#never question its authenticity

[sirenofthegreenbanks]

2 + 3 + 12 + 33!!!!

had to fish around to find that ask game again!!!!! also hiiiii better late than never :))) :}}}}} <3 i need to tell u smth abt kleo i have Thoughts (not big thoughts this sounds as if its big it isnt i just reconsidered my initial statement that u might not like iiiiit)

2. anything that you'd like to write but feel that youre unable to??

oh yes!!! so much!!!!! even the things im writing bring me constantly into a situation of hair-tearing-out crying-clawing-screaming hitting-head-against-the-wall. i flip-flop between thinking i cant even write what im writing and thinking that im kinda decent. hhhhh. anyway!!!!!

i want to write a solid longfic with extensive worldbuilding. it doesnt matter the genre, just solid and rich worldbuilding where the writing stays consistent and steady until the end is already good. but if i could specifiy, i yearn for it to be a canon compliant/canon divergence/canon era fic with a unique take on canon. i want to write canon era fics in general, but im always hesitant to. i know what happens when i fall into a research hole, it fires up my anxiety. and i want to write scifi or a cool space opera. and i want to be able to write novel fic (of tyk) and not want to die during the process. all these things feel impossible to me :]]]]]]]]

3. how would u describe ur writing style?

i had to think about this for a bit!!!! because my writing style is unfortunately directly connected to my mental stability which is not always. stable. huehe. hmmmm i think my style (given that im doing good!) leans very hard into economical but evocative storytelling; like, i mean the rhythm of oral storytelling. stream of consciousness. prose poetry. poetry slam. i want the words to explode in your mouth and i want it to paint a very clear image in your head. i want people to hear me telling the story! even if the reader (or listener!) cant be there to experience it for themselves, at least i can tell them about it! thats probably because my first experience with story as a concept comes from audio dramas and generally someone reading something to me. thats honestly still the medium i prefer, tbh.

12. if you write in more than one language, whats the difference?

TvvvvvvT

currently i dont write in more than one language, if u dont count non-fictional handwriting bc i write all my notes in my native language. but i still remember how it used to be to write creatively in german. like im always whining about how difficult it is to cast the same image in english as in german; i just dont have that fine motor control over english as i have over german. i can easily switch between gears in german but english still ,, befuddles me pfft. its most noticable when im mucking around drafting and spend more time thinking about fun stuff like correct grammar and correct sentence structure and which word means what in english, than about the story and the characters. it takes so much energy and effort to think about and of all of this, there is barely any space left for the story that im trying to tell. which is def a major drawback for me and one of the reasons that ive been considering to start writing in german again. even though i have uh some baggage there that i dont really want to face. language is so connected to identity and culture. and thats another reason why english is difficult; i know english, aside from school, mostly from usamerican books or from online interactions with usamericans or people talking usamerican. so that has ofc heavily influenced my own english. like, i set all my stories in germany for reasons, but its stupidly hard to draw up the cultural markers because the language itself that im using is already coming with cultural influences from another country. its really strange and confusing, and i would find it fascinating and interesting if it wasnt so frustrating. sometimes it feels like there is a veil between me and what im trying to say, and also as if my thought patterns dont work as they would because the language that should just be a tool to tell a story is already so dominant. thats def smth i hope to change in the future

33. give your writing a compliment!

hmmm. its very earnest. reading my own stuff, even old stuff, i can tell what sort of struggles made it hard to get smth specific onto the page. and sometimes what ends up on the page is not what was supposed to be there in the first place. but its earnest and i can see that. its always the best i can do in that moment, and its always a piece of me because i give so much of myself during the process. thats not always a good thing but its how i am. im glad the earnestness, the sincerity, the love, the faith, the hope, is so visible to the bare eye.

yet another writing ask

[please-picturemeintheweeds]

Do you think Travis and Taylor are already engagd and do you think it will be announced anytime soon?

I have no idea! I do know from personal experience that there’s usually 2+ conversations that could end in an engagement prior to one being enacted. My fiancé and I definitely discussed and affirmed our intention to move towards marriage at probably around 5-8 months of dating. We had a giggly whispered conversation while we were staying at his moms house for Christmas and we cried and had great sex, but the next step for us was to move in together and sign a 1 year lease, not announce to the world that we intended to enter a legally binding contract!! Over the next five years we had many conversations about The Future but something changed in the last year for both of us where we felt like if we were to get married it would no longer have anything to do with any sort of cultural pressure to do it, and we both had that thought independently, I decided after discussing with a friend and my therapist that I would make a romantic gesture so that Sam would feel cherished and swept off his feet, I did it, then we officially got engaged with rings and began telling family and close friends. It’s been a month and today was the first time he told his dad, and I still need to tell my grandma which I’ve been putting off bc of how delighted she will be (bc misogyny). Our plan is to post on socials (ugh) in the next few days, before he plays at a festival next week where we will tell lots of friends. So that’s what our process has been like, for perspective!

I think many people who grew up with more “traditional” family values would consider that first conversation at around 6 months-2 years an engagement, and there is absolutely nothing wrong with that, but we did not bc we are both careless men’s careful daughters… I am not yet in my thirties, and I am not Taylor swift, though!

[sheeezu]

Yes, this is a new account, I just made this. I don't care if people question the authenticity of my post, my experience as a shifter, or whatever I'm about to say.

I don't know how to use Tumblr, nor do I know how to make my post reach people who need it, nor would I be a narcissist and say "you're lucky if you found my post!" I don't mind if this reaches an audience or not, I'm glad to get everything off my chest.

Yes. I've shifted.

I have shifted realities, more times than I can count on my fingers, and that is for a very specific reason, which I'll explain later.

I'm writing this because I'm about to permashift, and no, I won't hear out any antishifters or people who don't like permashifting in general, I don't care about your opinion so don't waste my time.

Before I start, I'd like to say one thing:

I was irrational minded, I lacked belief in myself and shifting. Shifting often times felt like a chore more than a fun activity, and i have to admit, it became an unhealthy habit.

So? Why did I mention this?

Because I had been lurking around shifting communities and I realised everyone feels like this, a very (mentally) painful feeling where the lack of shifts starts acting as your biggest enemy, and the phrase:

"Shifting needs practice!"

Sounds like poison when it comes from an experienced shifter.

Though, is the phrase actually true?

No, not at all.

Shifting does not need practice!!

Here's why:

(BTW, I will explain my "method", no matter if I have time or not. Also, I don't call this reality "Current Reality", instead I call it Void reality, so don't get confused.)

The "practice" you're doing is only affecting your void reality (taking time out of your day, making you constantly think you're in your learning phase, so it doesn't exactly lead to your desired reality, does it?)

Of course, if you view it as a skill, it will in some way act like that, it'll become a skill for you, and you can never succeed on your first, second, third, hundredth try, because in your brain you have registered the fact that shifting is this grand, universal task, and that it is very difficult (because its common sense that you practice difficult things to get good at them)

Practice is a very humane and earthly act, if people have succeeded doing just practice, then good for then, they're right in their own way, but it didn't work for me, and in my opinion it's the worst way to view shifting, and often times it is demotivating, and you'll mess up you're entire journey.

Shifting is not a skill, shifting is a universal law.

I'll become more clear as I explain my journey:

My journey:

I found shifting from a random YouTube video 3 years ago. I might have only said cool and moved along.

A year later something traumatic happened in my life, which shook me so badly I needed an escape.

First of all, I chose astral projecting, but I realised I was too much of a coward to do so.

Then I came towards shifting, first DR was very typical, it was Hogwarts.

Having no knowledge whatsoever in the topics of spirituality, meditation, I went straight to methods, because they were like guides for me, I was very inexperienced, of course, and looked at other people and what they were doing for guidance.

Alice in wonderland method didn't do much, raven method was too uncomfortable (side note, all this raven method does is make you too focused on your void reality, cmon, in your DR are you laying down like a starfish?) And I was having terrible trouble with my intrusive thoughts (which made the floor disappear from under my feet, made the stairs for the stairs method too short to climb or straight up made them dissappear as well)

I didn't have any luck that year, no mini shifts, no lucid dreams, or sleep paralysis. And my DRs never remained constant. They always changed on a daily basis.

I was big on methods, I couldn't realize they never worked for me.

Although, this year of failure led me to finally figure out where I belonged.

A DR made out of scratch, which I spend much effort in putting the pieces of it together.

The DR, which was called "Home reality" really made me feel settled in my journey.

LOA, and the consciousness theory were the leading factors which made me shift.

And don't worry, it isn't what you're tired of being told, I didn't just apply any orthodox definition of LOA and succeeded.

Background to my first shift:

It was a particularly stressful day, I really missed my home.

I was studying at my college (I still am, but...) and I was dreading giving a chemistry test, I did not prepare. In my mind, one thing was constantly looping in my head.

The scenario of the chemistry teacher coming in, and taking the test, and the next day I get it handed back with a big fat zero.

But then I stopped and wondered, having already known about the consciousness theory, so according to it:

"I am constantly letting this thought run in my mind, and constantly letting this reality dictate what happens next."

Basically, I realized what was about to happen next was indirectly in my control, but with my line of thinking, I was letting this reality control it directly.

I stopped, like actually stopped thinking.

And with a blank mind I thought.

"I won't have to take any test today."

And went around telling my classmates this with a confident tone.

The teacher came in, said we'll instead do some practicals in lab.

So the test got cancelled.

Going home, I got excited, i felt powerful.

I decided to apply this to shifting.

Before shifting, I took a nap during the day, (if you're tired your body insists on sleeping, so your mind will get hazy and you will start acting lazy towards your goal)

And after living how I normally would, before bedtime, I listened to some songs, and look at a Pinterest board which reminded me of my home reality.

My method and what happened next:

First phase of shifting:

When I laid down on the bed to start shifting, I first got comfy (for me, if I feel sleepy for some reason, I laid on my back, I can't fall asleep in that position, but if I think ill stay awake until I reach a "detached state" then I sleep on my side, it's comfortable)

I obviously wasn't checking the time, but I spent about 10 minutes getting relaxed, all I do to relax is:

a) look at the blackness (closed eyes, looks like starry skies) and try to believe I'm looking at the milky way.

b) think about my home reality, just faces of my loved ones, and nostalgia inducing images.

c) Affirm, but don't focus entirely on affirming, usually in the back of my mind I'm repeating "I have shifted to my home reality" "I have shifted my senses to my home reality" "I have stopped sensing the void reality" "I am smelling, tasting, feeling, hearing and seeing my home reality" no other fancy affirmations required. (Now that I think about it, you need to affirm NOW because this method has two phases, one where you are shifting, and one where you have shifted, and you are in the 3D, where you are occupying your DR self, their thoughts, and memories, and popular method usually only have one phase, either you are shifting, or have shifted. So my point is if you affirm later and you'll be affirming when you're supposed to be in your DR, and obviously, your DR self won't be spouting out affirmations about shifting to a random reality for no reason.)

During this time, you'll feel tingly all over. It's a good sign.

And you'll feel a certain detachment, like you aren't exactly here, you have no idea what position you're lying in, and where your feet are. (Please, for the love of God do not start counting your feet or get freaked out that you can't feel your leg, you'll come back to the void reality.)

So you can start the next phase.

Middle phase (optional):

To prepare for the next and last phase, you can do this to get ready, or don't (First read the third phase)

This is all about connection to your DR.

Think about memories from your DR, focus on the faces of your loved ones, the way you act, talk, your mannerisms in your DR, or you can simply say affirmations like these one:

My name is ___.

I work as a ___.

My age is ___.

Don't try to imagine vividly or anything, lightly touch upon the basic details of your DR, the construction and foundation of any reality and the person, who has existed there for their entire life.

(That's you!)

Phase three:

Take a sudden, abrupt stop from your stream of thoughts. (Yes intrusive thoughts will still pop up but don't give any importance to them) when you're in a blank state of mind, not longer than 30 seconds, you need to build up to the last step of your shifting method, and journey.

a) start imagining hearing the voices of your loved ones or just any voice, calling your DR name, your nicknames, with different tones. (For example, i heard my name in an angry tone from my father when he was scolding me, I heard my name followed by a laughter when my S/O teased me.)

OK, for me, I started feeling intense, groundshaking symptoms at this moment. Sudden flashing of lights, extreme feeling of floating, and ofcourse, feeling tingliness so much that it felt like pins and needle on my entire body. (I did ignore the symptoms)

b) plan the rest of your day in your DR, which you will be spending.

AGAIN, PLEASE DON'T SAY IT LIKE THIS.

❌️When I reach my DR ❌️ I will have to go to that eye specialist for that appointment.

Instead: (and the more you personalize it, the better)

Ughhh, I have to go to that appointment- this day will suck.

(Don't mind my example, that was the only thing I could think of at the moment)

c) in this reality, you are constantly thinking of something, your thoughts are definitely what constructs this reality, and your current thoughts are affecting your subconscious. (By this point, your subconscious is grounded in your DR, so don't worry about that bastard.)

Now, you're going to start thinking, thoughts which are going on in your DR self's mind, start with one sentence, with which you'll be able to start consciously thinking like your DR self.

And think in the style, tone, and mood of your DR self, and keep the thoughts strictly related to your DR.

Thats it, but what happens afterwards? And what happened to me?

So for me, I started feeling weird while I was thinking.

And I remember I thought this:

"Ugh, I don't want eggs for breakfast."

(I'm not saying this is the key to shifting, at this point, I had covered various topics, including, weather, my upcoming work assignment, and praised my S/O for a good 5 minutes.)

And I started panting, like suddenly I was trying to catch my breath, the room felt bright, so I opened my eyes, and well, I was in my home reality :)

I was delirious for a few second, my S/O was looking at me worriedly, but surprisingly, it didn't even take me a minute to adjust, it felt all so natural and I wasn't scared.

I didn't even feel emotional, at all, and didn't hug my S/O with tears in my eyes, I straight up asked to be served breakfast, incase anyone was wondering.

So that's it.

Although i have much to say, I'm tired of writing, but I'm more than willing to answer each and every one of your questions, although I only have 7 hours left till I permashift, I'll remain mostly active till then.

And no, I'm not rereading this to fix my grammar, so just ask if anything confused you.

Ask away.

I'm still not sure if this'll reach anyone or not.

[luveline]

𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐭

part one | chapter list 

You find yourself drawn into Remus’ life after an awful night you can’t remember. He does his best to hold onto you. [10k]

cw: heavy themes, implied sexual assault of the reader [with no graphic scenes but it’s a continuous theme, so please be careful when reading], pregnancy, eventual friends to lovers, friendships, hurt/comfort, james makes a lot of soup, found family

𖦹

The pharmacy on Wilmand Street is always deathly quiet. The boy behind the counter reads and occasionally picks up the phone to put it back down, his hair in his eyes, a waxiness to his pale skin that never fails to perturb. 

Your shoes creak over the hardwood floor. He’s noticed your entry, signalled by a golden bell above the door and your muffled panting, but he hasn’t looked up. 

Your eyes slide past pads, nighttime, ultra-long panty liners, searching with a poorly restrained desperation for something in particular. 

The phone rings —dark-haired boy picks it up and puts it back down again as you recalled, silencing the ring. You watch him from over your shoulder and he looks up from his book to stare. 

“Pregnancy tests?” you ask.

His expression doesn’t change as he pulls a drawer open behind the desk with a metallic clink. “What kind?” 

“The most reliable. Please.” 

He gives a nod, black curl bobbing under his chin. He grabs a blue card box and places it on the counter. “Sixteen fifty.” 

You open your purse before you’ve reached him, extracting the change exactly and tipping it next to his book. “Thank you.” 

“Are you alright?” 

Your heart squeezes in your chest like a tightening fist. “Why?” 

“I have to ask. I’m a mandated reporter.” 

“I’m not a child.” 

He levels your look with his own. “You don’t have to answer. I’m only asking because you look upset. Are you alright?” 

You don’t think you’ve ever heard him say more than three words at a time. His voice is reminiscent of someone else’s, half-remembered. You want to ask him, then. The questions you’ve had since it happened. Why does it hurt so badly, still? But the boy, while seemingly well-intentioned, isn’t one you trust to care nor keep it to himself. 

“Fine,” you reply, pressing the blue-boxed test into your pocket, pulling the hood of your coat up to brace against the December rain. You’re fine. 

The door opens before you can get to it, another lovely dark-haired boy letting himself inside. His stare is blank as the one at the desk’s is, but you smile on instinct and he smiles back warmly after a moment, holding the door for you to leave. 

“Okay, Reg?” you hear him ask as you pass.

“Close the door,” Reg says. “You’re letting in the cold.” 

—

It’s even colder the next time you go. You throw on another hoodie and wrap a scarf tightly around your neck, face ducked, nose tickled by flyaway fibres. The walk to Wilmand Street takes seventeen long minutes where your hands hurt, then shake, chapped by hateful winds. 

The pharmacy’s newspapered window comes into view. A poster for the local pub leaks ink on the outside, wet by the rain, its font blooming like fungus across purple paper. Live music event: December 31st. 

The dark-haired boy —Reg?— is behind the counter again. The first one. Are you alright? boy. He looks twenty so or near that, but there’s something wilfully young about the skin under his eyes, despite a more haggard pinch to his brow. You were hoping it would be the second one, or the sandy-haired boy who mans the till in the very early mornings. He has a more natural smile than the other two. Perhaps not more authentic, but quicker to perk up when you slink in for whatever before work, Mondays and Fridays if he’s there. 

Reg doesn’t lift his head. You push yourself toward the back of the pharmacy. It’s a small shop slotted between two others, one wall touched from the next in thirty seconds should you walk it. It makes pretending you’re there for other things useless and embarrassing, but you do it anyway. Another test won’t change what you wanted the test to say, but you can’t take one single test and trust it was right. 

“Reliable?” Reg asks when you finally approach. 

“Yeah. And the five strip box, too, if you have it.” 

Reg takes them from the drawer and adds their prices seemingly in his head. “Eighteen eighty-nine.” 

You pass him a twenty pound note and wait for your change, not bothered that he counts it slowly, or that he puts it down flat on the counter away from your outstretched hand. “Thanks,” you murmur. 

He noticeably bites his tongue. 

“I want to be sure, is all,” you say. 

“If you go to the doctor’s, they do it for free. And it has a ninety nine percent rate of accuracy.” 

You hold the tests to your stomach. “I’m not… really sure what I’d want them to tell me, right now.” 

“They’d tell you the truth, at least.” Reg seems to decide this line of conversation isn’t one he wants to continue, and he lets his mouth flatten into a thin, white line. You get the sense though that he isn’t done talking, and are rewarded for your patience with an inkling of an almost-smile. “Please know that I’m bound by duty of care while I work here, so if you are concerned about something, I can listen and offer advice. And if you don’t want to tell me private information, my uncle is the acting pharmacist, and he is more strictly bound by patient confidentiality law.” He looks you in the eye. “You’re only as alone as you allow yourself to be.” 

“Who says that?” you ask, poked by the way he lays it out. 

Reg doesn’t like your question and doesn’t answer. He picks up his book, murmuring, “I hope they give you the result you want.” 

A different dark-haired boy is standing outside of the pharmacy when you leave. With a nice nose, eyes like a puppy, he’s handsome but hidden behind black frames. He stands from his car where he’d been leaning when the door swings out, sits back again when he realises you’re not who he’s looking for. “Sorry, lovely,” he says, pulling at a loosely-knotted tie. “I thought you were someone else.” 

“Sorry,” you say back, holding the tests to your chest. 

Your hand covers the boxes. His eyes flicker down to them regardless. You wait for disdain or embarrassment but see neither. Really, the only thing this new boy wears is pleasantness. 

“Don’t stay out too long, will you?” he asks, smiling genially, “You’ll freeze.” 

“I’m–” You clear your throat, caught off guard to have a stranger care about you so openly. No reluctance to his well wishes, and no strings. “Sorry– I’m going home now. I won’t stay out.” 

“Good, shortcake. Have a good night.” 

You should say you too. The wind chases you back to your flat, where you head for the bathroom, and, despite living alone, lock the door. 

—

You take your pregnancy test and sit on the floor, too weak-legged to stand at the sink, waiting for two pink lines. 

Sure enough. Control, result. One solid pink line, and one much lighter. It doesn’t matter —a positive is a positive, no matter how weak. The strip tests say the same thing. 

In TV and movies, people always paint the test as the ultimate moment. As though the result is the result, and that everything after is fixed, but the result now is only a signifier for another decision to be made: will you keep your baby, or foetus? Do you feel as though it is a baby, or a foetus, or both? Is it welcome, or a foreign object? There is no right or wrong answer, only how you feel. 

