#y’all exhaust me with your double standards

[catoperated]

People who post “proship dni” and also ship bloodweave, have you, like, considered it’s suuuuper problematic to ship a 200 year old vampire with anyone, even halsin, cause there’s still a 150 year gap. This post is sarcasm/satire to be clear.

[mywitchyblog]

Addressing Misconceptions (Again)

About this post of mine

Alright, it seems like once again, some of y’all have taken my words completely out of context, so let’s clear the air one more time.

First off, I didn’t make my previous post to attack all teenage shifters. I wasn’t pointing fingers at the entire group, nor was I saying that teenagers can’t shift properly or intelligently. My post was specifically directed at those who engage in hypocrisy—you know, the ones who criticize adults for age-shifting down while doing the exact same thing in reverse. The double standards are what I’m calling out, not every teenage shifter on the planet.

So, if you read that post and didn’t feel targeted, then it wasn’t about you. As the saying goes: If the shoe fits, wear it. If it doesn’t, move along.

Now, to those of you who are still convinced that I’m being “mean,” “vulgar,” or “hateful,” let me ask you this: Are you upset because of the way I said it, or because you got called out on your own contradictions? Let’s be real here—most of the responses I’ve gotten so far have been nothing but fallacies, where instead of engaging with the actual point I made, people decided to:

Attack my tone: Calling me “vulgar” or “hateful” is a classic ad hominem move. Instead of addressing the logic behind what I said, y’all are trying to discredit me by focusing on my word choice. You’re upset because I used strong language? Sorry, but the truth can be harsh sometimes. Focus on the substance of the argument, not the delivery.

Twist my words: Saying I’m attacking all teenage shifters is a straw man fallacy. I’m not out here claiming all teenage shifters are hypocrites or unintelligent. I’m calling out a specific pattern of behavior—the double standards that some (not all) people hold in this community when it comes to age-shifting. You know the ones I’m talking about: criticizing adults for age-shifting down while they age themselves up for the same reasons. If you don’t engage in that behavior, I’m not talking about you.

I made that post because this double standard is exhausting to witness. If we’re going to call certain behaviors “creepy” or “wrong,” then those standards need to be consistent across the board. You can’t shame someone for age-shifting down to relive experiences they missed out on while simultaneously aging yourself up to play out fantasies that fit your narrative. It’s the same thing, just flipped. If it’s problematic for one group, it’s problematic for everyone.

If the post triggered you, maybe it’s because you saw yourself in it. Maybe it’s because you’ve been playing the same game and didn’t like having a mirror held up to your actions. Either way, I’m not here to sugarcoat my points just to avoid ruffling feathers. If you’re going to critique me, do it with actual arguments—not emotional responses or complaints about my tone. Because the reality is, most of y’all aren’t engaging with the message, you’re just reacting to your own discomfort.

Speaking of Hypocrisy...

Now, let’s talk about another blatant double standard some of y’all are holding: shifting into fictional races vs. shifting into BIPOC identities. Some of you love to act all righteous, preaching about how wrong it is for someone to shift into a BIPOC identity, while at the same time, you’re out here shifting into elves, Na'vi, or other fantasy races, thinking that’s somehow okay.

Spoiler alert: Shifting into a “fictional” race is fundamentally the same thing as shifting into a BIPOC identity—it’s just wrapped up in a “pretty pink bow” of fiction to make it more acceptable for you. Whether you’re shifting into a BIPOC identity to explore different facets of life or diving into some fantasy species, you’re doing the same thing. The only reason you feel comfortable with one and not the other is because the fantasy version is conveniently distanced from real-world issues.

This brings us to another fallacy: special pleading. This fallacy happens when people create an arbitrary exception for something they are involved in while criticizing others for similar actions. For example, they might argue that race-shifting is wrong, but it’s somehow “different” or “okay” when they shift into a fictional race or species. The logic simply doesn’t hold up. It’s an inconsistent standard, and that’s why I call it out as hypocrisy. You can’t apply one set of rules to others while making a special exception for yourself just because you’re hiding behind a fantasy setting.

If you’re going to judge others for shifting into BIPOC identities, you better be ready to judge yourself when you’re out here shifting into an elf, a Na'vi, or any other fantasy race that’s just a dressed-up version of real-world cultures. The hypocrisy is real, and if you don’t see it, that’s on you.

If this hits a little too close to home, maybe it’s time to check yourself. The truth is, most of y’all are fine with exploring different identities as long as they’re neatly tied up in fantasy. But when it comes to real-world identities, particularly BIPOC ones, suddenly you’ve got a problem. The double standard is ridiculous, and it’s not just hypocritical—it’s exhausting.

Feeling Offended? Ask Yourself Why

So, if you’re feeling offended by my posts—whether it’s about age-shifting or race-shifting—then maybe you should ask yourself why. Because if my words make you uncomfortable, it’s probably because they’ve struck a nerve. You can’t keep applying one set of rules to yourself and another set to everyone else just to feel morally superior. That’s not how it works.

At the end of the day, shifting is about exploring different facets of ourselves, whether through age, race, or any other identity. But if you’re going to call someone else out for how they shift, you better be applying that same scrutiny to yourself. Otherwise, you’re just playing the hypocrite game.

So here’s your wake-up call: stop rewriting the rules to fit your narrative. Either own it across the board, or step off the ride. Because if you’re still pretending that aging yourself up is okay but aging down isn’t, or that shifting into a fantasy race is fine but shifting into a BIPOC identity isn’t, you’re the one with the double standards—not me.

[zumpietoo]

Snorty!!! You must be positively exhausted from

A) scrounging everywhere for non-existent bullshit to be pissed off about (and is weird, cuz no shortage of actual, low-hanging fruit)

B) Endlessly repeating you same few standard, non-existent talking points!

Who hates the trailer/why is it “laughably bad”? I actually kinda like it (past wardrobe’s abysmal phoning it in)

Ooopsss!!! Miss Fanfic Writer/Total Shakespeare----a double negative! Plus, again, SOME of us doooo....

Agreed the tagline is lame/weak, but tells you nobody can write copy for shit.

This IS true, buuut.....don’t watch? Also, I thought RAS was your savior, having wrested the helm from evvollll Babyman and would give you jizzy endgame? Guess not, then?

Waiittt....I thought y’all were insisting the poster was amaazzzinggg cuz you edited and squinted to pretend it was, in fact, all jizzy, all the time....it’s like you looked at it and saw BAV(&C) tri-quadrangle and Jabiiiiii (oh right, you’re mad the black lady who Jug likes to kiss IS there, as a main)

Umm....then, again, they’d just cancel it. Or give it 6 eps to wrap up shit...not 20. And while, yes, RAS is a total hack, he has another show in production and this made his creepy ass a millionaire. Plus, again, the CW? Is a ded network, now...

OML....duuuuuddeee....it was never a work of genius/high art, etc....and don’t watch, then. And it’s entertainment....it doesn’t need a “purpose” per se and never did that shit before, anyway.....

I would actually love to read that article....also, apparently, berrypee sends me mouthfoaming  hate both in German and English....(and I’m told by another native German speaker, aka the person who sends me stuff, “ it’s immigrant/ lower income youth vernacular”...lolzzzz)

I might not entirely like that, but I wouldn’t say it’s remotely “weird”, in fact, it’s kinda the show all along....where TF have you losers been?

OML, Izzy....

A) he’s old, he can retire if he wants to

B) hardly.....and trust me, he did way worse on other shows he wrote

C) this isn’t even his fault (tho he IS an ass). The problem here is you refuse to accept this was RAS’s vision, all along. 

And nobody’s given a fuck, brainfreeze

[elysianslove]

helo love! i hope you're having a good day. kinda want a break from bf hq boys. can i ask for miya twins as reader's older brothers? 👉👈 i was thinking if she can be the manager of inarizaki just because i want aran to lose his mind from dealing with three miyas hahahaha. thank youuu ily!! ʕ•ε•ʔ

omg i lovelovelove the concept of the miya twins having a sister and now that i’ve gotten an ask about it skfsbfkj <3333 thank you for sending this and i hope you like it!! 

MIYA TWINS WITH A YOUNGER SISTER 

considering you and the two of them are only a year apart, you’re pretty close with one another. of course, the older you got, the more annoying they were, and there was this one era when they were like 9-12 that they made it their life mission to annoy you. but then they grew out of that phase eventually, and as they matured, they became more tolerable. 

they’re not only teenage boys, but also your older brothers. they’re going to be annoying. 

atsumu definitely does that sibling thing where he’s like eating a bowl of cereal or whatever and he enters your room, just stands there and chews really loudly, then walks back out without closing the door. it makes you want to kill him every time.

osamu probably just like tugs at your hair whenever he sees you because why not yk, especially if it’s in a ponytail or a braid. and this isn’t 9-12 year old osamu. this is like 15-17 year old osamu. he just grabs your braid and pulls. you might snap your neck one day honestly. 

atsumu eats your leftovers. all the time. like literally all the time how do u still have 2 brothers and not 1

osamu comes and sits in your room like on ur couch or bed cause you have better wifi or whatever. he farts and goes “sorry :D.” he is not sorry.

sometimes the both of them team up on you and it’s so exhausting. but if you manage to get your mom on your side? consider them obliterated. 

and yk what’s even more fun? when you and a twin team up on the other twin. it’s just always hilarious cause the other twin will act so betrayed vjshsdsk

anyways because you’re only one year apart, their friends are your friends and your friends are their friends. have you ever had to deal with a “best friend’s brother” type of thing where a friend of yours only wanted to come over because she heard that miya atsumu likes to walk around the house shirtless? yes. 

she ended up being extremely disappointed at the fact that miya atsumu has a lot more respect for those living in the same house as him and doesn’t walk around shirtless. ironic. 

but also atsumu does flirt with every single one of your friends. 

flirt with his it’s okay <3

you’d think atsumu would be more protective or selfish about you being close with him and samu’s friends? nope. 

it’s osamu

like, for example, every time he sees you walking alone with suna he wants to either deck suna or deck you. he can never decide on which one. 

he’s just very good at hiding things like that, and atsumu isn’t, so it always seems like atsumu gives more of a shit than osamu does. and honestly, osamu’s not even sure why it bothers him so much. he’s not mad that you’re friends with his friends, like, obviously he isn’t, because he’s happy to share, especially since you’re his sister. but at the same time, he can’t help but feel like he really can’t have anything for himself you know? sounds pathetic and selfish but he can’t help it. 

i think you bring it up at some point and ask him if he’s bothered by it, and it took a whileee before he admitted that yes, it kinda does. it made sense in your head though, only because he’s your brother, and obviously you’re not gonna stop being friends with them, but you understand. they were his first, in a sense. 

but!!! he’s not gonna lie, osamu loves the fact that he can trust his friends with you. like if anything were to ever happen to you, he knows his friends will react the same way he would, and that alone kinda reels him in. 

since you’ve known aran since you were really young, he’s kinda like a third older brother to you. he always acts like a mediator between you and your brothers (and is always on your side, even if you’re in the wrong. so what if his favoritism is showing?). you genuinely feel like you can turn to him for anything at any point if you can’t turn to your brothers first. 

but out of all their friends, you’re closest to suna and you can’t explain why. he’s just so nice to be around and if you’re left alone with him, it can’t ever be awkward, even if it’s completely silent and quiet. plus, suna’s probably covered for you a couple of times if we’re being honest :)

anyways! 

protective wise, they’re honestly a lot better than you’d think they’d be. like yeah they’ll give you hell if you even mention the fact that you might have a crush on someone, but in reality, they just want what’s best for you, and they want you to always be happy.

obviously, if the person of your choosing really doesn’t seem like they have your best interest in mind, your brothers will be extremely blunt about it. like i said, they want what’s best for you, and they’re not going to sugarcoat anything at all. 

good luck trying to get your opinion in on their love interests they’re suddenly incapable of hearing. hypocrites and double standards <//3

they will do the whole interrogation thing, but it’s mostly because they don’t wanna look like they’re softies. they want the person to fear for their life if they even consider hurting you. 

in regards to comfort; 

osamu is the best listener there is. genuinely. he just sits there and lets you talk his ear off. he won’t care if you spend hours doing it. if it helps you relax, and calm down, then he’s all for it. 

atsumu is who to go to when you’re sobbing and need to get your mind off of something. he’s great at distracting you, but healthily. he’s not very good at the talking thing, and he will listen if you need him to, but go to him when you don’t want to think about anything anymore, yk? 

btw!! both of them are secretly huge suckers for the drama in your life. if there’s some friendship drama, they want all the details. they’re giving you the best reactions and the most ridiculous advice, and are definitely heating you up more than they should be but, what else are you expecting?

as each other’s siblings, you’re insanely supportive of each other and your respective dreams. like when you found out osamu wanted to go into a completely different field than atsumu, you spent a thousand nights trying to convince him that what he was doing was right, and spent another thousand nights trying to convince atsumu that osamu choosing a different career path didn’t mean he was leaving him behind. 

whatever your own dream may be, they’re hella supportive. like suffocatingly so. if it’s something they’re well versed in, like volleyball or cooking, they’re helping you out in every way they can, every second they can. but if they’re unfamiliar with it, they’ll either pretend they’re the most knowledgable people about it and end up embarrassing themselves, or will just support you any other way they can (for example, buying or promoting your things, or proofreading, or helping you edit, etc). 

when the three of you are older and have lives of your own, you still take the time out of your day to catch up. sometimes other days are harder than others, because your lives are so different that there can be no time at all, but every time you see them through a screen or you meet up after hours in osamu’s restaurant, or you and osamu sit front row at one of atsumu’s games, it genuinely doesn’t feel like any time has passed. you’re so different but the exact same. 

they piss you off, insanely so, and you get on their nerves too. you’ve spat ugly words at each other, words you didn’t mean, and made each other cry, frustrated and angered one another, but at the end of the day, you’re siblings. at the end of the day, they’re the most important constants in your life. no matter what, they’re there. 

you can always count on that, you know? :) 

so are y’all gonna send me more prompts like these? 😼 please? 

[nix-that-rad-lass]

Taking a Hiatus

so i’ve been debating doing this for a while. like three months actually.

i’ve been active on radblr since early 2019 and never taken a break for longer than about 5 days.

I’m exhausted.

I’m sick of the doom and gloom, and I’m sick of the infighting. I’m sick of being harassed instead of engaged, sick of having my opinions and debates misconstrued. Sick of people on here not even reading my argument before responding, often attacking me, as a person, instead of critiquing my opinions.

I’m sick of the shitty debate skills, the narcissism, the selfishness. I’m sick of it all.

I’m sick of the gaslighting, saying that being a radfem isnt about ideological purity but the moment one woman has an opinion that is different from the groupthink, even if its minor, then y’all have zero issue dogpiling on her.

I’m sick of feeling the pressure to label and define myself before im even an adult, and sick of it being used against me.

Sick of the double standard, that its ok to ackowledge there isnt a permanent state of self and that people and opinions change, that its ok to not know yourself until youre a mature adult, only for that all to be thrown away.

I am just fed up and sick and tired of it. The worst part? I thought, all this time, we were a generally good community. I thought we were for the most part amicable acquaintances. I thought that many were friends. But no. Radblr says the catty woman myth is fake, but goes on to prove it at any given chance.

Radblr is almost just as cultish as the trans and queer movement.

It’s worse because most of radblr is adults.

And it sucks. It sucks that the feminist movement has devolved into mainstream woke mens-rights bullshit with a minority that claims to believe in actual feminism, but doesnt practice it.

Radblr is more concerned with harassing women who dont ascribe to their extremist ideological purity than with actually making a difference.

I don’t know if or when i will be back. I still hold radfem beliefs, sure. But i cannot sit here and keep taking harassment and cruelty and mockery in stride while juggling a horse, college apps, and school. I cannot sit here and be the more mature person than grown ass adult women. I cannot sit here silently while all of you enable this, brush it aside, claim its a minority.

because guess what? its not a minority. the majority of radblr is narcissistic assholes with a victim complex.

I am sick and fucking tired of seeing the best in yall when you cant even treat me and each other with basic fucking respect.

I am sick and tired of seeing vulnerable young girls peak and make their way into radical feminism only to be silenced and harassed and shunned away. I am sick of seeing this excused and erased and swept under the rug.

Most of all, i am sick of being harassed for calling it out.

Until you all get your priorities in order and your ethics in check, you have no right to be calling yourselves feminists.

The only difference with me vs other teens bullied off radblr is that i’m not going silently. I’m not deactivating in the middle of the night and disappearing without a trace.

I am telling all of you straight up what the hell is wrong with this community. I am calling you out because i know you can be better.

But i will not be a part of this.

Get your own goddamn movement in order.

