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littlemisssquiggles · 1 year

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I don’t like bumblebee but to see Yang choosing Blake over Ruby AGAIN made me hate it even more. Why does Blake keeping coming before Ruby? It’s like Yang doesn’t even care about her anymore

Hello anon-chan. Whelp, congrats. You basically just highlighted one of my biggest peeves with the Bumblebee ship and why the pair doesn’t work for yours truly. Speaking for myself, I don’t dislike Bumblebee. I know it may seem like I do given my reaction to their big confession/kiss moment from last week, but on the contrary, I bare no hatred towards the Bees.

While I’ve always preferred BlackSun, once upon a time, I supported the prospect of the Bee ship because at the time (which was around V5) I felt the showrunners would’ve done a good job of developing this ship a lot better which they ultimately failed to do.

I never minded the Bees as a concept. I just strongly despise the direction the showrunners chose in the overall execustion of this pairing from friends to lovers and the manner in which the show portrays (and continues to portray) this pair. I don’t like how the show often portrays the Bees as being rather selfish pair ---in the sense that when it comes to two of them, they only seem to care about each other---most of the time doing stuff on their own that seems to contradict the team while leaving the rest of them out of it.

At least with Renora---the OG team couple before the showrunners decided to ruin them too--- we got to see moments of Ren and Nora as a couple actually supporting their friends as we saw them do with Jaune and Ruby between V4 to V7.

This is why I absolutely hated how the showrunners did them so dirty by introducing tension into their relationship and showed them bickering/starting fights with one another despite the clear discomfort of their comrades. And what made it worse is that in spite of Renora always having their back despite being a couple, the others never showed one lick of care or concern for them whatsoever despite being their so-called teammates and “friends”.

My point is every time the Bees are on screen, the show has a weird way of always having these two come off as only caring about each other.

It shows whenever they have moments in which we see scenes of them running off together while leaving their teammates behind, only looking out for one another’s well-being. And it’s especially apparent in today’s episode where Ruby is having her meltdown and rather than help her sister, Yang is quick to only protect blame. Not a crumb of concern for her actual family. Just the cat girl she recently decided to make her girlfriend after so long.

I get it. Blake is special to Yang hence why they’re a couple now.

But jeeze louis on cheese, now is not the time to pick yuh girl over yuh family, Yang!

Where was that type of concern and comfort for Ruby, huh? Not just for this particular moment but all of RWBY’s adventures through the Ever After.

The fact that in that moment, Yang chose her newfound girlfriend over her own sister cemented why Bumblebee does not work for me. It bothers me so much, that as a sister, Yang didn’t even once try to help Ruby in the moment. She didn’t even look out for Ruby on the battlefield. She was two busy off doing her whole song and tango with Blake while her sister was overpowered by a Jabberwalker leading to Weiss to be the one to save Ruby.

Whether you like the Bees or not, you have to at least admit this moment makes looks the pair look bad. While I understand that it wasn’t fair for Ruby to shit on Yang finding happiness with Blake as a lover, on the other hand, I get Ruby’s frustration towards her sister because while Yang has been off catching feels and playing honeymoon with Blake, Ruby hasn’t been doing so great and it looks really, really BAD that her own big sister doesn’t take notice of this at all.

It looks bad that Yang only seems to have her attention set on Blake.

And now that I’m thinking about it, how did we even get here? We started off this season with Yang falling into the Ever After as a result of her daring to protect Ruby from Neo and ended with Yang focusing her attention so much on Blake and Blake alone that she doesn’t even take notice of Ruby’s depression even when the signs were there.

Even Little noticed and Little is damn well off in dreamland most of the time.

My point is that it looks bad. I’m not trying to be a drama llama and stir up bacchanal with any particular shipping communities or ruffle anyone’s feathers. I’m just saying---it looks bad so you can blame folks for being a little annoyed because it looks bad and I think it was the showrunners’ intention to make it look as bad as it did to further the tension of the scene.

So on that note, they truly succeeded.

~LMS (2023)

#squiggles answers: rwby #rwby volume 9 spoilers

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thegodthief · 11 months

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Last night, I had a sit with myself regarding the passenger I picked up yesterday. It has been a long while since I had a sit with Mxtl under the impossible sky. While I said that the passenger spirit had been deposited into a "pocket", it had manifested as a small featureless doll that fit easily in my hand. During the day, whenever I closed my eyes and "looked" at the passenger spirit, it remained a small doll.

When I became concerned about the experience in general and the doll in particular, Adiutor perched herself on my shoulder to give her advice about the matter. "That doll looks like mine. Are you planning on making a physical one for them?"

"Absolutely not. I have enough spirits to look after as it is. And your doll body is simple in the first place, and no offense, but it's the base model."

[Warning: Words Follow.]

She peered at the unmoving doll in my hand. We jointly inspected the white cloth body. It looked like something a doll 101 class would make. There was no face, no joints, no clothing, no distinguishing marks. I was worried that the lack of individualization was a sign of rejection and told Adiutor as such.

"Didn't the spirit let you take them? I wasn't paying attention when it happened, but I understand that the spirit felt you pass by and reached out for help. And you, because you're a sucker, reached back and picked it up, right? So this doll form is your container for it, and let me ask, is it fighting the form? Is it fighting you? The spirit is sitting quietly in the palm of your hand. That's a good sign."

Even with the buried barb, Adiutor's comments were encouraging. It's been a while since I ran spirits like this and I'm rusty.

During the day, the passenger spirit did nothing but rest comfortably with me. But the presence of the passenger stirred up the spirits from the "cistern" that I have been wrestling with for several weeks already. I was concerned that they would protest the passenger's presence. Instead, they were stirred up because they wanted to help the passenger! However, what the denizens of the cistern felt was help, would not be much help to the passenger or me.

At first the cistern denizens were only screaming loudly for me to do more than just keep the passenger comfortable. But as the day went on they started calling for me to take on the passenger as a companion spirit, and then calling for me to bring the passenger to them and add to their number. While I appreciate the (literal) spirit of the matter, none of these options would be any help whatsoever.

And so it went until late evening when I could finally have a proper sit with myself. I closed my eyes to my home and opened them to a raging fire. The ruined landscape felt like it could have been anywhere but the stars only move in those motions in Mxtl's corner of the underworld.

She didn't say anything as she waited for me to get my bearings and be as close to comfortable one can get when in the presence of a mask wearing person who happens to be wielding an obsidian knife. For some reason, I expected Adiutor to be present to engage with her, but there was nothing perched or clutching at my shoulders. Mxtl gripped me there instead as she confirmed her presence with a rude and brusque taunt.

In the moment that I second-guessed bringing the passenger here, she reached down and grabbed my hand holding the doll. The formerly featureless doll now had a face stitched upon it. Two big black knots for eyes, a short line to suggest the outline of a nose, and a crude yet charming smile.

"Ah. He's happy with you. I wonder why." Mxtl turned my hand this way and that to examine the doll but made no attempt to take it from me. "This one has been wandering for a long while. Being with you has allowed him to start remembering himself, or what's left of him, anyway."

She let go of my hand so I moved the doll closer. "I didn't stitch these. Did they, did he do this himself?"

"He took on the form of the doll because that was what your imagination gave him as a container. But it was a blank and featureless doll, right? As he remembers more of himself, as he asserts more of his will upon his appearance, it will change. But because the container is still in your control, that change will be in the context of the container. You gave him a face. He's the one that made it express contentment."

"They, he, how do you know that anyway? He hasn't said a single word to me, it's only been flashes of emotion and emotional reactions."

Mxtl reached her hand towards the fire and a cauldron appeared at the fire's edge. It was close enough to be heated by the fire, but not so much that the fire engulfed it. It was large enough to boil a chicken but not large enough to boil a turkey, but I felt more the birdbrain for not knowing what it was for.

"He has a voice, you just couldn't hear it. Him being without flesh for so long while you're still reeking of it yourself. If you're going to hear spirit better, you have to remember how to hear without flesh."

She reached towards me and somehow the doll was suddenly in her hand. Still a basic puffy body without further adornment, it did not move independent of her examination. "He's been trying to find the way out for some time. He had been promised a departure from your world after a term of servitude, but when the service expired, he was cast out instead of sent on. Some of your sorcerous peers are really shitty, you know. To bind a spirit with promises of elevation and then to do nothing once you get what you wanted from them. This spirit had no means of enacting revenge. It would be good of you not to find out which of yours, could."

I heard the warning and knew of whom Mxtl was speaking. I remained silent.

She waited for me to be uncomfortable with the silence but I think she forgot we share the same stubborn streak.

"There was a commercial cemetery nearby, yes?" I nodded. "He wanted nothing to do with that place. It was safer for him to be in the grave of the road than in to be interred in that pit." I thought of the cistern but remained silent.

"He said it was from such a cemetery that he was taken. No real protections there for the dead, you see. Funerals there are held for the living. But in the grave of the road, all he needed was the right spiritual surface to snag him like a burr, and, well, you are quite the sucker, aren't you." She grinned and reminded me that her teeth were filed.

"You are fortunate that he only wants to pass on. He does not want to serve you, and to be frank, I don't think you have the intestinal fortitude to force him to. He spent the day with you in peace and quiet, the first he has experienced since he was snatched from his grave, and for that he is thankful and that's why the smile on the face of the doll. Have you any more inquiries for him?"

I wanted to ask for his name, what did he remember in life, why did the magician steal him from his grave in the first place, what lack or fulfillment of action was enough for the sorcerer to discard him, how did he wind up in the "grave of the road" when the commercial cemetery was only a few miles down the road. I wanted to ask him so many things, but I know what it is like to be tired of everything. "No. No more inquiries other than how do I help him pass on?"

She smiled again, less teeth and more warmth. "You already did. You brought him to me."

She tossed his doll body into the empty heated cauldron. It burst into flames the moment it passed the cauldron's mouth. She watched the flames reach out of the cauldron impassively. Once the flames had died down and a thick black smoke filled the space instead, she poured water from a nearby bucket into the cauldron, drowning what the flames did not immediately consume. The cauldron began to boil immediately.

This happened so fast that all I could do was sit in mute shock. I wasn't sure if to stay or go, as her attention was fixated on the simmering surface. I finally decided and began to move to depart.

"This won't take long. He wanted to go, so the last of his connections to the physical world will be undone before you stand up. There's something I want you to see."

Though the doll's body could fit entirely in one open hand, objects longer and larger than the doll began floating to the surface. One by one, Mxtl plucked what I recognized to be bones from the cauldron and placed them in something like a wicker basket. There went finger bones and leg bones, ribs and scapulae, some loose teeth, some crushed toe bones, followed by a rattling collection of vertebrae. Once the skull and jawbone went into the basket, she closed it up, bound it by a strip of vine, and held the basket to a jet black dog that stepped out of the shadows. The dog silently chewed the handle into position before leaping with the basket into the same shadows that it coalesced from.

"And with that, he's gone. The dog will deliver him to the realm of the dead. Maybe his bones will be planted for a new human to be birthed later. Maybe his bones will be ground into the soil and there be nothing of him left for a sorcerer to call up. Who knows. He's gone. That's what's important."

By this time, the cauldron had boiled dry and a thick crumbly mass remained in it. Mxtl scraped it out of the pot with something like a wooden hand hoe and shook the black sticky crud into a different wicker basket. She closed and sealed that one with a vine just as the other, but handed it out for me to take.

"This is what's left of his biological remains, the container for his soul. It should go to the River as I have no use for it here. It would make a great base for creating and feeding terra preta, but seeing as you're literally the only thing living in this area, it's wasted here. Take it to the River, let it feed the chain there."

The basket was lighter than expected. She teased me about the lack of spectacle. Had I been expecting something more involved, more laborious? Yes, actually. I didn't expect to be a mere messenger. Mxtl started laughing, showing that all of her teeth had been filed.

"The Raven is upset that all it did was fly! I should eat you. Now go! Some of us have more mature things to do than to be resentful of what we take for granted."

I held the basket close to me and turned to leave before Mxtl got the idea of carving me up again with her obsidian knife. In doing so, I left her fire and arrived at the River. I took off my shoes and socks and stepped in just enough to cover my ankles. The water pulled at me, half inviting, half demanding that I surrender to its flow. But I knew that if I were to enter the water completely, the moment the water covered my head, I would be lost to the living.

Instead, I lowered the basket into the water. The knot that Mxtl had tied would not be undone without force, and I knew better than to force open something she had forced shut. The current scoured out the soil under the basket, creating a perfect little pocket to submerge the basket it completely. The water flowed into the weave and slowly took the black remnants as it flowed through and out of the basket. It wasn't long before the water broke down the basket itself until the only clue that something had entered the water was the slowly filling depression that echoed the now dissolved shape.

Satisfied that the matter of the passenger had ended for good, I left the River, picked up my dry socks and shoes, and walked barefoot back to the realm of the living.

That was my intent, anyway.

I found myself in a dream. I knew I was dreaming from the start, and was thankful the mental rest that it was giving me. Nothing here should be taken seriously, I thought. I can just chill and have fun, I thought, as I followed a small animal made of glowing light through a labyrinth. At the heart of the labyrinth was a free-standing door. In front of the door were some other beings that I couldn't see clearly.

I realized then, that this was no mere dream and forced myself to be fully lucid. I determined to see the animal I followed plainly and turned to face it. The animal transformed into a short adult man, no taller than two feet. He was dressed in clothes so unremarkable that I would struggle to describe them as anything but plain. His hair was the color of dry straw and almost just as straight. His bangs fell in front of his eyes such that I only saw the outline of his nose and a charming grin.

It was enough to identify him.

"Aren't you supposed to be gone?"

"I am. But I was given one last task: To thank you. If I don't complete this task, I won't be permitted to enter the City of the Dead."

"Ah. Well, then." I bowed with deep respect. "You have completed your charge, then. I accept your thanks."

He laughed surprisingly deep for such a small body. "I haven't thanked you, yet! Just told you of my task! As long as I don't thank you, I can stay with you, if you want."

I straightened up immediately and tried to take a step back. I found myself held in the heart of the labyrinth. "Abso-fucking-lutely NOT! [Mxtl] told me enough of what you have endured after your death. I will not be adding to that sorrow. You made the doll body smile because for once in your death, you were at peace. I will not betray that now. I have no hold on you and hold no debt on you. Thank me, and go."

Somehow he grinned wider. "I will, in a bit. But first, I want to show you something." He pointed to the other beings at the labyrinth's door. There was a woman about my size silently screaming at a crying woman shorter than my companion. And there was a man taller than me holding the leash bound to a flying creature that was desperately trying to fly away from him.

"You will not be able to interfere with them. They are as shadows to you as we are as shadows to them, but I wanted to explain this to you after spending a day with you."

"The people that are your size are living people. They are sorcerers, like you, like the one that stole and bound me. The creature and the short person are spirits, like me. We once were living like you, but our bodies have died but our spirits weren't taken care of after our deaths."

He pointed to the free-standing door. "That's the entrance to the City of the Dead. No living hand may open the door. Any dead hand can unless they are bound or tasked. Once I complete my task, I can open that door and enter in, never to return."

He pointed to the two women. "That sorceress has released the spirit from the terms of their agreement. But the spirit doesn't want to go. It took me a long time to deal with the echoes of living, and even then, it took the fires and the waters of that cauldron to cleanse me and purge me of the last. Going through that door means facing whatever is still left unresolved. I'm ready to meet that. She isn't. And she's begging her former master to make a new contract, to bind her and seal her to the living world still so that she doesn't have to face whatever is behind the door that is terrifying her so much. There's no seal upon the spirit. The sorceress could walk away and be done. But the spirit is so desperate to avoid passing on, that she might be willing to be bound to a worse master. Or worse, to begin feeding upon the living to keep herself on this side of the door."

He pointed to the man and the creature. "The creature is a spirit under seal. Do you see how it is trying to fly towards the door? It does not want to serve him anymore and is ready to move on. But the sorcerer isn't letting go. Even though it's clear to anyone with sight that there is no more a consensual agreement between them, the sorcerer will not release what is not lawfully his. If the spirit can gain more power, they could break the bond by force. But a spirit powerful enough to break such a bond is not likely to see reason and just go. The sorcerer risks a terrible retribution if he continues to abuse the spirit's binding like that. Sorrow begets sorrow."

He turned back to face me. "But a kindness, no matter how small, can bring relief to the deepest of wounds. I know of the Forgotten Ones. When you had tucked me into that doll's form, they called to me and said for me to join them. They have been forgotten by those in your kin lines who don't want to remember what was promised. They were forgotten by you because you were never taught what they are. They are not here to intentionally hurt you, but you are a bright light in their very dark night. The light that you can look upon without fear, would weigh agonizingly upon them even in reflection. You are the prism that allows them to see and they so yearn for light, any light. If you help them, they will help you."

