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purlturtle · 2 months

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One of the hardest thing for me all throughout my life has been the fact that my parents still don't trust I could be doing all right for myself. That my life, different though it is from their lives, and from their vision they had for my life, is a fulfilled and happy and working one.

I am forty-four years of age. I have lived on my own for twenty-five of those years: longer than I have lived under my parents' roof.

And yet!

And yet.

And yet it would seem that they see me as a head-in-the-clouds dreamer incapable of navigating this world, constantly in cloud cuckoo land, squawking helplessly (apparently) at such things as taxes or car insurance or, I don't know, cooking without burning the kitchen down or something.

I have been living in this world for forty-four years; twenty-five of them on my own.

They have never had to bail me out of jail, drive to where I live to pick me up crying on someone's doorstep, spot me money so I can pay rent, none of that. I have never once moved back home or even entertained the idea. (Not that there is anything wrong with any of the aforementioned - I, personally, don't think of these things as failures. I know my parents do though.) Never once have I needed them in such a way that it could hypothetically theoretically potentially play into their idea of me being someone who doesn't have her life together.

And yet!

And yet.

And yet I feel so keenly their dismissal of my adultness, of my being capable the way I am. So many things that are so important to me, are taken by them as a sign that I'm childish. So many markers that they put so much importance on of adulthood: car ownership. House ownership. Children of my own. - some I will never check off on, some I passed too late (whoever heard of owning your first car at 38!), some I very vocally dismiss as a marker of adulthood in the first place.

This hasn't gotten any better (heavy sarcasm) since I developed mental health problems. Why only today, in a phone call with my mom, I had to justify my use of social media to her (since of course all of social media is universally bad, and the fact that I "spend so much time glued to your phone" is a dire sign of my impending insanity (more heavy sarcasm)), AND list all of the things that I do to relax to make up for being stressed out of my wits due to my hypersensitivity. And thank GOD I listed knitting among them, "at least that's being creative" - thank you Mom, for your approval; I needed it so badly. (heaviest sarcasm yet)

I mean in a way I get it; she doesn't see me day to day, she doesn't know that I *have* arranged my life in such a way that I'm mostly okay. But the thing is: I have told her. I have told her, and I am not being believed. Because I couldn't possibly know best what I need. Like, even my consumption of food - I tell her that one of my strategies is making sure that I get enough food so that I don't fall into a blood sugar hellhole, and the first thing she worries about is whether or not the food that I eat is healthy food. Fuck, Mom, sometimes all that helps is chocolate and ice cream!!

And this conflating of "we're worried about you" and "we still don't trust that you know what you're doing, so tell me in precise detail what you're doing so that I can judge if youre doing it right (based on my incomplete knowledge of you and of being HSP)" is....... tiresome. Especially when their causes for worry are based on their headcanons, basically; hypotheses and images in their own minds, based on when we see each other twice a year, usually not at my best, because (who would have thought it?!) being around my parents is fucking stressful to me!

So earlier this month we had such a visit, and it went badly, and a few days after I got home, my mom and I talk about the visit and I tell her, in very plain and coarse language so that she'll fucking hear me, how fucking badly it went - and the next thing I know is I get a phone call from my DAD (in itself only a thing that happens in dire needs), saying that I made my mother cry, telling me with tears in his own voice that I need help, that they think I need help (i.e. therapy), basically staging an intervention based on the abovementioned hypotheses and images, and not even talking to me or asking me any background for proving or disproving their theses.

When I do not need therapy, I've worked with therapists and coaches before, I am the clearest on my needs and accommodations that I've been *in my life* - I just need my parents to accept those needs and accommodations, and to trust that I have things handled, and to damn well consult me first before they think that their precious little baby girl is out there in the world not knowing how to deal.

I've been managing myself even when I still lived with you, you numbskulls. Moving out was the best decision of my LIFE (and arguably saved it)!

God, I am so angry. I am SO angry. I can't handle well being treated dismissively at the best of times, and their dismissal is CONSTANT, and they don't even realize it. I told my mother, in today's phone call, several times that she could trust me when I say that my social media usage isn't detrimental, when I say that I have my life arranged in such a way that most days I'm okay, that I have a grip on things. And she said "well all right then, if you say so" and oh the humoring was audible and I am so furiously, incandescently angry.

