you found him interesting but never imagined him actually taking an interest in you thus keeping to yourself. but in honesty, ranpo probably helped save you in the first place or atleast contributed in some way. so maybe he did already know.

and therefore, if he did, it would only be natural for you two to naturally gravitate towards the other. and therefore you felt as if ranpo was a somewhat safety net when first navigating the agency. and he was more than happy to do so. but it became more than that and therefore you two would be genuine friends.

and as mentioned before, he either helped and therefore knew or he did deduct why you acted the way he did - not that he minded. and thus it kind of spared you from telling him, and he had always helped you from day one of the agency and he would continue to do so forever.

kenji miyazawa ★↷

kenji had approached you on your first day at the agency. he was one of if not the first to actually talk to you and it was because he wanted to greet you and he found you interesting in your own right. you had felt compelled to indulge the boy and talk to him, but the more you did so the more it became genuine to talk with him. he provided a happiness that was very rare to you.

therefore you two had grown quite close, not that he'd admit but he did start seeing you as a older sibling or if not his best friend. he enjoyed spending time with you and didn't see a difference with your weird habits and behaviour, to him that was just who you were and he admired it. he saw you as a sort of role model to him and would always try and make time to hang around you.

you never wanted to burden the light hearted boy with your spotty past. instead whenever he asked you about the topic you would simply put it as a 'not so great time', to which he would offer you support and remind you taht it was all better now. but if you did tell him the truth for whatever reason, his support would only double tenfold, he can't stand seeing you upset.

[taylorswiftstylequestions]

I wanted to add that I wasn’t necessarily defending Joe as a “muse”…more so just saying that he was obviously important to Taylor both emotionally and growing as a person. I think that has been reflected in her music thus far. I hope that makes sense. But it is interesting that we spent YEARS defending Tay against the people who say “All she does is write breakup songs about her exes!!!”……but now some people are acting like that’s really all she writes about…

Oh yes I'm aware - I just mean *waves arm* generally speaking there's this very urgent urge (indeed) to protect someone from something that hasn't even happened (yet or possibly ever). And yes it's almost like the call is coming from inside the house sometimes.

But again I'd argue that even Taylor's most scorching breakup songs again are mostly from her POV (as they should be?!). And their intent is not to lay bare all the things that someone else has done wrong to her to create a publicly held rap sheet of someone's crimes but to untangle all the complicated things that she felt about situations. If we want to talk epic iconic breakup songs "All Too Well" at its core is a song about reminding HERSELF that what she experienced and the emotions she felt was real.

And to build on that, if anything (and I believe she talked about this in her Fallon interview for Midnights?) she's admitted herself that she explores the idea of shame and guilt a lot in her lyrics and the complicit role she's played (and sometimes unfairly to her own self) in the circumstances she finds herself in.

[josefavomjaaga]

Duroc the mediator

Which, I believe, Duroc often was. This particular occasion however took place in 1809, and he acted as a go-between with Napoleon and Eugène, in April and May 1809, after Eugène’s defeat in his very first attempt as commander-in-chief, on April 16, at Sacile. Eugène was heartbroken over it and very afraid of Napoleon’s reaction to the news. Napoleon – full credit to him for once – originally kept his cool and in his first answer was not even very severe. He only became angry when Eugène’s reports, in his opinion, did not give him enough information on the situation.

And as usual, when he was really angry, he deemed the culprit unworthy of receiving a direct message. Or perhaps Duroc intervened voluntarily, in order to soften the blow? In any case, it was he who wrote the following missive:

Duroc to Eugène, Landshut, 26 April 1809 My Lord, the Emperor, who is extremely busy, is unable to reply at the moment to the two letters from Your Imperial Highness. - These two letters have not satisfied His Majesty, in that they do not give him any details of what has happened to your army, of its position, of its losses, so that he cannot give you any advice on the best course of action for Your Highness to take. The Emperor says: It is nothing but a lost battle, and there is a remedy for that; but he cannot tell you what that remedy is, because he does not know where you are or what forces you have. His Majesty knows Italy and all the positions so well that from here he could tell you the best position you could take for your army.

I am not entirely sure if Eugène really did not know how to write a proper battle/situation report, or if he was being evasive on purpose. I kinda suspect the latter, and so do apparently most historians, assuming that Eugène did not want to admit what mistakes he had made. That may very well be the case, but, Eugène being Eugène, I could also imagine two more reasons: a) he wanted to protect his subordinates and not give Napoleon the opportunity to look for somebody to put the blame on (as Napoleon later would start to do with general Sahuc) and b) he on pupose gave away as few details as possible because he did not want Napoleon to start micromanaging the Army of Italy from his headquarters in Germany. After all, it was he, Eugène, who had created this mess. It was up to him now to sort things out.

In a circumstance such as the one in which you find yourself, and in general in all circumstances of war, it would have been preferable if you had sent an officer who had seen everything clearly and who could have given an account of everything to His Majesty. A courier says nothing, not even the little he is told. His Majesty would therefore have liked a detailed report, he would have liked Your Imperial Highness to have had General Caffarelli write at the same time. His Majesty sees with sorrow that you are concerned with the Tyrol, where there are only a few troops who have fomented insurrections; but all these insurrections will subside, and the troops who have entered there are turned and taken, if they do not evacuate, as soon as the Emperor's army arrives in Salzburg, which cannot be far off. Here, matters are still going well. [...]