He smiled warmly yet sadly. "Once, I would have had more words for you. Once, I would have been able to intervene for you and with you. Once, I was more than a wee little poppet to be hung from a belt. Now, I have no more words for you but these: Thank you."

The free-standing door in the middle of the labyrinth suddenly glowed and dissolved into light. Sleek black dogs came from the open portal and collected themselves around the short man. They gave no care to my existence but gently nudged him towards the light.

"You're welcome. Rest well."

He waved then turned to go with the shadowy pack towards the portal. The glow from the portal intensified suddenly before flashing into solidity again. The door to the City of the Dead was closed. He had passed on.

The other beings at the labyrinth's heart continued on as they had been doing when I arrived. None of them took notice of me or acted in a way that implied they had seen the opening and closing of the door.

I remembered the three words that was spoken in the cistern. A task that would be so simple to resolve if I didn't feel like the ability to comply had not been beaten out of me. After all that had been done, I am still in the dark.

#dream #...#So that happened.

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pettyrevenge-base · 1 year

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Bully me in school? Better believe I'm not gonna break rules for you.

This happened in the early 2000s.

In middle and highschool, I was bullied a lot specifically by one girl. She was absolutely awful to me and I hated her for it. She ended up getting pregnant at an early age, like 16 or 17 and dropped out of school.

Right after highschool ended, I was 18 and a shift manager at a local grocery store supervising cashiers, placing them on register, running around to get things for people, and making sure the checkout lanes were running smoothly. One of the duties was to process food stamps, EBT, and WIC checks when they came up; they needed a manager override.

One day, (we'll call her "Jessica" because that was her name and she was a cunt) Jessica comes into the store with her toddler and another baby. I noticed her come in because the entrance is near the cashiers, sneered to myself, but whatevered and went back to work. About 30 minutes later, one of the cashiers turns their blinking light on meaning they need assistance. I head over and there is jessicunt with her groceries and WIC checks.

With WIC checks, you had to buy very specific items listed on the checks, such as milk, baby formula, bread, cheese, etc. and they are good only up to a certain dollar value AND there were often multiple checks so you would have 5 or 6 separate transactions for one person, processing them individually and needing an override for each one. They also had expiration dates. It was a tedious step by step process and we had to follow all the rules.

I have never judged people for using benefits; if someone needs help, they need help and I don't care. However, I definitely judged people named Jessica that made my life hell in school (but not for using the WIC program, just for being a shitty person).

The cashier starts to ring through the first order and it was a little awkward because Jessica definitely knew who I was and here I am helping her. I don't say anything to her at all, just wait until the cashier is done with scanning. I go to process the check through when I notice that the check is expired by about a week. I look through them all and they're ALL expired, about 5 of them. I say to her that the checks are all expired and we can't run them through (which is true, we can't, they would not have been honored and the store would be just giving her all of those groceries and I would be in deep shit if I let it go through).

She proceeds to flip out. I actually felt bad because her kids needed that food but couldn't get it due to their mother's incompetence. She starts saying we can run them through and that we've done it before (yea, no, we haven't, you CAN'T). I explain why we can't. She gets louder and says the only reason I'm not doing it, I shit you not, is because she bullied me in school. Man, what a vindication it was that she admitted being a shitbag just to try and get her groceries.

I explain once more and she asks to see my manager. I'm frustrated at this point because she is making a scene and people are looking so I say "ok" and go to the office to get the front end manager. I explain the situation to the manager, which isn't an unheard of problem, but the tantrum part is a bigger deal to the manager.

Manager comes out, says I am correct to her and that we cannot make an exception. She continues to be loud and blaming me for not running the checks through. So my manager says "it's time for you to go." Yelling the entire way out of the store without her groceries, I just started to load up her cart and prepare it for restocking.

I felt bad for those kids for their shitty mother and I don't wish that upon people that need food, however I will cherish the moment that an absolute shit person fucked up, admitted to being a shitty person in order to try and get her groceries, recanted and blamed me for her ineptitude, and had to eat shit for being shitty and late with her checks. She did it to herself and I feel no remorse for her whatsoever. Jessica, if you're reading this, fuck you.

Tl;Dr bully from school waited too long to cash WIC checks, couldn't get groceries at store I worked, flipped out, removed from store.

Also, I'll add that I am not dwelling on being bullied in school anymore and I used more colorful language for the sake of the story. Being bullied was just a thing that happened and I'm over it.

Source: reddit.com/r/pettyrevenge

#pettyrevenge #lol #omg

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lindwurmkai · 11 months

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Due to reasons, I need to talk about my issues with the topic of "healthy eating" for a moment. I am not someone you'd expect to be outright triggered by diet talk because I didn't grow up fat and never exactly had an eating disorder. Now I am what people tend to call "small fat" and have tons of food allergies and sensitivities, but all of this started long before that.

So what happened there? I only dimly remember that people kept telling me I needed to eat better and exercise more and then surely my mystery symptoms would disappear. This was when I was 16 or so and we didn't have internet at home, so all I could do was read books and magazines. I quickly noticed that no one agreed on what exactly "healthy eating" meant. Instead of following the first piece of advice I found or haphazardly combining them all into "everything except vegetables is bad", I took the autistic route and tried to find The Truth.

This turned out to be impossible. People were still urging me to eat healthy and I just could not fucking figure out what that meant. At one point, I decided to at least cut out sweets because those were pretty unanimously considered bad, and I took this so far that I actually convinced myself and started telling everyone I didn't like sweets, so years later I suddenly had to somehow get it through my mother's head that this had only been a phase and I would indeed appreciate receiving sweets on birthdays and holidays.

Of course it had no effect whatsoever. Neither did the year I was vegetarian.

Another thing I remember is that my mother bought some kind of diet book for herself and I read it, too. But all the recipes in there used ingredients I had either never heard of or we just never had in the house, and many of them were expensive. Did my mother learn how to make any of these dishes or start buying the ingredients at least a little more often? No! I had this book and the knowledge that I was Supposed To Eat Healthy but absolutely no idea how to accomplish it, while at the same time questioning if the information in the book was even true because all other sources always contradicted each other.

Then my biology teacher saved me. We did this segment in class where she gave us a book on food myths and each student had to pick a chapter to hold a speech on. I think I chose the one about calories, which was not completely anti-dieting but mostly focused on the inaccurate methods used to determine how many calories different foods supposedly contain. The book was, in general, not quite on the level of modern fat acceptance but maybe 80% of the way there. I'm amazed she got away with teaching us that in class.

Now armed with the knowledge that there was actually a lot that science didn't know yet, explaining all the conflicting information I had seen, I felt reassured that I wasn't just "being difficult", but unfortunately I was still sick and people still kept telling me I had to eat better, exercise more, go to bed earlier, practise good sleep hygiene (which includes not eating late at night), and so on. My timeline of events is completely scrambled and I don't know if I continued making any half-assed diet attempts after that.

Fast forward to when I was 21 and my boyfriend's doctor told him that he had to lose weight in order to fix a health issue that had definitely not been caused by weight gain, which seemed illogical to me. He was on meds that would make losing weight very difficult, so I was concerned, and we had internet now. I stumbled upon fat acceptance blogs in my research, which reminded me of that book from biology class. It became a bit of a special interest.

Not much later, I developed fibromyalgia and also started hanging out on chronic illness blogs as well as those that combined the two topics. I learned a lot about various health conditions including ones I do not have and never even suspected I might have. I learned that doctors could not be blindly trusted, that symptoms being written off as psychosomatic was quite common, that most food-related pop "science" was still bullshit, that sustained deliberate weight loss was almost impossible and no one had even proven it would help.

Then I gained weight for the first time, without any changes in my eating habits or activity levels. I suspect, but cannot confirm, that this happened because I developed a sensitivity to wheat and one of my body's reactions to continuing to eat it was weight gain for some reason. Eventually it got so bad that I had painful diarrhea on a regular basis and started avoiding certain foods, got tested for Celiac's and lactose intolerance, tested negative, didn't understand what was going on but continued to avoid wheat and eventually also oats. The weight started to slowly come off. (I was not, according to any definition, eating "healthier" than before as a result of avoiding these ingredients btw.)

By then I had reached a point where being confronted with diet talk of any kind would give me panic attacks. It wasn't that the blogs made my existing issues worse; they just opened my eyes to how much I'd been mistreated for a decade and at the same time I was still constantly exposed to medical gaslighting. I was being actively retraumatised, of course it got worse! The food thing was just one trigger out of several, and I guess I became particularly sensitised to it for two reasons: because being confronted with misinformation and disrespect for the scientific method already tends to feel awful for many autistics, and then the nature of my trauma also made me overreact to pretty much anything that contradicted my lived experience.

I had tried many "lifestyle changes" without seeing any improvements in my health. I had gained weight without changing anything and lost it again without eating less or exercising more. I had even, at one point, tried to gain weight on purpose and failed?? Meanwhile my blood work always came back perfect no matter what my body currently looked like, much to my frustration since I was still looking for an explanation for my symptoms.

"Can't deal with claims that contradict my lived experience" is pretty much it. I also particularly love being told that sugar is addictive or some shit because I can sit next to a pile of sweets for hours without being tempted to eat it if I've already had enough sugar recently. There were times in my life where I had to rely on chocolate bars to get enough calories into my body, and let me tell you, those don't taste great when you're sick of sugar and don't want any more.

I just had to get this out of my system. I'm allowed to have strong feelings about this even though I never technically had an eating disorder. It all plays into my more general "authority figures invalidating my experiences" trauma anyway.

#if you start an argument on this post i will bite you #but I'm pretty sure my followers are cool #weirdo chronicles

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raven-quill-and-willow-wand · 2 months

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I was going through old notes where I was brainstorming random collections of letters and syllables to come up with potential names for some fantasy creatures for some writing I am working on, and one of the monster species I named were called tamlins, and I had a description written out and everything, and then I never used them and forgot about this note that has been sitting in my phone for a couple years, but I needed a creature for a minor character and knew I had a note somewhere that had a bunch of unused species. I cannot believe this happened again. They were described as lion-like bipedal creatures, and there was a lot more to it, but I wrote this long before I had any idea A Court of Thorns and Roses existed, and now I obviously cannot use that word as a fantasy creature because that series is way too popular and even though I absolutely did not base them off him whatsoever, there are too many similarities between the tamlins in my notes and THE TAMLIN. Like, Tampon-Tamlin. UGH.

This also (but even worse) happened years ago when I was daydreaming in class all the way back in high school (so it’s been over a decade since this happened), and I came up with these stone people who weren’t evil but were very misunderstood and villainized because of old conflicts with them before they were driven underground, and I had a whole backstory about the existence of these people and their god who sculpted them and descriptions of their black armor and everything, and I was like, “You know what I should call these? Dredge! That would be a cool name for them!” Yeah… If you know, you already know where this is going. A few years later, I played the game series The Banner Saga… Shocked, appalled, offended, the works. Obviously I had to rename them, but in my head, the creatures I came up with will always be called dredge even though they’ll have to use the new name if I ever try to get this stuff published. I just could not believe these things when I found out they already existed. I felt like such a creative fraud even though I had no knowledge of these things before designing them myself. The dredge thing really fucked me up, though. I had to go back through everything I could recall ever seeing about The Banner Saga to see if somehow I had accidentally copied it, but no. I even remember exactly when I stumbled upon the name during class. We were discussing Frederick Douglas in my English class, and the teacher was making sure we all knew the definition of “dregs” (it turned out a shocking number of the other students did not, so good thing she covered it because only a couple of them looked it up when they read it and the rest just… kept reading without knowing what it meant????) and then I was like, “Ooooooh, that totally fits with what I am going for here, but I want to change it up just a little bit, and ‘dredge’ is also a word that feels right with these!”

This post was way too long, but nobody will ever see it anyway, so that’s fine. I love that I wrote this out as though telling another person because imagining fake conversations with people is sometimes the way I process things.

#raven’s nest #The Banner Saga #A Court of Thorns and Roses #creative frustration #writing #accidental plagiarism?

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gregrulzok · 3 years

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Mitsuya, Hakkai, and Gay Coding

So the Tokyo Revengers' fandom's notorious and rampant homophobia makes this topic almost impossible to discuss anywhere outside of Tumblr... But I at least wanted to touch on it here.

Mitsuya and Hakkai are almost certainly gay coded, and there's a reason it's important.

Mitsuya is gay coded individually. He's written to be read as a young gay teen.

The most compelling piece of evidence to this is his Home Economics class. He is the only man there, seemingly friends with a ton of girls, who all seem to trust and like him.

Note here that Japanese culture isn't American culture - men being casual friends with women isn't as normalized as it may be here, and in most places a man in an otherwise all-woman club would be considered to be trying to "get with" one or more of them. We never, ever hear this about Mitsuya.

In fact, Mitsuya is one of the few TR characters that we see show no interest whatsoever in women. The most notable scene here is the beach scene, Kazutora and Pah-Chin both stare at the women in bikinis, but Mitsuya and Draken instantly dash to the ocean without paying it any attention. This is even pointed out by Kazutora, who remarks on how strange it is that neither of them cared.

("So is Draken gay coded?" My heart says yes, but his relationship with Emma says no. Draken is just desensitised to seeing female bodies.)

And of course, sewing and fashion, very stereotypically feminine things, are Mitsuya's main interests. While it's not exactly progressive to say that effeminate = gay, I implore you once again that this is all being written by an old Japanese ex-gang member, and not a modern day American LGBT teen.

My point is that, though it's a little stereotypical, Mitsuya has many qualities that would liken him to an old-school depiction of a gay teen. Which, in a way, is in line with the old-school aesthetic and worldview of Yankees and Yankee culture.

Now - Hakkai.

Hakkai is not gay coded individually - he's a model, but that's not seen as a particularly effeminate thing, and he's shown to have some interest in girls, seeing as he freezes up talking to them.

However, Hakkai is absolutely intended to be read as having a crush on Mitsuya. Honestly I can't even bring myself to write a paragraph explaining it, so here's a bullet list of things Hakkai has done:

Repeatedly remarked how much he "really likes" Mitsuya, coupled with other characters talking about this. This is not something that happens to any other duo with this frequency.

Set Mitsuya's face as his phone lockscreen.

Immediately thought of Mitsuya when the words "I like him" were spoken.

Said "Who wouldn't fall in love with him" after something that Mitsuya did almost exclusively for his sake.

Immediately upon finding out that it WASN'T about Mitsuya, was completely baffled and confused about how it could possibly be anyone else.

Gave Mitsuya a specialised nickname that consists of shortening his given name and adding "-chan". Given names are seen as more intimate in Japan, while the "-chan" suffix is mostly used for girls, younger relatives, or romantic partners. Mitsuya isn't a girl, and he's older than Hakkai, who looks up to him. So... Again, this is not mimicked by any other duo.

Chose a career based on what Mitsuya wanted to do in an attempt to be close to him.

Then, when he got more famous and busy, still carved out time to visit him seemingly very regularly.

Seemingly ignored a crowd of girls that all wanted to talk to him to make his way to Mitsuya as quickly as possible.

Straight up called Mitsuya "hot".

Maybe some of these things individually could be read as a coincidence, or a joke, but compiling it all in a list definitely shows that this was, more than likely, very intentional.

"But he says he sees Mitsuya like a brother!!" Hakkai looks up to and admires Mitsuya, who, as a child, taught him how to act and inspired him to be better. This is how Hakkai thinks brothers should be, and given his issues with his real brother, it's not a surprise that he's looking for brotherly guidance elsewhere.

However, three things.

Hakkai is very young and inexperienced. At that age, it's not difficult to confuse romantic feelings for familial ones.

Relationships change and grow with people. Many childhood friends-to-lovers feel as if they're siblings when they're little kids, but then transition to a relationship. This is also a VERY common anime trope that seems to only be an issue when they're both boys. 🤔

"Like a brother" is, sometimes, used as a euphemism in East Asian countries to censor or hint at gay lovers.

Mitsuya is almost certainly coded to be gay, and Hakkai is almost certainly written with a crush on Mitsuya in mind.

And why is this important?

Because they're both scrappy, edgy, shitty teenage boys.

Neither of them are misfits or outcasts. Neither of them are weak or dainty or need protection. They're not perverts, or deviants, they're not girly or looked down on. They're loved, respected by their friends. Their friends don't question their interests, or their bonds.

