#tw discussions of missing children

[victoria-vd]

OFFSCREEN POST

The Calm

// tw: panic attack, injury, claustrophobia, physical abuse, discussions of missing children

To say that Victoria was on edge this afternoon would be the understatement of the millennium. 

The once comforting quiet of her dorm had fallen to a tense silence during the past week— as if the room itself held its breath for fear of being lashed out at by the girl that occupied it. The shadows cast by the flickering lanterns trembled in fear, and the curtains sat eerily still.

And yet despite the dim quiet of the room, it was all still too much for her. The air conditioning roared in her ears, the dancing shadows were visually overwhelming, and the soreness in her chest ached horribly. Lying in her bed did little to alleviate the pain from the bruises that littered her torso— putting pressure on her back only seemed to make her feel worse. But she hardly had the energy to sit or stand either, let alone walk and go about her school day as if nothing was wrong.

Just thinking about all the work that will have to be done to make up for her frequent absences…

The past week had been an absolute nightmare for Victoria both physically and mentally. 

She cast a glare at the Hatterene beside her bed. The mere sound of Barcelona’s breathing sent a wave of vexation through her. But she very well couldn’t tell her to simply stop breathing. Many would consider that rude. And her mother’s Hatterene was the last Pokémon she’d want to be rude towards.

The Pokémon in question spared a glance at the girl in the bed, flicking her tendril of hair from side to side like the tail of a cat. A warning. A silent command for Victoria to calm herself by any means necessary. Suppression of the self.

They both remember what happened the last time everything had been “too much”…

Victoria broke her gaze from Barcelona, turning away in the bed to face the wall. She squeezed her eyes shut in an attempt to block it all out. The lights. The sounds. The thoughts— both hers and everyone else’s.

Her powers were both a blessing and a curse. 

The young heiress felt a sudden warmth sneaking under her arm. She glanced down to find her Espurr forcing her way into her grasp, curling up beside her in the covers and nuzzling her head into her chest.

Esperanza. 

Victoria watched the little cat press itself against her. The Espurr had been a parting gift from the Wyrmwoods— dear family friends— shortly before she left for Naranja-Uva Academy that summer. They’d treated her like a second daughter.

A replacement for the daughter they’d lost: her best friend, Estelle Wyrmwood. 

… Has it really been seven years? 

The thought had sent Victoria into a spiral. She curled into herself, a lump tight in her throat. The time had flown by all too quickly and yet agonizingly slow all at once— she was acutely aware of the passage of time in her absence, and yet she was caught unawares by the realization of just how much time had passed. Soon, the years without Estelle will surpass the years with. 

(Across the room on the top shelf, the glass display case suddenly cracked.

Barcelona perked up at the sound, directing her attention to the girl beside her.)

But regardless of the presence or absence of Estelle in her life, her life has been defined by her only friend. 

…Well… that’s not exactly true, was it?

Wasn’t Esper also her friend? 

That question had plagued Victoria every day for the past month. What was Esper to her? The answer was complicated. She granted Esper luxuries that she’d bestowed to very few in her lifetime: her extended presence, a first name basis, the permission to use not just any nickname, but that nickname. There was a level of comfort she had with the girl that she found rare amongst individuals her age. She’d outright called Esper a friend of hers to the girls in the elevator. 

By all accounts, Esper fit the criteria of a friend. 

And yet Victoria hesitated to label her as such in her own mind. 

It felt like a betrayal to Estelle. 

Victoria turned her face into her pillow and choked out a quiet sob. Every heave of her chest sent a wave of pain through her torso. Her bruised ribs screamed at her to stop, but with just one moment of weakness, the entire dam had begun to crack under the weight of seven years of repressed emotions.

(The crack on the glass expanded, threatening to shatter at any moment. The flatscreen TV flickered to life for a moment before it too cracked under a sudden, invisible force.

No, not the screen. The whole TV.

The Hatterene whirled around to Victoria to place a handlike tendril on her shoulder, attempting to shake the girl out of the emotional spiral she’d put herself in.)

The young heiress hugged Esperanza to her chest, letting warm tears crawl down her cheeks. Esperanza; the subtle nod to Esper’s namesake had not gone unnoticed by her. Had she actually picked a name that fit her Pokémon? Or had she named the Wyrmwood Espurr after her in a poor attempt to fill a seven year long void?

Was she using Esper as a replacement for Estelle?

(The glass casing shattered into a million tiny shards that floated into the air. Loose objects scattered about the room levitated themselves from where they lie. A sudden pressure began to build within the dorm, like an invisible force was squeezing the outer edges of your skull, threatening to crush your brain matter between its palms.

Victoria was a ticking time bomb seconds away from exploding. 

Barcelona needed to act now.

She quickly snaked the tendril of hair around the girl’s torso and pulled her out of the bed—)

Victoria was suddenly ripped from the comfort of her bedsheets. Esperanza flew from her grip and was accidentally thrown to the floor. For a brief moment, panic surged throughout the girl’s entire body.

(The Hatterene pulled Victoria into the confines of her hair, encasing her in the cocoon of psychic-imbued strands that enshrouded her body.

When the risk of a psychic outburst was too great, the best solution was to suppress the psionic energy and block it from being expelled by the source.

To choke it out until it passes.)

NONONO. NOT AGAIN. NO SHE COULDN’T DO THIS AGAIN.

Victoria tried to thrash about and kick her legs wildly, but hair slithered up every limb to restrain her, leaving no gap for her psychic energy to escape. The bruises on her torso became increasingly apparent under the constriction of Barcelona’s hair. 

(The floating objects trembled in the air. The cracked TV crumpled into itself under the room’s pressure. The bathroom door flung open with enough force to knock it halfway off its hinges.)

Barcelona frowned at the state of the room. Hm. It seemed this outburst was particularly powerful. This could prove to be an issue…

Glancing to the nightstand where Victoria’s Pokeballs lie, she levitated them into the air and released the Pokémon from within.

Matador and Maria were quick to appear before her.

The Hatterene barked orders at the two Pokémon, directing them to assist in restricting Victoria’s psychic outburst to the confines of the room. They needed to act now before—)

A loud wail suddenly erupted from the other side of the room, briefly distracting the other three Pokémon to find the source of the noise.

Esperanza had started crying.

Which wasn’t a big deal.

The bigger issue was that this was enough of a distraction for Victoria to thrash her way out of her psychic prison.

And all Hell broke loose.

[autisticshadowthehedgehog]

"Why Would You Bother With Me?" - An Analysis of Kitsunami, 09/07/2024

tw: major discussions of abuse, the cycle of abuse, re-traumatizing situations, toxic and abusive relationships (non-romantic)

so like when I first read this panel my reaction was just to joke with Cori that this is a "get out of my school" moment (iykyk) but I've been thinking about it a lot recently because I... couldn't remember any specific beef Kit had with Tails?

Last we saw of them interacting one-on-one, Tails was talking Kit down from fighting, and Kit's beef with the squad later was more with Sonic than him. Tails didn't take down Surge in #56 or even affect the fight in any way, and Sonic was the one who told Kit that Surge was dead beforehand. At least that I could remember, so I went back to those comics. Indeed, in #56 he shows no animosity towards Tails specifically, nor when he talks to Surge in #55.

Then I went back to #54.

See, he does seem to blame Sonic entirely for the Surge death fakeout, and he thinks that Sonic is literally trying to kill her when he walks in. But he does have one (1) reaction to Tails, right at the end of the interaction.

In the previous issue, after Sonic and Tails saved his life, Kit immediately switched on his subservient personality and was desperate for any kind of validation from the hedgehog. We only see it for a few panels before he is told about Surge and sinks into a depressive state, but it's made very obvious.

And when he leaves to help?

Kit's conditioning under Starline means that he is excessively codependent on Surge– and if Surge isn't around, on anyone who is nice to him. The hypnotic repetition shown to us was "You live to support Surge. You'll do anything for her." Kit's sole purpose in life is to be a Support party member.

Kit's conditioning was to be the new Tails.

Starline wanted Surge and Kit to replace Sonic and Tails– that much was obvious from the get-go. But what was also obvious was his fundamental misunderstanding of Sonic and Tails's dynamic and how that negatively impacts Surge and Kit's relationship.

Starline completely misses the strong sibling bond that Sonic and Tails have. To him, Tails is just there to support Sonic, to provide the brains and tech that Sonic lacks, and so Kit needs to be there to support Surge in the same way. He sees it only as a business partnership, and not a mutual relationship built on trust, love, and shared experiences. Starline only saw other people as tools, so obviously he projected that onto Surge and Kit, hoping that they would immediately take up the closeness that Sonic and Tails did because, well, they served the same purpose to each other, right?

Except Surge and Kit don't have that relationship. These two children were forced into the same proximity and made to work together. They're coworkers at best, being told to act like a family.

Obviously their dynamic is super toxic, with Surge clearly holding a lot of power over Kit, but it's also clear that this isn't because Surge wants to beat on the kid. She was made to be Sonic, and so she has his arrogance (and possibly Shadow's, considering IS1 showed his image when Starline was talking about stealing abilities), but, as Boom!Sonic says, "Without any of the awesomeness to back it up." Okay, wrong, she's plenty awesome, the correct phrase is "Without the experience" and, most importantly, "without the altruism that makes Sonic Sonic." Surge wasn't programmed to like the people she saves, because that would conflict with Starline's goal to take over the world. So she's only made to be competitive and to want to best Sonic, anyone inbetween them be damned. This clashes with Kit's programming to not only be liked, but to be liked by Surge. Surge was also programmed to believe fully in herself in order to enhance the arrogant trait, and Kit was made to give her the help that she doesn't want.

To Surge, Kit represents everything holding her back. And she's not built to view him as a person, because Starline doesn't view him or her as people. Obviously this doesn't absolve her of her treatment of him, and later issues showing her getting more and more aware as she becomes more social is definitely going to impact the way she views him– or, if it doesn't make her reconsider Kit's personhood, it'll serve to make her more antagonistic for the viewer.

But the point is, Sonic trusts Tails because he knows and respects him as a person. It isn't just because Tails can help him, but because he knows Tails will. Surge, at this point in the comic, not only doesn't view Kit as a friend, she doesn't even care what he thinks or feels.

And despite the brainwashing, I don't think Kit is oblivious to this. He knows how bad their situation is, but he is so conditioned to accept it that he can't escape it whatsoever. In both fights with Tails, Tails talks him down easily because Kit doesn't want to hurt anyone. Kit only reacts violently when Surge is brought up, because he's meant to do anything she wants.

Like he said to Belle, he was made for Surge. And what he says directly after– "Sonic can use me, too." Kit doesn't even view himself as a person, only a tool– that's how far Starline's brainwashing went. It's clearly even affecting Surge, who realized in the latest issue, #72, how fast she and Kit fell into their abusive patterns again once Clutch took over– they were conditioned to be tools. Clutch claimed to want to help them, but really he was just using them for his own ends, just like Starline. So they went back to the familiar.

And speaking of familiar– pain is familiar to Kit, specifically pain in service to others. In his breakdown in #50, he says that Starline made him happy he'd been hurt. And in Imposter Syndrome #3 and #4, we see that him and Surge hate Starline and want to usurp him... but also are still trapped in the patterns he implanted in them. Surge still wants to kill Sonic and outperform everyone else. Kit still can't do anything but what she wants, to the point he becomes near catatonic when he believes she's dead.

Another pattern Kit is still trapped in is the idea that he has to be okay with his own suffering.

The only sense of home or family Surge and Kit have is in each other, but they fundamentally can't work together, at least as they are currently. Kit is expected to take Surge's anger, and Surge isn't expected to treat him like his own person.

And this, I think, is Kit's problem with Tails.

He was made to be Tails, and he knows this, but he can never have what Tails has. He can never live up to Tails and do what Tails can do, despite that being his entire life's purpose.

He doesn't hate Tails because he was programmed to– as he says to Surge, he only wants to destroy Sonic because she wants to. When he first encounters Tails, he refers to him as his target- a simple, unemotional term. He doesn't have the deep ingrained hatred for him that Surge does for Sonic.

Instead, he hates Tails because of what he sees in him. He sees Sonic and Tails interact, he sees how much Sonic trusts and relies on Tails, and he sees how he also loves and respects him. He sees how Tails has his own motivations and opinions, and he's experienced Tails's genuine compassion that was in part fostered by the hedgehog that raised him. In turn, Tails is loyal to Sonic, but not because he has to be– because he, in turn, loves Sonic and wants to be with him.

Kit only wants to be with Surge because he was forced to. Starline wanted to use Surge and Kit to stop Sonic and Eggman's cycle, but he made a whole new one instead. Kit is trapped in a cycle of pain, knows he's trapped in it, and is helpless to escape it.

Tails isn't, and Kit sees that in Tails. Subconsciously, he sees Tails and only sees how he fails to live up to his life's mission, and how he'll never have what Tails has.

After all, why would anyone bother with him? They already have Tails.

Is he a target? I like it here now.

[apppletea]

fated to pretend.

chapter two

platonic yan!batfam x blind!reader

tw: suicide attempts

It was such a cold night, a woman was violently grabbing her little daughter, forcing her to walk faster when she clearly knew that her daughter was blind and knew little about the streets.

‘mommy! you hurt me...’ The little girl sobbed, still trying to keep up with her mother, whose patience was clearly running out.

‘You, dumb kid, you don't even know how to do that!’ the lady shouted, some people looked at the situation with sadness but still did nothing, they complain so much and do nothing.

‘but mommy— i'm a good kid! I swear!’ She screamed back, still not understanding where to walk. What a big mistake (name).

The woman suddenly stopped her hurried steps, causing the little girl to crash into her and fall onto the cold, hard cement.

‘mommy?’ She called her mother but received no answer, her nerves and anxiety intensified even more and soon her breath was cut off, still desperately calling her mother but she just watched from a distance as she got into a black car, looked back at her little daughter and sighed tiredly, regretting having brought into the world such an innocent creature like her.

‘Let's go.’

The car started and drove off, leaving you to the dangers of the streets, with no defense for yourself. From that day on, you understood that it wasn't worth chasing people who only kept you away, that memory it's like a nightmare that repeats itself over and over again.

You understood that your current family wasn't worth it if they just left you aside, you could go out on your own or at least try, however, you knew that at least once you were old enough you would leave and be much more independent.

That was all you wanted but fate has other plans.

‘Your mother has told us wonderful things about you!’ The lady exclaimed so excitedly as she snuggled up to her husband, looking at the beauty of her niece's creation.

You had dissociated so much that you forgot half of the conversation, you didn't even know if Bruce and his children were still in the room, anyway, this was only your business and no one else's in that family.

‘my mother? oh.’ You murmured softly, lowering your head as you played with your hands that at some point, you started to hurt too much.

‘She's very sorry for what she did! She wants to see you.’ The man said, smiling so much that even if you didn't see them, you would know that they make up for that pure joy of seeing you, how cheesy.

You felt the anger of seeing that woman again. You tried to smile, but it was probably no use. This was all stressful, and it was your birthday! How hateful.

‘Your mother misses you, really... Maybe we could—’

‘NO!’ you screamed, silencing your uncles or whoever, your breathing quickened, you hate seeing that woman, you hate her, you hate this family, you hate everyone, they probably see you as a weirdo, a stranger in this family but it's okay, you always were, no one could really change that.

You didn't shout much and when you did, it bothered you, right? But none of your brothers could know it.

Half the family was here, chatting quietly in another part of the mansion, forgetting you in the process of everything, but your scream disconcerted them a lot. Damian heard you and quickly ran into the living room only to be stopped by Alfred who was proudly aware and waiting for him to be called.

‘You—!’

‘Me.’

While you, you... You were so upset that you didn't want to talk to anyone anymore, you knew that if you left right now they would stop you and God knows what they could say or do to you and your last hopes were that butler, the only one.

‘A— Alfred!’ This time you didn't scream, fearing something worse so you just said it in a slightly lower tone since you knew he was close, waiting for your cry for help and so it was.

The man walked in with such a serene face even if the previous discussion had made him feel uncomfortable.

‘sir and... miss, I need you to leave.’ — ‘BUT! why?!’

The argument escalated, you hated hearing the voices of that family and you hated seeing how Alfred dealt alone, yeah... You hate this family.

You sighed and started walking trying to get out of there, still stumbling in some places.

You had let your guard down for the first time, the subject with your mother was something you hated to talk about, you hated feeling how you trembled just by hearing words about her, why were you born? Why why why why why.

You were so caught up in your own thoughts of pain that you simply didn't pay attention to Damian, or anyone from this stupid family, they only cared when they showed up and then they left, they left you alone, if you were the same as before that would have devastated you but now you just didn't care, just like they don't care about you either.

Should you die? Yes, you could definitely try... lock you up and and....Yes, you will.

You walked and walked, with only one idea, to get rid of this unhappy life you got, this life that hates you that even had to put obstacles in your way to finally bring you down.

The noises had become muffled around you and as you felt yourself getting further and further away, you felt how the cold darkness of the mansion had subjected you to those thoughts and bom. A blow brought you to your senses.

You had collided with something or someone, it was hard as a wall but soft enough to try to tell it's a human or a dead.