Followed by lots of reports about Napoleon beating the Austrians at every occasion. Thanks for rubbing it in, Duroc! - So, just to summarize, Eugène’s greatest fault in Napoleon’s eyes was not the fact that he had lost the battle but that he was sending his reports about it via courrier or by the army post office, instead of sending one of the officers.

As to Tyrol, that part of the letter will not age well…

With no better information incoming over the next days, or rather, as a matter of fact, with pretty much no information reaching Napoleon, despite Eugène writing every second or third day – which may in part very well be because the insurrection in Tyrol had interrupted communications – His Imperial Impatience was fuming. And it showed in his letters. In the last (that luckily only reached Eugène when it didn’t matter anymore), he openly praised both Masséna (whom Eugène despised) and Murat (whom he possibly despised even more) to the skies, going so far as to order Eugène to call Murat from Naples and to cede supreme command to Murat. The ultimate humiliation!

At that time, however, the situation in Italy had already changed completely. After Napoleon had beaten the Austrians in Germany, the Austrian archduke Johann had been recalled by his brother. The Austrians were retreating from Italy rather hastily, and the Army of Italy was pursuing them. In this situation, Napoleon’s brutal missives were not helpful at all.

At least that was what the above mentioned general Caffarelli thought, the minister of war of the Kingdom of Italy. And because he thought so, he wrote to … nah, not to Napoleon, of course. You can’t just write to a monarch, after all. He wrote to - Duroc. And after a short description of the situation and the difficulties they had overcome, he states:

Caffarelli to Duroc, Venice, 7 May 1809 […] His Imperial Highness appeared to me to be greatly affected by the Emperor's discontent; he is extremely worried about it, the Prince suffers from it, and I could see that his grief comes more from his heart than from regret at having experienced an ill-fated affair. He needs to be reassured, because if he continues to believe that the Emperor is dissatisfied, he will suffer even more, he will torment himself and, despite the fine state in which His Majesty's victories have put matters, he might not be able to benefit as much as he could from the fine prospects open to him. He is in a position to repair, with interest, the harm he has suffered. […]

Ey! Can you not get him to back off a little? We’re in a good position and we need the boy functional, okay?

(Just to bring the story to an end: by the time Eugène had led his army through the Alps and reached Napoleon, his stepfather had already lost the battle of Aspern-Essling and had seen Lannes mortally wounded. Morale in his army was extremely low, and Napoleon’s tone when welcoming the Army of Italy was much different from that of his letters to Eugène.)

[myapothecarydiary]

Thoughts from reading The Apothecary Diaries Manga Ch. 4

First have to share some thoughts about the title page because look at it! I love how the moon looks like an ominous eye and the "ghostly" figure looks more sinister than ethereal. And check the framing at the bottom with the cotton rose. I love details!

Right away we get some framework for this chapter–it will address freeing oneself from one's circumstances. A woman traversing (or dancing on) the line (or wall) between freedom and captivity is quite the image. Escaping the cage of the rear palace is said to be impossible, but is it?

Maomao values competence–we see this so often with her praise of certain individuals and criticisms of others (see Hongniang vs Jinshi)

And instantly we get an example of someone she criticizes for their work ethic–Jinshi, of course.

Here her mind takes her thoughts of criticism a bit further. "As a eunuch, he should be in the offices of the palace domestic service..."

"...but he doesn't seem to be attached to any one place...it's as if he's overseeing the entire inner court. Perhaps he ranks higher than a director then..."

Maomao is beginning to connect the dots about Jinshi. If he isn't acting like a normal eunuch, then maybe there's more to him and his position than she initially thought. His actual position perhaps explains his odd behavior.

Lol I adore lightbulb Maomao. Her "assumption" that Jinshi is the Emperor's lover is both kind of a way for her to stop thinking too much about Jinshi's actual position/identity (preventing herself from reaching the truth) and an indication of where her mind goes due to her background. It's also funny how casual Maomao is about "indecent" thoughts coupled with how Jinshi still clocks that type of thought crossing her mind (maybe she isn't as casual/unaffected as you'd think and/or Jinshi is good at picking up on those types of thoughts due to his looks and the situations they potentially get him into).

I feel like Maomao defaults to assuming people have a certain level of lust/desire. There may be some legitimacy to her interpretation, but I also find it interesting considering how she herself comes across as lacking this sense of lust and attraction. She never exactly describes herself as "different from others/the norm," but she is conscious of how she is different/unusual.

I guess that is to say it is not something that really bothers her or something she gets caught up on. She just views it as a fact of life. It's as if through her personality and upbringing, she has been forged into this almost "objective" observer, which is reflected in her skill for deducing information and solving mysteries. Like with describing how anyone would be attracted to Jinshi, she does not include herself in any reflection on "everyone." But she is not objective and recognizes this–acknowledging the background that formed her knowledge and perspective + emphasizing when conclusions come from "conjecture." That being said, I do think she is more affected by things than she likes to admit and is suppressing certain thoughts and feelings. She does to herself as she does with discovering knowledge about others–like with the pieces she is putting together regarding Jinshi, it is easier to not think too much about certain things.

Going back to lust, she is matter-of-fact about its existence, but perhaps she puts too much weight on it sometimes. I feel like she is more willing to acknowledge her bias and subjective pov regarding other topics. And she is different, but maybe others, though they act a certain way outwardly, are more like her on the inside than she thinks.