They're allowed to just be two teen boys that happen to be gay.

Two teen boys that happen to be gay, that are accepted at face value for who they are by their friends, no questions or conditions.

Nothing more, nothing less.

You can't pay for that kind of representation.

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harcove · 3 years

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you uh. wouldn't mind an angst request would you haha because I have had this one scenario stuck in my head where leon (probably resi 6 leon) has been drinking a lot more and has been neglecting his s/o and they finally call him out on his shit

anyway ooga booga they fight and decide it's best they give leon his space and take a break and maybe he finds them at a bar he goes to to get wasted to already find them drunk off their ass

Angst is absolutely one of my most favourite things to write and to read like damn I do be out here making myself CRY. So I definitely don't mind angst like hell yeah!

I was gonna end this was a happier note- but uh, I really love angst so I left it semi-open ended but also pretty sad I think. Also not really dialogue-heavy, more like... I write too much detail-heavy :,) Also this isn't edited, I spent days on this cause I was overthinking it and felt it was just not good so oof I'm sorry!

Length: 2k

Request: in the ask

Warnings: angst, drinking, lowkey it's alcoholism on Leon's part, being drunk

Leon x Reader - "I know."

How long had it been since you had held your boyfriend's hand? Since the two of you had really sat together and done something together, fully, completely, involved, and focused on one another. You didn't even remember, which was agonizing to think about.

You had been through so much with Leon. And you knew where his deepest thought lay, but you could never truly know. And it didn't help that over the years the two of you had together, he had started to become more distant. And instead of finding his comfort in your arms, he found it in some glass bottle.

At first, you didn't really protest much, you didn't say much about it. A drink every once in a while couldn't hurt. Yet, it wasn't every once in a while. It was more often than you'd have liked. And he was using it to forget. To focus on anything else but his life and his memories. Your soft words trying to talk to him didn't do much to stop him or dissuade him. He brushed you off more often than not. It tore you up from the inside out that you couldn't help him, that at some point a bottle was his chosen form of comfort over you.

The guilt mixed with sadness, and then with anger. And in the end, those feelings came together and created an explosion between the two of you one night.

Your throat was hoarse as you swallowed as much air as you could. You couldn't exactly remember what the argument stemmed from but you knew it had to be related to him drinking.

"Will you just listen to me?!" You shouted, the words coming out uneven as your throat begged you to stop, "put that shit down Leon, and look at me!"

The man sitting at the aisle in your kitchen put the flask he had down in front of him, but still had his hands on it. He turned his head to look at you, barely even moving at all, and his eyes were looking at you like he was unimpressed or annoyed.

"I'm listening."

You wanted to pull on your hair and scream because he wasn't. He wasn't listening, and he hadn't been, at least not for a while.

"No you aren't, you are not listening to a word I say, you never do!"

He scoffed, turning back to his drink and taking another sip.

"Where am I going on Friday?"

"What?" He looked at you incredulously, completely lost as your voice went from yelling at him to speaking relatively peacefully, but there was no peace in your voice.

"I said, where am I going on Friday, Leon," you repeated with clenched fists, "if you listen to me if you even bother to pay attention to me, you would know the answer. So where am I going on Friday?"

The silence was your answer, as you expected it to be, you just hadn't expected it to be so painful.

"I'm going to visit my family in the town over," your voice was low and tired, and you wanted to cry but you couldn't even find it in you to do that, "I told you that a thousand times Leon I..."

Biting your lip hard, you felt yourself break skin, and the metallic taste of blood invaded your taste buds. You were so angry at him moments before, angry enough you had been yelling. But suddenly you weren't angry anymore. You were just so sad; sad for yourself and sad for him. He wasn't going to listen to you, not right now, that much was clear.

"I've been busy Y/N-" whatever he said was wasted on deaf ears as you drowned them out unintentionally, your eyes trained on the flask he nursed.

For once, you knew you had to let it be. You had to give him space, and give yourself space.

"I'm sleeping in the guest room," you offered lamely after the long silence between the two of you after he had finished whatever he had said. Leon looked up at you, with a look of surprise, and confusion, "we both need space. From each other. I just... Don't stay up drinking all night."

"Y/N-" his words once again fell upon deaf ears, and his fingers just missed your arm as you turned and went upstairs to the room usually used by people like Claire, or Chris, sometimes Sherry.

When morning came, you had gotten up later than usual, Leon was already gone as he usually was early in the morning with his job and everything. Your heart felt heavier as you walked into the empty kitchen and noted the vodka bottle you two had been given as a gift was half empty. Something in you asked if it was all worth it; did it really do so much that he drank more than he should've? Did it take away the feelings of hopelessness, like the one you were currently stuck in?

Those were the thoughts that followed you the entire day as you went about your routine. They followed you all the way to the spare bedroom of one of your old friend's homes as you decided you and Leon needed to take a break. If you didn't do that, you feared you would only lose him completely. Or lose yourself. It was exhausting.

But what was even more exhausting was not seeing him. You worried for him, and even if you sometimes felt like he didn't, he worried for you.

It would take about a week before something would crack, before the storm that had been brewing between you two, the one that laid dormant after you walked out to take from your relationship, would begin to thunder again, but in a much different way.

"We're here to have fun," your friend who had been letting you stay over said as she pushed a shot of... something into your hands, leaning against the bar from your side while you said on one of the barstools, "and loosen up. You specifically."

You rolled your eyes; this wasn't in your plan for the day, going to a bar. But it was more than you had done in the past week now. Your routine consisted of going to work and heading back to your friends. Nothing more, nothing less.

You wanted Leon. But you couldn't have him right now. You were still upset, and you didn't even know if he wanted you right now. Everything was a mess.

Things seemed to blur together over the course of the night in the bar, your friend insisting on you trying each new drink she got, some not new too. You had had one drink that you ordered of your own volition, and it had been a regular bottle of beer. But the shots your friend got for you two, and the sips of the drinks your friend ordered, culminated into more than you realized and you could say you were a bit more than just tipsy.

For some reason though, your friend seemed to be chugging along much better than you, you must've been a lightweight.

You hadn't even seen your friend in a while, but you also were so out of it that you couldn't exactly comprehend time properly at that current moment in time.

A hand on your arm and a familiar voice seemed to sober you a bit as your eyes met familiar blue, but they were clouded over with pain, with worry. Confusion too, and a bit of shock. Your fingers twitched, aching to touch his arm. His face. To smooth the furrow that seemed to be etching itself into his brow, threatening to become a new and permanent feature.

But the sober feeling you experienced also stopped you from doing any of the above. Rather, your body stiffened a bit and you pulled away from his touch, only barely missing the look of hurt that glided over his features as you did so.

"L-Leon?" the alcohol in your system made it sound more like you were questioning if he was real rather than saying his name, "What are you-"

The question you were going to ask didn't even need to be finished. It didn't even need an answer from him, because even if you were drunk, you knew Leon. And you knew why he was there.

"Oh," you couldn't help but scoff, "you want my drink? It'll start you off-"

Leon wasn't going to pretend that he hadn't come to the bar to drink away his sorrows; to forget all the pain he held onto and the nightmares he couldn't escape, and now the pain of not having you around. But when he walked in and saw you? Something in him stopped. Something in him twisted and he felt nauseous and for once it wasn't because of a hangover, but it was because of you.

You looked so miserable. Not that you realized you were wearing your heart on your sleeve at the bar, with the dejected look on your face and the limp hand holding onto a beverage you clearly didn't enjoy. Whilst at the same time, you looked empty.

Is that what you saw? Is that what he looked like to you when he was drinking? When he was at home or at a bar, focusing on anything but reality?

Leon didn't want a drink anymore, he wanted to get you out of a place that didn't suit you whatsoever. He wanted to take you home, he didn't want you to be him.

"You didn't come here alone, did you?" He cut off whatever you were trying to say as he looked into your eyes sternly.

"What? N-no I'm not stupid... I came here with a friend."

It didn't take long for Leon to figure out the friend because he spotted her coming near the bar, and recognized her.

"Hey, I'm taking Y/N home," Leon tried to not sound aggressive when he spoke, but it may have only made him sound more upset.

"Leon? Oh, ya, of course. Are you two...?"

"We'll be fine," Leon replied as he helped you stand up, "thanks for being with them."

He hadn't just meant in the bar but in the past week. It was left unsaid, but it was laid bare.

As much as you wanted to pull away from the man who gently wrapped one of his strong arms around your waist, and used the other to hold your arm behind his neck, you couldn't. You didn't have the strength to, and you missed him.

Leon was glad he had taken the car and not his motorcycle. There was no way in hell he would've been able to keep you on a motorcycle all the way back to your home that you shared, or well, you hadn't for the past week. But that wasn't the point.

"You're so mean Leon..." you mumbled as he helped you get into the passenger seat of the car. He all but carried you into it like a child and leaned across you to put your seat belt on. You leaned your face into his neck as he did so, breathing deeply.

"I just... Want you to be happy," you continued sloppily, "but you won't... Let me in..."

Leon's breathing stopped for a moment as he stilled, his hand still on the seatbelt he had just finished putting you in. He quickly pulled himself together and pulled back, adjusting the belt on your body so it wasn't digging into your lazy form, but it was still doing its job.

"I know."

There was so much more he could say, but he couldn't. He wasn't sure if he ever could.

He settled himself into the driver's seat and got ready to start the car up.

"I still love you though..." your words were slurred as you rested your head on the car window, feeling your eyes grow heavier.

"I..." Leon's hand was turning white at the knuckles from how hard he was holding the steering wheel. He didn't deserve you. And you didn't deserve this.

"I know..."

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

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Spilled Pearls

- Chapter 7 - ao3 -

Lan Qiren woke up with a pounding headache and no memory of having gone to bed.

This would not have been a surprise had he been at home, as his routine was blissfully static and required no thought whatsoever – each item he needed in its proper place, each movement mapped out through years of practice, his entire body trained such that he would automatically begin to go through the necessary acts at the appropriate time and would immediately begin to feel sleepy once he started the sequence – but it was highly notable that such a thing would occur while he was out of the Cloud Recesses, where each day’s sleep would only be the same in terms of the time at which he fell asleep.

In this case in particular, he also felt sore all over – his head, as mentioned, but also his upper arms and, oddly, his right knee. Had he been exercising unwisely? The bed in the room he had been given at the Sun Palace was not that nice, too hard and unyielding, but it wasn’t enough to cause this sort of aching…

“I will see to it that the next bed lives up to your stringent standards.”

Lan Qiren’s eyes shot open and he sat upright at once: that was Wen Ruohan’s voice.

“What are you doing in my –” he started to say, then stopped.

Wen Ruohan was not in his bedroom.

He wasn’t in his bedroom.

He didn’t even recognize this bedroom.

It was massive, for one thing: a full suite, the way the hanshi was back at home, with place for a bed and a table and plenty more besides. The bed was similar in style to the one in the room he had been assigned but larger in scale – made of dark wood and covered in the red sun motif like all the other décor, but over twice as broad and an extra chi in length, and the brocade fabric used to upholster it was considerably more lush and luxurious and, admittedly, more comfortable than what he’d been sleeping on in the Sun Palace’s guest quarters. The room itself was the same, decorated in luxury extending to the point of opulence: there was a painting scroll on one wall that if genuine would be worth more than everything Lan Qiren owned put together, young master of a Great Sect or not, and on the other wall hung six swords, each more glorious than the next, and he suspected if he knew more about weaponry he would be able to recite their names. Even the red sun that was painted on every ceiling here glittered with embedded rubies and spiritual stones, emanating pure qi – a tremendous waste, each one of them sufficient to be a cultivation sect’s precious treasure.

Amidst all this luxury, Wen Ruohan was sitting not far away from the bed, a book held loosely in his hands – it was as if he’d been waiting for Lan Qiren to awaken.

“I think you’ll find, in fact,” Wen Ruohan said, and his eyes were glittering the way they had been the day before when it had been Lao Nie he’d been looking at, full of malice and self-indulgent amusement, “that this is my bedroom.”

This was not a surprise, but rather the only logical conclusion.

Not that it explained why Lan Qiren was here.

“Did I – fall asleep?” he asked uncertainly, though surely that must be the reason. “And you – brought me here?”

“You did, and I did,” Wen Ruohan confirmed, and seemed amused for some reason. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Lan Qiren wracked his brain, which was hurting and unhelpful and slower even than its usual plodding pace. “…I was thinking that liquor tastes vile.”

Wen Ruohan’s smile broadened. “Mm. It seems that you inherited your grandfather’s head for wine.”

Lan Qiren’s grandfather was one of the elders who refused to obey the rule against alcohol. He had also, in his later years, developed a most un-Lan-like fondness for wine.

He had not at any point developed a tolerance for it.

Lan Qiren closed his eyes in a wince. He must have made a complete fool of himself!

“This foolish junior apologizes to the Sect Leader for his misbehavior,” he said. He wanted to lift his hands to salute, but the movement, when he started it, set off his stomach, and he was forced to wrap his arms around his midsection instead.

There was a rustling sound, robes moving as Wen Ruohan rose to his feet, but Lan Qiren kept his eyes stubbornly closed, fearing that any further input would cause him to bring up everything he’d consumed the night before – only to open them in shock a moment later when he felt a finger press against the acupoint between his eyes, a warm stream of spiritual energy pouring in to cleanse away the nausea and pain of his headache.

Of his hangover.

He had a hangover.

Wen Ruohan, the mighty Sect Leader Wen, was providing him with medical attention to deal with his hangover.

There weren’t going to be words for how much he was going to get punished when he got home.

“Thank you, Sect Leader Wen,” Lan Qiren croaked, feeling hot all over with unending mortification. He had truly been foolish to think that just because there was only one night left in the Nightless City there was little danger of him repeating the mistakes of the past – he had no face left to speak of.

“Oh, no need to be so formal,” Wen Ruohan said, drawing out the words in a drawl. “Not after such a memorable night.”

Lan Qiren did not want to know what he did to make the night get described as memorable. He did not.

Especially not since Wen Ruohan was so obviously enjoying himself over it.

Of course, he wasn’t an idiot: he might be slow and bad at social cues, might find it difficult to understand the unspoken or keep up with sarcasm, but even he knew what was being implied here.

An older man with a younger one, liquor shared, a bedroom…

Yes, he understood the implication.

He just wasn’t stupid enough to believe it.

Lan Qiren folded his hands together and held his head up high.

“It is good that the Sect Leader did not take insult at my foolishness,” he said stiffly. “I thank you for your care and attention, and regret the burden I placed upon you.”

If anything, Wen Ruohan looked even more amused. “Such dignity, little Lan. You’re not even going to ask what happened?”

“This junior is only sixteen,” Lan Qiren said, still stiff and icy. “There is nothing that could have taken place without Sect Leader Wen’s approval, and naturally Sect Leader Wen would not permit this junior to offend his dignity.”

There, he thought with some satisfaction. That neatly turned the situation around: even if something untoward had occurred, which honestly Lan Qiren did not believe past that first initial moment of panic – even putting aside the fact that he wasn't anywhere near sore enough for something like that to have occurred, Wen Ruohan was not known to succumb easily to lust, nor was he so eager for war that he would recklessly try to deflower the son of another Great Sect while the latter was intoxicated for the first time – the blame would fall squarely on Wen Ruohan’s head, not Lan Qiren’s.

Wen Ruohan laughed, understanding perfectly well what Lan Qiren meant.

“You would think so,” he said, sounding almost approving of Lan Qiren’s rule lawyering. “I would have thought so, too, but I find that you Lan have truly remarkable arm strength…especially when trying to keep your conversational partner from escaping while you explain the difference between what the Lan sect consider to be fundamental rules and those considered ancillary.”

Lan Qiren blanched.

That was worse than what he’d thought – because unlike the notion of him making unwanted advances (or receiving them, for that matter), it was plausible. Terribly, painfully plausible.

“Oh, yes. All five iterations of the debate.”

Oh no.

“Four sect discussions. Seventeen separate texts on the subject, not counting later commentaries. Sixty-four subsidiary rulings, all of which you were very enthusiastic in recounting - and here I was thinking that your Wall of Discipline had a surfeit of rules, when in fact it was only the beginning. Apparently, I underestimated you.”

Lan Qiren buried his face in his hands as if that would make it stop.

“Still, I suppose I’ll have to accustom myself to hearing more about the rules in the future,” Wen Ruohan mused. “We’ll be spending far more time together, after all, on account of our sworn brotherhood.”

Lan Qiren looked up and opened his mouth, then stopped.

He had nothing to say.