You knew who he was, who was the one who always looked in the dark, who simply ignored you and acted as if you never existed, yes, the biggest failure of this family apart from you, Jason.

His presence was never pleasant and you always ignored him because he did the same thing, and you did it again, you pretended he wasn't there, you pretended to be the useless blind girl. You touched your sore forehead and sighed, you started walking again, this time trying to reach the stair railing to guide yourself better and get to your room as quickly as possible and you did.

You quickly locked yourself in and sighed. What would you do? You couldn't think properly in that state, you really couldn't then... Why?

You ran your hands through your hair, desperate, you didn't know whether to pull it out or not, you didn't know whether to scream or just cry, you hated feeling weak under their gaze.

Not even the girls in the family were here although they wouldn't be of help either, horrible, horrible!

‘ugh....’ Your throat hurt and you felt a sour taste, you wanted to catch the food that was going to come out in your mouth, but could you? You felt terrible and soon you felt the taste leave your mouth, a choking sound echoed in the room and you sobbed. ‘ugh— I feel sick....’

Now you were in the solitude of your room and your intrusive thoughts, becoming clearer and clearer, you didn't want to give in quickly.

HAII, SORRY FOR THE WAIT, I WAS SO BUSY WITH SCHOOL!!!! =⁠_⁠=

I'll soon make a taglist with the people who asked me the other time and if you want to be added, just ask without hesitation! :3

[yoiisa]

this is part two of Looks Like the Real Thing!!

Tags: TW for discussions of death and familial arguments where children get involved. AU where Rin is dead. Hurt/comfort, angst with some fluff, sae is trying his best to take accountability, and you are a wonderful wife!

The rest of the week is . . . tense to say the least.

Haru seems to be adverse to Sae like his father's the plague. He interacts with you and Yuki just fine, but the minute Sae enters the room, he falls silent and still. You know it's eating at your husband, even if he does his best to try and hide it.

Finally, the tense atmosphere reaches a breaking point of sorts.

"Sae, please, talk to him," you beg as he gets ready for bed, "He misses you."

"Does he?" Sae asks, turning the sink off and grabbing a sponge to wipe the water away.

"Sae, please. Be anything but sassy right now," you sigh, walking up to his side. You put your hand on his arm gently squeezing his bicep. "He's a little kid, he doesn't know how to deal with his emotions."

Sae stares down at the basin of the sink before turning to you. "Evidently, neither do I."

You shake you head and wrap your arms around his middle, hugging him tight. He's still for a moment, before his hand comes up to rest on the back of your head. Sae turns his face nuzzles into your hair. You turn your head and kiss him deep a slow. It's not enough to heal him and everything he's experienced, but it's enough that he can marginally relax in your arms.

"Hold him," you whisper as you part. "Hug him, rock him, put him to sleep in your arms. It won't fix everything, but it'll be a start at least."

"That's not . . . that's not the problem," Sae groans, stepping back and running a hand through his hair. "I just don't know how to look at him and not see . . . him. Rin."

The name sounds uncomfortable coming from Sae. He says it like his throats a rusty machine that hasn't been oiled in forever, the cogs being forced to run. It takes some energy out of him, you can tell, but it's the most Sae has talked about his late brother in a while, so you consider it a win nonetheless.

"Go," you say more firmly. "He should still be awake reading. Put him to sleep."

Sae sighs and nods, pressing one more kiss to your forehead before disappearing your sight and down the hallways to Haru's bedroom. As he opens the door, he sees Yuki tucking her little brother under the covers of his bed. She startles and Haru's eyes fly open. Both kids freeze under their father's gaze.

"Yuki," Sae's voice is flat as he steps inside, closing the door behind him.

"Mama didn't put Haru to sleep," Yuki explains sheepishly. "I didn't think you would either, so I decided-"

"You're not in trouble," Sae says softly, ruffling his baby girl's hair. He sits on the edge of Haru's bed, and his heart squeezes as the little boy shies away from him. Nevertheless, Sae continues. "I was coming, I just had to do some things first. I- I wanted to talk to you both about something."

Slowly both kids get closer to their father. Haru sits up and scoots closer and Yuki sits across her dad, her hands on his knee.

Sae takes a deep breath before finally speaking. "I'm sorry. I know I probably scared both of you when I got mad, and I'm sorry. I'm extra sorry to you, Haru," Sae's hand rests on his son's head, and he brings Haru closer. His son tucks himself into Sae's side and relaxes a little in his dad's warmth. "I shouldn't have said such horrible things to you. I . . . I can't say how sorry I really am.

"The thing is, recently I've been thinking a lot about my little brother."

"You have a little brother?" Yuki asks, perking up a bit more. Even Haru grows more interested.

Sae's mouth quirks up barely. He nods and explains, "Had. I had a little brother. He's gone now. He died before both of you were born."

Both Itoshi kids are silent before Haru begins to cry. Fat tears roll down his eyes and he shakes his head. Sae shifts Haru so that the little boy is in his lap now. Haru buries his face into Sae's shirt and Yuki just stares at her dad wide eyed.

"How'd he die?" she asks, her voice small and a bit afraid.

Sae takes a deep breath before he whispers, "Sometimes the world is mean to people. As your father, I'll do what I can to protect you from those mean people, but as an older brother . . . I didn't do my part. Sometimes, when the world is too mean, people can die.

"My little brother, Rin, was a victim of a too-mean world, and I was one of the people who was mean. I didn't realize it at the time, but just because I didn't know doesn't mean it wasn't true. Anyways, everything was really bad for Uncle Rin and he," Sae's voice breaks and he pauses, trying to collect himself, "he died."

Both of Sae's kids are silent as Sae talks. "I got married to your mom a year later. We were supposed to get married sooner, but your uncle's death messed me up. I tried to ignore it, but your mother refused to marry me until she said enough time had passed.

"But it wasn't enough time. I don't know if it'll ever be enough time. I never properly dealt with my emotions, the way Mama teaches you two to do. They just kept getting bigger and bigger inside of me, and I just exploded. I'm sorry."

Another tense silence falls over the three of them, before Haru mumbles, "I don't think you're mean daddy."

Yuki nods in agreement. "He's right, you're not!"

Sae squeezes his eyes shut, the sting in them threatening a wave of tears to come flooding out of him. He wraps his arms around both of his children, pulling them tight against him.

"I can be. I can be really mean some times," he whispers, his voice broken and hoarse. "I'm telling you this so you can tell me. Whenever I'm being mean, promise me you'll tell me, okay? Haru, Yuki, please." After both kids give their assent, Sae kisses them both on the head. "I love you both. I'm so sorry Haru, again, for being mean. You know that I don't hate you right? I could never hate you, ever."

Haru nods. "I know Daddy. I know you care about me a lot. Mama and Yuki both say so."

"But do you feel it?"

" . . . sometimes," Haru shrugs.

"Sometimes isn't enough," Sae sighs. He gives his son another squeeze before promising, "I'll make sure you feel it all the time, don't worry. Alright, Haru?"

Haru nods and Yuki smiles at her little brother's behavior. She hugs Haru from behind, sandwiching him with her father.

A couple more minutes pass by before your bedroom door opens. In steps your husband, a kid in each hand. You take Yuki from him and help situate them between the two of you. You hold Sae's hand over their bodies, Haru pressed against Sae and Yuki against you.

Sae stays up for a bit, watching over his family while they sleep, before his eyes finally start to droop. The last thing he hears before he finally gets some proper rest is his baby boy's voice, high pitched and innocent whispering, "Goodnight. I love you, daddy."

If a tear leaks from Sae's eye, well, no ones awake to see.

a/n: currently rewatching aot and i'm on season three and red swan was playing while I was writing this and baby eremika and armin got me in my feels

Taglist!!: @levihanmyotp

[offtorivendell]

What you all seem to be missing is that this isn't even a topic of infertility, it's of delivery. The discussion is NEVER "can Elain get pregnant" because the problem was not "could Feyre get pregnant." The plot introduced into the series was what happens after she became pregnant and carried the baby to term, could a non Illyrian safely deliver a baby with wings which has now carried over into the discussion of Elain since it's canon that Feyre and Nesta were changed while we were not told the same of Elain. It's not a reason Elain can't be with Az but it is a valid topic of discussion within this series since the author posed it as a plotline. In the real world, most women safely choose a Caesarean section if they're dealing with delivery issues in their pregnancy so acting like delivering a winged baby has real world implications is simply you jumping on a pedestal for something to yell about. That's not to say there aren't delivery issues in the real world but this scenario is not one of them.

TW: death, infertility, pregnancy and childbirth related trauma. Also a brief mention of sexual assault.

Hi anon,

Respectfully, please stop being deliberately obtuse. Let's break this down, line by line.

What you all seem to be missing is that this isn't even a topic of infertility, it's of delivery. The discussion is NEVER "can Elain get pregnant" because the problem was not "could Feyre get pregnant."

I'm aware! I assume that you sent me this ask because I reblogged an old post of mine yesterday, so what you seem to be missing is that I've already discussed this.

Here, where I implicitly acknowledged both infertility and trauma related to pregnancy and childbirth as potential triggers in the post:

And here, where I explicitly stated that we know you guys don't mean that Elain is unable to conceive at all - which is impossible to know, as per the text she hasn't tried. If you read what I wrote, you'd see I said that - assuming Nesta had not changed her anatomy and would not be able to in the future, or that Elriel would even conceive winged children if they wanted kids at all - Elain and Azriel together would be functionally infertile*, as any child with wings (which is not a guarantee, by the way, though as you guys treat it as a foregone conclusion I worked off that premise) would die before or during birth, killing Elain at the same time.

* Is it more correct to say they'd suffer from "impaired fecundity"? Yes! But please read a little further.

The plot introduced into the series was what happens after she became pregnant and carried the baby to term, could a non Illyrian safely deliver a baby with wings which has now carried over into the discussion of Elain since it's canon that Feyre and Nesta were changed while we were not told the same of Elain.

It's really not hard to understand that we are discussing a fictional woman's ability to successfully have a specific man's children, and that their impaired fecundity does not (or should not) impact her worthiness to be loved by that man; that it has been equated to the struggles that many real, living people have experienced with regards to conceiving, carrying their babies to term and giving birth; and that - while an oversimplification - all these issues are being lumped under the umbrella of "infertility struggles" to be concise and accessible.

That being said, let me correct you quickly. While you very carefully said that we were "not told the same of Elain," with regards to Nesta changing her anatomy, you neglected to mention that SJM actually had her choose wording that didn't explicitly exclude Elain from the change, either.

The brisk spring wind whipped her golden-brown hair across her face. “I gave it back to the Cauldron in exchange for the knowledge of how to save them.” She swallowed. “But a little remains. I think something else—someone else—stopped the Cauldron from taking all of it. And I made some changes of my own.” The Mother. The only being who would see the sacrifice Nesta had made and give a little back. Perhaps it was she who had peered out at them through the Mask. “What did you change?” Nesta rested a hand on her abdomen. “I changed myself a little, too. So none of us will have to go through this again.” - ACOSF, chapter 78

Also of note, Nesta specified she had the "knowledge" to perform the change, which suggests that even if Elain wasn't changed then, it could be done in the future.

It's not a reason Elain can't be with Az...

Literally all that ever needs to be said on the topic.

... but it is a valid topic of discussion within this series since the author posed it as a plotline.

You should have stopped after the first half of the sentence. Elain's lack of pliable bones - ie. the second half of the "Illyrian womb" discussion that posits Gwyn as the only logical love interest - is not even a medically accurate theory, so it shouldn't be entertained full stop. While SJM may have posed Illyrian womb/wing issues as an issue for Feyre and Rhys, she never suggested it would impact any couple's decision to get or stay together. In fact, Nesta and Cassian were mates while Nesta was still unable to birth winged babies, too.

In the real world, most women safely choose a Caesarean section if they're dealing with delivery issues in their pregnancy so acting like delivering a winged baby has real world implications is simply you jumping on a pedestal for something to yell about. That's not to say there aren't delivery issues in the real world but this scenario is not one of them.

Once again I'm asking you to put your thinking cap on.

Obviously we do not have to consider the delivery of winged babies in the real world, but if you cannot see how the frequent suggestion (that Elain's hypothetical inability to successfully have Azriel's children is a valid reason as to why an author would separate, or even hint at separating, a potential couple) could be hurtful and upsetting to the many people who have/are currently struggling with infertility - or who have lost their much wanted and loved babies during the course of pregnancy or childbirth - then I have to assume that you're either suffering from a catastrophic lack of empathy or, respectfully, you have a sheep or two loose in the top paddock.

As I mentioned in the post I linked above, if the fandom is (rightfully!) expected to handle the topic of Gwyn finding love after experiencing SA with grace - out of respect for real life assault survivors - then it is not wrong to expect the same degree of care in return when discussing the anatomy change in ACOSF, out of respect for those who have trauma associated with infertility, pregnancy and childbirth in real life. It's an incredibly simple act to listen in good faith, rather than jumping straight to accusing us of wanting to "yell about" something just because you are prioritising shipping discourse over being kind.

It's 2025, the "Elain doesn't have an Illyrian womb or pliable bones" theory is both medically inaccurate and hurtful, and it really needs to end here.

Please.

[fleetingcalypso]

Greetings, dearest Calypso

I sincerely hope this message finds thee in good health, both mentally and physically.

I come forward to present thee with a quite curious request, as I'd be quite interested to see thy opinion on such situation.

Imagine, in a distant future, in which Henry Winter was able to finish college and didn't die and maybe he and reader were able to marry, they live in an isolated house, surrounded by nature, the horrors of the college years long forgotten, perhaps.

If he sees him and reader spending their lives together until the end, would he ask them for children? Would he be willing (and wanting) to start a family? How would he propose to the reader such Idea? Maybe some fluff, you do not have to add suggesting tones to it if you're not comfortable with it (ex. Implied baby-making, jokes about it etc), but I'd love to just see some fluff about them. Feel free to add the undertones you desire, as I noticed the exquisite subtle manipulation you write, I love it so much. I wish you a good day.

≋ Married life is hardly uncomplicated, especially when it has such a tumultuous history behind it. That's not to say it is all bad.

≋ Henry Winter x GN!Reader ≋

≋ Word Count: 5853 words.

≋CW: This fic wil be divided into two parts. This part feature GN!Reader, the second part will feature AFAB!Reader due to discussions of childbirth and pregnancies. Neither fic will include female pronouns for reader.

≋TW: Hallucinations, religious themes, light nsfw/suggestive themes, needle (weaving needle) mention.

After everything that transpired, lingering in Vermont was not a wise decision.

 Henry had been crystal clear about it: he wanted to leave as fast as possible, it didn’t matter where as long as it was far away from the place we both called home. It took hours upon hours of convincing, reasons upon reasons laid out in front of him for him to –although reluctantly– agree on graduating first; that same day he barely gave me enough time to pack a suitcase before speeding us to the airport, wouldn’t even tell me what flight we were boarding on just that we were going to have a fresh start. I haven’t seen nor spoken to my friends in years, no letters nor phone calls. I miss them dearly, but he is set in abandoning the past to corrode with time and eventually disappear, swept away by the wind.

He has changed in the many moons that have passed since our getaway: in a subtle almost sweet way he’s kinder, softer. He makes sure to tell me he loves me each day, though his honesty is rather ambiguous. He gifts me small treasures, one of a kind pieces, for no reason at all. When the Sun rises his fingers trace my face and when the Moon takes her rightful spot in the night sky he holds me to his chest, yet oftentimes throughout the day he feels as though he is stuck somewhere else with his mind, promenading in the meanders of a haunting history we know far too well. A history I cannot save him from, no matter how much effort I may put in making him happy. I am unable to save myself from it, as well, after all. Our souls are forever tainted, no matter how much we bathe and scrub our bodies.

We married at some point during our escape. He didn’t have a ring, but then again, he didn’t need to. One day he was on one knee, the next we were already wed. It was but a quick ceremony, at times I feel like perhaps it went by in the blink of an eye, but it’s okay. It’s what he thought would be the best option for us and at that point I didn’t have it in myself to argue anymore. It was during a rare, yet much needed, phone call home that we reluctantly confessed to his mother why we escaped in such a hurry: under the false guise of just wanting to cement our affections once and for all we fed one white lie after the other to an unsuspecting woman, that was just oh so happy her son had finally found love. We settled down by the countryside in a beautiful house that gives me flashbacks to Francis’ laugh, much to Henry’s dislike. These days I’m not sure he enjoys much else besides writing, locked in his study, forsaking the light of day and laying by my side in our marital bed as we share a cigarette.

Unfortunately ‘good things never last’ is a hymn I’ve grown to fully comprehend a lifetime ago, the very moment I heard the gut wrenching, bone chilling noise Bunny’s body made when it was done falling off that damned cliff. I still hear it sometimes: sitting on the porch of our villa – a, perhaps too kind, gift by my now mother-in-law – sipping a warm cup of tea, watching the birds fly back to their nests after a long day of losing themselves in the thrill of flight. As expected, Henry is in his study, surrounded by inks, papers and documents I do not much care about and for just a second my insubordinate psyche drifts to the past, to an echo of what once was laughter and academic conversations, now turned deafening silence and haunting guilt. It only takes a second, a fleeting moment of reminiscing for me to feel Bunny’s thud right next to me, on my porch. I do not dare move a muscle because I know he is watching me with glassy eyes, his glasses broken and his head turned at an inhuman angle. I don’t have it in me to sneak a peek and give into my hallucinations. Allowing him the pleasure of plaguing my reality, as well as my nightmares, would drag me too deep into culpability.