Anyway, Maomao has deduced that Jinshi: oversees the rear palace, has a higher position than it seems + one that affords him a certain amount of freedom, is connected to the Emperor somehow.

~time line interlude~

3 months in rear palace @ start of the story: Maomao writes notes of warning to Gyokuyou and Lihua

1 month later: Lihua's son passes, Jinshi tracks down Maomao and makes her Gyokuyou's lady-in-waiting

1 month later, ~5 months in rear palace/1 month in Jade Pavilion: Maomao approached about "ghost"

We continue...

So, the reason I wanted to outline the timing of everything and how long Maomao has been in the rear palace and specifically the Jade Pavilion is because of how Maomao treats Jinshi here (and how she has come to understand his behavior).

He's seeking her out directly and one-on-one, and she can tell this means he wants something from her. Interesting that this makes her privy to certain information not to be heard by everyone (like the doctor. Or does Jinshi simply want to be alone with her for his own benefit/to work his charms? Both?) It's funny when taken with how people like the other ladies-in-waiting and Xiaolan gossip to her–with all the information, gossip or more official, she's like "leave me alone with this" while also being curious.

More notable is how Maomao speaks to Jinshi. "Why are you really here?" Very blunt and kind of throwing her respected etiquette out the window! It's like the "you're a caterpillar" glare in verbal form. She's really skirting the line now, if she hasn't already crossed it. This increasingly expressed lack of respect for etiquette and Jinshi seems indicative of growth in their relationship, as odd as that may sound. Has she learned how far she can push it? Does she not fear Jinshi as much as she perhaps did at the start? This behavior doesn't seem very "I want my head to stay attached to my body" of Maomao.

Which reminds me–look how much she avoids his gaze/looking at him. Is this her trying to remain that modicum of respect and/or to not be subjected to his fake, overbearing smile?

It seems Jinshi is learning how to pique Maomao's interest, but this little "It's not that hard to figure out" and Maomao's upset response to it stands out to me as it is an adaptational change and I'm not totally sure what to make of it. Is he trying to show off? Does this work to emphasize his own deduction skills?

Maomao's statement of her area of expertise in the light novel is an attempt to get Jinshi to leave her alone with this topic (and in general), but here it almost comes across as an angry rebuttal like "hey, that's my territory, I know more than you."

This is also more of "lack of physical boundaries" Jinshi with Maomao clearly rejecting his touch and trying to remove him. Is this for his own enjoyment or is he still trying to seduce her? It feels like he is toying with her. In the light novel, I feel like it is more clear that he is trying to get her to help him and knows she can't say no if she meets his gaze. I guess this is a more physical interpretation where he actually grabs her to make her look at him.

The whole scene does end with her giving in once forced to look him in the eye. But the interest she showed regarding sleepwalking seems like a more promising approach than Jinshi's go-to method. Does he realize this?

I guess this scene in particular is one where I would benefit from hearing the thoughts of others.

Sorry to get stuck on Apothecary's presentation of gender (but not really because I find it fascinating and thought provoking haha), but here we have another example of Maomao's understanding and perspective being challenged with how Gaoshun looks "very masculine" and not "like a typical eunuch at all."

I think there are a couple of interesting things happening here. Maomao comes at gender from a perspective very reflective of the context in which she exists, and in some ways, what first appears to challenge that perspective actually works to reaffirm it. Gaoshun appearing more masculine and like a military man is not presented in the story to challenge a bias but it is Maomao's first clue that something else is going on with Gaoshun, that there's more to the story. The same thing happens later when Maomao inspects Jinshi's body and sees it is more muscular than a eunuch's would be. Without further investigation, the presentation of eunuchs that don't fit the stereotype challenges that stereotype, but the truth of the matter actually kind of relies on and reaffirms those stereotypes. Gaoshun isn't just a eunuch and wasn't always a eunuch. Jinshi isn't a eunuch at all. If they didn't seem like regular eunuchs, it's because they are not.

And yet, Jinshi still appears very feminine. That is, arguably in part due to the drugs/forms of suppression Jinshi uses to assume his eunuch persona and operate in the rear palace, but even without those measures, he still possesses a great "feminine" beauty. He is sort of a contradictory figure in that sense.

So I don't continue to rant and ramble and disrupt the flow too much, I will expand more on these thoughts and the pin I put in the idea of how Maomao views beauty back in chapter one here.

Curiosity vs. etiquette/respect for rank–Gaoshun not being the stereotypical eunuch scratches Maomao's brain though.

Gaoshun's request for Maomao = Maomao is not being as subtle as she thinks + Gaoshun is observant too.

The introduction of Xiaomao! The cutest. And an indication of some of Gaoshun's fatherly and affectionate ways.

This reminds me of @i-guess-im-into-this-now's thoughts on how this chapter is covered in the anime–they note that with Yinghua and the other ladies-in-waiting worrying about her and the doctor providing her with tea and snacks, Maomao is "slowly building a support network." I love this, and here Gaoshun joins in! I think a nickname like "Xiaomao" is a little opening, through which affection seeps. Maomao is accumulating a circle of people who care about her, and as much as she wants to put her head down and do the work until her time is up and she's free to leave the rear palace, I think this circle of people will complicate that, whether she admits their impact or not. She's also becoming imbedded in this circle and building a life here.

