#also if youre pressed over this as a big blog youre the issue
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what happened to writing for fun & having this as a fun space for everyone? what’s with the bullying? and before you say it’s not “bullying”, people are being pieces of shit and driving others off the app if that’s not bullying idk what is. what’s with idolizing “big blogs” and them acting like they’re a celebrity or something? what’s with critiquing people their writing and not liking their “characterizing” or “writing style”, wake up babe it’s tumblr, your numbers on here don’t mean anything, it was supposed to be a place where people write as a hobby, not professional writers. now it’s just a toxic place for most people because wherever you there’s always someone ruining someone elses experience.
#snow; sighs#sorry i woke up upset n angry#suffer with me🫡#also if youre pressed over this as a big blog youre the issue#LMAOAOAOA#m also not saying every big blog or every tumblr user is like this but‼️‼️#theres discourse every other business day or even daily#and gatekeepy claimy behavior over things everyone and their mothers have done before but thats a whole different topic#ANYWAYS#cw discourse#tw discourse
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By: Andy L.
Published: Apr 14, 2024
It has now been just little under a week since the publication of the long anticipated NHS independent review of gender identity services for children and young people, the Cass Review.
The review recommends sweeping changes to child services in the NHS, not least the abandonment of what is known as the “affirmation model” and the associated use of puberty blockers and, later, cross-sex hormones. The evidence base could not support the use of such drastic treatments, and this approach was failing to address the complexities of health problems in such children.
Many trans advocacy groups appear to be cautiously welcoming these recommendations. However, there are many who are not and have quickly tried to condemn the review. Within almost hours, “press releases“, tweets and commentaries tried to rubbish the report and included statements that were simply not true. An angry letter from many “academics”, including Andrew Wakefield, has been published. These myths have been subsequently spreading like wildfire.
Here I wish to tackle some of those myths and misrepresentations.
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Myth 1: 98% of all studies in this area were ignored
Fact
A comprehensive search was performed for all studies addressing the clinical questions under investigation, and over 100 were discovered. All these studies were evaluated for their quality and risk of bias. Only 2% of the studies met the criteria for the highest quality rating, but all high and medium quality (50%+) studies were further analysed to synthesise overall conclusions.
Explanation
The Cass Review aimed to base its recommendations on the comprehensive body of evidence available. While individual studies may demonstrate positive outcomes for the use of puberty blockers and cross-sex hormones in children, the quality of these studies may vary. Therefore, the review sought to assess not only the findings of each study but also the reliability of those findings.
Studies exhibit variability in quality. Quality impacts the reliability of any conclusions that can be drawn. Some may have small sample sizes, while others may involve cohorts that differ from the target patient population. For instance, if a study primarily involves men in their 30s, their experiences may differ significantly from those of teenage girls, who constitute the a primary patient group of interest. Numerous factors can contribute to poor study quality.
Bias is also a big factor. Many people view claims of a biased study as meaning the researchers had ideological or predetermined goals and so might misrepresent their work. That may be true. But that is not what bias means when we evaluate medical trials.
In this case we are interested in statistical bias. This is where the numbers can mislead us in some way. For example, if your study started with lots of patients but many dropped out then statistical bias may creep in as your drop-outs might be the ones with the worst experiences. Your study patients are not on average like all the possible patients.
If then we want to look at a lot papers to find out if a treatment works, we want to be sure that we pay much more attention to those papers that look like they may have less risk of bias or quality issues. The poor quality papers may have positive results that are due to poor study design or execution and not because the treatment works.
The Cass Review team commissioned researchers at York University to search for all relevant papers on childhood use of puberty blockers and cross-sex hormones for treating “gender dysphoria”. The researchers then graded each paper by established methods to determine quality, and then disregarded all low quality papers to help ensure they did not mislead.
The Review states,
The systematic review on interventions to suppress puberty (Taylor et al: Puberty suppression) provides an update to the NICE review (2020a). It identified 50 studies looking at different aspects of gender-related, psychosocial, physiological and cognitive outcomes of puberty suppression. Quality was assessed on a standardised scale. There was one high quality study, 25 moderate quality studies and 24 low quality studies. The low quality studies were excluded from the synthesis of results.
As can be seen, the conclusions that were based on the synthesis of studies only rejected 24 out of 50 studies – less than half. The myth has arisen that the synthesis only included the one high quality study. That is simply untrue.
There were two such literature reviews: the other was for cross-sex hormones. This study found 19 out of 53 studies were low quality and so were not used in synthesis. Only one study was classed as high quality – the rest medium quality and so were used in the analysis.
12 cohort, 9 cross-sectional and 32 pre–post studies were included (n=53). One cohort study was high-quality. Other studies were moderate (n=33) and low-quality (n=19). Synthesis of high and moderate-quality studies showed consistent evidence demonstrating induction of puberty, although with varying feminising/masculinising effects. There was limited evidence regarding gender dysphoria, body satisfaction, psychosocial and cognitive outcomes, and fertility.
Again, it is myth that 98% of studies were discarded. The truth is that over a hundred studies were read and appraised. About half of them were graded to be of too poor quality to reliably include in a synthesis of all the evidence. if you include low quality evidence, your over-all conclusions can be at risk from results that are very unreliable. As they say – GIGO – Garbage In Garbage Out.
Nonetheless, despite analysing the higher quality studies, there was no clear evidence that emerged that puberty blockers and cross-sex hormones were safe and effective. The BMJ editorial summed this up perfectly,
One emerging criticism of the Cass review is that it set the methodological bar too high for research to be included in its analysis and discarded too many studies on the basis of quality. In fact, the reality is different: studies in gender medicine fall woefully short in terms of methodological rigour; the methodological bar for gender medicine studies was set too low, generating research findings that are therefore hard to interpret. The methodological quality of research matters because a drug efficacy study in humans with an inappropriate or no control group is a potential breach of research ethics. Offering treatments without an adequate understanding of benefits and harms is unethical. All of this matters even more when the treatments are not trivial; puberty blockers and hormone therapies are major, life altering interventions. Yet this inconclusive and unacceptable evidence base was used to inform influential clinical guidelines, such as those of the World Professional Association for Transgender Health (WPATH), which themselves were cascaded into the development of subsequent guidelines internationally.
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Myth 2: Cass recommended no Trans Healthcare for Under 25s
Fact
The Cass Review does not contain any recommendation or suggestion advocating for the withholding of transgender healthcare until the age of 25, nor does it propose a prohibition on individuals transitioning.
Explanation
This myth appears to be a misreading of one of the recommendations.
The Cass Review expressed concerns regarding the necessity for children to transition to adult service provision at the age of 18, a critical phase in their development and potential treatment. Children were deemed particularly vulnerable during this period, facing potential discontinuity of care as they transitioned to other clinics and care providers. Furthermore, the transition made follow-up of patients more challenging.
Cass then says,
Taking account of all the above issues, a follow-through service continuing up to age 25 would remove the need for transition at this vulnerable time and benefit both this younger population and the adult population. This will have the added benefit in the longer-term of also increasing the capacity of adult provision across the country as more gender services are established.
Cass want to set up continuity of service provision by ensure they remain within the same clinical setting and with the same care providers until they are 25. This says nothing about withdrawing any form of treatment that may be appropriate in the adult care pathway. Cass is explicit in saying her report is making no recommendations as to what that care should look like for over 18s.
It looks the myth has arisen from a bizarre misreading of the phrase “remove the need for transition”. Activists appear to think this means that there should be no “gender transition” whereas it is obvious this is referring to “care transition”.
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Myth 3: Cass is demanding only Double Blind Randomised Controlled Trials be used as evidence in “Trans Healthcare”
Fact
While it is acknowledged that conducting double-blind randomized controlled trials (DBRCT) for puberty blockers in children would present significant ethical and practical challenges, the Cass Review does not advocate solely for the use of DBRCT trials in making treatment recommendations, nor does it mandate that future trials adhere strictly to such protocols. Rather, the review extensively discusses the necessity for appropriate trial designs that are both ethical and practical, emphasizing the importance of maintaining high methodological quality.
Explanation
Cass goes into great detail explaining the nature of clinical evidence and how that can vary in quality depending on the trial design and how it is implemented and analysed. She sets out why Double Blind Randomised Controlled Trials are the ‘gold standard’ as they minimise the risks of confounding factors misleading you and helping to understand cause and effect, for example. (See Explanatory Box 1 in the Report).
Doctors rely on evidence to guide treatment decisions, which can be discussed with patients to facilitate informed choices considering the known benefits and risks of proposed treatments.
Evidence can range from a doctor’s personal experience to more formal sources. For instance, a doctor may draw on their own extensive experience treating patients, known as ‘Expert Opinion.’ While valuable, this method isn’t foolproof, as historical inaccuracies in medical beliefs have shown.
Consulting other doctors’ experiences, especially if documented in published case reports, can offer additional insight. However, these reports have limitations, such as their inability to establish causality between treatment and outcome. For example, if a patient with a bad back improves after swimming, it’s uncertain whether swimming directly caused the improvement or if the back would have healed naturally.
Further up the hierarchy of clinical evidence are papers that examine cohorts of patients, typically involving multiple case studies with statistical analysis. While offering better evidence, they still have potential biases and limitations.
This illustrates the ‘pyramid of clinical evidence,’ which categorises different types of evidence based on their quality and reliability in informing treatment decisions
The above diagram is published in the Cass Review as part of Explanatory Box 1.
We can see from the report and papers that Cass did not insist that only randomised controlled trials were used to assess the evidence. The York team that conducted the analyses chose a method to asses the quality of studies called the Newcastle Ottawa Scale. This is a method best suited for non RCT trials. Cass has selected an assessment method best suited for the nature of the available evidence rather than taken a dogmatic approach on the need for DBRCTs. The results of this method were discussed about countering Myth 1.
Explainer on the Newcastle Ottawa Scale
The Newcastle-Ottawa Scale (NOS) is a tool designed to assess the quality of non-randomized studies, particularly observational studies such as cohort and case-control studies. It provides a structured method for evaluating the risk of bias in these types of studies and has become widely used in systematic reviews and meta-analyses.
The NOS consists of a set of criteria grouped into three main categories: selection of study groups, comparability of groups, and ascertainment of either the exposure or outcome of interest. Each category contains several items, and each item is scored based on predefined criteria. The total score indicates the overall quality of the study, with higher scores indicating lower risk of bias.
This scale is best applied when conducting systematic reviews or meta-analyses that include non-randomized studies. By using the NOS, researchers can objectively assess the quality of each study included in their review, allowing them to weigh the evidence appropriately and draw more reliable conclusions.
One of the strengths of the NOS is its flexibility and simplicity. It provides a standardized framework for evaluating study quality, yet it can be adapted to different study designs and research questions. Additionally, the NOS emphasizes key methodological aspects that are crucial for reducing bias in observational studies, such as appropriate selection of study participants and controlling for confounding factors.
Another advantage of the NOS is its widespread use and acceptance in the research community. Many systematic reviews and meta-analyses rely on the NOS to assess the quality of included studies, making it easier for researchers to compare and interpret findings across different studies.
As for future studies, Cass makes no demand only DBRCTs are conducted. What is highlighted is at the very least that service providers build a research capacity to fill in the evidence gaps.
The national infrastructure should be put in place to manage data collection and audit and this should be used to drive continuous quality improvement and research in an active learning environment.
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Myth 4: There were less than 10 detransitioners out of 3499 patients in the Cass study.
Fact
Cass was unable to determine the detransition rate. Although the GIDS audit study recorded fewer than 10 detransitioners, clinics declined to provide information to the review that would have enabled linking a child’s treatment to their adult outcome. The low recorded rates must be due in part to insufficient data availability.
Explanation
Cass says, “The percentage of people treated with hormones who subsequently detransition remains unknown due to the lack of long-term follow-up studies, although there is suggestion that numbers are increasing.”
The reported number are going to be low for a number of reasons, as Cass describes:
Estimates of the percentage of individuals who embark on a medical pathway and subsequently have regrets or detransition are hard to determine from GDC clinic data alone.
There are several reasons for this:
Damningly, Cass describes the attempt by the review to establish “data linkage’ between records at the childhood gender clinics and adult services to look at longer term detransition and the clinics refused to cooperate with the Independent Review. The report notes the “…attempts to improve the evidence base have been thwarted by a lack of cooperation from the adult gender services”.
We know from other analyses of the data on detransitioning that the quality of data is exceptionally poor and the actual rates of detransition and regret are unknown. This is especially worrying when older data, such as reported in WPATH 7, suggest natural rates of decrease in dysphoria without treatment are very high.
Gender dysphoria during childhood does not inevitably continue into adulthood. Rather, in follow-up studies of prepubertal children (mainly boys) who were referred to clinics for assessment of gender dysphoria, the dysphoria persisted into adulthood for only 6–23% of children.
This suggests that active affirmative treatment may be locking in a trans identity into the majority of children who would otherwise desist with trans ideation and live unmedicated lives.
I shall add more myths as they become spread.
==
It's not so much "myths and misconceptions" as deliberate misinformation. Genderists are scrambling to prop up their faith-based beliefs the same way homeopaths do. Both are fraudulent.
#Andy L.#Cass Review#Cass Report#Dr. Hilary Cass#Hilary Cass#misinformation#myths#misconceptions#detrans#detransition#gender affirming healthcare#gender affirming care#gender affirmation#affirmation model#medical corruption#medical malpractice#medical scandal#systematic review#religion is a mental illness
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Hi there i have been reading your blog for an hour now and im obsessed. Your writing is amazing. May i please request gn! Mc who was just in a fight, and got badly injured, but doesn’t care. So they ask the demon/angel there yo cuddle?
Im so so so sorry of this doesn’t make sense im very tired xD
Preferred characters you can ignore this well the entire request too xD (lucifer, satan, belphie, dia, barb, and simeon)
Here is a cat to keep you company his name is mr. Whisp 🐈
Hello there!
Oh thank you, I'm so glad you're enjoying my writing! (Also thank you for Mr. Whisp I love him.)
Okay, so I wrote these as little scenes instead of the usual bulleted list style, I hope that's okay! They did end up a little longer because of that, though. I did it that way because you requested specific characters and it's easier to write little scenes for fewer characters rather than all of them.
Thank you for the request!
GN!MC gets hurt in a fight, but doesn't care and just wants cuddles with Lucifer, Satan, Belphie, Diavolo, Barbatos, and Simeon
Warnings: MC is hurt! Bruises, blood, general injuries, talk of fighting.
Lucifer
You were standing in front of Lucifer, summoned to his room after he inevitably heard from several of his brothers about the state you were in. You had shown up at the House of Lamentation covered in scrapes and bruises. They all noticed how you were walking with a slight limp and the dark circle that was forming up under one of your eyes.
You had considered blowing him off when you got the message on your D.D.D. that he wanted to see you immediately. You didn't really feel like listening to a lecture about getting into fights. And yet you knew that if you put it off, it'd only be worse later. And secretly you wanted to see him.
Lucifer was observing you with a dark expression, clearly looking over your various injuries.
You kept your arms folded, chin up, and said, "You wanted to see me?"
He didn't say anything at first. You weren't sure if this meant he was so angry he couldn't speak or if he was just trying to make you nervous.
"Explain," he said at last.
You sighed. "I got into a little fight, it was no big deal."
Lucifer quickly closed the distance between you. He took hold of your chin and tilted your face this way and that. "No big deal? MC, you have a black eye. I think perhaps you've also injured your ankle in some way. Do you really think it's okay to risk yourself like this?"
You frowned up at him. "I can handle myself. Just because I got hurt doesn't mean I didn't win the fight."
Lucifer shook his head in exasperation. "That is not the point. Surely the issue could have been resolved without you getting hurt."
You softened a little. "You don't have to worry about me so much, you know."
Lucifer let go of your chin, tracing the tips of his fingers down your cheek lightly. "How can I not when you come in here looking like this? I know you can take care of yourself, but it really is a problem if you-"
You cut him off, catching his hand and stepping in even closer. "Lecture me later. Right now, can't you just hold me?"
You saw his resolve break as his expression changed. He wrapped his arms around you gently, careful to avoid aggravating your injuries. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, unable to hold back as his worry for you spilled over.
"We will treat your injuries shortly," he said into your hair. "And MC, you will not worry me like this again."
You smiled to yourself at this blatant admission of his concern for you. The warmth of his arms was more than enough to make you feel as though you were healing already. You later heard all about how he hunted down those who hurt you (though you could never figure out how he knew who they were). Those demons were never heard from again.
Satan
You sat down across the table from Satan at the library of RAD. There was nobody else around - it was late in the afternoon and all the other students had long since gone home. You knew Satan was there late, taking his time studying for an upcoming curses and hexes exam. You had agreed to meet him there at some point, since you needed to study for that exam as well.
Satan looked up as you sat down and instantly reached out across the table, grabbing your wrist.
"MC," he said, his voice low. "What happened? Who did this to you?"
You knew he was reacting to the bruises on your face and the cut across your forehead that was currently still bleeding a little.
"I'm fine," you said, shrugging a little and pulling your wrist out of his grip. "I just had to take care of something on my way here. Now are we going to study some hexes or what?"
Satan stared at you with wide eyes for a moment. You watched as his face changed, his eyes going dark and his teeth clenching. You could see where this was going and sure enough, he was suddenly in demon form. He half stood out of his chair, leaning across the table and growling.
"Who was it?" he demanded. You could see the tip of his tail twitch just above the table, unexpectedly free rather than wrapped securely around his leg.
You weren't scared because you knew he was contemplating tearing some other demons limb from limb for doing this to you. His reaction was a little over the top, but nothing you weren't expecting. This was Satan, after all.
"I know you're upset," you said. "But it really isn't anything you need to worry about." You placed your hand over one of his, leaning forward yourself to meet him.
His death glare only cooled slightly. "You can't show up to a study session with injuries like that and expect me not to worry, MC."
"I can if I'm telling you that you don't need to worry," you said adamantly. "I need you to trust me. And honestly, it would help me a lot more if you would calm down and give me a hug than if you went off the rails right now."