I’m sure Henry sees him as well, at times. He will never admit to it.

His voice snaps me out of my thoughts, yanking me back into a most heavenly and cruel present: Bunny is dead, my friends have drifted away, I am somewhere in the countryside alienated from society, but at last, I’m with my lover who cares deeply for me and handles me as if I’m made of crystal. “Love, come inside, it’s getting dark.” Wordlessly I follow my husband into our home. It’s an arduous task for the terrors to follow me when he takes my hand in mine ever so gently and guides me to safety, mimicking a knight in shining armor. My savior leading me through our own private pearly gates.

Dinner is eerily silent, the only noise being cutlery scraping against porcelain plates and ice cold wine being poured in glasses. Not a pet’s barking nor a baby’s crying to be heard. I shatter the quiet that has settled upon us with quite the daring observation, "Are you happy?" 

His arm stills mid-air as he’s bringing a fork to his mouth. The look he gives me through his lenses it's as if I am an open book and he could recite every single one of the inked paragraphs inside of me. 

I insist, "Are you?" And finally he sets his fork down. I hold his attention in my shaking palm. His shoulders are stiff and there’s a small muscle in his jaw that twitches before he speaks and his voice fills the calm of our dining room.

"I am."

"Despite us only having each other, with not a single soul around for miles?"

“Where is this coming from?” I don’t miss the subtle accusative tone buried in what appears to be an innocent question, only a fool would be capable of ignoring it. His gaze pierces right through me, it renders me unable to ever look away, the ocean blue of his eyes is a sea I would gladly choose to swim into until my limbs no longer could keep me afloat and my lungs were filled with him, only with him.

"I'm not too sure," I lie with not a little difficulty, it all tastes far too bitter on my tongue. It’s a shame I’ve grown rusty, to speak falsehood had become a habit when it was to keep everyone in line for him, "I suppose I was wondering about our future. Are we to bury ourselves in our solitude for the rest of our lives?" The absence of our friends is more than noticeable, Bunny's absence even more than that. Living this way, pretending we did not murder our friend and abandon the rest to their fate is an herculean feat. 

"What if I said yes? What if that's precisely what I want? For us to only have one another, for the rest of our lives, until our home is but dust and ruins with the only thing remaining of us being our bones entangled with each other in one final hug. Wouldn't you like that?" 

It’s a dead end, I can feel it coming as my throat goes dry, this seemingly sinless query is rapidly morphing into an intricate maze that could rival Daedalus’ craftsmanship, a maze where I am the vicious minotaur, unable to find any sort of exit, unable to see the stars once again. As for Henry, he is my hero, my Theseus, ready to slay my beastly need for freedom with his own desires. I can see it already, how my horned head is thrown out on the sand of Crete, how he’d sit by my side and two pairs of eyes would admire the starry sky.

“I would. There’s nothing I’d love more, believe me,” I  pleased him, the imperceptible tilt of his lips’ corner tells me so. Stroking his ego has become second nature, he’s a servant to his own hubris, shackled to it, an eager prisoner, “But I feel… lonely. It is lonely here.” 

It’s not loneliness. It’s jealousy and it eats at the extremely rotten core of my being, ruining me from the inside out. Each waking day I spot the crows, stopping by my window and accepting any breadcrumb I offer them. They come and they go, occasionally bringing some presents for me along with their presence: small things such as acorns, nuts, buttons, mostly rubbish that I treasure in a box in the closet along with our friends’ letters. There’s four or maybe seven crows that keep coming back. Henry is more of an ornithologist than I’ve ever been, he’d be able to differentiate all of my feathered companions in just a quick glance.

Take me with you, my friends, I silently pray while my beloved sits in front of me, no sign of a reply falls from him, gift me nightmare colored wings and welcome me in the heavens alongside you, I’d inconspicuously blend in with you, harbingers of doom, and fly in the sky away from this gilded birdcage and into the open world. 

The crows are not the only ones I send my pleas and supplications too, more than once my thoughts have sent me to ask the Queen of the Gods for help, for the magnificent lady Ἥρα Τ��λεία to bless this union with the fulfillment which I feel is nowhere in sight regardless of it all: we have a beautiful home with an even more beautiful scenery around us, enough money for Henry to forfeit being a writer for the rest of his life and still live a lavish life, a diamond ring worth a small fortune sits on my ring finger and yet, it all feels empty. We are happy, but feeling happy and feeling fulfilled rarely meant the same when it came to my dearest love.

When his lips slightly move apart I feel time stop and I can almost predict what his responses are going to be: “Aren't I enough company for you?”

“You knew what you were getting into when you married me.”

“We’ve done the impossible and built something perfect, my muse. I’m sure you’re just tired, why don’t you get ready for bed?”

Unforeseen words flow out of his mouth like an angels’ choir, they lure me into a sempiternal cocoon of silk and love, he speaks with a hint of an ephemeral promise when he drowns all my expectations in the ocean that is my affections for him: “I have been neglecting you, haven’t I?” He’s enthralling in the way he accepts his fault without his spine bending from his wrongdoings. He doesn’t seem to be surprised by my nodding along, the softness in his gaze is a one way ticket to my heart threatening to jump out of my chest.

“Come here,” He pats his leg and I rise to reach my altar, my preacher and my holy communion blended together as one being. The disrespect I throw at his sanctity when I defile his hallow personal space and find my seat on his lap is all forgiven by his grace, “How long have you felt this way, my bird?” His lips are resting against my temple, I can feel the vibration in his chest with every syllable, “Tell me.”  I hope he will absolve me of all my sins if I let myself loose in his confessional, I just need to find it in my soul to bear myself to him, fears and secrets and all. 

“I’m unable to exactly pinpoint when these feelings have begun planting roots in my mind, but I could estimate around a couple years after we appointed this building as our home. Look me in the eyes and tell me you haven’t felt it as well, Henry, I beg of you. We have banished ourselves from any chance at a regular life. I do not feel alive, I feel as though I am merely surviving day by day, trying to find balance while walking on a violin string fluctuating between the fiery pits of hell and a spot of honor behind the pearly gates. I love you. You are my greatest joy, the very air that I breathe, but it is not enough, not nearly. I miss what we used to be: young, careless and perhaps too proud to face the consequences of our actions, but I suppose that’s what youth is all about, after all. My life is slipping from right between my fingertips and the more I pretend everything is fine, the harsher reality hits me.”

He sits soundless, letting me pour my heart out. He doesn’t dare interrupt me until my eyes meet his and for my bravery in speaking my mind he rewards me with his palms cupping my face and his lips pressing against mine in what could perfectly be the gentlest kiss we’ve ever shared in our lifetimes. Time stops abruptly, the critters in the woods around our home freeze in their movements, the Earth ceases her rotation just for us to live in the moment. The only thing that assures me I'm in the land of the living is the thumping in my chest.

When the time for softness is over and he pulls away, for a moment I wholly believe I am not human, instead my being is but an amalgamation of disappointment and greed, stitched together by celestial barbed wires of desperate need. His brow furrows as he shifts his vision lower to inspect the golden band around my finger, surely going over my monologue word for word, searching for where he- where we went wrong, when all the flowers we have meticulously watered began wilting and losing their petals. “I can see why you’d feel this way,” I hang onto the promise of something more, I desperately grab with both hands the rope thrown to me that promises me some comfort, some hope, a smidge of light at the end of the tunnel.

It never comes.

He pulls me up to my feet prior to him standing as well, his plate is still half full on the table. I can’t imagine I’ve drained his appetite so harshly. “I am retiring to my study. There’s some documents I care to translate. I’ll join you in bed once I’m done, my bird.” Were it another day I would have gone along with it

“What about what I care for, Henry?”

This conversation can’t be over so fast, it just can’t. I’ve spent God knows how long feeling wrong, feeling ashamed for desiring more than what we have. He can’t do this to me, not after I abandoned Vermont, my friends, everything I felt familiar behind to follow him. Swallowing the ever growing resentment down my throat I keep my head up. “Your translations can wait another day. It’s just ink and paper, I am your spouse, damn it. I open up to you and you give some bullshit reply that means nothing at all.”

He says nothing. He doesn't give me the satisfaction of a fight, the roaring flame of passion in yells, screams and shouts, it would be the one thing needed to make me feel alive right now. The temptation to empty my lungs onto him with sentences I could never take back is strong, stronger than me, but just before I can say a word his hand softly pats my head, and he's gone out the kitchen in a matter of seconds, the muffled clicking sound I hear makes me aware of the fact that, as he said he would, he's in his study. The only inhabitants of our kitchen are me, our unfinished dishes and my dissatisfaction.

Not much later, when the food that I had lovingly prepared for us sits in the fridge and my hands are wrinkly from scrubbing at plates and cutlery I grant myself a moment of respite, the house is too silent for my taste, it is only me and Henry, at the end of the day. It’s an invisible pull, the one tugging at me as I make my way towards our piano and carefully lift the fallboard. He's never looked at it more than once, always and forever letting me be the one to delight in touching it so gracefully, so lovingly. It’s a familiar melody, the one I settle on playing, one I had played for my friends so many times that I barely require a music sheet anymore. It starts off soothing, soft and delicate, almost giving an idea of fragility, and despite knowing the story this composition belongs to I can’t help but create my own narrative: a caged nightingale, trapped in the biggest, most lavish golden cage the universe has to offer. It sits quiet and pretty, singing its best songs, chirping the most melodic of tunes just for the outside world to hear. 

As I began caressing the instrument with romantic touches, it didn't take long for softness and delicateness to hide away in shame with the way my fingers glided across the keys, much like a mad person. My back slouches, my body begins swaying along with the rhythm as my hair falls into my face, I’m transfixed by the tale I’m crafting, the slow and solemn notes are the perfect background for my little bird’s development. It all serves as the perfect catharsis to my inner torment.

It’s tired, it incessantly flies and flies from side to side into his mammoth sized cage, with the bars too close together to even attempt squeezing through them. The illusion of freedom is all it knows. Its poor wings, battered and bruised are worn out from slamming against the bars of its enclosure.

A warm hand resting on my shoulder makes my fingers slip and abruptly makes me recover from my reverie, putting an end to my story and making my notes slur together.  “Enough of Swan Lake,” Henry’s aggravated voice comes from behind me, “I can’t focus with you making a racket over here.” Very well, his wish is my command: enough of Swan Lake. Time for another song, then. Pressing with force on the piano’s keys I flaunt my day of wrath to my spectator. Dies Irae. If he refuses to listen to my words, he will have no other choice than to listen to my playing and what I am attempting to convey through it. I let my lip curl in a carefree smile as my body shrugs off his touch, the way my limbs dance across this ivory sea with specks of obsidian almost hypnotizes me into a delusion of change. It rekindles the flame inside me I so foolishly believed had been snuffed out. 

I recall Charles one summer we spent at the lakehouse, performing Chopin halfway through a glass of whiskey, most likely his second or third one. I wondered if by looking at me in this moment Henry could see what we had left behind to rot in the shadows. If he could see white flashes of Charles bent over the piano, of Camilla, of Francis, of Richard and of Bunny. I hope he sees everything he forced me to abandon and I hope the remorse grips his heart so tight it burns marks on it. The satisfaction taking over me is otherworldly. 

The fallboard barely misses my fingers when he slams it shut, sending me back in a flinch. There’s no need for me to turn my head to feel how livid he is as I abandon the plush piano seat, smoothing down the folds in my clothes. The room is filled with silence more meaningful than the loud melodies I lost myself in. “You used to enjoy it when I played,” I comment, as the back of my hand caresses his cheek for little over a couple seconds until my wrist is in his frustrated grasp.

“I am trying to work. It is challenging to do so when you’re all I can hear.”

“Is that truly my fault?”

With a slow and mechanical gesture he kisses my knuckles, the warmth of his sigh hits my skin, “I am trying to work, my bird.” He insists, with a warning hidden in his tone. I know better than to poke a sleeping bear. 

“I’ll leave you to it, then. Join me in bed once you’re done.” I echo the words he had so thoughtlessly sent my way earlier and not awaiting his dismissal I vanish from his sight and he makes no movements to stop me. What I would give to have eyes on the back of my head and peek at his reaction, to be a fly on the wall of the room spying on his every twitch. In spite of me, when our mattress dips under the weight of his body, I burrow my head into his chest and he wraps his arms around me. 

“My bird,” He purrs as the moonlight sneaks us pecks through the window, “I understand you’re upset,” I’ve exhausted all my replies for the day, I love him and I hate him. I want to build him an altar and I want to leave him adrift at sea. The heat of the scalding blood running in his veins is all I can feel when I slide my hand under his shirt. I need to know he’s here, alive and well. His heart beating under my palm is more spellbinding than any of the melodies I could ever learn. And while with time, my memories could very well choose to set fire to all the scores sitting in my mind, his heartbeat is something I’ll safeguard forever. I correct him, “I’m very upset.” A small noncommittal noise escapes him, his gentle hands tilt my head up, resting his thumb on my chin, “You're very upset,” He repeats, resting his forehead against mine, his glasses long forgotten on his nightstand, “Is there anything I can do to make you any less upset?..” It's impossible for me to evaluate his sincerity with the way his lips move across my jaw. The language of love is one he’s fluent in, more than Greek, Latin, Italian or any other tongue his polyglot self has become educated in.  It’s impossible to come up with a solution to my aching troubles, not when I’m wondering if I’ve pushed him too far, not when he’s feeding me all the attention I’ve been so starved of. I soak it up like a sponge, forfeit any sort of cutlery when I sit at his table and gobble up the fruits of his passion. The bedding rustles when he rolls onto his back, pulling me along with him until my thighs are on either side of him. He’s at my mercy: under me, strong hands grabbing onto my hips while my weight presses him into the mattress. The fabric of his nightshirt barely wrinkles under my palms. He is shackled to me and to what I want to say.

“You could listen to me, for starters.” “I am listening now, aren’t I? And what I hear is that my precious songbird is unhappy with the comfortable life I provide for us, for what reason I haven’t the slightest clue.”

“I simply want more, Henry.” It’s pathetic. I sense my own misery radiating in waves, enough to desiccate every single leaf in the verdant expanse of trees around our home and drain any nearby body of water. Would my friends grieve my sinner’s love if they were to witness it? Would they send compassionate glances my way? Time has molded me into an unstable clay sculpture of what I used to be. The marble carved in the shape of an impeccable scholar, trustworthy friend and loving companion has rusted due to the corrosive tears it keeps crying, it sits hidden behind a curtain of rubies, anxiously waiting for the day something will be able to restore it and place it back on the podium of honor it deserves.

He shifts his hands, tracing my body with his midas touch, making me golden with each touch and caress, “Well then, what is your idea of more?” He questions, making my mouth go arid. What is my idea of more? I do not know. Anything would do: not having to pretend the crows are my friends, not having to live hidden away in a remote part of the world, not having our friend’s specter occasionally manifest itself to me. I clench my teeth, holding back the tsunami of truth I wish to unleash on him. I've concealed so much from him it’s beginning to wonder if he barely knows me at all.

His touch travels until it finds my forearms, my wrists, my palms and his fingers are quick to intertwine with mine in his second plea for me to open up, only now he seems eager to fix me, to drip molten angels’ halos down the cracks of my wretched existence and make me whole once again. “I don’t know.” He scoffs, turning his head to the full moon sitting proud in the grand expense of the inky sky. I allow myself to slump back onto the mattress next to his supine figure, “I don’t know. I want to soar the skies with wings of wax and feathers, I want to dive in unknown waters, I want to capture the brightest stars and store them in a jar only to set them free the second I tire of them.”

“And am I included in these fantasies of yours?”

“You could be.”

I want to reach out to him. I want to hold him tight in my arms, I want to place my lips on his and taste tobacco and whiskey, I want to place our hands side by side and admire the matching rings around our fingers. The way he clicks his tongue in what I assume is disapproval sends me from one extreme of love to the other: I want to show him I can survive without him, I want to make him admit that what’s keeping me alive isn’t his affections but my own devotion to life, I want him to gaze up at the sky and spot me moving through the clouds.

In our early adulthood we were nothing if not masquerading young godlings with the world at our fingertips, high on our egos and drunk on our grandioseness, we could have swam laps in the pungent, bitter wine pressed from our self-importance. Not one living being could have pierced the shields we’d sanctimoniously put up.

The conversation has found its death, maybe it has never even lived in the first place and I’ve poignantly imagined the whole thing. A quick funeral is hosted for it in the recesses of my mind while my eyes close and I shift into a more comfortable position to sleep.

“I love you,” He whispers, turning his back to me. I fail to reciprocate his cloying words before darkness swallows me whole. As we sink into sleep our bed feels the same as an oversized casket, too comfortable and welcoming for my own good and I feel a little closer to Bunny than I ever was during his living time.

My dreams are a blur, flashes transcendentally weaved together with threads coming from my past, my present and my future to form a tapestry I’d rather unravel or light ablaze. The needle passes through mysterious hands, each one adds a new row to it, the picture it wants to depict is still unclear and the need to discover it urgently fades the moment I shift my attention upwards, to the entity carefully and meticulously weaving the story of my life.