This support network can also serve to contrast the initial perception of the rear palace–one full of fakeness and skin-deep beauty, a cage that traps women and pits them against each other with the sole goal of producing an heir. It still is these things, but there's more to it than that. There is genuine affection and care. It would be easy to write off the rear palace as being full of game pieces and a means to an end. And a lot of the time, people treat it as such (even among themselves in the rear palace), but the motivations behind the actions are often very messy and human. So there's a combination of humanness and dehumanization. Considering all of this, the rear palace also functions as a fairly good metaphor for Jinshi.

And speaking of Jinshi, he truly looks like an excited little kid when he is telling Gaoshun about Maomao's way of looking at him. I love seeing the contrast in the depiction of Jinshi when he himself is reflecting on Maomao's glares and when Gaoshun is reflecting on it.

Gaoshun of course views Jinshi as a child he looks after (along with respecting Jinshi's position) because he is a father figure to Jinshi and does know his true age (and identity), but Jinshi does seem younger/more his age in his excitement about Maomao. She often brings out the true him.

Jinshi himself refers to Maomao as a "toy," which could be considered a childish way of viewing things and thus also indicative of his true age and identity, but within the context, he is also thinking of her as a useful "tool," which sort of feels like a nastier, more grown-up way of viewing a toy. That being said, Jinshi's relationship with the concept of Maomao as a toy is complicated and emphasizing her usefulness could also function as him trying to justify his fascination and enjoyment regarding her to himself.

Either way, Maomao is disturbed by Jinshi's positive reaction to her glares XD

I just find this a fascinating, round-about explanation for why Gaoshun wants to avoid dealing with gleeful, Maomao-glare-induced Jinshi. Could it really be (or also be) that Maomao brings out that youthful, unprofessional behavior in Jinshi, jeopardizing Jinshi (and Gaoshun's) cover in the rear palace?

But yes, poor Gaoshun. Looking after Jinshi (and later Maomao too!) is surely a headache XD

Maomao realization then oh, I see face of deeper understanding. Is there a hint of sadness in those eyes? (about the reality of the situation and how women work to escape their fate?)

More moments of hmm will this be relevant later with "conflict of the heart [can't] be cured with medicine" Adding to my collection of ~medicine symbolism, poison symbolism~ Maybe I'm delusional, but certain lines and moments just hit hard, as if they are supposed to leave a mark.

Gyokuyou picks up on what's truly going on–understands the constraints of circumstances and how a woman must operate to navigate them.

Maomao is doing her duty but choosing where she ends her story/the extent of the information she shares. She will do this again in the future–it's sort of her way of possessing power/protecting individuals/seeking some form of justice within the confines of her station. In some ways, I think she does this with herself as well–"gatekeeps" parts of herself from others perhaps in part as a form of self-preservation.

I assume Gaoshun is trying to tell Maomao to hold in her "you're an insect" glare, but in how it pops up at this exact moment, it also almost appears like he is telling her to not give in to Jinshi and refrain from sharing all the details. To keep withholding information. Jinshi seems to know there's more to it.

I just love Gyokuyou and how this whole scene offers glimpses of the depth beneath her shiny exterior and position as the Emperor's favorite. More of that "the rear palace is more than skin deep."

Also love the insight from @i-guess-im-into-this-now that Maomao telling Gyokuyou the full story but not Jinshi reveals "where Maomao's trust and loyalty lies." I think Maomao probably also thought it was safer to reveal this information to Gyokuyou than Jinshi in terms of it not being used against Lady Fuyou, but I wonder if it is also indicative of her trusting women over men?

I mean just look at Gyokuyou's expression! This is an interesting clash of personal desire vs duty and what takes precedence. Maomao's expression here gets to me too, and I think she demonstrates an ability to sympathize with, or at least be understanding of, the situation Gyokuyou is in. You might think someone from Maomao's background, and someone who has spent time as a lowly servant in the rear palace, would be more resentful of the women higher up, but she seems to recognize that each position comes with its own constraints. Its own cage.

This bit here feels revealing about the Emperor and his relationship with Gyokuyou. Also speaking of desire vs duty, the Emperor gets to experience an intersection. Yes, it is his duty to father heirs, but let's not pretend that he doesn't get some enjoyment out of the process. He's serving the country and himself.

I do wonder about the differences between the story Maomao tells Jinshi and the one she tells Gyokuyou, the abbreviated version vs the extended version. Maybe I have removed myself from context by stewing over this chapter too long, but they both involve the courtesan gaming (or even cheating) the system. It's only in the second story that the courtesan is in cahoots with the buyers and playing for love. I could totally be missing something though and would love an expansion on this.

And here the ending hits with another moment of "how will this be important later on." What is the power of love? What could it cure? Interesting that Maomao observes how it enhances Lady Fuyou's beauty, almost like a natural counterpoint to cosmetics.

It feels like these beginning chapters are much more episodic in nature and work to establish the characters and the world and tease ideas that will be important down the line.

Referencing @i-guess-im-into-this-now yet again: "I wonder if the story of Lady Fuyou has any parallels to the main story? In a palace where the concubines and servants are trapped one of them manages to defy fate and escape to a future of her own choice." Thank you for sharing your wonderful analysis of the anime and I hope it's okay that I used it here! It revitalized my interest in this chapter quite a bit.