He was struck by your words, and they caused him to sit back down. Slowly, his demon form left him and he was back in his RAD uniform. The anger still smoldered in his eyes, but it was in competition with how much he cared for you.
Satan closed his eyes, clearly fighting with himself to push down the wrath that continued to simmer in him. After a few moments and some deep breaths, he opened his eyes again. He came around the table, gently taking your hands and pulling you out of your chair.
His eyes roamed over the cut on your forehead, but he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you into his chest. You pressed yourself to him, letting your own arms return the embrace. The pain of injuries seemed to fade away entirely as you let him comfort you.
You pulled your head away just a little to look at him and as you did so, you saw a splotch of red against the grey fabric of his uniform. "I'm sorry," you said. "I got blood on your uniform."
Satan sighed and pulled you even closer to him, resting his head on your shoulder. "What am I going to do with you, MC? Promise me you'll be more careful. I hate to see you hurt like this."
"I promise I'll be more careful," you said. It was a promise you felt you could keep.
Belphegor
You moved as quietly as you could through the halls of the House of Lamentation, avoiding any of the brothers you came across. You were on your way to the planetarium to meet up with Belphie and you didn't want any of the others to see the state you were in. So you kept to the shadows, moving along the walls until you came to your destination.
You slipped into the room and smiled at Belphie as he looked up at you. He had been nearly dozing off, so he was still a little bleary.
"There you are," he said with a yawn. "You're late."
"I'm sorry," you said, hoping the room was dark enough that he hadn't noticed your cuts and bruises. You sat down next to him, making sure you stayed partly in shadow. "I lost track of the time."
"Hmm, fine, I'll forgive you this time," Belphie said, rubbing at his eyes.
You laughed softly. "Gee, thanks."
Belphie leaned against your shoulder sleepily. You winced. You didn't mean to, but your shoulder was still sore in that spot.
Belphie noticed instantly. He sat up straight and looked at you carefully, the sleepiness suddenly gone. "MC… is that… a black eye?"
You shrugged. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Belphie frowned. "It is. You're hurt." He tugged on your arm a little to move you more into the light. You knew he could now see how banged up you really were. "MC! What happened to you?"
"Don't worry about it," you said. "It's not a big deal."
Belphie scoffed. "You got into a fight, didn't you? At least tell me that you gave worse than you got."
"Of course I did," you said.
Belphie stood up. "Hang on," he said. "I'll be right back. Then you should tell me about it."
Belphie was gone for only a few minutes, coming back with a first aid kit in tow. He sat back down next to you and opened it, pulling out a disinfectant wipe. He started to wipe down the scrapes on your face. It stung only a little.
"So? What happened? Did some demons insult you or something?" he asked.
"Yeah," you said. "Well, they said some things that I couldn't just ignore and things escalated quickly. But I can promise you they're suffering worse injuries than I am."
Belphie smirked. "I'm not happy about you being hurt," he said seriously. "But I can't pretend I'm not proud of you, either. You should let us handle stuff like that for you, MC. I know you can take care of yourself, but I don't know if it's worth you getting hurt like this."
Belphie carefully put a bandage over the largest cut.
"It's really no big deal," you said. "Especially since I have you to take care of me."
Belphie frowned, a soft blush creeping across his face. He sighed and put his arms around you. "Just because I'll patch you up doesn't mean you should go around getting yourself hurt."
You leaned into his embrace, nuzzling into him while still being careful of your injuries. "I know. Thank you for taking care of me, Belphie."
Although Belphie stayed by your side that night, you later heard rumors about those particular demons being plagued by nightmares.
Diavolo
You ducked into an empty classroom, having finally gotten away from the scene of the fight. You were covered in scratches and bruises and your lip was bleeding. You had eventually escaped the pandemonium after landing a particularly well thrown punch and running while your opponent was dazed. Now you could take a moment to breathe and figure out what you needed to do for your injuries.
You turned around from the classroom door and froze in shock. Diavolo was standing there in the middle of the room, looking just as shocked as you felt. He stared at you for a long moment, taking in your disheveled appearance, and the blood still dripping down your chin.
"MC," he said and the darkness of his voice sent a shiver down your spine. He came toward you. He put one hand on your arm and lifted the other to wipe the blood off of your bottom lip. He let his touch linger there. "Did a student do this to you?"
You considered telling him exactly which demons you had been dealing with. But then you thought about how you weren't entirely blameless. You engaged with them, after all, and there was no doubt that you'd left a few of them injured.
"Please don't worry about it," you said. "It wasn't like I couldn't handle it."
Diavolo sighed. "That isn't the point, I'm afraid," he said. "It's against RAD policy to fight on the grounds."
You smirked a little. "Are you going to give me detention?"
Diavolo laughed. The sound filled you with a feeling of warmth and contentment. It was his usual laugh and it let you know that everything would be okay. "I don't think that will be necessary," he said. "But if there are students picking fights, I'll have to do something about it."
You put your hand on his where it still lingered by your bloody lip. "You can do something about it later, can't you? I could really use a hug right now."
Diavolo put his hand gently on your cheek then wrapped his other arm around you, pulling you close to him. After a moment he put his other arm around you, too, keeping you safe and warm in his embrace.
"I am so sorry this happened to you, MC," he said into your hair. "Please come back to the castle with me so I can be sure your injuries are properly cared for."
You pressed your cheek against his chest. "Are you really that worried about me? I can handle myself."
"I don't doubt you," he said. "But I would feel much better knowing you are being taken care of. Won't you indulge me?"
It wasn't like you could really refuse him. Especially not when you looked into his gold eyes and saw the deep concern there. So you would allow him to take you back to the castle, where you would stay for the rest of the night. You later heard about the rules regarding fighting at RAD becoming more strict.
Barbatos
You pressed your fingertips into your cheek in an attempt to stop the bleeding from a small cut you had gotten there. You felt that it was the most prominent wound, since it was right on your face, and while you couldn't exactly cover up all your bruises, you hoped you could at least stop the bleeding.
You were waiting for Barbatos in the gardens of the Demon Lord's Castle where you were meeting him for tea.
You weren't delusional. You knew you couldn't hide what had happened from Barbatos. But you still thought it would be better if you weren't actively bleeding.
When Barbatos finally arrived, he was carrying a tray of tea and pastries in his hands. The moment he saw you, he nearly dropped the tray, catching himself just in time. Still it tipped enough for a teacup to go flying off the edge, falling to the ground and smashing into tiny pieces.
You gasped and stood up, an unexpected reaction to the shattered teacup. "Oh don't worry, I can fix that," you said.
You couldn't look at Barbatos as you cast the spell to repair the cup. The pieces lifted into the air and fused back together. The cup landed in your palm, whole again. You straightened up and brought the cup over to where Barbatos was still standing, setting it on the tray before meeting his eyes.
There was an unmistakable aura of distress around him, even though his expression remained neutral. He carefully placed the tray on the table you had previously been sitting at.
"Thank you, MC," he said. "I'm afraid I lost my composure for a moment. I apologize for my clumsiness."
You had to hold in a laugh. Of course he would apologize to you for that. "Don't worry about it," you said.
You were about to sit back down at the table when he caught your arm. "I must inquire about your current state, MC."
You shrugged. "It's nothing important," you said. "Just a little altercation I was in on the way here. But I'm fine."
"I must disagree," Barbatos said. To your complete shock, he touched your cheek, leaving a smudged red stain on his spotless white gloves.
"Barbatos!" you cried, taking his hand. "You're getting my blood all over your gloves!"
It wasn't like Barbatos to allow his gloves to get dirty.
"A small matter compared to the fact that you are currently bleeding, MC," Barbatos said calmly. "You must allow me to tend to these wounds."
You sighed, squeezing his hand in both of yours. "All right. But first won't you…" You blushed, a little embarrassed to ask him to hold you.
But Barbatos knew what you wanted to say. He pulled you down into his lap as he sat down in one of the chairs by the table. You rested your head on his shoulder as he wrapped his arms around you, gently kissing your neck. Much later, he would bandage you up and give you some healing tea. But in that moment, his touch was like the magic you had used on the teacup - making you feel whole again.
Simeon
You fidgeted outside the door to Purgatory Hall. You had come here to spend some time with Simeon, studying while he worked on his latest novel. It was something you had gotten into the habit of doing recently. You were currently concerned about running into Luke and scaring him with the sight of your injuries.
You decided to send Simeon a message on your D.D.D. letting him know you were outside.
He sent you back a question mark sticker, clearly confused about why you didn't just knock on the door.
You waited for a moment instead of responding and the door opened to reveal Simeon, his expression just as confused as the sticker he sent.
"MC?" he asked. Then he got a decent look at you. "Oh, MC. What happened to you?" He grabbed your hand, pulling you inside.
"I'm fine," you said. "Can we just go to your room so I can study?"
Simeon frowned, but he did as you asked. He held your hand tightly as he led you down the hall to his room.
Fortunately, you didn't run into any of the other Purgatory Hall occupants.
When you reached his room, Simeon sat you down on his bed as he stood before you, fingers lightly touching the largest bruise on your face.
"I told you, I'm fine," you said again. "I just didn't want to scare Luke, that's all."
"I appreciate that you were concerned about Luke, MC," Simeon said. "But you really should be worried about yourself, too. These injuries are serious. They need treatment."
You groaned a little and leaned forward, letting your forehead rest on his stomach. "I knew you'd be worried about it," you said. "But I'm fine. And anyway, I'll really start to feel better if you just hold me for a bit."
Simeon chuckled. He gently pushed your head back to make you look up at him. "I could never say no to that," he said. "But you really should let me take care of this later." He let his fingers hover over the various places where you had developed bruises.
"Later," you agreed.
Simeon shook his head, but he sat beside you on the bed. He took you in his arms, leaning back against the pillows so you were lying on his chest. He ran his fingers down your back and kissed the top of your head.
"You really should be more careful in the Devildom, MC," he said.
You snuggled into him more. "It's fine. I can handle myself."
"I have no doubt of that," Simeon said. "But I'd rather you didn't get injured. I can only imagine how the demons you fought are faring."
"Let's just say they'll think twice before messing with me again," you said.
Simeon sighed, but he only held you a little closer.
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Act II
|| kaeya alberich x afab!reader || E/18+ || hurt/comfort/fluff || wc: 37k || ao3 || masterlist || Act III -> coming soon! ||
When you, a beloved artist and performer of Mondstadt, attract the attention of the Fatui, there is only one person you seek out for help; the infamous Cavalry Captain of the Ordo Favonius, Mondstadt's beloved bastard.
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a/n: hello! i am two days late, but here is the second act!! instead of splitting into multiple parts/posts, i just linked the ao3 at the bottom to continue reading! 37k is actually insane of me. i struggled a great deal with this act and it was the source of a lot of frustration but...i am ultimately happy with how it turned out <33 big shout out to my buddies @lorelune who helped me a lot and beta-ed parts, as well as @suguwu who beta-ed and gave me some great feedback on this act, and finally, @acerathia for beta-ing and giving me feedback as well! i am very appreciative of all your help! also please go check out lore's lovely diluc fic linked above as part of this collab!! without further ado, here is act ii! i would love to hear your feedback!! your thoughts!! your predictions! anything! thank you all for reading and i hope you enjoy <3
tags: afab reader (she/her pronouns but is rather gender fluid/binds her chest sometimes and presents both femme and masc), alcohol use, mentions of kidnapping, mentions of stalking/full on stalking from the fatui to the reader, smut, oral (f!receiving), use of "good girl", friends with benefits, somewhat unclear and messy dynamics, mentions of heartbreak/abandonment issues, bodyguard au technically, fake dating au technically, angst, hurt/comfort
SCENE I
Somewhere dark and stone, dripping, and cave-like. Shadows press and shudder and shift. This is an unknown place and sharply different to Mondstadt’s gold and sky. Confined and cold. Each sound should echo softly or loudly, should repeat itself over and over again.
Kaeya moves with his back to us, slipping among the darkness as if he might belong there.
Kaeya has spent nearly an entire day attempting to tail one of the Fatui members he knows is keeping tabs on you. There’s three, he believes, and they rotate in shifts, much like he, Diluc, Jean, and Venti rotate being near you.
For the first time in a long time, he hasn’t spent his entire day with you. Nor the previous. Venti stayed with you in your own home and now you’re with Jean.
He hates to admit it, but he’s become rather accustomed to watching over you.
But he needs answers for you, so he’s been running all over the city, searching for their reasoning.
This is the closest he’s gotten to a new discovery; this ruin beneath the earth, ducking and weaving through an old, stone crypt of some sort.
He realizes rather quickly it must be some secret meeting place for the Fatui in the city, especially those dealing with the Abyss Order.
The narrow hall opens up into a larger space where an old desk, piled with papers and maps sits under lantern light. Shadows grow large and spindly on the floor. On the stone walls are photos and torn notebook paper, pinned and plastered together, a collage of secrets.
Kaeya peers carefully from his hiding spot to get a better look.
He wants to look at that desk, all the information atop it. He’s certain there must be something there of use, even a greater hint. But he needs this member to leave.
Kaeya picks up a stone, smooth and cool to the touch. He has to play this carefully.
There’s an adjacent hallway across this room. It leads to further darkness. And with the Fatui member’s back turned to him, facing the desk, if he can aim well enough, he’ll be able to–
Kaeya throws the stone and watches it sail through the air, finding it’s mark as it clatters into the bend of the wall down the hallway. He flattens himself to his own wall, waiting and listening.
“Who's there?” The Fatui member calls and Kaeya holds his breath.
“Hello?” Again, before he hears their footsteps stride towards the hallway Kaeya had thrown the stone in and away from him.
He waits as they retreat, deeper and deeper, echoing softly.
He knows he won’t have much time now.
As silently and quickly as possible, he rushes to the desk. His eye flies over all of the papers and maps and scribbling notes.
Your name jumps out to him. He skims.
Vision: Pyro
Strength: Low
Intelligence: High
-Not a fighter
-Use discretion; known and beloved by Mondstadt and other nations.
Kaeya searches harder, shuffling through the papers a little.
There’s a ledger with all the places you’d gone, every single day. There are notes about where best to kidnap you and Kaeya’s stomach sours as he reads words like use force. And torture if necessary.
But what is it they think you know? What would they need to torture out of you?
He moves another piece of paper, only to catch sight of something that makes his heart stop.
Your diary.
There’s no mistaking it. He’d know it anywhere now.
How do they have this? It should’ve been in his home or safe with you.
Horror sweeps through him–they don’t–they couldn’t have taken you, could they?
You’re with Jean, he tries to rationalize. Had you hidden your diary again? Had they found it?
If you hid it, had you snuck away from Venti or Jean in the last day or so? His mind spins sharply.
Footsteps echo.
He’s out of time.
He disappears down his own hallway, heart ricketing in his chest wildly. If they had you, would you be here? Should he search? Is he being unreasonable?
He’ll go to Jean first.
Use force.
You’ll be with Jean. And if you’re not, Jean will organize a rescue party. He’s found their hideout.
Torture if necessary.
Kaeya breaks the surface of the world with a new urgency. The day is melting into evening and the light nearly blinds him a moment as he stumbles out. He doesn’t have time, he breaks into a sprint. His mind flashes hotly, imagines he wish he could never conjure. Images of you tied up, bloody, beaten–
He runs towards the city gates fast and hard.
Strength: Low
He shouldn’t have pawned you off on others–he should’ve stayed beside you. This whole time. He should’ve had Diluc look for the Fatui, he shouldn’t have bid you goodbye yesterday. He should’ve checked in with you.
His ribs ache, his legs burn. He doesn’t stop.
What was he thinking? You’re practically a sitting duck. He knows this.
Not a fighter.
You wouldn’t stand a chance against them. What if Jean is already searching for him because you’ve been taken? He imagines bursting into the city to find her or Venti or Diluc, with some pale look on their face.
The knights on watch must know something is wrong as he runs beneath the gates–they call after him, but don’t stop him.
“Where’s Jean?” He barks to the one trying to catch up to him.
“Headquarters, I think!”
Kaeya veers sharply for Headquarters.
He prays he’ll burst through the door and find you there, with Jean. You’ll be pestering her as the sun sets, chirping and flitting around her office while she tries to get paperwork done. You’ll be there, he tries to tell himself, you will be. They must’ve just nicked your diary.
He throws open the door to Headquarters, rounds the corner and bursts into Jean’s office. Jean is standing on the opposite side of her desk, back facing Kaeya and–
You’re nowhere to be found.
His stomach drops.
“Jean,” he says her name sharply, a note of desperation. “Where is she?”
Jean turns, startled by his appearance, by his urgency, but–
“I left her with Venti. They said they were going to Angel’s Share to perform some songs.” Jean steps towards him, “why? What’s wrong?”
“They have her diary.” Kaeya gets out, rushing out the door of her office.
“Kaeya!” She barks after him, but he’s already pushing his way out of Headquarters. He won’t rest, not until he sees you, until you’re right in front of him. “What are you–where was her diary?”
“I don’t know,” Kaeya snaps, taking stairs two at a time, “I thought it was at my apartment but she’s always hiding it and–” He breaks into another run, heading towards the tavern, “when did you leave her with Venti?”
“I don’t know,” Jean gets out, keeping pace with him, “a few hours ago, maybe? I had a lot to do–”
Kaeya curses under his breath.
“I still don’t know what they want with her but–their notes were about using force. Or–” he can’t get the word out. “They think she knows something.”
“About what?”
“I don’t know.” Kaeya bites out.
He rounds the corner to Angel’s Share sharply and Jean takes it with him.
“I’m sure she’ll be here with Venti.” Jean gets out, attempting to be calm with him. She’s attempting to be a leader.
Kaeya throws open the door, gaze flying across the room and–
He doesn’t see you.
His blood runs cold.
For once, he wishes it was Diluc at the bar, but it’s Charles.
“Has Venti been here?” And then he asks for you, too, says your name with a shot voice.
Charles shakes his head, “haven’t seen either of them at all today. They were supposed to play music tonight, I think–”
Kaeya doesn’t let him finish. He rushes out.