And the thing is, I cannot have this conversation with them.

Not on my own, anyway.

Oh how I *wish* that there was a way in which I could sit them down, sit down myself, and then look at a family therapist or someone like that, who will then moderate that conversation so that I can be *part* of the conversation, and not also its moderator. Because that is what I'd try to be, if I sat them down with only myself, and that would NOT work out. As it is, every time I talk with them, I walk on eggshells, I constantly watch myself and them, I check everything I say to make sure I'm communicating clearly and factually and in I-messages and that whole-ass shit, and it is such a high demand on my brain that it leaves me shaking with the effort, ten minutes in. (Not because I'm afraid they'd get abusive. Don't worry. It's never been that, neither in word nor in deed. It's just the constant dismissal, which won't be helped if I have an emotional meltdown.) Still, it's an amount of managing them and their emotions that is not fair to put on my shoulders alone, but as the person that I am, that is where I'd put it, because I don't know how to have that conversation in other ways (curse of being a social worker...).

If you've read all the way to here, thank you. I appreciate you.

#jana rambles (a lot)#parental units and my struggles with them #being hsp and my struggles with my parents over that #parental dismissal #fuck 'em

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fairuzfan · 3 months

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I began work immediately, performing 10 to 12 surgeries a day, working 14 to 16 hours at a time. The operating room would often shake from the incessant bombings, sometimes as frequent as every 30 seconds. We operated in unsterile settings that would’ve been unthinkable in the United States. We had limited access to critical medical equipment: We performed amputations of arms and legs daily, using a Gigli saw, a Civil War-era tool, essentially a segment of barbed wire. Many amputations could’ve been avoided if we’d had access to standard medical equipment. It was a struggle trying to care for all the injured within the constructs of a healthcare system that has utterly collapsed. I listened to my patients as they whispered their stories to me, as I wheeled them into the operating room for surgery. The majority had been sleeping in their homes, when they were bombed. I couldn’t help thinking that the lucky ones died instantaneously, either by the force of the explosion or being buried in the rubble. The survivors faced hours of surgery and multiple trips to the operating room, all while mourning the loss of their children and spouses. Their bodies were filled with shrapnel that had to be surgically pulled out of their flesh, one piece at a time. I stopped keeping track of how many new orphans I had operated on. After surgery they would be filed somewhere in the hospital, I’m unsure of who will take care of them or how they will survive. On one occasion, a handful of children, all about ages 5 to 8, were carried to the emergency room by their parents. All had single sniper shots to the head. These families were returning to their homes in Khan Yunis, about 2.5 miles away from the hospital, after Israeli tanks had withdrawn. But the snipers apparently stayed behind. None of these children survived.

#palestine #gaza

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charmedreincarnation · 7 months

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When I say that this journey is real, and our struggles are not in vain, I am shouting it from the rooftops. A month ago, I woke up with my dream life. Obsessed with the "void state", I woke up one day being the same person but with an entirely new life. All because I chose it.

Your efforts aren't going unnoticed. The universe is always on your side. You are the universe. It's been a month, and I still feel overwhelmed with joy and wonder every single day.

I was once poor and battling depression, a reality many can relate to. But we found the law because we knew we deserved more. You can be ordinary, flawed, even unkind, but you can choose to transform and have it all. And I did just that. My parents, who were illegal immigrants working underpaid jobs, are now wealthy and respected figures. My last name alone garners recognition, and I am a socialite earning money just by being me.

I used to live in an attic infested with cockroaches. Now, I reside in a four-story mansion, complete with exotic cars, house help, cooks, drivers - all treated and compensated fairly. We also own three other houses across the United States.

I was once insecure, severely underweight, and bullied. Today, not only am I stunningly beautiful, but I am also praised for my fashion sense. I was once a dull person, but now I am radiant with positivity.

I attended an underfunded school where I was bullied, and teachers lacked resources to intervene. Now, I study at a prestigious private school that assures my entry into an Ivy League university. Finally, I am respected and appreciated.

I was lonely and uninteresting. Now, I am vibrant with a close-knit group of friends and a man who seems straight out of a Wattpad story. He's perfect, and he's mine.

This transformation happened overnight. And I've been on this journey since 2020. But how??? I surrendered to my imagination!