[narutos-fat-meat]

**”Yours”**

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Tags: SNUFF, GORE, VIOLENCE, BLOOD, Slight non-con, dub-con, incest but like not really

*PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF I FORGOT TO INCLUDE ANYTHING*

*THIS IS QUITE LITERALLY SNUFF HEED THAT WARNING AND IF YOU ARE TRIGGERED BY THAT KIND OF CONTENT SCROLL AWAY! THIS IS YOUR LAST WARNING*

********

“Samu, god samu...I love you”, your whorish moans plague his mind day and night. How dare you moan like that for someone that’s not him? How dare that someone be Osamu. After he’d let him borrow your -no- his cunt to help him out of his dry spell he has the audacity to make you fall for him.

He’d set clear rules. Boundaries, he’d expected his twin to be courteous enough to follow seeing as it’s his girlfriend he’s been allowed to use.

No hand-holding, no prolonged eye contact, and definitely no fucking feelings.

Standard stuff considering he’d been allowed to pump you full of his cum as many times as he’d pleased.  

He’d crossed the line. And soon he’d find out Atsumu isn’t the type of person you wanna double-cross.

You both would.

It’s eerily quiet when you step foot inside your apartment a shiver immediately running up your spine at the odd sight of lights flicked off. Usually by the time you came home from work Atsumu was either in the shower singing off-key or in the kitchen cooking you both up a nice meal. Today your apartment lacked that warmth.

You shut the door behind you with a sigh. Maybe he got caught up at work you thought failing to notice the shadow of his frame sat on your couch.

You flick on the lights to see him sat there. The scream you were about to let out dies on your tongue at the sight before you. Your boyfriend, your sweet loving, caring, boyfriend is sat on your couch in your living room face and clothes stained with blood.

What’s worse is that you can see a tuft of dark brown hair on the floor peeking out from the side of that same couch, and you have a vague idea of who it could be.

Osamu.

For a second you think of running and it’s like he can read your mind.

“Don’t be stupid Y/N”, he spits “I’m an athlete”.

“I’d catch you in seconds and slit your throat”. And it’s then that you notice the blade in his hand.

He motions for you to sit down and you oblige.

“A-atsumu, what’s going on”, you ask voice trembling and heart pounding.

Out of the corner of your eye, you vaguely register Osamu move and you resist the urge to sigh in relief knowing somehow it would only piss him off further.

The seconds drag on and bleed into minutes until he finally speaks.

“I want ya to fuck Samu”.

“Fuck him like you mean it like I’m not here”.

You stare at him unable to form words.

“If I’m pleased I’ll let y’all live”.

His words resound in your ears.

Live. live? He’ll let you live?  What does that me- oh

The realization dawns on you and it’s like your lungs are about to crawl out of your throat,  like your heart is about to claw its way out of your chest and you know that it’s not ice flowing through your veins at that moment, it’s fear.

Pure unbridled terror.

You sit rooted to the spot you first sat down in, body numb as you watch Atsumu manhandle Osamu’s limp body onto a chair.

You can’t see the full extent of his injuries but from what you can tell his eye is badly bruised and bleeding. Not only that but he’s beginning to regain consciousness, making you wince. He’s attempting to thrash his limbs, trying to break free. His eyes jerk open immediately landing on you.

He tries to call out to you, but he can’t. Not when his mouth is duct-taped shut.

Showtime

You straddle his lap like you’d do if you were alone, grinding, desperately trying to get him in the mood. It’s not working, he won’t let you. Keeps trying to buck you off, his eyes searching yours, it’s as if he’s pleading “you don’t have to do this”.

Atsumu’s presence is daunting “tick, tick, tick”, he taunts a childish lilt to his voice. You’re running out of time.

You don’t have a choice.

You make quick work of stripping, working on pulling Osamu’s pants down just enough for you to pull his flaccid cock free. You spit into your hand, beginning to pump his length to at least half-mast.

“Please, please, please”, you beg voice watery. It’s not his fault, you yourself are the farthest from horny you’ve ever been, but you can’t help but resent him.

‘Fuck this’ you think deciding to forego foreplay altogether hoping Atsumu wouldn’t notice.

It’s hard and it hurts because your cunt is so dry but you manage to sheath Osamu’s soft cock fully inside.  

You start a fast, frenzied rhythm whimpering at the feel and hope to god that you’ll start producing enough slick to make the ache dissipate and that Osamu’s cock will get hard enough to cum inside.

It takes a few minutes but soon you’re a panting mess on top of Osamu, his feet planted firmly on the ground as he thrusts up in time to meet yours that are slamming down. You have to use his shoulders as leverage. Head spinning with pleasure, vision beginning to blur, you almost forget that you’re not the only two people in the room.

Almost.

A dark chuckle draws your attention to the space behind Osamu’s head and you force your eyes to focus on Atsumu’s face. He’s right by Osamu, licking into the shell of his ear possessively, never taking his eyes off of you like you’re his prey, one he’s itching to pounce on.

You’re so incredibly close to breaking, the stutter in Osamu’s thrusts lets you know that he is too, and you’re elated that it’ll all be over soon.

Your back arches and your vision blurs as you cum with a wail around Osamu’s cock. Just as you do Atsumu snakes his arm around Osamu’s neck, and with a smooth motion not lacking any force, he slices through his trachea and esophagus.

You hear Osamu take several giant gasping breaths through his severed windpipe, he’s gargling blood, coughing, dying as he paints your womb white. You can barely focus on that though because as that’s happening you’re also being bathed in his blood.

It’s a warm nauseating feeling.

You watch Atsumu grin maniacally, pleased, as he watches his brother’s blood spray onto your naked body. It invades every nook and cranny, fills your nostrils and mouth.

As much as you try not to swallow you do and Osamu’s blood is different. It’s salty and metallic and a little fatty.

“Good girl”. Atsumu coos, stroking your hair lovingly, he pulls you into his arms and you let him.

Exhausted. Defeated.

You begin to sob, body trembling, as Atsumu turns you to face him. He pauses for a second before forcing his lips on yours and savoring the taste. He moans against your lips and you resign yourself to the fact that nothing will ever be the same.

“All mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.”

“Yours”

********

A/N: AH I HOPE YOU ENJOYED THE FIC:) Let me know what ya’ll think I ALWAYS appreciate feedback so don’t be shy, and drop on down to my ask box and talk to me about it:)

Likes and Reblogs are very greatly appreciated!

(Hopefully you guys are enjoying reading the darker content as much as I enjoy writing it!:)

[thedumpsterqueen]

Standards of Performance, Chapter 6: Buckshot and Tequila

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

AO3 Link

Finally, I write most of the chapter before the day I’m supposed to post it. This was mostly done on my laptop (which I’m not used to) as we just moved and my PC is barely set up, so forgive anything that looks weird or wonky. As always, I hope you enjoy. I love getting all your kind messages <3 (Also message me if you want to be on the taglist - I suppose I should be better about that!)

Summary:  You’re the BAU’s newest intern, desperate to prove yourself amongst an established team of much more experienced profilers. Agent Hotchner, the seemingly infallible team leader, sets strict expectations for your performance. He commands your respect without even trying, but is there something more to your relationship than a simple desire to impress your stony-faced boss?

Chapter: 6, Buckshot and Tequila

Chapter Summary: Events during a new case test your ability to keep your feelings hidden, and a night out takes an unforeseen turn. 

Words: 3736

Rating: Explicit, 18+. Warnings on AO3.

Pairings: Hotch x Reader, Hotch x You

Turns out, lying to Hotch was easier than you thought.

It helped that you were lying to yourself too, of course - that you pretended your gaze didn't linger on his form whenever he was in your vicinity, that the swell of pride in your chest when he agreed with something you said was purely professional. There were times, though, that the facade was much harder to maintain. The most recent case had been one of those times.

You had been tracking down an unsub abducting children in a rural Iowa town. Three kids had gone missing in the span of two weeks, and after Garcia matched the victimology and MO with neighboring states, it looked to be close to a dozen in the years before that. The case started off rough enough - locals refused to believe it could be one of their own, police resisted the BAU’s guidance, the usual - but it came to a head when a fourth child went missing during the investigation.

Thankfully, the team figured out the identity of the unsub relatively quickly. Reid did a geographical profile of all the locations where victims were taken and found a public health clinic that had branches in each area. Garcia cross-checked the employee records to find that only one doctor had done travel shifts at each clinic during the time the children were taken, and within minutes, you were rushing to his address.

The SUV carrying Hotch, Rossi, and Prentiss arrived long enough before yours that by the time you pulled up, they were already kicking down the door and entering the home. The first thing you heard after you flung the car door open was the deafening crack of a weapon firing, and despite your lack of training with firearms, it was apparent that it was not an FBI-issue pistol.

You would never describe yourself as fragile - you couldn't be, not in this line of work. But when you registered the implications of that sound, your knees buckled, instantly bringing you down onto the dusty ground outside the farmhouse. The rest of the team sprinted in, guns drawn. You faintly registered Prentiss yelling inside, then more gunshots, but your head was ringing so loudly from the visceral panic that you couldn’t make out anything specific.

When Hotch burst back out onto the porch, you thought you might honestly sob with relief. That is, until you caught the glint of the sun in the slick, dark blood dripping down the sleeve of his suit.

That was when you puked.

Something about the sight of Aaron Hotchner bleeding felt so wrong that even as you struggled to your feet and stepped over the pile of sick you left in the dirt, even as you got closer and saw the rivulets of blood drip down to his fingertips and dot the wooden floors of the porch, you felt like you were in a dream. Your mind couldn’t grasp the sudden shock of his mortality, that he could bleed, that he could die, even, and he very well might, depending on what vessels were hit. You made it up the steps, only managing to call out his name - his first name - your throat still burning from bile. Despite the chaos of the current moment, he still whipped his head around at the sound of that, as if hearing the name Aaron desperately falling from your lips was more attention-grabbing than the rest of the team gathering around him trying to stem the bleeding.

“It looks worse than it is,” said Rossi, peering through the holes in Hotch’s mangled sleeve. “It was just buckshot, and he barely hit you. Nothing a few stitches won’t fix.”

He turned out to be right, thank god, and later that afternoon, Hotch was freshly bandaged and sitting across from you on the return flight to Quantico.

So, yeah, the “lying to yourself” thing wasn’t going so well at that moment. Hotch was absorbed in paperwork while the rest of the team napped - because of course he was; even being shot didn’t sway his apparently relentless refusal to relax - and each time he winced at the movement of his arm, your vice grip around your chest tightened a little more.

He must have sensed you staring, because he looked up, frown softening slightly as he saw the concern on your face.

“Don’t worry about me. I’m fine,” he assured you with a half smile.

Teetering on an emotional precipice, too scared to respond for fear of falling over the edge, you went back to your reading. After a few minutes of listening to him write while not turning a single page in your book, he set his pen down and took a breath.

“You were screaming my name,” he said, quietly, despite you two being the only ones awake.

“What?”

“Earlier,” he clarified, “when we went into the house. I could hear you outside, yelling my name.”

You looked at him, incredulous. “Of course I did. I heard the shotgun go off. Clearly,” you gestured at his arm, “I had a reason to be worried.”

He shook his head and cleared his throat, as if you didn’t understand the question. “Dave and Emily were with me. Any of us could have gotten hit. You only yelled for me.”

Oh.

You shrugged. “You’re the team leader. It’s my instinct to call for you when something goes wrong."

It was a lie, and a bad one at that, but Hotch gave you an unreadable look and let the subject drop.

The rest of the flight was uneventful, and when you finally made it back to your apartment, you had no plans other than to sleep off the stress of the case and the embarrassment of Hotch calling your actions into question. Garcia, however, wasn't about to let that happen.

BAU-tiful People Group Chat

Garcia: *added You to the conversation*

Garcia: Ok, my lovely children, I know you’re all tired, but I miss your faces, so I’ll see u at Whimsy tonight at 9! Notice I didn’t use a question mark bc it is NOT a question!

You knew from overhearing the team talk that Whimsy was a bar downtown they liked to frequent, but you’d never been invited before. Despite your overwhelming exhaustion, the idea of going out with the team, of finally feeling accepted by them, was enough to make you amenable to the concept. It may have seemed insignificant on the surface, but Garcia adding you to their group chat was the biggest welcome gesture you’d received yet.

Morgan: Only if you wear that dress you know I like ;)

You lived for the day they would realize they were actually flirting with each other instead of just pretending to.

Prentiss: Garcia… you’re killing me… but you know I’ll be there.

JJ: Contacting the babysitter as we speak.

Morgan: Fuck yeah!!! Pretty Boy, you in?

Reid: Can’t we ever go somewhere quiet?

As the group chimed in with various iterations of, “Shut up, Reid,” you hesitantly typed out a text to confirm your attendance. You were excited, of course, but nervous to be the new kid at their favorite hangout. After today's events, though, the desire not to be sober won out over nerves.

You: I’ll be there! Thanks for the invite!

Rossi: Hope you kids are ready for me to drink you under the table, as usual.

Morgan: Eyyy, you KNOW we party hard! See y’all tonight.

____________

Turns out, Morgan was not exaggerating. Not even a little bit. By the time you arrived, 15 minutes late, everyone looked to be at least 3 shots deep. Garcia ran over to greet you, squealing, and wrapped you in a suffocating hug.

“I’m so glad you came! What do you drink? Tequila? I’ll grab the next round!”

You laughed and confirmed that tequila sounded great, and as she scurried off to the bar with Morgan on her heels, you had a chance to look around.

The atmosphere of the club surprised you - it was all glass and steel and modernity, packed with people dancing to something with intense bass - not the low-key joint you’d pictured the team wanting to unwind at. But as you watched JJ, Prentiss, and Rossi cheer on Reid as he threw back a shot, doubling over in hysterics as he coughed and sputtered at the taste, you realized that this place was just loud and energetic enough to keep them from thinking about anything other than work. In that way, you definitely saw the appeal.

“I come bearing shots!” Garcia yelled as her and Morgan made it back to the table. “Grab yours… here we go- whoops! Alright, everyone got theirs?”

She turned to you, grinning behind a pair of hot pink spectacles. “Cheers not ONLY to rescuing four kidnapped children alive, but also to our lovely intern and her first Whimsy outing!”

The team erupted in cheers and you smiled back, downing the tequila. You chatted with the group while Garcia ordered more drinks, and then more drinks, and soon you felt a pleasant buzz filling your head.

“Morgan, you better ask me to dance right now before I go find another man to do the job,” Garcia said with a wink in his direction.

Morgan grinned and mock-bowed, holding out a hand for her to take, and led her off to the dancefloor.

“Should we join them?” JJ asked around the table.

“Someone’s gotta make sure they don’t do anything worth getting kicked out for,” Prentiss shot back. You giggled and followed the girls, leaving Rossi and Reid behind at the table in the midst of a heated debate about childhood brain development that you couldn’t even hope to comprehend.

Not long after you started dancing, you felt a gentle tap on your shoulder and turned around, looking up into the stunning green eyes of a man who looked to be about your age. It was hard to really tell what he looked like in the dim lighting, but by the way Prentiss was giving you a thumbs up and mouthing, “Go for it,” from your side, he was good enough for you.

“Do you want to dance?” he asked above the music. You smiled and nodded in confirmation, letting him wrap his arms around your waist and pull you to his hips.

He knew how to move, that was for certain. He ground against your backside lightly, snaking his hands around your stomach. You weren’t used to this kind of thing - dancing with random men at bars, letting them touch you like this - but the combination of the music and the booze and the relief at the last case being over was making you feel more free than you had in recent memory.

You exchanged grins with Morgan, who was dancing a few feet away in a much more R-rated manner with Garcia. The man behind you (whose name you didn’t know, but who cared?) leaned down to kiss your neck and you arched against him in response, reaching up to run your hand through his hair.

Throughout the song, you had rotated back to facing the table where the rest of your team was sitting. You glanced over, saw Reid and Rossi still deep in discussion, along with another man in a black button-up with a very familiar side profile and-

Hotch.

Hotch was here, and as if the powers that be were insistent upon proving to you that the opposite of serendipity existed, at the exact moment you had that realization, he turned and made direct eye contact with you. Drunk, wearing a skintight dress, a random man grinding on your ass, and staring right back at your Unit Chief at the motherfucking Federal Bureau of Investigation.

Your heart dropped to your stomach, and if you had been drunker, you might have hurled tequila all over the dancefloor. Instead, you pulled away from the mystery man behind you, ignoring his shocked, “Wait!” and beelined to the bar.

“Tequila. Shot. Please, I’m sorry, just saw someone I didn’t expect to,” you blurted out to the bartender, swearing you could feel Hotch’s eyes on your back from across the club.

The bartender, probably having seen much worse, nodded in understanding and poured your drink. You gulped it down, wiped your mouth, and leaned on the bar to get your bearings.

It’s not weird. It’s not. It’s a bar, it’s outside of work hours, it’s perfectly fine that you’re buzzed and dancing and having fun. Everyone else is!

Really, it wasn’t that you were worried about your job, or even that he would judge you (he probably would, but that was unavoidable regardless of the setting), it was just that you hadn’t mentally prepared yourself for the possibility that he would come. He was in the group chat - obviously, if he had seen Garcia’s invite - but had never struck you as the social type, the kind of boss that would interact with his team outside of work.