He has half a mind to start shouting like a lunatic for you, all over the city, wandering like a mad man with your name a cry on his lips.
“Maybe they went to her house before–” Jean tries to rationalize, but he can tell she is beginning to fret, too.
Kaeya is already ahead of her, rushing towards your home on the hill in the city. He can’t help his pace, the run he breaks into again. He tries to think of you throwing open the door, laughing at his worry. Where else would you be? He wants to hear you say.
But when he pounds on the door, there is no answer. Not a peep. Your little space is quiet.
“Do you have a key?” Jean asks, but Kaeya doesn’t have the time.
He takes a step back only to kick in the door easily, letting it fly open on its hinges.
(He promises he’ll get you a new door, a better one, one that isn’t so flimsy–that could be so easily broken into. He thinks of you asleep here, with a door like that, and his worry grows insurmountably.)
He shouts your name as he enters.
No answer.
He storms the place. Your bedroom, your bathroom, all familiar and all so empty.
“Venti!” Jean calls, and then your own name, too, as she searches.
Nothing.
“You know how they are,” Jean tries to rationalize, “they’re always getting up to trouble. They could be anywhere.”
“That’s what I’m worried about,” Kaeya growls, rushing past her and back out the door. He’s beginning to panic. He can feel the tendrils of it creep up his chest, wrapping like vines around his poor throat. His head is growing foggy, warped with his fear. All he can see is you being dragged away.
Use force.
His mind feels hot, too sharp.
Torture if necessary.
“Kaeya,” Jean barks his name, rushing to catch up to him.
Her voice is a balm, he wants–she should–
“I’ll try to get ahold of Diluc and send word out to search the city for her.” Jean says and her voice is filled with authority now, level-headed and steady, “where else would she be?”
“I’m going to my apartment.” Kaeya says, mind narrowing, “in case she’s–I don’t know–”
“Go,” Jean agrees, a command, “and if she’s not there, keep searching–you know her hiding spots now.”
Kaeya nods dazedly.
Jean grabs him roughly, on the arm, jerking him to face her. One hand coming down on his shoulder.
“We’ll find her.” She promises and she dips her head a little to force him to meet her eyes. They’re all stone and determination. The eyes of a leader. “Do you hear me, Captain?”
Kaeya nods, more assuredly now, “yes,” he agrees, finding his voice, her eyes.
She shoves him a little, a push to go, “I’ll reconvene with you shortly. Stay sharp.”
Kaeya doesn’t need another moment; he picks his eyes up to catch the city skyline of Mondstadt, of his apartment in the distance. He breaks into a sprint. He tries to focus only on his breath, on the way his feet carry him swiftly, weaving in and around the city.
He tries to force away what he’d seen.
He bounds for his home, feels his heart and fear ratchet up inside of himself. He’s imagining his home empty.
He’s imagining you gone.
He’s imagining the door shut tight and locked, how he’d left it, and you’re nowhere to be found. A cold space. An empty space.
He takes the stairs two at a time, he tries the door and it–it’s locked still.
He doesn’t pray. He’s not a religious man. And that stupid Archon–
Is sitting perched on his kitchen counter, overlooking the living room.
“Ssh,” Venti hisses, finger to his lips, as he points to his couch. The one Kaeya has slept on nearly every night since this whole ordeal started. The one you are currently occupying, curled up beneath the blanket he usually uses, sleeping soundly.
Or, you were.
You blink awake, slow, confused.
Kaeya rushes to your side.
He kneels.
The door is left ajar.
“You’re here,” he gets out, winded, rough.
“Kaeya?” Your voice is so small and confused.
Without thinking, he brushes a strand of hair from your face as gently as he can, hands shaking. He’s still panting, chest still heaving. But–
“I’m here.” He says then, astonished, relieved.
He wants to pull you off the couch and into his arms. He wants to hold you. He wants to collapse on top of you.
He falls back onto his bottom, breathing hard, all his fear leaking out of him swiftly. “Oh, you’re here.” He says again, voice breaking, as if to assure himself.
You sit up, eyes pricking with concern, “what’s wrong?” you murmur, “where else would I be?”
Kaeya can’t even speak yet, but he laughs, delirious, out of breath.
“No where.” He says, “I thought–you were–”
“She was trying to nap,” Venti finally speaks up and his eyes are far too keen. “Before our performance tonight.”
Kaeya looks at him. Venti looks back.
The door is open.
He heaves out a rough breath. He hangs his head between his shoulders. He tries to calm himself.
“I need to tell Jean to call off–” he laughs, “oh, Diluc is going to lose his mind.”
“Call off what?” You ask.
“Your search party.” Kaeya finally can get out. Your face brightens to shock.
“My search party? Kaeya–”
“Venti, why don’t you find Jean and tell her where you’ve been? Before the whole city turns upside down looking for her.” Kaeya then says. He won’t look at him but he can feel Venti’s eyes on him.
But then Venti laughs, and chirps, “aye, Captain!”
And he flits out of Kaeya’s home.
Venti shuts the door behind him and seals you away with him. Kaeya exhales roughly again, elbows resting on his knees.
“Are you okay?” You ask for a second time, so sweetly. So sincerely. You lean towards him like you want to touch him.
And he wants to say, I was scared. He wants to say, I was terrified of losing you. I could’ve torn the whole city apart looking for you. He wants to say, I’m so relieved to see you. Hold me. Let me hold you.
Instead, all he says is, “they had your diary. And I thought–”
The door is shut tightly.
“Oh,” you breathe, “I left it at home, the last time we–”
“They must’ve broken in.” He agrees softly. And then he looks rather sheepish.
“What?” You ask, as if you know.
“I broke in. I owe you a new door.”
“Kaeya!” You scold, “why did you–why were you so–?!”
“Jean and I thought you were kidnapped!” Kaeya defends himself.
“Kaeya–”
“We were searching for you. Since you weren’t in any of the places you were supposed to be.” He begins to scold.
“Kaeya,”
“Didn’t I leave you with Jean? You should’ve stayed with her.”
You suddenly launch forward, arms wrapping around his neck, falling from the couch and onto his body. His breath is almost knocked out of his lungs for the millionth time today because of you and surprise colors his face. Raises his brows.
You hug him tight, face pressing to the crook of his neck, a bundle in his lap.
“I’m okay,” you murmur, “I’m right here.”
His arms, which had come up in surprise, finally settle over you. They wrap all the way around your shoulders, your middle, pull you closer, and he’s sure his heart is such a mess in his chest. He’s sure it sounds like a disaster.
But you press harder into him, fingers digging into his muscles.
“I’m sorry I scared you,” you say, and then your voice tilts upwards playfully, “didn’t think you’d really send the cavalry just because–”
He pinches your side.
“I had reason to believe–!”
You start to laugh, into his throat. You shift to pull away and he wants to keep you there, he wants to hold fast to you and not let go. He wants to cling to you. But he lets you move away to look at his face once more.
You look at him in a way that just makes him feel naked. He wants to hide. He wants to say something clever.
“Thank you,” you suddenly say.
“For what?” Kaeya laughs, “causing a ruckus? Waking you from your nap?”
“For coming for me.” You cut him off. “I feel safe with you and this just proves that–”
Kaeya slackens a little, perhaps surprised or unsure or–you always leave him wobbly and uncertain. You always disarm him so swiftly, so viciously.
“Of course I’d come for you.” Kaeya says and he does mean it. He softens it’s truth with, “it’s my duty.”
But that night, you don’t ask him to sit beside you as you fall asleep–he does so anyway. You don’t say a word, except to ask him for another bedtime story playfully, except to hear him speak, as you always do when he stays with you.
You didn’t ask but he needed to.
It’s not his duty, but he wanted to.
He can’t imagine not watching you drift off to sleep tonight, of all nights, when he thought he’d lost you.
He watches you sleep soundly in his bed, back rising and falling as you curl around one of his pillows, cheek endearingly squished against it. He doesn’t sleep.
The door is locked tight.
And even though it's not his duty, he watches over you, anyway.
***
SCENE II
On the docks of Cider Lake in the early afternoon sun. Venti is perched beside you, plucking lazily at a lyre. Your feet dangle off the dock, swinging like a child. The sky is endlessly blue. Clouds are like sleeping rabbits in the sky. The wind kisses you.
“I feel their eyes most when I’m with you.” You say suddenly, glancing at your companion out of the corner of your eyes.
A note strums from Venti’s fingers. He hums lightly.
“Not sure what the Fatui would want with a measly bard.” Venti shrugs, “maybe they think I’m the weakest of your guards.”
“Maybe,” you say, but you don’t believe that. You don’t believe it because–well, because you noticed them following him first. At first, you weren’t quite sure and you had mentioned it to Venti, but he’d shrugged you off.
Breezy as ever. He’d pretend there was nothing to worry about.
You turn towards him and look at him before you murmur, low enough that any ears listening would only catch the sound of the gently lapping water, “why were the Fatui following you?”
“I believe I’m supposed to ask that of you,” Venti replies with a smile but you can tell, there’s a chipping like a porcelain teacup losing a piece of its lip.
“I wasn’t sure at first,” you tell him softly, eyes glancing out over the calm lake, “but then I caught them intercepting letters and messages of yours. I caught them in the belltower and I knew.”
The belltower in the cathedral was a place Venti had shown you early in your return to Mondstadt. He’d told you it’d been a place that he came to play music, to look out at the world below. A secret place for him, now for you; a gift, he’d said. Places are a gift to give the people you love and secrets are, too.
Then you’d caught a Fatui member snooping through the hidden items Venti had left there; music sheets, maps the two of you had crudely drawn, and old clues to scavenger hunts long past.
The two of you had always liked sending the other all over Mondstadt; it’s why you hide your diary. He hides new songs he wants you to learn. You’d leave clues, games to play, puzzles to solve for each other.
Venti plucks out a few, odd notes on his lyre. Goosebumps erupt over your skin.
“You don’t think I have dealings with them, do you?” Venti asks queerly. There’s a funny sound to his voice.
You shake your head quickly, “Archons, no.” And then you tilt your head, “but I did what I do best.”
A wrong note. It rings discordant in the air.
Venti looks at you.
“You didn’t.” He almost begs, but he knows.
“Of course I did.” You respond and Venti looks genuinely distraught. So you add, “nothing terrible–but I wrote you false letters. I led them on a goose chase a little, like I always do when the Fatui gets too close or comfortable in Mondstadt.”
Venti shakes his head, “you shouldn’t have meddled here.”
“They’re looking for something of yours, aren’t they?” You ask slowly.
Venti, for once, is quiet. The wind catches on your clothes in a burst. It’s confirmation enough.
“So I sent them all over Mondstadt with puzzles and clues and fake letters.” You said, “and really, I thought it was harmless but–”
“Did you tell this to Kaeya?” Venti asks.
“Not specifically this. I always toy with the Fatui when I can, though, he knows that.”
Venti shakes his head slightly, fingers digging into the wood of his instrument, “and with all the hiding places and riddles between us, I’m sure they–” Venti stands abruptly, “I need to speak to Kaeya.”
You stand with him suddenly, “why? What for?”
Venti frowns at you and it’s an expression you hardly ever see him wear.
So you press tenderly, “what are they looking for, Venti?”
“You’re such trouble,” Venti replies and his voice catches with emotion; he doesn’t mean it meanly, in fact it’s–well, it’s fond. Mournful, almost. The wind rushes past the two of you, stronger now. Water laps at the docks.
“Give me a clue.” You try to charm him but it sounds more like a plea. “Like always. I’ll figure it out and you won’t ever have to say it outloud, if you’re that scared.”
Your heart feels like a brewing storm in your chest. Venti has never hidden things so openly from you. It frightens you.
But Venti shakes his head for once, small and soft. “Not this time, my friend.”
“Venti–”
He suddenly looks away, down towards the other side of the dock, where the cobblestone of the street meets the wood. Kaeya is standing there, waiting to relieve Venti and walk with you to Springvale for rehearsal. The gold of his coat glints in the afternoon sun. He looks like a knight.
He waits for you.
“You have rehearsal,” Venti says, and his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “go.”
“Please, will you tell me?” You ask again. You swallow hard around sudden tears; stupid and silly but–aching. You can’t name why you feel like crying, only that you can tell something far larger is on the horizon.
It hangs like a storm.
You can feel its pressure, now more than ever.
Tell me, you want to beg him, you want to sing, you want to scream. Let me help you, let me in.
Venti looks at you with love and affection and sadness. He looks at you with a heaviness you can’t name, but can taste. It’s ancient. It’s otherworldly. You want to hold him. You want to hide him from the world.
“Not yet,” he replies.
“Why not?” Your voice breaks as easily and fragile as a bird’s wing.
Venti smiles sadly, “because if you knew, you’d put yourself in even more danger than you already have for me.”
You open your mouth, but he continues;
“And this isn’t your battle.” He turns away, eyes glassy, but waves at Kaeya, as if nothing is wrong. He smiles at you, watery and fond.
“Besides, you’ve never been much of a fighter in the first place.”
***
SCENE III
In the living room of Kaeya’s apartment. Soft, evening blue light through the windows. Hazy, dark shadows. You’re curled up on the couch, legs tucked up underneath you, with a cup of tea held in your palms. You’re ready for bed. Kaeya enters from his office with a stack of letters and papers; what the audience can see of his face is that he’s somber for once. He casts the greater shadow.
“Will you tell me again why you thought it was a good idea to toy with the Fatui?” Kaeya asks and in his hand, he has only some of the letters and maps and sheet music that you’d been leaving for Venti.
Or, the Fatui. Since you knew they were rifling through Venti’s things.
“I always toy with them.” You reply simply, taking a slow, burning sip of tea. It’s chamomile and rose. A hint of cinnamon. Kaeya prepared it for you before disappearing to do some work in his office. You swallow. “And I never said it was a good idea.”
“Then why do it?”
“Why are they following Venti? What are they looking for?”
Kaeya lets out a sharp breath, perhaps growing impatient. “I don’t know. Right now, I need to know why they think they need you to find it, though.”
“Well, I made it seem like I had whatever they’re looking for.”
You watch Kaeya freeze for a moment and if you weren’t so intuitive and just a little wittier, you’d make some sort of joke about cryo and freezing in place.
“Why?” He demands suddenly.
“I wanted to get them off Venti’s back.” You say, “this is what I do when the Fatui get too close to the people I know. This is what I do when the Fatui think they can stick their hands in Mondstadt. Someone has to teach them a lesson.” You take another little sip of your tea, and then add, “and I don’t have a sword–my weapon is my pen. My voice. My wit.”
Kaeya shakes his head, “you don’t even know what you’ve gotten yourself into.”
You gesture smoothly, “then enlighten me.”
“This is bigger than you, do you understand that?” Kaeya then says and you don’t think you’ve ever heard him quite so stern.
His face is shadowed. It’s growing darker.
“Sure,” you say easily, “that’s why I had to intervene.”
“I don’t think you actually understand.” Kaeya says and his voice has grown more serious, imperative, a little lower.
“I’m not an idiot,” you snip, “clearly! Since I’ve managed to fool the Fatui and send them running all over Mondstadt.” You can feel your hackles rise a little, heat swimming in your chest, up your neck. “And most importantly, away from Venti–since he’s got some huge secret that no one will tell me!”
Kaeya moves suddenly to sit on the coffee table in front of the sofa you’re on. Your knees nearly brush. He splays out your letters and music sheets and maps. “Why didn’t you come to me before doing all of this? Before involving yourself?”
“Because I always mess with the Fatui!” Your voice raises and you finally move to set the tea cup beside him on the coffee table. “I didn’t think it was any different than any of the other times!”
“The Fatui aren’t just–” Kaeya gestures, papers crinkling beneath his grip that has grown tighter with his own frustration. “–some band of half-wit politicians or merchants for you to toy with! They’re dangerous.”
This quiets you for a moment. And then, “so? A lot of things are dangerou–”
“So?” Kaeya repeats, “so?! You’re not even–” he laughs, but the sound is scraping and hollow, off-kilter. It’s disbelief, almost a scoff, “you’re not even a fighter. You’re not a Knight or a warrior. You’re not even an adventurer of some kind.”
Silence stretches between the two of you.
“Can you ever trust my own judgment and intuition? I have made it this far–”
“But you’re reckless.” Kaeya says, “specifically, you’re reckless with yourself. You know the Fatui are dangerous–it’s why you’re worried about Venti, right? It’s why you intervened.” Kaeya says and then his voice gentles, “so why don’t you have the same concern for yourself?”
You feel your jaw lock. It ticks.
You look away from him defiantly, out towards one of the windows, blue with the evergrowing night sky.
It strikes a strange note inside of you. You have concern for yourself, you want to say, you came to him, didn’t you? Eventually.
But it doesn’t negate what you did, which was reckless. He’s right; you could’ve turned to him immediately, you could’ve gone to Diluc or Jean or him. But instead, you tried to distract the Fatui; you tried to dance and sing and entice them onto the path you’re on, instead of the one Venti is on.
You gave them a performance. And now, with all their eyes set on you, like the hungry, vying eyes of an audience, a predator, you are in danger.
“This isn’t a game anymore. This isn’t funny or—or breezy. You’ve gotten yourself into real danger, do you understand?” Kaeya then says and you can tell he’s trying to get you to look at him again.
“I have you and Jean and Diluc to—“
“But your recklessness got us all here. You rush head first into—into everything, without regard for yourself.” Kaeya continues. “You’re an open book. You wear your heart on your sleeve—it’s like you have no self preservation whatsoever.”
You sit in silence. You cross your arms over your chest and you feel a hard, little ache in the pit of your throat.
He’s chipping away at something inside of you, something already too tender to take the beating.
“It’s not a bad thing to be open.” You say and your voice is tight, thicker than it should be.
“No,” he agrees, “but you have no regard for yourself and all of it for everyone else.”
Tears prick your eyes, much to your dismay.
You know the reason. You can feel it, somewhere in the back of your mouth, down where your throat is tight.
You can’t lose Venti.