His mind was absolutely blank, a state which had never before occurred.

“Forgive me,” he finally spat out. “Our – what?”

Wen Ruohan smiled at him with eyes full of poison and a mouth full of teeth.

“Sworn brotherhood,” he said casually, as if it was nothing. “You were saying that you regretted not being able to see more of the Nightless City before you left, and that you could only leave the Cloud Recesses to visit family, so we became sworn brothers.”

“We did not.”

“Oh, but we did,” Wen Ruohan said. “We drank mixed wine and swore all the appropriate oaths – I have the written version here, if you’d like to see.”

The piece of paper he put in front of Lan Qiren was recognizably in Lan Qiren’s own hand, although his normally impeccable calligraphy was rather wobbly. It was still readable, though, and the first few clauses very clearly laid out a sworn brotherhood oath.

Lan Qiren stared at it.

“We – but we can’t be sworn brothers,” he said blankly. “We’re – you’re two generations older than me. Am I supposed to call you da-ge?”

“No one has called me da-ge since my youngest brother died,” Wen Ruohan mused, and Lan Qiren was abruptly reminded of the rumors, never confirmed, that that particular death had come at Wen Ruohan’s own hands following a challenge for the seat of sect leader. “It’ll be very charming, I’m sure.”

“But…”

Wen Ruohan said nothing, but only smiled at him.

Lan Qiren looked down at the paper.

He didn’t understand what was happening.

He tried to go over it again in his mind: he had left the competition when the celebration had started, he had wandered the halls, he had tried to obey his brother’s instructions in avoiding Wen Ruohan, and when that failed, he had obeyed him in trying to be obedient. He had drunk liquor for the first time, and he had no memory thereafter until he had woken up here and now, in Wen Ruohan’s bedroom, with Wen Ruohan saying that they had –

He didn’t think Wen Ruohan was teasing him over this, though. Not the way he had so obviously been with his implications that they had used the bedroom for purposes other than sleeping.

Not with evidence, written in his own hand.

He didn’t understand.

How could this have happened?

“…did we really?” he whispered, half-hoping against hope that it was still a tease, still a joke, still – something, anything, other than what it was. That Wen Ruohan was just waiting for him to declare that he believed him, to demonstrate dismay, and then he would tell him the truth.

“Yes,” Wen Ruohan said instead, inexorable. “We did.”

Lan Qiren’s mind fell into chaos.

He didn’t understand.

“You’re shaking,” Wen Ruohan observed. “Ah, little Lan – don’t tell me it’s now that you’re scared?”

Lan Qiren’s hands were in fact shaking, he observed, and he put them over his face.

“Why would you do that?” he asked, his whole body starting to rock back and forth in his distress. “Why would you – with me – an oath of brotherhood can’t be taken lightly –”

“It can’t be,” Wen Ruohan said, and for some reason he sounded satisfied. “Certainly not for someone like you, little Lan, who always keeps their word and does not lie.”

“But why?” Lan Qiren asked, his voice rising almost into a plaintive wail. “Our sects aren’t even allies.”

“They are now,” Wen Ruohan said, and put his hand on the back of Lan Qiren’s neck. It felt hot against his skin, like a hot stone used for massage – a little too hot to tolerate for very long. “You know the obligations of a sworn brother oath as well as I. My duty as the elder brother is to guide you and care for you, support you and yours, and in return you are to obey me and be guided by me.”

Did Wen Ruohan want a spy in the Lan sect? Lan Qiren wondered wildly. But surely there were easier ways than this – not only would he make a terrible spy, with his clumsiness and his terrible social skills and his inability not to take everything seriously, but it would be simple enough for his sect to counter such a move. All they would need to do would be to cast him out…

His rocking intensified.

Wen Ruohan brought his other arm around him and pulled him close until Lan Qiren’s forehead, with its forehead ribbon still firmly in place, was pressed against his chest.

“Don’t cry, little brother,” he crooned. “Am I to allow a priceless painting to be kept by those that see it only for its use as spare kindling? A peerless treasure sword left to prop up a door?”

“You have a half-dozen swords hanging on your wall, each more priceless than the next, and all of them rusting away for lack of use!” Lan Qiren cried out. “Even if it’s only a door, at least it’s – it’s my – my brother…”

“Do not worry about your brother, undeserving as he is of your sincerity. Qingheng-jun has been trying to get concessions out of me this entire conference,” Wen Ruohan said. His breath was warm against Lan Qiren’s hair. “I’ve been refusing, but now I’ll grant them. He won’t punish you.”

“That’s not how that works. Punishment isn’t inherently bad; it’s meant to correct and guide the individual – the failure of good conduct will always be my own, no matter the result –”

“What I have taken into my hand, no one yet lives who would dare seek to take away,” Wen Ruohan said. “Anyway, it’s too late to regret now, isn’t it? What’s done is done. Don’t you have a rule like that?”

Lan Qiren sniffed. “No. There are at least four that could potentially qualify as having similar underlying meanings, but none directly on point.”

Wen Ruohan huffed. “Little Lan, if I tore out your heart, would you have time to cite one of your sect rules before you died?”

“…maybe if it was a short one?” Lan Qiren said, blinking at the strange question; his lashes brushed against Wen Ruohan’s lapel. “I mean, there’s a difference between ‘Be loyal and filial’ and ‘Set the wise as your teacher and the moral as your example’, isn’t there? And of course you’d have to consider whether in tearing out the heart you impeded the lungs, and how much time it would take the exsanguination to take effect…”

He was calming down, he realized, and pulled back out of Wen Ruohan’s arms, blushing as he realized that the question must have been meant as a distraction, though how Wen Ruohan had realized that a distraction would be the best way to reduce his distress when even he hadn’t known, he had no idea.

“Thank you for your consideration,” he mumbled, ducking his head in embarrassment.

Wen Ruohan started laughing.

“Truly I have found an unappreciated treasure, unlike any other,” he said amid his chuckles. “Come along, little Lan. Let’s go break the news to your brother.”

#mdzs #lan qiren #wen ruohan #my fic #my fics #spilled pearls

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falsegoodnight · 3 years

Text

a new header??? it matches better <3 these are the fics I read or reread and enjoyed this month! like last time, i’m separating it into different sections: main list, wips, and non-1d. rereads will be included in the main list and marked with a star (*).

*note: this list encompasses the fics i’ve read from the 1st to the 28th only

—

main list ~

✰ Don’t Wait Up by reliablyimperfect | NR | 1k

Without Harry’s warmth next to him, he felt the chill of the air creep over his skin. He tugged the blanket down from where Harry kept one draped over the back of the couch for him, grateful. With the blanket, he instantly felt warmer, but it backfired when his eyes began to droop again. Trying to keep his eyes open was impossible, and he was consciously aware of how long his blinks were becoming. They stay closed longer and longer until, eventually, they didn’t open again.

so soft and sweet and lovely! made my heart feel so warm <3 will return to this for some quick comfort in the future!

✰ my ugly mouth kept running by @hadestyles | E | 4k

Sometimes second chances are more important than the first.

rori’s lush writing + abo + exes to lovers = absolute perfection. my fic cameo gives it a bonus too :’) definitely one of my rori favs

✰ i’ve loved you three summers now honey, i want them all by @softloubabie | M | 4k

The restaurant was small and bright, soft colors filled the walls and tables and fairy lights hung from everywhere. From what Harry had read, the food wasn’t overly expensive but it was still comparable to what you would get at one of the more expensive places. If Harry could he would take Louis to the biggest most expensive and extravagant restaurants to do what he planned to tonight, but this would do.

After being led to their table Harry nervously tapped his jacket pocket, sighing in relief when he felt the small box still there. Tonight was the night. He couldn’t wait till it was time to surprise Louis with all the gifts he got for him. Then finally the big surprise.

so cute and sweet! their kids were so adorable and the proposal so lovely!! they love each other so much <3

✰ love me in between the future and the past by navigator & quitter | E | 11k

Harry's scared of history repeating itself.

this honestly hurt to read but in such a raw and emotional way?? was mad at harry and then sad for him :( this writer duo’s fics never fail to amaze me!

✰ sunshine on my mind by @raspberryoatss | E | 13k

Louis visits Harry in Portland

this was so sweet and lovely! the perfect addition to this wonderful universe! pip’s characterizations and fluff never fails to make my heart feel warm <3

✰ rapture in the dark by @stylinsonsupporter | T | 13k

Harry Styles is a breakout musician who has shed his boyband label in favor of embracing his inner brooding rockstar. His PR team think that his rebrand is the perfect time for Harry to come out of the closet and have devised the perfect plan for doing so. Enter Louis Tomlinson, up and coming (and very openly homosexual) model whose public image as America's Sweetheart is the perfect foil for Harry's new edge. From a PR standpoint, it's a dream come true - a power couple that can slowly coax the public into accepting Harry's altered image. The only problem? They hate each other.

always love a good fake dating au and this is no exception! and model louis >> really enjoyed this!

✰ Maybe, Baby* by thoughtsickles | M | 16k | mpreg

It all feels too easy, too good to be true. It all feels like a scene from Louis' daydreams, the kind of life he'd always imagined he'd have when he was younger and bored at his momma's work, sneaking around the hallways of the maternity ward until the nurses let him in to hold the babies. He'd felt so important being allowed to touch them. He'd told them stories of the lives they were going to have, houses with nice wallpaper that wasn't peeling, yards filled with sunshine and flowers and grass that never went yellow. A hammock to nap in, cuddled up with his husband.

You can't stay here, he tells himself, but Baby doesn't want to listen.

have reread this one quite a bit of times now and it still makes me so happy <3 this Louis and Harry deserve the world <333

✰ Let Me Inside by reliablyimperfect | E | 18k

Louis is Harry’s boss, but Harry is the boss of Louis.

loved this one! really enjoyed the balance between h&l and how they maintained their dynamic in subtle ways outside of the bedroom while also keeping it separate. very much enjoyed the jealousy as well <3

✰ a scintilla of predilection by @dehydratedpoolfics | T | 20k

There, in the far back of the room, next to the only available seat left, is none other than Harry Styles. Harry, who grew up next door to him, who knew all his secrets as a child and played FIFA with him on Saturday mornings after he would spend the night Friday evenings every week, whose curly hair would tickle his nose as they held each other during bitter cold nights that made his room glow a haunting blue.

love ex-childhood friends with misunderstandings!! louis was so cute and i loved his poetry <3 harry too was so stupid but so smitten and lovely :’) really enjoyed this!

✰ Keeping The Flame Alive by @crazyupsetter | E | 20k

Recording with One Direction never felt like this. There’s a couple reasons for that, Harry thinks. One is that they did most of their recording on the road, rushed and in busses and hotel rooms, never in one place long enough to really get an argument going. The other, larger and more important one, is that back then he had the sweetest, meanest little omega around to distract him from all of that frustration.

The first time around, when he’d been recording his debut solo album, it hit him pretty hard. He likes to think he’s better adjusted to it now, but frustration is warring under his skin nonetheless. He doesn’t want to be told what to do most of the time, and he especially doesn’t want to be told what to do when it comes to his music.

What he does want right now is that sweet, mean little omega right in front of him with his mouth on Harry’s cock. Unfortunately, the best he’s got is his own hand and a shared toilet. So. That’s really not going to work.

✰ like it’s a game* by @soldouthaz | E | 32k

There is little Harry hates more than truth or dare.

And Louis.

queen of enemies to lovers! it’s been a while since i’ve reread this but too absolutely no surprise, it’s just as amazing as always <3 sarah never misses!

✰ Too Young To Know by @2tiedships2 | M | 35k

Harry doesn’t present as an alpha… until he does.

really enjoyed this as per usual! exes to lovers is my jam and the added angst of Louis dating someone else at the beginning... love <3

✰ Some Things Take Root* by navigator & quitter | E | 50k

Louis' ex doesn't get jealous of anyone besides Harry. Harry helps Louis use that to his advantage.

stumbled upon this randomly and decided to reread on a whim... ended up staying up to read it in one sitting! so good!

✰ Safe and Sound (You’ll Always Be) by @all-these-larrythings | E | 58k

When a failed case and a guilty conscience leaves Harry more than a little lost, his boss presents him with a new, less taxing assignment to help him cope. An escape from all the madness is just what Harry needs to get his life back on track. It's just too bad his new client has a grin like the devil, a pair of electric eyes that Harry simply can't get over, and no intention whatsoever of letting him catch a break.

i don’t know how i’ve never read this before??? it was absolutely amazing though! perfect blend of humor and fluff and tension and angst <3

✰ Mind Over Matter (You Under Me) by @youreyesonlarry | E | 74k

It’s dark outside when Harry finishes practice for the day.

the slow burn in this fic killed me - which is to say, it was perfect! loved how they progressed from working together to being friends to something more and how much they genuinely cared for each other! the hockey was so fun too!

✰ Call Out My Name by frenchkiss | E | 102k

Apparently, it's bad PR to fall in love with the omega you hired to help you through your rut.

Harry Styles begs to differ.

ellen truly knocked it out of the park with this one!! had everything i could ever want: abo, famous/non-famous, fluff, humor, angst, drama, and more! i loved it from beginning to end!

wips ~

✰ ‘cause all our tomorrows lead the way by @loubellies | E | 64k | 7/11

So maybe Louis’ in over his head.

He had signed up for the Bachelor on a whim after his second bottle of wine and well, here he is. He’s just been announced as the twenty-sixth Bachelor and his ass is sweating. Like, literally sweating. He’s positive that if he was to turn around, the entirety of Bachelor Nation would get a nice peek of his ass sweat.

am thoroughly enjoying each chapter!! it’s been a wild ride so far and although things are currently calm, i am still on edge!! but i trust mar with my life <3

✰ Truth Behind Golden Eyes by @lwtisloved | E | 83k | 8/16

Louis is a royal servant born with magic in a kingdom where his sole existence is outlawed with a war he has no idea he has a part in upon him. Harry is the prince on whom the burden of mending a broken kingdom falls upon and he might be willing to risk it all for a simple servant if only he admitted it to himself.

caught up last night! still really enjoying every chapter and can’t wait to see what happens next!! things are *happening* with h&l and answers are being given!! (love the jealousy too!)

non-1d ~

✰ Keep Me Close (I Need Your Faith) by @princelouisau | E | 23k

Somewhere along the way he had fallen in love and in doing so, had broken the one rule he knew he couldn’t come back from. As quickly as he realised, he decided that he must never dare speak it. He resigned himself to loving Draco in silence.

first foray into reading drarry... and, to no one’s surprise, i loved it! beautiful writing as always and beautiful atmosphere! it’s really not a shock that i fell for these characters and their story when danielle is behind it <3 it had me entranced from beginning to end!!

finally, i myself actually posted a fic this month:

my fics ~

✰ yesterday came suddenly by me | E | 49k | mpreg

Harry the deadliest member of the NYC assassins’ guild, is forced to face a seemingly impossible task in hopes of finally leaving the underground behind for good, but when ghosts from the past come back to haunt him, escaping the darkness becomes that much harder.

If you read any of these beautiful works of art, remember to leave kudos and comment to show your appreciation!

*if i made any errors, please let me know :)

enjoy!

#my fic recs #fic recs #28th appreciation #march recs #2021 recs #march 2021 recs #scheduled

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writingsnmusings · 4 years

Text

The Prince’s Favorite

pairing: ivar the boneless x reader

summary: reader is close to all the brothers, but this is just a glimpse into her relationship with the youngest son of ragnar. here is the first time her and ivar make love.

a/n: by the summary, ya’ll can tell this is smut so tread lightly with that if you’re underage. as always, the other parts of the series aren't required to be read to understand this but the masterlist will be linked here.

You couldn’t get away from the rumors even if you tried. Everybody in Kattegat was discussing the youngest princes sexual escapades, or lack thereof. You knew it was screwed up for his brothers to hook him up with Margrethe, but no matter how close you were with them you didn’t dare speak your mind.

It had been days since you saw your favorite prince and it was starting to take a toll on you. You missed him dearly. At first, you completely understood his want to be alone. You couldn’t imagine what was going through his head, Ivar was always way too hard on himself.

Ivar had taken to relying on his brothers help for whatever he needed, not wanting to hear the thralls whispering about him in his own chambers. He definitely would’ve killed them on the spot.

Rumors always made you uneasy. What kind of satisfaction do people get by talking about others? You could never understand. It was a disgusting trait some carried. Now, did you belive the rumors? Absolutely not. You knew Margrethe wasn’t a reliable source for information at all. You wouldn’t trust her with anything so it bothered you that other people did.