“Did you see that Hotch is here?” Prentiss asked breathlessly, appearing at the bar beside you.

Apparently, you weren’t the only one surprised.

“I did,” you whispered back, despite the thumping music and the rowdy patrons making it logically impossible for your words to reach the table 20 feet away. “Does he usually join you guys?”

“Never,” she said, before thinking and correcting herself, “Not in years, anyways. When Haley… we used to drag him out, but we stopped after a while.”

“Why do you think he came tonight?"

She shrugged. “Who knows? Far be it from me to explain why Hotch does anything.” An idea seemed to pop in her head, and she grinned. “Maybe it’s because of you!”

“M-me?” Your reaction to the suggestion wasn’t nearly as nonchalant as you’d tried for, but Prentiss was too drunk to notice.

“Yeah, gotta help initiate the intern on her first night out, right?” She grinned and clapped you on the shoulder, then turned away to head back to the dancefloor, leaving you alone. You sighed, gathered yourself as much as you could considering the effects of the tequila, and turned around to go greet him.

“Hey, Agent Hotchner. Didn’t expect to see you tonight!”

“Yes, well. Thought I’d show up for a bit; it’s been a while.” He gave you a tight lipped smile then looked back down at his glass of whisky, the awkward energy palpable.

Probably because he just saw you basically dry-humping some random dude.

“Well, I’m glad you came! Feel free to, uh, come dance if you want! Morgan and Garcia are showing us all up,” you said, gesturing to where Morgan and Garcia were in fact drawing the attention of several onlookers.

He chuckled at that. “They’re certainly a sight to behold, aren’t they?”

You nodded in agreement and headed back to the bar, the brief conversation pointing you towards yet another drink. Talking to him was so easy , sometimes, and others it was like pulling teeth to get a human response out of him. Could you blame him, though? Your last one-on-one interaction was you basically inviting yourself over to his apartment with takeout and listening to him spill his guts about his dead wife and kid, and he probably felt uncomfortable with you after that, and then you went right to this case without any chance for things to go back to normal, and then he got shot, and oh my god, you didn’t even ask him how his arm was doing, how fucking rude can you be, dumbass? and-

“Whoops! Shit, I’m sorry!”

You looked at the person you’d just bumped into in the midst of your internal crisis.

“Hey, it’s you!”

The man you’d been dancing with earlier, now much more obviously handsome in the brighter lights of the bar area, grinned in recognition.

“Hey, I thought I’d scared you off there!”

You laughed and shook your head. “No, I’m sorry. Just saw my boss and freaked out a little bit.”

“Oh shit, your boss is here?” he asked. “That’s uncomfortable, damn. I’m sorry.”

“No worries, it’s just… yeah. Anyways. Wanna pick up where we left off?” you asked, more desperate than ever to get Hotch out of your head. If he didn’t want to see you having a wild night, he shouldn’t have come to the club.

He took your hand, looking pleased. “Lead the way.”

It really was so much easier, you thought, to let yourself feel attraction for guys like this. Uncomplicated, willing to take what you give them, no backstory to speak of. They weren’t riddled with tragic history, unattainable in both position and personality, not to mention impossible to even imagine ever returning your feelings. Guys like Cooper (you’d finally learned his name somewhere amid the grinding and groping) were easy and fun and they didn’t keep you up at night agonizing over whether that thing you said at work was impressive enough.

But then again, they didn’t give you the roller-coaster feeling in your stomach that Aaron Hotchner did every time you locked eyes.

And lock eyes you did - an increasingly frequent number of times, actually. It seemed like whenever you turned to face his direction, he was staring you down. He always went back to his conversation with Rossi and Reid, but you noticed that he seemed to get more and more pissed off with every song that played. His frown was deepened, his expression dark, and you could tell even from a distance that his knuckles were white from gripping his glass.

You shrugged it off as Hotch being Hotch - who knew what that man was thinking? And besides, you were trying to forget him, damn it. At least, that was until a particularly raunchy song came on and you were in the middle of getting your ass felt up, when you felt a hand squeeze your shoulder and whip you around, bringing you face-to-face with your boss himself.

“Hey, what’s going on? Is something wrong?” you asked, utterly bewildered as to why he was interrupting you.

He ignored you, instead staring down Cooper, who very quickly decided Hotch wasn’t one to fuck with and walked away.

“Hotch! Is there a case? Should I grab the others?”

He shook his head. “Can you come with me, please?”

Perplexed, you acquiesced (not that you had much of a choice, with the way he was gripping your elbow) and followed him through the crowd, out the back door, and into an alley. He let go of you then, sighing and crossing his arms.

Your mind was wild with questions - did you do something you shouldn’t have? Get too drunk? Everyone was drunk, though, and you weren’t even half as wasted as some of the others. Did Reid or Rossi tell him something bad about you? Were you about to somehow get yourself fired off the clock?

“The boy you were dancing with was bad news,” he said, after an uncomfortably long period of silence.

What the fuck?

“What the fuck?” you repeated, this time out loud, and you knew you shouldn’t be talking to him like this, but you were too caught off guard to conduct yourself more appropriately.

“He was a drug user,” Hotch said, as if that would explain everything.

“A drug user,” you repeated back, no less confused.

“Cocaine,” he continued. “He was high - his pupils were dilated, he was rubbing his nose, and he's been to the bathroom several times.”

“So… you’re going to arrest him? For doing cocaine?” you asked, still baffled as to what he was insinuating.

“What? No,” he said, “I’m trying to warn you not to get involved.”

You had entered some parallel universe, you decided. There was no other explanation for your boss, a man you’d known all of four months, dragging you outside a bar on a Friday night and telling you not to dance with a hot stranger because he was on cocaine.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself before you really did get yourself fired. “Sir, I appreciate the concern, but I don’t think it’s really any of your business.”

His face hardened at that. “It is exactly my business,” he said, eyes boring a hole through your skull, “to watch out for things that may compromise my team.”

“Compromise your team?” you repeated his words again. “I was dancing, not getting engaged to the guy.”

“Should I allow you to dance with a sexual sadist if it’s just dancing?” he pressed, using the stern voice that usually caused any sort of dissent to whither and die right in your throat.

It didn’t work this time, probably because he was acting fucking insane. “Are you seriously comparing a sexual sadist to a guy who does cocaine while he’s out partying?”

“It’s not just while he’s out partying, by the way he conducted himself, he was a chronic-”

“It doesn’t matter!” you said, nearly yelling now. “You had no right! I'm sorry, what are you, my dad?!”

His eyes flashed at that. “If I hadn’t already had to sit through an 8 hour surgery not knowing if Garcia was going to make it out alive because her date shot her, then perhaps I would have no right. But as it stands, I do. Please be more careful with who you associate with, even if it’s just dancing.”

He spat that last part out, more vitriolic than you’d ever seen him, and stalked back inside. You were left outside in the alley, alone, reeling from confusion surrounding the entire interaction and shock at the emotional charge he’d leveled at you.

Reentering the bar, you saw that Hotch’s seat had been vacated and his jacket was gone. You rolled your eyes, and on your way to the bathroom, nearly ran into Cooper again.

“Hey!” he said. “What was that all about? You good?”

You looked up at his face and for the first time, noticed faint traces of white dust around his nose. He looked keyed up, jumpy - his pulse racing and visible on his carotid. You sighed.

“I’m good. Just not in the mood right now, sorry,” and pushed past him into the bathroom.

Hotch was an emotionally stunted asshole with a control complex, but he was also never fucking wrong.

[izukuwus]

Floriography 4

First - Previous - Next (Coming soon!)

A/N: DID Y’ALL THINK THE PRO GAMER MOVE WAS A NORMAL UPDATE? PSYCHE! DOUBLE UPDATE TIME! I’ll hopefully end up with a banner for this fic I actually like soon so I can start using that instead. It’s slow going, but I’m toying with a few ideas. In the meantime, a precious fantasy Izu gif will have to do uwu The most important part is that I named both kingdoms now <3

Chapter Summary: Day one of the trip. It Begins.

Warnings: none, I don’t think!

Word count: 3600+

"That was very courageous of you," a voice greets you as you take a moment to breathe, "though I have to say that, were I anyone else, I'd be terrified for you right now."

Your eyes snap to the voice's source, not finding a servant like you'd sort of been expecting. Instead, Queen Inko herself stands before you, looking you over with concerned eyes.

"I can lead you back to where your party is preparing if you'd like, dear. You were probably planning to seek out Izuku again, but it's best that you save your energy, and I'd like to speak with you, if that's all right."

"Oh, um, yes, I'd like that. Thank you, your Majesty." You're careful to soothe yourself back into Proper Mode™ as you speak. "I... apologize that you've overheard me acting so disgraceful. To your husband, no less."

"You don't need to apologize, Princess. Not to me or to anyone, regardless of what my husband thinks. I actually wanted to apologize for his behavior. I know my husband can be a bit... demanding."

You nod. "You don't need to apologize to me, ma'am."

"Please, call me Inko. You're going to be like my daughter soon enough, there's no need to be so formal with me when we're alone."

"R-right. Of course... Inko... Y-you can call me by my name as well, not that you needed my permission."

Moons, she's such a stark contrast to her husband that you have to wonder how they ever married. This woman has the sweetest, kindest smiles and looks so much like her son that you have to relax around her.

"That's kind of you, [name]. Have you been getting on well with Izuku?"

You nod slowly. "Yes, I have. We write each other letters every day, and he's been very sweet to me. Of all the men my parents could have chosen to force me to marry, I'm glad it was him."

Inko smiles sweetly. She doesn’t seem to pay any mind to your comment about your coming marriage. "I'm glad to hear that, dear."

"Um... Inko, you're... A seer, correct?"

"That's right. You're wondering why I told my husband that you would make our son into a more... ruthless king, as it were?"

"Yes, actually. As I'm sure you must have heard me say, I want no part in changing my fiancé, especially not in a way that he begins treating others poorly or exerts excessive power. He wouldn't be Izuku anymore."

"Hisashi and I happen to have... Differing opinions on what makes someone a good king."

Your eyebrows raise in surprise. "So you didn't lie, but you also forewent the truth."

"I told him Izuku would be a wonderful king with you by his side. I did not tell him by whose standards. That's all." Inko smiles softly–every time she does, you swear you can see Izuku in her smile. "I’ve always known that no matter what, my son would go on to do wonderful things. But listen to me carry on—you and the others should be off soon. Thank you for chatting with me, dear."

You curtsy lightly, the movement almost uncomfortably easy in your travel clothes compared to what you’ve grown used to. "Thank you for helping me find my way back, Inko. It was a pleasure speaking with you."

She waves you off with a smile, and you scamper up to Izuku and the knights. "My apologies for the wait."

"It's not an issue, your Highness," Eijirou says, beaming. "We've just finished up the final preparations, so we're ready to go whenever!"

"Great! We should leave early, yes?"

Izuku nods as he approaches. "If you're ready, then we're all set to set off!"

You nod your affirmation, following as the group sets out. The knights are careful to center you and Izuku, and it doesn't take long for Izuku to strike up a conversation. "So, how did your talk with my father go, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Oh, I don't mind!" you chirp. "Actually, I–" You freeze, nearly stumbling as the realization of what you just did finally sinks in properly. "–oh moons, your father is going to have me killed–"

"Woah, what?" Izuku carefully steadies you before you can hit the ground. "A-are you alright? You're white as a sheet all of the sudden."

"It's a little embarrassing to admit, but..." You chew the inside of your lip. You don't want to tell Izuku what his father thinks of him—if he's anything like your own father, Izuku probably already knows, but... "I… I may have, um..." You wring your hands together as you search for the words to convey exactly just how much you’ve messed up.

"My father always did say I needed to learn my place and I think perhaps allowing myself to get properly mad and tell King Hisashi that I wouldn't ever require his approval on how I carried myself as a wife or eventually as queen might be considered strictly within the realm of 'not acting within my place'." Your lips press into a thin smile, eyes blank as you begin to truly comprehend your fate.

Eijirou, walking on the other side of you as protection, promptly bursts into laughter, clutching his sides.

"H-hey!" you squeak. "Don't laugh at me, Ei! Have you no loyalty? I just told the Demon King of Elysia that he had no authority to tell me how I would treat his son!"

"Oh, trust me, your Highness, I'm plenty loyal, but this is easily the funniest thing you've done, maybe ever." 

"I'm going to die,” you whine. “His Majesty is going to kill me, and then because I didn't come back from the trip, my father's going to have Izuku killed, and then King Hisashi will declare war against Flumeria and I'm going to go down in history as the princess who single-handedly kicked off a hundred years of war and ended two lines of royal succession, eventually resulting in the destabilization of the continent as nearby kingdoms battle to claim the land and the deaths of countless.”

"You're probably not going to be killed," Izuku reassures you gently. "At least my father has two weeks to cool down before he does anything rash?"

The fact that it’s a question, rather than a statement, doesn’t reassure you at all. "Two weeks to plot my very public assassination." You drop your head into your hands. "Two weeks to get all my affairs in order. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but perhaps my father was right."

"I don't think you'll be assassinated!" Izuku's hand rests on your shoulder in a meek attempt to comfort you. "We don't even have any royal assassins!"

"So I'm not even going to be killed by a professional? The disrespect..."

His hand smooths over your back slowly. "Seriously, you'll be fine. I'm not about to let my dad kill you before I get to see you in your wedding gown."

You freeze, face going red in record time. "O-oh, that’s comforting.”

Izuku either doesn't notice or blessedly chooses to ignore just how effective his casual comment was on you. Instead, he changes the subject. Soon, you're falling into a rhythm, walking along while talking with Izuku and the knights. It's casual, fun even. Privately, you even think that maybe you could get used to this lifestyle.

~

When you stop to rest and eat a light lunch, you're utterly exhausted. Come to think of it, you don't recall the last time you properly sweat like this. It's midsummer, and moons can you feel the heat. With a wave of your hand, you're quick to remove the layer of sweat sticking to your skin as you rest in the shade of a tree.

Eijirou approaches, holding out a flask that you gratefully accept. "Are you holding up okay, your highness?" he asks as you gulp down the proffered water.

You nod when you pause to catch your breath. "Yes, I think so. It's a little embarrassing how unused to exercise I am."

He takes a seat beside you, resting an arm on one bent knee as he grins. "Nah, it's to be expected, given you aren't exactly allowed to spend your time like this normally. You're doing great so far, just be sure to keep drinking water. His Majesty will have me hanged if I let you suffer a heat stroke out here."

Thumbing the side of the flask, you giggle at his comment. "Thank you, Ei. How do you find the other knights accompanying us?"

"Oh, they're great, your highness! Super manly, too. I'm hoping I can learn a few things from them while we're out here. King Hisashi is really strict with the knights he allows to join these trips, so I'm sure they can teach me a few new tricks!"

"Well," you start, returning the flask with a wry grin, "in the interest of 'owning my responsibility', as my dear father puts it, try not to get too carried away learning new tricks."

"Of course, your Highness! I wouldn't dream of doing something that would let you get hurt."

"Speaking of getting carried away, Princess..." The hilt of a wooden sword hovers in your field of vision. You follow it to its source to find Izuku holding it out to you, one hand behind his back as he grins. "If you're feeling refreshed, I'd be happy to assess where you are in your swordplay and begin teaching you properly."

You reach up with a grin, taking the hilt in one hand. He doesn't let go of the "blade", instead planting his feet and pulling you up to yours. "Let's start by seeing where you are. Show me your stance like you're going to fight against that tree."

You nod, placing both hands on the hilt of the sword and shifting into an approximation of a combat stance, your feet planted. Izuku nods after a minute, stepping up and gently re-adjusting you. "You need to be lighter on your feet, and loosen up your stance. In a sword fight, mobility is everything. You want to be able to turn on your feet easily so you can dodge if your opponent makes a move and counter them, but we’ll get to that later. Ideally, you’d have a shield, but for now it’s best that you just get used to the training sword.”

You hum as you let him adjust your stance. "What should I do with my other hand in the meantime?"

"Keep it tucked away whenever you don't have a shield; you don't want your opponent to go for your other arm."

The rest of your lunch break is spent under Izuku’s teaching gaze and guiding hands as he teaches you the very basics of a sword-fighting stance. Before too long, your group sets out again. There’s plenty more walking ahead of you still.

~

Travelling is hard. Izuku makes it easier, you think—when you're being asked a million questions about how you train your runic abilities and how you manage to execute an idea so effortlessly with your magic, it's hard to think about how your feet ache, how you're thirsty and tired and keep having to magic your own sweat off you so you don't feel sticky and gross. By the end of the first day of travel, you've come to love the sound of his voice as a distraction from thinking so damn much.

You almost consider sitting directly in the dirt when it's finally proposed that you all set up camp for the night to sleep. Laying in it, even. Your mother would be scandalized if she could hear how you're thinking. A wave of your hand removes another layer of sweat, and you eventually give in and sit down with a thump.