The migraine you get then is debilitating. Like toothache in every tooth, pain behind your eyes half-psychosomatic, half physiological stress. You’re not sure how long you’re in the bathroom holding your forehead, but it’s dark when you manage to stand again, and the tests have only gotten more obviously positive. You throw them all in the bin. 

—

The third day you go back to Wilmand Street pharmacy, the desk is manned by your unfamiliar, smiling boy. He looks up when the door opens, his eyes browned honey set in a face that recently saw the sun, but not too much of it. Kissed by it. His cheeks are pinked. He must be the first person who’s worked here to bother turning on the heating. 

“Morning,” he says.

“Morning,” you say back. Voice croaky, you remember to be polite. “You okay?” 

“I’m great, lovely, thank you. How are you?” He gives a nod toward the street. “It’s so cold out, are you gonna be warm enough in your jumper?” 

You find yourself struck as you were the day before, so startled by genuine kindness that you can hardly work your mouth. “I’m okay. I’m going right back home after this.” 

“Aw, good.” 

You nod. What are you here for today? Not another test. You aren’t stupid enough to believe a third round will give you a different verdict, but you‘d felt an urgent need to move. 

You grab a rounded basket from near the door and make your way to the haircare. There’s a handful of shampoos to choose from. You take the usual. Beneath them are baby shampoos and soaps. On a whim you pick one up, the words Tear and fragrance free stuck like a bad swallow at the back of your throat. 

Babies need so many things. At the supermarket they have these great walls of baby food and it’s expensive enough to take your eye out every time. A quarter of an hours wage for every organic, soft meal, and sure, they don’t need organic, vegetables are organic intrinsically, whatever, but if you don’t buy organic pre-made meals you have to make the baby food yourself, how long does that take? You put the baby shampoo down and turn to the conditioners. 

Unhappy, you scour them for nothing and turn on the spot. Why is Dr. Black never here? How are you supposed to ask him your questions if he doesn’t show up to work? 

You’ll have to ask the brown-haired boy. Nice eyes, nice smile. He probably won’t judge you, at least not out loud. 

He stands up from his rickety chair, soft leather seat worn and creaking as he pushes it away. “Yeah?” he asks. 

“Do you have to do that patient-confidentiality thing?” 

He smiles rather gently. “I do. A condition of my employment is to protect patient information. Legally, I can’t share private or sensitive information about you to anyone else in the world, unless I believe you’re in proper danger.” He holds his hands behind his back. “Is there something you wanted to ask me?” 

Wind roars outside. Your eyes start to the door. 

“There’s a private room in the back,” he adds. 

“I don’t want to waste your time.” 

“It’s not wasted. Even if I weren’t legally obligated to keep whatever secrets you may have, I’m worried you look a bit poorly.”

He speaks oddly. Or not odd, but different to any of the other men you’ve met. It’s friendly, and yet somehow he’s quiet, too. His interest feels real, so you cross the room to the desk and put your basket on your shoes. 

You try to find a way to say it. “I know you’re not a doctor.” 

“No, I’m an apprentice pharmacist.” 

“Right. I know I should go to the doctor, and not you.” 

“That depends. We’re here to help. Doesn’t matter if you should go somewhere, you can ask me first.” 

You struggle. He waits. His hands lay steady on the edge of the desk, his face nearly blank besides a hint of warmth.  

“Is it alright if it’s a question about, um, sex?” 

He nods emphatically. “Of course that’s alright. I can’t promise I’ll know the answer, but you’re welcome to ask me anything and I can always get back to you if you’re not willing to ask someone else.” His smile turns wry. “I know it’s uncomfortable, but it’s only sex. I don’t mind.” 

“I just…” You hold your hands together. “I wanted to know, if pain after… if it’s supposed to hurt so much after.” 

His wry smile is quickly subdued, though he remains friendly looking. “It depends,” he says, measured, “on a few things. You probably know that the first time you have sex can be painful because of the initial perforation of the hymen, but usually sex isn’t supposed to be painful at all.” 

“At all.” 

“No. If sex hurts, it’s likely from a lack of preparation, bruising of the cervix, or it could be a condition called vaginismus. That’s where your muscles tighten suddenly when you attempt penetration. Having sex with vaginismus can be extremely painful.” 

Something on his chest catches the light. A name tag. 

He follows your gaze. “Oh,” he says. “I’m Remus. Sorry, it might’ve been nicer for you to know that before I started talking.” 

Remus… You shake your head at him. “Um… Remus… Well, I’m not really sure what happened.” 

“Right.” 

“I wasn’t–” Your heart jumps before you can confess, horrible secret stuck to the roof of your mouth. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, “are you sure you don’t want to go sit down in the quiet room with me? I can make you a cup of tea.” 

“I can’t have caffeine.” 

“I have night time tea. Is that alright?” 

“The shop?” 

“It’s okay, I’ll ask Sirius to come down. You really aren’t doing anything wrong.” 

“I feel like I shouldn't ask you.” 

“That’s a consequence of our great British society,” he says, lightly teasing as he lifts the counter to come from behind it and presses a small red button on an intercom box by the inside door. It’s an attempt to make you feel better, and it nearly works. “You feel embarrassed about something you have no reason to feel embarrassed of. Everybody has sex, and everybody has bad sex, sometimes, and needs advice.” 

The intercom crackles before you can speak. “Moony?” a voice asks. 

“Sirius, I have someone who needs to talk to me. You’ll have to come on the till for a bit.” 

“Kay. Down now.” 

Remus smiles. “That’s about as obliging as he gets.” 

“Sirius, is he the– is he the one who reads?” 

“Not often. You’re thinking of Regulus, his brother.” 

Regulus, of course. “They look so similar.” 

“They do.” He gestures for you to stand beside him as the inside door swings open, unveiling one of those dark-haired brother’s, the taller of the two. 

“Oh, hi,” Sirius says, wet hair on his shoulders, his t-shirt sodden at the front like he’d swept it back, “okay? There’s biscuits in the left cupboard, Moons.” 

Remus, Moons, Moony, holds the door back and lets you inside. 

The walk to the quiet room is strange. Sitting down at the table with him as he passes you a box of biscuits, kettle boiling, he doesn’t put you on ends, but it doesn’t feel good. You slip your hand under your t-shirt where he can’t see and feel the hot stretch of your stomach for something that isn’t there. 

“So,” he says, grimacing, “I’m going to ask you some precursory questions. You don’t have to answer any of them if you don’t want to.” 

“Okay.” 

“Are you in any active danger?” 

You shake your head slowly. “None.” 

“Is someone close to you hurting you?” 

“No.” 

“Are you alright?” 

You twist your hands together tightly. “I don’t think so.” 

“No?” He slips his chair closer to your own. “Are you hurt now?” 

You look down at your lap. This is awful. This is why you didn’t want to go to see your doctor. “I don’t know. I’m not hurt, but it does hurt. I move and it feels like something sharp is digging into me.” 

“I see.” He frowns. “This can happen sometimes with penetration. It’s like I said before, if your body isn’t, you know, prepared? If you aren’t using lubrication, if you aren’t relaxed, it can be as simple as friction having hurt you, but it’s possible you’ve got cervical bruising, or an issue with your pelvic floor. It could be that you have a UTI. If we go through a couple of questions together I might be able to suggest a solution, but I have to tell you to see your doctor if you can. Alright? Pain after sex can be normal, but it doesn’t have to be. When we go back out, I’ll give you some paracetamol as well.” 

He looks as though he might have something else to say, but he stops when you open your mouth. “I don’t know what happened.” 

Remus frowns again. “Right.” 

The cellophane on the biscuits is shining under the light. 

“I don’t really know what to do.” 

“It’s a stabbing pain?” His frown gets impossibly deeper. “I have some ibuprofen. Off the record, you can have some of that with your tea. Here.” He procures a blister pack from his pocket and hands it to you, jumping up for the kettle, carrying it back to your mugs to set with the pint of milk. “It will probably go away soon, lovely, I would try not to worry, but it’s good to keep an eye on it too, and to book with the doctors if it gets worse. There are so many things that can go wrong in the body, but we’re also such good self-healers, it’s hard to know what to do.” 

“It’s… something else, too.” 

“Yeah?” 

“I was wondering if the pain is maybe because I…” 

Your face goes hot as coal embers, a furious sweat on the back of your neck. Remus doesn’t prod. He pours water into your mug until it’s a little over half full, the tea bag at the bottom staining it sepia. 

“I think I’m pregnant,” you say, not sure why it hurts to say so much. 

“Right.”

“Do you think it hurts because of that?” 

Remus bites his lip as he pours his own mug of tea. He’s looking at you as he puts the kettle down. “No, I wouldn’t think so, but it’s not an impossibility. How pregnant were you thinking?” 

“It was two weeks ago, so… so however long it takes to get pregnant.”

He looks alarmed, then. “Lovely, that was the last time you had sex?” 

“Yeah.”

“And it still hurts now?” 

“Only sometimes,” you say nervously. 

He ignores his steaming tea. “Right. Well, I think I need to advise you to make an emergency appointment today. I can make it with you. You shouldn’t still be hurting after two weeks, pregnant or not. Ectopic pregnancies don’t tend to hurt until further along, so…” Remus slows, looking at you with that too-kind frown, brown eyes darker back here behind the fog curls of his tea.

You feel caught on something. 

“I wasn’t awake,” you say quietly. “Just woke up hurting. I guessed what happened, ‘n now I’m pregnant. It could only have been...” You shrug it off, even as heat blooms behind your eyes, nose already hot and sniffly. 

“You were assaulted.” 

“Yeah, I guess so.” 

Remus seems to freeze up. “I’m sorry.” He takes a few seconds, and then he meets your eyes. “I can’t imagine how scary that must have been, and how scary it still is.” 

Your eyes line with tears. “I mean, it’s less scary now.” First tear tips forward as your voice falls to pieces. “I just don’t know what to do. Every day I’ve come here this week I’ve tried to ask about it, because I saw that poster, if I’m hurt then I can– then I can come to the pharmacy, but I’m not hurt, I’m fine now.” 

“Oh,” he says gently, pushing his chair over a little to bring himself closer, his hand coming to rest on your hunched shoulder, “even if you weren’t in any pain at all, you’re more than welcome to come here and speak to us, to me. This residual pain, I imagine you must’ve been quite injured when it happened. You didn’t have any help at all?” 

“I didn’t think there’s anything they could do.” 

“That’s okay, it’s not your fault,” he says, rubbing your shoulder kindly. “I just want to know as much of the details as you feel alright giving me, so we can move forward in the best way possible.” His hand slides across your back, nearly hugging. “I’m sorry. Really. And I’m sorry for talking so much about ‘bad sex’, I didn’t realise what you were telling me.” 

“I’m sorry for telling you.” 

“What?” he asks, a soft incredulity to him, “You have nothing to be sorry for. You can tell as many or as few people as you like, but I’m extremely glad to be told, because no one should ever have to face this sort of thing alone, should they?” He rubs your back when you nod, again when you sniffle. “Alright. It’s alright. You’re okay.” 

You don’t cry as much as you worry you might under a soft touch. The memory of waking up paralyses you for a bit, that confusion, the pain, the bruise across your neck. All of it makes you feel sick, but Remus shushes you under his breath, not to really shush you, but to calm you down. 

“I’m okay,” you say, shamed. 

“Try and drink some of this tea. Can I leave you alone for a minute?” 

“Oh, uh– yeah, of course. I’m fine.” 

His hand lingers between your shoulders. “Just for a minute, I’m going to find some bits for you–”

“I don’t need anything–”

“No, no, it’s okay, it’s just stuff I have to give you, and some things you might need.” Remus’ hand traces carefully to the front of your shoulder. He meets your eyes, nothing but compassion in the line of his mouth. “Okay?”

You say okay. Remus uses the door you came in through to head back out onto the pharmacy’s shop floor, letting it shut quietly behind him. You press your hand to your teeth. 

—

To Remus’ credit, he apologises for both pamphlets. Abortion Explained. What to expect when you’re expecting. “For you to know your options,” he’d said. “Whatever you decide, it’s your decision.” 

He can’t know you’ll spend a week pouring over them all, that you’ll worry at the corner of the STD clinic card, or that you’ll shove the RapeCrisis one down the side of your bed, desperate to throw it out, but terrified you’ll need it, too. 

And some of the stuff he gives you. You don’t even know what to do with it. Painkillers, lavender oil, discreet pads for incontinence. You’d tried to pay and he’d touched the back of your hand without explanation. “No, it’s okay,” he’d said. Nothing else. 

You spend days again wrapped in your own nausea, until Thursday evening, when you make your way to Community Support. 

You honestly weren’t considering it when Remus first gave you the card, but he said his friend worked there, “My best friend, James,” he corrected, ”and his wife, Lily, too. She talks to people about all kinds of things. I just wonder if you might feel happier talking about it with a woman.” 

Which was a nice sentiment, and possibly true, though Remus had been the first person you told. To be met with his sympathy in such a boundless capacity made it easier. Made you think, Maybe I’m not stupid for hating that it happened. 

“I’m here every Monday, Thursday, Saturday and Sunday,” he‘d said when you made up a lie about needing to leave, scared of overstaying, “seven ‘til three, but you can ask for me if you ever want to. Sirius usually knows where I am.” 

And you had wanted to, but you knew you couldn’t. Being so desperately alone that you craved the comfort of a stranger’s hand is fine, but it didn’t feel okay to hold him hostage like that. Of course he feels sorry for you, of course he wants to make you feel better, how heartless would he look otherwise?

You’d chide yourself for thinking cynically about someone who’d only ever been nice if it would make a difference. Lonely, wrecked, you end up at the Community Support Group at the local leisure centre, wavering behind the swing doors. 

A face appears on the other side of the door. Deep skin, eyes like cherry pits and lips painted a cheery red, a woman smiles at you and pulls it open. 

“Hi! Are you here for the support group?” 

“Uh– Yeh–” You swallow roughly. “Yes. Is that here?” 

“That’s here.” She puts a thumb through the belt loop on her jeans. “Why don’t you come inside?” 

You take a tentative step.

“I’m Mary,” she says. 

“I don’t have to sign anything, right?” you ask. 

Mary leads you into the room without stopping. “This is off the books only. Do you want some tea or coffee?” 

“I can’t have caffeine.” 

“Decaf?” 

“Can I have water?” 

Mary has a good smile. Like she knows you, like you’re already friends. She cups your shoulder and guides you to the refreshment table, an impressive splendor of coffee, tea, individually wrapped biscuits, and sandwiches. There’s a box of protein bars with a handwritten red felt note that says: Take me home if you want to! 

“Aren’t hungry are you?” Mary asks. 

“Not really.” 

She ducks down at the table and pushes aside tablecloth to grab a crate of water from underneath.

“You haven’t been here before, then?” Mary asks as she stands. “I remember most faces, I don’t think I’ve seen you here.” 

“No, I’ve never… um, someone at the pharmacy told me I can come,” you say tightly. 

“Oh, you can! Of course you can. I wondered if you were new, that’s all.” She presses a bottle of water into your hands. You look down at her fingers, confused at their odd texture, your neck snapping up once you realise what you’re doing.

Mary has scars all over her hands, her wrists, and you’d been gawking at them by mistake. “Sorry,” you mumble. 

“For what? Do you want me to stay? Or would you rather be by yourself?” 

“We don’t sit in a circle, do we?” 

Mary laughs lightly. “No, no circle yet, you can leave if you don’t wanna stay for the group talking therapy. For the first hour people just say hello to one another. There are a ton of counsellors here, okay? I’m just gonna wander, but if you want to talk to me, come and find me, yeah?” 

“Okay, thanks. Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome, hun.” She smiles at you, a little softer than before. “You can sit down if it makes you feel less awkward, but be warned, the sofas are James’ territory. He loves to talk.” 

Don’t wanna get stuck with James, you think. Though really, you’re here to talk. Or to turn around and go home with a pocket full of protein bars. 

The community room is an emptied dance hall that’s been made nice. There are big boards of fliers, of last year’s trampolining club, and another of the Community Support Christmas club, whatever that had been. It looked busier then than it does tonight —there are a ton of sunny looking counsellors dotted around the room and talking in triangles, half as many people like you. 

Someone random catches your eyes and you fluster, making your way to the terracotta sofas in the corner of the room on impulse. A man sits with an arm across his eyes, glasses on his chest, looking so sorrily tired for a second that you forget you’d come looking for help of your own. 

“Are you okay?” you ask, stilted. James’ territory, and you’d walked straight in. 

The man sits up starkly. He looks right at you, but you don’t recognise him until he puts on his glasses. It’s one of those pharmacy men. 

No, it’s not, you’d just seen him outside. 

“Hello,” he says, sliding his glasses up a strong-bridged nose. “I’m okay, I’m just resting my eyes,” —he laughs— “you alright?” You nod. “Yeah? Here for the support club? Or the sandwiches?” 

“I–” Will you stammer every time someone asks you about it? “One of the– the pharmacy, one of the pharmacists told me to come.” 

“That’s good,” he says earnestly. “I like those guys. Did you want a sandwich or something? I must’ve made a hundred. My hand still aches from the butter knife.” 

“I’m okay.” 

“Okay. Well, did you want to sit down? I promise I won’t hold you hostage or anything.” 

What am I doing? you think miserably, taking a seat in the sofa adjacent to his. 

He crosses one leg over the other. “Please don’t look so upset. I swear I genuinely won’t make you talk. I’m just here for the biscuits and lovely Lily, I promise. And lovelier Remus–” He laughs to himself. 

“You’re James?” you ask. 

“The last time I checked.”

“Remus– he mentioned you’d be here. I forgot.” 

James only smiles. “He’s brilliant, isn’t he?” he asks, wriggling in his seat to procure one of those biscuit packets from his back pocket. 

“He said that I might like talking to Lily.” 

It feels weird calling her by her first name without knowing her, but James agrees, “I’ll introduce you when she gets here, if that’s what you want.” 

“I just… I don’t know.” 

“She’s just as nice as Remus is. Remus was nice to you, wasn’t he?” 

You nod and look down at your clenched hands. “Yeah. He was nice to me.” 

“That’s good.” 

A tepid silence pervades for a moment. 

“Do you want a biscuit or something? Or we have noodles and soup and stuff in the storage room, I’m happy to make you something warm if you want that.” 

“You guys are like a restaurant,” you say, still not willing to look at him. 

“It’s nice to have options.” 

You nod hurriedly, sick to your stomach all over again. Options. Decisions. 

Somewhere in the room, they turn on a radio. Shoes squeak on the waxed floor, a boy laughs like he’s being tickled. It was a mistake to come tonight. You desperately want someone to hug you and you know it’s too much to ask for, staggering to your feet with a headrush to be blinked back. 

“You okay?” James asks.

“Yeah. Um, where’s the toilet?” 

“Back out of the double doors, they’re right in front of you, okay? Straight in front and then to the left, you can’t miss them.” 

“Okay.”

“Wait, Y/N?” he says. 

You shoot him a look that betrays your surprise. 

“Sorry, Remus told me to keep a look out for you. I just wanted to say, I know this is different, and it’s weird, I get that, and I have no idea why you’re here tonight, but I promised Remus I wouldn’t upset you, and I think I already have.”

“He didn’t tell you why I’m here?” 

“Of course not.” James blows a breath that makes his hair fly away from his face in a wave. “It’s none of my business why you’re here. My job is to make sandwiches. I mean, some people come here just for the sandwiches or the warm room, and that’s fine.” 

“The sandwiches are that good?” you ask. 

“They’re great. We don’t fuck around, I use the real salted butter in the foil wrappings and the thick bread and everything. Proper ham, not the wafer thin stuff. And there’s veggie bacon too, if you don’t eat meat. I don’t know, could you please just let me feed you something? Remus won’t forgive me if you came here and you didn’t even eat.” 

“I think you’re using Remus as a ploy,” you say quietly. 

“I am! So let’s go have a sandwich or a biscuit or something.” He waves his biscuits at you. “They’re Border’s. Butterscotch Border’s, you literally can’t ask for better.” 

Just try. Be brave for a bit. “I like the uh– the lemon ones.” 

James shoots up onto his feet, grinning. “Amazing taste. Let’s go find you some.” 

—

James takes you to the refreshment table. He finds you lemon drizzle biscuits, two packets, and he pushes two more into your hands with the command to take them home. He offers to make you dinner again when Lily arrives in a tizzy, with a chubby baby on her hip. 