I’m met with a boyish grin and a messy mop of blonde hair. An unforgettable burst of laughter rings in my ears, time freezes everything including the blood in my veins.

The wind is knocked out of me as I jolt awake, pushing myself upright and grasping at my chest. I am robbed of speech just like that. All it took was for a dead man to spot me and offer his joyful stare. Undeterred by the years, his face sits right behind my eyelids, waiting for the moment I let him back in. This time when a hand finds rest onto my shoulder I lean into it. 

A warm, mellifluous murmur wraps around me, trying to push me out of my sweven, acting as my favorite nepenthe. “It’s over. It’s all over. There’s nothing to worry about now.” Nothing it’s over, nothing has ever been over since everything has begun. I haven’t known peace since that grand time under the moonlight, when we were stripped of all inhibitions, when we let our souls jump out of bodies and foregone our egos, when we had everything and nothing, when entire hours, weeks, months, years went by in less than an heartbeat,when all of us got lost in a frenzy beyond euphoric. There was a joie de vivre about it all that didn’t fade away, not even when we plummeted back into reality: wounds, cuts, dirt and leaves all over us, dry blood smeared onto our improvised chitons and fresh blood on Henry’s hands. The first drops to be shed but unfortunately not the last.

He attempts to soothe me as if I were a weeping babe, he brushes my hair away from my forehead, he holds my clammy hands until my breathing pattern somewhat resembles a normal person’s and it’s these kind of soft moments that make me condemn him, how much I need his touch and his soft words is proportionate to how much I wish to run free, a rabid dog chewing the string of its leash until it breaks.

The sheets suffocate me, the sun filtering in the room blinds me, my own flesh feels as though it has been lit on fire and my heart is pumping within my ribcage enough to let me know I am alive, furthermore persistently calling attention to who does not have the same luck as I.

It is only when a strong, rich smell is all I can inhale that I notice a veiny hand offering me a glass of I assume can only be whiskey, Henry had left me alone to fill it and I hadn’t even noticed it. “Drink,” He says sternly, resting the cold edge of the short tumbler against my lips, “It’ll help.” Swiftly, the amber liquid is sent swirling down my throat, effectively grounding me with its flavors dancing onto my tastebuds, a woodsy taste with a touch of caramel and orange is all I can taste. The burning yet sweet sensation sends me into a wheezing coughing fit that efficiently distracts me from the dark vision I witnessed in my dreamland. It doesn’t last long to my luck, though this stubborn, delicious aftertaste will only stick with me until my teeth are brushed. 

“Thank you,” I breathe out once I regain control over my lungs and most importantly my whole self, “Thank you, I needed that.” With what could perfectly be the heaviest sigh of my life, my head drops into my palms. There’s so much to say but not a single sound makes it out of me. Henry doesn’t prod yet, I don’t offer explanations, a groan flees me as I recall yesterday’s events and in one hopeless effort to put it past me I gulp down the rest of the whiskey under my husband’s concerned gaze. 

“I desperately needed that,” I reiterate as soon as the coldness of the glass leaves my lips and he does not hesitate in pulling it out of my hands, setting it onto the ebony nightstand with a quiet thud. “I can see that,” he notes with a hidden layer of worry rooted in his words. “You’ve been restless these past few nights.” Oh, how I love his voice, especially at times like this, when he’s just woken up and it’s deeper than ever, gruff and penetrating through my chest straight for my heart. More than once it has charmed me during late nights or early mornings, while we were drunk and when we were sober, his gravelly whispers are invisible tattoos on my neck.

“Ah, so you’ve noticed.” I should have imagined that my tossing and turning would have been caught by his all seeing eye. 

To my surprise, he smiles, as much as a subtle crooked grin could be counted as such. “As you’ll come to learn, my bird, I notice everything happening under my roof.” I could argue with that, but I’ve been drained of all energy. The ponderous load of my weary bones leaves no room for strength as my body gracelessly flops back against the mattress. He continues, speaking softly while pushing away the tendrils of hair that fell onto my face, “I doubt you’ll be falling asleep anytime soon. That seemed to be quite the harrowing dream to evoke such a reaction.”

“I’ll live.” 

He nods, “I’m sure you will,” his eyes, though caring and worried, feel so far away. Stuck in a distant land, perhaps revisiting memories of a barely forgettable day in class, he turns to where a stream of warm sunlight kisses fill the room with brightness and the tweeting of birds provides us with an idea of a fabricated, peaceful liberty, just outside of our reach, waiting to be grasped in our trembling hands.

They say that such an innocent thing as a butterfly’s wings flapping and creating the most imperceptible movement in the air, could cause a deadly typhoon on the other side of the world. It chants the notion that everyone and everything in the world is inevitably connected, that one small, insignificant occurrence can lead to something nearly impossible to control, a significant change in the way fate is realistically supposed to go. 

This time when Henry abandons me in our bedroom to get his day started it doesn’t go unnoticed, and I spend this precious moment thinking of how I got here. I peruse the story of my life backwards, a book beginning with the ending and, of which the conclusion depicts the starting point of it all: bright, rivaling the sun with it’s shine and expecting nothing if not greatness is my story, a painting I immortalized with my own hands adding a stroke of color each day. Amidst all the dazzling radiance, discovering the origin of where it all began to grow dull and lacking glow takes a formidable effort, and even then, I find not the faintest sliver of an answer.

The ‘butterfly effect’ that dragged me down this path remains an unknown mystery to me, possibly remaining as such until the end of time.

[magics-neptunes-things]

Hi guys!

After the last one, I needed another with fluff and easy love, so this just come from my imagination. I hope you will like it ♥

Resume : Motherhood is hard, especially when your better half is in training camp far from you.

TW : Little Angst, but fluff :)

PART 2 IS HERE!

______________________________________________________________

Alexia and you met when she was going through one of the worst moments of her life. It was when the footballer made her ACL. For your part, you had graduated as a physiotherapist a few years ago and were looking for a new challenge. When you heard that FC Barcelona were looking for a new physio, you didn’t hesitate to apply. It was hard, but by some miracle, you got the job. The managers didn’t tell you that the job was for the women’s team, but it suited you even better.

A month after you arrived at your post, Alexia began to follow her treatment after her operation. You’ve been assigned as Miss Putellas' special physiotherapist, probably a bit of a probation. You’ve been warned that she might be difficult to handle, her injury having affected her otherwise than physically.

And it was true, in the first few sessions, she barely spoke. She was polite, said hello, thank you, and goodbye. For your part, you remained calm while being empathetic. As you were told, she seemed even more troubled psychologically than physically and you could feel her pain. So you searched about her favorite songs and you made a playlist for her during your massages or during her exercises.

Over time your relationships relaxed and you found yourself eagerly waiting for the time of day when you would have to take care of Alexia. You obviously noticed her beauty and the aura that reigned around her. A friendship and mutual trust was quickly created between you two and she gradually confided to you. On trivial things at first, before your discussions become deeper.

She told you about her father, her family, her fear of not being able to play again and the difficulties she was experiencing with the Spanish Federation. You were shocked to learn what was happening and immediately felt angry. And the first feeling you had was a vital desire to protect Alexia from all this. And the other girls you’re playing with at FC Barcelona as well of course, since you’re the one who plays nurses on the bench at all their matches. But Alexia was coming first.

The first time Alexia could start running on a machine now, you could have cried of joy and relief. She was recovering well, even faster than the best prognosis. And seeing such a sincere smile come back on her face was something really comforting for you. The embrace you exchanged that day gave you chills you still remember.

The day she returned to the team for her first training on the pitch, you were there too, but in the back. Her friends/teammates welcomed her with big smiles and hugs, but at the end of the training she came to you. She once again took you in her arms and whispered a thank you in your ear. No need for long speeches, you knew perfectly well how much this word meant to her.

While you expected this to signal a new distance between the two of you, Alexia surprised you by asking if you were free the same evening to go for a drink. It surprised you, Alexia having the habit of not changing her schedule meal, back to school or bedtime. But when she stuttered "For like, you know, a d- a date?" you couldn't say no.

The rest is history and here you are years later in an healthy, loving et happy relationship. You even got engaged last Christmas.

Alexia always wanted to start a family and your heart melt every time she was interacting with a baby or child. On your second date, she asked you if you wanted children, testifying to the importance she already attached to a future family life between you two. You answered positively, because yes, you wanted to have children and with Alexia would be amazing.

So, a month ago, you welcomed into your lives Santana Eli Putellas. A perfect photocopy of Alexia, even if you were the one pregnant. Thanks to modern methods, you were able to transfer her egg into your body. It was much easier for Alexia’s career, even though she was more attentive to you than ever.

The same eyes, the same mouth, the same hair, the same face, the same look. Even Eli couldn’t figure out which of the two photos was Alexia and Santana when faced with this plot. It’s almost disturbing, but the idea of having created a second perfection in this world suits you perfectly.

Except that even perfection has its difficulties and you realize it more than ever today. For some reason, Santana hasn’t stopped crying since her afternoon nap. Despite her clean diaper, her full stomach, her usual afternoon stroll or her favorite nursery rhymes, you were unable to calm her down. So much so that you couldn’t even answer Alexia’s messages, who went to training camps for the national team.

Even if this camp is held in Barcelona, the team lives in a hotel for a few days, before flying to Canada for their first match. Your lack of answer probably explains why you find yourself having to answer a call from your fiancée after 9pm. You hesitate before answering, your physical state must be scary and Santana is always sobbing on your shoulder. But knowing Alexia’s protective lioness instinct, you’d rather not worry her any longer.

"Hola mi Amor" you try a smile when a frowning Alexia appears on the screen.

"What happened? Why didn't you answer to my text? I was beginning to believe that something serious had happened to you"

"Don't worry, we are fine"

You were still rocking Santana on your shoulder, putting your phone on the counter of your kitchen. After bathing her, you put on her pajamas in the colors of FC Barcelona and she is currently digesting her second bottle of the evening. Whereas normally she takes only one before falling asleep to wake up at midnight and then around 6 am. This baby is really perfect. Except that today something seems wrong.

"Are you sure? You look exausted mi vida"

The concern on Alexia's face is deep and you don't want to worry her. You don't want her to believe that you can't take care of your daughter for a day either. Alexia only left this morning after all.

"We are fine Ale, I pr-"

"Does the best goddaughter in the world make her Mama miserable?"

Mapi’s face suddenly sticks to Alexia's, certainly so that she can also have a glimpse of Santana. Choosing Mapi as godmother was the best idea, the tattooed one being the most adorable with Santana. A chaotic godmother certainly, but you know perfectly well that she too would be ready to take out her claws to defend Santana if necessary.

"Kind of, but everything is under control" you laugh, before realizing that she wasn't listening to you at all, cooing sweat words to Santana. "Did I suddenly become invisible?"

"Not for me" Alexia answer with tenderness in her voice. "I miss you both of you so much, I don't know how I will survive two weeks so far away"

"You will be perfect, as always mi Amor"

She smiles at you, Mapi having a side conversation with your daughter, and you see the concern coming back.

"Can you promise me that you are fine?"

You bite your lip and sight. It was not fair of her to play the sincerity card. She knows that you can't lie to her, even when you want to make her surprise, you have to ask the help of someone.

"Look, she's just having a bad day that's all. Tomorrow will be better."

Alexia opened her mouth to speak and most certainly contradict you, but noise next to her announces the arrival of other people. You smile when you see Ona and Ingrid appear on the screen, Mapi pulling the sleeve of the Norwegian to almost stick her face to the screen ("Look at her, how is she so cute?").

You greet them friendly and discuss with them a few more moments before feeling that Santana starts to agitate again. Before Alexia can see how bad, you tell them you’re going to put her to bed. After promising Alexia to write to her as soon as Santana sleeps, you hang up and gently lift your daughter to put her face up to yours.

"Now that you’ve heard Mama and your Godmother, maybe we can get some rest yeah?"

After a final diaper check, you enter your daughter’s room and sit on her rocking chair. His blanket between you two, a little melody and a lull, it should go well and quickly.

An hour and a half later, you must realize you’re not. Santana continues to struggle with sleep and has begun to cry again. Seeing her like this ended up making you cry. After walking around your house trying to put her to sleep, you went back to her room. You don’t know what to do anymore.

You were thinking about calling Eli or your mother for help when you hear noise on the ground floor. Which shouldn’t happen, since you’re alone in the house with Santana. You listen despite the cries of your daughter and your hear footsteps, making you shiver. Holding your daughter close to your heart, you rush to the kitchen to grab a knife. Putting Santana safely in her crib might have been smarter, but you can’t bring yourself to leave her alone while a danger lurks in the house. The baby stopped crying, like if she understood that something bad is happening.

The noises of footsteps approach the kitchen and panic fades to give way to a cold determination. You have to protect your daughter no matter what. Sticking your back in the fridge, you raise the knife you hold in your hand, ready to hit the figure that enters the room. But...

"Wow! It’s me Baby! It’s me!"

With both hands in the air, Alexia looks at you with wide eyes less than a meter from you.

"Alexia? Wha- what are you doing here?"

"You weren't answering my text again and I... Can you put this knife down please?"

"Oh... Yes, sorry."

You were shaking. The sound of metal that the knife makes when you put it on the marble of the worktop resonates in the room.

"I was too concerned to leave you both alone."

Alexia confesses with almost shyness, certainly fearing that you would take this information badly. You could have, a few hours before. Exhausted from this day, you carefully avoid your girlfriend’s gaze.

"I’m so sorry I scared you. Can I have her?"

Santana started to squirm in your arms and cry again and you gently reach her to Alexia. With a natural ability, the blonde forms a small nest with her arms to accommodate the little body of your daughter. She calms down almost instantly and only then do you realize you have tears in your eyes. After admiring Santana for a few moments, Alexia looks up at you and notices it too.

"Come here" she says, extending her free arm to you.

You cuddle against her, hiding your face in her neck. Her arm squeeze you thigh against her. Her smell helps you to relax and you mumble against her skin.

"I don’t understand what I did wrong today"

"Probably nothing mi Vida. Just like you said, she's just having a bad day. Let me take care of her and go take a hot shower and put on comfortable pajamas, alright?"

You hesitate for a few moments, but Alexia kisses you tenderly before gently pushing you towards your bathroom. You end up obeying, enjoying feeling your muscles relax under the hot water. When you get out, the condensation masked the mirror above the sink. After putting on Alexia’s shorts and t-shirt, you go looking for her in the calm of your home.

She delicately closes the door of Santana’s room when you appear in the corridor.

"Is she asleep?" you ask, incredulous.

Alexia answers with a simple smile and a nod, before taking you into the living room.

"How did you do it?"

"As usual"

Alexia shrugs while smiling and you sighs. That’s what you did, but you are still convinced that Santana simply miss Alexia. You’d rather not say it out loud, though, fearing it would prevent Alexia from focusing on her professional obligations.

"When do you have to go back?"

You try not to pout by asking her the question. It was the deal anyway, you knew very well what could happen when you decided to have a child.

"Not tonight, I informed the coach. I have to be in training tomorrow morning anyway."

The information makes you much too happy, you who promised not to prevent Alexia from following her professional ambitions. But you cannot hide your smile and you stick against her again, in search of affection and tenderness. Accepting your request, Alexia tightens her two arms around you, allowing you to feel perfectly safe.

You stay here for a while, simply taking advantage of the other’s presence. Alexia’s hands play with the tip of your hair while yours fondle her lower back tenderly.

"Did you eat?" you ask her after a few moments.

"No. What about you?"

You pout and Alexia doesn’t need any other words to answer. You just haven’t had time to swallow anything since your breakfast shared with the pretty blonde.

"Let me cook you something. It’s your turn to go put on your pajamas"

You let go of her arms and put a tender kiss on her lips, happy to have her with you when it was absolutely not planned. A few minutes later, you find yourself cooking a fideua, Alexia’s favorite.

Lost in your thoughts, still exhausted from this day, you don't hear Alexia’s steps coming in your direction. You’re too tired to jump when you feel her arms go around your waist, her lips kiss behind your ear making you smile.

"It smells very good mi Vida"

"That’s good because it’s ready"

You tiptoed to grab two plates, paying particular attention not to make too much noise to avoid waking Santana.

"Why don’t we sit on the couch and watch the television?"

Alexia’s proposal surprises you, but you willingly accept. You sit on the couch, letting Alexia settle against you this time. After all, she too is probably tired from her training. Seeing her eat your dish with enthusiasm makes you happy and you find yourself admiring it rather than feeding yourself.

"You're starring"

Alexia smiles and glances at you, making you smile back.

"Perhaps, but it's certainly by admiring you as soon as I have the opportunity that I was able to clone you" you joke softly.

Alexia laughs and puts her plate and cutlery on the coffee table, as you did a few minutes before her. She turns around abruptly before throwing herself into your arms, making you fall over on the couch. Seeing her so spontaneous with you while she tends to constantly master her image makes you melt. And when she puts dozens of kisses all over your face, you can’t help but giggle.

"I guess today’s not the day to tell you I want a big family?"

Her mischievous smile makes you roll your eyes.