You nearly slump into the dirt as you catch your breath. Around you, the knights and Izuku are busily setting up camp. The firewood being collected is piled nearby, and you watch for a long moment before moving to heave yourself back to your feet. "I'm not sure how I can help," you admit. "This is my first time even being outside for so long."

"We need a clear area with no plants or grass to build the fire on," one of the knights says. "But I'm not sure how I feel about asking you to..."

"If it's simply a matter of me not knowing how to prepare the area correctly, I understand, but please don't try to prevent me from helping simply because of my station. I'm not here simply to make your jobs more difficult."

A knight—a woman knight, no less—crouches beside you, offering a container of water with a kind smile. You accept it gratefully. "If you'd like, your Highness, I can show you how we normally set up the fire tonight, and once you've learned how to do it, we can assign that as your job for the rest of the nights that we camp outdoors."

You nod, sighing in relief at the cold water washing down your throat. "I would appreciate that, miss knight. Do you mind if I ask several questions? I'm afraid I'm not exactly educated on matters like these."

"Not at all, your Highness. Ask as many questions as you'd like."

"Well..." You falter immediately. What if the question on your mind is actually really stupid? It wouldn't do to embarrass yourself so heavily, but... "What is the point of setting up a fire when it's already so hot out?"

She gives you a kind smile as she clears away some leaves and twigs from the dirt. "It may be summertime, but we still need to cook our meal for the night, and the smoke from the flames drives away insects that may bite or sting us while we rest. There's plenty of uses for the fire that have nothing to do with its warmth, though you may find it gets much colder once it's dark."

You nod, watching her as she flattens a palm against the dirt. "I see! It's a little embarrassing to admit, but I hadn't thought about the fact that we'd be taking care of our own meals while out here." 

"All of this must be very new to you, your Highness."

"Regrettably, yes. I'm afraid the rules I've grown up under have led me to a very sheltered worldview."

"Well, that's the point of these trips, I imagine. His Highness has been making excursions like this for a few years now, and while he does get to speak to the leaders of towns and cities under his rule, I think it's more useful that he learns about life outside the palace. You can't learn humanity if you spend every day amid stone walls." Stones begin to rise up from the ground, accompanied by the distinct scent of a library. Once she's collected a pile of them, he directs her runes to draw a large circle in the dirt.

You contemplate her words as you watch her work, taking careful mental notes on what she's doing.

"We need to create a ring of stones to make the fire in, about the size of the circle I've just drawn," she explains. "If you'd like, your Highness, you can get started on arranging the stones while I collect some of the wood for the fire."

You nod, turning your attention to the pile and grabbing the first rock to set down on the ring drawn for you. It's easy work, but you take it seriously right up until you reach for the last rock and are greeted with a blast of heat that causes you to yelp and pull your hand back.

You retrace the scent of gunpowder to its source—the knight Kacchan, who typically stays by Izuku's side. He's leaned up against a tree, glaring at you with crossed arms. "Pay more attention."

You glare, affronted. "Excuse me?"

He points at the rock you'd been about to grab, where some... creature with far too many legs now lays dead. "That thing can't cause any serious health issues, but I doubt you would have been very happy with the pain its bite puts you in. Highness."

You brush it away with your runes, not wishing to touch it bare-handed. "Well, thank you for assisting me. If I hadn't known better I'd have thought you were attacking me, though."

He clicks his tongue, turning burning red eyes away from you. Is he not going to help? It looks like he just set up a pair of tents and then decided to kick back and watch you set rings around a fire.

"Is there something you need to be doing, or...?"

"It'd be stupid of us to leave you without one person watching you at all times. You're not used to being outside as it is, and if someone tries some strange magic on you, someone has to be there to save you from getting killed. Or bit by one of the most painful centipedes in Elysia because her Highness can't pay attention."

You try not to let show just how irritating his comments are. Instead, you get back to work on arranging your rocks just in time for Momo's return. 

She continues to walk you through the process—you wave a hand to take notes as she teaches you the different types of firewood, things you shouldn't do, and so on. Before long, you have a pretty decent fire set up, with the help of some magic, and the other knights have returned from their various duties. Still only two tents are set up, and honestly, you're a little afraid to question it.

You do anyway.

"Why are there only two tents, if you don't mind my asking? Surely those two aren't large enough to house everyone for the night."

A broad-shouldered night with dark hair answers your query, waving his hands about as he speaks. "The knights will be resting outside the tents, your Highness! It's not proper for a lady to share such close sleeping quarters with a man she is not yet married to, and it would be unseemly for you to change where anyone could see you. To keep carrying burdens low, only our more royal travelers will be sleeping in tents."

You frown. "I see. Thank you for your explanation, sir..."

"Ah! My sincerest apologies, your Highness. I am Tenya of the Iida family. We have a long lineage of successfully keeping royalty, such as yourself, safe. It was dishonorable of me not to introduce myself sooner, ma'am."

"Oh, you needn't worry yourself so, Sir Tenya. I've taken no offense." Besides, it's not as if anyone could offend you next to Kacchan's attitude towards you and seemingly everything in existence. "Though, I am a little worried at the prospect of all of you sleeping outdoors with no covering. Aren't we at risk of animals or attack?"

"Only slightly more so than the protection a tent affords, your Highness. All of us will be cycling through staying awake for part of the night and staying on guard against that very threat. The weather is a greater threat than any person or animal could be to you, ma'am."

"The weather?"

"Yes. If it rains, even in the heat of summer, it could cause someone's body temperature to drop to dangerous rates if we can't find a place where we can start a fire."

You hum, making a mental note of the information. As the meal carries on and things are handled, you continue to ask questions and receive answers, and before long, you're retiring for the night, more than grateful to finally, finally lay down and get some rest.

Successfully dressed in your nightclothes, you're greeted with the scent of peaches and lemongrass for only a moment before a folded letter lands in front of you, accompanied by a single yellow lily.

You can't help but smile. He sent me a letter when I'm sleeping only a tent away?

As you lay down to sleep, you call forth just enough runes to light your tent for reading. They float overhead, casting a gentle glow as you twirl the lily between two fingers.

My Highness,

Being able to travel with you today and truly speak was a gift. The lily is a thank you for accompanying me on this trip—the long treks are much more enjoyable with you at my side. I know these are all things I could have said to you in person for once, but honestly, [name], I find it easier to sleep when I have written to you. I hope you'll forgive that I don't recount to you the day's events in tonight's letter—I spent the day thinking about the beautiful princess walking at my side, so I have forgotten most of it.

It's said that, and my experiences and reading have both confirmed, one cannot smell their own magic at work. In a literal sense, this makes me slightly sad for you—will you truly never be able to smell the scent of fresh bread and warm vanilla when you work with your runes? Your runes, your soul smells like home in a way you and I have not known, and I pity everyone who will not get to spend their lives smelling it. I imagine love smells quite like the air around you—warm, safe, and inviting.

I hope you rest well and dream of me.

Your Prince,

Izuku

The letter is safely tucked away in your bag, the lily rested on the opposite side of the tent so you don't accidentally crush it. With a few waves of your hand, you acquire the paper necessary to pen the morning's response and rest it next to the lily, to be dealt with in the morning.

For now, you dismiss your light and fall into sleep. Tomorrow is another exhausting day.

Tags: @tooloudarts​ @sapid-rose​ @xxangelpridexx​ @birds-have-teeth​ @icythotsenpai​ @warmchoccymilk​ @wesparklebitch​ @izoodles​ @fujimoribaby​ @my-bnha-things​ @denise-the-death-goddess​ @themerpenguin​  @dragonempress123​ @imabootywarrior​ @the-secret-thief​ @venusianpink​ @chickynn​ @lianatriestosurvive​ @frog-face-wolfhard​ @akariblue​

[a-lil-perspective]

The Bad Batch X Sick Reader

A/N: This is my very first posted fic on here, I hope you all enjoy. Please feel free to provide feedback, it’s much appreciated!

Although you didn’t bolt upright in dramatic fashion upon returning from a deep slumber, you nevertheless awoke with a start, eyes fluttering open and feeling vaguely aware of the dampness of a cold sweat permeating your hairline. Disorientation takes over as you lie rigid in the bed, only being able to process the physicality of how utterly terrible you feel- you didn’t think you could move in such quick succession if you tried- Every joint feels stiff and your muscles are resistant to comply, attempting to encompass and entrap your body deep within the mattress, refusing to give way to your motions.

Swiping at the remnants of sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand, you become uncomfortably conscious of the fact that your face is burning up, despite the rest of your extremities freezing in stark contrast.

This was no good. Your heart rate quickens as panic rises in your throat, gripping tightly as your breath hitches. Your mind begins racing, conjuring up every angle of the current situation in an attempt to make some light of it. You eventually force the lump down, giving into the overwhelming realization.

You were sick. Big time.

Fearing you looked as bad as you felt, you promptly thrust yourself out of bed with great effort and a groan of pain before stumbling into the ‘fresher, examining your entirety and fervently hoping your initial concerns were just an exaggerated oversight.

One glance at your trembling, pale, and achy form confirmed your worst suspicions.

“Kriff,” is all you can manage, further worsening matters by the realization of your curse rolling out only as a mere croak. Gritting your teeth, you roll your puffy, exhausted eyes and shake your head in disappointment. Great. Sick AND losing your voice. This can’t get much worse, you think to yourself bitterly as you level your gaze back at the mirror.

With great effort you manage you pull yourself together enough to make it out to the common area of the ship, bracing yourself to face the others. You remain self-conscious of your movements, attempting to exert your stance, stride, and demeanor with purpose as to not draw unwanted attention to yourself and your condition.

Hunter, Wrecker, Tech, Crosshair- they were no fools. Hunter especially, what with his enhanced senses and innate perceptions, will pick up on your illness lighting fast.

Realizing you’re up and starting your day much later than usual, it’s no surprise the guys are already up and in their respective places- although Hunter is nowhere to be found upon entering the common room.

Tech, lounging in a seat with his nose buried in his datapad, eyebrows furrowed in concentration, looks up to greet you first, his expression turning into that of perplexity.

“Good morning, Y/N. I am surprised you slept in. Stayed up late last night, I presume?”

You clear your throat in an attempt to forcefully exact your normal, chipper level of voice. “Hey, Tech. Yeah, something like that.”

He nods, returning sights to his work, facial expression evident that his curiosity is momentarily satiated. It’s clear that he didn’t pick up on the fact that your voice, despite your best attempts, came out in just above a whisper. For that, you were thankful.

You head over to the cupboard to pour yourself some caf, hoping a warm drink would do you some good.

“You look like hell.”

A terse statement from the jaded appearance of Crosshair standing in the corner, arms folded across his chest and eyes boring into you, caused you to jump and your already trembling fingers to drop the empty cup you had grabbed, clanging to the ground and reverberating with purpose as if some cruelly overly-dramatized joke.

Feeling frustration bubble to the surface, you sigh deeply and level a thinly-veiled unimpressed look in his direction, unable to muster the willpower to put up with his attitude today.

“Thanks.” You sneer. Before you even manage a step over in his direction to where the cup had predictably rolled, Crosshair moved in the blink of an eye to pick it up and appear alongside you, placing the now unusable cup to the side and in one solid motion, reaching up to grab a new one down for you.

You look at Crosshair quizzically. Out of all the other members on this ship with whom you’ve fallen into methodical and sequential step with, you two have still got some steps to learn to your dance, with you having never quite fully figured out the enigmatic sniper and all of his expressive layers.

“Thanks,” you mutter in just above a strained whisper, though pushing more sincerity and less of a sarcastic quip this time. Turning to pour the caf, you’re taken by mild surprise when Crosshair engages with you once again.

“You sick or somethin’?” His eyes narrow questioningly as he searches your face before reaching out tentatively to thumb at your cheek, gently cupping it.

You’re taken aback by the touch, distantly aware of your heart rate quickening it’s pace. You avoid his questioning gaze, instead focusing on the sensation of his cool fingertips meeting the increasing warmth radiating from your skin with ease. Despite the fact that the action further solidifies your current state of being fever-ridden. It’s oddly comforting.

You hesitantly turn away, but not before slightly leaning into his touch.

“I’m fine,” you manage weakly.

Crosshair’s not convinced in the slightest. But before he can voice his trepidation, Wrecker comes bounding into the room, his voice boisterous and projecting. Not exactly the sound volume you want to hear right now but, you can’t help but smile inwardly at his puppy-like energy. He means well.

“Hiya, Y/N!” Wrecker greets you with a less-than-gentle pat on the back, making you almost spill the cup of hot caf you had laced your cold fingers around just moments before.

You weren’t sure what facial expression you were wearing, but Wrecker falters nonetheless. “You okay?” He asks, voice coated with concern.

Kriff. You wish everyone would kindly stop asking you that. You just wanted to enjoy your kriffing cup of caf and TRY to recoup before your briefing in two standard rotations, with which you’d been tasked with compiling numerous works together in preparation for a large-scale mission forthcoming. The fact that you were in this state, so close to the arrival date of the meeting and your work not AT ALL in a state of completion, was seriously stressing.

“Yeah, Wrecker.” You once again smile up at the gentle giant looming over you. “All good.”

As if on cue in an effort for the universe to illuminate your lying streak with full bravado, your body is racked with increasing pain and you tremble, feeling a shiver go up your spine.

Nobody gets a word out before Hunter comes around. He looks as if he’s just awoke, blinking rapidly and rubbing at his temples. You consider him for a moment then, realization hitting you like a ton of bricks.

OH.

THAT’S why he hasn’t been around this morning.

Guilt suddenly pangs at your chest as you revert back to yesterday, recalling how Hunter had to turn in after the last mission due to a headache caused from a sensory overload. He had explained to you how it plagued him from time to time, and reassured you not to worry, but you couldn’t forget how much pain he was in- eyes glazed over, body doubled over, beads of sweat enveloping his face. It made you feel helpless.

Helpless, and embarrassed at your perceived selfishness.

Here you were, out here dropping cups from the cupboard and making general racket, all the while wallowing in your own self-misery today- having not even previously processed how Hunter could’ve been in the other room feeling just as miserable.

Now he stood before you, addressing everyone about something, something you couldn’t even hear over the sound of your own thoughts simultaneously drowning everyone out.

“-Feels like I heard commotion or somethin’ out here, just thought I’d check on y’all.” He grinned in amusement, feeling a spark of playfulness. “Wanted to make sure Y/N wasn’t acting up in here.”

Everyone cracked a grin but you, who all but blurted out your guilty admission, much to your chagrin. It’s your own guilt, coupled with illness, sporadic emotions due to the fact, and lack of coherent thoughts nagging at you all at once.

“Hunter... I’m sorry,” you croaked. All eyes were on you, each differing degrees of quizzical expressions.

“I-I’m the one who dropped the cup and made the racket. I didn’t consider that you could’ve still been feeling unwell. Sorry.” You sheepishly confess, before spilling into a coughing fit.

Kriff. Shouldn’t have said so much in one setting. Way to make your condition obvious.

Hunter, who holds the most mixed expressions you’ve ever seen- amusement, discomfort, confusion, laced with compassion- comes striding over to you.

“Y/N. You’re rambling. That’s not like you,” he chuckles. “I’m fine, don’t worry about me, okay? You look like you could use a lot more help right now.” He reaches a hand to splay out across your forehead to check for a fever that you both already know is becoming, to which you gracefully duck and sidestep him, all while gripping your cup of caf.

Crosshair chuckles at your motion and Hunter just looks to you. He’s diving fully into empathetic, sensible parent mode- you can tell- as he sighs exasperatedly at your innate ability to prove difficult.

“Y/N... ya gotta let us figure out what’s going on with you, so that we can get ya well.”

You look down into the cup, weighing those words and considering what to say next. You’ve never been one to freely and openly allow someone to care for you, nor have you fully possessed the ability to convey your feelings in a refined way- especially when you’re unwell. Your tenacity, though admirable, doesn’t always make it easy for someone else to know how to help you. Likewise, deeming it challenging for you to even know how one can help you. It’s a tedious cycle that plagues you when you immerse yourself too deep.

“I... I think I’m just tired.” you manage weakly. “Besides,” you croak, “I’ve got to get all my works completed before the briefing.”

With that, collective silence falls as you stumble back towards your room, thankful for the closed doors that keep your vulnerabilities and current physical ailments tightly locked away.

You were thankful for the brief quiet time, and managed to clear your head just enough to work for what you estimated to be about a half hour that came and went. With your work sprawled on the floor, you alongside it, the caf mug well empty now and off to the side, there’s a wheezing that now accompanies your breaths and, it worries you. As you lie flat on the floor, fear swells in your chest and you wish you had the courage to call the guys in here to you. You wish you weren’t so conflicted.

As you finish that train of thought, there’s a loud bang on the door.

“Y/N?” It’s Wrecker, the realization coming unsurprisingly to you judging by the obvious choice gesture of greeting at the door.

“Come in,” you strain your voice to project.

In the doorframe you find all four members of The Bad Batch, all weighing mixed levels of concern at your small, sick frame curled up on the floor. They all collectively rush in, though in a way as to not alarm you. In the moment, you’re thankful for their company.