Harry, she says. Just turned three. Scandalised everyone at home, Lily’s sister kicked her out, disaster. Harry, though, is beautiful. James and Lily are beautiful, and happy. James takes Harry into his arms the moment he sees him murmuring about his boy, and the sensation of guilt under your skin grows worse than ever. 

How are you liking group? Lily asks. Would you come back next week? That’s great! I’m so glad to hear it. 

—

You’re walking through Wilmand Street to the corner shop a few days later when you see him. Brown hair wet with snow, ashing a cigarette into the brick wall by the library. Remus cringes as he does it, blowing smoke from the side of his mouth in a call, “Y/N!” he says, “Hey, lovely, how are you? Sorry about the smoke,” he adds. “I was hoping I’d see you this week.” 

“Yeah?” 

“I wondered how you were doing.” 

“Well, don’t worry about me, I’m okay. I…” You cringe, pulling a hand down your sore chest. “I owe you an apology. I’m sorry for the other day, for dumping that stuff on you, you don’t even know me and I told you such a horrible thing and made you worry, and your friends were so nice to me at the community group and I just didn’t say thanks or anything. I’m genuinely ashamed of myself.” You smile a weird smile, clunky, attempting to brush everything away like it didn’t mean anything, silly little you. “All the time.” 

Remus’ expression goes odd, a wall you can’t read, left searching his winter jacket for clues as to how he’s feeling. “I don’t think you have anything to be ashamed of,” he says, finally and simply. 

“It was rude of me.” 

“I have some experience with feeling ashamed for the things other people have done,” he says, flakes of snow kissing his shoulders, a white dot coming to rest and melt on his cheek. “I understand why you’re feeling this way, and it’s expected, but… How do I put this?” 

You watch his eyes. Remus struggles to say anything more. It’s the first time you’ve ever seen a flicker of insecurity on him. He always seems calmly settled, as though he’s thought about the world and found what it is he was looking for in it a long time ago. 

“Just because we think something doesn’t make it true,” he says, hiding his hands in his coat pockets. “You might feel like it was wrong to tell me, but it wasn’t, and you might think you were rude to my friends, but you weren’t. They didn’t have a single bad word to say about you. Not that either of them tend to say anything disparaging about anyone,” he adds as an afterthought. 

“I wish I didn’t tell you, is all.” 

“I’m sorry. I can go on as though you didn’t, if that’s what you want, whatever you want.” 

You look down at your chest, nodding. “Okay.” 

Which isn’t a yes or no to his suggestion, but he doesn’t pull you up on it. “Okay. Are you going to the pharmacy?” 

“I– no. But I did hope to ask you something.” He nods, as if to say, Go on. “It’s about the sex clinic.” 

“What about it?” 

“I don’t really know what it is.” 

Remus looks around the street and then up and down your arms. The jumper you’re wearing is thin, your teeth aching to chatter, and he’s noticed it already. “Do you want to have this conversation over tea, lovely?” he asks. 

“Decaf?” 

“Yes, and biscuits, if you’re interested.” 

You follow Remus up the marginally steep hill that makes up Wilmand Street and enter the pharmacy behind him. It’s wooden front and newspaper clippings give way to the starker insides, where you find Sirius sitting at the front desk. Or rather, sitting on it, corded telephone held between his ear and his shoulder. “Oh, he’s just come in, but he has company. Yeah, he said.” Sirius presses the phone to his shoulder to give you both a small but earnest smile. “Hey, you’ve been snowed on. Turn the heating up before you catch your death.” 

“It’s been caught,” Remus says with a wave. “We’re going to sit in the kitchen. Tell Reg not to interrupt us.” 

Your mouth falls open, but Sirius only salutes his —friend? coworker? “James says he’s giving the phone a sloppy one for you.” 

“Lovely.” Remus laughs brightly, his hand slipping behind your shoulder. “Alright?” he asks. 

You give a nod and continue following him past the inside door to the kitchen you’d sat in before. Remus flicks the kettle on and sits down, forcing you to take his cue and sit opposite of him. 

“Much warmer in here,” he mumbles, stripping out of his coat. “Alright. What did you want to ask me about the sex clinic?” 

“Um… I don’t know. How do I go there?” 

“We’ll make an appointment. It’s not far from the leisure centre, so you can walk, or I can book you a taxi, give you a lift. We'll work something out.”

“And they… won’t mind that I– that I don’t really know what I’m doing?” 

You almost miss the dissatisfied noise he makes over the rising sound of the kettle. “They won’t mind.” 

“Do I have to tell them what happened?” 

“No. I mean, I assume it’s better if they have a clearer picture of the circumstances, but then again, you’re entitled to your privacy. You could just say you’re concerned about your intimate health.” 

“But they’ll ask questions.” 

“Yeah, they will. I know you don’t want to answer them, and that’s okay. You don’t have to answer them. Doctor’s, pharmacists, we just ask about stuff because we have to, but there’s no law that says you have to answer.” 

Now you’ve had time to think about things beyond the aching and the angry horror, a new fear has curdled. “What if he gave me something?” you say under your breath. 

“Then we can get you whatever medicine it is that you need and we can work toward you feeling better again.” His head tips as the kettle clicks. “Did you still want tea?” 

“Yes, please.” 

Remus makes you each a cup of decaf tea, bringing sugar and milk to the table for you to add yourself. 

“We can go now, if you want to.” 

“To the clinic?” you ask. 

Remus nods slowly. “Mm-hm. It’s an emergency.” 

“You’d come with me?” you ask, not breathless, but almost. 

“If you’re okay with it and you want me to, I’ll come with you. It might not be so scary. Or I can ask Lily to take you.” 

It’s not Remus’ fault that the person who assaulted you was a man like he is, but it does sound less intimidating to go with a girl. You’re not sure why. It’s not like he hasn’t been kind since the minute you asked him about confidentiality or that he deserves your distrust, but even sitting in this room with him now talking about the clinic has made you uncomfortable again. “Would she mind?” 

“Lily would love to take you. I know that sounds strange. She wouldn’t love that you need to go, but she wouldn’t want you to go alone if you’re worried about it.” 

“And she’ll go now?” 

Remus pushes your mug toward you. “You have some tea and I'll go and ask James if she’s around.”

“I don’t want to be a burden.” 

“You’re not,” he says. “There’s biscuits in the cupboard, lovely. If you want some, you can help yourself.” 

Things don’t pass that day in much detail after that. When Remus returns ten minutes later, you’ve finished your tea, and Lily is with him. She was on her way here already. She���d be happy to take you to the clinic. 

So you go, and you get checked out, and you submit to their tests and their invasive, well-intentioned questions. Lily takes you to a cafe afterward and buys you a pastry you can’t do more than poke. She takes you home. You feel guilty for not saying thank you in the car, but you can barely speak. A few days later you get a phone call with your results. You take a course of medications. You cry yourself to sleep three days in a row, because, as they’d tested for STDs, they tested for something else, and they’d told you what you‘d already known. 

You’re as pregnant as your home tests said you are. Despite everything, you feel an emotion you hate, and you push it down again. 

—

The door to your flat shakes with a sharp knock. 

You startle and stand, not sure what you’d been thinking, a hole burned into the floor at your feet. You’re in no state to answer the door, wet hair dripping a river down your back and your pajamas old. There’s nothing for it. 

You take the handle into your hand and squeeze. 

Dark-haired Regulus is standing in the hallway. You let the door close just an inch between you. 

“Regulus,” you say, unsure if surprise will help or hinder you. 

“Hello.” 

“How can I…” 

“Remus asked me to check in on you.” 

You’re not sure you like what he’s saying. “How do you know where I live?” 

“Remus didn’t ask me to come to your flat, if that’s what you’re asking.” 

“No, it’s not. I’m confused that you know where I live when I didn’t tell you.” 

He holds a deft hand up in surrender. “I live across the street, I’ve seen you come into the building, and your last name is on the postbox downstairs. I’m not doing anything illegal.” 

Just weird, then. 

“Remus asked me to keep an eye out for you,” he says, “but you haven’t been to the pharmacy, naturally.”

“So your solution was to come to my house?” 

“I don’t think there’s any need to get twitchy.” 

But there is. There is. He might not know what it is, and you might find thinking about it feels like a serrated blade end squeezed in your fist, but there is a need. You don’t want him to be here. It doesn’t matter that he’s small and skinny and has a sweet nose. This is your place to be by yourself, and to have nobody know where you are. This is the locked door. 

He has the sense to soften his bravado. “Sorry. I’ve made you uncomfortable.” 

You try to relax your shoulders. Your ribs ache with the tension. “Please,” you say gently, “tell Remus that I’m alright. Thank you for worrying about me.”

Regulus looks to the stairwell leading to the foyer. “He’s going to Community Support tonight if you want to tell him yourself. I am, too.” He doesn’t look at you again. “See you later,” he says to the stairs. 

 —

You go to Community Support despite yourself.

“Can you forgive me for not flirting with you?” 

You surprise the urge to flinch hard, turning to the voice with a half-smile. Sirius is standing beside you suddenly, your faces reflected in the plexiglass covered notice board just outside of the community hall. “What?” you ask. 

“I don’t mean to be offensive. I haven’t flirted because I thought Remus might have his eye on you, and I don’t want you to think it’s because you’re not beautiful.” 

You have to turn to see him to realise he’s teasing you now to be friendly. “I’d be offended if you did flirt with me,” you say. 

“Marvellous, then I won’t.”

“Remus doesn’t have his eye on me, though. He’s just been giving me pharmaceutical advice, I suppose.” 

“Oh, I see. I thought maybe you’d… Well, never mind. Forget I said anything.”

He’s handsome enough that you’d be shocked if he actually did flirt with you, clear-skinned as his brother, but with a warmer smile, almost mischievous, like he knows something you don’t know and he’ll tell you for the right price. His shoulders are slim, his biceps particularly solid as he crosses his arms over his chest. He notices you noticing and gives a flex, to your laughter. “Like what you see?” he asks. 

“Sorry.” 

“We’re on the rugby team, you know.”

“You and Remus?” 

“As if, Remus doesn’t like sports. He’s more of a walker. James and I are the sportsmen.” 

Sirius didn’t strike you as somebody who plays anything either, but it’s not polite to say. 

“Well, aren’t you coming inside?” he asks. “We could use a face like yours in there tonight. Beautiful girls are great for overall morale.” 

You shake your head. “Don’t think so.” 

“You came all the way here. You could at least come in for a bit of cake or something.” 

“Community support or community kitchen?” you mumble. 

“Everybody gets hungry. The best part of being in a community is making sure nobody goes hungry for long, right?” 

You give him a sideways look. Somehow, someway, you’ve become acquainted with a circle of philanthropists. Normal people aren’t so generous. You’re too tired to be this kind. 

“What kind do you have?” 

“Carrot, red velvet, Victoria sponge, and plain chocolate, I think. Maybe a bit of walnut sponge if Marlene hasn’t mauled the whole thing.” 

You’re not sure you can stomach it, just he’s looking at you so nicely that you want to go in with him. “Okay.” 

“Okay?” he asks. 

“Yeah.” 

Sirius slips a hand behind your back, letting it hover an inch from your skin as he shepherds you through the double doors and into the main hall. It’s far more crowded than it had been on your first visit, a small circle of people already in chairs talking a ways from the crowded food table, pilfered, more sandwiches in hands than hands to hold them, and enough brewed coffee to scent the air. James is immediately noticeable crouching at the table, having pulled a crate of juice boxes from beneath it, laughing about something someone is saying to him —something Remus is saying, the tallest man in the room and somehow completely non-imposing, his voice more colour than sound as he talks. 

It must just be because Remus is attentive. Must be the memory of his nice hand on your shoulder, squeezing, that makes you pay special attention to his shaking. “Is he laughing?” you ask. 

Sirius tunes in quickly. “Yeah. He’s done that since we were kids. He can laugh like normal, but when something really has him it’s like he can’t get the sound out.” He chuckles himself. “Idiots. Come on, let’s get you your slice of cake.” 

You can’t help staring at Remus as Sirius takes you over to him and James. James is so happy to see you he almost loses his glasses. 

“You’re back! I thought my shitty impersonation of a counsellor might’ve scared you off. Don’t want some soup, do you?” 

“Don’t say yes out of pity,” Sirius says. “Nobody ever wants James to make them soup.” 

“You like my soup.” 

“I like Effie’s soup. She makes the best bowl of lemon chicken I’ve ever tasted, and you make a mediocre imitation of her recipe, which is as good as it gets while I’m away.” 

“Effie’s my mother,” James explains, clambering to his feet with the crate of small bottles of juice held to his chest. “Euphemia. And she does make the best lemon chicken soup, but mines just fine! And anyways, tonight I made winter vegetable because all the Christmas veg was 8p and I have a fuckton. It’s delicious. I cut the swede up so thin it melts in your mouth, I got fresh thyme from the garden, little bit of spinach, all of it cooked in a metric ton of butter.” 

Remus snorts softly. He meets your eyes, which has you smiling on automatic. “James is a bit of a soup addict.” 

”I–” You feel hungry for the first time in weeks. “I’d quite like to, uh, try some. If you really don’t mind.” 

James glows, shoving the case of juice onto the refreshment table next to the hot water towers. “Yes. How about toasties, lovely, d’you want a cheese toastie with it? You’ll love it.” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “Anyone else while I’m warming it?” 

Remus meets your eyes again, like you’re sharing a secret. “I’ll have a bowl, Jamie.” 

“Yes.” 

“Alright,” Sirius acquiesces, “and me. And Reg will, too, wherever he’s gone off too. But he won’t have cheese–”

“Just toast, I know.” 

James gets a look on him like he’s found the secrets of the universe. “I’ll make a garlic butter cheese toastie for all of you. Mm?” 

Sirius waves him away. 

Sirius grabs you a slice of cake even as you mumble about the soup and how it’s dessert before dinner. Doesn’t matter, he murmurs back, not worried about why you’ve gone shy, I promised you a slice.

You take an apple juice and follow him to a table. Remus comes with you. He looks sunnier today than the last time you saw him despite ever-cloudy weather. Maybe he’s just a bit golden. Steady, he sits at the table across from you with Sirius taking a seat perpendicular, the three of you three sides to a square, nothing to look at besides your hand squeezed around the handle of a plastic fork. 

“I’m sorry about Regulus,” Remus says. “I didn’t mean for him to visit you at home. He told me you weren’t thrilled about it, and I can’t blame you.” 

“I’m sorry too,” Sirius says, wrinkling his nose. “I have no clue why he did that.” 

“And Regulus would be sorry, he just has a hard time realising when he’s overstepped.”

You nod at the table. “It’s okay. I mean, it did make me uncomfortable, and I– wasn’t super polite to him. I just wasn’t expecting him to be at the door, that’s all. And he said sorry, actually. So it’s forgiven.” 

“Oh.” Sirius perches his hand in his head. “That’s unlike him. He doesn’t tend to be sorry.” 

“Neither do you,” Remus says. 

“It’s a family trait.” 

“Can I save this for after soup?” you ask, shuffling your plate to the side. It’ll be easier to eat your cake when everyone else is eating as well. 

“Course you can,” Sirius says, leaning back in his seat. “But if you don’t eat it, I’ll assume you don’t like me. I’m sensitive like that.” 

Remus rolls his eyes, again gifting you with a great feeling, as though you’re in on a secret with him. He’s wearing an aviator jacket that looks incredibly soft, worn but not tattered, sherpa insides flattened but clean. The sleeves warp as he crosses his arms in front of him on the table and leans forward, conspirator. 

“So, how was your morning? Besides Regulus’ unwelcome intrusion,” he says, almost drawling as Sirius does when he gets that playful look in his eye. 

You’re not sure how to handle these boys. But you want to try. You’re sick of having nobody, of being nobody, even if it’s a little discomfiting sometimes to be with them. “My morning was fine. Tries to get through all my washing but it’s a mountain, so I left it and had a long shower instead.”

“How long is long?” Remus asks. 

“Too long.” 

“Like Remus’, then. I’m a one and done man, wash and go.” Sirius peels forward, “And Remus takes hours. Uses all the hot water.” 

“You live together?” you ask. 

“We did for a bit, didn’t we?” Sirius says. 

“Six very long years,” Remus says. “But I have a flat, and Sirius lives on Wilmand Street now, thank god.” 

“Thank god indeed,” Sirius says, “now I can actually wash my hair on a semi-regular basis.” 

“Can you?” Remus asks. 

“What are you implying?” 

“Only that your hair seems distinctly unwashed lately, don’t worry.” 

“He’s showing off ‘cos you’re here,” Sirius says, smiling despite the accusation as he takes a hand through his hair and pushes it back from his face. “I wash plenty.” 

“Do you? I was almost hoping you’d stopped. Maybe that would explain the weird thing you have going on right here.” Remus scratches his upper lip. 

“Fuck off, you just don’t like a scratchy kiss–”

Remus laughs suddenly. After a moment, it tapers into silence, though his shoulders still shake, and you can hear his laughter in his voice when he says, “That charming thatch of stubble would be the last of my worries if I wanted to kiss you, Sirius.” 

“What’s top of the list then?” 

“The smell, obviously. I’m getting top notes of wet dog and a headier dampness–”

“You sick bastard,” Sirius says, sounding absolutely delighted at his friend's insult. 

“You just need a good wash, is all.” 

You don’t mean to, but you laugh. Giggle, really, entertained by them and shocked a little by the way they snip and snap at each other. You pitch forward, face angled down, eyes tempted to shut completely. Sick bastard, you think, laughing still. 

It only makes you laugh more when Sirius nudges you. “Hey, thought we were getting somewhere,” he murmurs. 

You giggle some more. “Sorry,” you squeeze out eventually. 

“Don’t be. He can take a hit. Even if he’s sensitive,” Remus says.

Sirius sniffs. “I’m not that sensitive. Can’t make a joke anymore without being entirely misrepresented.” 

— 

James’ soup becomes a staple for you over the next couple of days. Community Support is a daily occurrence, though some nights are more popular than others. The weekends are busiest, Friday and Saturday night, but Wednesdays have an uptick you aren’t expecting, sitting at one of the plastic tables with another cup or winter veg soup and a garlic buttered toastie. You blow on melty cheese as James brings the hot plate out to the refreshment table, making it easier to serve the many who want it. He’s gleeful, promising that they’re gonna love it, and then tacking on an amendment that anyone who doesn’t like it is more than welcome to something else from the kitchen. 

With payday for most at midnight Friday, or some time after, it’s the hump of the week that hits hardest. You don’t come for the soup, but some people do, and they can’t be blamed for it; stretching money out isn’t easy. 

Your stomach clenches. Your spoon wobbles in your hand. 

From across the room, Remus sends you a warm smile, a kid in his arms and another at his thigh, chattering away as their mam takes a well-deserved breather by the terracotta sofas. 

The next day is the same. James makes soup and ham sandwiches, ham off the bone, made it himself, and you pick at the crusts at a plastic table. Sirius keeps you company for a bit, and then Remus rags on him until he leaves. They’re both too smiley to believe any animosity. 

On Friday, James isn’t there. 

“Harry’s poorly.” 

“I thought he might’ve had a day off.” 

“He and Lily like the group too much for days off.” Remus scratches a hand through his hair. It’s the most boyish thing he’s ever done in front of you. “Are you liking it here? You haven’t missed a day all week.” 

“James makes a good soup.” 

“He left plenty, if you want it.” 

You’re not sure you can stomach it. You give a small shake of your head. “Will Harry be okay?” 

“Fine. He gets ear infections, James used to get them too, even when we were teenagers. He’s on antibiotics already, it’s just the crying that’s the worst. Makes him sick.” Remus smiles sympathetically. “Makes James sick, too. But they’ll be okay.” 

“That’s good. It’s too quiet here when James isn’t around.” 

The hall is practically silent. There are a few people milling around on the sofas and another handful drinking tea by the refreshment table. Mary is patting a crying woman with pink hair on the back. A two year old sits at her feet, staring up at her sullenly. 

“I could go turn on the radio.” 

You perch your chin in your palm, elbow on the table. Tired today. “That’s okay. It’s nice.” Quiet, but not lonely. 

“You feeling okay?” he asks. 

“Yeah.” You fight the urge to let your eyes shutter closed. “I’m okay. You okay?” 

“I’m great. I’m really glad you’ve been coming. I know you don’t stay for group therapy, and you don’t have to, but… I don’t know, I think it’s just good to be around people.” 

You feel like he meant to say a particular but dodged it at the last second. He hesitated. 