"We’ll talk about it in like two years, if you don’t mind."

[movingthisblogcelestialtarot11]

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑴𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒛 𝑩𝒓𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒔-𝑨𝒏 𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒍 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒑𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒕

Hey friends! I hope all is well <3 pls remember to drink water and stay hydrated! Today we’ll be discussing a heavier case in regard to The Menendez Brothers. That being said—astrology does not justify anything that happened to them. While it helps to understand what unfolded, it does not excuse the abuse they endured. I only share my thoughts and perspective with respect to the survivors. Please do not read if you are uncomfortable. Thank you.

tw: mentions of abuse, rape, psychological & physical, separation, mentions of the trial. mentions of kitty menendez, jose menendez.

Both brothers had lilith in the 1h and in the documentary, even after their evidence of mistreatment, abuse and sexual assault, they were still portrayed as sex symbols. Lilith in the 1h natives are often projected onto from other peoples sexual fantasies, often obscuring the natives true identity. This impacted the Menendez Brothers to the point they urged people to not watch the documentary, that it was grossly inaccurate to their trauma.

Lilith in the 1h—To add, at the time of their sentencing, no one believed their abuse. Everyone thought because of their gender, men could not have been abused. They lacked the “necessary tools,” as it was said. They were cast aside as different, attention seeking and spoiled children. When in reality so much was going on, and it was revealed. Lilith in the 1h natives experienced condemnation by others, shame and mockery. Lilith in the 1h individuals may also come across as “different,” unconventional in their approach to life, situations. For example at the time in 1996, sexual abuse was viewed as something that could happen only to women, until it happened to these brothers. They were part of a massive systemic shock amongst other cases.

They are continued to be misrepresented in the media, even with the documentary the men are still misunderstood even with the knowledge we have today: men can also be sexually abused.

Compared to real life where the brothers had the capacity of a 8 and a 10 year old, as a psychologist confirmed, Lyle and Erik in the documentary were displayed as: violent, lashing out, and using sex as a way explain their sexual attraction to one another. There’s a difference in maturity levels in the documentary, compared to reality. The documentary completely missed the point that the brothers were stunted due to the abuse.

Once again, Lilith really emphasizes how misunderstood these brothers are. They are seen in a more violent and fetishized light. There was no way two brothers with the mental capacity of 8 and 10 would completely understand the gravity of a healthy sexual relationship, when their entire life neglected proper parental figures and did the raping in the first place.

Kitty Menendez had her mars retrograde in Aries. She did not speak up for her sons abuse rather abided, and helped along with her sons abuse. (This does not mean everyone with a mars in aries retrograde will do this) She had a very hard time facing the truth, even when confronted by her sister and cousins about the abuse. In fact she lied and gaslit them into thinking nothing was wrong, but even then the cousins didn’t believe it.

Her ability to take action was severely impaired, and resulted in her abiding with her husband’s abuse. With mars retrograde here, she often struggled to maintain a proper motherly figure to her sons. She gravitated towards unhealthy extremes: lashing out, physically hurting her sons. She could not step up in terms of being a leader and hid the abuse.

In fact, she only admitted to having dark secrets once she were alone with her therapist. She had misaligned morals and values, constantly using her sons as a way to express her anger.

Jose Menendez had lilith conj. Chiron and was the one who conducted the abuse, along with Kitty. He projected all of his fantasies and channeled it into something darker and nasty towards his sons. What is also interesting yet gruesome is his lilith in virgo falls into Eriks 1st house—even more Lilith synastry denoting abuse themes. Dark, heavy, and sinister. Erik was always viewed as the one “getting involved,” and trying to be around family a lot more, putting himself in situations where his father didn’t approve of. It only regarded in Erik being hurt badly in the end.

Jose Menendez both hurt Lyle and Erik equally here. It isn’t to say both brothers trauma are comparable, less or more. Jose definitely had more of a focus on Erik, since Lyle went off to Princeton. He channeled his frustrations and depraved anger into him. Eventually Lyle found out the abuse was still happening to Erik, even as he found a wife and had it going great in University. That was when everything changed.

Joses’ saturn in gemini fell into Eriks 10h. Jose often isolated Erik and Lyle, and there was even a moment when his cousin tried to check up on Erik since he didn’t come down for dinner. The rule was this: no one was allowed upstairs or near the rooms, the entire floor. Jose wanted to avoid anyone seeing Erik or Lyle after the rape took place. He asserted his authority by threatening anyone who tried to defy him. He ruled with an iron fist. He strongly kept Erik to his side, seeing that after Lyle focused on University that was his outlet to vent his crude fantasies. Strong themes of power were here.

Eriks’ Saturn fell into Lyles’ first house signifying a tight, close bond. A bond no one else could understand. The two had seen each other completely at their worst and now at their highest. Their sense of being free was misunderstood though. The moment of being sentenced to prison, Eriks’ face conveyed safety and relief. It was saddening to see as prison didn’t exactly provide a safe space for the two, yet Erik still knew they were better there than under their family.

Lyle risked everything to save Erik, considering their saturnic bond. He always came back for his little brother.

Pluto in Leo—Joses’ reputation and image went to shit after being killed. All the secrets spilled out. Everything that was hidden, repressed and manipulated came out to the open. He had a dramatic death by gunshot. Pluto was also conj. North Node in retrograde, which also signified a sudden fast death. Sudden ending. What’s also interesting is Kitty’s sister, and cousins didn’t regret their deaths. They all were proud and trusted Erik and Lyle, knowing exactly the torment they went through. Pluto in Leo brought strong feelings of contempt, rage and shock in the communities.

𝓛𝔂𝓵𝓮𝓼’ 𝓢𝓪𝓽𝓾𝓻𝓷 𝓡𝓮𝓽𝓾𝓻𝓷

At the time of the sentencing: Lyle Menendez started his saturn return. Saturn is known for obstacles, delays, and restraints. Injustice. Misrepresentation. Lyle was misrepresented as a monster, even 32 years later. His sentencing was long, due to Saturns’ influence here. This was the turning point in 1996 that caused the separation between them as well.

Both brothers thought they would be going to the same prison—but instead ended up separated for 22 years. We’ll discuss this later.

The day of the trial, Lyle in his Saturn return had Chiron in Libra. His entire case was viewed with inequality and misandry, leading to a long prison sentence. The judges were crude in their questioning and dismissed all evidence of trauma and abuse that ever happened to Lyle. Which was the most important factor of it all. Friends and family weren’t allowed to testify—which is what Libra is about. Harmony, working together, instead there was a massive division placed by the system.

He also had Saturn transiting his 11h. The masses viewed Lyle was ‘’weak,’’ for not enduring the abuse or running away. They painted him as a snobby white kid, rich who wanted money by murdering his parents for it. They bruised him for his lack of ‘’leadership,’’ qualities hence Aries, even though he himself never grew up with stable leadership. He was met with horrible backlash lasting years since Saturn sat in the 11h of fame and the masses. Constant criticism and misinterpretation. They stripped away his power and masculinity, rendering him as someone weak and feeble. Naive.

Venus retrograde also pointed to a lack of fairness during the trials. Completely met with cruel judgements of their life experiences, slander, and belittlement. Even news reporters tried to paint them as both weak white men—for not enduring the abuse. The reporters tried to paint Erik and Lyle as gay, in an effort to excuse the trauma all together based on sexuality. It was gruesome considering the brothers never had a proper chance to safely explore their own life, needs, and individuality to even answer that question purely.

He had mercury sitting on his ascendant and opened up about his horrible experiences at home. The things he endured. With mercy conj. Mars it elicited deep traumatic feelings within him, multiple times through out the trial Lyle used his voice, hands to recreate the scenarios. The exact facial expressions his parents did. He used his body to express the full scale of his words.

Mercury opposite Pluto—He was also met with a lifetime of questioning, doubt, and was painted as a liar for his ‘’acting’’ skills. People never took his words seriously, often twisting it to their own benefit.

Interestingly enough Lyle had Saturn Square Moon on his saturn return. The only closest bond he had was with his brother. His brother was his companion throughout his entire gruesome childhood. Only to be separated as they head to prison for 22 years. Saturn squaring the moon denotes isolation, detachment, and separation from all that you loved.

Even after everything Erik went on to explore painting and meditation in his community in prison. Saturn in the 9th house strongly denotes exploration of this—even mentoring others. Erik found a way to channel his feelings. And he is a scorpio moon, so it makes sense he is attracted to the arts.

Whereas Lyle is earth dominant (taurus rising, Capricorn sun and mercury) and channeled his feelings by working out. Getting physical in his body. He trained a lot.

Lastly—which I find very touching is Erik has all benefics in his 3rd house of siblings. Moon, venus and Jupiter. His brother saved him from the abuse and put an end to it. With his 3rd house being in Scorpio, it ended with a systemic disruption, and a tumultuous uproar in the community. His sibling and him share a raw deep connection, something they never had with anyone else. Even though Eriks’ venus was retrograde, his brother was his guiding figure. His star. Someone who he greatly looked up to.

Thank yall so much for reading 🙏🏻 my heart goes out to the Menendez brothers. I really hope they receive the justice they truly deserve. I learned so much just by analyzing their charts and I’m incredibly thankful for this privileged information to learn from them.

Should I make a pt 2 for how their retrial might go? Let me know below. Please like comment and reblog to share the love 🤍🪽

Extra

Paid Readings🤍

[viaoverthemoon]

I have a small request here too✋ I was thinking about Leon (damnation maybe) x fem!reader with reader being his daughter's kindergarten teacher, and the little one falls in love with her and wants to spend more time with reader, and Leon he finds himself forced to accept this, so he falls in love with the reader. It can be with smut at the end or just something romantic, it doesn't matter.

I hope I explained it ok, I've had this idea in my head for some time but I don't know how to express it 😂❤️❤️

Oooo this sounds so cute stawpppp.

Since I have another fic in the works that's drenched in smut, I'll keep this one fluffy. ;)

Damnation!Leon Kennedy x Fem!Reader

Summary: You're a kindergarten teacher for Leon Kennedy's daughter and she wants to keep you forever!

Tw: Fluff, Mention of deceased relative, Mention of past miscarriage

READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!

Enjoy! <3

To Belong

❁´◡`❁❁´◡`❁❁´◡`❁❁´◡`❁❁´◡`❁❁´◡`❁❁´◡`❁❁´◡`❁

"Congratulations, Arabella! It looks like you're our student of the week!"

You gently place the pin on Arabella's shirt, smiling widely at her proud expression.

Being a kindergarten teacher definitely has its downs. But also has its ups as well. One of those ups being the honor of teaching these innocent children. Every day is something new, a new experience that makes you realize the importance of raising the next generation.

Arabella turns towards you, smiling so wide her cheeks must hurt. She grabs onto your leg. "Thank you, Miss (L/N)! This means so much to me!"

You smile down at her, proud of her for using the feelings lesson you'd taught her, and crouch to her level to give her a hug. "You're welcome, Arabella! I'm so proud of you. Thank you for being such a kind student!"

She seems to take your praise very seriously, being super kind to her classmates and staying by you side, asking if you need help or service in any kind of way.

❁

At the end of the day when everyone has left, you sit alone at your desk.

Whilst flipping from one graded paper to another, the door to your classroom creaks open.

You raise your head just in time to see Arabella run into the room, screaming with her arms in the air. "MISS (L/N)!!!!"

You laugh as she runs around your desk and hugs you, babbling nonsense excitedly. "Oh my goodness! Back so soon, Arabella?"

She gives a hyper nod. "Yes!"

"'Yes ma'am', Bella."

Your eyes snap up, locking with a pair of bright blues.

You look at him, surprised.

The man held a strong resemblance to Arabella, minus the straight blonde hair Arabella carried. They shared blue eyes and a soft face. If anything, his rough exterior yet light features suited him. Gave him a mysterious and alluring air that draws people to him, searching to learn more about him.

"Oh- yes ma'am- Daddy look, look! This is the nice teacher I was telling you about!"

You rise from your chair and hold out a hand with a smile. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Kennedy."

He shakes your hand and offers a nod. "Pleasure to meet you too, Miss (L/N). As you can see, I've heard quite a lot about you."

He gives his daughter a pointed look that makes you laugh. You gesture to the seat across from your desk, offering him a seat as you settle back into your chair. "I assume there's a reason you're here that I could help you with?"

Mr. Kennedy sits in the chair, seemingly tired as he falls into the seat and instinctively spreads his legs.

You try your hardest not to acknowledge the action, but your eyes fail you, flickering down his frame for half a second before returning to his face.

You instantly regret your mistake when he smirks at you, straightening up just a bit and resting his arms on his legs. "Actually, I was hoping to discuss what Arabella's behaviors are like while she's at school, as well as how she's learning." He pauses. "I mean, obviously if she's getting student of the month for the 2nd time, she's doing pretty good."

He smiles and playfully ruffles Arabella's hair, earning a laugh from the 5-year-old. "But still. It would be nice to hear from her teacher, not her."

You clear your throat and nod, turning away to escape the burn of his gaze and pulling out a folder labeled A.K., Arabella Kennedy's character chart.

"Of course, I understand. Let's start with how she handles assignments."

❁

After about 45 minutes of talking, Leon seems satisfied with his daughter's school life and begins to pack up his things to leave. But Arabella becomes upset, running to you and refusing to let go of your leg.

"No! I'm not ready to say bye to Miss (L/N) yet!"

She throws the standard child tantrum, small tears streaming down her reddened puffed out cheeks as you gently try to coax her into letting go.

"Arabella... Don't be upset. You'll see me again on Monday-"

But she's relentless, shaking her head and kicking away Mr. Kennedy's hands as he tries to reach for her.

Eventually, he sighs and looks at you embarrassingly. "I'm so sorry Miss (L/N). She's hardly ever like this."

Seeing as this is something you deal with all the time, you just shake your head, offering a small smile. "Don't worry about it. I'm used to this behavior... I'm about to leave for the day. If you guys want, we could go out for a quick dinner? This way, we won't have to part so soon."

This gets the crying 5-year-old to quiet down almost immediately. She looks up from your leg, tears and snot smeared all over your pant leg. "Really? Can we?"

You look up at Mr. Kennedy, raising a brow for conformation. And, seeing as there was no way around it, he gives in.

❁

And from that moment forward, you and the Kennedy family became quite close.

You shared a few dinners and spent time together at amusement parks and entertainment events, eventually becoming so close that you'd even watch Arabella when Leon had to leave for reasons of his job.

You listen to his stories, and he listens to yours.

He shares how he and Arabella have no one else to depend on. Her mother, although she and Leon didn't have a good relationship, had died during childbirth. And how he'd lost his own parents long ago, growing up an orphan and not having much.

And you share only having your parents. You could have had a little one yourself, but unfortunately grieved a harsh miscarriage and the father of the child leaving soon after didn't help.

You both end up having more in common than you'd originally thought.

And now, you share more than just experiences and memories. Now, you share shy looks and ghostly touches.

Somedays his hand will graze yours and you both will avoid each other's gaze, ignoring the sudden spark that comes when you make contact.

That is until, one night Leon returns from a particularly long job to find you curled up on his living room couch with a book in hand, reading glasses perched on the bridge of your nose.

"Hey, sorry for the long night. Never meant to be gone that long." He shrugs off his leather jacket and throws it over the arm of his second couch.

You eye his fatigued figure for a moment before removing your glasses and putting down your book. "No, it's alright. You know I don't mind, Leon."

Sitting up, you pat the spot next to you on the couch, offering him a seat. "Arabella's upstairs asleep in her room..." He gives a soft grunt and falls on the couch, rubbing the back of his neck while nodding and muttering a 'Good. Thank you.'

Eyes skillfully assessing his behavior, you decide to ask him the question that's been on your mind. "Are you okay? Do you need anything?"

He glances at you through his peripheral but instantly looks away. "Yes. I'm fine. You can go now."

In all honesty, the way he suggested you leaving hurt your feelings. But you didn't relent. "If it's alright with you, I'd like to stay..."

Reaching a hand out, you place it on top of his on his lap. He flinches slightly, but doesn't push you away. He pauses for a second...

And then he relaxes, flipping his hand over to wrap it around yours.

Your heart is in your throat and the palms of your hands begin to sweat. But you don't show it, smiling shyly at Leon and holding his hand.

He doesn't look at you. Doesn't show any signs that he acknowledges you besides the fact that he isn't letting go of your hand. "Why do you stay? Why do you want to stay?"

The monotone question catches you off guard. You momentarily freeze as his eyes find you.

Blue frozen glaciers filled with oceans and rivers of pure sadness and regret. The emotion in his eyes makes you briefly wonder where he finds the space for the happiness he feels with Arabella.

Or if he'll have the space for happiness with you.

You take a moment to think, looking down at your linked hands and gliding a thumb over the warmth of his skin. "I feel happiest when I'm here with the two of you. As you know, I don't have much. All I've had to look forward to has been my students... but now... I have the both of you."

You look him in the eyes, trying to convey your emotions through the look in yours. "These past few weeks have been the best I've lived through in years... I'm tired of living alone, Leon. Life is worth so much more when you spend it with somebody else."

He looks at you in shock, not sure what to say about your sudden confession. His mouth opens and closes like a fish, trying to choose the right words to say.