“Hey,” Hunter soothes as he kneels down beside you, running a hand through your hair. “You’re gonna be okay. Let us take care of you, like you take care of us.”

You nod weakly, coming to your senses and surrendering all complaining rights in that moment.

Hunter orders Tech to go and grab the small medkit kept on the ship, though they’re all well aware of the fact that it’s not on par with medical facilities. Being several parsecs away from the nearest, they want to at least get the ball rolling here onboard for now. They decide not to move you until you’re stable.

Wrecker comes behind you and sits down, straddling you back into his lap and letting you use him as a body pillow. He doesn’t mind, he loves your small frame in contrast with his own, much larger one. You love how warm he is in the moment. It’s a mutual feeling between you two of safety and security.

Tech promptly returns with the medkit and although Crosshair is the only one appearing rigid and most hesitant to be hands-on with you, The Bad Batch get to work, communicating amongst themselves with the same efficiency they project amidst all things. They give you some anti-inflammatories to take the edge off, and you vaguely remember a stimulant- an overwhelmingly pleasant aroma of something very herbal-like. You initially thought it to be reminiscent of Bacta, but it wasn’t.. What was that?

Almost instantly, your chest felt clear. Your breathing became even and despite still being in pain, you were no longer wheezing. You attempted to make a mental note to ask later what the miracle worker was, but you weren’t able to give it much more thought as you felt your eyes suddenly became heavy-lidded, succumbing to rest you know your body desperately needed.

You awoke much later, feeling immensely better, and no longer needing the medical facility services that were finally available to you. Four pairs of eyes were studying you and, upon seeing you wake, the expressions attached collectively sighed in relief. You couldn’t help but feel something soft swirl in your chest upon lovingly fixing your gaze on the crew of the Havoc Marauder. They truly were something special. They knew you the best, and were able to have the most profound effect on you, no matter how adamantly complex you could be. They deeply cared for you. It’s moments like these, you realize how intertwined and inseparable you are.

You hope it always stays that way.

[fictional-worlds-are-exquisite]

i am very much enjoying my vague void! it's currently blasting hozier at full volume and that's almost louder than my internal screaming (don't worry, everything is fine, i just saw a spider)

i've never once in my life have followed a recipe correctly. all of my measurements are completely random and whatever happens happens. it is no longer in my hands. whatever eldritch entities exist take the wheel. and i absolutely refuse to spell anything in english without autocorrect because y'all have way too many double letters and random vowel placement

thank you! sadly, i won't have a break right now, because we just had christmas vacations, but the start of the new semester is always pretty chill. and you're absolutely right, i should take up necromancy! the snow and the cold will add to my mysterious vibes. i just need to get a big black cape with a hood to complete the aesthetic

i definitely picture everything above 5'6 feet as the same height. 5'7 and 6'2? the exact same thing. no difference here

how is morepork a real bird name. it's just... more pork? but the bird is magnificent. i completely approve of your first order as bird queen, not that you need approval from mere peasants like me, but it's a great order. ohhh salps look really cool, and it does look a lot like it! when you said boob implant i thought of mermaids and them using salps as boob implants but then i realised wait wouldn't jellyfish be better for that? because of their shape? ignoring their little leggies they're quite boob shaped, no? and then i realised that i was thinking about mermaids and alive boob implants... if i had to think it, you have to read it. i'm sorry

i was sold before but now i'm even more sure that i want to hire you. and I'll make sure to have lactose free cheese for the backflips (unless you want the lactose version? i'm not judging). will the biting of ankles cost extra?

that sounds like a brilliant set-up for a horror movie where they kill off all the children one by one. it's absolutely horrifying. if something like that would've happened to me i would've most likely just passed out. whatever happens afterwards is not my problem. and now i really don't want to know what the hell your leg was caught on because that seems like knowledge that would get me killed

ah so you're a fellow dirt eater? according to my mom my favourite thing to do outside when i was a little kid used to be eating sand. just shovelling handfuls of it into my mouth and crying when my mom made me spit it out. which i refuse to believe. if there are no photos it didn't happen

you warm climate people are starting to make me think that i'm better adjusted to the cold than i thought i am! it's either that or our buildings are better heated. i definitely don't know if anyone else calls hot water bottled hotties but i like it so from now on i'm using it

that's so cute! i was clearly a way more selfish child because when i found any amount of money i just kept it and bought candy as soon as i could. i clearly couldn't save money then and i can't now. we have stores like that (or i'm assuming that they're like that solely based on how they sell lollies) and they used to be my favourite thing because you could get so many lollies for such a small price!! and my mom even used to let me order for myself sometimes so i always felt like a very big girl jsjshsbsjk

also the fact that i can't send pictures on anon is a crime (yes i know why and it's good that that's not possible because can you imagine anons being able to send pictures? oh no is all i have to say about it) but anyways. because i have this one super cursed photo that reminded me of you and now i can't share it :((

duuuuude, sick void bro. sounds like a vibing void. I feel like I haven’t seen a spider in awhile. Other than daddy long legs. But they’re chill. They mind their own business. 

I nearly always follow recipes exactly. My mum is like oh cook this for about 7 minutes? Yeah sure. I’ll take a wild guess. I’m like they say exactly 7 minutes so I’ll set a timer for 7 minutes and start a stopwatch so if it does seem to need more than 7 I can keep an eye on the extra time and be aware of exactly how long it takes me for next time. Other people are like oh let's see I have [lists 5-10 things in their fridge], hmm...oh I know what I could make with that! I’m like I have beans in my freezer because one recipe required them and no other recipes I know how to make do so what am I supposed to do with these now,,, this is stressful,,, basically I barely know how to cook and recipes are the only things saving me in that area. That is entirely fair. Except for the fuck duck, and murder is not the word you want surely, situations, it’s pretty helpful.

Ohhh I see. At least the start is chill! For a little! Before your entire situation spirals out of hand and you’re behind in every class and it’s taken you a whole day to read 10 pages and you’re exhausted and it’s only week 2. Just me? ok. fair. anyway. I want a cloak so bad. One of my uni friends tempted me to class because she said she was wearing a cloak so my depressed ass honest to god dragged myself out of bed and to said class just to see it. It was worth it. They’re incredible. Everyone should own a big cloak for the aesthetic.

I’m glad it isn’t just me hahaha. I can visualise my own height in feet but everything else is just the same size that is a vague amount taller than me, mentally.

It’s also known as the ruru. But the name morepork amuses me. It’s named after the call it makes haha. It does sound like it’s asking for more pork if you know to listen for that. thank u for ur approval, it means a lot, turns out becoming bird queen didn’t ACTUALLY get rid of my anxiety disorder weirdly enough so validation is great! lmaooo. What if the jellyfish stung them tho? At least salps wouldn’t do you dirty like that. The mermaids would just look like there are hundreds of bugs crawling around in their boobs, flesh shifting as they float around. Which is a vibe. If you’re into that. Jellyfish WOULD make a more solid, single, implant, some of them are definitely boob shaped. But that’s kinda boring no one’s gonna be traumatised by that. Salps on the other hand...yeah, that sight will DEFINITELY traumatise someone.

To be PERFECTLY honest I haven’t done a backflip in years but for lactose-free cheese? Dude. I’ll be going back to training. Gonna be the best backflip you’ve ever seen. As long as it’s not Tasty cheese I am content, but lactose free IS better. The biting of ankles will not cost extra, it is a pleasure to be allowed to do that.

Oh it absolutely would be. It’d be very funny if it reached the wider world bc people would probably be like ok but who would send kids into the bush like that,, it’s an odd concept. meanwhile everyone who grew up in nz is gonna be like y’all, you’re not gonna fuckin BELIEVE what i experienced growing up, it’s real dude. On one hand, I feel like murdering kids in a movie is questionable, on the other hand, It exists, so maybe people would be down for it. I feel like it’d be a good concept even if it wasn’t murdery tho. Like psychological horror? I’m not sure if I’m using that category correctly I don’t watch much horror. A kid following the rope but then being shifted into a different horror dimension but they never take the blindfold off because their teachers said not to and they’d probably have to let go of the rope to do it...I feel like this could work super well as a short film. The viewers see everything. The child just knows something is off and no one is coming when they call for help. I am so down for this. I also do not want to know what my leg was caught on. Some things I am better off not knowing.

yes! I am a fellow dirt eater! We had a sandpit at home (that’s a little bold. It was a large plastic shell that my parents filled with sand. technically a sandpit. but not fancy sdflsdkfsdf) but I don’t think I ever tried to eat it. Then again, I possibly did and just don’t remember because there’s no photo evidence of that one. I’d have to ask my parents sdfhsjdfs, I would however fully believe them if they said yes. it’s very characteristic of me. I don’t doubt it for a second. muuuum that’s my emotional support sand don’t make me spit it out smh the disrespect these days.

Oh I’m absolutely terrible even by most people’s standards around here when it comes to cold and hot temperatures. I remember sitting in the sun in my school shirt and school jersey in summer on a blazing day like it’s a bit chilly, isn’t it? Meanwhile my friends were in the shade absolutely dying from the heat. Likewise in winter I’d be shivering, teeth chattering, dying with my long sleeve thermal, my school shirt, my school jersey, my school jacket, my longs, warm socks and sneakers and gloves and school scarf while ppl would be walking around in a shirt and shorts like it’s a bit warm this winter huh? my body didn’t learn how to thermoregulate and it shows. But yeah NZ does also have a reputation for shittily insulated buildings and such. It shows. skhdfsfs if it’s not common use maybe don’t say can i have a hotty to someone without context but otherwise go ahead lmao. it’s a fun shortened version.

I was typically a very good saver, to the point where my extended family started gifting me gift cards and vouchers for Christmas and my birthday because if they just gave me money I’d put it in my bank account to save towards uni once I hit like, 12 years old. Which I think was a smart move. But apparently, I’m supposed to buy myself ‘something nice’ with it. I think I’m still an okay saver but I’m not as strict anymore. I’m aware of how much I can spare and I’m not just like you can never get anything for yourself ever, so I do get lil things for myself sometimes. oooo yay! At least you know what I mean. But yes. They were the gold mine for lollies. Absolutely terrific stores. My mum would be like hey lindsey how about you order? And I’d be like mother, I am 7 years old and I have an undiagnosed anxiety disorder everyone assumes is child shyness why would you think I would want to do that. Instead I will whisper my choices to you. After therapy tho I felt pretty rad for picking my own lollies by myself. I was like 13 at that point but sdfkjhsdf listen I got there in the end.

sdfkjsdfkjhsdf I like that a cursed photo reminded you of me. That’s all I need to hear. Tumblr said no anon dick pics but they also said no anon cursed photos either,,, very sad. for the latter part. the first part thank god. If I could turn on photos on anon I absolutely would just to see this but I don’t think I can :(

[dollsome-does-tumblr]

a random list of some of my favorite comfort movies, and where to stream them:

These are all available to stream in the US as of 2/10/19! (As far as I know, based on my meticulous system of hastily double checking. My apologies if I got any wrong!)

Hunt for the Wilderpeople (Hulu): Hilarious and moving, with totally heartwarming performances by Julian Dennison and Sam Neill (who are basically playing a gender-swapped modern day version of the Anne Shirley and Marilla Cuthbert dynamic), and a ton of gorgeous New Zealand landscapes and great music. Written and directed by Taika Waititi! Will I ever love another movie like I love this movie? Doubtful! It’s such a joy, y’all. It’s such a joy!!!!!!!!!!

Life Partners (Hulu): Britta and Leighton Meester are best friends who struggle with growing up and the way that having serious romantic relationships affects their friendship. Lots of fun banter and two super charming leads in this one. At one point, Leighton Meester cries in a fast food drive thru line. Sometimes, that’s all you need from your entertainment.

A Little Princess (Netflix): For that mood when you need to watch the most beautiful movie ever made and cry a lot. Like, a lot. Pretty much every second of this movie is too poignant for the human heart to handle, but I truly love that about it.

The Secret Garden (Hulu): For that mood when you just watched A Little Princess and you need to cry over more amazing Frances Hodgson Burnett adaptations. I love how tangibly broody nature is at first in this movie. The whole atmosphere is just A++++.

Hysteria (Amazon Prime): A super silly and sweet Victorian-set romcom about a) the invention of the vibrator and b) men being idiots. This might not be the most profound movie ever, but I am forever glad of its existence and the opportunity to watch Maggie Gyllenhaal whirl around as a sassy bluestocking horrifying the menfolk around her.

Julie and Julia (Netflix): I love food and -- at least in theory -- cooking. I love tales of discovering one’s calling in life. I love movies about cute marrieds. I love Amy Adams. I love Meryl Streep. I love Stanley Tucci. I love Chris Messina (especially when he’s not being Danny Castellano from The Mindy Project and pissing me off with his terrible boyfriending behavior, which he did a lot). This movie delivers.

Did You Hear About The Morgans? (Netflix): This movie is technically not great at all, but it also involves estranged marrieds falling in love again in a rural location, and there is a whole scene where fancy New York people marvel at the wonders of (the fictional equivalent of) Costco. Also, Hugh Grant tries to chop wood and fails with aplomb. This is the kind of content we all need in our lives at one point or another. And yes, they do have a comedic run-in with a bear.

About A Boy (Netflix): Snarky misanthrope Hugh Grant and tiny hippie social outcast kid Nicholas Holt become unexpected best friends! This is one of my very favorites ever. Such a good balance of hilarity and bittersweetness, with such rewarding character growth in it.

The Birdcage (Netflix): Everything is hilarious adorable chaos, and Robin Williams and Nathan Lane are super funny and incredibly endearing old marrieds. This movie is such a classic and I am realizing now that it’s been too long since I last watched it!

Swiss Army Man (Netflix): So, "comfort movie" might be a bit of a stretch, but if you ever wanted to watch Paul Dano fall in love with a talking corpse played by Daniel Radcliffe in sort of a rustic nature setting while they contemplate the exhausting mysteries of human civilization, then this is the movie for you!! Contains some excellent Jurassic Park references and exquisitely strange cinematography and music. Also, much scatological nonsense.

Wish Upon A Star (Amazon Prime): Were you by any chance a kid in the 90s? Did you by any chance LIVE FOR every rerun of this -- quite saucy by modern day Disney’s standards! -- 1996 Disney Original Movie starring young Katherine Heigl and Some Other Girl (sorry, girl!) as super opposite sisters who wish on a star and swap bodies? It does not even matter if this movie is good, because it is GREAT. Great!!!!! I cannot believe I have grown up to live in a world where I can stream it at any moment I wish (upon a star!) to.

The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society (Netflix): This movie had my heart in an instant, because it is about healing via great literature and book club meetings, and also at one point Lily James delivers an impassioned defense of Anne Bronte, as we all should.

Jane Eyre - 2011 (Amazon Prime): Granted, this might be a little bleak to be a traditional comfort movie, and it's not my favorite adaptation of the novel, but it is incredibly gorgeous to look at, and sometimes that is its own kind of comfort. Especially if you're feeling in the mood for a bit o' Gothic melancholy. And Mia Wasikowska is always a quiet gem.

Peter Rabbit (Netflix): Okay, I know this probably has caused you to gaze at this post with deep distrust, but I find this movie such a charming mixture of quaint bucolic charm and pure wild brutality, and also Domhnall Gleeson's character is HILARIOUS and his romance with Rose Byrne's character is a total delight. They have a picnic and play Bananagrams! Bananagrams!! I think this movie was made specifically for me ... to be judged by other people.

Shrek (Hulu): I mean. It’s Shrek. Come on. Your default setting as a human person is “Gotta watch it again” and you know it.

[theepitomeofamess]

Take Care of You

‘bout to go to bed but here’s a crusty old Logince drabble I’ve been looking at for a few months and am just now posting because why the fuck not. Pretty fluffy by my standards, but not the precious cotton candy fluff that some others do. Anyway, enjoy! Hope y’all sleep well and have a morning as lovely as your smile!!

“Can you go check on him,” Patton had asked. “He hasn’t been out of there for days.” The concern in Patton’s voice was mild, meant to keep Virgil calm at all costs, but it overflowed from his dark eyes when he looked to Logan for assistance.

Logan had to admit that he’d had a similar sense of concern. For three days, Roman had refused to leave his room except to steal food or drinks from the kitchen. Three nights in a row, when Logan went through the house to double check that every door and window was securely locked, he’d found light peeking through the space between Roman’s door and its frame when he should have been asleep. Even Logan had to admit that there was a kind of emotional tension leaking through the door, something that he was sure Patton and Virgil felt much more strongly. That tension is probably at least part of the reason Patton requested that Logan be the one to check on Roman.

Two staccato taps on the door. Logan’s signature alert that he was outside waiting for a response. Not a single sound from Roman. Two more taps, the white painted wood smooth under Logan’s knuckles. Another wait with no reward. Reaching down to test the knob, Logan found that the gold knob turned with ease.