Venti could lose you, you’ve decided. The world could lose you. But you are so terrified of loss and really–you must’ve been easy to leave if–
If it could be done so effortlessly.
(You think of yourself as a child and your father setting you down for the last time. You think of yourself at an altar, forever waiting, the way you waited for your father your whole life.)
Venti can lose you.
But you can’t lose Venti.
You hope that maybe if you give enough of yourself to the world, it will need you bad enough to never lose. You think one day, it’ll fill the empty, aching wound inside of you that has been just left to dry out. Crack and splinter.
Sometimes, you think if you scare someone bad enough, they’ll look at you and say they can’t lose you. You think maybe if you scare yourself bad enough, you’ll finally look at yourself and say I can’t lose you.
“Don’t cry,” Kaeya hushes softly and you wipe quickly at the tear that has freed itself to slip down the slope of your cheek.
It makes you want to cry harder, for some reason, for him to be so tender now.
He sets the papers down beside you on the couch finally. He reaches out and touches your knee, broad palm surprisingly warm, as he rubs a gentle pass with his thumb.
“Why are you crying?” Kaeya then asks, coaxing, gentle.
You sniff hard.
You dig a little, you search for the answer. Is it because you’re careless with yourself? Is it because you’re scared now? Is it because he pointed it out at all—that he noticed enough, saw through you enough, to finally say it?
Is it because—
“I worry about you.” He says when you don’t answer him.
—you’re worth fretting over?
You shake your head a little, perhaps in an attempt to disagree with him, perhaps in an attempt to reassure him. But nothing comes out except another few tears.
You try to keep the sob back, the noise trapped with the reason in the back of your throat. You fear what will come out.
“I’m sorry,” you manage to whisper and when you finally turn to face him, he’s right there, and for a moment, you think he might move further to hold you. You think you might just slide into his arms.
You hold your breath.
You think he holds his, too.
“I don’t need an apology.” Kaeya finally murmurs and he doesn’t fold you into his arms, but he turns up his hand on your knee carefully. His palm, an offering. “I just need you to be more careful.”
Slowly, you slide your hand into his.
You’ve held his hand plenty now, know the rough scrape of his calluses against your own, but it has never quite felt like this.
Real. Weighted.
He folds his fingers between yours gently. Your hands lock together, woven, knuckle over knuckle. Palm to palm.
You’re both watching your hands, enamored, maybe terrified.
You cling to him in a way you haven’t clung to someone in a long, long time.
You think you’ve tried to hold onto everything like this; with too much force, gripped in your rebellious fist. You think everything you’ve ever held must’ve been crumpled and ruined from your grasp, you think everything must have the indents of your fingers permanently etched there.
You want to squeeze, you want to bear down on his hands like a dog who finally caught a bird.
“Can you promise me that?” Kaeya prompts gently when he doesn’t receive a response from you.
You glance up at his searching face, the way he’s watching you carefully, scouring to see any flicker of emotion.
You nod a little, jerky, unsure.
“Will you say it for me?” He murmurs and dips his head a little to keep your straying gaze.
You swallow hard around the lump in your throat, tight and hard.
You feel your eyes fill with tears again.
But still, you manage to croak, “I’ll try to be more careful.”
You can tell the response displeases him somewhat; you can tell he wants more. But anything more right now, may feel like a lie.
And you’re no good at that.
“Okay,” Kaeya agrees, “thank you.” And then he adds with a gentle lilt, “I’m sorry for making you cry.”
You laugh a little through your tears, “it’s okay–” you mumble, letting your eyes fall back to your intertwined hands. “I probably needed to hear it.”
His thumb makes a slow, comforting pass over the back of your hand.
For a moment, the space fills with silence.
You watch the careful sweep of his thumb, you watch the flex of his hand, the veins against his wrist. You can feel the room fill with something more, a growing of a feeling, stretching amongst your ribs. Perhaps amongst his. You think there is something blooming inside of him, something he’s terrified of, something you’ll always long for.
(If you could feel his pulse in his wrist, it would be jumping, picking up in a fierce little tempo.)
He’s tenser now, you realize. His breath is caught somewhere in his chest, like he might speak again.
You wait for him.
He opens his mouth.
But then after a moment, he closes it.
You pick your head up to examine his face, to try and discern what it is he wants to say now.
And mostly, it’s a mask of causality.
(His trembling heart is the only thing that gives him away now.)
Maybe, the depth of his eye, or maybe it’s only a trick of the light.
You want to say, what is it? Or prompt him for more. You want him to speak what is so clearly on the very tip of his tongue.
Tell me, you want to say, tell me what seems to scare you so badly.
“I–” he starts. He stops.
And then neither of you speak and the tension stretches and something inside you grows. You cling to him harder without realizing it, as if anticipating the way he’ll pull away. You don’t want him to go. You can feel it, your heart unfurling for him, you can feel the way he holds you, too.
In the same way that you hold him.
You hope he leaves indents in your skin. You hope he never lets go.
“Yes?” You prompt gently.
But then he clears his throat and glances away.
The spell is broken and he forces his hands to loosen from his own hold on you. He forces himself to recede and to calm his heart. You watch as he mentally pulls away from you. You force yourself not to cling harder to him, to catch his hand and hold it close to yourself, to pull him closer to you.
He says, “Mondstadt cares very deeply for you–and you for Mondstadt. I only wish–” he draws in a small breath, “that you’d afford yourself the same care.”
You wonder what he was going to say instead. You know this is not his original thought, but the secondary, more distant one. You almost want to ask him, you want to needle and beg, but you know Kaeya well now.
You know he doesn’t say anything he hasn’t carefully thought about or that he doesn’t want you to hear.
Still, it manages to make you soften, to make tears press again behind your eyes.
You turn to tuck your face into your shoulder, like it may stop him from seeing you cry. You squeeze his hand like a lifeline.
“Oh, look what I’ve done now.” He says and his voice is light–he’s teasing you gently, holding you tighter again as you laugh now and sniffle, fingers still digging deep into his hand.
“I’m sorry–” you mumble, “Am I hurting you?”
You loosen your grip on his hand.
“I’ve been through far worse,” he soothes, running his thumb back over the dips and plains of your hand.
You try to keep yourself from bursting into heavier, harder tears. You can’t even quite name why; your care for him, or his for you. The fact that he won’t name it, or because you’re scared he’ll leave if you do.
You’re nearly trembling with it; you’re afraid he’ll say one more word, one more phrase and you’ll simply fall to pieces.
You don’t know what it is about care; but when someone is gentle with you, it makes you feel as if they’ve torn you to shreds. It turns you inside out. It turns you into a child again, desperately seeking it out. It feels foolish now sometimes, over dramatic.
But Kaeya holds your hand and you take deep, shuddering breaths until you don’t feel as if you’re going to bawl your eyes out anymore.
You don’t want to stop clinging to his hand, though.
“I should get to bed,” you finally say, if only for him, if only to give him an out because it’s easier than if he finds it himself. You’re too fragile for him to pull away first tonight.
So you slip from his grasp and stand. Your legs feel a little wobbly, unsure of yourself. He looks up at you, from beneath the fan of his dark lashes. You swallow hard, around the tears, around whatever it is he makes you feel.
You can still feel the pressure in your hand, the way his fingers feel against yours.
Again, he looks as if he wants to say something.
You wait, expectant.
And again, he lets it fall.
Instead, he says, “yes–it's another early morning. I’ll let you sleep.”
He stands now, too, collecting the papers, gathering them into his hands carefully. All of your wit and love and craft. All of your recklessness in the palm of his hand.
“I’m going to stay up a little longer,” he says then, “if you need anything.”
Now it's your turn to look up at him.
And there must be something too raw, too sincere in your eyes, because he can’t look for long.
“Kaeya,” you want to draw his gaze back to yours, but he doesn't quite reach your eyes. Still, you need to say, “thank you.”
“For scolding you?” He asks, light, too light. He tries to create distance. Coldness.
“For caring about me.”
He swallows. He doesn’t confirm or deny it. But he looks guilty, a man held back, everything carefully in place. Not a word misspoken, not a look out of place. Sometimes, you have the urge to destroy that veneer. Sometimes, you want to know what he looks like without all his thoughtfully placed appearances.
You wonder if you will ever see him like that. You wonder if he will ever tell you more; if he will ever let you in.
You think maybe you will stay like this forever, close to him, but not too close.
With care, but without it spoken. Always in the blue dark and never in the dawn.
He clears his throat, “it’s my job to look out for you.”
Your heart falls a little, sharp, like a plummeting note, a tight draw of the strings of a discordant chord. You swallow around the lump in your throat.
“Yes,” you agree distantly, nodding your head, “I suppose it is.”
“I’ll be in the office.” He says because he must slip away from you now. You think when he gets too close, he grows scared of being burned.
He closes the door behind him.
You watch it for a moment, steady.
You wonder if it’ll stay like this forever; always on the other side of the door.
When you go to sleep that night, you leave the bedroom door ajar, as if to prove something.
But in the morning, you find it shut tight.
At rehearsal, you’re somewhere else, off in your mind. Though you say your lines, you feel as if you miss them, like they’re coming out automatically, half-hearted.
And the only ones that rings true, that resonates throughout the stage is one you’d previously thrown away;
“Hold on tight–don’t let go.”
This time, your voice cracks with it, breaks over the don’t.
That night, Kaeya presents you with a bouquet of flowers; a show in front of the world.
And when he brushes his knuckles against yours, you eagerly slip your hand into his as you walk home.
You don’t even care that it’s for the world and no longer for you.
You are, if nothing else, a good actor (or of foolish heart);
So you pretend it’s real, with the flowers he gave you nestled into the crook of your elbow, and his hand curled around yours. You pretend that you are walking home with your love, and the sun is setting, and you are filled to the brim.
You laugh as if that’s the case. You lean into him as if that’s the case.
You knock into him as you walk, desperate to be close, to feel his side against yours. You are desperate to have more of him; all his attention, all his affection.
To not feel like a world away–or like there’s a door between you, one that you don’t know if he’ll ever open or not.
***
PRELUDE TO SCENE IV
Springvale in the afternoon, the sun warm and bright; it makes everything sparkle, almost radiant. The grass seems lush and full, the lake is shimmering.
Klee eats cut fruit happily beside you at a picnic table. You steal a piece or two from time to time. Kaeya sits across from you and Klee, his back to the audience.
“Are you and Kaeya boyfriend and girlfriend?” Klee suddenly asks around a burst of valberries.
Despite everything, you feel your heart tick up in a strange, sharp tempo.
Your eyes fly to Kaeya, who's already looking at you.
You share a silent conversation with each other and a series of increasingly dramatic expressions;
What should we tell her?
The truth?
What? No!
Then you tell her–
“Yes,” Kaeya finally says, “we are boyfriend and girlfriend.”
Klee picks her head up, perhaps surprised at his answer. “You’re dating?!” She asks, louder now and you can’t help but laugh.
“Yes,” Kaeya lies, perhaps for any eavesdroppers, “we’re dating, Klee.”
She looks between the two of you.
“Miss Jean said you’re in love with each other.” Klee says casually and that makes both of you freeze momentarily.
You feel heat rush into the high points of your face. Your mind whirls, spins into overthinking. Why would Jean say this? To keep your covers? A kinder way to say it to a child?
For a moment, you fear Jean knows a part of your heart that you fully haven’t gotten to know yet yourself.
You fear there is some truth to it.
(Perhaps love is too strong of a word but—)
You adore Kaeya.
You have your whole life, you think, from when you were young and chasing after them with childlike, outstretched hands, to adulthood, where you have always held respect for him and now—
Something more, perhaps, after all your time with him.
How could you not? What chance did you have against him, anyways?
(You hope he doesn’t dare read your diary again.
You suddenly worry that Jean has instead.)
You’re almost fearful to catch Kaeya’s gaze, you swallow hard, but force yourself to. And when you do, you realize he’s–
Amused. Near laughing.
That absolute bas—
You kick him underneath the table and he yelps a little. You hide your snicker behind a hand against your mouth.
“We care about each other very much.” You tell Klee, sobering.
“Are you gonna get married?” She asks then, just as casually, around another piece of fruit.
Kaeya makes a noise of surprise, “married?” He asks Klee, “where are these questions coming from?”
“I thought if you’re boyfriend and girlfriend, then you get married.” Klee responds.
“Sometimes,” you agree, nudging the bowl of fruit closer to her little hands so that she can reach the last few pieces better. “But right now we’re just boyfriend and girlfriend.”
Klee hums around her berry.
And then she looks up at you, “do you guys kiss?”
The word kiss is punctuated with disgust, almost sick curiosity; as if she might not be able to believe it.
It makes you choke, then stutter into a laugh. Kaeya laughs as well, full and surprised.
“People who are dating do tend to kiss, Klee, so yes.” He says, amused with her. He catches your eye across the table. You swallow hard with the way he gazes at you, infinitely pleased and laid back, deeply amused. By you or Klee, you’re not sure. Still, you can’t help the smile that touches your lips, perhaps just as entertained, perhaps a little rueful.
“Gross,” she declares. And then she looks at Kaeya, “do you think she’s pretty?”
You look at Kaeya expectantly, propping your chin in your hands, and sing, “yes, Kaeya, do you think I’m pretty?”
He smirks, leaning back in his seat a little, and a fissure of heat rips through you. You bat your lashes for him.
“I think you’re beautiful, darling.” Kaeya croons, sweet as ever, and enough to make you damn near melt.
You can feel heat in your face, despite it all. You feel like a teenager. You feel like a girl with a crush, a boy with his love in front of him, and not a clue what to do. Bumbling and suddenly young, graceless.
A pang hits you squarely in the chest; you wish this was real. You wish he was being honest.
Klee squeals in embarrassment or surprise. “You’re going to get cooties!” She tells you.
You use her as a distraction, leaning down a little to conspire with her, “Kaeya does have cooties.” You agree in a faux-whisper. “But I have the antidote.”
“You do?” Klee asks, “what is it?”
“Its a secret recipe,” you begin, putting on a good show of trying to come up with the ingredients, “but it certainly starts with the essence of butterflies.” You glance over at the field behind you, which you know is teeming with butterflies.
You used to chase them here in your youth until the sun set and the fireflies sparked to life in the evening dark. And then you chased their soft, blinking lights until the other kids were called home. And it was just you and the rolling fields and endless night skies and bumbling bugs. You’d try to carry one home with you so you wouldn’t feel so lonely.
Klee follows your gaze and watches as one of the butterflies flits and flutters.
“Can I ask for your help, little Spark Knight? Will you carefully catch me a butterfly? Don’t hurt it, though, we need it alive for the antidote.”
Immediately, she is perking up, jumping up from her seat.
“You can count on me!”
She bounds off into the field of swaying wildflowers.
You turn back to Kaeya.
His eye is soft, perhaps fond.
Before you can loose your bravery, loose your courageous little heart, you stand and move to his side of the bench so that you can watch Klee.
Your shoulder brushes with his. Your thigh touches his. You’re aware of it all, sharply, keenly.
He looks at you and you gaze back up at him. For a moment, you get swept away in his star-blue eye. The bend of dark lashes. Like the butterflies in the field, your heart flutters, feeling as delicate as their wings.
“Careful,” Kaeya says softly, so smoothly that his voice could be a melody, “or people really will think we’re in love.”
Heat smarts your face again. But you tip your chin up because you’ve never shied away from a challenge before; “why do you say that?”
Kaeya suddenly reaches out and carefully, as if you might fall to pieces at his touch (and really—you think you might), takes hold of your chin. His thumb barely brushes your bottom lip. Then he says, “the way you look at me.”
“You were looking at me first,” you accuse but your voice is hushed.
“And you shouldn’t melt when I touch you.”
Your stomach swoops like a bird in the sky and then soars. Your lashes flutter. You’re close to him—almost nose to nose. And now you really do think of kissing him like he’s actually yours. As if he could be.
His eye drops to your lips, thumb inching upwards.
“Then you shouldn’t touch me so.” You murmur, earnest, and if your voice is soft with pleading—a pleading for what, you can’t tell—then whose to say? “Like—like you want to kiss me.”
Your nose brushes against his.
“Don’t—” his voice sticks, “don’t kiss me. No one’s even watching.”
“Do you not want me to?”
“Yes, I want—” he stops.
Your heart sings. I want, I want, I want—
He swallows, “we shouldn’t, though.”
“Why not?” You dare to ask, hands drifting to his chest, his collar bones.
You can almost, almost feel his smile, slow and fond, “well, firstly, you’ll get cooties…”
“Kaeya,” your own smile is a warm curve that you want to feel against his.
“Secondly,” He begins, drawing in a soft breath that you feel beneath the palm of your hand.
“I have a butterfly!” Klee shouts, head suddenly poking up from the wildflowers in a burst of petals.
You and Kaeya jolt away from each other, hands drawing back into your laps, facing away from each other as if teenagers caught by your parents. Heat zips through you in a rush.
He almost—you almost—
Something in your chest bats its wings, excited, elated. It takes to flight. A smile overtakes your face, winning, determined.
Oh, you think, glancing at him as you head to Klee, oh, you want me, too.
She opens her little hands for you and the moment she does, the butterfly escapes into the sky—taking to flight.
You laugh as she squeals.
She races after it.
And then you do, too.
In an instant, Kaeya has joined you, too.
And it dissolves, the sun slowly moving throughout the sky, into running and chasing and laughing. The joyful sound of your laugh, of Klee’s excitement, of Kaeya’s fondness.
It melts like the sky, like your heart, like the way you do when Kaeya touches you.
There’s a moment, quick, when you’re in the wildflowers with him. He’s on his back and you lean over him.
He peers up at you.
Beautiful man that he is with sparkling eyes.
You think, people really will think we’re in love, if you look at me like that.
And then you say, boldened by the day and the sun and the warmth and the tempo of his heart beneath your open palm;
“You’ll be mine yet, Captain.”
He blinks, perhaps surprised, before a full, warm laugh falls from his lips.
“Is that a challenge, princess?” He purrs, looking up at you with a halo of flowers beneath his head.
You grin, beautiful and wicked and radiant.