He said he wouldn’t bring it up if you didn’t want him to, but maybe you do, just so you know it was real, and bad. It was awful, wasn’t it? 

“I don’t like being alone,” you confess, scratching the back of your neck. “For a while…” You scratch scratch scratch, sounds of your nails over skin, then let your hand drop with a thump against your thigh. “I wanted to be alone. But now when I’m home by myself I feel awful.” 

“It’s normal to want company.” 

“Even after what happened?” 

“Especially after what happened. I think the stereotype is that people… experience something bad, and that they retreat into themselves, and that’s based on a real process of emotions,” —he talks quietly but surely, without a lick of condescension— “and a real sort of phenomena. Everybody needs time to lick their wounds, to put it heavily. But it makes sense that you’d seek out company when you’ve just had a really, really horrible thing happen.” 

You did retreat into yourself at first. Wasting days away in bed without an appetite, crying yourself sick and to sleep, hating yourself and the world and him, because it hurt so badly. But then you didn’t get your period when you were expecting it and it was like holding the times of a fork to a plug socket, a nasty shock flaring through your entire body from the tips of your fingers. And now you have decisions to make and a life to live after, it’s happening now, quickly. You aren’t feeling any better than you were that morning when you first woke up and realised you’d been attacked without fully knowing, but time is moving forward regardless. You don’t know why you crave other people, but you do. You like seeing Remus every night, even if he only talks to you once or twice. You like eating James’ home cooked food, like watching Sirius and Regulus bicker as they lean against one another, and you like seeing Lily press her nose to her baby’s. You wonder what that feels like. How soft is a small nose? What does it feel like to hold the person you made out of love and a little bit of every part of you in two hands? 

You’re still so lonely it’s palpable. There are moments throughout the day where you can’t face it head on, but the support group is genuinely helping, if it’s just to spend an hour outside of your head. 

Lonely, and with nobody to confide in. 

Remus watches you think for a while. He’s waiting patiently for you to speak again. 

“Can I tell you something stupid?” you ask softly. 

“Sure.” 

“Don’t laugh at me.” 

“I doubt I could.” 

You let out a deep sigh. He’s all browns tonight in his old jacket. Brown hair, brown eyes, brown jacket. “I was thinking about keeping the baby. I don’t know if you’d consider it a baby right now,” you murmur, staring at the corner of his mouth, “but I think I want it to be one. And I can’t stop thinking that it’s a bad idea.” 

“It’s your decision,” Remus says. When you sigh, he looks chastened, and you hadn’t wanted it to be a chastening. He clears his throat. “You already know that, don’t you?” Not expecting an answer, he leans back in his chair and levels you with a smile more friendly than you deserve. “Keep your baby if you want to, lovely. The point of– Well, of having the choice, is being allowed to choose yes, to choose to keep your baby, even if it’s a bad idea. Or looks like one.”

“I know, but…” 

But it’s a bad idea. But it happened because somebody hurt you. But you’re completely alone.

“I’m not upsetting you, am I?” he asks. 

“No, you’re not. You’ve been really nice to me,” you mumble, letting your aching eyes close as you lean into your hand. “It’s not you.” 

Remus settles for a few seconds. “Can I put my arm around you?” he asks finally. 

“Okay.” 

So he does. His voice drops to match your own, his elbow right between your ribs as his thumb skirts across the top of your shoulder, “I’m sorry I can’t fix it for you, I wish I could tell you what to do that’s going to make you the happiest. I can’t, though.”

“I know.” 

He rubs your shoulder. “I know you know.” 

There’s a lot to think about. You aren’t pregnant by a miracle. Something bad happened to you, and the choice is yours now to take, and no one would blame you for wanting to forget the whole thing. At least, nobody here at the support group would. It’s not like you haven’t thought about it; lately, it’s the only thing on your mind. But the guilt of wanting it won’t go away. 

“Sorry you have to do this again,” you mumble. 

“What, give you a hug?” Remus’ voice turns softer. It feels less like the kind words of a stranger and more like a friend. “I don’t mind it.” 

You try to stop feeling guilty. The most you can be right now is looked after, at least for a while, for as long as Remus will hold your shoulders. 

“It’s not your fault,” Remus says. “You know that, too, I’m guessing. What happened to you wasn’t your fault.” 

You’re not so sure. It’s a different guilt to look at in whatever light finds you when it happens. “I know,” you say, half a lie. 

“And I know you have no reason to trust us with something so huge, but we’re here for you. That’s the whole point of the group.” 

You sigh heavily. “I know,” you say under your breath. You’re just not sure it’s going to be enough.

𖦹

hi thanks for reading the first part! this is a heavy one but it’s also a fic I’ve wanted to write for a long time, or rewrite <\3 some of you may have read my first go at this years ago and I’m hoping to tie in some of the old stuff but it’s also its own story hopefully, it’s shaping up well! 

https://rapecrisis.org.uk rape crisis UK — they have a support line! and many many articles

information about rape crisis https://247sexualabusesupport.org.uk/faqs/

[alfascorpiionux]

Astro notes ~ part 2

Venus in Aries women tend to be called not feminine enough and could be criticised for the way they move or speak. “Not feminine enough” is something they likely heard at least a few times.

Earth Ascendants tend to put too much pressure on themselves and value responsibility. They may come off as cold and unapproachable without meaning too. They dislike or look down on chaotic and unreliable people.

Sun in Pisces are some of the most trustworthy and kind people I’ve ever met. They are sensible, thoughtful and make great friends.

Sun in Aquarius could be both clingy and distant. It really depends on the person in question and their current emotional well-being. They are known to struggle with recognising or processing their own feelings. The higher manifestation of this placement might actually spend more time by themselves as they realise this is what they truly need or they might just become more independent in general. It’s a funny thing with Aquarius. It’s when they are most chill and just doing their own thing that they attract the most attention. If they try too hard to keep a relationship, they almost always lose it. It mostly could be related to a shaky self of self-identity.

Saturn in 3rd house could bring difficulties in communication. Either you stumble over your words, speak too much or too little or just feel like you cannot find common conversation topics with other people. You are responsible, sometimes to your detriment, as it could lead to a false sense of expectation of what other people should do or be like. You love deeply and have a few select people you pour all your love into and would do anything for. Could mean you are a little rigid and definitely don’t like sharing personal stuff.

Moon in Capricorn: when will you stop denying and over-rationalising your own feelings? Being vulnerable and expressing your feelings is not a weakness as society seems to want to teach us. It takes an enormous amount of courage and strength. It’s about being your authentic self with all of its gifts and imperfections. It will not make you exploitable or create unnecessary drama/conflict. But rather it will open your eyes to truths that may currently be hidden from you. In any relationship, especially personal, emotional compatibility is essential. If you keep being polite and inauthentic you’ll never feel truly fulfilled or find the people who are right for you.

Also, stop being so hard on yourself for every little detail. Allowing yourself to relax and take a break once in a while is important for your mental, emotional and physical well-being. It may also enable you to see different situations more clearly.

Mercury in Virgo: you are amazingly patient and definitely notice the “smaller print”. You might be good at making diagrams, charts, tables. You probably don’t make mistakes when doing calculations and might have a real affinity for the exact sciences. You know how to explain things in simple, concrete and very understandable terms. You know lots of things and are very willing to share them with others. Careful not to come off as a know-it-all and watch out for your nit-picking tendencies.

Neptune in 1st house: is actually a quite interesting placement. People probably tend to project on you a lot. They might have completely false ideas about you and believe them with conviction even when you consistently convince them otherwise. Be very attentive of those you surround yourself with! Sometimes the kindest acts hide the darkest pits of hell.

This placement gives a charming, sometimes ethereal appearance to the individual. There is a charming quality to the way you carry yourself, the manner in which you express your ideas. People could have hidden fantasies about you or idolise you.

Sagittarius Ascendant: talkative, sort of daring personality. If you don’t have many friends, the then you at least have a large circle of acquaintances. You like expressing your ideas, sometimes just to stir the waters. You’re up for fun and spontaneous activities. You like creative people. In social settings you tend to “fly” from one group of people to another as you enjoy exchanging news, ideas, impressions with other people. You may not understand why some earth ascendants like keeping silent. It’s not that they don’t want to talk to you or are angry with you, social situations probably stress them out and they don’t like having their routine interrupted. That’s something to take into consideration.

Also, try not arguing with people just for the sake of proving your point every time. Choose your battles wisely.

Gemini Ascendants: are the real masters of social situations. It’s not mentioned nearly enough just how good they can be at picking up on social cues. They might wisely not show it or even mention it later on, but you can be damn sure they didn’t miss a thing. Also, they are very flexible/adaptable communication wise. If you have a more subdued way of communication they’ll talk more softly and encouragingly. If you are loud and enthusiastic they will try appearing that way as well.

They pick up on the vibes of a room: main relationships between people, primary personality traits, attitudes, if someone has social anxiety etc. They probably also know about secret enemies and crushes but will pretend not to.

Look out for mind games and subtle shows of cunning from them. For example: if you are a heterosexual woman having a secret crush on a heterosexual man and he picks up on it, they might subtly do something to make you feel jealous. Or more blatantly. They could talk to almost every other woman in the classroom but ignore you. Or start talking very pleasantly with you girl friend while you are around etc.

I like associating this placement with the Scandinavian God, Loki, the trickster. They are definitely the type of people that test both the spirit and composure of others. Not always, but there is this tendency, without a doubt.

They might also subtly look down on those who are shy/find it hard to express themselves.

Moon in 8th house never truly gets over a crush. They don’t fall in love easily but once they do you’ll forever remain in their heart. If you leave never to meet them again then you’ll be one of the spirits in the “graveyard” of their souls, ever present and never to be completely forgotten. They are people who are authentic and love with incredible depth and intensity. Once you become their person, they would do anything to make you feel understood and loved. Could have difficulties letting go or accepting rejection.

[astrow1zar6]

Early Marriage Astro Obervations

Moon in the 7th house: these people tend to attract really harmonious relationships (is positively aspected). These individuals really value security in their relationships which is why they tend to develop very close knit long term partnerships. Because of their need for security and intimacy they tend to get married & start a family at a pretty young age. I also notice they can date someone who’s younger than them as well. They attract family oriented partners who have a very rich emotional life. Because of their emotionally intelligent natures they are able to be very supportive to their partners & they are able to commit a lot earlier than most.

Venus in Libra: these people attract spouses that ADORE THEM so easily! I am trying so jealous of how easy it is for these people to find good partners. Relationships are like breathing to these people & most tend to develop crushes earlier than most. Their partners are usually very attractive appearance wise & usually love the native dearly. These people love love and are always crushing on someone (they are usually crushing on you too wink wink) this causes them to be able to commit to serious relationships faster than most. In general these people are seen as wifey/hubby material to others. It’s hard for these natives to be single and usually jump from relationship to relationship. If negatively aspected however they can tend to stay in marriages/relationships longer than they should & can ignore red flags because they are in love so be careful that people don’t take advantage of your good heart. Because they can be very naive/ blinded by love and attraction easily. But regardless of negative or positive aspects they tend to attract long term relationships early (good or bad).

Venus in 7th house: these people have probably been planning their wedding since they were little kids. I’m not joking the people I met with this placement LOVE weddings & the idea of love so much. Since this position is in its home love tends to flow to them like water in a stream. Similar to Venus in libra, these people have a lot of suitors interested in them. They attract real charming well cultured/attractive partners who are usually pretty wealthy. They can be serial daters as well, they do not like the idea of being single even more than libra Venus’s imo. If they aren’t in a relationship they definitely have someone on the side or an ex they still mess with. They are very obsessed with romantic attention which is why so many people are into them. Since Venus is in its home in the 7th house early marriage usually occurs for these folks. They can however be a little too obsessed with the idea of love & can settle for people they aren’t truly in love with just to say they have someone. They can also get really jealous if they see their friends have a good partner & they’re single. It boosts their ego a lot to say they have a partner so make sure you aren’t in a relationship just to show off make sure it’s authentic!

Venus in cancer: the mothers of the zodiac. These people give off a very nurturing secure vibe which allows others to feel very safe with them. They know how to make others feel comfortable being themselves which is super attractive to the opposite (or the same) sex. Their genuine natures & their deep love for family are the reason they can get into early marriages. Their loyalty is never usually questioned because of how devoted they are when they find that special someone. The types to be housewives for sure. This placement gives like a Nara Smith vibe, they are usually AMAZING at cooking as well. They are also amazing parents & have amazing relationships with their children. Just such sweet souls, your devoted sweet nature however can attract partners that try to take advantage of you and take more than they give so watch out for those people yall are too good to be treated poorly. Probably one of the most loyal Venus placements imo.

Venus in the 1st/ Libra rising: kinda a no brainer but these people have very good luck in finding partners. They are usually super charming & FUNNY omg, people don’t give them credit for how good their humor is. They are just super easy to get along with in general which is why people flock to them ready to commit. They are normally super flirty & attractive when it comes to the opposite/same sex which can be seen as really attractive. They just ooze LOVE & others feel it so deeply which is why it’s easier for people to trust them. They tend to only have partners who are really attractive like I’m serious their partners usually look like they were sculpted by the gods (they are too as well). They attract partners who genuinely love them so deeply and will do anything for them which can create envy in others a lot because it’s just so easy for you. Make sure you don’t take advantage of your relationships/partners (cuz they tend to do that once the spark dies down).

Jupiter in 7th/house or Libra. Jupiter gives luck to the theme of whatever house/sign it’s in so in the 7th house/libra relationships & marriage are a big theme in your life & you are extremely lucky & blessed in those areas! They tend to attract well cultured partners who are usually super smart & good looking. They have a lot of luck finding partners when they travel as well or could have a partner of a different ethnicity/culture. Most of your personal & spiritual growth will come from the relationships you have during your life. Your spouse is usually very optimistic and can speak life into you during dark times. You can also gain more wealth once you are married. Just be careful with unrealistic expectations or excessive optimism about your relationships to avoid disappointment because you can be pretty impulsive when in love. Make sure you’re realistic about your relationships.

Taurus moon/taurus Venus: every Taurus moon/venus I’ve met in a relationship have usually been in them for yearsss. These people are super stable & tend to attract others who are also very stable & committed. Due to their emotional stable natures they can create very harmonious pleasant relationships early. These people KNOE their worth which is why they usually marry very high quality people. They are super realistic in matters of love not in a detached way but they for sure know what they want and what they are looking for. This deep insight is the reason they attract people that are really good for them. They can get out of toxic relationships a lot faster than most because of how high their self worth is. When other notice this quality they cannot help but busy their ass to be what they want because it’s super rare to find someone with such a high love for themselves. Once they love you they are giving you all their heart.. it’s usually not common for these people to open their hearts up to others which is why once they do just know they found the one. They give almost a kinda nanny vibe to them like you can tell just by looking at them they will be very good nurturing partners/parents. They tend to be more on the conventional side as well and enjoy things like housekeeping, cooking, sewing, decorating ect.. (for a woman however). Their natural feminine energy usually brings out the protection quality in men. Most people that date them feels like they found a hidden gem🥺 be careful however not to stay in relationships due to being comfortable. They have a tendency to stay in partnerships that are well overdue because of the familiarity they bring (Taurus is obsessed with stability & security so it’s harder for them to leave bad relationships once they are in them). But because of their high self worth they usually have the ability to dip if it gets too bad.

7th house stellium’s: also another no brainer. These people live & breathe love. These are the people that you’ve never seen single lol. Their whole mission in life is to learn thru love and relationships so it’s usually a big theme in their life’s. Unless Saturn or Uranus is involved they usually tend to marry very early and have very loving partners. They could’ve grew up in an environment where marriage was super big & could’ve been to a lot of weddings in their life. If Saturn or Uranus is involved it can indicate marrying a little later or to someone older than you. With Saturns influence it can still lead to a long term relationship but it can be more cold and distant than what the native would’ve preferred. Make sure you find love in yourself first before you commit so early to others. If these people don’t find self love first they can go from person to person trying to find that love which will end up draining you out fast. The more love you have for yourself the better your partners will treat you!

North node in the 7th house: similar to 7th house stellium natives, your whole life’s purpose is to find love! In a past life you could’ve been a big pioneer/individual and you learned to develop an authentic sense of self. You could’ve only focused on you before but now the universe is challenging you to change YOU to OTHER. You’re here to experience true love and find what they really means🥹 such a cute aspect imo. This gives good luck in finding partners. Make sure you don’t go back to selfish old habits when dating because you have a tendency to be very “me first”. In this lifetime you’re here to learn compromise. Your relationships are usually very karmic and you will learn yourself the deepest when involved with someone. This may be uncomfortable for you at first but it’s what your souls craves deep down inside. Since you know yourself so well (south node in 1st house) you will be able to speak life into your partners & allow them to be their authentic selves around you which creates such a loving space.

[brittanyearnestauthor]

Writing Dialogue More Effectively

I know I’ve discussed writing dialogue before, but there’s always more to learn about this complex (and sometimes dreaded) task. Whether you struggle to write dialogue or are simply looking for a deeper understanding of its nuances, this post is for you.

The Strengths of Character Dialogue

To create impactful dialogue, it’s important to focus on the strengths that make your characters more relatable and engaging to your readers. Let’s explore some key traits that contribute to effective character dialogue:

- Staying calm under pressure: Characters who don’t lose their temper easily have more room to grow. By taking the high road, they can explore their world and convey meaningful messages to your readers.

- Exhibiting strong communication skills: Clear communication helps your characters relay information and connect with the audience. Since your characters are at the forefront of the story, their ability to communicate effectively is crucial.

- Offering advice: When your characters share advice with others, it makes the dialogue more powerful. This can also serve as an opportunity to provide your readers with advice you wish you’d received yourself, leaving a lasting impact.

- Asking questions: Questions make dialogue feel more natural and engaging, reflecting real-life interactions. They also provide a chance to address important topics and normalize seeking help—an act that can resonate with readers.

- Being friendly: Friendly characters help dialogue flow smoothly and create personas your readers will root for.

- Checking in with others: When characters take the time to ask how others are doing, it fosters realistic relationships and reminds readers of the importance of supporting those around them.

- Sharing emotions: Dialogue that reveals a character’s feelings makes them more relatable and allows readers to connect with their experiences. This can be especially impactful when handled with care.

- Asking for help: Including characters who aren’t afraid to ask for assistance adds authenticity and demonstrates the value of seeking help—a message your audience will appreciate.

The Weaknesses of Character Dialogue

While some dialogue traits enhance a story, others can hinder it if overused. Here are some common pitfalls to watch out for:

- Quick tempers: Characters who frequently lose their cool without showing growth can come across as self-centered, alienating readers.

- Poor communication skills: If characters constantly struggle to communicate, it can disrupt the flow of your story. However, this can work if used sparingly to showcase growth.

- Self-absorption: While a bit of self-interest is realistic, excessive focus on oneself can make characters unlikable and harm the narrative.

- Reluctance to talk: Silent or withdrawn characters may create gaps in reader connection. However, showing them open up over time can make their growth more meaningful.

- Dishonesty without consequence: A character who lies without facing repercussions sends a troubling message and might frustrate readers seeking justice.

- Avoidance of crucial conversations: Skipping important discussions can make characters seem unsympathetic and hinder development.

- Constant negativity: Characters who are hateful or bitter all the time can alienate readers. Sprinkle in moments of lightness or change to keep them balanced.

- Being a "know-it-all": Overconfident characters who never falter can make stories predictable and less engaging.

- Isolation: Characters who avoid interactions miss out on opportunities to drive the story forward and build connections.

- Bottling up emotions: While this can work in certain genres, overusing it in general storytelling risks creating a sense of detachment between characters and readers.

- Taking on everything solo: Overly independent characters may stall the story. Collaboration helps characters grow and keeps the narrative dynamic.

Using Dialogue Effectively

Now that we’ve examined the strengths and weaknesses of character dialogue, let’s discuss how to use it effectively:

- Scenario one: *"Hey, Becky. Can you help me with my science project? It's due tomorrow, and I haven’t got a grasp on the subject."*

This example clearly shows the character asking for help while explaining their need, making it relatable and easy to follow.

- Scenario two:

*"Can I ask you a question?" asked John.

"Yes, of course," Jake replied happily.*

This illustrates a natural and positive exchange, showcasing how characters can interact smoothly.

When crafting dialogue, remember to consider your story’s unique context and the role each character plays.

Writing Natural and Authentic Dialogue

Writing authentic dialogue might seem daunting, but it doesn’t have to be. Pretend you're having a real conversation and jot down what comes to mind. You can even role-play with a friend to capture the flow of a natural exchange. The key is to make it feel real and meaningful.