You look away bashfully. "Er- What I'm trying to say is... I'd like it if we could spend... more time together. And see each other more often. But-! It's completely up to you, of course."

For a moment, the silence is nerve wracking. You try not to fidget too much or show that you're anxious in awaiting his answer.

You're beginning to lose hope when Leon's hands are suddenly on your hips.

You're so surprised by his actions that you hardly notice him gently coaxing you into sitting on his lap.

Your legs straddle his thighs, backside rested on his knees when you suddenly notice your position. Your face burns hot, and you rest your hands on his shoulders.

His hands find purchase on your waist. "If I'm being honest, I expected you to leave us a long time ago... I didn't mean to be rude. I just didn't think you'd stay."

He caresses your sides, warm hands heating through the fabric of your clothes. "And... I would like it- a lot if you stayed with us. Not only would you make me happy, but you'd make Arabella happy too. And that matters more than anything."

You pretend to ponder on your decision, looking away with a small smile on your face before turning back to Leon. "Well... I guess I can stick around-"

The sentence barely leaves your lips before Leon pulls you in, kissing you with so much relieved passion that you momentarily feel dizzy.

And for once, you feel like you truly belong somewhere.

Yes. This feeling is definitely one you can get used to.

❁´◡`❁❁´◡`❁❁´◡`❁❁´◡`❁❁´◡`❁❁´◡`❁❁´◡`❁❁´◡`❁

Nobody: My inbox screaming and crying for help: 😓😭😭☠️ Me with 0 internet or data: 🧍🏾‍♀️💃📖

Hope you enjoyed!

More requests coming soon!

Requests are open!! <3

[fantasynmicrochips]

Outsiders headcanons that just make sense (to me)

(First post oop anyways. TW ⚠️ for discussion of drugs, alcohol, and addiction)

All the boys really liking Dolly Parton and Bobbie Gentry (Soda enjoys them the most tho)

RIP JOHNNY CADE YOU WOULD’VE LOVED NORMA TANEGA

Pony leaves Oklahoma after college and only comes back for holidays

Had Johnny lived, he would’ve gotten a new look on life and wanted to work with kids like himself (rip Johnny Cade part two you would’ve loved to hate on CPS "standards")

Now had DALLY lived, he would’ve ended up in prison or on the streets selling drugs (probably both)

Steve starts going over to Two-Bit’s when his dad kicks him out because Two misses when Johnny would sleep over

Two-Bit drinks much more after Johnny and Dally pass away and possibly tests it with hard drugs in the 70s to deal with his pain

Cough cough Sandy’s baby being Dally’s

Marcia and Two-Bit have a secret relationship for years until Marcia’s parents find out and disown her 

Pony not getting married or having children but being the coolest uncle ever (he doesn’t visit often but he calls every other week)

Steve and Soda opening a mechanic shop together at some point in the future. Or Soda working at a stable again. I rlly like both

Cherry and Marcia becoming nurses in adulthood and ALWAYS gossiping about the annoying/mean patients

(I apologize for the severe lack of Darry btw I promise I’ll think of some eventually)

[toomanythoughts2]

Why Did Serveta Never Compete for Miss Universe? A Theory on Serveta's Life and Skwisgaar's Birth

Hello everyone! This theory was born simply from the phrase, "Skwisgaar is technically a nepo baby." I wanted to look into just how Nepo he actually was and if it was ever that serious. While digging, I formed a small theory based on the information I found.

GIST: Serveta is victim of hyper sexualization and grooming in the pageantry world. As a young woman, Serveta competed for Miss Sweden and won. She was given the opportunity to compete for Miss Universe but was later rejected because she became pregnant, something contestants are not allowed to be in order to compete. The birth of Skwisgaar rendered Serveta from living out her dream of becoming Miss Universe, which is the goal for pageantry contestants and would have made Serveta very wealthy and famous. The resentment she felt for Skwisgaar turned into neglect and sexual abuse.

TW: Sexual Abuse of a Minor

As always, longer theory under the cut!

Miss Sweden and Miss Universe

Ingrid Goude, the real 1956 Miss Sweden.

Miss Sweden began in 1949, 7 years before Serveta would compete in 1956. Miss Sweden is the beauty pageant that contestants need to win in Sweden in order to represent Sweden in Miss Universe, a highly sought out pageantry for women all across the globe. Miss Universe is recognized as one of the Big Four Beauty Pageants in the world. (Miss World, Miss Earth, and Miss International)

Rules

In order to compete, there are certain rules the contestants need to follow.

Miss Sweden x

Not allowed to be married (Has been possibly changed)

Not allowed to have kids (Has been possibly changed)

Only females are allowed to compete

4 phases: Interview, Evening Gown, Swimsuit/Fitness, Onstage Question

Age Range from 18 - 27

No ethnicity requirement

No unique requirement

Must live in Sweden

Miss Universe x

Age: As of September 2023, there is no upper age limit. Previously, the age range was 18 to 28 years old on the date of the national competition.

Citizenship: Each delegate must be a citizen of the country she represents.

Marital Status and Parental Status: Since August 2022, there are no restrictions on marital status or having children. Previously, contestants could not be married, divorced, pregnant, or have parented a child.

Criminal Background: While there is no official rule, most countries would likely not send a delegate with a criminal record.

Citizenship Verification: Delegates must provide documented proof of citizenship in the country they represent. This could involve birth certificates, passports, or other official documents.

Background Checks: While not always explicitly stated, many countries conduct background checks on potential delegates to ensure they don’t have any criminal records or controversies that could tarnish the pageant’s image.

Transgender Participation: The Miss Universe Organization currently does not allow transgender women to compete. This is a complex issue with ongoing discussions, and the policy might evolve in the future.

Winnings for Miss Sweden

In both modern time and in 1956, the rewards for winning Miss Sweden focuses a lot on exposure rather than money. Winning usually meant that contracts for modeling companies would open up, be awarded scholarship money for school, win a small amount of cash, or gain allowances for personal services like hair and clothing. x x x

However, both times, the winner of Miss Sweden (as long as they are not too young to compete) can be sent to compete in Miss Universe, which is the big reason for winning this competition.

Winnings for Miss Universe

In modern times, Miss Universe receives her prestigious title along with x:  

A $250,000 cash prize  

A $50,000 monthly salary during her reign, as reported by EFE 

The opportunity to champion charitable causes and promote international initiatives  

 All expenses paid for trips in private jets

The reigning queen also lives for a year in the organization's luxurious apartment in New York City.

Will host Miss Universe's upcoming YouTube traveling show

A luxurious watch

From this list (and the fact that I can not find information on what the winner of Miss Universe of 1956 won) the winnings for Miss Universe in 1956 most likely consisted of:

Some kind of high paying salary or cash prize

A crown

A title

A movie contract x

Some expenses paid for pageantry related things

The opportunity to become an advocate for social issues or causes.

All in all, winning Miss Universe ultimately is a much bigger deal with higher cash rewards, more prestige, and plenty of career opportunities after your reign is over. It would make a lot of sense for those who won Miss Sweden to compete in Miss Universe.

Sexual Abuse and Grooming In Pageants

JonBenét Ramsey, victim of sexualization from child pageants

Training

Women do not just compete for titles like Miss Sweden without training. Child Pageants are money making machines. Think of it in the context of a family vlogger harassing their children and/or forcing them to be in videos and participate. Just like how these children have no laws pertaining to their rights as workers, the same goes for child pageantry contestants.

Many young girls go through serious training for pageants, often resulting in these children being restricted from proper sleep, nutrition, and socialization. Remember Toddlers and Tiaras?

This is labor. This is a child. The US has labor laws in place for children but they don't cover pageants, these children are at the mercy of their parents or caregivers.

Womanhood and "Sexiness"

Child pageants are meant to mimic adult women pageants in every way except for age x. This includes the phases (swimsuits, evening dress, interview) and the manner in which they wear their clothes. These children are showcasing themselves as women, and these pageants do not exist without women being sexy. Therefore, these young girls only know that in order to be a woman, they must be sexy x. How do you become sexy? Showing skin, being provocative, being competitive. These young girls are growing up believing they will only become woman once they do these things. This plays into gender conforming behavior as well, as it becomes a subconscious belief that womanhood = femininity, sexuality, appearance, servitude x.

These pageants mimic adult women pageants which many people have criticized for the provocative nature. By having young girls compete in these pageants, which require provocative acceptance, adults are teaching their girls to behave and participates in the behaviors of provocativeness x.

Consequences

In reports of children being sexually abused, research shows that the sexualization of children is a contributing factor to their abuse. Also, if a child is winning constantly in a competition that is based primarily on their looks, they are more likely to develop psychological issues later on in life, such as depression, low self-esteem, and eating disorders. There is also a link to lowered sexual efficacy and contraceptive use later in life. x

The sexualization child in these pageants are directly related to the sexual abuse they face. These people can be judges, parents, assistants, and watchers. Imagine you're a famous child pageant winner, sooner or later, adult fans are going to try and meet you. What's the likelihood of 100% of these people having your best intentions to heart? Low. These children grow up in a provocative and hyper sexualized state, they are going to grow up and be hypersexual in order to achieve womanhood, including a lowered chance of wearing contraceptives.

The psychological problems related to perceptions of the self are long lasting and carry onto adolescence and adulthood due to the hyper fixation on their physical appearance at an early age. The implications regarding the achievement of "perfection" and the perception of body image that have been taught to these them remain engrained in the way they view themselves long after they retire from pageant competitions and transition into adulthood. x

Does this all sound familiar?

"I could never lose the weight after you were born! And look at the veins in my bosom, they're like a roadmap of Stockholm!"

Serveta is a victim of child sexualization and grooming.

Canon Information on Serveta

Past

So what do we know of Serveta? Well, one thing we know is that Serveta is Miss Sweden of 1956. That's basically all we know of her past, other than her promiscuity. There are a few pieces of her present that should also be acknowledged before we continue.

Present

Something I want to highlight are the pictures inside Serveta's home.

These images consist of one thing; herself. In these two frames alone, all of the picture but one are of Serveta. There is one lone picture of Skwisgaar as a child (which we also see during the flashback of this episode by the front door.) but the rest are of Serveta. Take note that most of these photos are also a young Serveta, thought there is arguably some photos of her in her older age. Specially the side profile picture above the lamp and the one long photo above little Skwisgaar.

Out of all the things to decorate her house with, and it's with herself. Her younger self. Serveta is surrounding herself with images of her former self, in a body that she no longer has. She is obsessing over the looks she once possessed during her pageantry years. The same goes for her clothing options.

Serveta wears a long dress that shows cleavage, is form fitting, and has a split up the leg. She is refusing to let go of her past teachings in pageantry of what it means to be a woman, which is to be sexy. Even after all of these years, Serveta is still suffering from her days in the pageantry world.

Theory

Serveta was a young and upcoming pageantry winner. She spent a god chunk of her life in the pageantry world, winning awards and titles, until finally competing in Miss Sweden, which she won. Serveta had every intention of competing for Miss Universe, however, due to her exposure in the pageantry world (Hyper-sexualization, grooming, gender conforming) Serveta had become pregnant. In a Skwisgaar interview, he reveals that his mother liked guitar players. Serveta was attracted toward men who were completely opposite of the world she grew up in. Her promiscuity was manufactured from an unsafe childhood in the pageantry world. Her pregnancy however, disqualified her from competing in Miss Universe (and other high end pageants), thus resulting in all of her work, pain, and world being in shattered. In turn, Serveta relied on the one thing she did have, which was her body and her looks. Her own trauma translated into neglecting Skwisgaar and Skwisgaar's own sexual abuse. However, Serveta was aware of Skwisgaar's talent once he acquired his guitar and knew she had to nurture it till fruition, just like how Serveta's own parental figure did to her.

______________________________________________________________

That's all for this theory. Be sure to reply or repost with your own thoughts on it. I would love to hear about :)

[hp-hcs]

There’s like no genderneutral/male reader fics for Mattheo but then I found ur account and I’m like heart eyes. Can I plEASE have a Mattheo x ftm Reader (if you aren’t comfortable with ftm then just male reader is fine) I just want a happy ending pls

oHOHOHOH YOU ARE IN LUCK BABES CAUSE I’M FTM AND A HOE FOR FLUFF/HAPPY ENDINGS

based off of Queer as in Fuck You by the Dog Park Dissidents which if you haven’t heard it before, GO LISTEN TO IT NOW

the way this man could avada kedavra me and i’d thank him

queer as in fuck you — gay! mattheo riddle x ftm! pureblood! reader

tws: use of reader’s deadname; use of ‘miss’, she/her pronouns, and fem-specific language towards or about reader; discussion of an arranged marriage

Warning: the reader is referred to with she/her pronouns for pretty much all of the story (it makes sense in context i promise)

D/N = reader’s dead/given name

i used too many lyrics in this one ngl so anything in pink is from Queer as in Fuck You, alr? alr.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

‘I don't want to get married/ I don't want to be just like you/ Nobody bothered to ask me/ They said I ought to be just like you’

“Father, I don’t want to get married!” Mattheo seethed, storming after the Dark Lord through the halls of Malfoy Manor.

“Nonsense,” Lord Voldemort clicked his tongue. “It’s expected of you. You’ll marry a nice pureblood girl and start a family, just like I did.”

Mattheo smacked a hand against his forehead, groaning and muttering under his breath about this stupid fucking house.

“I don’t even like women!” Mattheo tried as a last ditch effort.

“Anyone with eyes could see that, my dear son.”

“And you still want me to go through with this anyway? Why didn’t anyone bother to ask me?!”

“Mattheo,” the Dark Lord interrupted his son’s tirade. “It’s happening whether you like it or not.”

‘I don't want to be equal/ 'Cause I know I'm fuckin' better than you/ Your moderation is lethal/ Get out of my way, let me do what I need to’

“Oh, and this is D/N,” your mother tittered anxiously as she rested a jittery hand on your shoulder. “Of course you know the L/Ns have always been quite faithful to you, my Lord.”

You grimaced at your mother’s ridiculous fawning over the Dark Lord. You sat at the Dark Lord’s long, imposing table, between your mother and father and across from Mattheo Riddle himself. Lord Voldemort had taken his usual seat at the head of the table, tapping his fingers in a rhythmic pattern as he listened to your parents’ offer with a pleased smirk.

You had a disgusted expression on your face as you sat there, laced up in a way-too-tight dress that your mother had forced you to wear, with itchy makeup that was clumping up in the corners of your eyes, and a sour grimace. You gave Mattheo a quick glance-over, rather unimpressed.

You knew girls at your school threw themselves at him; that he could get anyone he wanted with a wink and a smile. But all you could think about as you looked at him was how would I look if my hair was like that?

“We will accept your generous offer,” the Dark Lord said smoothly, startling you out of your thoughts. “I do believe that Miss D/N will make a perfect addition to the Riddle family, when she and my son come of age.”

In unison, you and Mattheo scoffed, leaned back in your respective chairs, and crossed your arms over your chests. Startled, you glanced at each other with wide eyes, both surprised by the similarity.

“You are excused, children,” the Dark Lord purred.

Glowering at the insinuation, you stomped off after Mattheo.

‘There's no protection that this nation-state can offer to me/ Just olive branches to the cis white gay bourgeoisie/ So fuck off with your rainbow-striped American flags/ The only colors that I need are the pink and the black’

“Hey, can I come in?”

Mattheo looked up. “Huh? Oh hey, D/N. You need something?”

You leaned against the doorway of his dorm room, you both now back at Hogwarts after the end of winter break.

“Not really. Just came to say hi.”

“Well, you’ve said it now, so…”

You pressed a hand to your chest in a mock-offended manner. “And here I was, trying to become friends with the guy I’m being forced to marry! Apologies, Mr. Riddle, I’d hate to take up any more of your precious time.”

He snickered. “Come in, dipshit.”

“That’s more like it. Here, look what I brought,” you plopped down on his bed, him scooting over to make more room for you. With a devilish grin, you pulled an entire bottle of Firewhiskey out of your schoolbag.

“How’d you get your hands on that, Miss L/N?”

“Well if you must know, I stole it, Mr. Riddle.”

You dumped out the rest of the shoplifted borrowed contents of your bag: a wide assortment of sweets from Honeydukes.

“Dibs on the Fizzing Whizzbees!” Mattheo said, immediately snatching them up.

“Poor taste, you’ve got. Chocolate Frogs all the way.”

You opened the pentagonal box dramatically, catching the Frog before it could escape.

“No way,” Mattheo argued around a mouthful of Whizzbees. “They’re just unsettling to eat.”

You laughed, turning the card around to show him that it was Albus Dumbledore.

He responded by throwing a handful of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans at you while you laughed hysterically.

‘Not gay as in happy/ But queer as in fuck you/ Not gay as in happy/ But queer as in fuck you!’

“I need to talk to you,” Mattheo rushed out as he slammed open your dorm room door.

“Nice to see you too,” you said sarcastically.

“This is serious, L/N!” His voice cracked as he spoke your last name, clueing you into the fact that he really was being serious.

“Shit, alright. What’s up? Cause, I like, kinda need to talk to you too.”

Mattheo closed your door and started pacing back and forth, rambling.