“It’s a promise.”
And then you stand to run after Klee, down the sloping hill, and into the arms of the sky hanging above your heads.
He watches you and you can feel his gaze on your back, your silhouette against the sky, your laugh caught on the wind, and tuck the vow into your heart.
Hope it tucks into his, too, finds it’s home there where no one has before and claim it as yours, yours, yours.
You open your palms and a butterfly, blue as the sea, as a bird’s wing, leaps from your hands and takes to flight. Takes to the sky all open just for you.
***
SCENE IV
The belltower in the Cathedral, high above Mondstadt. Storm clouds cling to the horizon. The sky is mostly dark, but the sun escapes through a sliver of clouds and still shines for now, casting the world in a strange contradiction. More ominous. More stunning. Burnished buildings set against wicked, deep blue storm clouds.
Your skirts swirl against gold and silver bells, as blue as the clouds. Kaeya turns and twists, so we only catch flashes of his face.
Kaeya takes the steps near two at a time to keep up with your pace. You lift your skirts with one hand, racing up the curving, stone steps, and your other hand holds fast to his. You drag him up and up and up.
The whole day, you’d dragged him all over Mondstadt, to all your favorite places; bakeries and music stores and the library. Eagerly, he’d followed, been at your side, at your heel like a loyal dog.
(A lovesick pup—)
Kaeya thinks he could spend countless days with you like this.
The world is always more brilliant with you—he can’t deny it.
And now, you’ve promised him another secret place of yours.
“How much further?” He breathes hard, surprised to find himself winded. His legs almost burn; there have been far more stairs than he originally thought. Or was promised. but he was also promised the best view in all of Mondstadt, with one of your sweetest smiles.
And really, how could he have denied you then? How could he deny you at all today?
“Not much!” You chirp back and then all it takes is a little more, until you come to a wooden door.
It gives easily under your weight, your excited push, throwing it wide open.
Light gleams, the world bursts before his eyes in a shimmer of gold, a rain of color and life.
You sweep into the space, the arch beneath the stones and over the other side of one of the great bells. If he peers down, he can see the wooden scaffolding where someone stands to pull on the huge rope below. No doubt, it would take up this whole space, swing wildly so that the two of you would have to nimbly dodge and move, duck just to keep your heads.
He hopes you’ve accounted for this, too.
He follows you carefully around the bell, only to come to the other side of it and have the whole world open up before you.
And it’s just you, in the breeze, and the storm clouds, above all of Mondstadt.
You hang, perhaps a little too precariously, off one of the large stone pillars.
Kaeya has half a mind to grab you, to pull you back towards him. But the wind favors you.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” You breathe and you’re so taken with it all, that he can hear your voice catch.
“It is,” he agrees, but he’s not looking at the world the way you are.
He’s looking at you.
He watches you watch the streets below and the clouds above. He watches love and adoration paint across your face; joy and a strange sort of melancholy.
Oh, you’ve always been so open.
Finally, you inhale.
Whilst still looking at the world below, the heavens above, you say, “I can’t explain what it does to me–the sky and the city and the wind when it touches me.” You look as if you could almost cry, and immediately his heart gives a lurch in his chest, “I don’t know how anyone can stand it.”
Something in him twists and constricts. He wants to wipe your tears. He wants to coo, don’t cry, don’t cry.
You laugh, “I’m sorry,” and shake your head like you’re silly, “I can’t help it–I’m just so happy. I adore the world so much.”
You turn to face him, open and raw, “I know these haven’t been ideal circumstances,” you start and you shift, and like he’s drawn to the movement, like you’ve pulled him in, he moves, too.
And then he’s standing in front of you. In front of an ancient bell from a nation that isn’t is, but could be. Above the whole world. Beneath the storm of it.
“But I’ve been–” a tear escapes and again, as if he possessed, before he can even think, his hand has darted out to catch it. You laugh again, joyful and aching, “you make me so happy. And I—“
“Doesn’t seem so,” he murmurs, “seems I’ve made you cry.”
You laugh again, sweet to his ears, like their own song. Your hands come up to his chest, palms open and flat against his racing heart. He’s sure you can feel it. Can you hear it? He hopes not.
And no one is watching. He doesn’t need to stand this close to you or wipe your tears.
You don’t need to put your hands on his chest and look up at him like that, in a way he doesn’t deserve.
(You’ll be mine yet, Captain.)
You look at him like he could’ve hung the moon. Or carved your beloved Mondstadt itself with his own hands from hill and valley.
An ache spreads its wings like a bird in his chest. It isn’t fair, he thinks, to be looked at by you, with this expression on your face, when he knows he can’t have you. He knows you can’t be his, not truly.
He wishes you wouldn’t look at him so.
“They’re happy tears,” you tell him, pawing at his chest, creeping up towards his neck. You sway towards him. You finish what he tried to stop you from admitting, “—and I adore you.”
Kaeya’s heart gives this twist, like it’s trying to rebel against him. He wants to run. He wants your arms around him. He wants—
“Careful,” Kaeya murmurs reflexively. Careful of what, though, he can’t say.
Careful with yourself around him? Careful with him?
You don’t heed his warning at all, and like you always have, you barrel towards all that you want. You press up to him.
“You do make me happy,” you say again, sweeter now like honey on your lips, tip your chin up like you might offer him a taste.
“Everything makes you happy,” Kaeya counters, shaking his head fractionally, looking down at you with lidded eyes.
“Not true,” you almost pout up at him, shaking your head, fingers tightening in the collars of his shirt like you know he’s thinking about fleeing.
He has half a mind to kiss you. You’re leaning up on your toes a little. He can smell your perfume; red berries and honeysuckle. Warm vanilla. He feels something tighten inside of him, hot and aching. He needs to put a stop to this—
He says your name, in warning. Perhaps fear.
And you look up at him through the fan of your lashes and say his name like it’s a melody, “Kaeya.”
He shakes his head now, fractionally, “don’t.” He murmurs, voice a low rumble.
“Don’t what?” You ask innocently and then you do it again, as if you know perfectly well, “Kaeya–”
His hand comes down to clutch your wrist, to keep it from moving around to the nape of his neck. He stills you.
You look up at him, questioning, almost desperate. Perhaps unsure–you go to pull away, but he seizes your wrist, holds it tight to his chest and keeps you close.
Thunder rumbles.
“Don’t say my name like that.” He croons, voice a little rough, “don’t torture me.”
He watches your face transform into understanding. Into—
Your fingers sink back into the fabric of his clothes, emboldened, “Kaeya,” you say like it bursts on your tongue, and then again, “Kaeya,” you hum, sing his name on a note that could be its own siren song. “Kaeya,” you purr as one of your arms winds around his neck.
His poor heart—
He makes a noise; a soft groan of frustration, a little growl, back in his throat.
“You’re such trouble,” but his other hand is squeezing at your hip now. “I swore to everyone I had nothing but pure intentions with you.”
Your nose brushes his, a smile licking at the corner of your mouth, “I surely hope not.”
“I’m supposed to protect you.” He gets out.
“You do—you are.” Soft, sweet little assurance.
He shakes his head again, barely, nose brushing yours. Fractionally closer. “You’re my responsibility.”
“Are my desires, too?” You murmur and when you lean towards him to close the short distance between your lips, he suddenly seizes your jaw in his hand.
You gasp.
“And what of mine?” He asks, eye glinting like the too-hot part of a flame. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”
His voice is a low rasp.
You look up at him with wide eyes, soft in the center, your eyebrows drawing in a little and you look—you look like you adore him. Like you’re desperate for him.
“Sleeping in my bed every night, my clothes—“ Kaeya allows his thumb to drift over your bottom lip, slow, parting it from your top. He exhales roughly. “What am I supposed to do with you?”
“Kiss me,” you plead.
Lightning cracks across the sky in a fissure of heat.
“I shouldn’t.” He counters, even as you kiss at the pad of his thumb. Lips soft and warm, wet as your tongue darts out in a flash of heat. He inhales tightly, letting his thumb be drawn into the crux of your mouth.
You look up at him through your lashes. He has to fight back another groan. There’s a flush on the nape of his neck, heat that swims beneath his skin. He’s certain you’ll melt him with your gaze alone.
What’s he supposed to do?
How’s he supposed to survive you?
He scrambles for his wits.
And firstly, he pulls his thumb from your lips.
“Kaeya—“ you coax again, “Kaeya.”
“Stop it,” he hushes, “I can’t.”
“I want you,” you murmur, almost whine.
“You’re a brat.” Kaeya groans finally, “stop tempting me.”
“I’ll beg,” you sing sweetly. “Is that what you want to hear?”
“No,” he says quickly because the thought of that makes his mind screech to a halt. “Never. I’d never—“
Make you beg.
He swallows around the words sharply.
He lays his hands, long and broad, on your shoulders.
He forces distance between the two of you.
Thunder grumbles unhappily across the sky.
“I’m not going to kiss you.”
“But you want to?”
And the way you look at him, so earnestly and so desperately—
“That’s besides the point—“ You open your mouth to speak, only for him to continue, “my job is to protect you. This would be highly unprofessional of me.”
“Since when have you—“
“You deserve better.” He finally says, words flying from his mouth before he can stop them, “I am, frankly, a rake and a cheat and—“
“That’s not—“
“The point is,” Kaeya continues over you, lest you do something even worse and try to fight or deny him, “it would be unwise of us.”
“I, for one, have never claimed to be wise.”
Kaeya laughs now, full and warm and fond. He shakes his head. You’re near glowing with just the sound of his joy. So he continues;
“It would be foolish. Perhaps, even, one of the worst things we could do.”
His voice lilts, turns melodic.
Your hands are back on his chest somehow. Flat over his heart, nearing his collar again. He’s losing. You’re sidling close and he wants to bring you closer still. He can feel all the curves of your body to his, fitting up against him like a missing puzzle piece.
“Utterly disastrous, really.” He continues, voice growing fainter. He’s losing.
“Wildly reckless?” You murmur, tipping your chin up, offering your lips to him like a sweet lamb to sacrifice.
“Terribly…” he drifts, feeling the brush of your lips against his, “stupid, I’m afraid.”
You hum lightly, barely, in acknowledgement before he’s suddenly closing the distance and kissing you soundly.
Oh, he’s lost.
(It’s a promise.)
The wind picks up sharply for a proper storm. Lightning flashes behind his eyelids.
And that’s all it takes, Kaeya realizes, heart swinging wildly in his chest like a bell tolling. Knocking against his rib cage.
You throw your arms around his neck and deepen it.
He groans in defeat, damning it all, and grabs at the skirts of your waist, squeezing at your hips desperately.
Damn it all, he thinks again, knowing it’ll be something of a shipwreck; brutal and splendid and massive. Beautiful and heartbreaking enough that he just won’t be able to look away.
More thunder, sky swirling and teeming and ready to just burst. He can feel it under his skin.
You sink your hands into his hair. He nips sharply enough at your bottom lip that a gasp is wrenched from you. He swallows it.
He wants so much more.
The sky opens up and rain falls from the heavens in a golden and brutal downpour.
***
SCENE V
Dawn Winery in the evening, plum dark and warm from fire in the hearth. You and Diluc are at the grand piano, seated side by side, in an intimate and cozy parlor room.
Kaeya has just entered and we see the side profile of his face as he watches the two of you.
“Oh, do you remember this one?” You ask and immediately, music fills the space as your hands dance over the keys in a sweet, jaunty little tune.
“Like this?” Diluc asks, setting his hands to the lower side to immediately complete the melody you play. “It’s this one, right?”
“Yes!” You exclaim, the two of you playing with ease, a smile on your face. “We used to play this one all the time for our parents.”
It’s such an innocent remark. Kaeya is almost caught off guard by it, by the memory that floods back to him.
Crepus in the lounge chair, your parents across from him on the settee. The glow of the fire warm and gentle. Faces of people that swim in his mind, that he hasn’t seen or has avoided for a long time now, their smiles and laughs. People who left. Who died. Ghosts that once listened to your music, just as he is now, on the outskirts.
Diluc, surprisingly, is not put off by the memory. Instead, he smiles, “I used to always mess this part up.”
And then with ease, his large hands cascade over the keys. Not a note out of place.
“And look at you now!” You encourage him.
He laughs softly, low, like the fire in the hearth.
With ease, the two of you close the song together, watching each other with crinkled, happy eyes for the timing. For the last notes.
He can hardly stand how lovely you look. Or how you look at Diluc.
Have you ever looked at him like that?
He clears his throat.
When you see him, your face lights up and the way you say his name, with such warmth and adoration makes him feel worse somehow, “Kaeya!”
Immediately, Diluc’s face hardens.
“Apologies,” Kaeya says with perhaps more chill than he anticipates, “I didn’t mean to interrupt the concert.”
“Not at all,” you respond, “how did we sound?”
“Your music is lovely as usual.” Kaeya responds flippantly and you eye him for a moment, scrutinizing.
And then, slowly, you say, “then you wouldn’t mind if we play a few more? This piano does bring back fond memories for me.”
There’s a glint in your eyes; it could be the fire that favors you or a trick of the light.
And because Kaeya pretends he doesn’t care, he says, “please; don’t allow me to stop you.”
He takes a seat on the settee as far from you and Diluc as he can manage.
Diluc sets his hands back to the keys and opens with a few, small notes, “do you remember this one?” He asks you.
“How could I forget?” You laugh, “I sang this one at every party and soiree we ever had.”
And Kaeya also instantly recognizes the first chord that Diluc eases out, the tune of it like his childhood. He remembers you standing so small and young, by the piano which seemed so much larger when he was a boy. Your glowing face and sweet, little voice.
And when you open your mouth to sing this time, it’s mature and warm, lower but more distinguished.
The lyrics must come to you like from a dream, he’s sure of it.
As if it was yesterday, you sing the song of a different time, a different lifetime ago it feels like. Of late nights in this very parlor, with laughter and the clinking of glasses. A house full. A heart full.
You sing of angels and the moon in the sky, the stars, and a love from forever ago.
And really, it’s so horribly fitting for you; the song is as in love with the world as you are. How could anyone sleep, you sing, how could anyone close their eyes to the night sky? To love?
Kaeya realizes sharply that he feels as if he’s been sleeping for a very long time.
He’s turned his eyes away from the stars and love and the whole world.
And you, wonder that you are, have been desperately trying to wake him. To show him again.
The last concluding notes ring softly, hang in the air, before you are smiling and leaning onto Diluc’s shoulder, hugging his broad arm to you happily.
Kaeya looks at the two of you, the light and dark of Mondstadt. The joy and pride of the city, so beautiful in the fire.
How could he ever compare to the two of you?
“Kaeya, did you remember that one?” You ask suddenly, turning to face him.
He somehow manages to unstick his voice, and lies, “not really.”
After a moment, a heartbeat where you seem to see right through him, you ask, “shall we go home?”
Yes, he wants to say. Let me take you home. Let me take you away.
Instead, he says, “I’m hardly in a rush.”
You stand from the piano bench and saunter over to him. Diluc turns to watch as you come to stand between his legs, peering down at him.
“I missed you today.” You say honestly, “were you busy?”
Kaeya won’t return the sentiment in front of Diluc. In fact, he’s surprised that you’ve come this close in front of him at all. He thought this was supposed to be between the two of you and no one else.
Selfishly, he wants to keep it that way. He wants you all to himself.
Kaeya glances at his brother, then back to you. Diluc’s eyes narrow fractionally in suspicion as Kaeya says, “very, unfortunately.”
You tuck a strand of his hair behind his ear. Your fingers drift then, hovering around his jaw like you might touch him more. You don’t. You say, “let’s go home, then.”
You offer him your hand and when he takes it to stand, you don’t drop it. You tuck up against his side. Kaeya feels something wobbly and fragile take a few, tentative steps inside of him, like a newborn fawn.
How strange, he thinks, to imagine you as openly his. How strange, to have your genuine affection, your genuine adoration.
“Thank you for playing with me, Diluc,” you say with a smile, “I hope I wasn’t too much of a bother today.”
“You’re never a bother,” Diluc promises like the gentleman he is, “and I am always charmed to play the piano beside you.”
Diluc glances down at your interlocked hands. You let him look. Kaeya fights the urge to pull away and create distance. You squeeze his hand. You say to Diluc, “perhaps we should throw a soiree, the way our parents used to. I miss being in the manor. And then we can play for everyone again.”
Everyone except the ghosts, Kaeya thinks, their faces pale in his eyes.
Diluc seems as wary as Kaeya is, for once, but it is so hard to deny you. Kaeya knows that well.
As if to sweeten it, you let your head tip onto Kaeya’s shoulder, cuddling up to him even closer, “I think it’d be great fun. A reason to come together again.”
Diluc meets Kaeya’s eyes briefly and he can already feel the scolding he will receive. He can already feel Diluc’s doubt and judgment. But instead of starting a quarrel, he says to you, “Perhaps we can arrange something.”
And really, Kaeya thinks it's a testament to how charming and lovely you are.
You bid Diluc goodnight, sweet as ever, and lead Kaeya out by the hand.
He can feel Diluc’s gaze burning into the center of his back.
And the moment you pull him around the corner and out of Diluc’s eyesight, you turn and suddenly pull him down into a deep, slow kiss.
Kaeya’s eyes flutter in surprise and immediately, he attempts to pull away from you. It’s one thing for Diluc to see the way you held his hand, it’s another thing entirely for him to catch the two of you like this.
You hardly let him get a word out, before you’re pulling him back down into a dirtier, heavier, more desperate sort of kiss.
He yields with a soft, surprised noise of wanting. He kisses you back, just as dirty, just as desperate—tongue licking into your mouth, heat stoking to life along the nape of his neck, the curve of his spine.
When you pull away, he manages to get out, “well. Hello to you, too.”
You smile, wide and lovely. ��I did miss you.” You say again, as if you know you have to convince him, and that he never believes you the first time. And still, he thinks you must be lying. You’d never miss him.