Examples of Effective Dialogue

Great examples of natural and impactful dialogue can often be found in movies, TV shows, and books. Pay attention to how characters interact in stories that resonate with you. Personally, I’ve found The Jessica Brodie Diaries series by K.F. Breene to be an excellent example of effective dialogue, compelling storytelling, and character development. (Note: These are romance novels for mature audiences!)

Conclusion

Writing dialogue is an intricate art. Your characters, though fictional, must communicate in ways that feel real and relatable to your readers. Keep practicing, experimenting, and fine-tuning your dialogue, and you’ll discover the magic of bringing your characters to life. Happy writing!

[livwritessometimes]

I Will Never Make You Regret This—Regret Us

: Part 18 (Lando's Version)

: All’s well that ends well to end up with you!

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: Series Masterlist

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…

The night grew colder as Y/n stared out at the city. It had been minutes—hours, maybe. Time had lost its meaning for her these days. The cold reminded her of the last time she was here.

...

"Be my girlfriend," Lando repeated this time, looking her right in the eye.

"Are you serious?" Y/n questioned. If you had told her a month ago that the noisy neighbor from the floor above her, whom she hated with a passion, would be standing in front of her asking her to be his girlfriend, she would have laughed in your face.

"As serious as I'll ever be," Lando said, his eyes glistening with sincerity.

"Yes," Y/n whispered, as she leaned in to close the gap between them.

...

The memory left a bittersweet taste in her mouth. It felt strange to think about him again. It had been a while since she thought of him as anything but hurt and betrayal.

The cold air nipped at her skin, but she didn't feel anything. It was as if she were trapped in the ghost of their past—so much so that she didn't hear the soft creak of the door or the footsteps that approached the secluded area where she stood, the one that offered the best view of the city.

"Y/n!" Called out the voice Y/n had been dreading as much as she had been longing to hear.

She whipped around to find none other than the boy she loved—the one who broke her heart, "Lando!" She said.

Time had stopped for the two, and for a moment, neither of them knew what to do. The weight of everything left unsaid was suffocating the both of them.

It was Lando who broke the silence first, his voice softer than she remembered. "I didn't think you'd be here," He said.

"Yeah, someone once told me it's a nice place to go to when you need a breather," Y/n shrugged as she turned back to look over the city.

Lando was at a lose for words. There were so many things he wanted to say, but he couldn't figure out where to begin.

"I hate myself," said Lando. He continued, "I hate myself for ever agreeing to that stupid dare. I hate myself for continuing with it, knowing that I had started to fall for you. I hate myself for thinking that calling off the dare would make things better. More than that, I hate myself for breaking your heart."

Y/n felt tears streaming down her face. She couldn't turn around and face him just yet, knowing that if she did, she would break down even more.

"I know that nothing I say or do can erase what has happened between us, and I don't deserve your forgiveness," Lando said, swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat. "But I hope, someday, I can make things right between us," He finished.

"I've been thinking about this a lot...and I have looked at a few houses," Lando said.

Y/n felt her heart beat even faster in anticipation of what he was about to say.

"I am going to move out," Lando said. "Us living in the same apartment complex makes things even more difficult, and I've hurt you enough already. I don't want to cause any further pain beyond what I've already done," he continued.

Y/n felt torn; the weight of his words hung heavy in the air.

Taking her silence as an answer, Lando turned to make his way downstairs.

'I don't hate you," Said Y/n.

Lando stopped in his tracks, afraid that if he moved, he'd realize that he had just imagined this.

"In fact, somehow I can never bring myself to hate you," Y/n continued.

Lando's heart felt like it was about to combust—he definitely wasn't imagining this. Slowly turning around, he saw a teary-eyed Y/n looking back at him.

"What you did was an awful, awful thing to do, and I hate that because of it, I had to question the authenticity of everything that happened between us," Y/n said, wiping away the fresh tears that were falling.

"That being said...I don't want our story to end like this. I believe that there's more to our story, and I—I'm willing to take the risk, but I swear to god, Lando Norris, if you make me regret this, I will never ever forgive you. Ever. You hear me—" Y/n was cut off by Lando suddenly throwing himself at her.

"I promise I will never make you regret this—regret us," Lando said pulling her in tighter.

(3 months later)

…

Tags: @regalbanshee | @be-your-coffee-pot | @mrsbrxkkxr | @princessria127 | @moonraysandstars | @prettiest-at-the-party | @theblueblub | @magixpracticality | @slytherinholland | @overlyexcitedoutlaw | @marvel-at-stucky | @crumbssss | @a-beaverhausen | @felicityforyou | @gigigreens | @jas0nluvr | @khaylin27 | @imsiriuslyreal | @cwiphswmwasohmm | @wobblymug | @e-nonsense | @raizelchrysanderoctavius | @papaya-twinks | @vintagefucksstuff | @st4rg1rln | @redstappen | @iamred-iamyellow | @tashisgf | @ghost-of-student-sufferings | @saachiep81 | @lozzamez3 | @ravisinghs-wife | @elizamoe133 | @anthonylockwoodandco111 | @formulaal | @luvsforme | @annabellelee | @a-disturbing-self-reflection | @emryb | @grovelingmen | @illicit-affcirs | @iwilleatyourgod | @youre-on-your-ownkid | @originaldreamerdragon | @landorris | @mountvesuvu | @chezmardybum | @littlegrapejuice | @spitesfvl-blog | @juleshadalittlelamb | @vicurious28 | @phd-catstealer |

[felassan]

David Gaider on Zevran, under a cut for length:

"I was going to skip over Zevran, honestly, as I felt like I didn't have a lot to tell in the way of stories about him... but I know he still has some (ardent) fans. Plus, on reflection, I thought maybe I DO have a few things to say. 😅 Sooo we'll see how this goes. Zevran came along much later in the DAO process, as we were trying to round out the cast of party members. Alistair and Morrigan were well underway (as "main" characters, they were concepted very early) and I'd just started to consider who our Rogue followers might be when... things changed, a bit. See, BioWare had released a game not long beforehand called Jade Empire. It had included some same-sex options in its romances - not obscured like the way Juhani's "romance" had been hinted at in KotOR, but explicit. To this day, I have no idea who on the Jade Empire team was behind it, or why. More to the point, the same-sex options had received a lot of attention and praise - almost universal praise, in fact. In 2005, everyone was just pleasantly surprised. And I don't recall if I went to James and asked about it or if he came to me to suggest DAO should include it. The latter, I think."

"You might ask "Aren't you gay, Dave? Weren't you already pushing for this?" And the answer to that is, emphatically, "no, not at all". It might seem odd looking through the lens of 2024, but there was no talk of 'representation' or 'diversity'. Not at any level where we were aware of it, anyhow. Today, fans argue about how MUCH representation to include and whether it's done well enough... the idea that, less than twenty years ago, it being included *at all* was very much in doubt feels so far away. But, back then, I'd always assumed my private life and my work in games would never meet. So I think it was James who brought it up, because I remember being startled. Pleasantly so, of course. Now I had to look at our two rogues and figure out how this would apply. I sketched out the female of the two (who was taken on by Sheryl Chee) and then looked at the male - he who became Zevran. I'd been reading about the CIA and one thing that stuck with me was how they'd (allegedly) recruit gay men as assassins because they rarely had familial ties. Zevran wasn't going to be gay (bisexuality wasn't a question of representation, but a cost-benefit compromise) but that was the inspiration."

"Then there was the question of how "flamboyantly" I was writing this character, whether that might be too stereotypical? I don't remember how it arose, but I had too many "flamboyant" friends to do anything other than double down. This character was gonna be Zorro the goddamn Gay Blade, that's what. So that's how Zevran happened. Fun, a bit nihilistic, maybe a bit too overtly flirty for today's audience but very confidently *sexual*. Everything I'm not, so I'll admit it was an interesting exploration to dig down and find that voice somewhere inside. He was the anti-Alistair, and I needed that. Casting him was difficult. Caroline always tried to go for authentic accents, when we could, but for some reason this was getting us nowhere. I think back, and I suspect it's because I hadn't yet learned the lesson to not use terms in casting descriptions I thought were universal... but were not. What do I mean by that? Well, there was one write-up that said "drow elf". Now, I know what a drow elf is. It wasn't even important to the description, but the director saw the word "elf", and you know what we got back? A Keebler elf. Like a leprachaun, high and sweet and cutsie. Can you imagine?"

"In this case, I think it was the use of the word "assassin". Combine that with the sorts of roles many Hispanic actors in LA probably are asked to play, and all the auditions we were getting were 150% dark, mean, and gritty. 🫠 So we widened the casting call a bit, and this led us to Jon Curry. I knew Jon wasn't Hispanic, but what I wasn't prepared for when I flew down to meet the DAO actors was that he's this extremely tall, extremely Nordic looking dude who just happened to do the most amazing Antonio Banderas impression. Watching THAT man channel Zevran was... more than a bit surreal. 😅 And he had fun with it. As soon as we gave him the go ahead to play the fun and flirtiness to the hilt, that's exactly what he did. Over the few days where we found Zevran's voice, it totally supplied me with something I could hold in my head when I went back to Edmonton and finished writing him. Zevran was funny enough that the fans liked him. The only part of the reception I thought odd was the occasional comment by a male player who felt "tricked" into having sex with Zevran. "You mean... that part where he invites you to his tent for a sensual massage?" "Yes! I was expecting a massage!" "He literally says the massage is sensual." "Well he wasn't clear enough!" This is where I first came to the conclusion that a certain number of our players just don't know how to people. And that maybe an adjustment to the way we approached the messaging (or massaging lol) of romance was in order. If I could go back, would I change anything? Maybe I'd remind the systems team Zevran should really be able to pick a lock. And maybe not allow him to die. We had no idea we'd need to import these choices into the future - we kinda thought DAO was "one and done". Not so much, as it turned out. 😁"

[source thread]

David Gaider: "there's something to be said about how Zevran flirted and even had sex with you because he thought that's all he had to offer... not just you, but anyone. And when he realized you wanted something deeper, suddenly he was on unsteady ground and it truly unsettled him. It was fun to explore." [source]

User: "So David - besides loving the fact that the third image you picked is a gay sex scene - what happened in DA2(DAE - come on) with Zevrans design?" David Gaider: "Check the ALT text. It wasn’t a custom sculpt, so that’s as close as they could get it. Which… was not close." [source]

User: "Just to make sure I fully understand: the director (was it the voice director?) saw the word "elf" and thought you were looking for someone high, sweet, and cutesie?" David Gaider: "Yeah, this was from back before we managed VO in-house. The voice director in this case just didn’t have an association with “elf” like some familiar with fantasy would." [source]

[andy-wm]

How to speak without words

a simple guide, by Jikook

This post is all about context, so for context 31 March is Trans Day of Visibility.

Its a day be your authetic and true self and to show the world that trans people exist.

I'm also going to use it as an opportunity to talk about something that comes up over and over, especially with Jimin & JK.

How do we share our story if we can't speak directly?

In the spaces around Jimin & Junkgook, there's a lot of discussion about the messages they are or aren't sending.

For some people these messages aren't significant enough to validate or even to make them wonder. They don't see the broader context or the cumulative effect of the many small moments. Its easy to dismiss it all as isolated incidents.

But for those of us who are seeing the whole picture, nothing is lost or ignored or dismissed.

We understand how these small moments fit together to create a complex story because we see the wider context. They are individual threads in the tapestry of their lives.

When JK goes live on Weverse on White Day wearing a white shirt and not much else and has a drink with ARMY, and we know Jimin is not around, we get what's happening. When Jimin posts a photo of the two of them wearing white on White Day, he doesnt need to say anything else.

When JK sends a thirst trap birthday message for Jimin and ends it with a clunky 'happy birthday bro', we know why.

When he uses the sign language for love on a stage in front of the whole world and directs it at Jimin, we see what hes doing.

When Jungkook presents himself as the vampiric stereotype - lusting for the forbidden - in his photo folio and Jimin parallels this with his own mythic themes and darkly sensual imagery in the same project, we can't misunderstand the symbolism.

When Jimin says "hurry up and be me soon", when he presents feminine for one concept and masculine for the next, when he stands on the Miss Dior red carpet in a cape and full face of make-up but with his bloodied knuckles on full display, we can't pretend we don't see it.

When Jimin & Jungkook wear matching outfits, even even when they're not together...

When they publicly conform to couple stereotypes - off stage and outside of BTS...

We know. We see it all as a single woven story and we know.

And like any truly committed couple, they're there for each other in good times and bad. They celebrate their successes, comfort each other, and stick together when times get tough.

And no, they've never verbally confirmed or denied. The context of their lives makes any such declaration incredibly difficult, if not impossible. Regardless, they owe no explanation. But being so visible would be confirmation enough for almost any other couple to be acknowledged.

They tell us over and over who they are.

Showing so undeniably that they are always there for each other is more than enough, honestly. If you can accept all the things you cannot see, how can you look at these two and not see love?

💜💛

That's essentially what the Trans Day of Visibility is about.

Showing that you exist.

Being seen and believed.

You don't needs to make a speech or an announcement. You can if you want to of course. You can go to a rally if you want to be with the trans community, and in the current political climate that might be safer if you want to be seen.

Maybe you just want to drop a hint ... iykyk

But you don't have to be seen at all if you choose not to...

Shout out to all the trans, gender diverse, gender questioning, and gender non-conforming humans in the world and all our allies and supporters too.

On this year's Trans Day of Visibility, I understand more than ever why people might prefer to remain invisible. It's dangerous out there.

Nevertheless, celebrate yourself today and every day. Being authentic and living your life as your genuine self in a way that makes you happy is your right.

If you aren't there yet, take your time, be brave where you can but be safe, and know that you are amazing.

Trans right are human rights.

And in case it's needed, here's a message for the haters: You will never win. We've always been here and we will always be here. Just like every other human, we belong here too 🏳️‍⚧️

[maryychill]

Digimon Adventure Tri: why it's more than you think

Originally posted on Reddit.

I believe Digimon Adventure Tri deserves a more careful, emotionally attuned rereading. I'm not here to claim absolute truth. I just want to share what I understood and felt, hoping this might encourage viewers to see the work through a different lens, especially if they're open to reevaluating it.

Tri isn't broken, it's fractured on purpose

Tri is not a classic sequel. It doesn't try to replicate the adventure spirit of the original series. Instead, it dares to explore a more introspective and emotional space. I've read some people saying that there are many subplots. But if you pay attention, everything that seems scattered is actually tied together by one common thread: the dissonance between who they once were, and who they begin to be when life stops giving easy answers.

I understand that not everyone wants to see their childhood characters grow up. That's valid. Sometimes we'd rather keep them frozen in time, running across the digiworld without ever facing heartbreak or existential crisis.

But Tri proposes something different.

It doesn't ask us to return to who we were, it asks us to acknowledge that we've changed. It shows that heroes can hesitate, that bonds can shift, and that searching for meaning is part of the fight too.

I find it moving that these characters have grown, that they're still evolving, each in their own way. That gives me hope. Because evolving doesn't always look like a flashy transformation. Sometimes it looks like staying, questioning, choosing not to run.

And if this stage doesn't resonate with you, that's okay too. Maybe it wasn't your moment. Or maybe your connection to Adventure lives on a different plane.

The beauty is that nothing takes away what came before or what comes after. It just gains new layers over time.

An emotional, not conventional structure

Tri doesn't talk about an external enemy. It speaks of an internal fracture.

From the very beginning, it tells us:

“Demiurge, the soulless creator... Idea, the true form of the world...”

This isn't just poetic dressing, it's the story's thesis. The Digital World was created as a system, but one that never truly understood the beings it would hold. The infection corrupting digimon isn't just a virus. It's a metaphor, a crack in the digital soul.

Tri doesn't follow the traditional "adventure-enemy-digivolution" formula. Its core conflict often comes in silences, glances, inner contradictions.

What hurts isn't always what happens. Sometimes it's the feelings too complex to name.

Taichi hasn't lost his courage, he's transformed it into responsibility.

Yamato isn't angry for drama's sake, he's frustrated because he doesn't know how to reach Taichi anymore.

Sora doesn't fade, she's depleted from holding everyone together while forgetting how to hold herself.

Joe isn't a coward, he's the first to confront doubt.

Mimi isn't shallow, she's defending her authenticity in a world that tries to mute it.

Koushiro isn't just the genius, he's a child who made logic his shield to avoid emotional collapse.

Takeru isn't just the optimist, his quiet strength is how he doesn't get pulled under by others' pain.

Hikari isn't just light, she's a channel. Her sensitivity connects her to the invisible, but it also makes her deeply vulnerable.

Meiko isn't a mistake, she's the weight of quiet guilt and undeserved blame.

Himekawa isn't a villain, she's a warning, consumed by a love that couldn't let go.

Nishijima isn't a mentor, he's a man who regrets arriving too late.

A symbolic reading of the Digital World

Tri challenges the Digital World's mythology. It introduces concepts like the Demiurge (imperfect creator) and Idea (true essence), pulling from gnostic and platonic philosophy. The infection is not just a digital bug. It's the result of a world built without understanding the emotions that would one day inhabit it.

Distortions in space, corrupted binary code (like the unexplained "2" in a system built on 0 and 1), the merging of realities, and the appearance of soulless replicas like Imperialdramon, none of it is random. It all speaks to a world collapsing from within, not due to external battles.

A quiet story of transformation

At the beginning of this story, Taichi wants to bring everyone back together, but time has passed. They've taken different paths, changed in ways that aren't always compatible. It's not about caring less. It's about learning that closeness sometimes fades without meaning to, and that trying to reclaim it isn't always simple.

A common criticism is that Taichi now hesitates and that this is regression.

Taichi's hesitation isn't fear, it's awareness. A pause. A question: can I still protect, without hurting anyone?

This isn't a contradiction, it's a continuation.

Let’s go back to Adventure:

Episode 16: SkullGreymon emerges from his recklessness

Episode 19: Sora was kidnapped because of him

Episode 45: his leadership fractures the group

Episode 48: we see him doubt and we learn the origin of his guilt, blaming himself for Hikari's near death as a child.

02 never explored that aftermath. The story shifted focus to a new cast. But Tri picks up that thread and now Taichi isn't afraid of danger, he's afraid of causing harm. That’s not cowardice, it's growth.

And in that pause, we glimpse the roots of the future Taichi, who will one day become a diplomat, working for coexistence between humans and digimon.

Yamato doesn't understand the change, and he pushes, hoping to ignite the old spark. But underneath the anger is the fear of losing a connection that once felt unbreakable.

Meanwhile, the Digital World is fracturing.

Not from outside danger, but from the blurring lines between emotion and system, past and present, role and identity.

Soulless Systems

These aren't classic "villains":

Yggdrasill is not an evil mastermind or alien invader. It's a symbolic, near-divine system that governs without empathy. Cold, logical, and utterly disconnected. It never appears because it doesn't need to. Its will is carried out through proxies like Alphamon, corrupted Gennai, and even manipulated humans. Yggdrasill represents the idea of a creator that has lost touch with its creation, a divine absence rather than a presence.

Alphamon is not an enemy. He's an executor without voice or motive. He doesn't speak, doesn't hate, doesn't choose. He deletes threats because that is his function. He is kind of a ghost in armor, a weapon with no soul, following the will of a broken god.

Homeostasis is not the "good side". It's a system that seeks balance. A bodiless, emotionless protocol whose only priority is to restore order when chaos threatens to collapse the Digital World. It doesn't act out of empathy or cruelty, it simply follows its function. It doesn't shift because it changes its mind, but because its compass is not moral, it's systemic. It speaks through vessels (like Hikari) and intervenes not with force, but by rebooting what’s broken to restore balance.

Hackmon / Jesmon is not a friend or foe. He is the system's messenger. He watches from the shadows, especially focused on Meicoomon, whom he perceives as a destabilizing anomaly. But Hackmon doesn't act on feeling. He is the voice of Homeostasis. Its blade. And when observation is no longer enough, he digivolves into Jesmon. But Jesmon is not hope, is protocol. A final measure. He doesn't come to save, he comes to execute.

When the system doesn't grasp the soul

In a world where connections become unpredictable, systems try to fix what they don't understand.

But emotions can't be repaired or deleted with code.

It's there, amidst reboots and algorithms, that the chosen children must decide whether to obey or to choose.

Meicoomon, a rift in the soul

Meicoomon isn't just an infected digimon, she contains Libra, which can't be controlled or regulated.. Her bond with Meiko is the most fragile, yet it's also honest.