“Roman,” Logan asked into the room as he stepped over the threshold into what looked and smelled like a landfill.

Roman’s floor was barely visible under strewn clothes and balled up wads of paper. His bed was immaculately made, completely unused. The air smelled of rivers of coffee, theater butter from popcorn, and something unidentifiable but probably akin to sweat. The smell reminded Logan of a college dorm room during finals week.

Sitting at his desk, Roman hunched over his spiral-bound notebook, pen in hand and laptop open. The screen showed around twenty open tabs, the one on display showing Spotify questioning whether he was still listening. As Logan got closer, careful not to step on anything but floor if he could manage it, Logan noticed that Roman was wearing a pair of ratty burgundy sweatpants and a plain white t-shirt. The shirt, the sheets of paper in the notebook, Roman’s desk, and Roman’s hands were all stained with coffee and ink. Some of the ink had smudged on Roman’s face from where his cheek rested against his palm, eyes barely open and bloodshot from exhaustion.

“Roman,” Logan repeated, trying to be gentle as he tried to get Roman’s attention. Looking up from his notebook for an instant, Roman did everything in his power to sound as chipper as usual.

“What’s up, teach?” Roman’s voice was gravelly from lack of use, and a slightly lower pitch than usual. A common occurrence when he hasn’t gotten enough sleep. Turning away from Logan, Roman grabbed the pot of coffee sitting next to his laptop and took a swig. Logan tried not to think about how unsanitary Roman drinking right from the pot was.

“When was the last time you slept? Or showered?” Logan’s nose crinkled at the stench of stagnation.

“What day is it?” Roman’s response seemed automatic as he peered over the brim of the coffee pot at Logan. Already having had enough, Logan pulled the pot from Roman’s weak grasp.

“Okay, that’s enough.” The amount of ease in the action only strengthened Logan’s concern. If he’d had rest, Roman would’ve fought back, not gone right back to hunching over his notebook. “Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to stop working, you’re going to take a bath, then you’re going to sleep.”

“Is that so,” Roman barely hummed. “Is that what I’m gonna do?”

“Yes, it is.” Logan reached under Roman’s hands to snatch the notebook. Catching a glimpse of the page, Logan saw only lines upon lines of circles drawn where Roman’s immaculate cursive usually went. The sight drilled another screw of worry into Logan’s chest. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” Holding out a hand to Roman, Logan hoped that Roman wouldn’t put up much of a fight.

“Lo,” Roman sighed, running his hands through his filthy hair, “I need to work, I need to finish this.”

“This?” Logan held up the page, pointing at the half-filled lines of circles. “You need to finish this? What even is this?” Roman opened his mouth to respond, but Logan wouldn’t let him. “Roman, you need rest. What you’re trying to do is unhealthy and by being unhealthy you’re causing yourself to be unproductive. You’re not doing anyone any good by drawing circles over and over again.” Logan didn’t express how impressed he was that all of the circles seemed to be perfect, all the same size and the exact shape of a circle rather than a particularly round oval. That comment could be tabled for a later time. For now, Logan watched in worry as Roman stared at his hands.

“I,” he struggled to find his words, something that only ever happens when he’s under severe stress. “I can’t let you down, I… I can’t let you guys down.” Taking Roman’s hands in his own, Logan squatted in front of Roman’s, looking up to meet his sunken, red-rimmed eyes. The sight alone made Logan’s eyes burn.

“You’re not letting anyone down by taking care of yourself.” Roman’s eyes remained downcast, threatening to shift back to his work. “Or by letting me take care of you for now.” Before Roman had a chance to ask what Logan meant by that, Logan was guiding him from the desk to the bathroom.

“Lo, what’re you-”

“You prefer it hot, right,” Logan asked, leaning down to turn on the faucet in Roman’s white porcelain tub. “Go get undressed and in the water, I’ll be right back.” Logan added a dash of bath salts to the tub before leaving the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

Standing in the middle of his bathroom, Roman stared at the door wondering what was going on. Roman couldn’t remember any time Logan had taken on the role of caretaker, let alone toward him. It had always been Patton being his parental self toward everyone, and if not him then Virgil’s protective instincts kicked in and he took on the role of caretaker. Logan had never put on that type of persona.

Maybe the shock of the shift was why Roman found himself in the tub when Logan came back in.

Logan didn’t say anything, which only made Roman all the more confused. All he did was pull up the stool from Roman’s vanity to sit behind his head and start washing Roman’s hair. Fingers gently running through Roman’s hair, massaging shampoo into his scalp, Roman closed his eyes hummed contently. He could already feel the gears in his mind slowing, relaxing. Logan really knew how to get a person to relax.

“Hey, Lo?” Logan hummed in response. “Do you take breaks like this? Y’know, when you get overwhelmed with a project?” Logan’s fingers froze for a moment. The moment between the question and when Logan’s fingers started moving again made Roman’s eyes snap open.

“I try to, but it’s hard to remember when your mind’s been racing for so long and it won’t let you rest. Most of the time, this is what I do to help Virgil after a particularly long day and he doesn’t need anything too stimulating. I’ve also gotten Patton to do it a couple times after he had a meltdown, but usually those are rare occasions. Most of the time those two find their comfort in each other.” Roman tried to think of something to say as Logan washed the shampoo out of his hair, finding Roman’s conditioner and running the stuff through his hair, detangling with his fingers as he went.

“How many times have you done this kind of thing?”

“Once or twice for Patton, maybe four times for Virgil if I’m remembering right. Also, I think I’ve done this once for you, but you were very much under the influence. Can you lean forward for me?”

Roman did as instructed, eyes wide with shock as he tried to remember what Logan was talking about. Under the influence? When was the last time Roman got blackout drunk?

“When exactly did that happen?”

“If memory serves, it was after the cast party after closing night when you played JD in Heathers. Somebody gave you a drink with a little something extra and you got a little emotional, to say the least. Patton and Virgil couldn’t get you to calm down, so I took the task upon myself.” Roman tried to remember but Logan’s hands massaging circles into his back with soap that smelled of lavender, forcing the tension out of his muscles, also forced out the thoughts buzzing in his head like hornets. An exhale caused him to hunch further forward.

Logan smiled softly to himself. He always enjoyed doing this kind of thing for the others, but there was something about this time. Roman felt so distinctly different under Logan’s hands than Patton or Virgil did. Patton was softer, almost like the mascot for those Pillsbury pastries he loves so much. Still muscular, sure, but much softer, almost to the point of squishiness, and the few times that Logan had done this for him there had been little to no muscle tension to begin with. Virgil was on the opposite end of the spectrum, everything about him feeling brittle, seconds away from breaking. Logan always found himself being a little more careful than he should be with Virgil because of this, because of the feeling that tapping the right place just a little too forcefully could cause him to shatter.

Roman’s back was pure muscle. With every other exhale, Logan could feel tension being released under his hands. Scars Roman had earned in fights scattered and slashed across his back, a few of them still looking fresher than the others. Logan made note to be more tender at these points. Noticing that Roman’s head was lolling lazily, Logan poured water over his back to get rid of the soap, then through his hair to wash out the conditioner.

“All right, here’s a towel,” Logan handed Roman one of his better plush white towels, “there’s a fresh set of pajamas on the counter. I’ll be right back.” Roman couldn’t help but smile as Logan left.

Carefully getting himself up, dry, and dressed, Roman noticed how good he felt in comparison to what felt like both five minutes and a lifetime ago. He felt about ten pounds lighter and while his head was still swimming with exhaustion, there was relatively no stress left in his body. The pajamas Logan had chosen consisted of his red sweatpants with black Mickey Mouse logos scattered across the fabric, and a lightweight black t-shirt that managed to hang loose without looking baggy. Roman made a mental note to return the favor to Logan soon.

Ruffling his hair with the towel in an attempt to further dry it, Roman stepped back into his room only for his jaw to drop.

Everything was cleaned and straightened. All of the papers had been picked up, the clothes sat in the hamper waiting to be washed, the popcorn bags and other food wrappers all gone. His coffee pot was empty and clean, replaced on the far side of his desk away from his closed laptop and notebook. Something in Roman couldn’t believe that Logan had done this - No, he couldn’t believe that Logan had done it for him.

“Feeling better?” The question shook Roman as he turned to see Logan re entering his room, a glass of water in hand. Concern still swam in his eyes, though he kept himself strictly expressionless for the most part. Roman couldn’t help but smile.

“Much, thank you. I think I might finally be able to get some work-”

“No.” Roman squinted at the word, his confusion stalling him long enough for Logan to get back across the room and take his hand, guiding Roman to his bed. “You’re going to bed and you’re going to sleep until you wake up naturally.”

“Logan, I really don’t-” Logan stopped where he was, staring Roman down with eyes drowning in aggressive worry.

“Do you feel yourself swaying?” Roman’s brow furrowed at the question, heart punching his ribs at the break in Logan’s voice. “Because ever since I got you to your feet you’ve looked like you’re on the deck of a boat in rocky water.” Roman bit the inside of his cheek, refusing to admit that he had noticed a bit of dizziness. “Drink this. Sips, don’t chug it.” Roman took the glass Logan handed him, sipping at the water as Logan continued guiding Roman to his bed. As much as he loved a good argument with Logan, he could tell that in this state it was best not to challenge him.

“Look, Lo,” Roman tried to reason softly as he sat on the bed, “I get that you’re worried, and I appreciate the concern, but there’s really no need to-”

“Do I need to lay down with you and hold you to make sure you go to sleep, or are you going to get some rest without my supervision?” Roman’s eyes widened at the question. Hold him?

“Logan, what’re you-” Roman tried to stand up only to get Logan’s hand on his shoulder pushing him back down.

“Okay, then.” Before he knew it, Logan had positioned Roman under his blankets and gotten on the bed to lay beside him. Snaking one arm around Roman’s waist, Logan pulled him so that Roman’s back was against his chest and he couldn’t move, cocooning Roman in his warmth.

“Are you spoo-”

“Shut up and go to sleep before I make you take one of Virgil’s emergency ambien.” Roman almost chuckled at the threat. Roman allowed his head to sink deeper into the pillow, his vision slipping as he watched Logan’s hand resting on the bed next to him. Reaching out, Roman laid his hand over Logan’s, intertwining their fingers.

Once again, Logan found himself feeling tension release from Roman, every exhale bringing his body into a more relaxed state. Strength still radiated from him, as did heat, but it didn’t take long for him to go still, finally asleep.

Logan was just beginning to slip into sleep himself when Roman shifted in his sleep. Flipping around, the prince pulled himself closer to Logan, wrapping his arms around him and burying his face in his chest. Logan couldn’t help but smile, especially when he saw Roman’s totally relaxed face. Pressing his face into Roman’s still damp hair, Logan promised himself that he’d check up on Roman more often to make sure he’s okay.

@iamtrashcans @jazzyb11 @lucifer-in-my-head @pendragonqueen09

[pongpalace]

it’s a word, not a sentence (chapter 1/2)

jack zimmermann x eric “bitty” bittle, alternative meeting, photographer jack, single parent bitty, terminally ill child character

inspired by that one tumblr comic  

Jack’s had a long day.

Most of his morning was spent arguing with a client who didn’t like the way her daughter’s birth pictures turned out because Jack didn’t photoshop out the redness in the newborn’s cheeks to make her look as doll-like as possible. Then he had what had to be the longest photoshoot he’s ever had because the dad thought that one photography class at Micheal’s made him an expert on how to light Jack’s set and would make changes as he saw fit. Bouncing between trying to keep the eight-year-old’s attention so he wouldn’t strip naked—again—and fixing what the dad did without outright calling the man an idiot was exhausting and because of it, Jack worked through his lunch to edit the pictures he needed for the magazine shoot he’d done weeks before. He wasn’t happy with the results so in between his afternoon sessions, he’d open up his laptop and poke at it right up until he needed to send them off to the editor.

Squinting at his computer screen, adjusting colour balances and saturations made Jack more tired than being behind the camera so he’s feeling the long day now that he’s sat down at the front desk, without anyone else to worry about in the studio. He should be answering emails and double checking he has all the backgrounds and costumes he’ll need for his big pregnancy shoot tomorrow morning but Jack can’t bring himself to do more than stare at the clock as it counts down the fifteen minutes until he locks the door and gets to go home.

It’s a testament to how tired Jack is because he watches the clock for five whole minutes before he remembers that he’s his own boss and he technically can close his own photography studio any time he wants and no one will yell at him.

He’s just pushed himself out of his chair when the bell above the door rings, signalling someone coming in. Jack bites back a curse, but he can feel the glare on his face when he looks at the blond man and his son who just came in, bundled in their winter jackets and stomping off snow that must’ve come down sometime in the last hour.

The man approaches the front desk. “Hello, um, I know it’s almost closing time, but I have a really big favour to ask,” he says.

Jack stares for a beat, vaguely wondering what someone with a southern accent is doing this far north, in the middle of a Boston winter no less. The man colours under Jack’s stare, wrinkling his nose and in any other setting, Jack might’ve found him more than a little attractive considering his messy blond hair, freckles, and big, dark brown eyes check off everything on Jack’s list. As it is, it’s been a long day and Jack wants to go home.

“Any inquiries about bookings or appointments are usually better done over the phone, during the day,” Jack says, giving the standard response to walk-in clients and letting his voice fall flat. He doesn’t mention that the current waiting list for a shoot is at least six months.

The man winces. “Yeah, I um, I know that. I saw your website.” He pauses and looks around the studio, taking in the wall that showcases the portraits Jack’s most proud of, the series of geese postcards that Jack worked on with Lardo, and the vintage camera equipment that he has on display because it makes him happy to look at.

The man bites at his lip while he looks at the wall, and Jack is about to remind him of the studio’s hours, but then the kid peaks out from behind their dad’s legs and Jack’s heart goes into his throat.

He’s going to be staying a little bit longer.

The kid is small. His puffy jacket hangs off a thin frame, hands lost in the too-long sleeves, though he keeps pushing one up so he can hold onto his dad’s hand. He wears a bright red toque, pulled all the way down his forehead. No hair peaks out from underneath, but Jack doesn’t think it’s because they’ve tucked it up into the knit fabric. The boy and man have the same big brown eyes, matching all the way down the deep bruises underneath, though the boy’s might be a shade darker. There’s a tube taped to the boy’s cheek, feeding into his nose, the other end tucked around up into his hat before it disappears into his collar. It’s clear that the boy is very sick.

The man clears his throat, and Jack guiltily looks up from where he knows he’s been caught staring.

“Gavin saw your postcards in the hospital gift shop,” the man says. “He loves geese.” Gavin looks up and smiles big at his name, nodding as much as he can without dislodging the tube. He unzips his jacket and Jack’s heart clenches to see that he was wearing a big hoodie underneath the jacket and still looks so tiny. Gavin shoves his hands into the hoodie pocket and pulls out a folded piece of cardstock. He unfolds it carefully before standing on his tiptoes to reach the counter and push it towards Jack.

“The babies are the best,” Gavin says. His voice is rougher than any child’s voice should be, sounding like it hurts him to talk, but he’s smiling the whole time Jack looks at one of his postcards. It was one of the last shots he got that day, after having crouched in goose shit for hours to get pictures of the adults interacting, he managed get a shot of a gosling using the toe of his dirty yellow runner as a pillow.

“Yeah,” Jack says softly, looking at where he has it posted on the wall across from him. Gavin follows his gaze, grin widening when he sees it, tugging at his dad’s jacket to point it out.  

“The woman who works there says you had other things up in the hospital so on one of our good days, we went on a search and found some of your other pictures.” The man swings back around once he looks where Gavin wants.

“I like the unicorn,” Gavin says, again standing on his toes to see over the desk. He stretches to take his postcard back, almost losing his balance, but the man steadies him with a hand on his back easily.

Jack can’t think of a picture session he’s done with a unicorn, or even with the unicorn background he has, but most of what he’s given to hospitals are the landscape photography that he was really focused on while working towards opening his own studio.

“There’s a picture of a horse near the cancer ward and the shadow makes it look like a unicorn,” the man explains, smiling down at Gavin. He puts a hand on Gavin’s head and gently tugs at the toque, huffing a laugh when Gavin bats him away. He steps a little closer to Jack’s, voice lowering as he continues. “Look, I did go on your website and check for appointments and I know that y’all are booked solid for the next six months or so but-” His voice breaks. Jack’s stomach drops; six months might be too long for Gavin to wait for an appointment.

Jack looks around his desk, searching for the box of tissues he knows he keeps now that everyone has the sniffles in the cold weather. He finds them and passes the box over to the man, who takes a couple to press roughly to his eyes. Gavin reaches up and pulls on the man’s elbow until he drops his hand so Gavin can reach it. Gavin takes it and the man lets out a water breath.

Jack clears his throat, once, twice, to get past the lump he’s suddenly developed. He probably needs a tissue of his own but he blinks rapidly instead.