But you lean up onto your toes to get him to kiss you again; which he does. Easily, happily. It’s gentler than the previous, a little more content, though no less heated. He draws you closer, as close as you can get. His tongue dips gently into your mouth, deep and hungry and exploring. He feels the fabric of your dress bunch up beneath greedy hands, pulling at them, pawing at you.
A cleared throat.
The two of you jump apart, whirling around to face Diluc in the entryway.
He does not look pleased.
Kaeya, for once, feels like a younger brother again, caught red handed. He opens his mouth for some strange excuse, but you beat him to it;
“We’re taking our role as a couple very seriously. Archon forbid the Fatui question our legitimacy.”
Kaeya can’t help the laugh that barks out of him, before Diluc’s glare forces him to clear his throat and compose himself.
“I can see that.” He says dryly.
“It was my fault,” you then add, “Kaeya is, for once, blameless. I’m a bad influence.”
“I highly doubt that.” Diluc drawls, “he’s never blameless.”
Kaeya opens his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it again.
“We will truly be taking our leave now.” You then say, tugging at Kaeya’s hand, “goodnight, Diluc!”
The door slams hard behind you.
Kaeya looks at you, your back to the door, chest heaving a little. You look back at him.
And then you burst into laughter. He shakes his head, but he can’t stop the smile that comes onto his face. The laugh of disbelief.
“Diluc is going to kill me,” he finally says, “I can’t believe you.”
“Oh,” you coo, striding past him, “should I protect you? Diluc is harmless.”
Kaeya laughs again, though this time it’s dryer, not as funny, but more ironic.
Well, he has an eyepatch to certainly prove otherwise. You must catch onto his shift in mood, because you take his hand again and assure him, “I’ll deal with Diluc, if you’d like.”
“No,” Kaeya says, “no need to fight my battles.”
“I did get you in trouble.”
“Well, that I can’t deny.” Kaeya agrees with a smile, slipping his hand around your waist and this time, he knows it is real. Realer than ever before.
The stars are bright above your heads. The moon is full and shining like a coin and casting you in its soft light. Your eyes are crinkled in delight.
“You’re also a liar,” you add and Kaeya pauses, looking at you.
It strikes a strange note in him.
You continue, “I thought you said you weren’t the jealous type?”
Kaeya’s brows prick upwards, “did you think I was jealous?”
“Kaeya,” you say his name warmly, with love, “I could feel you glaring a hole into the back of our heads while we were at the piano.”
Kaeya laughs, but it’s rather hollow, “I’m not the jealous type, my dear. I’m sorry to disappoint. Did you have fantasies of being ravished by me in a jealous rage?”
It’s a little barbed.
If you notice (which you do), you don’t take his bait.
“Well, now that you say it…” you tease, walking backwards and in front of him, a sly little smile on your lips.
Kaeya shakes his head, “there’ll be no ravishing.” He promises, “I’m being a gentleman.”
“Hm,” you hum lightly, “and how long do you plan to keep that facade up?”
“It’s not a facade–” he starts to protest, but your hand is winding in the front of his shirt to pull him back into your orbit.
You pull him into a hard kiss.
This one is more desperate. Heavier. Hotter.
He sees what game you’re playing.
The walk home, in Mondstadt’s streets, for everyone and the moon to see, is a game of cat and mouse. Kissing hard and soft, slow and fast, against brick walls and wooden fences. Leaning into shadows and sharp, little gasps. Teasing kisses along the jaw, before slipping away, and back into the night.
You manage to lead him right up to the threshold of his bedroom.
He takes a stance here, roots himself down. He swallows hard—he has to steel himself, he knows.
So he goes no further than the arch of the doorway, no matter how much you pull at him, or kiss him or tease him. And as hard as it is, he doesn’t even sway when you gaze up at him with that look in your eyes; dreamy and enamored.
You look at him like he could be a great man.
It’s absolutely horrifying. His heart jumps in his chest. He can feel as if he can hardly breathe.
“You really won’t sleep with me?” You ask, lips hovering just beneath his. His hands are latched tight to the doorframe of his bedroom as to stay them. To keep his resolve.
Kaeya shakes his head, “I’m a gentleman.”
You let go of a tired sigh, “I don’t need you to be one.”
He swallows hard.
“I’m afraid I need to be one.” He answers.
“I didn’t take you as chaste.” You murmur, kissing at the corner of his mouth, his cheek. All that warmth comes rushing back to him.
“Hardly,” he scoffs reflexively, allowing you room at his throat, down the length of his neck. “But I am trying to preserve–”
He stalls, when he feels your tongue at his pulse.
You blink up at him innocently and supply, “you’re trying to preserve–?”
He clears his throat, “some level of professionality. Dignity, maybe.”
Protection, too, though he isn’t sure anymore if it’s for you or him. Perhaps both.
The only way he sees this ending is poorly–he cannot foresee a current future where you don’t end up disappointed and hurt by him. He cannot see a future where you don’t leave for your own good.
And besides, all things must end, he knows, all people must leave or be left behind.
He was left once and he’s vowed to never be left again, standing in the rain, shivering and young.
(He tries not to think of you—left at an altar.)
You pull away to look up at him, sweet-eyed and gentle, almost amused with him. “If you say so.”
Reluctantly and with a great deal of his strength, he leans away to put distance between you. Coldness sweeps in. He tries to appreciate it. “You should sleep. You have rehearsal early tomorrow morning.”
You step away as well. You offer him a little curtsy in jest, “as you wish, my most proper and chaste lord.”
“I’m a lord?” He asks, astonished.
“A prince?” you ask, “or do you prefer a knight? We can roleplay, if you’d like–”
“Goodnight!” Kaeya announces then, reaching for the doorknob to begin swinging the door closed, to put distance between whatever it is growing between the two of you.
You laugh, though, so warm and wonderful at his antics that he just can’t help it; he kisses you once more, soundly, goodnight.
And this time, he says it gentler, lower and sweeter in a way he knows makes you shiver, “goodnight, princess.”
He watches you fluster, the way you blink up at him. And now it’s his turn to laugh, low and soft and hot, before he quickly swings the door the rest of the way shut. Locking you on the other side of it. Far from his reach.
Lest he do something horrible.
Lest he want you too greatly.
But when he lays down on the couch to sleep that night, he realizes he can hardly sleep at all–and, really, he thinks, who could sleep at all? With the night sky like diamonds, and the way you kiss him like you have everything to lose, and everything to gain.
Like he could be desired to keep.
How could he sleep at all? When there is a door between the two of you? And the world hums and glows and shifts, right from underneath his feet.
How could he sleep? He hears you sing, around and around in his mind, at the piano of his childhood, and the one tonight, a lifetime later.
***
Finish the rest on Ao3 ->
a/n: this act was too long to post on tumblr in full and i would've had to split it into three separate posts. i figured linking ao3 would be easiest to finish reading :)) thank you for reading!! let me know your thoughts!! <33
#kaeya alberich x reader#kaeya alberich x you#kaeya alberich x y/n#kaeya x reader#kaeya x y/n#kaeya x you#genshin impact x reader#genshin impact x y/n#genshin impact x you#cielo writes!#cielo's writing!#cielo collabs!#my heart your song
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Hello everyone and welcome to my second day of blogging about Palestine
today i wanted to highlight some charities and foundations that you can financially support instead of big companies who are going to fund your money into guns and supplies for the Israel troops
1. Press - House Palestine
Press-house Palestine is a non-for-profit organisation which supports the journalists documenting the lives of people within Gaza. This organisation grants journalists with legal protection so that their experiences and freedom of speech can be presented online. ( they also have a instagram by the name @press_house_palestine ) This link provides articles about ongoing events within the country
2. Doctors Without Borders
i’m sure that there a high chance that you have heard about this one before, but ill mention it anyways since its a good charity. Doctors Without Borders is a organisation dedicated to supplying medical aid to places without proper access to it. what i have linked below is a donation link for their specific Gaza cause, which both implores for a ceasefire and provides Palestinians with medical equipment. you have the option to donate monthly or just one time
3. Islamic Relief Australia
this organisation is one that is located within Australia, but strives to provide food and water to the people. So far they have already given 16000+ people water and over 1 million ready-to-eat meals. They also have other donation links within the site that incudes to help rebuild infrastructure within Gaza and to help rehome palestinians to Australia. NOTE: There are other varients of this organisation within other countries such as the UK
4. Olive Kids
Olive kids is a foundation focused on supporting the children of Gaza. this includes education, medicine and food. This is another Australian-based foundation but that is because i live in australia. if you want to find region specific causes for your location then please google it yourself. Australian causes can be donated to by anyone anyways so you might aswell use this info anyways
5. Action Aid UK
this foundation focuses on providing Palestinians with the services that they do not have anymore, such as power and electricity. They do 90% immediately going towards the people of Gaza and 10% for future emergencies
I also want to stress two things. 1, if you arent in the right financial position to donate then dont, spreading the word does help aswell and 2, im not the excuse for you not to research yourself. all of these groups i found by myself via google, and as long as you have some media literacy, you too can find information. and you should find more than 5 and spread it around, i just wanted to highlight 1 from 5 different sections since i hadnt even heard about most of these until now.
more organisation/fundraisers here:
#palenstine#free gaza#gaza#gazaunderattack#free palestine#charities in support of palestine#kats social justice
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ooo can you do more xavier thorpe dating/fluff hcs? i loveyour blog btw :))
Xavier Thorpe Dating Hcs!
Tagging: @juneberrie @collieflower215
Warnings: talks of mental health and depression, slight mention of making out and hickeys, but nothing other than that
Starting off, his top 3 love languages (from 3rd to 1st) are acts of service, physical affection, and gift giving
Doing/showing these are how he says he loves you without words
Xavier likes doing things for you, weather it be carrying your things, cleaning your room, getting you food, helping you with errands, or literally anything you can think of
Physical affection is pretty close to 1st place. He likes holding you, kissing you, having you against him. He can’t get enough of having you in his lap and/or in his arms
But I feel like it’s so easy to forget that he’s probably rich. Like his dad, although an asshole, just gives Xavier money so he doesn’t have to deal with his son. But most of the time, when he’s not buying clothes or art supplies, he’s buying things for you. Clothes, food, jewelry, blankets, and literally anything else. He buys you something whenever you need it or it reminds him of you.
Okay now
This boy has got some issues
When something, anything, is wrong he pushes everyone away (projecting, Mick?)
It makes it so obvious that he’s not okay, but you’ll basically have to force him to talk if he bottles it up for too long
More than anything he needs someone who will listen and just be there when he needs it
He knows that loving him isn’t easy, so he needs someone who’ll be patient with him
He doesn’t cry often, so if he sheds even a few tears it’s probably serious
He really only cries over his lack of parental love and the pure exhaustion his depression can bring
When it’s get bad he just cries
Moving on
You guys spend a lot of time in his art shed
He likes having you in his lap while he paints so he can kiss you every so often
If you ask him for art lessons he will simply melt
A lot of times you two go in there to just hang out. Music might be playing and you two will either sit on the floor in each other’s arms and talk or make out or something
He won’t mind if you go in his shed without him, he just asks you to not search through his stuff
The only thing he would ever hide in there is a gift for you, but he wants to know that he can trust you to respect his privacy
Of course, he does the same for you
There’s not much to do in there, but it smells like him and there’s paintings and sketches of you and him in there
It’s peaceful
Also, Xavier just smells good
He doesn’t smell like anything in particular, other than his deodorant, but naturally he just has a nice smell
Xavier has a tendency to get carried away with affection
Like he gets so lost in loving you that he forgets about the rest of the world
Please get yourself some foundation and/or concealer because hickeys are a very common thing
Xavier has pages on pages of you in his sketchbook
There’s paintings galore, as well
You’re his muse. Anytime he struggles with art block, he draws you
He’ll show you occasionally, but he keeps those works of you to himself because he finds it embarrassing
Xavier’s a pretty fidgety guy, so he likes messing around with your hands and fingers
He kisses your knuckles as a grounding technique
Please please please please please play with his hair
Speaking of which, he cares about his hair a lot more than he lets on
He has a whole routine
He likes cuddling a lot
Just having you in his arms makes him happy
You bet your ass he’s the big spoon
Pet names are pretty minimal compared to other characters
Other than “babe,” “baby,” and occasionally “hun,” he doesn’t use them that much
Xavier insists that forehead kisses are superior to any other kind of kiss
Yes, he loves lip kisses, but getting to kiss your forehead makes him so proud of himself
He does kiss your collarbones too (and around the area)
Like he pulls you in and leans down to press a kiss there
Shoulder and shoulder blade kisses happen when he’s next to you or behind you
I’m sorry he gives off babygirl energy
He does like making fun of you but it’s all good fun
He’s apologize as soon as possible if he ever accidentally hurt your feelings
Speaking of feelings, Xavier sometimes has trouble understanding how to deal with emotions
When something is wrong, he’ll ask what you need from him because he has no way of knowing what to do
He wants you to be comfortable enough to seek comfort from him and tell him what he can do
But if you need space, he’ll understand and give you some time alone after giving you a few kisses
Everything you guys do together has you both laughing and giggling a ton
When he’s in a good mood he’s so fun
He’s adorable
He acts nonchalant about it, but when you talk about things you like or dislike he 100% takes a mental note
That just adds to the gift giving language
He does that thing where he puts his hand on the small of your back when he’s guiding you somewhere igstsyxjvlblghdhcjvlfi
Butterflies I swear
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Ask: The Movies
Ask from @twinklestarslight: Okay I have a good idea, For Robbie x Reader I was thinking where the reader and Robbie got into a huge argument where the reader was taking Gabe to see a movie and Gabe didn’t mention that to his brother so Robbie found out by driving by and he was so mad and it was at nighttime. Slight Angst but fluff at the end.
Pairing: Robbie Reyes x f! Reader
Word Count: 500+
Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!
Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story.
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**Reader is not described
Main Masterlist
Robbie Reyes Masterlist
"That car chase was terrible!" Gabe laughs as I hold open the door for him, moving into the living area of his house.
"I don't know who designed it, but it was definitely not a person who knows what they're doing."
"You got that right. It was so bad I-"
I flip the light switch, illuminating the room and about jump out of my skin.
"Robbie!" I press my hand to my chest as I look at my boyfriend sitting in a chair. "You scared me! What are you doing sitting in the dark?"
"What am I doing? What are you doing?"
I blink. "Uh..walking into the house?"
"Where have you been?"
Gabe moves into the room behind me. "Chill. We went to the movies."
Robbie's eyes narrow as they slide from me to Gabe. "The movies."
"Yeah. Didn't think it would be such a big deal," I say, tossing my purse onto the counter. "What's your problem?"
"My problem is I come home and no one's here. No one answers their phone. Then I go out driving and see your car at the movies like it's no big deal."
"You knew we were going."
Robbie shakes his head. "I didn't. I just know you were gone and I thought something might have happened…"
I spin on Gabe. "You said you told him earlier!"
Gabe smacks his head. "I totally forgot!"
I turn back to Robbie. "I'm sorry, baby. I didn't think it would be an issue to take him and I thought you knew."
Robbie takes a breath. "It's not. It… you can take him to the movies. I just came home and the house was dark, no one home, no note. I thought maybe…maybe someone had kidnapped you guys."
"Oh Robbie. I'm so sorry!" I walk over and pull him into a hug.
"I'm sorry too," Gabe says genuinely.
"Just next time, warn me."
"You got it, baby." I run my nails over his head and he grunts.
"I will warn you not to see Heist Car 3. It was terrible."
"Sounds terrible… let's go grab some pizza."
—----
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General Taglist:
@frankie-catfish-morales @chaoticgeminate @janebby @astoryisaloveaffair @balekanemohafe @greeneyedblondie44 @hoeforthefictional @marvelousmermaid @hauntedmama @giuliarogers-blog @icanbeyourjedi @wretchedmo @sunnshineeexoxo @livingmydreams13 @adventures-of-a-noodle @sara-alonso @theewokingdead @punkerthanpascal @giggly-otter @f0rever15elf @phandoz @dirtytissuebox @gallowsjoker @lovesbiggerthanpride @sarahmilesbendrix @booksarekindaneat @mrsudontknowme @swol-bear @charlispersonallyhell @xoxabs88xox @amneris21 @gooddaykate @alindeluce @avengers-fixation @paintballkid711 @harriedandharassed @ladykatakuri @marrianena @practicalghost @withakindheartx @batdarkladyvampir @justanotherkpopstanlol @mermaidxatxheart @alexxavicry @ichigodjarin @justreblogginfics @sullyosully @kmc1989
#Robbie Reyes#Robbie Reyes x you#Robbie Reyes x f!reader#agents of shield#aos#marvel#ghost rider#Robbie Reyes x female reader#Robbie Reyes x reader#agents of shield fanfic#agents of shield ff#gabriel luna#gabriel luna x reader#gabriel luna x you#gabriel luna characters#gabriel luna character fanfic#gabriel lunal character ff#gabriel luna character fanfiction
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Funz x reader? SAYYY LESSSS!!
Ok, poly!Funz x fem!reader Trio Couples costume! Foolish is Nightwing aka Dick Grayson, Punz is Red Hood Robin aka Jason Todd, and fem!reader is Red Robin aka Tim Drake (pictures in order of Foolish, Punz, then fem!reader)
Three Robin’s couple costume would be sooo fun and cute 🥰
If you want a more sfw version i can also write that on my sfw blog if you want ♡
I just had a nice nsfw idea that i didn't wanna waste, i also had to stop myself before taking this idea and just running with it
NSFW 18+ only - Minors/Ageless blogs DNI
Warnings: clothed grinding, afab,
You had been in charge of costumes this year, and lucky for chat you were with them all the way.
As soon as the packages had arrived you ran through the house finding them. Foolish was just about to start streaming. "Wait," you panted running in.
"Here," you shoved them into their respective hands. "Put these on I want pictures," you didn't give them a chance to respond.
Punz tossed his to the deskside "Now wait just a sec-"
"I got you a Jason Todd one, and Foolish you got Nightwing. I'm pretty sure you guys can pull them off and they are super well made. I got them-"
Punz pressed a finger against his lips. "Slow your roll there princess,"
Foolish had set his aside too. Their stares made you shiver. "What's going on here baby?"