Meiko, a chosen child who struggles to understand and bear her role, still chooses to stay. She remains, even when she feels she's the source of the pain, and even when her presence brings discomfort to others.

Libra, the code sealed in the soul

Libra is more than just a virus or a system error. It's an anomaly within the code, a burden sealed within Meicoomon from her origin. Imagine it as a living archive, holding the emotional record of the Digital World before its reboot: light and shadow, order and chaos.

To safeguard this data, it was encrypted inside her, unbeknownst to her and beyond her capacity to handle.

But Meicoomon was not created to carry such a burden. Her sensitivity and natural instability made her vulnerable to that information. It overwhelmed her, turning her into a contradiction of innocence and chaos.

Libra is not her fault. It's the Digital World's doing for putting such a heavy burden on a digimon who simply deserved to exist.

The Reboot: resetting isn't healing

The reboot wasn't a mere narrative whim or an attempt to "fix" the Digital World. It was an emergency measure. The infection had destabilized the system so severely that Homeostasis executed its last resort to restore balance: a complete reset.

This reboot came with an incredibly high cost: the loss of memories, of everything shared between the chosen children and their partners.

It wasn't an act of malice, but one of coldness. A systemic protocol that simply doesn't account for emotions. For Homeostasis, a bond is just another variable in the equation of balance.

Some criticize the reboot for "failing" because Meicoomon remained infected. But that's precisely the point: Libra wasn't a superficial error. It was a deep rift, inscribed in her soul. It wasn't just digital, it was existential. And that can't be erased with a reset. Systems can be rebooted, but the soul cannot.

Yet, even though the reboot failed in its ultimate goal, the most valuable outcome was this: even without memories, without data, without prior programming... the bonds found their way back. Because some connections don't depend on memory. Some encounters transcend code. When the soul recognizes another, it doesn't need reasons. It simply responds.

Tri shows us that some connections can't be explained, they can only be felt. These are the bonds that endure, even through forgetfulness and loss.

And it's within this very mystery, something that completely eludes rigid systems, that the emotional and the intangible begin.

The "canon" isn't broken, the story has layers

The absence of the 02 kids has been one of the most persistent criticisms of Tri. However, from the first episode, their disappearance is presented as a deliberate choice, not an oversight. It's not a case of forgetting or erasing them. It was about narrowing the focus. Also, a narrative void designed to generate uncertainty, and that uncertainty is a key part of the emotional tone the story aims to convey.

Alphamon defeats them off-screen, and while this bothers their fans, it also emphasizes a crucial point: this isn't their story. It's the story of the original chosen children. Of those who are drifting apart and question if they are still the same people. Himekawa deceives them, telling them everything is fine, much like the system watches them silently. This manipulation also reflects an uncomfortable truth: sometimes, we grow up believing everything remains as it was, until it no longer does.

And when Imperialdramon appears in Episode 8 “Determination - Part 4”, it does so as a shadow. Not as the return of a beloved digimon, but as an anomaly. Daisuke and Ken aren't there. There's no digivice, no connection. It's a silent replica that attacks as if the Digital World were projecting a broken memory.

Could the pain of their absence have been explored more deeply? Maybe. But Tri chooses to focus its lens. It doesn't erase or contradict, it simply pauses at a different stage: the stage of those who are present. Those who, without intending to, also somewhat disappeared from themselves.

Perhaps Tri wasn't created to please. Perhaps it was created to make us feel.

Not all errors are failures

Tri isn't perfect. There are narrative moments that could have been more polished, and even the technical aspects of the art could have been refined. Yet, as a whole, it's a work that takes risks and proposes new ideas. It shifts the focus from "what happens" to "what we feel".

And for a series built on emotion and evolution, that might be one of the most natural next steps it could take.

What Tri tells us (if we dare to listen)

Tri shows us that growing up isn't just about leaving things behind, it's about relearning who you are when everything changes.

It shows us that sometimes, bonds break without anyone being at fault.

It reminds us that you can't always save another person, but you can stay, watch, feel, and simply be there.

And above all, Tri makes us realize a powerful truth: that bonds, even if they fade, change, or cause pain, are still what makes life truly meaningful. Because to feel, to doubt, to make mistakes, and to try again with another, that is truly to evolve, and it's absolutely worth it.

Recommendations for a better viewing experience

Divide it into chapters. I know Tri was originally released as OVAs, but you might find it on platforms like Crunchyroll, which divides it into episodes. This makes it easier to digest its emotional pacing.

Watch at least these prequels beforehand: Digimon Adventure, Our War Game and Digimon Adventure 02. Not because they're strictly mandatory, but because I think Tri is in direct conversation with the memories and events of those stories.

Choose the original japanese audio with subtitles. The dubs (especially in english and spanish) often contain significant errors that distort the emotional message. The original japanese voice acting is also rich with subtle nuances.

Avoid external noise. Don't let soulless criticisms or external expectations contaminate your experience. Watch Tri with a clear mind and open heart. Let the story unfold and speak to you, at your own pace, in your own way.

If it helps, approach it as a side story. Think of Tri less as a continuation and more as an exploration of this particular stage in the original Adventure kids' lives.

And if Tri wasn't for you, that's perfectly fine. Don't worry. It doesn't ruin anything, and it doesn't change anything. You can simply choose to omit its existence, or you can enjoy the layers it adds as it leads us toward the epilogue of Adventure 02.

Thanks for reading. If Tri also stirred something within you, offered you comfort, or left you with questions... it's truly wonderful to inhabit that space with you.

[deliciousangelfestival]

Change of Heart - 1 | Bucky

Character: Bucky x Female! Reader

Theme: Angst, tragedy, romance.

Summary: The interviewer asked her a provocative question:

“If you were offered a million dollars, would you leave your partner?”

Without hesitation, she replied with a smirk, “Give me one dollar, and I’ll leave him this second.”

True to her word, she walked away, leaving the man stunned and searching for answers. Now, he’s desperately trying to find her, grappling with the haunting question—why would she leave him so easily?

And is there more to her departure than a single dollar could ever explain?

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4 , Part 5.

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

By the way, I publish my book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing on Kindle.

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

Time changes everything. Interviews used to take place indoors, in studios, or in booked hotel rooms. The questions were serious—focused on economics, politics, or other weighty topics. Back then, only experts or public figures were deemed worthy of being interviewed.

But now, thanks to social media, interviews can happen anywhere. They’re no longer the domain of reporters or TV stations. Instead, anyone with a phone, a camera, and a microphone can conduct an impromptu interview in random places.

These spontaneous interviews often gain far more attention than their polished, scripted counterparts on TV. On the streets, people are asked silly, lighthearted questions, and their candid, often hilarious answers resonate more with viewers. They feel authentic and relatable, unlike the carefully curated responses of experts.

Some people never imagine their offhand comments will make them go viral. Take the girl who became famous overnight for her absurd response to a random question—she jokingly told someone to spit. It was ridiculous, but human nature is unpredictable. The absurdity drew millions of viewers, and just like that, she became an internet sensation.

Today, another viral moment is taking over the internet. The current trend? A simple, loaded question:

“If you were offered 1 million dollars, would you leave your partner?”

Many people, interviewed alongside their partners, responded with sweet or heartfelt answers. But one woman gave a response that stopped everyone in their tracks:

“Give me 1 dollar. I’ll leave him this second.”

And the interviewer handed her the one dollar.

Her comment sparked chaos online. Most people laughed, seeing it as a joke and sharing it for its sheer absurdity:

“LMAO, this girl is my spirit animal!”

“She’s not wrong, though. 😂 Relationships are overrated!”

“The audacity! 😂😂😂”

However, not everyone found it funny:

“This is what’s wrong with society—no loyalty anymore.”

“Imagine being her partner and seeing this. Yikes.”

“If this is how people think these days, I’ll stay single forever.”

But there was one man who didn’t find it amusing at all.

He replayed the video, his expression unreadable, though the tension in his jaw betrayed his anger. The room was silent except for the faint hum of his phone’s speaker. His piercing gaze flicked to the woman sitting across from him as the video looped again.

Bucky Barnes hadn’t paid attention to what was happening online. As the CEO of the Lena Group, a leader in car and chip manufacturing, his schedule left little time for distractions. It wasn’t until his secretary and his mother mentioned the viral uproar that he decided to investigate.

Watching the clip now, he felt a surge of disbelief. Shock. Anger. He had worked tirelessly to build his empire, and yet here she was, casually dismissing him with a joke to a stranger.

“So,” he said, his voice cold as he set the phone down on the table, “you think I’m worth one dollar?”

She didn’t flinch under his icy glare. Instead, she calmly lifted her teacup, taking a slow sip before setting it back down. Her movements were measured, deliberate, as if his words carried no weight.

Meeting his gaze, she tilted her head slightly, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “Now that I think about it,” she said, her tone casual, “70% discount sounds fair.”

His grip on the phone tightened, his knuckles turning white. “What’s the meaning of this?” he demanded, leaning forward, his voice sharper now.

Her expression didn’t waver. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m tired, Bucky. I’ve had enough.”

The room felt heavier, the unspoken words between them thickening the air.

His jaw clenched as he let out a heavy sigh. “You’ve got to be joking.”

His eyes searched your face for any hint of humor, anything to suggest you didn’t mean it. But there was none. Only calm resolve.

He looked at you—the woman he had married two years ago. The truth was, this wasn’t an ordinary marriage. It was what people called a contract marriage. But to Bucky, it was just business. Marriages forged to benefit two businesses had existed for ages, after all.

The so-called marriage contract was simply a guideline—a formal agreement to ensure both parties understood the terms, what was acceptable and what wasn’t. Many people chose contract durations of three or six years before going their separate ways. But Bucky had kept it simpler: a one-year contract, renewable if his wife agreed.

The reason he opted for this arrangement was to avoid the casualties of love. He’d seen it firsthand—his parents, who had started with love, had eventually torn each other apart, not literally, but close enough to leave scars on everyone involved. It was enough to make Bucky swear off traditional marriage altogether.

But his grandfather had other plans. “If you don’t marry, you’ll never inherit the company,” his grandfather had declared, determined to ensure his legacy stayed within the family. Having watched his son—a serial adulterer—destroy the family’s reputation, the old man had become obsessed with the idea of keeping his grandson grounded.

Bucky, however, had no interest in marriage. He had no desire for emotional entanglements or the drama that came with them. Yet his grandfather’s ultimatum left him with no choice. If he wanted to lead the company, he had to marry.

That was when he turned to a matchmaker agency, one well-known among his wealthy peers. It wasn’t cheap, but the agency had stellar testimonials, and they assured him they could find the perfect partner.

And they did.

That’s where he met you. You, too, were looking for something unconventional. You weren’t interested in traditional marriage and came from a good family background, which made introducing you to his parents remarkably easy. Despite his parents’ separation, you navigated the introductions with grace, impressing his mother and, surprisingly, his father.

The wedding happened quickly. You were the ideal partner—easygoing, understanding, and undemanding. When the first year of the contract ended, Bucky asked if you wanted to continue. You had simply smiled and said, “Yes.”

To him, that was enough.

Two years had passed since then, and he thought everything was fine. You never complained, never asked for anything more than the life you had agreed upon. He thought you were content. He thought you were okay.

But now, standing before you on the last day of the contract, he couldn’t reconcile the image he had of your quiet satisfaction with your answer in that viral video.

He stared at you, confused and hurt. “Why did you say it?” he asked, his voice quieter now, almost pleading. “Why give that answer? I thought everything was fine.”

You didn’t flinch. Instead, you glanced at your watch, casually checking the time. “I’m not,” you said, your voice calm, almost detached. “At 12 a.m., our marriage contract will be over. By tomorrow morning, I won’t be here.”

His mouth opened as if to protest, but no words came out. He reached for the black tea you had placed in front of him earlier, taking a sip. It had gone lukewarm—neither hot nor cold, a temperature he despised. It mirrored the hollow, uncomfortable feeling gnawing at his chest.

Finally, he set the cup down with a dull clink. “We’ll talk tomorrow,” he said, his voice firmer now, though tinged with weariness.

You said nothing in return, merely turned and walked away.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

The next morning, when he woke up, sunlight was already streaming through the curtains. His eyes flicked to the clock on his nightstand—10 a.m. He sat up abruptly, his head spinning slightly from the sudden movement.

He rarely ever slept this late. For years, he had trained himself to wake by 5 a.m., no matter how little sleep he’d had the night before. Even on his most exhausting days, he never overslept. At most, he might sleep in until 6 or 7 a.m., but 10? Never.

Rubbing his temples, he tried to piece it together. What had made him sleep like this? He thought back to the night before, to your calm words, to the tea…

His hands froze mid-motion. The tea.

A surge of realization hit him. You drugged him.

He swung his legs out of bed, his movements sharp and full of urgency. Throwing on a robe, he stormed out of the bedroom, his voice cutting through the quiet house. “Where is she?”

The housemaid appeared, her expression hesitant and unsure. “She left, sir. Early this morning.”

His jaw tightened as he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “And she didn’t say anything? Not a word?”

The maid paused, then held out a small item. ���She left this, sir.”

He grabbed the velvet box from her hand, his chest tightening as he opened it. His breath caught at the sight of your wedding ring nestled inside.

For two years, he had worn his own wedding ring daily, thinking of it as nothing more than a piece of jewelry. But now, staring at your ring, it felt heavier than it should, as though it carried the weight of your departure.

Inside the ring box, you left the same crumpled dollar bill. It sat there like a cruel punchline, mocking everything he thought both of you had built together—a final, silent reminder of just how little she thought he was worth.

He set the box down on the table, his eyes scanning the room. When they landed on the wardrobe, he froze. It was still full. You hadn’t taken a single thing.

His mind raced. Where could you have gone? How did you vanish so quickly?

He reached for his phone, dialing his security team with shaky fingers. After two rings, someone picked up.

“Where is she?” he barked, his voice tight with frustration, the tension unmistakable.

The security officer on the other end hesitated. “Mrs. told us… madam wanted to meet her.”

His brows furrowed. “My mother?”

“Yes, sir. She’s in another state.”

That meant only one thing. You had gone to the airport.

“Did she take the private jet or a commercial plane?” he demanded.

“Commercial, sir. It was a last-minute trip, and we hadn’t prepared the jet.”

Bucky’s grip on the phone tightened, his knuckles whitening. His jaw clenched as frustration surged within him. He wanted to scream, to lash out at the sheer incompetence of his team. You fucking idiot. The words pounded in his mind, but he bit them back, forcing himself to stay composed.

“Who bought the ticket?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

“It was Mrs. who purchased the ticket herself.”

Bucky exhaled sharply through his nose, his patience wearing thin. He wanted nothing more than to explode, but he kept his voice steady. “Find out where she went.” Without waiting for a response, he ended the call.

Immediately, he dialed his mother. The line connected after a single ring.

“Hello.”

“I’m glad you called,” she said briskly. “Do you know what’s going on right now?”

His grip on the phone tightened. “Did you ask her to meet you?”

“Me? No, I—”

He ended the call before she could finish. That ruled out her involvement.

His mind raced as he considered the possibilities. If you had boarded a plane, he could easily track your destination. But the other option loomed: that the airport was a decoy. You had used his mother’s name as an excuse, ensuring your movements would go undetected by his security team, who clearly hadn’t been following you as closely as they did him.

Bucky’s phone buzzed. The confirmation from his team came through, and the news made his blood boil.

“Mrs. bought a plane ticket but didn’t get on the plane,” the head of security reported.

“Did you check the surveillance cameras?” he snapped.

“Yes, sir. We’ve reviewed the footage. There’s a woman with a similar appearance to madam who rented a car at the airport.”

Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose, his frustration mounting. He sucked in a breath, exhaling slowly to keep his temper in check. So, it’s option two. You’re still in the same state.

“Great,” he muttered under his breath, pacing the room. He could feel the tension radiating through his body. “At least you didn’t go far.”

Without wasting another second, he barked into the phone, “Chase the car. Check every schedule she might have left behind, and contact her friends. I want updates—fast.”

Ending the call, he threw the phone onto his desk with a sharp clatter. Running a hand through his hair, he leaned against the desk, staring out the window as the weight of the situation pressed down on him. For someone who always had the upper hand, this was new territory. And he hated it.

Bucky sat in his office chair, staring at the empty ring box on his desk. His mind swirled with unanswered questions. Why had you suddenly left without a word? Both of you had been such a good team—practical, efficient, and untroubled by the complications that plagued most marriages. At least, that’s what he thought.

If he could, he would turn back time and relive the past few months, examining every moment you’d spent together. Had he missed something? Made a mistake? Or had something happened that he was completely unaware of? The uncertainty gnawed at him, a feeling he hadn’t experienced in years.

His phone buzzed, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“We found her. But…”

“What?!” he barked, standing abruptly.

“It’s not Mrs.,” the security team clarified hesitantly.

A chill ran down his spine. “Then who is it?”

“It’s her friend, sir.”

His stomach tightened, and for the first time in years, Bucky felt a flicker of fear. He thought he was closing in, that you were still within his reach. But now, you were out of his watch, slipping further away with every passing second.

“Secure her. I’m going to meet her,” he ordered, his voice cold and sharp.

“Yes, sir.”

"Prepare the car," Bucky ordered, his voice cold and demanding.

"But, sir, you have a meeting at 2 p.m", his assistant replied, hesitant.

Bucky shot him a sharp glare, his jaw tightening.

The assistant quicklu nodded. "I'll reschedule it, sir," he muttered avoiding Bucky's piercing gaze.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Minutes later, Bucky arrived at a quiet café where Grace was waiting under the watchful eye of his security team. The moment he saw her, he recognized her immediately—your friend, the one who had attended your wedding. Grace was the only person you had trusted with the details of this marriage contract.

Bucky approached the table, his expression unreadable, but his clenched fists betrayed the storm brewing inside him.

“Where is she?” His voice was steady, but there was an edge of desperation he couldn’t fully mask.

Grace avoided his gaze, staring down at the steaming cup of coffee in front of her.

He sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. “I could raise my voice at you, but I won’t. Grace, please. Tell me where she is.”

Grace finally looked up, her expression guarded. “As far as I know, last night was the last day of your marriage. Today, she’s a free woman.”

Her words hit him harder than he expected, and for a moment, Bucky’s mask slipped. He stared at her, bewildered, the weight of everything sinking in. What had he done to make you leave? Had he overlooked something so significant? And why did Grace seem to despise him so much?

Before he could respond, his phone buzzed again. He stepped aside to take the call, his jaw tightening as he listened.

“Sir, we’ve reviewed additional footage. Mrs. used Grace’s ID to purchase another ticket. She’s already on the plane.”

Bucky’s grip on the phone tightened. His gaze snapped back to Grace, who was now watching him warily.

“Grace,” he began, his voice sharper this time. “I’m asking you again. Where is she?”

Grace shook her head, her tone calm but firm. “I don’t know.”

His frustration boiled over. He leaned forward, his palms flat on the table as he stared her down. “Don’t lie to me, Grace.”

She didn’t flinch. “I’m not lying. You don’t know anything about her.”

Her words struck a nerve, leaving him momentarily speechless. He straightened, trying to collect himself, but his mind was racing. Don’t know anything about her? He hated the implication.

“She trusted you,” he said, his voice low. “You were the only one who knew about the arrangement, the only one she confided in.”

“And that’s why I won’t betray her trust now,” Grace replied evenly.

Author Note: Do you found this interesting? Would you like it to be continued?

[starsofang]

CALL OF THE SEA / PART EIGHT

pirate poly!141 x reader tw: NSFW, MDNI, blood, brief mentions of death, hurt feelings, lots of confusion from reader, price is mean ): masterlist a/n: thank you for all the support and patience! my power was out, but it's back! the truth is finally beginning to come out :p

When a group of unhinged pirates invade your small village, you're whisked away from your peaceful home and thrown on to a voyage out at sea. Forced to obtain a new role as their medic, you have no choice but to accept your fate as you join their forces and aid them in their treacherous travels.

Your mind was in complete disarray. It was clouded over with a heavy mist of dread and perplexity.

You knew your eyes weren’t deceiving you.

The color of Ghost’s blood was as dark as an unlit night, where the moon hid below the horizon and refused to peek out. Pitch black, unmistakably so, and shimmering back at you in mockery.

There was no explanation for what you were seeing. In fact, there wasn’t one for everything that you’ve seen — Ghost’s mysterious mask that he never went without, the skull ring on his finger mixed with the thick onyx that accompanied it, the tattoos that disappeared beneath the cuff of his sleeve.