“Okay, fuck, I dunno how to say this but… I mean, not that you’re not like, pretty and all, you know, in a conventionally attractive way- and you’re super cool and all that, but-”

“Mattheo, I’m transgender,” you interrupted bluntly at the same time he blurted, “I’m gay.”

You both blinked.

“You’re into guys?”

“You are a guy?”

You were both silent for a moment before bursting into laughter.

“Well uh, that works out well, huh?”

‘Fuck you too!’

[mythsec]

TW post

We live in a world built on corruption, greed, envy, oppression, and a fuck ton more. The more our group discusses these things with our neighboring friends overseas and across the pond, we note that they're fighting too but they're watching us grow as a unit. We're fighting to stay sane, to band together, to fight finally for our own rights whether you're red or blue there's no side. There's only understanding. All it takes is time to want to learn. When you find out that people can see eye to eye, that's when we can make forward motion. A well oiled machine. We defend it as a unit for Luigi Mangione. He took the life of a criminal. Someone invested in stealing from others, denying healthcare and covering up spending. When this man was killed the city took all their research to find one man when they can't do that for missing children, endangered women, men that have been r*ped and the person is still at large. There lies their priorities. There lies the issue. They don't care. They've never cared, they only want to line their pockets and keep us silent. Well no more. We take the streets and show them how we riot. How we protest. How we show them we're fed up. We've given you doxxes, we've been informing you on how to stay safe online and use a VPN and how to mask your emails. We've shown you end-to-end encrypted messaging apps to stay connected. We're here on Tumblr in case Tiktok goes down permanently. To inform the masses of when to organize and how to stay safe.

We will get through this. Georgia is fighting, the UK is fighting, all the nations are fighting. You may feel overwhelmed or in a ball, but even you can make a difference whether it's sharing news, liking posts to gain traction, making videos, making posts to keep people informed, going out and posting flyers with qr codes or getting people to wake up, whether you protest and stay a day or a week or longer, whatever you do matters and makes a difference. It's going to be a long fight but we can do this. You got this.

[fluffysucker]

Long story short

Bucky Barnes x Reader (Mob Au)

'Long story short, it was a bad time. Long story short, I survived.'

A/N: It is written in Third POV. No use of Y/N. However, the reader is referred to as a female.

Likes, comments, reblogs are VERY VERY highly appreciated

TW: Mentions of miscarriages. Very brief mention of unconsensual sex. If I missed anything, please tell me There is a simple discussion about the reader's money if you don't agree with the reader's/ my opinion. Please share yours

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

You were trying your hardest. Gathering all your strength. Pulling all your power. The adrenaline was long gone. All you were left with was anxiety and panic. And it was taking everything in you to not let it take over. Let you crawl in bed and sink into the worst possible what-ifs.

So you kept all your senses on Natasha. It's helpful when all your focus is on her. Being in Bucky's circle of the very few close people he counted as family, you used to call Natasha your friend as well. Just like her husband, Steve, and Sam, she welcomed you with open arms. She was excited to meet you. Once Bucky was no longer hiding your relationship, he didn't stop talking about you. He was head over heels for you. The most in love he was ever in. The most in love he will ever be. So Natasha was the one pushing for the meeting. When it did happen, it went better than you ever thought.

While Natasha trusted Bucky's judgement, she wanted to see for herself. She wanted to be sure that the relationship wasn't one-sided. Natasha was fiercely protective of her chosen family, and you weren't going to be an exception.

But one look at you, and she was assured. You loved Bucky just as much as he did. And for her, that made you family. She didn't care about your bloodline or the doors of hell that your love would open. All she cared about were the big smile on Bucky's face whenever he talked about you and the big heart eyes you had when looking at Bucky. And that made a nice friendship blossom between the two of you.

But just like everything good that was in your life, it was ripped away from you once Rumlow entered your life. You couldn't keep her friendship after breaking Bucky's heart. But yours was just as broken. Despite not voicing it, Natasha understood why you did what you did. She had sympathy for you. She couldn't imagine having to leave her lover for another man she barely knew. But you did. And you suffered immeasurably.

So when Bucky asked her to be here today to look after you if things went south, she didn't hesitate. She didn't need Bucky to ask; after she saw you that day in Bucky's office, she knew she would do everything she could to keep you safe. Not just her. Along with Steve and Sam, the three of them had no problem risking it all for you. Not only because you meant the most to Bucky but also because you deserve so much better than you have.

Natasha has been a great help in distracting you from the clutter happening downstairs. Once you got to the room, before you could break down, Natasha had already started talking. You were catching up. Mostly from her side. You didn't have that much to share.

Inevitably, you started talking about her and Steve's daughter. And just like this, you were looking at adorable baby pictures and happy family moments while listening to cute stories. And that put a true smile on your face.

One would think after three miscarriages you would be envious or hateful, but you weren't. Not in the slightest. Not just with Natasha, but you were always happy to hear mothers talk about their children. Their excitement was always endearing. You were aware of how different your situation was.

Because every time, you could never help the dread filling you, sitting on the bathroom floor with the positive pregnancy test in hand and tears running down your cheeks. Or the tiny relief in your heart when the doctor would tell you that you lost the baby. It was still a painful thing to go through, but you felt a bit of ease. And for that, guilt found a home in your heart.

Lots of women prayed for this. Lots of women put money, time, and effort into having it. But there you were. You always tried to be careful and take procession, but it would still happen. And that only intensified your guilt.

Even though you wanted to be a mother for as long as you could remember, you couldn't fathom the idea of bringing a child into this world. Your world. To see your baby go through everything you were going through, after you had sworn that your kids would never see what you had seen, would have been the end of you. To be unable to protect your baby would have killed you. You would be bringing a baby that you weren't sure anybody wanted. A baby that Rumlow forced into you. A baby who would grow up in a broken family. You were barely getting by, and you were smart enough to know having a kid wouldn't change Rumlow. It would make him worse. And to bring a child into life only to suffer like you, you couldn't think of anything more selfish.

So whenever Rumlow made you lose a baby, you didn't feel as bad as you should have. It only meant you had to sit through an hour or two of Rumlow and your father blaming you for failing to do your woman's duties. As if Rumlow's anger issues weren't what led you to the hospital bed, bleeding for the upcoming weeks, Exactly why you didn't want to add a child to this dilemma

You kept chatting with Natasha. The bedrooms' floor was far from Bucky's office. So you couldn't hear anything. And somehow, that was both reliving and worrying at the same time. Natasha was sure Bucky had everything under control, so she was talking about cheerful stuff, trying to ease your mind off things. And it was working.

Your chat stopped quickly when you heard the doorknob move. Both of getting into fight mood. Instantly, a breath you didn't know you were holding left you as Bucky entered the room.

"Ever heard of something called knocking, James?" Natasha tried to break the ice, as she could feel the tension and stiffness coming from your body next to her.

"Sorry if I don't knock in my own house. How rude of me." Bucky joked back, getting Natasha's hint. also a way of confirming that things went well.

"Love when you're self-aware." Natasha said as she stood up, knowing it was time for her to leave.

"Now, excuse me, I believe my husband can't live without me any longer." That pulled a small laugh from you as Natasha turned you.

"I will see you around, sweetie." Natasha told you as she went to leave, not waiting for a reply. It was like she knew you would. Will you see her around?

Natasha passed Bucky, giving him the encouragement smile she knew he needed. Then she left. Silence filled the room. Only the sound of your breathing. Bucky was the first to break it.

"It's all done." It was a simple statement. So simple, but you needed to hear it. He had to say it.

"It's all taken care of. You don't have to ever think about them again. They won't hurt you anymore. You're safe now."

There was no way Brock Rumlow and Alexander Pierce were getting out of the warehouse he was keeping them in. They were as good as dead. They had no men to fight for them. They sold them for the right price, Bucky's protection, and the promise to work with Bucky in the future. In addition, Bucky was going to take his sweet time with them. The slowest, most torturous death ever. So yes, you were safe.

You wanted to cry. Happy tears for the first time in your life. Tears of relief. A burden that had been keeping you tied down for so long was finally gone. You were free.

"I don't know how to thank you." It was sincere. You can never thank him enough. He did so much for you.

"You don't have to." He would have done more to ensure you got out of this life. Way more if it was required.

"Everything will be back in your name tomorrow." It was your money. Your empire now. You get to decide what you want to do next. And Bucky wasn't going to take that away from you.

But you didn't want it. It felt tinted. It felt haunted. It was coated in your blood and tears. And you didn't know if you would ever be comfortable using it. However, having the conversation with Bucky again to keep it all because he would know what to do with it better was going to be pointless. So you didn't say anything.

Silence sat between the both of you again. Neither of you knows what to say. So much to be said. So much hanging in the air. But how can you approach it?

"Now, you can leave if you want." It was so difficult to say. However, Bucky knew he had to give you a choice. Maybe you wanted to end this chapter in your life. Walk away and never look back. Cut ties with everything that might remind you of the battles you fought. It would hurt him immensely, but he would understand and support you.

"Do you want me to?" Your voice was above a whisper. You were the one always offering to leave, and he would turn it down. But there was too much at risk then. Now, there wasn't. Maybe your desperate need for him made you read too much into things. Your blind love for him made you wish for things. And maybe you weren't on the same page.

But if you left, where would you go? You had no place to go. You had no family, and Rumlow made sure you lost the small number of friends you had. Other than Bucky, you had no one. So if you left, you would be alone. And that scared you. But also, you were too big of a problem to burden Bucky more. However, you couldn't help the question from slipping past your lips.

"Never." Bucky's answer was immediate. He signed as he moved to sit next to you on the bed, holding your hand between his. His touch was comforting as always.

"I never want you to leave, doll. Not again." Even the thought of you leaving was too cruel.

"I should have stopped you the first time. I should have fought for you. I should have stood in everyone's face."

"Everything that happened to you was because of me."

Guilt filled every fibre of Bucky's being. He should have burned the world down for you. Instead, he handed you to the wolves. You were about to tell him that wasn't true. That there was no stopping you. That you thought you were doing the right thing for the both of you. But he didn't let you.

"I chose the easy way out. I gave up too quickly. And you paid for it."

Nothing you could say would make Bucky see things differently. Every time he saw the scars on your body, he was reminded of the coward he was. It hurt Bucky to think how the only time in his life he wasn't brave enough was for you. Because who doesn't fight for his love? Bucky would give everything for you to forgive him.

"If you give me a chance, I will live the rest of my life making it up for you. I will show you my love. I will make you my world. My everything. My life. My girl"

Every word that left Bucky's mouth was genuine. He meant it. You were the thing Bucky lived for.

"Bucky." And you felt his sincerity. And it brought you to tears because you couldn't be what he wanted you to be.

"I'm too broken."

A part of you was ashamed to say it out loud, but it was true. But what you had gone through broke too many things in you. After finally being free, you saw how damaged you were.

"No, doll, you aren't. And you will never be." It was painful to hear you talk about yourself so negatively.

"But I'm. I'm not the person you fell in love with. I'm barely the shell of her. You don't want this."

Nobody would want this. Nobody deserved to be with this. You couldn't repay Bucky's kindness by throwing more on his plate. And you were sure he wouldn't want you anymore.

"There isn't a version of you that I don't want. There isn't a time when I'm not hopelessly out of my mind in love with you. I need you just as much as I need the air to live. I'm in pieces without you. I was a dead man before and without you. You are my revival."

"We will take it as slow as you want. Everything will be at your pace. And I will be by your side at every step of the way. Every bump. Every hardship. I will be here. I will hold your hand through it all."

If you thought what you went through was going to drive Bucky away, you were wrong. It only made Bucky admire you more. You were a fighter. A survivor. And it's time you rest. It's time for him to take care of you. And he would do it gladly.

With your current emotional and mental struggles, hearing Bucky announce his profound love for you and his willingness to be your rock and support made you break down into sobs.

"Doll, what's wrong?" Bucky got worried as your sobs got louder. Did he say something wrong? He would take it back right away.

"I don't deserve you." You blurted it out between your sobs. Today's emotions are finally catching up to you. Everything he did and was willing to do for you

"You deserve better. But if you give me the chance, I will live my whole life cherishing it." Bucky would worship the ground you are walking on if you became his again.

"I never loved someone so much before. You are the only one I have. The only one I have ever had." You wrapped your hand around his neck, wanting to hide in him. And he pulled you closer to him. You laid a small kiss on his neck as a sign that you wanted this too. You wanted to have him be yours again. You wanted the good in life. And Bucky was the best. Bucky took your sign and couldn't help but smile. He had you back.

You stayed like this for a bit, ravishing in the moment. His hands were rubbing your back softly.

"Maybe we should take that trip to Thailand." Bucky said as he felt you move away.

"I still have the flight tickets." A genuine laugh left you that warmed Bucky's heart, making his eyes shine.

"I think we are a couple of years late for this plane." Your hands stayed in Bucky's, refusing to sit without his touch on you somehow.

"Nonsense. We can still make it." With his other hand, Bucky wiped away the remaining tears on your face.

"If you say, though." Talking about the trip you were planning right before everything went bad was heartwarming. Like you would be able to pick up from where you left.

"But I need to go shopping first."

"First thing in the morning. All my cards are yours. Then we can go to the airport." Starting from this moment on, Bucky was going to get back to his favourite hobby in the world. Spoiling you. And god, was he about to spoil you like there was no tomorrow.

You knew he wasn't joking. Bucky was going to go above and beyond for you. His eyes showed his determination. And it felt marvelous to know that in this cruel world, there was someone who wanted you so much. And that someone was Bucky Barnes. You were lucky.

Unable to resist the urge, you went back to hiding into his neck, loving the way you fitted against him. So perfectly. Like he was made to hold you. You wanted to stay like this forever. Safe and secure in his arms. Wanted and desired in his eyes. Loved and cherished in his heart. You wanted the things only Bucky could give you. You wanted Bucky.

"Please, don't leave me."

"Never, doll. I'm not going anywhere."

You knew you were going to be okay. You were going to be fine. You were in the clear. You were out of the woods.

Taglist: @ozwriterchick @vicmc624 @pattiemac1 @kandis-mom @dexter99

[brokenpieces-72]

angst one shot of gotham knights dick grayson with twin reader of damian? reader was away for training and visited gotham after bruce's death, they're not taking his death well and dick tries to comfort them but they get mad at him. they say he doesn't understand what it's like bc he knew bruce the longest and out of all the kids reader spent the smallest time with bruce. on the other hand dick mostly got a cold, silent bruce while in the moments bruce and reader spent together bruce actually opened up to them.

A little more complicated… but yeah I’m down for this, I need to think of a concept for the twin but I like the challenge. Certainly an interesting concept. Apologies for this taking so long, lots came up that made it hard to feel motivated. Hope you enjoy.

Lost

TW: mentions of death, grief, loss, anger, violence outbursts, let me know if I missed any.

When you returned to Gotham… well… imagine… honestly it’s not something easily described or compared. Bruce hadn’t been around you for long, and the news he had another biological child kind of threw him. You didn’t intend to stay with him, merely wanted him to know of your existence. You figured he’d want you out, he already had Damien and almost a dozen other children, you felt unnecessary.

Bruce made you feel more than necessary. Learning about your situation, where you were living, what you did working for the league of assassins, never forcing you to do anything that you didn’t like, offering safe house locations if you needed space of your own, and even providing you with his contact information if you needed to get a hold of him. Bruce wasn’t afraid to talk to you, tell you about his own life. For once in your whole life, you had someone to look up to, someone who was willing to raise you better, someone who could look past your flaws and bring out the person you were meant to be.

Now he was gone.

You’d left for training, simple combat stuff that you’d been taught already but wanted to improve on. You weren’t meant to be gone long. When the news of his death came to you, you felt shattered. The air was sucked out of the room, your blood ran cold, you could barely speak. Someone may as well had opened your chest, poured liquid nitrogen on your heart, and smashed it with a sledge hammer. That might have been more relieving. Instead, you gathered what faculties remained. “Sorry uh… thank you. What um… where…”

“His body has yet to be released but is being examined at the Gotham City Morgue.”

“Thank you…” you replied. You hung up. It was too much. You’d dealt with bodies before, it was your job as a cleaner for the League of Assassins. You never thought you’d have to deal with the body of someone you’d grown to love, let alone your own father.

Grayson met you when you arrived at Gotham. You were quiet and distant. He didn’t blame you. No, you didn’t want to go to the manor, you had a place of your own. You needed some privacy with your own self. Grayson would later learn it was because you were talking to “Bruce”, seeing him in the room. He overheard you talking to him one night when he came to check on you. You went along to help with funeral proceedings, discussions often leading to you staring off and sometimes digging your nails into your wrists or palms.

During a small meeting with the police you actually broken skin, pulling yourself out of your trance. Grayson tried to help, but you just walked away without an answer to clean yourself up. That day had been the worst because you learned what had happened, but didn’t say anything about what you knew, at least not to the police. Your grandfather, that fucking monster, was responsible. You’d cleaned up enough of the Leagues messes to recognize it, and in the bathroom you were pissed. Your rage and anger, that they took the one person you could call family who treated you like a person and made you feel like you were good enough. When Grayson went to find you after, all he found was a shattered mirror in the bathroom.