“Y/N!” A voice called, startling you out of your thoughts. You carried your eyes away from the crashing waves to find Floki stepping towards you. You gave the man a smile as you looked up at him.

“Hi Floki, how’re you?”

He returned your smile before sighing and plopping himself down onto the sand next to you. “I have been better, Y/N. Ivar has been...something these few days.” His voice held sadness and you could understand why. He cared for Ivar a great deal, not as much as you, you’d think.

You frowned, “I miss him. He hasn’t called for like usual and according to Hvitserk, i’m not allowed in his chambers. It’s quite boring around here without him around.” The tears welled up in your eyes, making you rush to wipe them away. Floki didn’t need to see you cry.

“Oh dear,” He wrapped a comforting arm around you and squeezed. “It’s alright. Everybody knows you and Ivar can’t be apart for long.”

“Will you tell him I miss him?” You asked as you stood up, wiping sand off your skirts. The sun was setting so you decided it was best to head back.

Floki nodded, “Of course. Take care, Y/N.”

Sleep hadn’t been coming easy to you whatsoever. You were so used to sleeping in Ivar’s chambers, just feet away from him. Or even wrapped up in his arms on nights that were particularly cold. Ever since the incident, as you referred to it now, all your belongings had been moved to a completely different area.

“Ivar wants his space” is what Ubbe mumbled as he watched the thralls set up your new sleeping arrangements. You couldn’t even argue, too hurt to do so.

After huffing for what felt like the thousandth time, your body was finally succumbing to sleep. Until your door creaked open and a candlelight flooded the tiny room.

“Wha-” You whispered as your vision cleared enough to make out Ivar making his way to your bed. “Ivar?”

His head was hung as he hauled himself up and covered himself in your furs. You immediately scooted over, making room for him. You stared with curious eyes as he looked everywhere around the room but at you. He looked angry, his plump lips set in a frown. Just as you were about to break the silence, he spoke.

“I heard from a little bird that you missed me.” There was a teasing tone in his voice. So he wasn’t completely pissed, you thought.

You sighed, “I did.”

Ivar looked your way and you finally got a good look at him. He looked tired. Upset. Worn down. You hated seeing him like that. Somehow your body moved closer to him and you reached for his hand which he let you grab. “I missed you so much. Days I have to spend away from you are absolute torture.” You didn’t care how needy you sounded, you meant every word.

“Why would you want to spend time with me?” His question came out sharp, which only made you hold his hand tighter. “According to Margrethe I am useless, broken. Haven't you heard? I can't get my cock up.” He let out a sarcastic laugh that only angered you.

“Haven’t you heard? I care about you and that means I like being around you. I, for one don’t listen to rumors that get started by whores like Margrethe.” You snapped, shoving his hand away from you and turning to face the wall. You knew better than to snap at your prince, but he upset you by talking badly about himself like that.

Ivar sighed and you heard him shuffling till he was close enough to pull you back towards him. You were now on his lap, flush against him, your back to his chest as he leaned his chin on your shoulder. “So you don't believe her?” His voice was much quieter than before.

“I do not.” You spoke with such confidence it only spurred you on to keep talking. “It was your first time, was it now?” He nodded his head against you. “You were nervous, that is normal. I can only assume your body made itself not work on purpose. I mean, who would want their first time to be with such a woman like Margrethe?” You breathed out a laugh.

Ivar’s arms tightened around your middle. “Who else would want me?” He growled, getting upset once again.

You were quick to turn yourself as best you could to face him. His usually crystal clear eyes were now a darker shade. “I know of someone,” You whispered, your eyes glancing down to his lips. The way he looked at you made you shiver. Ivar was the one to lean in first, his lips pushing against yours so softly you weren’t sure they were really there. You were a little more forceful as you turned your body fully so you were straddling him. Your hands were on his shoulders, steadying yourself as he gripped your waist tightly.

“Wait,” He panted, pushing you slightly away. He hung his head as he tried regaining his breathing. “I-I can’t, Y/N. I will not make a fool out of myself again. Not in front of you.” His voice was back to that tight coldness you hated.

“You won’t.” You promised. Reaching for his face, you made him meet your eyes. “You are not useless or broken or any of those things she said. Will you let me show you? Please?”

Ivar sighed as his eyes bore into yours. “How will you do that?”

A grin graced your lips, “We start slowly. Take off my dress.” You pulled back enough to where he could grab the end of your night dress and pull it over you. Ivar’s eyes immediately stuck to your breasts. His hands were limp at his sides which made you giggle. “You can touch.” Receiving permission, he brought a hand to your left breast and gently squeezed, making you let out a groan. His eyes were clouded with lust upon hearing that. He did the same with your other, only getting more heavenly sounds from you.

“As much as I love you touching me there, I’d like you to remove your top.” You pawed at his thin tunic until he got the hint and nearly ripped it off. You loved his chest. He was so toned and you didn’t want to get started on his arms. Having them wrapped around you was a dream.

You began kissing his neck, sucking softly here and there until you got what you wanted from him. Noises. Ivar reacted pretty strong once you bit down on a certain spot. Your tongue quickly shot out to soothe it a bit before you pulled back to face him. His lip was caught between his teeth as he stared at you. “Are you trying to mark me?”

“Maybe. I’ll let you do it to me if I can do it to you.” You reasoned which he seemed to like. Ivar’s mouth was on your neck within seconds, your reactions only seemed to motivate him to be rougher. He bit and sucked till you were begging him to do more. Your hips had been moving against him the entire time and you were sure that you were soaked. “I need for you to touch me.” You begged.

Ivar’s hand traveled up and down your body, always missing where you needed him the most. “Ivar, please,”

The only things separating your bottom halves were your very thin and very soaked underwear and his pants that were starting to tighten on him.

His brows furrowed as he felt something he hadn’t before. You grinded against him and he swore he could feel your wetness. “I need to-” You huffed as you maneuvered a way to slip your underwear off. “Your turn.” You whispered as he watched the fabric fall from your fingers.

Slightly shaking, Ivar motioned for you to move off him which you did rather impatiently. He busied himself by unhooking the straps that hid his legs, shocked to see a tent forming at his groin. He finished undressing himself and looked down in disbelief.

“Y/N…” His voice wavered as you grinned.

“I told you, my prince. It only took the right girl to get you going.” Without another word, Ivar had dragged you back to his lap. You held yourself up on his shoulders as his hands shook at your hips.

“Let me guide you.” You reached between your bodies to grab him and move him to your entrance, immediately sighing as your body welcomed him into you. His hands no longer shook as he gripped you and hissed. He was sure to leave marks, but you couldn’t care less.

“Oh my prince,” You groaned. Having him fully in you felt amazing. In all the years of your relationship, you had only hoped you’d get to be with him in this way. “Can I move?” You looked at him through your eyelashes which drove him crazy.

He could only nod, too in shock to make a coherent sentence. You took the reigns, not like you minded, and started moving your body; up and down. The noises Ivar was making only encouraged you to move faster, your own release coming up. It’d been so long since you were with someone and by Ivar’s size, you were being touched in all the right places.

Ivar’s arms wrapped around your middle and kept you grounded to him as he bucked his hips up into you. His mouth latched into your shoulder and bit down hard, making you let out the loudest moan he’d heard. He was sure his brothers heard that. The thought only boosted his ego even more.

Your moans turned into whispered chants of his name, making him grin wildly. Somehow he knew you were as close to finishing as he was. His mouth was at the shell of your ear when he spoke, “Let go, my Y/N.”

And so you did.

And so did Ivar.

Your body lay limp in his arms, your head in the crook of his neck as you both tried to catch your breath. His arms stayed around you almost as if he was afraid you’d run if he loosened up.

“Ivar,” You pulled away a bit to look at his face. His gorgeous, almost fully zoned out face. His eyes roamed your face as his mouth was slightly open. You giggled at his expression which seemed to break him out of his trance, his eyes blinking a few times. “How was that?” You just had to ask.

He let out a huff, a smile appearing on his lips. “How was that? Gods Y/N, i’m not broken! You made me not broken - you healed me!” He exclaimed, pulling you flush against him again.

You laughed, “I did no such thing, my prince.” His words warmed your heart. You would do anything in your power to keep that smile on his face. As if it was normal, you peppered kisses along his neck and jawline, finally stopping at his lips. Ivar was hungry for you, he always was. Your make out session continued till neither of you could really breathe.

“Are you staying?” You asked as he made himself comfortable on your bed, wrapping the furs around you both.

He looked almost offended that you asked. “Of course I am. What, am I supposed to go back to my chambers where Hvitserk is slumped against my bed? No, i’d much rather be here with you.” He pecked your forehead before settling and closing his eyes. “Sleep now, my Y/N.”

Your cheeks burned as your head rested on his chest. “Yes, my prince.”

The other sons of Ragnar were going to get an earful from Ivar in the morning. He was not broken. The gods didn’t make him broken

XXXXXX

tag list-

@youbloodymadgenius

@pomegranates-and-blood

@heavenly1927

@littleblonde-hair

#ivar the boneless x reader #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless #vikings x reader #vikings imagine #ivar ragnarsson x reader #the prince’s favorite #my writings

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gnocchighoul · 4 years

Text

Operation Hot Potato

Summary:

“See? She’s just a baby~” you coo, gently wiggling the kitten in his face.

Lucifer grimaces. Takes another, larger step back. “If a baby is what you want, I’d rather give you one myself.”

(You bring home a kitten and try to hide her from Lucifer. Unfortunately for you, nothing gets past the House of Lamentation’s resident pet-hater.)

Word Count: 3.6k

AO3 Portal

You found a kitten.

Well—kind of. It’s debatable.

You think it’s a kitten. She certainly looks like one—fluffy little thing with snow-white fur, blue eyes, a poofy little triangular head, and the most perfectly pink toe beans you’ve ever had the pleasure of squishing.

The reason why you’re so hesitant to call her a kitten?

She breathes fire. Hiccups fireballs. Sneezes flaming hot streams of… well, flames.

You learned that firsthand ten minutes ago, when you nearly got your eyebrows singed off by a particularly dangerous sneeze. All you wanted to do was give her a smooch on her wittle pink nose, you weren’t expecting to get blasted in the face with an orangey-red inferno.

But you know what? It doesn’t matter if she’s a little strange. You’ve sworn your everlasting love to your newfound daughter—your secret daughter that the demon brothers can absolutely not know about under any circumstances whatsoever, because you just know that Lucifer will make you put her back in the wild where you found her.

Your fire-sneezing, bouncing baby girl wouldn’t last another day out in the harsh wilderness (aka the dumpster that you retrieved her from). In the forty-seven minutes that you’ve had her, she’s grown accustomed to belly scratches, sleeping in your bed, and gnawing on only the finest tortilla chips in the Devildom.

Her name is Tater Tot.

She sticks out like a sore white thumb among your colorful assortment of pillows. Not that she cares. She’s living it up in the lap of luxury. Tater Tot stretches—turns around with every paw in the air, proudly showing off her rotund little baby belly, and mrrps at you.

Its the cutest thing you've ever fucking seen. You just wanna SQUEEZE her. Ugh, who would've guessed that a little trash fire baby would steal your heart so quickly?

And it’s not like you broke the rules and brought home a pet on purpose. Tater Tot had chosen you. By choosing to rummage around in that specific dumpster that you just so happened to walk past on your way home from RAD, Tater Tot had effectively decided that you were to be her new caretaker.

It’s fate. Kismet. You’ve wanted a pet for so long—dog, cat, dragon, gremlin, doesn’t matter. You’ve spent hours upon hours bitching and moaning to anyone that’ll listen about how badly you’ve wanted a pet to smother with your love. Nobody has been able to escape your woe. Everyone—the brothers, the angels, Solomon, and even your good buddy Diavolo (somehow, Barbatos has managed to evade you) have all been forced to listen to your lamenting about the pet-shaped hole in your heart.

But finally—finally—your prayers have been answered.

With a fire breathing kitten.

Oh yeah. Kismet.

You’re fairly certain that Tater Tot has never lived in a house. She had been perfectly content to snuggle up in your school uniform like some kind of tiny, pouch dwelling, heat seeking creature, until you had snuck into your bedroom and closed the door behind you.

The second you set her on the floor, it was like a switch flipped. Tater Tot had shown off her unnatural strength by flinging her little puffball body around the room like a possessed tumbleweed, spastically crashing around the room and knocking over furniture and keepsakes alike.

You had finally cornered her under your bed and sat peacefully nearby, humming quietly to calm her. It didn’t take long for you to coax her out with snacks—she liked the chips, but passionately disliked the gummy worms—and within twenty minutes you had Tater Tot lounging with you on the bed, rubbing her soft little cheeks into your palm for rubs and scritches.

You need to come up with a plan to hide your beloved child ASAP. It’s only a matter of time until either Lucifer hauls you off to his room or one of the brothers decides to camp out in yours for the night, and if word gets back to Lucifer that you’re harboring a fugitive animal… Well, favoritism or not, it won’t end pretty.

Though perhaps there is one person who can help you with this little secret.

Satan. The cat-loving fourth brother.

Man oh man, he’s going to be thrilled with sweet little Tater Tot. You have to be careful though—you reckon that there is a 96% chance that he’ll try to steal her away from you. Trying to juggle custody battles and harboring your secret daughter from Lucifer all at the same time sounds like such a pain.

But… That would still be better than having to put Tater Tot back on the streets.

With the threat of big-meanie-Lucifer looming over you like a particularly gothic and pet-hating phantom, you come to a final decision. You’re just going to have to pull on your big girl pants and accept the soul crushing truth of the situation.

Satan is your only hope.

But how are you going to sneak your daughter all the way over to his room?

You look around your own room for something, anything that can hide your beloved dumpster pet and—ohohoho.

“Darling?”

You freeze midstep.

Busted.

“What’s up, Lucifer?” You try so hard to keep your voice calm and normal. So hard.

Judging by the way Lucifer looks at you, you’ve failed. And you were so close. Satan’s bedroom is literally right there! Only a few yards away! If only you’d just had ten more seconds to yourself in the dark hallway... Alas, the warden your beloved Lucifer aka the resident pet hater stands between you and the dusty salvation that is Satan’s library of a bedroom.

You shuffle your feet a bit nervously. Readjust your grip on the cardboard box. A bit warily, Lucifer eyes it.

“What’s in the box?”

You panic. “What box?”

Fuck.

Lucifer cracks a smile, though it doesn’t meet his gaze. He gestures to the cardboard box that you are currently holding near to your chest like some sort of ugly, cubic liferaft.

“Oh!” You laugh. It’s too high pitched. Suspicious. “This box? It’s just some books for Satan, it’s nothing—”

The box sneezes.

Your mouth snaps shut and you thank all the fucking stars in heaven that this sneeze didn’t flambé you.

Lucifer’s eyes narrow accusingly. Tone icy and sharp, he says, “Books? Is that so?”

Fuck fuck fuck fuck—

You wilt a bit under the intensity of his gaze. “They’re… cursed books? Yeah, so cursed and dangerous and only Satan knows how to nullify the evilness of these books so I’m gonna just slip past you—”

Lucifer takes a step to the left, planting himself firmly in your path and effectively thwarting your desperate grand escape. A single blade of moonlight cuts through the curtains and slices through the shadows, Lucifer now caught in the spotlight and—oh that fucker did that on purpose. Ugh, what a drama queen.

Red eyes practically glowing in the dark, he nods menacingly at the box. “Go on then. Open it.”

“I dunno, I really shouldn’t because of the curses and—”

Clearly not in the mood to entertain your scheming-slash-rambling, Lucifer takes matters into his own hands. Before you can twist away, one of his hands darts out to knock the lid off of the box and—

Books. It’s filled with books.

He frowns. Lifts one up and—nope, there’s just more books underneath. “...What?”

“Happy? Now if you don’t mind I really should get—”

“Let me help you with that.”

Your reflexes aren't fast enough. Before you can leap back or Sparta kick him away, Lucifer plucks the box right out of your arms… and reveals a squirming lump beneath your sweater, right inbetween your breasts. The box hits the floor. Lucifer stares at your newly acquired mass with a very particular sort of horror that you’ve never seen before.

You panic. Again.

“...I grew a new boob. I think the Devildom air is toxic or something, but it’s okay! The more the merrier, right? We can still—gET YOUR HANDS OFF MY TIDDIES—”

Lucifer presses one hand to your lower back, trapping you, and yanks down your zipper, revealing the purrito that is wrapped kind-of-securely to your chest with a scarf. He recoils backwards, looking equal parts horrified and peeved off.

Time for Plan B.