You had completely forgotten you had changed into you costume while you were at it, wanting to get good Halloween photos.
You could feel Punz approaching your backside as Foolish closed in on the front.
"My costume. Like it?" You whispered.
Punz hands grasped your hips slowly moving up your body. "Like it? We love it sweetheart,"
Foolish nodded in front of you, watching as Punz cupped your chest. "You look good little birdy," his fingers grasped your jaw gently, studying your mask.
You whined smacking away his wandering hands. "Robin isn't an actual bird,"
"So? Now Foolish why don't you go ahead and get changed. I'll keep them entertained," Punz purred, hands returning to pet your sides.
Foolish leaned down to brush his lips over yours before pulling back and heading to the bathroom.
With a tug to your hips Punz yanked you to Foolishs streaming chair to be in his lap. "Sit sweetheart, why dont we have a little fun,"
He dragged your core against the issue you had apparently caused, both of you hissing at the contact.
"Punz," you shuddered.
"Keep going baby, let me appreciate this sight a bit more," he spoke, hands and eyes trailing your body.
"I know I am," Foolish spoke from behind you.
You both looked over, stopping in your action. You don't think he could wear that on stream and you're going to have to edit his lower half a bunch for photos.
"Think your dick is too big for that costume," you laughed.
Punz let a gentle smack on your ass. "Enough. Come here Foolish,"
The raven stepped closer, jolting as Punz's hand moved to cup his cock through the outfit.
Foolish let out a low groan at the pressure, eyes fluttering as his head tilted back. His hips bucked into Punz's hand a few times.
"Alright pretty boy. I'm gonna go get mine on and if your cock isn't down their throat or you aren't squirming on their fingers when I get back- well- you'll just see what happens," Punz grinned to Foolish before leaving you both alone.
#celestial:whispers#celestial:pnz#celestial:fooshg#celestial:scribbles#punz x reader smut#punz smut#foolish smut#foolish x reader smut#mcyt x reader smut#mcyt smut#<main smut tags will be up for a short time then deleted#mentallyillcrustacean
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Hi lovely! Your writing makes me melt it's sooo good! Just thought I'd send a lil request for drabble if you want sometime - modern AU sick Levi being all needy and desperate for attention and love. Can be gender neutral reader, established relationship pls? Also no vom as I'm emetophobic 🙃 just want to give him the love and attention he deserves ❤️❤️❤️ thank you in advance, your blog is pure bliss 😘
THIS TURNED SO MUCH MORE ANGSTY THAN I EXPECTED - HOPE YOU ENJOY THE FLUFF ANYWAY! ive been having health issues lately too which made this double fun to write.
content/warnings: references to death, sick!Levi... needy Levi, hurt/comfort, modern au
wc: 2.2k
Levi has been anxious lately. Along with the fact that anxious is something he never is, you blink in a flutter, because he's right behind you, still asleep.
He works from home, but for one thing, Levi is always awake before you, he went to sleep before you last night, too, and for yet another, he has been holed up in the study for week straight, avoiding you. You wrote it off as a heavier-than-usual workload, but this is so unlike him you don’t hesitate to roll over and kiss him awake.
He stirs slowly, brows furrowed, then sniffles.
You kiss him on the cheek, his unbearably warm cheek. Suspicious, you raise the back of his hand to his forehead. He’s pelting off heat like an oven.
Levi chooses then and there to twitch awake, shying back and blinking rapidly. “What’s—” he clears his throat, “—what’s wrong?”
His voice is especially scratchy. Not ‘he just woke up and he sounds incredibly sexy’ scratchy, but it sounds like he’s swallowing nails to speak.
“Hey, you,” you whisper, and now that he’s rolled onto his back, you squirm forward and cradle both his cheeks in your palms. “How long have you had a fever?”
Your hands are mercifully cool. He swallows heavily, and fails to pretend he doesn’t feel utter relief—the brief sigh, his eyes floating shut. He covers his face, especially his nose.
“I’m fine.”
What did you expect?
“Really?” you sigh, exasperated.
He blinks up at you, long and slow. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Wrong.”
“What time is it?”
You glare playfully. “Time for you not to move from this bed. I’m getting a thermometer. I’ll tie you down if I have to.”
He scoffs. It sounds atrocious. “Really?”
“I promise.”
He glares. You know he’s sick because that’s as much fight he puts up, shrugging you gently away.
You will take the victory.
Levi is burning up. By the time you returned with the thermometer, he was asleep again, and by the time you came back with something to help the… flu?—he was again dozing.
“Take this, and drink plenty of water.”
You’re surprised that he’s totally unconcerned with whether he’s contagious. Touching your arm turns into a gentle tug when you pull away. “Where you going?”
Your brow arches. “To get a mask…?”
“It’s not…” He struggles, clearing his throat. “That’s not necessary. It happens sometimes.”
It hasn’t been long since you moved in together. For some months out the year he gets sick, but he didn’t talk about it after missing classes for college, and he didn’t talk about it before now. You immediately have the suspicion that there’s something important he’s failed to tell you. Something he’s still hesitant to admit.
“I’ll be right back,” you promise. “I’ll make a cold press for your fever.”
After soaking a rag, Levi has shoved all the blankets off, a grimace etched into his expression.
“Here,” you murmur, your stomach sinking, and lay it, folded, across his forehead. If him suffering like this is what you’ve missed all this time, you’re angry at yourself for not pushing to take care of him harder. Infamously, he pushes away any and all concern whenever he can.
But now, it seems he can’t stand to let you leave. He leans into the palm you place on his cheek, holding your wrist.
“Is whatever this is part of why you’ve been so anxious lately?”
He seems genuinely surprised you’ve noticed. “Check the back of the drawer.”
You're confused, but you do as he asks to find a bottle of pills with a name of a drug that looks like keyboard smash. It has his name on it.
While you're distracted, he starts to talk; slowly, and then quickly, as if he has kept this to himself for too long and the words need to spill out. “Remember... what I told you, about how I lost her? Back then, we didn't have medicine, it's a syndrome and that treats it so I'll be fine. It's genetic. But it's fine.”
You braced yourself for the inevitable sorrow that follows whenever Levi talks about his childhood, but you didn't expect that at all. Genetic?—You're immediately filled with anxiety, doesn't matter his insistences that it's fine.
You pop the cap open—one dose every day, okay—and feed it to him, tipping the water so he can drink. He's extraordinarily lethargic. It takes little effort to nudge him back down when he tries to sit up. You fluff some pillows instead, and kiss his forehead, gently ordering him to tell you if he needs anything.
Levi hates being pitied. You hide your fear well-enough, but he can tell. Of course he can tell. He sluggishly pats you on the head, seemingly relieved that you don't demand he broaches the subject further.
His eyes close. “Cold,” he mumbles, almost whining.
You roll your eyes good-naturedly, and fix his blankets, tucking them up to his chin. For a little distraction, you switch on the TV as well.
"Need anything else?"
He has already dozed off.
You don't let yourself worry, in fact, you refuse as you fix a breakfast—golden toast with honey and butter for Levi; maybe he can stomach something light, and an energy bar for yourself; who cares about your wellbeing right now?—and get the morning chores out of the way. You make sure to phone Levi's work as well and let them know he'll be missing for a few days.
"Hot," he whines upon waking, and so you roll his blankets off. There are stars in his eyes when he spots the breakfast, mumbling this and that about how you didn't have to as he accepts it. You comb back his bangs—which are a little snaggled and damp—while he carefully picks away at it. Even if you thought about getting up, or slowing down, his hand reaches up and pins yours in a very obvious signal.
"Thanks," he whispers—his voice really is shot—before you do away with the tray.
He watches you, frowning. "Kiss."
"Kiss?" You smile, take his knuckles, and kiss them. "Like this?"
He glares, and paws for your shoulder until you give in, pressing a slow, soft kiss to his lips. His hand doesn't leave your jaw the whole time.
He takes this chance to use leverage from your shoulder to accomplish some semblance of sitting up. "Gonna make you lunch."
"Oh, no you don't," you snort, guiding him back down until his head hits the pillow. "You know what would make me the happiest girlfriend in the world right now?"
"No," Levi bluffs.
"For you—" you poke his nose, which scrunches, "—to rest."
"Stay."
Your brow arches. You never would've expected Levi being needy when he's sick. Those just don't go together.
"Poor baby," you murmur. You swaddle him, hoping to be reassuring. Partly, you do want, need, him to rest, but the other part wants to clean the study for him. He deserves it.
Levi makes a face.
"I'm always here, okay? I'll wake you up for lunch."
He doesn't look the least-bit satisfied, but he lets you go and rolls away from you, his huff very loud and very bratty.
His shoulders start to wrack with little shivers. You bundle him up.
You assume he's going to sleep a lot to recover—every time you’ve step in to check since lunch, he’s curled up on his side, arms crossed, eyes closed—so you get to work in the study, dusting, then spotting paperwork out of place, which you file accordingly. For once, the best part is the more you accomplish, the more there is to do.
You know more about what Levi's mother was like than how she died, which is the way it should be. Only when you catch him feeling especially wistful, he will reluctantly launch into one of his stories about her. Once, he had even showed you an old picture, and god, she looked just like him: the same high cheekbones and pointed chin, stormy eyes (albeit hers were a little more open), and the same button nose. When you pointed that out, he was quiet for the rest of the day besides a simple 'Thank you'. You decided it was a good thing.
But the vague fact about her death is what troubles you. Death. Death belongs in no conversation where it isn't a faraway topic that happens sometimes, but cold reality that could steal your loved ones away at the drop of a hat.
You know what he said, but you feel sick. Against your better judgment, you're just leaning up the broom back in the closet when you notice him standing at the doorway.
He looks a little stunned in his disheveled state, glancing around. "You cleaned for me?"
"I cleaned for you," you reply sheepishly. "I hope it's up to your standards."
It feels shitty to know he had to get out of bed to request something of you. In the first place, you know Levi feels guilty to be taken care of like this.
"Definitely not..." he grumbles petulantly, cheeks red, or is that the fever? "C'mere."
His skin runs less warm now, opposed to earlier. You resist the urge to sigh with relief, and wait in the embrace for him to ask about dinner, or even running a bath, but that doesn't happen.
He holds you close, and speaks over your shoulder. "Look, I, I don't wanna be alone while I'm sleeping it off. I just." His shoulders hunch. "It happened while I was sleeping."
You sense the very moment Levi is about to dismiss this as stupid. Even though he will recover, he can't shake the fear, and you don't blame him. Apparently, the illness recurs every several months and goes on for a few days if treated early like you two did.
You agree without hesitation.
For the first night, after a small dinner and peppermint tea, you swaddle him with his head resting on your chest, asleep. At first, you were reading together, and Levi is slower than you, so you always obediently waited for him to turn the page, until his breathing slowed and relaxed, his hand resting across your waist.
You kiss the top of his head reverently, the book momentarily forgotten. Every few hours, you'll wake him up like he asked, keeping a religious monitor on his fever in the meanwhile.
And the next morning, again you wake first, on your belly with a very heavy, warm body halfway-draped across your back. So early in the morning, you could laugh.
You snicker instead, and your squirming wakes him with a sleepy groan. He hugs you tighter.
"How you feeling?" you ask, now that he's laid facing you. Before he says anything, you feel his forehead. Much better that yesterday.
"Good morning to you, too," he sasses.
You give him a pointed look. You fretted for half the night over this, in honesty, and your mind is still heavy.
"Better."
He certainly sounds it. You're curious about the recovery time, because either Levi's immune system is extraordinary, or it's a short illness. Both?
After feeding him his medicine, he divulges how long it really was, weeks, to your frown, because that's even worse.
This shit is life-saving.
"If there was medicine..." he mumbles, trails off.
"You were just a kid," you assure, tucking a piece of stray bangs behind his ear. "It wasn't your responsibility, but now, everything's going to be okay."
Levi at least looks convinced about the last thing.
And true to it, he spends more of the second day whining about how shitty he feels than sleeping. His most pressing request is kisses, which you give him whenever you woke him up.
“Are you done yet? I’m fucking freezing.”
You look up from your book. He's giving you the most precious puppy-dog eyes from across the room, where you're sat in the lounge chair.
He's coated in blankets. Smiling, you saunter over and crawl under the covers. You immediately hear a soft, satisfied sigh as he curls up.
By day five, it's as if Levi was never sick. Whenever he can get out of bed without swaying, he takes immediate responsibility of chores, breakfast, and cleaning (though you managed to shoo him from the stove at least).
You catch him at lunchtime, pushing around a grilled cheese in the skillet with a spatula, and come up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist.
He hums, and melts back against you. "Hey, sweetheart."
"I love you," you sing-song. Now that you have no room left to be worried, you want to shower him in affection. "I love you soo much."
Levi snorts, and shrugs you off. "I believe you. Don't make me ruin your lunch."
Of course he's making lunch for you first. You stand aside, hand around his waist. "But you deserve to know how much I love you, and you deserve even more to hear it."
He shakes his head, blushing fiercely. "I should've told you beforehand. You were freaked out."
"Not that badly," you lie. As worried as you were, no part of you is angry at him.
"I'll get you back when it's your turn to be sick."
"Is that a promise?"
A hint of a smirk turns up his lips. "You did everything but breathe for me for a week straight—"
"Five days—"
"So yes—" he turns and flicks your forehead. "—it is."
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#levi ackerman angst#levi ackerman oneshot#levi ackerman x you#levi ackerman fluff#levi ackerman attack on titan#levi ackerman headcanons#levi fanfiction#levi fic#levi fluff#levi x you#captain levi#captain levi x reader#captain levi x you
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I'm surprised and a little concerned I feel the need to say this but once again, this blog is for people who know how to draw a like between fiction/fantasy and reality.
Similar to how one-shotting people in Skyrim is fun as hell while committing murder is something I'd never do irl, writing fucked up smut about someone kidnapping you because they have an obsessive love for you doesn't mean I would ever approve of that happening in real life. You'll probably find a lot of people like me into this sort of writing are using it as a form of wish fulfillment: a fantasized scenario about a character you love actually loving you, and loving you too much. And in small doses, a little wish fulfillment can be a fun way to cope with everyday stresses and struggles.
I understand the arguments that this kind of media can contribute to a larger unhealtht culture, but I also believe that I'm one person on a website writing about guys from anime and video games kidnapping you and eating you out. I am someone of little influence or importance and I'm not gonna delude myself otherwise. I write exclusively for adults like me and I have said over and over that if you are NOT an adult, and if you're the kind of person who is so easily influenced by niche media that you think a smut blog on Tumblr is an accurate portrayal of how you should conduct yourself around others irl (or that smut is totally how sex is irl), you're in the wrong place and I do not want you here.
What I write might disgust you, what I write might be something you think contributes to a culture that glorifies abuse and misogyny. I understand that completely but please know you're not going to change my mind about that by telling me what I'm doing is terrible and how I'm some flavor of rape apologist. Your anger and passion for women's exploitation is something I admire, but I think it would be better suited towards things that have a more tangible effect on women. If the Internet stopped existing tomorrow, my smut would too; the porn industry, the rampant and largely unchecked or safeguarded BDSM subculture, cultural sexualization of young girls, domestic violence, all of which are hurting and killing women and girls as I type this, will continue to exist. I just want to say that in the time someone sends a message on anon to a random fanfic smut blog on Tumblr, local women's shelters can be looked up. Representatives can be contacted. Empowering and informative literature can be read. I'm not saying that feminists should only focus on whatever is currently the largest most-pressing issue since misogyny affects women in multiple ways, big and small. What I AM saying is that this one Tumblr blog of smut written by a woman you disagree with and dislike is very insignificant in the grand scheme of influence on culture.
I personally view my writing here as a form of comforting junk food for people like me; it's not meant to have anything of real substance or value beyond the specific flavor and brief enjoyment you get out of it. If it's all you look at or consume, your health is fucked.