“Well, luckily, there’s a special promotion going on for people with these postcards,” Jack says, talking through the hoarseness in his voice that always comes when he’s feeling emotional. He leans forward over the desk to pass the postcard back to Gavin. Gavin takes it, looking up at his dad with big eyes. “I’ve been waiting all day to take pictures of someone who has one.”

“You have?” Gavin asks. He bites at very chapped lips, brow furrowed like he’s trying to figure Jack out. The directness of his stare is startling, his eyes the brightest point amongst the purples and blues of deep bruises and sharp cheekbones that don’t belong on a child’s face.

“I have.” Jack nods. “Now why don’t you take your dad back there,” Jack points over his shoulder, towards the studio he uses for kids’ portraits. “and I’ll meet you there to pick out what you want to wear in a second.”

There’s an entire wardrobe of different sized costumes, ranging from princesses to hockey players to doctors and everything in between that goes along with his extensive collection of backgrounds. It’s not as organized as it usually is when he has a session with a kid, but Jack’s more than happy to let Gavin go and chose what he wants. He might not get many more chances.

Jack locks the door while Gavin takes the man’s arm and leads him to the doorway. He’s chatting a mile a minute to his dad, but the dull roaring in Jack’s ears means he doesn’t catch any of it as he flips the lock so they’re not interrupted. He rests his forehead on the cool glass of the door, breathing in and out and in and out, while he takes a minute to compose himself. He’s not sure his bursting into tears would be productive for anyone tonight.

“Thanks for doing this.”

Jack jumps, knocking his head against the glass at the voice. He turns, feeling guilty for some reason, to see just the man leaning out of the studio doorway, eyes big with a concern Jack doesn’t feel like he deserves. He steps into the hallway.

“I’ll be right there, sorry,” Jack says, rubbing his forehead. The skin is warm to the touch, even after being pressed against the cool glass and Jack hopes he didn’t lose track of time.

“You’re apologizing for me scaring you on top of making you stay late?” The man raises a blond eyebrow.

“Er, yeah?” Jack says. He drops his hand from his forehead, and hopes he doesn’t look as stupid as he feels. The man came in here with his obviously very sick child and Jack is the one who can’t keep it together.

The man shakes his head, looking more bemused than annoyed. “Well, thank you. Seriously. This is gonna be the highlight of Gavin’s year.” He’s still smiling when he finishes, but it looks a little pinched around the edges.

“Uh,” Jack clears his throat. “Of course.” He stares at the man and the man stares back.

“I’m Eric, by the way,” the man says, suddenly. “If you wanna know who’s extended your work day.” Eric chuckles slightly, a little self-deprecating.

“Jack,” Jack replies, taking the hand Eric offers. His palm is dry but warm and a little rough. He squeezes Jack’s hands for a beat before letting go.

“Yeah,” Eric says and Jack flushes, realizing Eric must’ve known his name right from the start if he’d been able to google his website.

“Right.” Jack nods. “Er, should we?” He gestures back over Eric’s shoulder, following when Eric steps back inside the studio.

In the studio, Gavin’s found the building blocks on the low table in the corner. He’s still wearing his jacket, but he’s pushed the sleeves up to his elbows. Despite all the time Jack spends around children, he’s not great with telling kids’ ages, though it’s pretty obvious even to him that Gavin’s wrists and arms are too small for his age. He struggles for a moment to move most of a completed rocket ship that Jack’s earlier appointment left behind.

“Now I know Mr. Jack didn’t say come back here to play with the blocks.”

Eric’s voice makes Gavin jump and look guilty at his dad.

“Sorry,” he says, eyes wide. He puts the rocket down, though not before tweaking the nose slightly so it sits straighter. Jack bites back a smile.

“C’mere,” he says, gesturing over at one of the overflowing wardrobes along the back wall. The doors aren’t completely closed, different colours of tulle make it over stuffed and the bane of Jack’s existence to keep clean, and Gavin lights up when he catches sight of it fully open. “Let’s pick some things out to start with.”

With practiced hands, Eric helps Gavin tries on every single one of Jack’s costumes, guiding limbs through arm and leg holes, careful not only of the tube on the side of Gavin’s face, but also of the toque on Gavin’s head. Gavin grins at his reflection each time, twirling and running his hands over any silky fabric, before standing in front of Jack’s camera and posing like a superhero or a ballerina or whatever strikes his fancy. Jack makes sure to capture each pose. It’s the easiest photoshoot of a kid that Jack has ever done; Gavin must be the politest, most well behaved kid he’s ever met. When he says as much to Eric between costume changes, Eric snorts.

“He’s just trying to impress you so you’ll let him take some photos,” Eric says lowly. Jack twists from where he was watching Gavin pick out a princess dress by touching all the tulle to look at Eric.

“Geese are his favourite animal,” Eric repeats, shrugging. “And because photography let you get close to them, he thinks he should be a photographer to get close to them. I can’t wait till he learns about zoo-keeping.” Eric grins wryly.

It’s a challenge for Jack to tear his gaze away from Eric’s smile, somehow still the brightest thing in the room despite everything Jack knows it’s been through, but he turns away to adjust the tripod.

“What’re you doing Mr. Jack?” Gavin’s come over dressed in kid’s sized Providence Falcons jersey that still falls to his knees. He’s strapped elbow pads on over top, and is dragging the smallest hockey shorts behind him. They look giant beside Gavin.

“Making this the right size,” Jack answers, pointing at the tripod. Gavin’s brow furrows and he looks between Jack and his dad. Jack’s not sure what Eric’s doing behind him, but Gavin still looks suspicious as he takes another step towards Jack.

“Why?”

Jack crouches down to check that the tripod is level and won’t fall on Gavin.

“Can I tell you a secret?” He drops his voice into a whisper. Gavin’s still looks confused but he comes to stand right beside Jack so he can hear, still dragging the hockey pants.

“Your dad just told me that he wants his picture taken,” Jack says, whispering loud enough for Eric to hear as well. “But I’m afraid I won’t be able to do a good enough job… Do you wanna try?”

Gavin’s eyes are as big and as wide as Jack’s seen them all evening, and for a moment he just looks like an excited kid, bouncing on his toes, tubes and tiredness completely forgotten.

“Can I?”

Jack nods and turns to make sure the the tripod is properly locked in place. Satisfied nothing is going to fall, Jack beckons Gavin over and when he’s in place behind the camera, Jack points out where to look and what buttons to click.

Gavin listens and nods seriously at Jack’s easy explanation, beaming at the viewfinder screen after he takes a couple of practice shots of the empty background, a dark sparkly blue that Gavin had picked out to go with his firefighter costume.

“Look dad!” Gavin says, pulling back from the camera and almost knocking Jack in the nose in his excitement. Jack sits back on his heels to dodge anymore stray limbs, knee walking even further back when Eric comes to crouch beside Gavin too. Gavin explains everything that Jack just told him, and even though Jack is sure that Eric was listening the first time around, he nods and makes understanding sounds every time Gavin pauses for breath.

“We’ll frame some of these for Great Moomaw, what d’you say Gav?” Eric asks. Gavin blinks and thinks about the question.

“Can we print some for my room too?” he asks. “I want to see you for always.”

Jack’s lost count of the amount of times his heart has clenched painfully this evening, hating the fact that now he’s picturing Gavin’s small body in a hospital bed, but Eric hardly blinks before he answers.

“‘Course sweetpea.”

Gavin nods, satisfied.

“Let’s take some with someone in them too though, eh Gavin?”  Jack says, as he finally stands up from his crouching position, brushing dust off his knees.

“Do you want to pick out a costume for me?” Eric asks. He gently pushes Gavin back up onto his feet from where he’d been leaning back against Eric and stands, making small steps towards the row of costumes. There’s probably not much there that’ll fit him, but there’s something to be said for dads who’ll stretch a child’s costume across their shoulders to see their kid happy.

“No, I wanna remember you like this,” Gavin says, matter-of-fact like. Eric freezes, holding a pair of rainbow wings. Jack bites his tongue to keep from audibly reacting, and finally Eric’s smile breaks.

“Well, alright then,” he says softly, turning his face away from Gavin and into the closet. “Lemme just hang these back up.” He clears his throat, once, twice, and Jack has no camera to fiddle with when Gavin’s still happily taking pictures of the background, and a clear view of the first tear that falls onto Eric’s cheek. He feels absolutely helpless as Eric closes his eyes and rubs a hand roughly across his face.

Even with his eyes closed, Eric looks tired, like he’s been carrying the weight of the world for far too long on his shoulders. And he probably has, Jack realizes. He doesn’t have kids sure, but he’s still haunted by the broken expressions on his parents’ faces when he woke up in the hospital, like their whole world was on the verge of collapsing before he opened his eyes. And just from watching Eric and Gavin interact, it’s not much of a stretch to assume that Gavin is Eric’s whole world.

Jack’s heart breaks for them both.

“Daddy?”

Eric’s eyes snap open and if he catches Jack staring at him, he doesn’t say anything, twisting towards Gavin, who’s looking over a little impatiently.

“I’m coming Gav, sorry!” Eric hangs up the wings and sets himself up in front of the camera. “How d’you want me?” He poses dramatically, jutting a hip out and pouting his lips. Gavin giggles.

“No, dad,” he says. “Just smile!”

Eric straightens out of the pose. “Alright sugar,” he says, and he smiles wide, any and all traces of his earlier tiredness gone. Gavin nods and presses the shutter down. He doesn’t pause to look at the viewfinder before he takes another one and then another one. Eric’s smile doesn’t waver, in fact growing softer and more natural the longer he watches his son. Jack finds himself mirroring the expression.

Jack has no idea how many pictures Gavin takes, but when Gavin starts to flag a little—the pauses to yawn between squeezing one eye shut and pressing the other to the view finder dragging on a little longer each time—Jack pushes up his sleeve to check his watch. His eyebrows go up when he sees it’s already almost 7:30, two and a half hours after Eric and Gavin first came into his studio. Eric must be paying more attention to Jack than he thought, because he’s got his phone out and looks just as surprised as Jack feels at the time.

“You just about done Gav?” Eric asks, sticking his phone back in his pocket. He takes a step towards Gavin.

“No,” Gavin says around another yawn. He snaps a picture of Eric mid-snort but lets himself be corralled over to the costumes.

“We’ve taken up enough of Mr. Jack’s time, hey sweetpea?” Eric says. Jack wants to say that he doesn’t mind, that he’d be happy having them around for as long as they’re willing to stay, but now that Eric’s said something about the time, Jack can see how hard Gavin was fighting his sleepiness, rubbing his eyes now. He yawns so widely that Jack sees his tonsils. Eric guides Gavin’s arms out of the Falconers jersey he’s been wearing, movements still practiced and careful not to dislodge the tube under Gavin’s nose as he pulls it over his head. Gavin droops forward, resting his head on Eric’s shoulder once he’s free.

“Long day?” Eric asks, expertly balancing keeping Gavin upright and stretching to get Gavin’s sweater and jacket. He mouths “thank you,” when Jack hands them over. Jack feels warm.

“You were there, daddy,” Gavin replies, managing to sound admonishing despite speaking mostly into Eric’s shirt.

“Oh that’s right.” Eric gets both their jackets on and stands, scooping Gavin up with one arm and holding the Falconers jersey in the other. He looks between the jersey and the hanger still on the ground, brow creased, and makes to bend over again.

“I’ve got it,” Jack says quickly before Eric can move. Gavin’s little fingers grip onto the back of Eric’s collar and he’s pressed his face to Eric’s throat as best he can, blinking slowly. Jack knows what an exhausted child looks like, and that’s without factoring in how sick Gavin might be so Jack takes the jersey and throws it over his shoulder, kicking the hanger out of Eric’s path.

“Are you sure?” Eric looks around reproachfully at the tutus that are still sticking out of the closet, the props that make the prop box hard to close, and the backgrounds still leaning against the wall, ready for whatever Gavin’s next chose was going to be. Eric winces when he sees the elbow pads around the tripod that Gavin stripped off and dropped on the floor at one point.

Jack nods and tries not to blush under Eric’s scrutiny. Gavin yawns loudly in his ear.

“Alright,” Eric sighs, running his free hand over Gavin’s back. It makes a swishing sound against the puffy fabric.“Gav, what do you say to Mr. Jack?”

Gavin picks up his head. “Thank you for taking my picture, Mr. Jack,” he says, managing to hold off yawning until the end. He blinks tiredly at Jack.

“And?” Eric prompts after a beat.

Gavin turns suddenly to look at his dad, almost hitting Eric in the face in the process. He squints at Eric until Eric whispers, “taking pictures,” in his ear.

“Oh! Thank you for letting me take pictures too. It was—” he yawns. “—was really cool.”

Jack smiles. “Anytime, Gavin,” he says, holding out a fist. Gavin’s whole face brightens as Eric’s falls, but Jack doesn’t think Gavin sees the expression when he touches his little fist to Jack’s.

Jack follows Eric out of the studio, closing the door behind him and deciding to deal with the little mess tomorrow. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t have an immediate need for a clean kid’s studio, but he’ll double check later. He goes behind the desk to grab a pen and paper.

“So, if you wanna leave your email address here, and I’ll send you a link when I’ve done the edits and have uploaded them,” Jack explains, putting the paper on the counter. Eric shifts Gavin over to his left hip so he can write with his right hand. He pauses before picking up the pen, making sure Gavin’s toque is on. Gavin makes a noise in his throat, but his eyes stay closed.

“Um, do you have to edit anything?” Eric asks quietly. He sounds tired.

Jack clears his throat. “No. I can leave everything untouched.”

“Thank you.” Eric writes down his email address and then shifts Gavin again. It takes Jack a second to realise he’s reaching for his wallet.

“What are you doing?” Jack asks.

“Um, paying,” Eric says. He gives a Jack a funny look and tries to hand over his card.

“No,” Jack says. “Absolutely not.”

“What? No, you stayed late, you did so much,” Eric protests. “I know how much your shots are listed for, please charge me for that.”

“I’m not taking your money,” Jack says again, stepping back from the counter. It’s not like he’s lost any business letting Gavin take the pictures, so he can’t bring himself to put a price on the time he just spent with Gavin and Eric.

“This is a terrible way to run a business,” Eric huffs. “What’ll your boss say?”

Jack shrugs. “He’s a pushover.”

“Jack,” Eric says. He bites at his bottom lip.

“Eric, don’t worry about it. Honestly.”

Eric frowns at Jack but puts his card back in his wallet. “What’s your favourite dessert?”

That’s not what Jack excepts. “What?”

“When I have a minute, I’ll make you something.”

“Uh.” Jack looks at Eric, who’s looking back, expectant and completely serious.

“Do you like pie?” Eric asks.

“Yes?” Jack answers.

Eric nods, satisfied. “Good. I make really good pie.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jack says. “Honestly, it’s fine.”

“When I have a minute,” Eric repeats. “I will make you the best pie you’ve ever tasted.” He bounces a little, getting a better grip on Gavin. Jack doesn’t think about why or when that minute will come.

“Okay,” Jack says slowly. “I’ll uh, get those pictures up and send you the link as soon as possible.”

“Thank you Jack,” Eric says. He looks down at Gavin’s sleeping face. “Seriously. Thank you so much,” he says softly.

Jack just nods and unlocks the door so they can leave, a lump in his throat as he returns Eric’s wave after he puts Gavin into his carseat. He watches Eric walk around the car, wave one more time before getting and driving and Jack hopes with his whole heart that he sees them both again.

He locks the door and turns away from the window, hoping that he does get to see both of them again, and feeling sick at the thought of why he might now. Jack doesn’t blink away the tears this time.

[valamerys]

i think the thing that bugs me the most about Eris is... he really tipped the scale for me, in terms of illuminating how much of a double standard exists in SJM’s mind re redemption, and overall complexity/agency as an extension of that.

What I mean is this: Rhys and Tamlin and Eris and Jurian and Papa Archeron all got some form of redemption by retcon: a “no no, listen, i know he did Bad Things and looked like a really awful dude and was generally implied to be a scumbag, but he had reasons for it! He was working for the greater good! You don’t know what it cost him!” (or in dad’s case, “look, he was the worst but he gets this AWESOME REDEMPTIVE GESTURE! OUT OF NOWHERE WITH NO SET-UP OR BASIS IN CHARACTERIZATION!”) All of their individual arcs are a little different and succeed, on a storytelling level, to differing degrees: Tamlin’s is super uneven but he ends up in a realistic moral middle ground, Rhys’s was exhausting but at least it was well-thought out and very intentional, Eris’ is slapdash and stupid, Papa Archeron’s was a ridiculous deus ex machina but at least he died quickly, Jurian.... exists, I guess

But whatever your feelings are on each individual character, it’s a fact that they all benefit from the same kind of characterization backtracking, a sort of similar strain of quasi-redemption that allows them to flirt with moral ambiguity. (moral ambiguity in general is not handled well in this series which is why i say “flirt with” but that’s another conversation.)

Would this ever happen with a female character?