93% sure that you can still recover from this situation that is rapidly soaring downhill, you stuff your hands into your pockets and then throw them outwards, flinging fistfuls of rainbow confetti into the air. “Surpriiiise! You’re a daddy! Say hello to our daughter.”

“No.”

“Her name is Tater Tot. Personally, I think she takes after you.”

The Tater in question shimmies out of her silky prison and tumbles nose first into your palms. You hold her right up to Lucifer’s face, grinning like a goddamn sociopath when he takes an alarmed step backwards. Little puffball paws desperately try to swipe at his nose. Lucifer looks downright offended by the assault of pink toe beans.

“See? She’s just a baby~” you coo, gently wiggling the noodle-limp kitten in his face.

Lucifer grimaces. Takes another, larger step back. “If a baby is what you want, I’d rather give you one myself.”

“As fun as that sounds, we have a perfectly good one right here!”

“That thing is not a baby. Where did you find it?”

There’s a concerned little scrunch in his brow that you wanna smooth over with your thumb, but when you try to close the distance between you two, he moves further out of reach. Frowning, you hug Tater Tot to your chest. She snuggles her face into the crook of your neck and purrs like the smallest biodiesel engine in all of the realms.

“I found her in a dumpster!” you say, perhaps a bit too proudly.

Lucifer’s eyes widen. “In the city?”

“Why is that so shocking? Does the Devildom not have stray cats?”

“That’s not a cat.”

“Well yeah I kinda figured, what with the whole fire breathing thing and all, but—”

“It’s a chimera.”

You stare at Lucifer. Try to gauge how serious he’s being. Tater Tot nibbles on your thumb with little needle-like teeth.

Surely he’s joking.

“...Like the lion-goat-lizard thing? That chimera?”

Lucifer nods.

Like you’re in some twisted version of the Lion King, you hold Tater Tot up in the beam of moonlight that Mr. Doom and Gloom had previously been occupying. Examine her totally normal kitten-features. The distinct lack of goat hooves. Miss Tater licks her nose. A Chimera? Her?

Surely he’s fucking with you.

But… it would explain the whole fire-breathing thing. Kind of. You’re not fully convinced he’s lying, but the truth doesn’t make much more sense.

But if she is a chimera… that’s so badass.

If Lucifer thinks for one second that Tater Tot being a nightmarish Hell creature is going to scare you into giving her up, then he is sorely mistaken. (You did choose to date him, after all. You're an expert at loving on Hellish beings.) At the end of the day, whether Tater is a chimera or a cat or whatever the hell else, you’ve already bonded with each other. She’s your baby and you are not going to let him get rid of her.

If he gets Cerberus, then you get your funky little Tater Tot, dammit.

Lucifer watches this journey of emotions play out on your face. His eyes narrow. He says your name slowly, strained—a thinly veiled warning in his voice.

The grin that overtakes your face can only be described as evil.

“We’re keeping her.”

“Absolutely not.”

“You can’t be serious.”

From the depths of your blanket fort, your hand emerges to flip Lucifer off. He scowls.

“This blanket fort is only for Tater Tot and me.”

“Then perhaps you should relocate to your bed.” Lucifer growls.

You snuggle further into the black sheets cocooning you. With impressive speed, you had raced back to Lucifer’s room and stripped every piece of fabric from his bed in record time. From there, it was simply a matter of combining the dark sheets with a bunch of pillows and voila. You had created your very own anti-Lucifer fortress, right in the middle of his bed.

Tater Tot army-crawls across your thigh and worms her way into the sheets, vanishing like a ninja.

"What?" You peek at Lucifer through a small opening in the fabric. “But then you would just ignore me and Tater Tot.”

“Yes, exactly. I’m glad that we’re on the same page.”

“No! We’re not on the same page at all,” you scowl. “I’m not moving until you bond with her.”

“Then I suppose you’ll be stuck there forever.”

“Maybe I will!”

You can’t see him right now, but you know in the depths of your heart that Lucifer is rolling his eyes at you.

Which, y’know. Fair. You are being a little bit ridiculous. But what choice do you have? The confetti didn't work and Lucifer needs to form an everlasting bond with Tater Tot. He needs to experience how lovely and precious and wonderful your little baby is, so that he won’t make you put her back in the dumpster where you found her.

You have one last tactic. It is by far the absolute worst.

Talking to him. Like some kind of functioning, responsible adult, because apparently that's what you're supposed to do in a healthy relationship. Blegh.

While you agonize over stooping to this final resort, Lucifer climbs into the bed without a word and settles himself in like he owns the place. Which he does. But that’s beside the point.

One of your arms emerges from the blanket shield to poke at his pajama clad thigh. He doesn’t react. So naturally, you poke him again. And again. And again, until finally he sighs, “What?”

You squirm your way out of the stuffy blankets, gulping down air once you're free—sweet baby Jesus, fresh air has never felt so good—and Tater Tot flies out after you, rocketing across the mattress at the speed of light and tumbling around like a little white pom pom. While she does her own thing, you worm your way into Lucifer’s side so that you’re halfway on top of his chest. He huffs and lays there like a board, refusing to hug you, so you grab his arm and wrap it around your shoulders yourself.

Here goes nothing.

“Why are you so against having a pet?” you ask, dancing the pads of your fingers over his chest.

Lucifer cracks one eye open. “The first and last time I allowed pets in the house, Satan brought home 48 cats. In one hour.”

...You really should have seen that one coming.

“Oh. Well, I mean… Is that reallyyy a bad thing—ow! You jerk, I was just kidding.” You pout. “You didn’t have to pinch my butt that hard.”

Lucifer snickers and pats your butt consolingly. “Mmm, no, I didn’t. But I wanted to.”

Briefly, you consider headbutting him right in the chin. But alas, that wouldn’t solve anything, so you settle for pressing a kiss to his collarbone, then reach a hand up to play with his hair, just how he likes. It’s not very ~vengeful~ buuut it’s bound to put him in a better mood.

You trace cutesy little heart shapes on his right pec. “You know what I want?”

Lucifer closes his eyes—lets his head fall back onto the mattress. “We’re not keeping her.”

You snuggle into his chest with a happy little hum. “Yes we are.”

“...Just for the night. Tomorrow you're putting her back where you found her."

You wake up in agony.

It feels like you’ve had a lung ripped out and replaced with serrated knives. Or shark teeth. Each breath drags oh so painfully at your—just kidding.

You wake up well rested and tangled in the bedsheets, your head hanging off the side of the mattress. You’re a little hazy-brained and your skull feels like it weighs a thousand pounds, but that’s probably because of all the blood rushing to your head. When you roll over and haul yourself back up onto the bed, a noise escapes you that is definitely not fit for polite company.

The murky depths of slumber threaten to take you again, so you pat around the bed with your hand, looking for your favorite demon-slash-body pillow. You pat. And keep patting. Where the hell is Lucifer?

You crack one bleary eye open, trying to find Lucifer and—

Where the hell is Tater Tot?

Your heart jolts in your chest as you realize a few things all at once.

One: Lucifer is missing.

Two: Tater Tot is missing.

Three: You slept through breakfast, but that’s less important.

You’re off like a shot, wrestling yourself out of the sheets and flinging them to the floor, then stumbling across the room to get to the door before your brain can even fully wake up. It’s fine, you don’t need 100% brainpower, you just need to find your baby.

You’ve barely taken four steps into the hallway when you slam nose first into Mammon. He catches you, saving your face from becoming acquainted with the floor, and you grab him by the leathery lapels of his jacket.

“Where’s Lucifer?!” you hiss.

Mammon desperately tries to squirm out of your feral grip. You shake him like a polaroid picture.

“Geez, knock it off would ya?! He’s in his office, what the hell is up with you? Wh—HEY! I’M NOT DONE TALKIN’ TO YA!”

Whatever the Weenie has to say to you is less important than finding your child, so as soon as you acquire Lucifer’s location, you haul ass to Lucifer’s study.

In a raging fury that could rival Satan’s existence, you fling open the door, ready to tear Lucifer a new one for not even letting you say goodbye to your beloved kitten and—

And your heart melts into a warm, gooey puddle.

Lucifer is sitting at his desk. Tater Tot is draped across his shoulders.

Lucifer glares at you, but there's no real bite in his gaze. “Keep it down, Phobos is sleeping.”

You blink stupidly, your brain racing at a thousand miles an hour to catch up with whatever the hell you’re currently feeling that has you all mushy and moon-eyed. “Phobos? What the hell? That’s not her name at all.”

“My love, we are not naming our daughter after potatoes. Her name is now Phobos. She and I came to a mutual agreement that it is far more fitting of a name for a creature of her pedigree.”

...You’re so torn. On one hand, you want to argue that Tater Tot is a lovely name for your dumpster kitten-chimera-thing, but on the other hand… he called her ‘our daughter’. As in your guys’s daughter. This can only mean one thing, and you clutch at your heart when you realize what’s happening.

They bonded.

It damn well might bring a tear to your eyes.

You make your way over to Lucifer, shove aside the papers on his desk, and perch your happy ass right on the hardwood.

With a bone deep sigh, Lucifer leans back in his chair. “Why do you always do that? My lap is available, you know.”

Tater Tot wakes up and lifts her heavy little sleep-addled head to meep at you.

You grin—hook your ankles around the armrests of his chair and pull him closer. “So… does this mean we’re keeping Tater Tot?”

“... Yes, we’re keeping Phobos. But that’s it, no more pets.”

“Okay, wait. Hear me out. What about a dog?”

“Absolutely not.”

Lucifer plucks another white hair from his RAD uniform and holds it up to the moonlight, scowling at the offensive thing. Why in all the realms did you have to find a white cat? The damned thing has only lived with you lot for two days and yet somehow its hair has already gotten over every article of black clothing in his wardrobe. It’s infuriating.

His gaze wanders across the courtyard to where you’re sitting pretty on Beel’s shoulders, clawing at his face with your fingertips and screaming in terror at how high up you are. He grins.

He can put up with the shedding fur, so long as he gets to see how your eyes shine like the stars when you see Phobos.

Still though. Why couldn’t you find a black kitten?

“Lucifer! There you are!”

Lucifer flicks the cat hair—lets the breeze catch it and float it away. Before he can even get a proper greeting in, Diavolo is pulling him in for a bone crushing hug.

“You’re here a bit later than usual. How’s life with the new kitten treating you?” Diavolo asks.

Lucifer steps out of the hug and eyes Diavolo warily. “Just fine, thank yo—wait. How do you know about the cat?”

Diavolo blinks innocently. “Surely you told me about her, didn’t you?”

No, he definitely did not—oh no.

Lucifer stares, slack jawed and horrified, because in that moment, he realizes something that he refuses to accept.

No.

No. It can’t be.

Diavolo would never do that to him. He would ne—oh fuck, he absolutely did.

Diavolo planted the cat. He knew that you would find her in that dumpster and take her home.

Lucifer has never known a betrayal quite like this. Diavolo says something about heading off to his office, but he doesn’t hear him over the rushing in his ears.

“Diavolo.”

The demon prince in question pauses in his escape to look back at Lucifer. “Yes, Lucifer?”

“Why did you have to pick a white cat?”

And oh, Diavolo laughs. A full belly laugh that quite honestly kills Lucifer. Just a little bit.

#gnocchiwrites #obey me shall we date #obey me #swd obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me drabble #obey me fanfic #obey me! shall we date?#tater tot's adventures

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chusui00 · 3 years

Text

Have A Little Faith

Word Count: 1,783

Summary: You are at Lady Danbury’s evening ball, which is the perfect opportunity to find a potential suitor so that you can finally settle down. But of course, it’s not as easy as it sounds. You’ve found yourself standing far away from everyone else, and just when you think tonight will be fruitless, your childhood friend, Anthony Bridgerton, changes all of the thoughts inside your head.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Tonight was the night where I needed to do a little flirting with men I have never personally met, and hopefully, I’ll impress them with my charms. That’s if they would gauge their attention onto me instead of whatever they wanted to boast about.

Mama practically talked my ear off when we were upon arriving Lady Danbury’s estate, but Richard distracted her with the topic of his new fiancée like the eldest brother he is. I still hadn’t thanked him for his act of bravery, although, that could wait for when we were in the carriage.

In my mind, I ventured on about whether or not he would be at the ball. The last time we’ve met was nearly three days ago when our families agreed to have a picnic in celebration of a newborn baby coming into the world. As much as I enjoyed engaging in social encounters, I had been more comfortable with reading alone in my room.

But alas, he persuaded me to join everyone outside where we could eat and share jokes under the warm sun together. Since then, I couldn’t stop thinking about the way his shoulder brushed against mine more than enough times to call it accidental.

The man even offered to feed me a sandwich and delectable piece of scone he had already bitten into. Luckily for the two of us, our families were too immersed with doting over the aforementioned newborn baby to realize what we were doing.

Viscount Bridgerton, informally known as Anthony or Bridgerton by both family and close friends. I was not exempt from the latter formalities, although, I’ve always wondered what my life would be like if I had not crossed paths with him.

He is everything and more when Lady Whistledown wrote about him in her society’s paper last Tuesday. And to be quite frank, he needed to work for what he wanted rather than let it fall into his lap.

It seemed unfathomable the way he charmed his way through women of the ton while simultaneously rejecting them. I found it entertaining to see the crestfallen faces of girls my age, but am I to blame for their naïveté?

Anthony Bridgerton is a Rake through and through, which I can say with the utmost certainty because I am his childhood friend.

Now, don’t get me wrong. He loves his mother and siblings in place of his late father, and he is very passionate in regards of his interests. That includes women who have a pretty face and have given him an unforgettablely good time.

But this did not excuse the trail of broken hearts as well as tearful confessions behind the Viscount. Although a bit discouraging for someone who harbored feelings for the man, I always kept a smile on my face whenever we had a conversation with one another.

Anthony was extremely well-versed in politics, social skills, and the economy. There were times when I tested him on a popular topic in the papers, which as expected, he excelled.

I should not be thinking about the past at this hour. Everyone around me was dancing, drinking their glasses of champagne, and looking for someone to court. Letting out a deep sigh, I brush off a speck of invisible dust from the hem of my dress.

That’s when I see him, politely making his way through the crowd to go to where I am. A silent panic breaks my former calm demeanor, and I quickly stand taller to seem more presentable. It does not go unnoticed in the slightest, thus Anthony chuckles behind a hand then he stands before me in his handsome glory.

“Good evening, Miss Willows. How are you enjoying the ball so far?” There’s a mischievous glint behind those mesmerizing brown eyes, but onlookers would mistake it as a completely different emotion. “Hello, Lord Bridgerton. I’m much comfortable standing on the sidelines rather than dancing the night away. Thank you for asking, my lord.”

He shakes his head with amusement, and he finds my honest reply to be of a different mood compared to the other young women. “Then you shan’t refuse my offer to dance the night away, Miss Willows.” I furrow my brows in confusion and not a moment later, I’m swept onto the dance floor.

I’ve not the chance to process all that has happened, but Anthony keeps me focused on him and only him. He lowers his head to whisper words of encouragement, and I flush like a rose when he sneaks a kiss on the apple of my cheek. It’s too much for me to understand why he chose me instead of any other woman he wanted in the ball room.

“I’m relieved to see that you’re not stepping on my feet, and how beautiful your smile glows, Miss Willows.” I’m temporarily rendered speechless as to why he’s suddenly being quite the gentleman towards me. If it weren’t for the bystanders, he and I would be playfully bantering nonstop about the most random things we could think of.

“Anthony, tell me, what’s gotten into you? I appreciate the change of attitude, but it’s not the Bridgerton I know.” He’s unresponsive for a minute, then two. I can feel his grip on my waist tighten and the subtle action to bring our bodies closer. I’m not sure how I should react, but I needn’t say anything at all when he spins me around.

“My mother wants me to find a young lady to court because she’s tired of me being a bachelor for most of my life.” “Well, I can’t say I’m not surprised because she’s right.” I’m quick to give my reply, and he briefly glares down at me. “Oh, come now, Anthony. Even Lady Whistledown knows about your spectacular reputation and preferences.”

“Yes, but that’s all she knows about me, y/n. I just don’t think I’m capable of settling down with a family of my own in the near future.” The song comes to an end, and we bow before walking together for some refreshments. I say my hellos to several couples, single lords, and some of my friends when we come across them.

“That is a lie because from my knowledge, you’re the spitting image and exact replica of your father, Anthony Bridgerton.” “Y/n, I’m grateful to have met an extraordinary woman like yourself, but sometimes you get on my nerves.” That stabbed me right in the heart. Alright, perhaps I shouldn’t have mentioned his late father, but he didn’t have to be so harsh.