[bitchesgate3]

Like, back in EA where the characters were presented as harder concepts, I would describe to people that video games are a safe space to explore interacting with people you never would irl. Get your catharsis or play out a power-fantasy of changing them.

I spent hours on end exploring Lae'zel's story as presented in EA (which was only Act 1) and could see how the writing showed her from going from superiority complex to an open-mindedness that (at the time prior to WoTC softening of gith lore) was an exception to Githyanki xenophobia.

She went from being disgusted seeing you once more after the nautiloid but needing your help when in the goblin trap - to warming up to your presence and direction to the point of admitting several times that she values your loyalty. Her story involved warming up to outsiders that she had been taught were beneath her.

With all this softness in the launch version, I don't think people understand how crucial it is that Lae'zel was rejected and left to die by her own people at every turn. Despite doing everything right.

You get to the Gith Patrol - she found her way back. She demands aid because gith are not weak. (Play that scene as a Githyanki and you learn how you're expected to talk and act so you aren't killed.)

But after all that, she is left alone. Abandoned by a Kith'rak whose title she covets. Abandoned by kin despite her showing up with the right demeanor and elegance (for Githyanki standards).

And she is abandoned.

But she is left with these outsiders who agree to help her get to the creche.

This gave me chills back in EA.

Because, additionally, you could hate Lae'zel's guts and abandon her because she looks down on you and people like you. She doesn't deserve your kindness. And you know what happens?

She dies.

You leave her stuck in that cage, she eventually breaks out, and upon reaching the Gith Patrol, she has to fight that fight alone. In old dnd lore, it was a crime to lie to a kith'rak. And even obeying that rule gets her killed.

Any time Lae'zel refused help, especially from "istik", she put herself in situations where she had to fight enormous battles alone and fight against odds that were stacked against her. She's courageous to face these odds and wild enough to win a few of them. But eventually even the mighty Lae'zel will be felled if alone.

And if you hated her, you could also make her to pay for her bigotry - and she would have gotten natural consequences due to it. That you could relish in if you so desired.

But also, seeing her have to stare rejection in the face - confront Githyanki creed that told her over and over that even if she found herself in circumstances she did not create, she would still face punishment, but then traveling with outsiders who consistently trusted her and took a chance on her - it's a pretty powerful narrative.

Even the first Fever Dream, Tadpole night. She believes everyone is going to turn that night into mindflayers, and its up to you to get her to think of possibilities outside the indoctrination she had lived her life believing was ultimate law. You could have simply seen the scene as "a violent githyanki being violent" and ended her quickly. But you took the chance.

It was such a good narrative and I may go back and replay how I played EA with Lae to show what it looked like.

[writer-of-the-lamb]

Hi tysm for my request about the Aym/Baal scenario I loved it 🥰! I wonder how the bet turns out in the post game era after they got resurrected and reunited with their mother, especially how Narinder and Lamb interact now.

so glad u liked it!!!! another awesome idea teehee, excited to write this one

---

Baal trekked through thick green foliage, wandering past empty villages and the occasional lit fire.

If he remembered correctly, the cult should be somewhere east, but a portal would be needed to exit Darkwood.

In any other circumstance, he'd be enraged he was visiting that infernal lamb once more, but now he was content. Upon resurrection, Baal had taken the tiniest of likings to life in a cult, much like Aym, even if he didn't admit it.

The biggest change of heart Baal had had was when the lamb took them to Darkwood to someone he thought he had forgotten. His mother had apparently aided the lamb many times, and as a repayment, he had delivered the brothers home.

Baal did not understand how this creature could slaughter hundreds, only to commit the vastest act of kindness 3 minutes later, but it earned his respect. He reached a still circular portal, like a puddle waiting to be splashed. Stepping into the centre, he cringed at the cool water and shut his eyes.

Magic whirled around him, and suddenly he stood in front of a green, cracked door. The crossed-out green crown symbol loomed over him. Baal clutched his satchel, smiling brightly at the statue ahead and the cobbled path past it.

He set off toward the cult, watching as the lush greenery around him seemed to float out of his way, clearing a path to stone steps and a large, flower archway.

Then, Baal saw, a looming statue built from stone and gold, bearing the lamb's face and the red crown.

However fearful he appeared, he was still a lamb. Prey does not forget its initial instinct, no matter how predatory it becomes in the wild.

Baal felt the eyes of followers on him, all seemingly suspicious. Some gave him smiles, and one seemed to dash in another direction.

A small dog tapped his shoulder.

Turning around, Baal saw the lamb, adorned in a pink layered robe with golden hearts along the collar.

"Baal!" The lamb chirped, dark eyes happy. "What brings you to the lamb fam?"

"The w-? Nevermind. I have a question, if that's okay?"

The lamb's eyebrows raised. "Interesting. A long trek just for a question? Must be important."

Baal's smile grew. "It certainly is. It revolves around The One Who Waits. Waited? Waits."

"Ohh, we call him Narinder here." The lamb grinned, "Only thing he waits for now is for me to get home." he said fondly, chuckling as if sharing a secret.

Baal snickered. "How odd to hear. I am glad he has found company." he began, watching the lamb sway on his feet. "He doesn't hold anything against you?"