Your emotions got the better of you there was no denying that. The training you’d had was put to good use, but to a dangerous degree. More than once you nearly sent thugs to early graves, you’d even held one on the edge a roof, demanding answers before dropping him on a trash bin. You kept ignoring phone calls from Grayson, knowing he would just berate you for taking things too far. You weren’t killing anyone. You weren’t crossing any lines! The Assassins? That was crossing the line, you were just putting criminals in their place. You couldn’t make anyone happy it seemed. “Stop that’s too far!” “Come on you should know better.” “You’re better than this.” “You’re not good enough.” “This isn’t right.” “There’s no next time if you’re caught.” “You’re not an assassin.” “Pathetic.” “Messy.” “You’re not a hero!” “Why aren’t you picking up the slack.” “Stupid child.” “Get me another beer!”

“Nobody wants you.” “Quit screwing up!” “Again, and do it right!”

SHUT UP!!!

“FUCK!” You shouted realizing you’d hit a brick wall. Literally. Your knuckles were bloody still, and now had pain running through them from the impact, and up your forearm. You had to crouch, cradling your hand, and gritting your teeth.

"The fuck do you want?" You asked, still wincing. Grayson had shown up, fully suited, on patrol. He wasn't on patrol though he just opened with the whole "I was in the area" bs. You'd heard him coming, but outrunning him was pointless, especially with everything your head was dealing with.

"You can't keep going like this." Grayson said. Really? Really right now? This is what he decides to start with? The Last of the Flying Graysons everybody! Stating the incredibly obviuous from new heights. Before you might have said that out loud, but you didn't have the energy too. Your mouth control was a lot better too.

"You're self destructing." Why did he have to be so calm when he was talking, it pissed you off.

"What told you that? My cradled arm or your fifth sense?"

"The number of battery cases at the hospital." He answered. ...it was a rhetorical question, but you didn't think your escapades had gone that far. Then again why did it matter?

"No one else in this family has added to it?" You asked, rhetorical again.

"Y/N you're going too far. You keep going like this, you'll end up the same way as the guys you've put in hospital beds. Or worse.

"Good maybe I'll get to spend more time with dad." You muttered. Yep, Grayson was right. That's what this was.

"I get it, you;re hurting, but hurting yourself and other people isn't going to bring him back." Grayson told you. You tried to walk away, turning and rolling your eyes. Yeah no shit, you'd dealt with death before, you were a cleaner for god sakes, you knew what it entailed. Grayson didn't know shit about your life. "I'm serious, if you keep going on like this, you'll-"

"End up in the same place as dad, I fucking got it." You snapped. "Point still stands."

"...I know what it's like, losing your family."

"No you don't." You mumbled.

"I lost my family." Grayson argued.

"I LOST THE ONLY FAMILY I HAD!" You screamed. He didn't know anything about it. He'd had a family, he had another family, you never had anyone else but your dad, and no one would understand that. You grew up not knowing what family felt like until you met your real dad. "You don't know what any of that feels like! You have a family! You had a family! You had parents!"

You took a minute to pace, and let the emotions get out and consume, do whatever the fuck emotions did when you felt yourself exploding. Someone needed to hear it because at this rate no one seemed to understand but was pretending they did. You turned back to Grayson, who just had a look on his face that you couldn't read. Maybe it was clam or shock or pity, you didn't care.

“You had a father way longer than I ever did. Those few moments mean more than anyone will ever understand!” You yelled. "The day I met him, was the first good memory I ever had. Those were the only good memories I had!"

Grayson stood there. Bruce had been cold with him for a long time, warming up to him took time. Maybe it was because you were younger, maybe he saw himself in you from the night he lost his parents, maybe you were just able to warm up to him better. Regardless he’d opened up to you much easier and much faster than he had with Grayson. Training had been for you to prove yourself. Prove you weren’t just a cleaner. Bruce covered for you when the League of Assassins tried to look for you.

Maybe Bruce opened up after everyone else had slowly tugged away at his walls. You found a way through because they'd made holes for you to get in.

You stared back at Grayson, before throwing your arms up, in a fed up shrug.

"And I fucking left..." You said, your voice raw.

You sat on the ground, frustrated. You missed him. For the short while you had, it was basically everything. For once in your life you had real father, one that didn’t give you shit for overlooking something he’d missed or tried to peer pressure you into drinking rather than letting you talk it out. You could talk to him, feel at home, feel safe, be happy! Grayson had all the time in the world with him, he couldn’t know what that was like. You pulled your knees in, as if trying to squeeze into the brick behind you.

Grayson sat down next to you, more relaxed, while you just stared at the ground. You wanted to tell him to go away. You didn't want a big brother right now. You wanted your dad. You couldn't have him, so Grayson was the next best thing. That's what you told yourself at least.

"I think you had some of the best times with him." Grayson said finally. "He used to be a lot colder. A lot of it was business or vigilante stuff. It took a lot of time for him to open up. Told me about his parents after I lost mine. I think he hid a lot of it at first because he was worried about me, I mean I was like 10 at the time, not exactly a safe hobby. He was like that for a long time with me and pretty much everyone else. Then you came along, and... I think that little time you had, was after several practice runs with us."

"So...?" You asked. What was he getting at?

"You had the best times with him, and I think those were some of his best as well. Even if it didn't seem all that exciting, for him they were good. They were fun to watch from the sidelines too." Grayson told you. You felt some warmth in your chest. Maybe it was just exhaustion. "He's gone but you still remember him. That makes those moments better. Breaking yourself isn't going to bring him back, it just makes you hurt in other places. Trust me I know from experience."

"... Am I gonna be okay?" You asked after some silence.

"...No. It gonna be different... and eventually you learn to live with those differences. It will be alright... but it will not be the same. That...that is okay." Grayson told you.

"...Okay." You said, taking some time to breathe. It was the first bit of relief you'd had in what felt like months. You kept pawing at your eyes, tearing up.

"We should get out of here. Stay still and some punks with find us." Grayson said. "No more fighting for a bit, you need to find other coping skills."

You scoffed at that. Good, your hand was still hurting anyways.

"Water, food, first aid, and then we'll figure something out from there." Grayson told you getting up. He gave you hand getting up.

"We?" You questioned.

"The last time I left you alone you broke a whole ass public bathroom mirror." He stated. "Like it or not, you're part of the family. Family doesn't get left behind."

"Deal." You said, and he got you back to the clocktower.

Taglist: @yourlovely-moon @kaoyamamegami @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @sans-chara @0wosugarmommymedic0wo @smitten-haematite-quartz @talia-the-gemini @yuki2129 @whitetiger846 @graystorm444 @chibiduck @reaperxxxxzz @danielle143 @sobbingnshtting @cringeycookies @cryingpages @dcnocap207 @reaper-chan666 @bestbookfriends @thriving-n-jiving @cutiecusp @shikigami-the-paper-spirit @lolyouranelf @theotheronedotorg

[hotreadingwitch]

MADE TO LIE - the news

TW: sexism (interviewers discussing the sex tape objectify Y/n)

Y/N 

Natasha’s shoulders tensed. 

“I can’t believe Tony made you and Bucky make a sex tape…” she exclaimed, her voice calm but her words angry, “he’s such a fucking pervert sometimes” 

“Yeah! And made you release it everywhere” Wanda added zealously. 

Y/n had been close with Wanda and Natasha since she’d become an Avenger. She’d quickly built friendships with the two women as they both had their own traumas to heal from, Natasha with her past in the Red Room and Wanda with the death of her parents. Over the last few years together they’d grown beyond friends, becoming sisters in every sense of the word. She trusted them with her life, yes, that was necessary as teammates, but more than that she trusted them with her past. Having shared more details with them than anyone else at the compound they knew things that even Tony didn’t.

“I couldn’t believe it either trust me” Y/n replied back to the girls, “He was so rude before too! Telling me to get over myself and focus on the mission…”

Though she was mad, Y/n’s mind couldn’t help but drift back into the feeling of Bucky’s lips on her skin the night before, making her body warm instinctively as if he was touching her right then and there…Distracted by her thoughts, she almost missed the funny look that passed between the two women in front of her.

“What?” She questioned, “I know that look—what is it?”

“You have to tell us Y/n…” Wanda hesitated before her mouth curved into a mischievous grin. 

Most of the other Avengers thought Wanda was fierce because of her powers but mostly innocent otherwise. If only they knew the truth…

“Oh God,” Y/n rolled her eyes, “You want to know if it was good or not?” 

Natasha stared at her with a smirk, winking in response. 

“Oh c’mon, you two are ridiculous” Y/n protested, biting down on her bottom lip to stop her oncoming smile. 

“Please! He’s so dreamy” 

“We want to know every detail…” 

“Fine, so—“ 

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

“Hey Y/n,” Bruce said, blushing, “you might want to come out and see this…”

~ 

Y/n, Natasha, and Wanda quickly reached the compound’s glossy, high-tech media room after walking through the bedroom-lined halls of the complex. Her neck prickled as she entered the space, making her head turn towards the source of the feeling. Bucky stared back at her from where he sat beside Steve on the couch, his legs spread open in a masculine stance as he listened to whatever the other man was saying. The rest of the team all turned to look at her once they realized that she was standing there. Her cheeks flushed. 

Bucky got up in a huff, brushing past her and the girls without a single word. It was as if her mere presence aggravated him. Her eyes must have reflected her confusion and budding embarrassment because Natasha held out her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze when Y/n took it gratefully. 

“Don’t let him bother you” Steve called out, instantly diffusing the knot of tension building in her stomach. 

Steve was another close friend of Y/n’s, definitely her favourite out of the guys. They’d bonded when Tony had first brought her into the Avengers initiative, saving her from the criminal life that she was forced to lead, under a notorious gang-boss in France. 

“Welcome to Good Morning America” a woman on the television spoke with a crisp accent, interrupting the awkwardness, “This is Stephanie Lancaster reporting to you with the latest gossip. Recent news includes the leaked sex tape of none other than popular Avenger Y/n Y/l/n and reformed mass-murderer, the Winter Soldier, James Buchanan Barnes”

“I can’t say I expected this!” another reporter chimed in, “What is a kind and respected hero like Y/n doing with a bad boy like Barnes? Remember when she organized that charity gala for orphaned children? What has he ever done that’s good? They couldn’t be more different…”

Y/n’s cheeks flushed again, this time with a spike of anger. 

A third cut him off then, adding, “I think they’re cute, and well, they’re obviously pleasing each other”

This caused the three reporters to chuckle. Wanda changed the channel but each one was the same. Y/n sat on one of the couches, letting the cool leather soothe the jumble of emotions that she was feeling as the gossipers divisively discussed everything about her from the stretch marks on her thighs to the way she moaned Bucky’s name. Interrupting her growing moodiness in an instant, she heard her voice ring out over the media room speakers, “Just. Like. That.”

“Oh my god,” Wanda said, shocked, finally just turning the TV off with a click.

“How can they even play a clip of that on television” Natasha joined in, her brows knitting together. 

“Well, it’s nothing everyone hasn’t seen already” Sam chuckled.

“Meaning?” Y/n asked, her head snapping back to face her friend.

Steve sighed from behind Y/n before responding, “Not only are they broadcasting short, blurred clips of the tape on most of these channels, you two are the number one trending video on Pornhub as of this morning” 

“Great…” Y/n stated, suddenly annoyed, “So every horny person in the whole country has seen me naked now?” 

“I haven’t seen it Y/n” Bruce came forward, the ever-respectful gentleman, “If that makes you feel any better…”

Y/n looked to the corner expecting to see Bucky glowering before remembering that he had stormed angrily out of the room. She sighed, agitated that she was taking the brunt of the exposure alone without the man who was supposed to be her partner in all this. Of course, Bucky was coming out mostly unscathed by the media, even getting a few ‘props’ from the more sexist networks and shows. Taylor Swift had sung it best, If I was a man, then I’d be the man.

Her slumped shoulders were a visible gesture that was not missed by none other than Steve Rogers. As Y/n stood and said a quick goodbye, walking back through the empty compound halls to her room, Steve followed. When she noticed him lagging behind her she paused, allowing him time to catch up. 

“Hey Steve” Y/n exhaled with a bitter laugh. 

“Hey” an apologetic look painting his perfect features, “Wanna talk about it?”

~

They soon arrived at her room. Y/n opened the door, revealing her space to him. It was different from Bucky’s. Where his space was cool and dark, hers was warm and cozy. It had crisp white bed sheets, comfy chairs for reading, bookshelves and large windows that looked out to the forest greenery surrounding the compound, giving her a sense of calm that she had never found living in the city. 

“How are you feeling?” Steve braved, his concern clear. 

“I feel awful,” Y/n told him honestly, “How could Tony assign this mission to us, Steve? Bucky and I are polar opposites. We might’ve completed ‘step one’ but who knows how we’ll be able to get through the rest of the plan if he can’t even stand to be near me” 

“I know Y/n, I know” he consoled before hesitating.

“C’mon Steve tell me” she smiled knowingly with an eye roll, “I know you’re dying to spit out whatever wise, old-man advice you’re about to give” 

“Look” Steve began kindly, brushing off the small dig, “I know he’s an ass. I’m his best friend Y/n, I know that better than anyone but I have to say you should give him another chance. He might seem cold now but he’ll warm up soon enough…How could he not when he’s with someone as amazing as you?”

Steve never failed to make her feel better and yet the pit in her stomach remained. 

“I just—” she started, “I’m scared Steve, this feels like it’s going to be the death of me…and I don’t know why” 

“I don’t know what’s going on with all this exactly either Y/n, but I know you’ll figure it out”

“Thanks” she sighed again, her mood slightly improved.

“And with Bucky…” 

“Yeah?” 

“Be careful” 

“I will Steve,” she placed a comforting hand on his, “You’re a sweetheart you know? But don’t worry, he can’t hurt me” 

“Right…” Steve’s eyes flickered with something she couldn’t decipher. 

He left then, going to exercise with Sam, leaving her typical comforting room cold in his wake and her mind racing. 

BUCKY

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

Bucky’s heart rate revved in his chest like one of Tony’s over-priced sports cars. He was practically bionic at this point, how come he still had feelings? 

“Motherfucker…” he uttered his thoughts aloud as wet droplets ran down his neck to his wide shoulders and below. 

The cool water was supposed to help stabilize his pounding heart not make him sink further into the thoughts that had been threatening to consume him since last night. Being intimate with Y/n had made something suspicious bloom within him. His chest tightened every time he remembered her spread open just for him, his cock pounding into her, making her wet, making her— 

Two hard knocks pounded on the door to his en-suite bathroom. Steve. He was the only one with a key to his room. Better safe than sorry until the Avengers team could figure out a way for the Winter Soldier programming to be permanently removed from his mind. 

Most days Bucky spent working out at the compound or hanging out with Steve and now even Sam Wilson, one of Steve’s annoying friends who’d helped them out with the HYDRA disaster a couple of years ago and later the fight between the whole team that Tony now jokingly called their ‘Civil War’. It wasn’t safe for him to be out in the world most of the time, though the compound’s therapist Dr. Janet Pashia did help him work through most elements of his past. 

Bucky turned the nozzle of the shower off, cutting the steady stream of water short. In a moment of intense anger with Tony’s high-tech gadgets, he’d vented to Steve until they had replaced the thousand coloured buttons with what he considered to be a much more practical handle that simply turned the water hot and cold. He didn’t need anything lavish or extra. In all honesty, after all he had been through, he craved simplicity over anything.

“Steve” Bucky greeted with a grunt, walking out of the bathroom, a fluffy white towel hanging low on his waist. 

“Save that grumpy tone for Y/n” Steve raised an eyebrow. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“You’re smart Buck, I’m sure you can guess how your storming out today made her feel”

Bucky released a low noise of pent-up frustration. 

“She just drives me mad! You should’ve heard her when we got assigned the mission Steve, her hesitance to do what clearly needs to be done pissed me off and last night—” 

Bucky ran a hand through his dark hair, pulling at the wet strands in desperation before continuing, 

“I’m a professional for fuck’s sake” he gritted out finally, “I wouldn’t be acting this way if I was working with Natasha or with Wanda” 

Steve was silent for a beat, “Well Buck, you’re not as ‘professional’ as you used to be and we both know it” 

Bucky fixed Steve with a glare that would make a lesser man faint. 

“What?” Steve shrugged innocently before laughing, “Hey, that’s a good thing. I like the new you—the new/old you. Whatever you wanna call it. I like that you’re a bit of a softie these days…” 

Bucky’s gaze eased but he let out a heavy sigh, “Yeah well, it doesn’t mean I want to be all soft all the time and there’s still that part of me that’s…cold, untouchable” 

Steve smiled gently in that wholesome way that Bucky was sure only he could do. 

“You’re getting better, that’s all that matters” he stated with confidence, “Look at me. You’re trying, more than I’ve ever seen you try at something in your life, getting checked out by all those doctors and specialists, seeing that therapist you like, keeping your mind as clear as possible. You’re doing good Bucky, whether you want to admit it or not. I can say that can’t I? I know you better than anyone” 

This time his smile seemed more hopeful. 

“Thanks, Steve” Bucky cleared his throat, putting a veiny hand on the other man’s shoulder and clasping it. 

“But Buck, with Y/n…try and ease up on her, she deserves it” 

He got up from where he sat, heading towards the door, when he turned to look back at his friend there was a knowing glint in his eye. 

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