“Look, all I’m saying is that you can marry whoever you want to, but you’d most definitely choose a woman with the same personality as yours.” I watch him take a swig from his wine glass, and then he points it at me. Narrowing my eyes as I brace myself for possible humiliation, he sets down the glass and takes my hand to drag me off to someplace other than where we were now.

I won’t lie when I say that I was nervous yet excited to find out where he was taking me. Benedict, Colin, and Eloise all looked our way then at their mother, and I could tell that they had connected the dots. It was a good thing that Lady Bridgerton found her happy place with alcohol, otherwise she would’ve stopped Anthony in his tracks.

We eventually reach our destination, which so happens to be one of countless rooms that was conveniently far away for anyone to hear. Don’t tell me... “Anthony, what are we doing over here? Shouldn’t we be with all those people, and dancing the night away?”

No answer from my captor. He seemed to be in deep thought, and I scoffed in disbelief. I most certainly did not want to spend the rest of my time on my friend, especially when he wouldn’t tell me why he brought me here. “Look, I came to this ball to find a suitor. If you won’t answer me, then—“

Before I knew it, his lips were on mine. The hand that was once squeezing my waist found its rightful place, and the other gently brushed my hair back. I fluttered my eyes closed, letting myself melt in his embrace as we kissed with a fiery passion I knew that had always been between us.

A few moments later, he pulled away then buried his face into the crook of my neck. I felt him inhale then exhale, as though he was trying to control himself from doing something I hadn’t done before. “I want you, y/n. But only if you’ll allow me to court you. We have gone through thick and thin in our childhood, and I want nothing more to continue for the rest of our lives.”

The Viscount Anthony Bridgerton was asking for my consent to be courted, and I would be delusional to reject his confession. I’ve never seen him so sincere and vulnerable like this before, and it made me giggle. He must’ve thought that I was going to refuse his offer, but I snake my arms around his neck then kiss his soft lips for reassurance.

“I’ve never thought you would ask, Anthony. But this means no more secret meetings, alright? If I hear an inkling about you being where you’ve told me you wouldn’t be at, then I’m ending things. Am I clear, Bridgerton?” He swallows thickly and nods, so I’m rather grateful that my warning has gotten through.

I bring my hands to cup his face, and I now see how much he adores me the way he relaxes against my touch. Unfortunately, we’ve been gone for far too long, but I don’t doubt that he’ll come up with a reasonable excuse to his worrying mama.

Anthony kisses the top of my head before taking my hand and leading me back the way we came. I intertwine our fingers to which he brings up to his lips and kisses my knuckles. “It might be too soon to say this, but I absolutely and undoubtedly love you, y/n Willows. I promise to cherish you for as long as I am going to live.”

It takes a bit for me to absorb the sudden declaration, but I’m not complaining whatsoever. All that mattered was that we shared equal affection for one another, and we were willing to work for a bright, lovely lifestyle ahead of us. “And I wholeheartedly love you, Anthony Bridgerton. You are mine for eternity,”

Some might say that we were too inexperienced when it came to love, but we ignored their opinions. Like my mama used to tell me when I was a child, “Have a little faith.”

#bridgerton #anthony bridgerton #bridgerton imagine #romance

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missinghan · 3 years

Text

broken umbrella ⤖ han jisung

❖ genre : high school au; fluff

❖ word count : 1,6k.

❖ warning : explicit language

❖ summary : a typical day in your life starts with having candies poured over your head and ends with breaking han jisung’s umbrella.

❖ note : I wanted to write smth dumb okay-

one.

Jisung gives his desk a harsh kick, one that does no good in releasing his inner storm, only to wince in pain later because he’s an idiot.

Classes have been somewhat less than boring these days, partially because his mind is occupied with thoughts of you half of the time and partially because…well, more thoughts of you. Oh wait, today is a little different than usual considering the fact that you did not give him a proper response.

To what?

Putting it simply, he woke up early this morning to go over his routine more thoroughly—styling his hair, making sure that his tie isn’t sloppy-looking, and spraying himself with his brother’s cologne. He doesn’t usually care for any one of those things until junior starts and you show up. Call him desperate, or delusional, or childish even but it truly felt like fate when you two first encountered each other.

“Yeah right, fate,” Hyunjin snickers loudly, swirling a strawberry-flavored lollipop inside his mouth. “You meant when you fell on your ass on the bus the other day and you accidentally grabbed her collar?”

Jisung feels his cheeks heat up thanks to his friend’s less than necessary comment. “Shut the fuck up, you’re just jealous.” It was great. Not only did he fall head over heels for you, but he also left a bad impression.

Back to the point. All of his hard work this morning is reduced to nothing because of the rain. His hair is messed up, his uniform looks sloppy, and his shoes are covered in mud from skipping through puddles. Not to mention, he showed up timely enough to be there when you opened your locker, having various candies and sweets poured down your head, scattered all over the hallway.

Yeji should have told him you didn’t like sweet things yesterday, damn it. Because he’s never seen you giving him that look before. The look that makes him believe you will make him experience torment and pain, begging for the mercy that never comes—make his life a living hell basically.

“How did your plan go, by the way?” His friend asks out of boredom.

“Fantastic,” he replies under his breath when everything is, in fact, not fantastic.

Hyunjin tilts his head. “Did she know?”

“Know what? That I’m in love with her? I mean I wasn’t trying to be subtle or anything-“

“No, did she know that it was gonna rain today?”

Shrugging, he closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose in exhaustion; forty-five minutes periods should be illegal. “Why does that matter?”

“Hey, Han!”

Jisung turns his head to the voice and sees Felix sliding the door to his classroom open, uneven breaths as if he’s been running for his life while holding two umbrellas in his arms. He glances at his friend’s state with a grimace, head cocked to the side in confusion. Luckily, no one really spends recess in class except for loners like himself anyway. “What are you doing?”

“Y/N didn’t bring an umbrella!” The freckled boy exclaims with excitement, only able to coax an amused hum from Hyunjin. “But you have an umbrella, and it’s still raining! Which means…?”

A comical silence falls upon the three of them. It takes Jisung approximately five taps of Hyunjin’s finger on the table to fully process his friend’s point. Realization lights up in his eyes like a candle but dies down with a pout on his face. “But she can just go with her friends?” he says with expressive hands, though a little disappointed.

“I’m not gonna half-ass it if I plan on helping you,” Felix gives the two umbrellas, a white one and a pink one, in his hands a slight jerk, looking oddly proud.

This time, Jisung catches on immediately; his eyes go wide in shock as though his friend has committed the greatest sin. “Yeji and Lia are so gonna kill you.”

two.

“Did you bring an umbrella?” Lia asks while hopeless rummaging through her stuff. “I swear with my own eyes I saw myself putting one in my bag this morning.”

Yeji shakes her head in defeat, tugging at the straps of her backpack. “I was pretty sure I brought one too. I even used it to walk to the bus stop this morning! Someone must have taken it during recess,” she sighs, dreading the pouring rain and grey clouds.

It’s raining again. It’s only been raining today, the weather forecast did predict that it’s most likely going to last for a whole week too (not that you bothered checking). You don’t mind the rain, though. You like the fact that they make the world appear mistier, hazier like a fever dream.

What isn’t good about the rain is the fact that your parents won’t be too happy to see you come home looking like a wet rat. Or the fact that you’ll probably get a really bad cold, and that won’t be pretty during midterms week. Or the fact that most students are absolute idiots and didn’t bring their own umbrellas either. Everyone is shoving each other for space under the canopy at the main gate so the rain won’t soak their clothes.

You’re not having it. At all.

“Yeji, Lia. I’m going home,” you purse your lips together and take a breath.

Lia frowns at your particular solution. “Already? But you’re gonna get wet.”

“My house is a ten-minute walk away. Shouldn’t be too bad,” you say lowly in faint annoyance, eyes squinted from the discomfort of lack of space; these students have no manners whatsoever, you’re getting claustrophobic.

With a determined huff, you pull the zipper of your jacket up and throw the hood over your hair. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

Shadow suddenly looms over the top of your head, warmth radiates to your clothed arm. In the corner of your eyes, a familiar face comes into view and forces a heavy exhale from your lips.

“Hey, do you wanna go with-“ Jisung pauses midway when you take off running, shattering his fantasy of living in a drama into bits without mercy. “Y/N! Wait up!”

three.

“Come here! Or you’ll get sick!”

“Why the hell do you care?”

“Y/N, stop being so stubborn! You’re gonna catch a cold!”

“It’s none of your business.”

After walking down several blocks down the road, past nothing but empty plazas and mostly closed café, you even take an extra U-turn, going through a skeptical alley just so Jisung will get tired and stop following you. Your effort doesn’t not prevail so you give up eventually, deciding to take the proper turn to head home before it’s too late to prepare dinner.

The poor boy can feel the rain drizzle down his black umbrella before falling onto his windbreaker, soaking through the fabric to stain his senses with a chilling sensation. He has already calmed every racing thought that ceases to ease his erratic heartbeat but no matter how hard he tries, there isn’t one second where he isn’t thinking about your well-being.

“Hey,” he calls out; when you turn around, he’s closing his umbrella and tossing it to the ground, leaving it to graze the tip of your shoes. “Take it and go home. I won’t bother you anymore.”

You roll your eyes before picking it up, mercilessly letting it flop right in front of him. “I don’t need it.”

Jisung clicks his tongue in irritation, not caring that droplets are falling from his head and his skin is crawling from the cold. Somehow, he’s starting to become baffled for no reason. Perhaps it’s because of your nonchalance about the current situation; you shouldn’t be so apathetic when he’s genuinely worried sick for your health.

His eyes are heavy with rain droplets so he blinks them away before glaring at you slightly. “You need it more than I do. Would you please stop acting irrationally, take the umbrella and head home? The rain isn’t stopping anytime soon.” His leg jerks up to kick at the innocent object; still isn’t enough to relish the turmoil hurling his innards.

He brushes past you, shoving your shoulder a little while expecting you to finally accept his offer. To his dismay, you once again grab at the poor, poor umbrella, and throw it at his leg with more force this time. When it drops to the ground with a small thud, his heart pauses awkwardly in disappointment.

The sun is going down by the second but you can still see the faint outline of his scowl. “Go home, Jisung. It’s getting late,” you remark coldly, stuffing your freezing hands into your pocket.

With a loud groan, he marches back to where you two were originally standing, a curse word lingers on the tip of his tongue. But he manages to swallow it back down before gently tugging at the sleeve of your jacket. “Take the umbrella at least,” he voices softly, the crack more evident than anything at the end. “Look, I know I’ve been nothing but a nuisance since we first met. I just really like you and I care for you okay? Go home, Y/N.”

“Please.”

You look at him after moments, your once hateful eyes finally glinting with something else other than general distaste and annoyance. It only takes one glance of his tired eyes to pierce through your phlegmatic front, leaving your raw emotions out in the open. Before Jisung can say another word or take notice of the rare warmth creeping in your gaze, you take his hand in yours and pull him toward a nearby apartment complex to not wait out in the downpour any longer. By the time that you’ve released the grip, he’s still staring into the nothingness, eyes slightly wide in shock.

“What are you doing? Aren’t you gonna go home?” he blurts out finally after snapping out of it.

“This is my apartment complex. But I must have dropped my card somewhere. So I can’t go inside.”

A sigh. “Is anyone home right now?”

“My phone is dead.”

Jisung perks up and his hand fishes inside his pocket. “You can use-”

You inhale deeply, looking away. “Enough is enough, Jisung. Go home.”

“You broke my umbrella,” he mentions, blinking rapidly to bat the droplets away from his eyelashes. “I can’t go home like this.”

Few beats of silence later, a middle-aged woman dressed in a beige trench coat walks past the both of you, two high school students pathetically standing under the canopy like wet rats; she swipes her card against the security lock and the glass door pops open without much effort. Sparing you the last look, she’s probably thinking ‘kids these days’ before heading inside with a roll of her eyes.

Jisung hurriedly skips over to hold the door open for you, motions for you to walk in with his head. To his surprise, you comply but bring your steps to a halt to situate yourself in front of him. His lashes are wet and heavy; that’s when you realize how soaked you both are and how terribly cold the temperature it’s getting. Your hand reaches out to brush the raindrops away softly, shaking his heart to the core.

The silence is graceful in the wake of the moment, the rain in the background just makes everything that much more cinematic. However, Jisung isn’t in the right mind state to fanboy over the fact that his drama fantasy is one step closer to reality. He wishes to cling to this moment forever because he just can’t get enough. He can never.

“I’ll get you a towel,” you pull away calmly, thinking how cute he sort of looks when his cheeks are three shades redder. “And a new umbrella.”

His smile has never been brighter, you notice. Even when he’s out in the brutal cold and completely drenched from head to toe. And wait...have his eyes always been so pretty?

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jokertrap-ran · 3 years

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(光与夜之恋 Light and Night) Main Story Chapter 1-16: 命运的拐点 Destiny’s Turning Point Translation

“Destiny is like a gust of wind… Red leaves flutter, flying away in the face of it. And it is when the winds pick up ― That you meet once more…”

“Rather than daydreaming all day, thinking about how you can soar higher, perhaps you’d be better off first learning how to walk.”

*Light and Night Master-list *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Join the Light & Night Discord (＾▽＾)~ ♪ *Main story tag will be #For Light and Night

I failed. And right when I was just a step away from becoming the champion too.

I felt an odd sense of heaviness overwhelm me during the long time it took for the curtain call to end, something that I’d never felt before. It was sort of a mixture of both an inexplicable sense of dissatisfaction and suspicion.

I don’t know how or when I got myself off the stage.

Sariel’s words echoed in my mind. He said that I’d completely disregarded the essence of what it means to be a Fashion Designer… But what exactly does he mean by that?

All the contestants walking in front of me were relieved beyond measure that it was all over now, but the more I thought about it, the more confused I got. I walked towards a quieter place alone.

The courtyard garden at the foot of the corridor appeared serene and mysterious at night. The bright moonlight filtered down, shining upon the flowers and leaves alike. The night breeze carried along with it the faint fragrance of flowers.

❖☆———————————★❖

I lowered my head and glanced at the potted plant by my feet. It was a flower yet to fully bloom, with many smaller flower buds hidden beneath its wide leaves, which were gently rubbing against my ankle.

It was akin to a small pet that was showing affection to its owner in a bid to comfort them.

Despite knowing that the notion of comfort was merely an illusion caused by the night breeze, I still couldn’t help but feel my heart warm.

MC: Thanks…

It was then that I heard the squeak of the glass doors opening to admit another.

Illuminated under the moonlight, the lanky figure gradually walked closer

❖☆———————————★❖

A crisp white suit and a pair of icy eyes.

MC: Sariel…

He looked a little appalled to see me here, but that flicker of emotion was soon concealed.

Sariel didn’t speak. He directed his gaze past me, staring at the plants within the garden. His eyes reflected the faint moonlight, appearing as beautiful as coloured glass.

He looked surprisingly serene here, compared to the frostiness he’d displayed back up on stage earlier.

However, the cold comment he’d given me immediately flashed back in my mind just as I was musing about this.

❖☆———————————★❖

Sariel: You absolutely do not understand the meaning of your given theme at all.

❖☆———————————★❖

My head had been in a mess back then, so I totally missed the chance to enquire further about it.

Perhaps his being here right now was fate’s way of giving me another chance to do so.

MC: M-Mr. Sariel…!

Sariel silently turned his gaze over. His eyes were as calm as ever, the only difference was his slightly furrowed eyebrows.

MC: I’m (Y/n), one of the participating Fashion Designers of the contest today.

Sariel: I know.

MC: I really like your works, and I’ve always seen you as my role model.

Sariel: So?

MC: So…

★Night Choice: Read his body language and remain silent.

I lapsed into silence the moment I met his gaze.

That look on his face spoke volumes. He didn't even bother hiding the fact that anything I said would fall upon deaf ears.

Sariel: Are you presuming that I'll understand just what it is you're trying to express in your work if I give you a chance to explain yourself?

I looked at him in surprise, nodding.

The sides of his lips immediately curled up into a sneer.

Sariel: The organizer prepared hundreds upon hundreds of material choices. You clearly had the choice of choosing a more suitable material, yet you still used the most unfitting material: 80 twist Black Chiffon.

MC: That's because I wanted to express the tenacity of "Fashion Designers".

Sariel: You're only creating this to realize your idea.

Sariel: Be it high twist Black Chiffon, or those blasphemous roses that clash so terribly bad that it leaves people speechless...