The lamb hummed. "I don't think so. He has shame, that's for sure, but he seems to favour me just fine."

"Favour?" Baal asked, smiling. "Like....like?"

The lamb squinted. "..Noooo, I said fervour."

"Does The- I mean, does Narinder...like you? As in..." Baal waved his hands, "As in perhaps romantically?"

The lamb's face changed into one of smugness. "Why do you wanna know?"

"It may be silly, but I have a long overdue bet with my brother."

The lamb gasped in mock outrage. "You and Aym bet on me and your own leader??" he laughed, "Insanity, for both of you. I am assuming you're the one for us, right?"

Baal nodded, chuckling.

The lamb looked around before leaning in. "Tell Aym you win." he whispered, giddy.

"What's this about?" came a voice behind them.

"Nari's here, wonderful." the lamb chirped, dragging Narinder by the robes. "Look, it's Baal!"

Narinder scowled. "And?"

Baal nodded in a sheepish greeting. "Just here for some inquiries."

"He wanted to know if you have the hots for me." The lamb interrupted, patting and smoothing Narinder's robes.

Narinder, disgusted, but not objecting to the lamb's touch, groaned. "What an insulting assumption. Baal, you were taught better." he scolded. "Your business does not belong here."

Baal smiled. "That's alright, I have my answer."

Narinder whirled around to the lamb, who shrugged.

"What did you tell him?" he hissed.

"I told him you purr when you sleep."

"What."

"Kidding. I told him we're married."

"WHAT."

Baal looked over. "..You're married? I assumed 'together' referred to a mutual interest."

"Oh, there's a mutual interest alri-"

"Enough, Lamb."

Baal laughed, still clutching his satchel. "I will be sure to tell Aym he owes me gold."

"No need."

Aym rested a paw on his brothers shoulder. "I've heard." he muttered, pressing coin into Baal's palm. "And I am...." he paused, looking at Narinder. "....amused, to say the least."

Narinder growled, glaring at both of them. "You are both disgraceful."

"Says you?" the lamb prodded, still fidgeting with his robes. "Please. You always liked me."

"I did not."

"Then why'd you keep my crystals?" "They were offerings."

[the-garbanzo-annex-jr]

Writing in Alaraby, Hulmi al-Asmar writes that normalization maybe isn't so bad - that perhaps if Arab nations act nicely to Israel, Israel will implode from infighting since it is dependent on aggression.

Setting aside his main argument, al-Asmar gives a brief description of how Arab leaders have used the Palestinian issue for their own benefit, and how they have actually hurt the Palestinians with this cynical pretense. For years, official Arab discourse used to murmur a heavy [Palestinian] "nationalist" sentiment, to the effect that "Palestine is the Arabs' top issue." From this slogan, a series of canned phrases emerged that affirmed standing by the Palestinian people and calling for their victory. Preachers filled the space with resonant speech in forums all over the world, and printed millions of pages with them. Books, poems, and commentaries were written about it, and they pulled their voices and roared their throats with enthusiastic songs. Millions of statements, and thousands of conferences and summits were also held, all of which threatened the enemy, or at least “confirmed its position in support of the Palestinian people, and their right to establish their independent state and defeat the occupation.” More than that, under the heading of “confronting the Zionist threat,” billions were spent on arming their armies, while morsels of bread were withheld from the mouths of the hungry, in preparation for the decisive battle with the “enemy” to build what they called “Arab national security,” and for that purpose legislation, emergency laws, and martial law were enacted. How can it not, when the nation is in a state of war and on constant alert? Therefore, there is no time for the luxury of “democracy,” nor for the “mockery” of elections, social justice, and other rights. This is not the time (!), as the nation is passing through a “delicate circumstance” and a “turning point.” It is a "dangerous time in history" and a "sensitive stage" that requires not paying attention to these "trivialities", and focusing effort on confronting "the enemy's plans" aimed at tearing apart the Arab ranks, and undermining "national dignity and nationalism!", etc., to the end of this series of great lies that may have passed on the minds of the "masses"... So what was the result? Israel is expanding and strengthening every day, while Palestine is withering, and its nakba has been “Arabized” and reproduced. It was not limited to the Palestinian people, but the Arab regime produced other versions and more and revised versions of the Arab catastrophes, so that almost every Arab country has its own nakba. 

This is stuff we've been saying for many years.  It is rare indeed to see these words in Arabic:

[joannerowling]

(regarding the Hilton article that you were sent by that anon)

Hilton’s "criticism" is so frustrating because my favorite thing about the Strike novels is that the crimes the team are investigating are not treated as crazy one-offs, but as single *instances* of more frequent problems, and so of course on the way to uncovering one truth, they uncover several. Similarly, the act of investigating those single instances will bring up similar circumstances from characters’ pasts, because again, they are not entirely infrequent occurrences.

But what also shocks me is that this particular criticism ("How dare the world not be split into good decent people and The Criminal!") is the perfect opposite of the criticism everyone loves to return to with Harry Potter ("How dare she write a book where there are Good Guys and Bad Guys"). Of course, actually reading HP will show that the books aren’t so clear cut, but they are still children’s books which tackle good vs evil.

So which one is it? Does Rowling write books with painfully black-and-white views of the world, or does she need to be reminded that only one person can be evil at a time, and the morally perfect heroes must defeat him before someone else can take the reigns? Do we want more variation and imperfection and bad-people-on-both-sides or less?