#sloot's essays#sloot bitches about things#also yes im already aware im hypocritical for being a feminist running a smut blog like this#but the purity spiral of feminist infighting is a huge can of worms. my hypocrisy is smth small in that grand shitshow of feminists calling#each other out for questionable behavior#trust me im very aware im not at the same lvl of dedication to the cause as the absolute chads of the 4B movement lol#i mean i also dont want kids/am happy to not date men irl/not marry them/not fuck them but thats mainly bc im a hermit
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okay this is my final statement, cause deadass I’m over it now
for the server thing, I did feel sorry and apologized to WHO I needed to apologize to. if I ain’t apologize to you, then idk what to tell you. apologies to the folks that had roles that we lied about.
to the folks that I ain’t never had beef with me, why are yall tryna make somethin out of nothin ? like deadass, some of yall I haven’t talk to in a minute and some of yall I never even interacted with. yall sayin yall fighting for your friends but I’m the villain when I do it ? please get out my face with that. you starting stupid ass beef when I don’t even talk to half of yall wtf. yet I’m childish ? alright.
naj, you specifically, what problem do I have with you? I want you so specific and let me know what we have going on. I never had an issue to begin with, we was never beefing so why tf are you talking so much shit about me? you trying to act all big and bad when I never had a problem with you. now you wanna talk as “civilized adults”, after dragging my name through the mud FOR THREE DAYS ? yeah no, kiss my black ass and suck my damn clit !
do I feel bad that your friend got a death threat ? yes ! but it sure as hell wasn’t me or my mutuals 🤷🏽♀️. unlike yall, we have some couth and don’t be bothering nobody.
y’all constantly say I’m sending high schoolers to fight my battles and paint me as this pussy bitch. meanwhile y’all akeke and laughin with mean girls and damn near bullies, constantly dragging folks names through the mud fa no reason. to this day, yall stay on imani’s ass about a discord server from three months ago, after handing out apologies like an eviction notice. deadass, all seriousness, leave them alone. some of yall ain’t even deserve an apology but hey, whatever helps yall sleep at night
y’all stay coming at me with this “I got high schoolers to fight my battles” and “I got a gang of middle schoolers hyping me up”. boy yall sure don’t know me 😹, yall just assume everything cause some of them have minors in their bio. I got moots that’s my age and younger moots (oldest is 19). on top of that, I’ve met these niggas when I was 17, say it with me SEVENTEEN !
omg, crazy right ? I met them when I was a minor, that’s like so insane ! so if you do the math (correctly !), I’ve known these niggas for two years. I’m sorry that I have a strong ass friendship and I got folks who actually care about me 🤷🏽♀️ . meanwhile, yall are mdni blogs interacting with minors. hmm, but doesn’t mdni stand for MINORS do not interact ? or maybe I just miss a memo ?
small note, yall literally lack math, english, and comprehension skills if you think my friend, juice/mypimpademia, is 14-15. not only can yall not spell, yall don’t make sense either. if she had her blog for about 2-3 years and she’s 14, wouldn’t she be 11-12 writing on here ? oh, hm, that’s doesn’t seem right. y’all just be seeing minor and think it means 13-14, oh y’all do not know the definition of minors…..which means anyone BELOW the age of 18, 10+8, 9+9, 14+4. cmon now guys, I thought we were better than this !
speaking of them, yall stay talking about how I got high schoolers as friends yet be so mad that yall are blocked by these same minors 😹. niggas are so pressed about being blocked by these high schoolers, it’s sad ain’t gonna lie. now I ain’t they damn momma or their damn parent, so idgaf what they do and when they do it
also, to think I’m trying to disrespect someone talking is honestly so…wow ! y’all saying I’m correcting her aave when I use aave my own self, you can literally scroll and see it yourself but anyways ! not only that, say I grew up in a white neighborhood just cause I corrected her grammar ? not her aave, her grammar. maybe if she wasn’t being rude asf to the op, nobody wouldn’t say anything but hey 🤷🏽♀️.
not only that, aren’t you insinuating that only white folks can talk proper ? that they’re the only ones who can speak properly ? isn’t that pushing a stereotype to a black girl ? hmmm, says a lot about you as a writer, especially as black writer.
to the eren discourse, what’s to say atp ? y’all still gonna romanticize hood love and paint black love as violent and stereotypical as much as you can. yall gonna continue to slap eren as this fake black man and still gonna be blinded to your wrongdoings. y’all still gonna paint onyankapon as this stereotypical black man who ain’t shit, paint him as aggressive asf and only smoke weed. but hey if that floats your boat, it sure asf will sink mine !
in conclusion, I genuinely don’t care if black tumblr don’t fuck with me no more. imma still stand on what I said 😹, yall ain’t making change shit about what I said unless I said something out of line. some of yall did already but I digress !
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Hi Jen!
Im 20y and a lesbian that loves lesbian history and im just wondering about that Era that you lived as a lesbian: the 80's and e the 70's.
There was so many lesbian magazines, zines, activism....i spend hours of my days reading online the Lavender Menace magazine and Sinister Wisdom, its just so amazing to me that lesbians created a fundation of their our culture, language and lifestyle at the time. So my question is, how was it back then compared to today since we dont have the same kind of community, we have barely 5 lesbian bars in the whole US and our activism is fragmented almost non existent? Especially since lesbophobia or oppresion on homossexuals did not end and we still face it.
Thanks, and I love your blog.
I was lucky enough to come out in a place, Iowa City, where lesbians were well organized and active. Iowa City was the home of a Women's Press printing group that formed under the idea that "We coudn't get it printed so we learned how to print". That press was disbanded in 1985 but it's legacy lived on. My lesbian community was broad and diverse and welcoming. They had a history of working together even if they weren't old enough or active in the political side of things in the early 80's. The foundation of lesbians (women) working together was built and we stood on that solid ground.
I was never a big reader of lesbian history. I preferred to experience it in life, to hear the stories from the other lesbians in my community or at festival or wherever I could corner some woman to tell her about her life. But sometimes now I read over the older pamphlets and news letters and every time it renews my passion to pass on lesbian culuture and positivity to others. I see the importance of keeping papers and not relying on computer documents and only oral, unrecorded stories.
What used to be the University of Iowa Lesbian archives is now housed under the LGBTQIA archives but you can still seach “lesbian” and they curators/volunteers (at least one of which is a butch lesbians ;) )are happy to email you images to read. You can look for entire collections and almost all are digitized or in the process. Through that archive you aill find new places to search. They have tiktok as well.
https://lgbtqiowa.org/history-by-letter/history-by-letter-1-iowa-city-womens-press/
Most universities have some sort of lesbian archive in their special collections. They are a great place to start for local lesbian history. And they are more than happy to share. Some even offer free lectures if you want to organize the space (public library) and do some advertising.
www.LConline.org is Lesbian Connection. You can subscribe for about 35.00 or free to lesbians is you can’t afford to pay. They often sell back issues.
Now that you have some new sources. Heres how it was for me when I came out in 1993, just out of college to years and living in Iowa City which was often called the Gayest town in Iowa. A sort of gay and lesbian bubble in a state not known for diversity.
We have a gay club, in every major city. Des Moines with several, Iowa City, Cedar Rapids, the Qaud Cities and Waterloo/Cedar Falls. We have an unofficial lesbian club ( a bar owned by lesbians, close enough) in Iowa City. We were all in our early to late 20′s and so going out and dancing/drinking was sort of a go to for us. We had lesbian pool, dart. softball, volleyball (my favorite) and kickball leagues. Only lesbians. There were gay men leagues as well and we sometimes played each other for fun. There were also mixed groups for those who wanted to play on multiple nights or wanted that space. We had a BLAST! After (and often during games) we shared beer and laughter, meals and snacks.
The bars that hosted us were mostly straight and we brought income and activitiy so we had no push back and were often invited to new ones. The volleyball and softball fields gave us equpment to use and sometimes a business, like a bar or restaurant would give us t shirts. If we wore those shirts around we sometimes got discounts. What a grand time we had!
As we got older going out or playing sports and practicing 2 or 3 nights a week became more difficult. Jobs, kids, home ownership and priorities shifted. Instead my friend group had monthly potlucks or meeting at a restaurant. The lesbian bar burned down and was not rebuilt so we took to camp fires at each others homes or meals at diners on Saturday morning.
Women’s Festivals became an important part of my life and that of my lesbian friends. I started going in 1994 when introduced by my first girlfriend and friend group. In the later years, when we were not as active locally due to life being busy, we would spend time planning and prepping for that 7 to 10 day camping in a state 7 hours away. We would gather with a purpose and eat and drink and talk about memories and what fun we will have on vacation. Those 7 days camping at a women’s festival gave us the down time to hang out and renew our friendships. Time to talk and laugh and dance and catch up without the world in the way. Without that women’s festival being the steady, predictable place for us to meet I am not sure our friend group would still be strong like it is.
Now we meet to talk about the “old days” over food or campfires. We zoomed over covid realizing how much we missed each other and how life had gotten in the way. Since then we try harder to make time. We are getting back to festivals and bring new, young lesbians on board to experience what was life changing to us. To ME. We work together (my boss and her wife and my first ex are all friends from my coming out days). We MAKE time to eat out or camp or just sit in lawn chairs in back yards.
This is my lesbian experience. And I wish all lesbians could land in the lap of such a strong group of women like I did. NOT that there was not drama LOL. Of course there were exes and breakups and disagreements but when someone needed time she knew she could take it and we would keep inviting. No one was shamed for “never coming” because we all knew not joining in now did not mean she would not want to come back in the future.
When the world gets too much and i look in my DM’s or on line and see younger or newly out older lesbians suffering from distress caused by isolation or the current political envirnonment or lack of lesbian role models I go to my friends and talk and listen and get hugs. They ultimately give me hope and I take that out into the world.
We are finding each other and the key is to translate on line community to in person community. Three lesbians getting coffee and forming a friendship is better than 20 lesbians meeting on line although both are better than no lesbians connecting. The adivice I always give and stand firm on is get to a womens or lesbian festvial. You will not regret it. It will change your life and give you life long friendships.
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Have any Episode 5 predictions?
Oh...just a few...
Zava and Shandy out Colin. As in, Zava posts an image of Colin and Michael from the end of ep3/sends it to the press, but Shandy encouraged him to. We know Shandy wants a big "scandal" to blow Twitter up and we know Zava left the restaurant a few moments after Colin and Michael. Zava will claim he posted the image because Shandy said he should "show some love on his socials" but it would definitely be at least partially due to his anger surrounding the West Ham match. This allows a segway into two issues being resolved - Keeley will get to tell Shandy off for basically jepordizing her company and her job, and Zava will get to be put in his place. Maybe he'll leave. Can you leave halfway through a season? Apparently it's to do with your contract, so since Zava signed with "You're welcome" he could probably leave. So yeah. We'll get Zava and Shandy problems because. I want that.
On the subject of gay, Trent and Keeley will be gay. I'm not saying "canonized" because, as you can probably tell, it fuckin pisses me off when people say that bisexual Keeley is a headcanon. It's not. It's canon. Anyway, Trent will be canonized as queer and Keeley will revisit her bisexuality. Obviously it will be mainly Trent but I think Keeley deserves to get fuckin pissed off at Shandy for outing someone.
Okay enough self-indulgence. Aside from the episode dealing with three issues - Colin, Shandy and Zava - I think it will also deal with Rebecca in one of two ways. Firstly, it could deal with her whole green-matchbox-prophecy thing which I am now going to explain my theory of because it's my blog and I can.
-What if it wasn't a green matchbox. What if it was a green matchbox soldier. Something Ted is well-known for having and giving out. I'm not even a Tedbecca shipper but I can see when I'm wrong (ignore my huntlow denial). Rebecca's not going to get back with Sam, just like Keeley's not going to get back with Jamie. She's going to get together with Ted. Okay theory within theory is over-
Okay now that I've explained that, that's option one. Option two is that she deals with her issue with Rupert. In that way, I mean her bestie arc with Bex begins in full swing. Perhaps they bump into each other in the shops, perhaps at a game, but the point is they bump into each other. I think Bex is genuinely a nice woman who respects and likes Rebecca. Anyway, maybe Rebecca mentions the assistant idk. But those are the options.
BUT I think my first option is correct because the episode is literally called "Signs". Which brings me to my fourth point-
4. The match against West Ham will be addressed. I mean, come on, three red cards? It's got to be addressed. Again, the episode is literally called "Signs", so the Believe sign is coming back. The team are obviously going to be very ashamed of themselves (Dani is going to need more therapy lmao) and I think they'll opt not to disclose the information of why they went batshit crazy.
5. HOWEVER, I think Nate will begin to wake up, maybe even apologize to Ted. Ted will explain what Nate already knows and they might even part on good terms. I want this for two reasons. Number one, Nate was my BOY for season 1 and part of season 2 and I miss that teeny lad. Secondly, I think putting a good word in with Nate s what Ted needs. He needs to be reminded that his way of life does work. So far, he's got yelled at by Rebecca, had his request gone against by Beard and Roy, been embarrassed by the team and found out about Michelle and J*cob (fuck him) (and her actually). He needs to be reminded that he actually does so much good. He changed Nate's life. He gave him to opportunity to coach, something I don't think Beard would do and something the old coach definitely wouldn't have done. This is something he needs to remember.
Anyway. I know not all of this can happen, but the synopsis is "With their season in a tailspin, Richmond try to right the ship against the mighty Manchester City. Off the pitch, everyone faces their own setbacks." These setbacks 100% could be Keeley's issue with Shandy, Zava's anger at the match, Rebecca's increasing concern over the matchbox or Bex, Colin's problems with coming out. Of course, my thing with Nate and Ted isn't exactly a setback for Richmond, but it definitely is for West Ham. So there are my options. I hope you enjoyed them.
Also, where are these asks coming from istg-
#I mean I love them but I am *confusion*#tl#ted lasso#cedar crap#colin hughes#trent crimm#nathan shelley#rebecca welton
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🎉 and 💔 for the fic writer asks?
from this series of fic writer asks
🎉 What leads you to consider a fic a success?
definitely engagement. i actually have several fics abandoned currently because of lack of engagement.
(the one that came to my mind immediately is the fic discussing hei xiazi's past as a sex worker in canon, which never did as well as i hoped, but also i had very limited hopes for the appeal of a fic about a cis and very masc man's relationship to female-oriented sex work. it is, however, entirely accurate to the actual sex work industry in the country he was operating in, as well as refusing to view sex work with anything but respect for a profession. do i sound bitter? i'm a little bit bitter.)
in my original writing career, engagement is less of a pressing issue to me because i have exchanged actual money or some other form of renumeration for labour. fic for me is less a handing over an item (because outside of a commission, you haven't paid for access to it and also then do not take any ownership of it or rights to it) and more of a form of communication with other fans. i want the influencer-capitalism shift of fan subculture into content creators and content consumers as two separate groups to die in a fire, actually. subcultures should not seek to mimic the dominant culture; modern fandom was created, as i've said before to a friend, by a group of women in a house talking about star trek, who had the audacity to treat each other as equals to each other and to men, when the world refused to view any of them as such. there is no such thing as "more equal than others" outside of animal farm, and especially not based on productivity.
having said that, i think if i was pretending that engagement isn't part of the reason i'm spending my limited time on earth writing two fictional and borrowed people, i would be being disingenuous. i am using it as a form of communication and communion with other people who love the thing i love, and the fic itself is a way of me expressing and processing my love, especially in a sociohistorical era where we are often far more distanced from who we want to be in community with. everyone wants their work and love to be acknowledged, and the use of their time, especially when it's on something that is viewed as a waste of it in the dominant culture; especially when it's viewed as silly and small, because current western culture denigrates love of the silly and small, especially a big love of something that cannot be made fully marketable. and so, it's hard to feel like a little kid at show and tell with your craft project, only to feel as if all the other kids are just walking by. it's why i'm always open to questions about characterisation and construction of fics/headcanons/theories, as well as writing craft; i just don't discuss the last one unless asked very often because i dislike seeming as though i need to provide a thesis defense for my creative practice to preface my work. like, what are you, my phd supervisor?
but to go on further, because it's my blog and i can elaborate if i want to, there are other aspects too. to follow the argument for engagement further, i sometimes get comments that echo that i have verbalised or represented an experience that felt personal to someone, and personal to the point of it feeling isolating. when i specialised in trauma studies, i focused a whole dissertation on caruth's theory of the unspeakable in trauma and looked it with a literary studies focus. caruth argues, to try and condense it quickly, that trauma is the experience of an unspeakable event, and, by that argument, we can surmise that only by articulating the trauma can someone begin to process that trauma. (i think a lot about what it means to live in a current culture that is trauma-obsessed and obsessed with making our trauma marketable for the algorithm to the total invasion of privacy, and yet deeply lacking in empathy to when trauma makes a person behave outside the bounds of what they consider acceptable, btw. but that's another topic for another day.)
so, for example, getting a comment saying that someone has felt seen and heard feels incredible to me. even if that's the only comment i get on that fic, it feels like this form of communication in a world that's starved us of that kind of communication, and that will make the real work and time that goes into writing feel worthwhile.
however, overall, i've moved away from as being as metrics-focused as i once was. when i began writing in heihua fandom, for example, i assumed, with absolute certainty, that nobody was reading, that nobody was interested in what i had to say, that nothing i was writing would be viewed with grace. and as a result, i felt free in a way i hadn't in previous fandoms where i was very publically involved; if i was writing alone, just for me, what would i write? and so now a great deal of is a fic a success for me is based in: do i read it back to myself and enjoy the process of that? does it feel like, if it wasn't written by me, and i wasn't worried about egocentricity, i would acknowledge that this fic was made entirely to my own tastes? am i having fun? did i love the process?
those are the questions i try to focus on now, and so now it's about 50/50 with that and actual external engagement, which is huge progress.
💔 Is there a fic of yours that broke your heart?
OH, BOY, THIS ONE'S THE BRUTAL QUESTION.
short answer: yes, there's been several, and i immediately thought of them when you asked.
longer answer in a reply that's already had a very long answer:
several fics of mine reflect claustrophobia and hopelessness i felt at that point in my personal life. i am proud of them and i am proud of myself for them, but not because i believe the purpose of pain is to make art, or that it makes personal misery worthwhile. i am proud of them because of their honesty. they break my heart in that to look at these works at the point in my life i'm at now is to feel an intense love and compassion for the version of me who wrote them. i try and avoid autobiographical readings of my work, because i think they're often used to pigeonhole marginalised creators to fit into the box of literary criticism, but i think it's important as a creator to value how you can see your own personal development outside of just skill development in your own creative work.
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tbh considering 1) how many fans are also big fans of people like phoebe and jack but showed either no or much more minimal disappointment in them over their friendships with matty and 2) how much more intense the backlash was to this boinking than it was/is for any of taylor’s friendships with problematic people or even her very recent previous association with matty, i do think it’s general consensus around here that boinking someone Bad is a much bigger issue than befriending them. which is weird to ne and something i’d honestly like to deep dive into. like what makes it so much more significant when sex is involved, especially when a ‘relationship’ as casual as this one seems to have been can easily be considered less close/attached than many friendships are? why is boinking the line?? (also i must finally confess to someone that i highly suspect that taylor’s true biggest crime here for a lot of fans was garnering negative press that made fans look bad for liking her by boinking him, not the boinking or the associating itself, but shhh i didn’t say that 🤫)
i don't think the fandom's reaction to jack/phoebe is particularly meaningful because they don't follow jack and phoebe as closely... but i know it is frustrating to see people care deeply when it's about taylor because, to your point, it looks like more of a celebrity/stan war problem then a real serious problem of racism and sexism.
which is why a lot of fans want apologies, i think. it helps some fans sleep better at night so they don't have to justify stanning a problematic celebrity (to others, or themselves.) it feels like an unjustifiable action when the media you care about supposedly indicates your political alignment, and everything/everyone we like must be ethically valid at all times, under punishment of reputation-death.
like. it's not a healthy way to interact with media. it's not a healthy way to view your little taylor swift blog where you interact with some friends and talk about what secret songs she's performing and themes in her music. and it's not a healthy way to frame the very real issues of bigotry in the world. but... alas.
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