If you thought Ghost was an enigma before, he was a completely uncrackable code now. You hadn’t a clue who he truly was, or what he was, if the blood was anything to come by.

You stared, and stared, even as the water over the flames boiled and popped in an uproar behind you. Your focus was shifted, and cooking was long gone from your mind.

A voice inside beckoned you to touch it. It was a whisper in the atmosphere that slithered in your mind, growing louder and louder until it was ringing in your ears.

You didn’t understand why you listened, but you did. With a shaky finger, you slowly inched towards the drops of Ghost’s blood. In a moment of hesitation, you paused before ultimately dipping the tip of your finger into the unholy drip.

The moment your touch greeted it, the smallest of steam seemed to simmer around it, like the trail of cigar smoke that Price often left behind in his wake. Your fingertip faintly tingled, like a limb falling asleep and producing a staticky discomfort.

You watched in awe as you pulled your finger back, only for Ghost’s blood to bubble away until nothing was left. The traces of him left behind had vanished into thin air, leaving the wooden block and your finger squeaky clean.

It was as if he hadn’t been cut. It was as if he hadn’t bled.

You felt as if your sanity was falling apart. That was the only explanation for what you were witnessing. You were simply deprived of nature, deprived of your old life, and now, living amongst pirates with nothing but a world of water surrounding you at all times had caused your mind to lose its authenticity.

Panic began to bubble inside of you as you tried to collect yourself.

You felt your own anxiety clawing at your skin, like razor sharp nails slicing you open and bleeding you dry. You were lost, confused, scared.

You had no idea who you were truly living with — imprisoned with.

Surely, you were no longer a prisoner on ship, but you were a prisoner of the dark, because that was exactly where they were keeping you.

As your mind fogged over with grueling emotions, the first person you thought of was Gaz. Perhaps he could offer you grace and explain what you couldn’t seem to gather. It was a fat chance, as Gaz picked and chose his battles carefully.

Quickly pulling the boiling water from the flame to allow it to cool, you scurried out of the kitchen with urgency.

Your chest was tight and the lump in your throat was hard to swallow. The world felt like it was ready to swallow you right up beneath your feet.

You reached the door of the kitchen and quickly swung it open, only to saunter straight into something tough. It startled you and you bounced back, looking up to see none other than the Captain.

He cocked his head in question at the sight of you, taking in your dishevelment.

The way your chest rose with every heavy breath to the shakiness of your hands, he growingly appeared more concerned. It was the first time you’d seen Price truly worried rather than carelessly confident.

“Somethin’ happen?” Price asked. He reached out to place his hands on your shoulders, stabilizing you. He looked down at you before shifting to behind you, searching. “Where’s Simon?”

“Simon?” you choked out in confusion. “Who is Simon?”

“Ghost,” he corrected quickly, narrowing his eyes at you. “Where is he?”

You fumbled for words, stuttering out that you didn’t know. It was a struggle to even speak, overwhelmed with every new piece of information you were discovering.

You didn’t know the pirates had names. You assumed the names they had given you were the names they were born with, as silly as they were. What else were they keeping from you?

You felt blindsided. Sure, you began as their prisoner, but you evolved into a new crewmate that had to stick around whether you wanted it or not. You thought you were forming friendships with these men, at least in moderation.

To learn that these men were complete strangers like you had stubbornly kept reminding yourself for the first few months of imprisonment felt like a punch to the gut.

Just as you began to trust them enough to accompany them, it was stolen.

“What has happened?” Price questioned. The look on his face was grim and tight, and you only remembered seeing it one other time — the night they massacred your village.

“Captain—” you tried.

“Do not,” he interrupted. “It is a simple question.”

You stared at him with eyes full of misty uncertainty, swallowing down the aching lump that continued to harden.

You felt foolish, becoming so vulnerable over your own feeling of deception. These men were still strangers to you at the end of the day, and anything you began to learn about them, you were proven wrong time and time again.

To be so emotional when you had been nothing but strong-willed and stubborn had you frustrated and resentful to your own wounded soul. So careless you were being, opening up to the very men that were bound to ruin you.

“I do not know where he went,” you tried answering calmly, but it came out weaker than intended. “He simply cut himself with a knife by mere accident, but his blood— Captain, I do not understand.”

“There is nothin’ for you to understand, medic,” he hissed, wounding you. He didn’t call you dove, nor birdie. Even your own name would have sufficed.

But medic? Just as Ghost had spat at you moments before he fled the kitchen in a fit of demise.

“His blood was black, Captain!” you argued, throwing your arms up in a frenzy. “It disappeared the moment I touched it, it bubbled as if it were poison and vanished into thin air! That is something I wish to understand.”

You were begging, pleading with him to explain the series of events that transpired. You didn’t ask for this, nor did you want this — but if you were going to be forced into it, you wanted to feel a part of it.

The Captain gripped on to your shoulders once more in a vice, fingers digging into your flesh. You cried out but did not move, glowering up at him as he looked down at you.

Price’s face contorted into something unrecognizable when he heard your cry, and he quickly let go of you, taking a step back. He stared at you for a pregnant pause, lips set into a harsh line until they parted to speak.

“I am truly sorry that we have pulled you into this, dove,” he apologized pitifully.

“Into what?” you asked once more. “Please, I do not understand.”

“Return to the boy’s quarters until I’ve come to collect you,” he ordered. “You will not come out until I’ve said so.”

“Captain—”

“Yes, Captain,” he snapped, glaring in warning.

You opened your mouth to argue, but he only stared more harshly. You took the moment to calm yourself, eyes flickering over the sour expression on his face.

“Yes, Captain,” you muttered bitterly.

You returned to Soap and Gaz’s shared quarters with a rotten taste in your mouth. Upon opening the door, you were surprised to find Soap inside but no Gaz in sight.

“You are not out doing your rounds?” you asked Soap, who practically lit up at your sudden appearance.

Soap sat up from where he was sprawled out in his cot, scrambling to the edge. When he noticed the grimness of your expression, his smile faded and he tilted his head like a curious puppy.

“No, it’s calm sailin’ today,” he replied. “What’s up with ye? Ye looked like somebody’s just killed yer granny.”

You shot him a deadly glare. He threw his hands up in defense.

“Wrong choice of words, dove. M’sorry,” he apologized.

You continued to stare at him for a long moment before sighing. You tried to disperse the rowdiness that your mind was singing to you, but the sounds never halted.

Price’s conversation as well as Ghost’s oddity remained permanent resident for the time being, and you couldn’t evict them if you wanted to. Everything weighed heavily on you, between feeling betrayed, hurt, fearful, confused.

It was all too much for a woman who had already gone through enough.

“You must tell me what’s wrong with Ghost, Soap,” you pleaded. Soap’s expression shifted to confusion before muted realization. “I may not be the best medic, but if something’s wrong, I can help him. I cannot keep being pushed away by the very men who request my aid. What good am I for?”

“Everythin’s fine with Ghost, dove,” Soap assured, though who was he trying to convince? You, or himself? “Was he cold to ye again? I can speak with him, try to make ye two see eye to eye—”

“His blood was as dark as the night and evaporated right in front of my eyes!” you interrupted, growing frustrated. “You cannot tell me that is fine.”

Soap’s mouth snapped shut and his face hardened. You weren’t having it.

“And the maps?” you continued, pacing the room. “The strange poetry in Price’s quarters, the map with X’s over islands?”

“Ye saw that?” he muttered to himself, but you caught it.

“There is plenty you are not telling me, Soap, all of you.”

“Because it is none of yer concern, dove,” Soap replied, his tone slightly flat compared to the previous endearment. “Not now.”

“Then when?” you questioned, exasperated. “You wish to keep me in the dark for the rest of my time on this ship? You will tell me on my deathbed? You have all stolen everything from me, I believe I deserve a little insight on things that very much concern me now.”

The two of you were staring so hard at one another, it was a miracle you didn’t burst. The tension was thick and heavy, it was a struggle to breathe. It was astonishing how quickly things changed.

Your inner turmoil was growing stronger and stronger by the second.

Soap, apart from Gaz, was the one you entrusted the most because he showed you basic kindness from the very beginning. He convinced the Captain of your usefulness, he surprised you with a pair of shoes, and he always greeted you with a smile.

You knew there was a dark side to Soap just as the others. But you were learning that you didn’t like it.

“Yer right,” he said. “We aren’t bein’ honest with ye. But that’s because it’s not somethin’ I should tell ye. Ghost should be the one to do it.”

“He will not even look me in the eye, let alone tell me! He is not normal, Soap, and I wish to understand what you have pulled me into,” you pleaded.

Your words were a play on what Price had told you earlier. He apologized with no true explanation, and it replayed in your head until it drove you mad.

No matter how much you scrambled around for reasons, nothing made sense. Nothing added up. The painted picture was right in front of you with the colors missing.

Soap was silent, contemplating. He no longer looked irritated, but more so perplexed and conflicted than anything.

“Ghost was a part of a pirate crew before us, before Price,” Soap explained solemnly. “Whatever happened on that ship is somethin’ unexplainable and it’s stuck to Ghost like a leech.”

“You don’t know what has happened to him?” you asked quietly.

“I do know. It is too vile to repeat, it’s sick—” Soap paused, cursing under his breath before shaking his head. “For the sake of him, for us, ye need to trust me.”

You went quiet, allowing the room to fill with heavy silence. Soap’s eyes resorted to the ground while yours remained on him, taking in the tightness of his jaw and the angry furrow of his eyebrows.

Whatever happened to Ghost wasn’t simple. You were curious, concerned, both for yourself and for Ghost. As much as you hated him and held no warmth in your heart to a man who could be so cruel to you, there was a crackling flame begging to melt the iciness.

“I do not know how any of you expect me to trust you after everything that’s happened,” you murmured honestly. “Time has passed, yes, but I struggle to accept the fate brought upon me. You cannot fault me for that.”

Soap lifted his gaze from the floor to shift it to you. His eyes softened. You could sense an understanding. It wasn’t the first time Soap had given you that sentiment, but this time felt different.

It felt much more raw and open.

“Nobody faults ye,” Soap replied softly. “Yer hurtin’. But so is Ghost. That’s all I can give ye right now.”

Soap stood from the bed and gave you a pitiful look. He stepped up to you, standing silently for a moment before giving your shoulder a squeeze with his hand.

The touch frazzled you, and you whipped your head up to see him already looking back. It sent a rush of warmth through your body, one that sent you into a deeper pool of confusion.

You’d never felt it before. Understood. Cared for. Heard.

Before you could dwell on it, Soap took his hand away and stepped out of the room, leaving you completely alone once again.

It wasn’t until nightfall that Price came to collect you. Neither Gaz nor Soap came to their quarters, and you knew right away it was because the Captain told them not to.

The day had slipped away, and so had meals. Though you felt the burning ache of hunger brewing, you had no appetite when Price said nothing of earlier but instead told you to join them for dinner.

It was painfully silent when you arrived. Wooden bowls were set out with steaming food, and accompanying them was the rest of the pirates.

The Captain sat you across from him while you were joined in between Soap and Gaz. Ghost sat next to Price, though you avoided looking at him.

It was just as it was the first time you ate with them, and instead of a lively melody, it was a nauseating quiet.

Nobody spoke, and the only thing that was heard was the clinking of spoons along the bowls. Your porridge sat in front of you, growing cold.

“So, dove,” the Captain began, resting his arms on the table. You noticed he hadn’t taken a single bite either. “You want to know what we’ve been hidin’ from you, hm? Get insight on what’s goin’ on?”

You froze in your seat, tensing up. All eyes were on you. You felt your chest tighten from the impending doom that seemed to linger over the table.

“I simply do not want to be left in the dark, Captain. I have reason for concern, I am lost. I know what I’ve seen, and it is troubling me. You said so yourself that I am a part of the crew now, yes?” you replied hesitantly, stumbling over finding the right words.

Price hummed in response. His face was set firm as it was earlier, and you wondered just how much you were truly missing out on.

“I did,” Price tsked, “but you are too weary, too naive. You’re meddlin’ in affairs that you are not prepared for. Drop the matter or I’ll take you right back to that dreadful island of yours. What’s left of it, that is.”

With his stare too intense, you quickly turn your gaze down to the tabletop, skimming over it mindlessly. Except, when your eyes landed on the familiar hands of Ghost, skull ring glinting in your direction, you took note of the finger Ghost had cut that morning.

The wound was gone. Healed, as if it was never there before. There wasn’t a blemish or imperfection on his finger, where there should’ve been a gash that would be dreadfully painful if it were you.

Glancing up at Ghost, his eyes met yours, but rather than the usual fire of anger that flickered behind them, there was resentment. Resentment that wasn’t geared towards you.

It was old, clinging on to him long before you knew him. Whatever had truly happened, whatever had led you right to that very seat on their ship, was the key to the chest that held the answers.

It didn’t look like you’d be opening it any time soon.

[sheeezu]

.Shift by channeling.

Go to your DRs by channeling, again, step to step guide.

This can be used as a separate method, or you could use this when you need a final push.

This isn't the spiritual type of channeling, nor do you need to use AI or something, nor do you get possessed.

Step 1:

Before attempting to shift, choose a person from your DR. It could be your S/O, you can choose to channel multiple people, if you have a friend group or something, but i recommend picking someone whom you have a close connection with in your DR.

Have a voice claim ready, take some times to look at the person's pictures, remember their physical attributes, focus on their personality.

(You can listen to songs which remind you of your relationship with that person)

Step 2:

Lay down, when you're prepared to shift. You're going to start off saying affirmations like it's a normal shifting method.

If you can visualize, i recommend you think of visual affirmations which relate to your DR.

Its a method to affirm, where you go around your DR, whether it's your DR house, room, or a memorable or nostalgic place in your DR, and see your normal shifting affs, carved, written around, for example, your affs formed by clouds, carved into pillars and tables, written on your clothes, finding papers or letter which say your affirmations (so Affirmations ∝ Your DR)

You should try to be hype fixated, so if you are fidgeting, can't stay still, you're too engrossed in what's going on inside your mind to notice your body itching or twitching.

Do this until your symptoms intensifies or reach a peak, everyone feels differently, for some it's more physical (seeing light flashes, tingles, floating) for some it's mental (having a gut feeling, feeling euphoric) so don't get discouraged.

You aren't doing anything wrong.

Step 3:

This is where we come across our special person. While you're seeing your affs, make yourself meet them. Now, if you're confused and going to say this isn't channeling, then just stop. You're creating this reality and undoubtedly every moment you're experiencing, so when you're in a deeply concentrated phase, the only thing that could possibly stop you from having a very real and authentic meeting with your SP is your own self-doubt (anyways, if you're having self doubt then say an aff or two to combat them)

Your SP is standing right in front of you, let yourself loose at this point. No need to force anything scripted, but if you want then you can.

Have a conversation with your SP, whether it's initiated by you or your SP.

Maybe even invite them to drink tea, sit outside, take them to a secret spot.

Now you're having a conversation with them, starting off with your conscious thoughts doing the talking from your part, whatever your SP says is your subconsciousness speaking, or you're directly channeling them (both of which are the same thing, i hate being repetitive, you're creating reality if you believe you're being channeled by your SP, then that's what's happening)

Start off with a normal conversation, like how'd you talk to someone, someone you love and know very well.

Right now, you're going to say a very specific affirmation:

"(your SP's name) is just about to ask me what i was doing in my OR/void reality."

Then let the conversation take a natural turn. That question will eventually be asked, your loved one is just very curious about why you were away from them.

Now, what you will answer back will be the way how to shift.

"Oh, must be a fever dream, i had never had a dream so real, i was touching everything, each and everything felt legit." (best for permashifters, don't be afraid of using this if you intend to come back)

"I guess it was out of responsibility, but don't worry, i'm here now."

"I don't know myself, all i know i didn't like being there."

"I was curious, that's all; you know i like exploring new things, and come on, it was a whole new universe, but now i want to rest at home."

Whatever your SP says in response, whether they're asking you to come join them, or how they're glad you're back, just nod back.

Step 4:

Go to sleep in your DR, if you recall, you're in your home. Go towards your bed, crash down, close your eyes.

From this point onwards, you're going to embody your DR self and fall asleep acting normal, completely abandon the fact that you were shifting, or that you have shifted to your DR, act like a person (your DR self) living in any other world (your DR)

I described this in details in the third phase of my pinned post, you're supposed to do all that.

You'll wake up in your DR.

Why is this method supposed to work?

Connection to your DR environment ✔

Logically explains your involvement with your previous reality, why you were there for so long ✔

Reminds your consciousness that you've successfully shifted ✔

Connection to your loved ones in your DR ✔

Most importantly, connection to your DR self ✔

...

That's the method, you can also shift in between the method as well. There really isn't any reason for you to wake back in your CR, listen to some subliminals to remove intrusive thoughts, then you're good.

You could also make it so your SP had more control over your shift, like they brought you back, you can modify the method according to your wishes.

It's a short and sweet method, believe in your abilities and you'll be out of here faster than lightning.

...

This method is heavily focused on visualizing, if you have aphantasia then your DR SP can just speak to you, when you eventually cross over to your DR self's state of mind (if they can visualize) you'll get the ability to visualize like them, or get flashes of images.

...

Also thanks for everyone who gave me compliments in my inbox I have no clue how to receive them, but I am very grateful (:

[fuddsgf]

when it rains - juju watkins

summary 𞠬: when long-distance and growing silence wedge space between you and juju, what was once a passionate connection starts to fray under the weight of unspoken hurt. late-night calls turn to missed voicemails, and love becomes an echo you can no longer chase.

warnings:emotional neglect, angst, heartbreak, breakups, hints of emotional burnout/loneliness, unrequited feelings emotional themes throughout. lmk if i missed anything

tags: @patscorner @cherryswisherz @kmoneymartini @authentic-girl03 @bueckersverse @vamptizm

“i don’t know where you go, hard for you to share your home”

you sighed as you leaned your head back against the wall, phone pressed tight to your ear. ringing. then voicemail. again.

you hung up locking your screen, your exhausted reflection staring back at you. eyes half-lidded, hoodie too big, heart aching. you had a feeling that you knew where she was—some party in L.A., somewhere that screamed bright lights and blurred loyalty.

it wasn’t the first time juju disappeared on you like this. left you with more questions than comfort. promises drowned in the pulse of whatever club she let herself get lost in.

-

the texts became infrequent, rushed and distracted calls. you’d hear music in the background, sometimes laughter. she’d say something like, “sorry babe, i’m out with the team. you know how it is.”

but she never asked how you were. never listened when you tried talking about your day or how geno kicked paige out of practice because of her ankle.

the first few times, you brushed it off. juju was busy—so were you. the season was heating up, and uconn didn’t exactly hand out breathers. but eventually, your excuses for her felt paper-thin.

“Cause you don’t want it all, is what we have disposable?”

you’d stay up after practices, phone in hand, waiting for her to call like she promised. sometimes she did. most of the times, she didn’t.

the silence was starting to weigh down on you like any game loss.

one random night after a double practice that left your knees shaking and your chest burning, you sat in the locker room long after everyone had left.

aubrey sat down next to you on the bench, “rough day?” she asked grabbing her water bottle and handing it to you. eyes gentle as she scanned your red eyes.

you tried nodding but your chin wobbled instead. “i just… i have this feeling l-like im being forgotten in real-time you know?” you expressed looking at her tears starting to fall down your cheeks.

she didn’t push you to continue, didn’t ask who or what. she sat with you until the ache in your chest had softened.

the locker room was silent except for the low hum of the lights in the vending machine. rain tapped against the window like it knew what you were feeling. you watched the raindrops trial down the window blurring the outside lights like tears you were too tired to shed.

your phone buzzed.

juju💕: sorry babe. long night i’ll call you tomorrow, pinky promise.

you stared at it, thumb hovering over the notification. but you didn’t reply.

because tomorrow never really comes anymore. you placed the phone face-down on the bench, as if not seeing the words would conceal you from its existence. now it just felt like a delay. a stall. like juju was always out of reach—calling from noisy hallways, sending half-hearted messages between practices, classes and parties.

you used to be her world. now you’re just orbiting it. you grabbed your zip up hoodie, “i didn’t mean to cry,” you mumbled more to the empty room than to aubrey.

“you don’t have to mean it to need it,” she said barely above a whisper. it wasn’t deep or profound. but it settled in your bones like truth.

“let’s head back to the dorms before we get locked in here,” she said getting up and grabbing her duffel, you soon followed her lead grabbing your stuff.

“thank you for being here aubs you’re a great friend,” you said hugging her outside the gym heading towards your car before she could even get a word out.