Well there are two things you have to consider in order to answer your question.

Number one, most if not all criticism thrown at JK Rowling since 2020 has to be read as bad faith because, 9 times out of 10, it's motivated by ideology rather than an actual desire to engage intellectually with the text. It doesn't matter if the criticism makes sense or constitutes rigourous analysis, what matters is how much criticism gets thrown out there. If there are enough articles titled "10 Reasons Why Harry Potter Is Actually Terrible For Children", most people won't read the articles, but they will eventually get a sense that Harry Potter MUST be wrong for children to generate so much controversy. The goal is to discredit JKR's opinions by any mean necessary. That's why Pink News's strategy in June 2020 (following Jo publishing her essay on self-identification) was to publish multiple "articles" a day attacking her and her positions.

Number two: i've read a lot of bad faith "criticism" of JKR and HP over the years (long before 2020). This thing you're talking about - accusing her of promoting black and white morality in HP - is mostly no longer "fashionable" discourse. At its height, it was only ever promoted by, ahem, let's call them "passionate" fans of Slytherin. Context: the marketing strategy of Harry Potter (especially post-release) heavily relies on encouraging fans to pick one of the four houses and identify with it. The problem with that marketing strategy is, to sumrise, no Slytherin is supposed to be a good guy in HP (because the way the "recruits" are picked is based on a racist/classist premise), and there is no real redemption arc for any of the Slytherins kids we see in the books, so some fans eventually started to resent that and became mad at JKR for not just… redeeming Draco and making him Harry's best friend or or whatever. Honestly the psychology behind this particular outrage and why so many people rallied behind it against Rowling ever since the 2000s is fascinating and could easily make for an entire post on its own. But, not the point of this reply!

In short: it was always a very niche criticism from a very petty and nerdy side of the fandom. And nowadays, that specific subset has by and large decided that engaging AT ALL with Harry Potter would make them a Bad Person™. So they no longer protest that specific, perceived issue, because that would mean admitting they care about HP in the first place. They have moved towards basically saying that JKR's morals IN GENERAL are wrong, so if you read her books (which you shouldn't!!) every good guy should be seen as bad (or badly written) and vice versa. This is the reasoning behind people calling for an entire "rewriting" of the books by anyone else, preferably multiple people, or aggressively pursuing the building of a "counter" HP universe, via fanfiction.

Which, again, is really interesting to me from a psychological perspective! This need not to simply erase, but rewrite JKR's work in the "correct" way. The only reason one would feel the need to do that if if they perceived the original work to have so much resonance, so much power, that it can't just be left to be forgotten, because it will NOT fade on its own. Instead you have to rewrite it to confuse future readers, to "drown" the original work essentially under a pile of bullshit. It is not a goal one would ever pursue so relentlessly if they perceived the writing to be bad – wrong, maybe, but not bad. On the contrary it's probably the highest compliment to Jo's writing skills that people feel so threatened by her and the longetivity of her work.

[vvo1d1ing]

... Okay, listen, I had this idea, I wrote it, I didn't beta it, and fuck it, I'm now posting it.

I usually post my fanfics on ao3 but since this is a very short One Shot that is mostly just a dumb thought I had, I'm posting it here.

English isn't my first language and I'm sure if I spent more time on this, it'd flow better. But I, I just need to post it and hope better writers see my idea and make fics of Durge and Gortash having much more of these "Deniable acts of kidness and love because if I try to actually show romantic or sexual interest in you, I'm going to kill you." moments that make me feral.

If you read this, hopefully you'll enjoy it. In mind while writing it I had my Durge but I tried to keep it any descriptor to a minimum so you can kind of maybe imagine your own Durge easier (if you like this, idk, my writing is all over the place)

TW: Slight dubious consent and mentions of human taxidermy, murder, stabbing, slitting throats. Nothing really gets described, mostly just thought about or mentioned in conversation.

What was there to say about Lord Enver Gortash? He was charismatic, he was inventive, he was the biggest bastard The Dark Urge knew but besides these few admirable qualities, he was a prick, he was a moron, he managed to be more annoying than having a pebble stuck in one's shoe. The Dark Urge wanted nothing more than to rip that smug grin off his face but they couldn't because that would ruin their plans.

Or so they told themselves every night. 

What they didn't wish to admit to themselves and even less to him, is that behind all their opinions and critiques, they admired him. All of him. Though they cared little for Bane, they admired Gortash's devotion to him. They admired his ingenuity, especially for tinkering with machines that they never would've thought of and even less heard of. They admired the way his hair always looked perfectly messy, the way his eyes would soften when he looked at them, the way he laughed when they said something supposedly funny. If that wasn't enough, they enjoyed how he made them feel their own heartbeat when he'd call them his 'Favourite Assassin' or 'Friend', though the one they loved and hated the most was when they'd be alone, planning for possible circumstances that could ruin their plan and he'd simply whisper-

"Dearest?" He basically purred it out, only loud enough for them to hear it. They only wished to acknowledge his presence with a glance but before they could, they felt his hand touch their spine and travel upwards. Too much. Too much touch!

Without a warning they grabbed him by the neck with one hand, pinning him down on the table in front of them and pressing down just enough to keep him in place as they took out their dagger and stabbed it right next to his head.

"I've warned you before. One more time and I'm cutting that hand of yours off. Do you understand?" 