Sariel: Everything merely falls under your own "Design Ideas", with no consideration whatsoever about whether this is the right way to go about making it into an actual product.

☆Light Choice: Explain your design choice

MC: So, I want to know why you think I don’t understand the theme. I hope I can explain just what the ideas that went into my design are.

I originally thought that he’d outright refuse me, but he never interrupted me, and neither did he leave. He’d only watched me calmly as I rattled off. Does this mean that he acquiescences with me?

I mustered up my courage and started rattling off my explanation.

MC: I chose to use Black Chiffon with the highest twist available, 80 twists high, not just because it can attain and support the design I wanted to go for.

MC: It was also because I felt that it was a good representation of the tenacity of Fashion Designers.

MC: And as for the rose ornaments… I chose it because it represents why I initially wanted to become a Fashion Designer.

MC: I don’t know others will go about interpreting what the term “Fashion Designer” means, but to me, I feel that…

MC: There is no one answer to this, and there’s also no way one can take it too far in any whichever direction.

After hearing me out, the sides of Sariel’s lips curled into a blatant sneer.

Sariel: So, you think that the problem here lies with the way you think, and hence, your idea. That’s why you’re trying so hard to explain and make it clear to me, am I right?

MC: …Is it not?

Sariel: Your sheer lack of understanding is astounding.

Sariel: 80 twist Black Chiffon might be able to support and display the design you wish for it to. But for something that’s being made into a top hat, this high twist amount is the most unsuitable for the task.

Sariel: You’ve chucked the elegance aside, completely disregarded the volume it is supposed to have, and most importantly, it is utterly uncomfortable to wear.

Sariel: There are better ways you could represent “Roses” if you so wished. You shouldn’t have forcibly added this artefact that clashes with the whole outlook of the piece to your work.

Sariel: Only mediocre people will wish to attain recognition through their explanations.

Sariel: Everyone out there will only be able to grasp what it is you’re trying to convey through your work.

Sariel: In your work… That’s if we can even call that a piece of work…

Sariel: I don’t know why you have placed so much sentiment into it. So much, that it has totally lost its purpose as a hat.

He was surprisingly serious when it came to talking about design itself, much unlike the arrogance and iciness he’d displayed back on stage.

Sariel: Designers ought to know just what the product is being created for.

Sariel: You do not yet hold the qualities of what it takes to be a good Designer.

Sariel: Rather than daydreaming all day, thinking about how you can soar higher, perhaps you’d be better off first learning how to walk.

His words were like a bullet, piercing me right through the heart. I stared at him, stunned and unable to form a single word.

He was absolutely right. I’d always gone straight for the concept. Whilst my heart wanted to explore new concepts within the given theme, it’d also ignored the most important thing.

I bowed to him in utter seriousness.

MC: I understand. I will do my best to correct that. Thank you.

Sariel: … What you intend to do from now on is none of my concern.

It was as if he’d reverted back into the judge, atop a pedestal and far out of reach. A completely different person from the one who’d been seriously discussing my design with me just moments earlier.

Watching his retreating figure, I felt nothing short of conflicted.

It was almost as if I’d gotten the answer to the question that had been nagging at the back of my mind for some time now in this unpleasant exchange of ours.

❖☆————— ⊹ For Light & Night⊹ —————★❖

Previous Part: (Chapter 1-14) | Next Part: (Chapter 1-19 Light) / (Chapter 1-19 Night)

#光与夜之恋 #Light and Night #Otome #Translations #Tencent #萧逸 #Osborn #齐司礼 #Sariel #陆沉 #Evan #查理苏 #Charlie #夏鸣星 #Jesse #For Light and Night

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uncurlinglikeflowers · 3 years

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Queer Trauma, Coming Out, & the Long Road to Self-Love and Healing

As I’ve reflected on my past, I’ve discovered that my adolescence may be one of, if not THE most traumatic time of my life thus far as a queer person. The last few months with my incredible therapist have made me realize that the years of anxiety, panic, fear, self-loathing, confusion, and depression have scarred me deeper than I had previously thought. She also made me realize that this is at least partially because I have never really talked about it openly and in depth in a healthy and productive way before, which is what inspired me to start this blog to share my experiences with others that are currently struggling with their identity, or to allow those that are also currently healing from the trauma of their previously closeted life feel a little more seen.

I knew from a VERY young age that I was different, but didn’t know how or what it meant. I was a lonely kid for a lot of my childhood without many friends. I didn’t want to play football with the boys during recess. I sought companionship at lunch with a table full of girls more often than not, which in itself also made me feel incredibly self conscious at the time as well.

I asked, (with incredible shame) for the “girl’s toy” from the backseat in the McDonald’s drive-thru because I loved to play with the mini-Barbies and craft entire storylines for them. They were easier to hide in my room than regular sized Barbies. I spent most summers off school alone playing video games and reading book and book after book. I didn’t really click with the boys down the street. I was obsessed with Britney Spears and the color purple. I was lonely without really knowing what it meant.

I feel as though that fear I felt in my childhood and adolescence held me back from SO much. Middle school in particular was absolute hell. I hated it. I always felt constantly insecure and uncomfortable. I had absolutely zero confidence or self love. I hated my body and how I looked.

While other kids experienced their first relationships and first feelings of romantic love, I was convinced that it was just not a possibility for me. On top of being deeply closeted, scared, confused, lonely, and in deep denial, girls didn’t go for me anyway. I was the awkward chunky guy struggling with his identity feeling like he had to make up for it by working extra hard to get perfect grades and give himself 100% to other people. I tried not to think about it too much, but hearing about relationships, seeing people kiss in the hallways between classes, and girls talking about what they liked in boys which was the complete opposite of me... it was hell.

To make my self consciousness worse, I felt supremely uncomfortable in gym class and the boys’ locker room in particular. I was ashamed of my body and also self conscious for wanting to look at the other boys; terrified that they would catch on and beat me senseless. Hearing them consistently call each other f*g in a very VERY negative context drove me deep into the closet as the identity I already felt shame for was directly correlated with being a ridiculed outcast, and something that was inherently, disgustingly wrong and unacceptable. The worst insult teenage boys could deliver to each other in the safety of an unchaperoned locker room in a hick town often not kind to queer people or those that were different. I SO desperately wanted to fit in with the other boys instead of being any version of who I actually was.

Part of that façade of blending in with my hetero peers involved having a girlfriend for two months in 8th grade. We didn’t even kiss, let alone approach any sexual situations. I’m sure she had her suspicions. I was utterly obsessed with the concept of blending in by having a girlfriend like the other boys and just having someone special in my life, even if we really didn’t even do any couple things.

Upon reflection, I don’t think the concept of ever being sexual with her ever crossed my mind in the slightest. Even the idea of kissing her scared the hell out of me, and not just from first kiss nerves. Deep down I knew it wasn’t right for me. Don’t EVER tell a kid they’re too young to know. Fast forward to modern times, my first kiss with a girl was with a close friend YEARS after I came out. Go figure.

The idea of caring about and loving myself was non-existent at that time. It’s a very VERY new and ongoing journey for me. I didn’t really care about myself at all. I hadn’t learned how to. Mom was in and out of cancer treatments, and would later pass during my senior year of college and kick off my coming out process, but that’s a whole other post for another day. Spending pretty much my entire childhood watching mom deal with being sick, I didn’t want to cause my family any more discomfort. I was full of self loathing, fear, and confusion, but it seemed irrelevant and unimportant because I didn’t want to be a hindrance.

Instead, I tried so desperately to be the perfect kid and son by befriending my teachers, being a model student, and joining band and a bunch of organizations to stay as busy as possible to stay distracted and impress everyone else.I didn’t love myself because I didn’t think I was allowed to or deserved to in my own head. While I did finally make more meaningful friends in high school, I continued to go through the motions to make my family proud to make up for the scared closeted kid who thought he had to make up for his queerness as though it were a shameful weakness, and it seemed to be the only thing that could possibly matter at the time.

Non-surprisingly, I never really knew any openly queer boys in grade school. It probably legitimately wasn’t all that safe to come out in that environment. I’ll never forget the two boys I saw holding hands in a Wal-Mart that absolutely shook up my entirely reality, because I had never seen romantic same-sex affection in person before.

There was a lesbian couple at my school, but people said awful, degrading things about them behind their backs constantly and acted like they were the biggest freaks. Another boy in my grade in high school hadn’t come out yet officially but was very flamboyant, and thus was treated just as awful as the lesbian couple, if not worse. Other kids just regularly said despicable things about him without even knowing him at all. I even heard parents make blatantly homophobic jokes about him.

His life had to have been hell, and as a fully out queer adult, I still regret not being able to stand up for him more. That definitely forced me deeper into the closet. He wasn’t even out but got talked about like he was some disgusting abomination. How could I ever assume that I could ever come out, let alone kiss, date, and love another boy? I HATED the idea of any attention being placed on me, so I just wanted to survive school at that point.

I had multiple people throughout high school ask me if I were gay just as though it were the most casual question rather than a triggering inquiry that sent me into a mental frenzy every damn time it was presented. Having one of the jock boys ask me such a deeply personal question in passing on the way to my seat in Algebra class was traumatizing. I of course always said no, as at the time I was still convinced it was a passing phase and that I couldn’t actually be gay.

At home, in the days of Myspace, I got anonymous messages telling me they were pretty sure I was gay. The anonymity was arguably worse in some ways.

At a young age, I became hyper aware of how I carried myself, talked, and acted. I loathed hearing my voice or seeing myself in pictures, for fear of sounding too feminine or standing or emoting too gay. I obsessed over the concept that boys and girls carried their books a certain way, or the boys would be labelled as queer. I was paranoid about where I shopped for clothes, the colors I wore, and the length and fit of my shorts.

In middle school, I got a lilac colored trapper keeper for school that I ultimately had my parents take back to the store for a different one because I felt so self conscious about it all day. At home I played with my little Barbies, but didn’t dare tell the kids at school for fear of rejection and isolation. Overall, I felt grossly incompetent, irrelevant, and unimportant in my own mind. Unworthy of love and of course, deeply ashamed for my attraction to the other boys.

I never had anyone whatsoever to help guide me through the coming out process, because I didn’t know a single queer person who could. I’ve now dedicated a good amount of my energy trying to be that person I desperately could have used then for anyone else that needs that role to be filled, and for someone to tell them that someone is incredibly proud of them. An obscene amount of queer people don’t ever hear “I’m so proud of you!” when they really need it the most.

I also didn’t have any good queer representation on TV or in movies, so I really did feel completely alone at times. Most queer characters in media existedly solely to be made fun of and mocked, ratcher than celebrated, properly represented, or God forbid, given a legitimate love story, and the public’s reaction was so frequently one of such repugnance and disapproval.

This was also probably about the time that a close family member told me that he had punched a gay guy for hitting on him when he was younger, a story he again felt the need to share with a now ex-boyfriend and I when we were dating, as though that’s not a horrifying thing for an already scared and closeted queer to hear from their own family.

I think during middle school in particular is when my anxiety and depression issues started, but I assumed either that I was being a baby and that my feelings were invalid, or that it was just teenage angst. The idea that boys and men should mask their emotions and feelings and feel shame rather than expressing them was, (and seemingly appears to continue to be) a very real thing in small towns and society in general.

It didn’t occur to me at the time that I was experiencing varying levels of almost daily trauma that would fuck me up well into adulthood. If you take anything at all from this post, let it be that the conversation around mental health, (and men in particular in this instance) NEEDS to change.

Another particularly noteworthy event in my queer adolescence was when two of my friends, (both girls, shocker) discovered gay porn on my computer. While they pestered me about if it were mine while they laughed, I of course lied. I felt a deep shame and utter humiliation. On reflection, fucking IMAGINE if they had been able to be gentle and understanding with me and told me they loved me and still would even if I were gay. From then on I was terrified that they would bring that day up to our other friends as a joke. Perhaps they did a time or two, I don’t recall. These same friends made jokes about the queer kid I mentioned earlier, and both parents of one of the girls regularly gossiped and made homophobic jokes about him when I was at their house

By the time school dances rolled around, I knew I would never be able to go with anyone but friends. Even if I weren’t still deeply closeted, I’m pretty sure my school still had pretty strict rules against bringing same-sex dates to Prom. While I definitely had fun with my friends at the dances we went to, I so desperately longed for a world where I could dance with a boy who loved me like everyone else was able to.

The loneliness and isolation I felt at the end of those nights could be unbearable because it didn’t seem possible for me, even as I looked into the future. I was fully convinced I would live a very lonely life without anyone to love me the way I craved. I didn’t belong in that world, and wouldn’t ever be set up for that kind of happiness, joy, and feeling of content. I would live for everyone else but myself because that’s just the way the world worked for us queers.

I wish I had had just one single person then who gave me full permission to be my authentic queer self on any level. Someone who could hug me and tell me life after high school and college could and would be vastly different. Someone to tell me I wasn’t an unlovable disgusting freak, but rather a kind-hearted boy who deserved a deep love someday because I was a valid and gentle soul who deserved the world. I certainly deserved more than the shame and pain that constantly haunted me.

Maybe then I wouldn’t have thought about death before 30 so much and obsessed over it well into my college career. I might have realized that I needed to learn to be gentle with myself and take care of and prioritize me and my own happiness. So many people let me down and convinced me that I was a filthy sinner and an over-emotional kid with invalid perspectives and feelings. As most of my closest friends, (that I cannot stress enough have been the ones to save my life and encourage the authenticity that I present so proudly today) came into my life after I had already come out fully, they weren’t around during those dark early struggles.

Sometimes as an adult I still wonder what it would have felt like and how profoundly different my life could be if someone had held me close and sincerely told me they’re proud of me for what I survived and overcame, and told me that they can’t wait to see my eyes light up with the love I’ve always dreamed of in a boy, and that I still continue to seek.

Young, baby gay Travis would be in absolute awe if he knew what life had in store for him back then. To see a future version of himself painting his nails, wearing whatever he wanted, dancing with strangers at pride festivals, having the time of his life at drag shows with his queer family and falling in love with boys? Proudly holding a boyfriend’s hand walking downtown in a busy city? Openly telling his dad about the cute boy he’s going on a date with? Going Facebook official with a boy? Being a super vocal advocate and inspiration and mentor to not only queer family, but to people he hardly talks to but manages to influence and inspire just by unashamedly being himself? Genuinely looking forward to kissing his new husband in front of family and friends on his wedding day, knowing it’ll be one of the happiest days of his entire life?

Holy. Actual. Fuck.

Travis of six or seven years ago wouldn’t have even dared to dream this big, let alone baby gay Travis. He probably would have been utterly mortified but SO comforted to see that future life when he didn’t believe it to be any level of possible.

I’m so fucking proud of myself for this journey, and no one will ever take that away from me or water down my trauma or the grueling work I’ve put in. Genuinely, this is the one thing in my life that makes me absolutely burst with pride.

I think I want to learn how to keep baby Travis in mind with this pride without having to revisit the trauma in the process. Look back at him with open arms, excited to see him learn and blossom into his actual self someday. Even if he could have desperately used someone like the me I am today, he survived then, and continues to persevere today.

He’s queer as fuck, and proud to shout it from the rooftops. He’s a voice and an advocate for the voiceless. A shining light and beacon of hope for those still navigating their terrifying escape from their closeted life. He’s going to meet a man someday and love him so deeply in the way baby Travis always dreamed of. Above all, he’s going to continue to make that little guy so incredibly proud because he knows now the importance of loving himself in the process.

I’m so proud of that scared little boy. I just wish he could have known then how proud he would make himself one day.

As you talk with the queer people in your life, please keep in mind that just about all of us have incredible trauma directly tied to our identities. Talk to them with love, compassion, and understanding. Tell them how proud of them you are for pursuing their own happiness in the face of oppression and rejection.

Demand better from elected officials. Advocate for us. Shut down homophobic ideals, even if you think it’ll make your family and friends uncomfortable to hear. Support queer content, artists and creators. Be a proud ally, but don’t ever allow yourself to take the spotlight away from actual queer people or our queer spaces. Mourn, love, and celebrate with us.

Understand why pride is SO fucking important to us, and why you never have to worry about needing your own pride events. Listen to us and love us for exactly who we are, and were always meant to be. Love is the most incredible, beautiful, and often rare human experience we’re able to experience during our short time on this planet, and it should always be celebrated.

Happy Pride!

#pride #gay #lgbt #journaling #love #queer #coming out #coming out stories #queer trauma #adolescent trauma #self love #healing #trauma

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