Could you see an ACOWAR in which Ianthe only sexually assaulted people to ~cover up her true motivations to bring down hybern? Or an amarantha who was only so awful because she was protecting her hidden family who were sequestered somewhere safe, and Angsted every night about the horrible things she was forced to do, the people she had to hurt on her journey for the Greater Good? “WTF, that’s gross and awful! Why should we spend time explaining away such nasty characters when they hurt so many people?!” yeah well y’all swallowed it whole when it was male characters.

Look, over and over again, the ACOTAR series gives us men who make hard decisions, who have Masks and get morally ambiguous arcs and work for the greater good and suffer for their people or their goals. And we get women who either are Good and help them or are Evil Nasty Sluts Who Want to Steal Your Boyfriend. Sure, Amren and Mor (and Elain and Nesta) have all this power on paper, but the narrative does not give them the kind of large-scale agency Rhys or Tamlin or Jurian have-- i’m not criticizing the actions of characters individually, here, i’m criticizing the larger way they’re all framed and used by the text. Women (except for Feyre, and even then, it’s kind of questionable) do not get to play the larger game in SJM’s world. Nesta and Elain got to kill Hybern, yes. Amren got to go Beast Mode. Viviane got to stand with Feyre at the high lord’s council. But these are shallow moments, boxes labelled “GIRL POWER” to tick off that don’t mean anything on a deeper level when you take into account that over and over again, the grand machinations of the world and plot SJM constructed are all driven by men, in a way that even the in-world misogyny does not excuse or explain.

Like, there’s a whole multifaceted argument to be made around how shallow the feminism is in this series, but that mediocre men are constantly being redeemed and having the morally questionable side effects of their ambition/ instincts/ goals excused in ways that, demonstrably, none of the womens’ would ever be, is a big part of it, for me.

[unlikelywallflower]

on finally getting what I want, personal loss, and collective pain

In addition to the content warning in the graphic, I’d like to preface this with a content “request”: While I appreciate any loving shows of support (via text/email/FB message), I am not looking for any advice or suggestions on how to cope (the only exception, possibly, being if you’ve personally been through this and want to share what you did for yourself).

This is going to be a long one, y’all. Also one that feels strange, because while I do feel more women talk about this more of the time than they used to, it’s probably not something that many people are this public about. That said, sharing my whole journey, for my own processing and shedding light, and for the benefit of those who are dealing with some/any of the same things, is what this blog has been about from the start. So here we go...

What feels like eons ago, but was actually only six weeks ago, I started feeling crampy—like “my period is coming tomorrow” crampy—and immediately went into a tailspin of misery that I was not only going to have to go through it all over again, but was going to have to take more of the fertility drugs whose side effects I still hadn’t recovered from. But then, the next morning, I woke to a 0.4 degree rise in temperature (for those of you who aren’t fertility nerds, that is a fairly sure sign of either a fever or pregnancy, and I definitely wasn’t sick), peed on maybe the fifth stick that week, and for the first time in seven months of trying, saw a very faint second line. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry or be terrified or think I was imagining the whole thing, so I decided to keep it to myself for the day. I slept terribly, and then that faint line got a little darker the next morning. I knew then that I was for sure pregnant, and alternated between crying with joy, smiling to myself, singing and talking to my little blastocyst, filling out intake forms for the six different midwifery practices in the city, looking at the stick every five minutes, and feeling more nervous than I had in a long, long time. I also made a list of everyone I was going to tell before making a grand public announcement and at what stage I was going to tell them, and started thinking seriously about how I was going to creatively share the news with each of those people.

That drive to come up with an individually personalized experience for telling every single person in my life got pretty exhausting pretty fast, and was adding to the already mounting swell of anxious thoughts that were continuing to wake me up at 4am: what if it’s twins or even triplets (the fertility drugs did their job, helping me develop two mature and one smaller “immature” follicle)? What if the baby isn’t healthy? What if I have a miscarriage? What if I somehow lose my job and can’t afford this? What if? What if? What if?

I managed to calm down a little after a few days, and started just, you know, telling people. In a time when my feelings about being pregnant were about 60% anxiety, 10% excitement, 15% shame that I was more terrified than elated, and 15% “WTF was I thinking?”, telling people felt like my only real access to feeling excited about this pregnancy. My hCG hormone (the “pregnancy hormone”) was on the very high side of normal on the first couple of blood tests, which did not help the twin anxiety, and at the six-week mark, the nausea and exhaustion kicked into overdrive. (Note to those who don’t know about pregnancy week-counting: they start counting from the first day of your last period, so by the time you find out roughly two weeks after conception, you’re already technically four weeks pregnant). I kept feeling like I should be glowing and walking on air, but mostly I just felt like throwing up and having a nap.

I was so nervous for the first ultrasound at 7.5 weeks, but comforted by SD#1’s presence. And it looked like my prayers had been answered: there was one little blob on the screen; one single, very strong heartbeat. I cried with relief and immediately got on a train home to tell my parents in person (I had already planned the trip; I luckily had a client meeting in my home town the next day). The clinic scheduled me for another (completely medically unnecessary) ultrasound at 9.5 weeks, which I thought about not keeping, but then realized fairly quickly that the reassurance would be comforting—waiting til the standard 12-week screening sounded awful.

After telling my parents, I settled into it a little more, and by nine weeks, had told what felt like a lot of people. No one that I wouldn’t want to know if it didn’t work out, mind you. Then the day of the second ultrasound came. I was, as usual, nervous, but SD#1 was with me again. The ultrasound took an unusually long time, but the technician had a relatively neutral face and was chatting me up about the Raptors, so I wasn’t too worried. That is, until the end, when she said that she wasn’t going to bring my “husband” in to see the results on the screen, because there was something the radiologist needed to look at, and that our nurse would go over everything with us. I immediately knew something was wrong, but tried to remind myself that it could just be some anomaly they needed to look at more closely. As we waited for what felt like an interminable half hour in the waiting room to see the doctor, my thoughts got darker and darker, and were finally confirmed when she told us that the worst case scenario had happened: there was no heartbeat. She rushed through options as I sobbed: wait it out at home (which could take up to two weeks), drugs to stimulate it happening faster (which would still take a few days and may end up having to be taken twice), or a D&C. I opted for the latter, and they scheduled it for three days later; I ended up moving it forward by a day just so I could have it over and done with sooner. I survived a long Uber ride home from the clinic, told my boss I was taking a few days off, called my parents, and they were in Toronto within a few hours. I am really blessed, y’all. I have a lot of really great people in my life who really showed up, texted everyone I’d told so I wouldn’t have to, fed me, cleaned my house, held me while I cried, listened to me talk for hours.

The day of the D&C, I woke up hours earlier than I needed to and cried in bed while I said goodbye to the little embryo inside of me (or fetus; the line when they “graduate” is 9 weeks, which is exactly how far along I was, so it’s a little blurry). The clinic staff could not have been kinder or taken better care of me. When I walked into the surgical suite and got on the table (already doped up on a mixture of Ativan and Gravol), it was freezing and I started shaking uncontrollably, and sobbing. My doctor, for whom I will forever be grateful, slid her stool up to the end of the table, put my feet on her knees and her hands on my feet and just grounded me until the pain meds kicked in enough to put me out. It was the kindest and most compassionate gesture in the midst of one of the most terrible moments of my life. I woke up an hour or so later in the recovery room, and we made our way home. All I could focus on for the rest of the day (in between sleeping off the meds) was that one moment I had been pregnant, and then 10 minutes later, I wasn’t. It was over.

The last few days have been a hazy blend of crying, praying, calm moments of knowing I’ll be okay, a very modest amount of retail therapy, fear of all the things this means for my future, ruminations on the terrible moments, a ton of supportive texts from the wider group of people I’d told, a whole lot of support from my closest humans, and doing/planning all the things I can’t/won’t do when I’m pregnant. I had a poke bowl with double salmon. I had a cider—my first drink since November—accompanied by a charcuterie plate. My dear friend brought me to Wonderland to ride all the biggest rollercoasters, in the front car for maximum terror, where I screamed my grief and fears into the wind. And I finally walked into the tattoo shop, with the encouragement and accompaniment of another dear friend, to get a consult on the tattoo I’ve been thinking about for over a year.

Here are a few of the things I know: as strange as this may sound, I prayed for this. I prayed that if this wasn’t a healthy baby, that my pregnancy would end sooner rather than later, because that felt like it would be infinitely easier to cope with. I know that I am surrounded by people who are going to support me through this. I know that I have a lot of tools, and that I will be okay. I also know that I know a lot of people who have been through a miscarriage, or several, and went on to have healthy babies.

One of the things I’ve said over the past few days is that this feels kind of like a breakup: right now, it sucks and is immeasurably painful and sad. And every day, it will keep getting a little easier. Unlike a breakup, though, which somehow feels intensely personal even though pretty much every single human over the age of 13 on the planet has been through it, this does not feel like a personal experience. Yes, I am personally in pain. But knowing that so many women have gone through their own version of this, that I am somehow part of a collective pain, has been immensely comforting. It’s a shitty club to be in, but God am I grateful not to be in it alone.

[thebrowngirlstakeontheworld]

Nobody’s Mama

Quick Author’s Note: The purpose of this post is not to stomp on anyone’s baby dreams. Have babies. Have lots of babies. Matter of fact, MAJOR shoutout to all of my friends who are already parents! You are all so amazing, and I love watching your little ones turn into little versions of you. Keep doing your best and being your best. I see you. I also know there are women who really desire to be moms, and I think that’s amazing. The purpose of this post is to show that there is another group of us. People ask me all of the time why I don’t want kids, and it’s such a complicated answer. But know that I’ve thought about it, long and hard. Motherhood is a special calling and not everyone has it. Read on only if you’re interested in knowing a little bit of my journey. 

Now. It’s my turn to briefly answer the most frequently asked question brought to me weekly: “Do you want marriage and/or kids?”

STORY TIME:

eX: Can I talk to you about something?

Me: Sure

eX: Let’s have a baby together. You’d be an amazing mother. I’d be a great dad. We can have a child together and coparent like all the trendy people.

Me: Absolutely not.

THE END

I don’t have it all figured out. Yes, I’m 30, and I’m just chillin. Vibin. Coastin. And that’s ok with me (after having several panic attacks and temper tantrums the past couple of years). By nature, I’m a planner. However, God doesn’t let me plan my life which is soooo unfair. I have absolutely no control. I mean... if you do have control over your life, more power to you.

Like every “grown” daughter who hates when her Dad meddles in her life, I, too, hate when God changes the plan… but I secretly like it because it’s always better than my plan. It’s like a little game we play, me and God. I tell Him everything I have planned, and He counters it. Today’s area of discussion: Marriage and kids. I used to be annoyed by the fact that I couldn’t just marry Idris Elba or be an assistant to Oprah or be a mom by 25. But there is a rhyme and reason for everything I suppose. 

Today, I’m grateful for all of the things I didn’t receive as a part of my plan. All of the things God has protected me from. At 30, I’m nobody’s wife or mother which is such a blessing. I used to long for motherhood, but then I became a teacher. And I realized raising children is hard and being in partnership with another adult (their parents) is even harder. So many ideas and opinions on how to raise children. Oh and these personalities. Some kids have these wild personalities that they can’t even control. I would get kicked, bit, punched, and more by CHILDREN and I used to always think… “What if this were my child?” And people who aren’t in classrooms love to comment that it wouldn’t be my child, but they can’t guarantee that. Every year that I taught, I saw an increasing number of violent children who exhibited behaviors that they couldn’t control. With each case, my baby factory closed it’s doors a little. 

Through it all, teaching taught me so much about who I am and what kind of parent and wife I’d be. I’d be one of those parents who pours out her entire life into her child and husband. I’d be attentive, supportive, chef, maid and all of that good stuff. And not out of obligation, but because I’d want to. It’s in my nature. Nobody told me to skip lunches as a teacher or get to school 30 minutes early or leave school an hour after it was over or call parents with updates on their kiddos or teach while allergy season almost took me out, but I did it because I understood what was at stake. Their futures were in my hands. I’d give anything to make sure my kids were successful because that’s how I was with my students. If you remember, I was unhealthy as a teacher. I’d gain weight off and on due to all of my emotional eating and looked visibly tired all the time. I lived and breathed my students and their families. Nobody was pouring into me or breathing life into me besides me. So then I realized THIS is why I’m not a mom yet because God’s like...  you’d be miserable and would run yourself into the ground. Parenting is freaking hard. People always say it’s better when it’s your own kid, but I just don’t believe it. Imma still be pouring my soul into it and not do anything for myself.  

People often try to “get” me to change my mind because of how “motherly” I am. I get it. I am nurturing, caring and kind, but aren’t we all? So just let me walk in my current truth, I do NOT desire a child and/or childbirth at this time and that’s ok. Yes, part of that is fear. But a major part of that is when I see my future, I don’t see any little people. It’s not like I have this giant empire that I need to pass down or anything. I have just enough for my little life to be as wonderful as I want it to be. And I just can’t afford kids. I don’t know where y’all be finding this money from, but I ain’t got it. Plus, my mom still asks me to text her when I get home safely after a night out with friends. Ain’t nobody got time to be that worried about an adult!

So the children conversation has been officially shelved until God shows me otherwise. I think I’ve done my part as it pertains to the whole child-rearing thing. I got the chance to impart wisdom and “mother” over 100 children. I’m an auntie to my godbrother’s son, and I’m a spiritual godmother to my friend’s sweet baby girl. So I may not have gotten to be a physical mother, but I’m ok with being a teacher-auntie-godmom figure because I get to work through the ratio in which I was pouring out. Instead of pouring out 100%, I pour out about 28% which... I know... would probably classify me as selfish. Not the negative kind. But the kind of selfish that makes each day worth living. I wake up praying and reading. Because I have time. I get to cook 2 meals for myself almost daily. Because I have time. I work out. Because I have time. I get to work around my own schedule and follow my dreams. I get to be unapologetically me because I have time. Reclaiming my time has been my mantra in my late 20s and early 30s, and I’m doing just that.

There’s also the giant elephant in the room of my own childhood that I would have to unpack before even having children. My family life was amazing growing up. BUT my social/school life was THE worst. I was chubby, a loner, and a loser for most of elementary school and middle school. I left high school with three friends. Alienation and bullying is something I dealt with and is still happening in schools. I wouldn’t even know how to address it with my own kids. My sister has always been my best friend. She didn’t have a choice. I had no one else. She used to tell me that it was surprising to her that I didn’t have low self-esteem. And the reality is that I really went through those school years thinking I was great and that everyone else was just confused and missing out. Many of my classmates were rude and cruel. My mom used to tell me they were jealous of me which is why they were so mean. As much as I’d love to believe that raising my kids to be vegetarians and pumping them with organic food, would make them less chunky and more cool, I know that there’s a solid chance that they could still be mistreated. I don’t desire for my children to live on an island of one in school, where they love themselves but nobody else likes them. I don’t want them to be social outcasts. And if they end up with my dashing good looks (in which society doesn’t deem as beautiful… darker skin, natural hair), that’s a whole other battle. Will my daughter have to deal with people not thinking she was good enough? Will she be single for most of her life because of beauty standards? I literally have zero positive date stories to tell her from my time here on planet earth. ZERO. Well actually, maybe one from the Cayman Islands, but that’s it. Having a daughter would horrify me because I know all the effort my family had to put in to prove to me just how wrong culture is. I’m exhausted just thinking about it.

On the partnership thing, I’d like to get married one day, but I’m not rushing it. I like my schedule and routine, so I don’t mind holding on to it for as long as possible. It would be nice though if I could have a late 2020 wedding. I never thought at 30 I’d be this single… like… not even in a serious relationship, single. But honestly, I haven’t met anyone worth interrupting my life for. So until God Himself sends a man in my direction, I’m gonna keep double dipping my spoon in the peanut butter jar because I can. 

I didn’t come to the marriage and kids conclusion by osmosis because like I said...I’m a planner and both were in my plan. But since my perfectly imperfect man wasn’t gonna just appear, I had to think about what I could control…which was my attitude towards not being married. There are many many MANY pros to my current lifestyle (which I tell y’all about often), so I had to rejoice in that! When life gives you lemons, you mix it with tequila and add some sugar on the rim and have a party! Because lemons aren’t even a bad fruit. I love lemons! 

I had to stop thinking about all of the things that didn’t come to pass and change my posture to gratitude. I started thinking about all of the things that have happened without me really working hard. The things that were just in the plan. I thought about all of the amazing opportunities that happened because my young, wild, and free lifestyle was open enough for them to happen. So instead of dwelling on what could’ve been, I get to wait patiently on what will be! I get to be spontaneous and live life with my amazing life planner, GOD. 

I shall talk more about career and general adulthood realizations later. This was already way longer than I wanted. The moral of the story is... life plans change. And I may end up married with 5 kids. Which I’d be open to. It just wouldn’t be my first choice or fifth choice. And I’m having an actual anxiety attack thinking about it. But who knows. So just leave me alone and watch what happens. *cues up God’s Plan by Drake

Love you for reading! 

Let your light shine today.

Shanda B.