"Such empty threats, if you meant it I know you would've already begun hacking it off."

When the Dark Urge warned him first for grabbing them by the waist, they left a nasty stab wound in his shoulder. When he tried to touch their thigh during a meeting with Kethric, they made a quick cut against his fingers. When he used the opportunity to help the Dark Urge with taking off their coat and barely managed to kiss the back of their neck, he got hit in the face with their elbow. 

The damage they have done was never permanent, besides maybe the stab wound, and never something that couldn't be healed…something they never would. And Gortash knew that. Oh he knew that and he would use that knowledge to its full advantage. 

Growling under their breath, they let go off his neck but as they pulled the dagger out of the table, they on purposely pulled it in a way where it would gently cut Gortash's cheek. 

"Insufferable scum…" The tiefling said as if spitting out venom before they focused their attention back on the papers they were looking at before. The list of murders they committed in the name of the Absolute, only a few more left to do before they were to go to Moonrise to see how the situation is going there, by what Ketheric wrote it's all going by plan but he couldn't be trusted. Nor could Gortash be.

"Your insufferable scum, my dear." He sounded just as smug as he probably looked, but they didn't react to it. They knew that that's what he was after. 

To change the topic and stop their thoughts from drifting away to the idiot, they started to speak about Ketheric, a topic they knew would make Gortash less annoying to talk with. The mere mention of his name was enough to make his smile turn into a disappointed frown.

Though even as they talked about Ketheric, their mind began to drift. They noticed how his shirt was slightly more open than usual, how there were a few strands of his hair that they knew were out of place, how his fingers just twitched a slight bit whenever they mentioned Ketheric. Though their mind and gaze lingered the longest on his jaw. He hasn't shaved for at least a week by what they could tell. 

Mid-way through him talking, they decided to mention it.

"You haven't shaved."

He looked confused for a moment, before touching his cheek with the back of his fingers and knuckles, checking with his touch just how noticeable it was. "I haven't indeed. Strange of you to point it out, friend."

"It annoys me." The Dark Urge explained plain and simply.

"Simply do not stare at it then, you're usually quite good at ignoring my face."

"But I'll still know it's there. Fix it."

"Making demands that I go to a barber right now just because it annoys you? Please, don't make me laugh, we have much more important things to do now." He mocked the tiefling, looking at them with slight disbelief at what they were asking of him.

"Then let me shave it for you. It's bothering me." 

"Let you- Haha! Absolutely not. As much as I enjoy our usual game, it would be ridiculous of me to trust that your twitching knife hand won't slit my throat the second I present it to you."

"If I wanted to kill you I wouldn't use such petty tactics. I'd just do it. Not to mention, I find slitting throats to not be any fun unless the person is hanging upside down."

"Morbid.." Gortash mumbled under his breath, instinctively touching his throat and somewhat scratching at the imaginary cut he just felt. 

"More importantly, I need you for our plan to work. Killing you now would be a waste of all the time and resources we put into this…It would also be disobeying the wishes of our gods." 

"I suppose you are right about that…" He sighed, slightly disappointed in himself as he now knew he had little excuses to get him out of this. Looking away in thought before looking back at the Dark Urge. "Fine. Shave me then. Though from where will you-"

"Sceleritas!" They snapped, their imp butler appearing from behind them and stepping to their side with a small bow.

"Yes, my vile master?"

"Bring me my razor...and the cream I use for my taxidermy."

"Right away, my lord!" 

Gortash did not ask for what reason The Dark Urge used cream on taxidermied animals, but he was wrong in thinking they were animals. After all, he never saw what their room looked like in the temple of Bhaal and it was for the best. The ten or so stuffed corpses wouldn't have made for a relaxed visit. 

As soon as Sceleritas came back with the items requested, the Dark Urge had Gortash sit in a chair and lift his head up. Forcing him to lean and relax a bit as they went behind him and took the items from Sceleritas before shoo-ing him away. 

They grabbed his face with their left hand, forcing it to lean to the side before leaning the blade against his throat where his beard hairs just started. 

And they just began to shave. Carefully and with patience, they made sure to not make a single mistake, not leave a single hair uncut. They were a bit aggressive with handling his face but one couldn't deny that they didn't do this with love. He could see a bit just how focused they were, just how much they cared to do this without properly hurting him.

And they knew just how much they used this as an excuse to touch him, to be close to him and to allow themselves for just a moment to escape into a world where they could take care of Gortash. When they were done and made sure to brush away all the fallen hairs they could, they opened up the cream and took a bit of it on their fingers before applying it on the shaved areas.

This was when he was able to feel just how soft and caring their touch could be. Even if they tried to deny it, the fact they took the care into not just shaving him but also taking care of skin, was such a clear sign that they could actually be loving, if they wanted to. 

Lost in the act, Gortash didn't seem to hear when the Dark Urge was done and told him as such but was brought back into reality when they snapped their fingers to call upon Sceleritas once more to take away the items.

"I…Thank you. This is probably the smoothest shave I have gotten."

"Don't care. I only did so it doesn't bother me."

A lie so clear it was basically written all over their face as they looked at him with a glare.

"Right."

"...Right." 

After a moment of silence, the tiefling was quick to try and move back to talking about their plans. And was as usual, back to avoiding looking at Gortash as they spoke.