-

“feels like im on my own, please don’t try to ignore that”

it was past midnight when your phone rang.

juju 💕 calling…

you stared at your screen for a beat debating if you should answer, but you did. “hey,” you said voice quieter than you intended.

static. laughter in the background. music. then her voice—a little slurred, all sugar and sunshine like if she wasn’t calling 4 days late.

“baaabe,” juju cooed “i miss you, im so sorry i’ve been like M.I.A. you know how crazy it gets after a win. team went out, we hit this rooftop bar— there was a DJ, you would’ve loved it!”

your silence must’ve stretched for a bit too long.

“baby?” she said again. you closed your eyes taking a deep breath “yea. i’m here.”

“good, i was worried you were mad.” she giggled. “don’t be mad, okay? i swear i’ll call you for real tomorrow morning. pinky promise.”

tomorrow. that damn word again.

you swallowed hard. “juju…when was the last time you asked how i was doing?”

she paused. the music dipped lower, or maybe she had stepped away from it. “what?”

“i mean it,” you said voice steadier now, sharper at the edges. “you talk about your games, your team, your wins… but you don’t ask about me anymore! you don’t call when you say you wil. you don’t even notice when i’m not okay”

“don’t do this,” she sighed. “you know how my schedule is–”

“no, juju. you don’t know mine. you haven’t asked. not once.” there was a pause. a longer one. you imagined her frowning, that defensive tilt in her voice building even before she spoke.

“look, i’m trying, okay? i’m just- i’ve got a lot going on.”

“yea,” you said, quietly “so do i.” you could hear the next words forming in her throat, some half assed apology or excuse dressed up for love. but you don’t wait for them.

“i have to go,” you quickly said. “i’ve got an early practice.” 

“oh. okay. love you” she said softly.

but you didn’t say it back. you ended the call. sat there in the quiet with the buzzing silence of everything that was left unsaid.

-

“help me remember that i want more, something beautiful”

you sent it without thinking. a voice message. no script. just the raw truth.

“hey. i don’t think this is working out anymore. i kept waiting for it to feel like it used to– like i was still important to you. but it’s just not there anymore. and i can’t keep shrinking myself to fit into the margins of your life. i deserve someone who shows up. so, this is me letting go.”

delivered.

read.

no reply.

-

the crowd was electric. the cameras are everywhere. this is the stage. the rivalry. but for juju, it’s personal now.

juju spots you in warmups. headphones in. eyes sharp. you don’t even glance her way.

you’re walking off the court when aubrey jogs up beside you, bumping her shoulder into yours playfully, handing you a towel.

you laugh, not forced. not hollow. it’s the kind of laugh that used to belong to her. but it hasn’t in a long time.

juju watches from across the floor. she watches the way you light up when aubrey leans in to say something only you can hear. the way your eyes linger on her a little too long. the way you don’t flinch when aubrey’s hand brushes against your lower back, steadying you as the crowd roars. and suddenly it hits her.

she lost you.

not because of one mistake, but a hundred small ones. missed calls. half-hearted “tomorrows.” apologies that never came.

and aubrey? she was always there. just out of focus, until now.

maybe uconn won. maybe they didn’t. but either way, the game wasn’t what stuck with juju.

it was the image of you in the tunnel. leaning against a wall, smiling as aubrey talks with her hands, animated and flushed from the win. you’re listening, really listening, with a soft look in your eyes.

the one juju used to know.

and when aubrey brushes your knuckles with hers, and you don’t pull away juju finally understands.

juju stood there, jersey soaked, hands clenched at her sides, watching the two of you disappear down the hallway.

she didn’t call your name.

she knew it wouldn’t change anything.

because this time, tomorrow came.

but it didn’t have her in it.

[impala-dreamer]

A Rod & A Ryder

A Supernaturally Silly Story

~ When Dean decides to give Y/N a sexy DIY gift, he finds himself in a rather tight predicament ~

Dean Winchester x Reader, Castiel 

3,306 Words

Warnings: NSFW, Explicit Talk of Sex Toys and Self Love, Tiny Fleck of Jealous!Dean, Mishaps, Crack

For @jacklesversebingo “Free Square”

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

Dean hung back while Y/N was at the counter. She was more than capable of interviewing the salesperson by herself, and besides, he had other things to investigate. Like, for instance, the extremely large red, white, and blue dildo sitting on the shelf by the window.

He blinked a few times at the toy, marveling at the size and wondering how a human being could open any hole, mouth included, wide enough to insert such a tree trunk of a phallus. Deciding it was simply a gag gift, and laughing at the word ‘gag’ even as he thought it, Dean moved on, trying not to become too enthralled by the offerings around the sex shop.

He’d been in porn shops before, but not in a long while, and they were certainly fancier than he remembered. Slightly more adventurous too.

Whips in various sizes and materials lined the wall to his right; plush handcuffs and spacer bars were displayed to his left. A section seemingly devoted to Fifty Shades held his attention for a while. More than a few things raised an eyebrow and he couldn’t help but look over at Y/N, wondering if she’d ever allow such things into their bedroom. It wasn’t like he longed to fix that cute powder-pink collar on her throat and lead her around on a leash, but it wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about it before. Just like he hadn’t thought about her locking little Dean up in one of those tiny metal cages and teasing him until he-

“See somethin’ you like?”

Her question made him jump and Dean turned with pink cheeks towards his girlfriend.

Y/N was holding back a laugh, trying not to embarrass him and blow their cover. Federal Agents weren’t known to giggle like twelve year olds at vibrators and butt plugs, even the ones with fluffy tails on the ends.

One such tail drew Y/N’s attention and she picked the sample up from the clear display shelf and wiggled it in his face, making him cringe and back up a step.

“Gross,” he laughed, swatting away the faux fox fur. “Stop that.”

Y/N set the toy back in its spot and bit her lip. “Why, Agent Zappa, I never pegged you for a prude.”

Dean stood up straight and adjusted his tie. “First of all, you’ve never pegged me at all, and-”

A twinkle sparkled in her eye. “I could, ya know-”

He sucked in a quick breath and ignored the offer. “Secondly…” He cleared his throat. “I’m not a prude, I’m just a little… There’s a lot of stuff here that… I mean- come on.” He waved at a line of latex cocks behind her and Y/N spun around, coming face to face with a rather realistic looking, fully erect penis.

“Oh my…”

Dean hummed. “Exactly.”

Curious, Y/N picked up the corresponding box and scanned the information on the back. “Huh.”

“What?”

Holding up the box, she read from the description: “This lifelike replica is molded directly from one of the hottest porn stars of the new millennium. Sterling Rod’s eleven inch cock is crafted with incredibly lifelike, innovative material that replicates the texture and firmness of the real thing.”

Dean swallowed hard, looking up at the longer-than-life penis and then sadly down at his crotch. “Eleven inches?”

Y/N hummed a sexy little note and carried on. “The dynamic features of this beautiful dildo include realistically jiggling balls that enhance the authenticity of the experience…”

“OK, we don’t have to keep reading that…” Something about fake jiggling balls made him uncomfortable.

“The suction cup bottom gives you a hands free option to-”

“Suction cup?” Green eyes glazed over as a quick fantasy scene played in his head. Y/N, alone in the Bunker, bouncing on Sterling Rod’s rod suction cupped to the top of the table in the War Room, her juicy bottom illuminated by the glowing map. His slacks shrank a bit.

“The impressive eleven inch length…” Y/N let out an impressed breath and squirmed, adjusting her weight from one foot to the other.

He frowned at the measurement and her apparent interest. She always said he was the perfect size for her and yet-

“...Delving deeper than any other to pleasure you in ways no man can.”

“OK!” Jerking the box away, Dean put an end to his torture. “OK. I get it.”

Y/N pursed her lips and squinted at him. “Jealous?”

“Of a toy?” He leaned back, offended. “No.”

“It’s not just a toy,” she teased. “It’s Sterling Rod’s cock.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “It’s not his actual cock. That’s just for advertising.”

“No, no. It’s really him.” Y/N picked up the box and pointed out the print she’d just read aloud. “Molded directly from-”

“Please don’t read it again.”

Shrugging, she returned the box. “They do that now, ya know,” she laughed. “For the girls too.”

Dean’s jealousy faded and his interest perked up. “What now?”

“Mhm.” Y/N spun on her heel and crooked a finger at him.

Dean followed without hesitation as Y/N led him to the other side of the store.

The multicolored dildos and clit-sucking vibrators gave way to pocket masturbators and lube, anal beads, and a set of manly blank nipple clamps that made Dean’s pulse quicken just a bit.

Y/N paused beside a display of what, from far away, appeared to be blooming roses. “See? Custom pussies.”

A joke tickled his throat. “Say that again?”

“Custom. Pussies.” She popped the P and Dean choked back a laugh. “See? This one is Angel Ryder’s.”

“Angel Ryder?” Dean smirked. “Good name…”

“You know her.”

Dean’s brows furrowed in thought.

“You know, the redhead in the trench coat from that one we watched on Christmas…”

The tip of his tongue pressed against his front teeth as he scanned his memory.

Y/N sighed. “With the tattoo… on her…”

Dean lit up. “Oh! Yeah. OK… I remember her.” He blinked and saw her in his head: big, fake tits bouncing on a muscular Santa’s lap. His lips puckered into a horny grin.

“Yeah. Her.” Y/N picked up the box beneath the flourishing rubber vagina and held it out to him. “Molded from her actual sausage wallet.”

Dean scanned the box and nodded in approval. “So they just like… stick some goo up there and-”

“Ew. No.”

“No?”

Y/N paused for a moment and pondered. “Actually, I have no idea how they do it, but I’m sure they don’t just tip her upside down and pour silicone in there.”

Dean smirked.

Y/N laughed and rolled her eyes. When she righted them, they were stuck on the ridiculously long length of Sterling’s erect silicone dick and she hummed in a way Dean didn’t care for.

He cleared his throat. “You don’t have any… ya know…”

It was endearing that he couldn’t even ask. They’d fucked in the back of his car, on the hood of his car, in random bars, once in the woods next to a flaming vampire nest, and even in the Franklin Mills County Morgue while sneaking in late at night for evidence. But the fact that he couldn’t ask her right out if she had a box of sex toys tucked away somewhere was too adorable to not tease him for.

“Dean, are you asking me if I have a dildo?”

He swallowed hard and tugged at the knot of his navy tie, loosening it a tiny bit. “Well, yeah.”

She refused to answer verbally but gave him a very affirmative shrug.

His jaw dropped. “In our bedroom?” He lowered his voice, comically leaning in so the saleswoman of a sex shop couldn’t hear them discussing sex stuff. “You have a fake dick in our bedroom when you’ve got a… pretty impressive human specimen right next to you whenever you want?”

His eyes were wide with worry and Y/N took pity. She lay her hand warmly on his arm.

“Baby, I don’t use it… all the time. It’s just there for like… .emergencies.”

“Emergencies?”

“You know, if you’re out or-”

He jerked upright. “So when I’m out getting pizza, you’re riding plastic probes?”

Her laugh was unstoppable but strangled. “No. Like, if you’re away for a while. I miss you, ya know.”

He softened a bit at that.

“And, excuse, me, are you saying you don’t masturbate anymore?”

“Uh…” Green eyes flitted about, looking for a safe place to land.

“It’s OK if you do.”

Dean shrugged just as she had. “A man has… needs, Y/N/N.”

“You’re cute.” Giving up on the conversation lest things get too intense, Y/N pushed up on her toes and dropped a kiss on his cheek. “But can we go? The scent of edible lube is making me sick.”

She turned away before he could answer and Dean gave Angel Ryder’s plump petals an intrigued look. Saying a farewell, he turned to the door, jogging a few quick steps to catch up.

“Hey! I thought you liked wild cherry…”

~

Time wore on and the memory of their explicit sex shop conversation had mostly faded into the Arizona horizon. Y/N hadn’t brought up their chat again after they’d banged it out in the hotel room that night, and she’d even stopped teasing him about how she would introduce him to the little purple pole hidden in her underwear drawer.

Dean, however, couldn’t get the idea of Y/N playing with some other dude’s joystick, even if it was made of plastic, out of his head. If she was fucking some dick, he wanted it to be his. If some asshole was plunging her depths, he wanted to be that asshole. Cowgirl Y/N should only be riding one horse and his lap was the saddle.

After two weeks of unwarranted jealous thoughts and sulking around, Dean had an idea.

One quick Google search later, Dean had a plan.

After four days of waiting for the slow-as-hell local post office to get its act together, Dean was ready to go.

That is, once he got Y/N to go.

Thankfully, Sam had found a case a few hours away and Dean convinced Y/N to take the drive, claiming he was feeling under the weather. He got an extra kiss on the forehead for that, and waved goodbye as headlights faded out of sight.

Dean laid out the materials on his bed. A bag of powder, a plastic tube, a tongue depressor, and a mug of water. The instructions said the water had to be 90 degrees exactly, and he waited until the water was cool enough to touch but still warm. If he was sticking his dick in it, he didn’t want to burn the skin off.

Working quickly, he mixed the powder and water, dumped it rather messily into the tube, and grabbed his dick.

“Come on, Dean. This is for Y/N.”

He closed his eyes and thought about her using his gift; naked and spread wide on the hood of the Impala, his hot pink clone pounding her sweet pussy. He jerked himself a few times, wanting to make sure he was as big as possible, and then stuck it in the goo. A bit of casting spilled over the top but he could clean it up later.

It was warm and wet. Somewhat squishy, and not altogether unpleasant. Humming happily, Dean leaned back against the wall and held himself in the tube, still fantasizing about its future.

Y/N licking it like a lollipop in front of a mirror; spit dripping down her chin…

Y/N on all fours, fucking herself on the toy, moaning his name…

Y/N nudged the dildo gently against his tight ass…

Startled but not disgusted by his subconscious desire, Dean gave himself a little shake to clear his head, and made a note to bring it up with Y/N at some point.

He checked his watch and more than five minutes had passed which was three more than the two stated in the instructions.

“Well, a little more never hurt anyone.”

Except, it did.

Dean carefully pulled on the tube of hardened casting and nothing happened.

He tried again, a little less carefully, and it moved not even an inch.

“Shit.”

Again.

“Fuck.”

He was stuck. More specifically, his now soft, over-sensitive penis was stuck in a tight tube of hardened plaster-like junk.

He tried to fit a finger into the mess, but it was too tight, sealed against his skin.

He thought for a moment about getting a knife from the kitchen and cutting his way out, but it was a very short thought that ended with him terrified to even move lest he cut his precious instrument.

If he called 911, he’d have to explain some things and they might also use something sharp. Calling Y/N would be even worse than being stuck, and he’d rather cut his dick completely off than tell Sam what he was up to.

That left only one option.

Sitting on the side of the bed, Dean grabbed a pillow and held it gingerly over his issue. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Cas? Kinda need your help, buddy.”

He waited a second and then peaked his right eye open, finding the room just as empty as before.

Gritting his teeth, he tried again.

“Cas! Help!”

A whoosh of air and the flap of wings opened Dean’s eyes and he found his best friend standing a foot away.

“Dean. What’s wrong?”

The worry in Castiel’s voice was strong and Dean felt somewhat bad for making him rush over. But then again, his dick was encased in stone.

“Are you hurt?”

Dean clicked his tongue, debating the truthful answer. “Not yet.”

“Not yet?” Cas’s head tilted dramatically to the east. “What’s going on?”

Begrudgingly, Dean removed the pillow from his lap and displayed his nakedness shoved into a long plastic tube.

Blue eyes squinted at the apparatus. ”Dean, what are you doing?”

“It’s a gift,” Dean confessed.

Confusion twisted the angel’s face. “For who?”

“Y/N!”

Castiel nodded in understanding. “Ah. Yes.”

To investigate, Cas bent at the waist and let his gaze zoom in on Dean’s crotchal region. Blood rushed from Dean’s face to dick and back up again. He was embarrassed and scared but it was still kind of hot.

Castiel poked at the tube with a gentle finger and Dean quickly swatted him away.

“What exactly have you done to yourself?”

“It’s a kit to…” Dean’s ease of speech was temporarily stunted. “I’m…” He looked away in an attempt to hide. “I’m making a clone of… well, me.” He cleared his throat. “And I got stuck.”

Cas stood up and nodded, but he still had questions.

“Why do you think Y/N would like something like this?”

“Well, it makes a… toy. A sex toy. For her. It’s a dildo, OK? Ya know, for when I’m away… or not in the mood.”

Another squint, another head tilt.

Dean huffed. “Yeah, OK, I’m always in the mood. But, I don’t know, I thought it would be a nice thing to do. A sexy gift. Thought it would be kinda hot.”

“And is it?”

Dean sighed. “Not currently!”

Sensing the urgency, Castiel knelt down between Dean’s knees and plotted his move. “Why did you call me?” he asked, getting closer than Dean could really handle.

Green eyes rolled in utter annoyance. “Who the hell else was I gonna ask? Sam?”

“Good point.”

“Can you just… Help.”

Castiel took a deep, unnecessary breath and locked eyes with Dean. Slowly, he set his hands on the plastic tube, ready to extract Little Dean.

“Don’t move, Dean. This may be a bit uncomfortable…”

~

Dean hung back while Y/N kicked off her shoes and tossed her backpack on the desk. She was tired and sore from the road, and more than happy to be home.

“You are lucky you got sick,” she told him, peeling off a sock and pitching it into the laundry basket by the door. “I have never seen so much ectoplasm in my life. And it stunk.”

Dean watched her from the door, his shoulder holding up the entire wall. “Oh yeah? Eggs or asparagus?”

She laughed and cringed at the same time. “Worse. Horse. Like, end of the parade, rainy, horse shit.”

Their eyes met and Dean licked his lips unconsciously. “I missed you.”

She beamed. “Me too.”

She held out her arms for him to join her on the bed, but he stayed put and nodded at the pillow.

“Gotcha something.”

“Oh?” Y/N held onto a smile with her teeth dug into her bottom lip as she turned to find a happy birthday gift bag lying on her pillow. The handles were tied together and price tag sticker residue smudged the bright blue outside. She laughed. “It’s not my birthday.”

Dean moved inside the room. “Yeah, well, they don’t exactly make gift bags for this.”

Curious, Y/N plucked apart the knot and looked inside at her gift. Her jaw dropped. Her eyes went wide.

“Is that?”

Dean held his breath. “Take it out.”

Y/N’s cheeks burned as she pulled a hot pink silicone cock from the bag. “This is… nice…” She held it in a light fist and marveled at how familiar it was. “This is…” She squinted at the top, traced the underridge with her thumb. “Holy shit, Dean! This is you!”

Proud, and rather impressed that she recognised his dick so easily, Dean grinned. “You like?”

Her smile was worth all the pain.

“I love it.”

Dean bent to kiss her softly. “I’m glad.”

“Also…”

He stood up, worried. “Also?”

Placing the replica staff gently on the bed, Y/N went to her backpack and pulled out a plain white box.

“I didn’t have time to wrap it,” she joked, handing him the present.

Carefully, Dean lifted the lid and nearly fell over.

Tucked inside was a silky smooth pink rose with a rather familiar petal formation. Stunned, he looked up at Y/N as he pulled the toy from the box.

“Is this your-”

“Kitty?” She laughed. “Yes.”

Dean let out a laugh that shook his shoulders and brought tears to his eyes. “Great minds, huh?”

Y/N nodded and then rolled her eyes as Dean shoved two fingers into the silicone hole and giggled.

“I’m glad you like it.”

His arms fit around her more perfectly than either would find again. She kissed him sweetly and he retaliated with more, licking into her mouth with hunger and intent.

When he let her go, Y/N hopped on the bed and picked up her toy, examining it closer.

“I do have to admit,” she said, sniffing the cock absently, “I had a little trouble making it.”

Dean joined her, stretching out on his side of the bed while still fingering her petals. “Really? So did I.”

“Not like this.” She laughed and hid her face in her hands. “I kinda… I had to ask for some help.”

Dean sat up quickly and turned to her. “Please tell me you didn’t call Cas.”

She cringed. “Well, who the hell else was I supposed to ask? Sam?” Embarrassment closed her eyes as she explained. “I was… It was making a mess and it was getting all up in… I just… I was kinda praying. Well, cursing loudly, and he popped in and…”

Dean’s silence caught her attention and she opened her eyes to find him red-faced and guilty.

“Wait.” She leaned in, peering into his eyes for a confession. “Did you call Cas?”

He squirmed and shrugged.

“Oh my god, you did!”

Dean laughed. “Like I said… great minds.”

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