The void was overwhelming, but now I can easily navigate it. I was tired of giving my power away. So, I gave in to myself, to my dreams. I knew I deserved it. Even if I didn't believe it at times, I made the choice. If you desire something, it's already yours. It's done.

I didn't have a list or anything of my desires, just a vision of happiness. I didn't know what it looked like, but I knew how it felt. Now, I embody that feeling every day. My life is a series of plot twists. It's not perfect, but my worst days now are what I once prayed for. That old life? POOF It's gone. All I have is now, and I'm living it to the fullest.

My advice?

Stop seeking proof. If you're looking for proof, you'll never manifest your dreams because the only thing that needs to change is self. Doubt is a reflection of your disbelief in yourself. When I surrendered to my imagination, it didn't matter who was lying or telling the truth, because I had my truth. The burden of proof lies within you. It's called the law of assumption. You might harbor some doubt, but you must have faith like the devout. They believe without proof. You can too! We all can! Believe in yourself, and the universe will conspire in your favor!!!!

I agree! Your words resonated with me a lot. Faith, particularly self-faith, is such an important tool in shaping our realities. The ability to trust ourselves, our desires, and our potential is essential in manifesting our dream life, and it’s only so beautiful to slowly see yourself give yourself all your trust when you’ve never even liked yourself.

You're spot on about the issue of seeking confirmation from others. It's an unnecessary hurdle that we give ourselves but it’s human nature. Our truths and dreams should not be validated by anyone else but us. As you said, why should it matter if someone lied or told the truth? We are the creators of our own lives and thus, the only validation we need comes from within.

And I wholeheartedly agree with your point about deservingness. We don't have to earn our desires or prove ourselves worthy of them. If we want something, that desire alone makes us deserving of it.

More importantly I am very proud and happy for you !!!! You’re a testament of what our own imagination can do for us and I hope you only keep getting happier and happier <3!!!!

#sucess story #manifestation #law of assumption #dream life

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star-anise · 25 days

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are we talking about broke therapists yet?

I've been out of things for a couple of years now, which is why I'm willing to talk about it, and maybe the pandemic has helped things a little, but holy shit the counselling and psychotherapy field is not equipped to help its practitioners in the gig economy.

Of all my interests and talents, I pursued a degree in psychology because being a therapist is supposed to be a safe, stable, well-paid job. Every therapist I met who was registered before 2008 worked and lived under that assumption. And oh boy are all the fee structures--registration, supervision, continuing education, conferences--set up for that scenario.

After getting my Master's, I struggled like hell to get a job. It was especially bad because to get my license, I needed a supervisor to take me on. To take me on, most supervisors wanted me to already have a caseload and client base. To get a caseload and client base, I needed a job.

Friends: Every single job I heard back on wanted me to have my license before I could even land an interview.

Professors and career advisors and professional development specialists all advised me very earnestly to just keep cold-calling people on the supervision list, and it began to feel a lot like my parents' friends telling me to hit the bricks and hand out resumes. That's what worked for them, right?

I finally got a supervisor who agreed to take me on, and I'd be able to use her clinic for advertising and workspace, and we were doing the paperwork to send in with my registration, when she called me up and said, "Is this job going to be your only source of income? If you're trying to depend on getting clients and building your practice for your basic needs, this is not going to work out. This has to be something you're doing on top of a basic salary. Okay, so you're not working anywhere else right now? I'm sorry, I can't move forward with this."

Even once I landed a supervisor and a job building my own private practice, I struggled. I have ADHD and am not great at self-promotion, so trying to do all my own advertising, scheduling, bookkeeping, billing, and records management (on top of counselling) was an enormous strain. One my bosses, supervisors, and other senior professionals watched with a slightly critical eye, but consoled me about because in their early days, their clinics had had business managers, receptionists, filing clerks, and accountants, and getting used to doing everything online yourself was a bit of a learning curve, wasn't it?

I counted my pennies very carefully, because I had to pay my supervisor roughly $180 for their services every 6 hours of in-person counselling I did. This meant that to break even I had to charge my clients an average of about $30 (plus room rental and service fees) an hour--and my clients, being people with complex trauma, were frequently poor, disabled, unemployed, and had no health benefits, so even $10 or $20 a session was a lot for them.

Maybe it would have been easier if I could have taken some of those nice comfortable organization positions where they find clients and funding for you and you work 40 hours a week and get benefits and a pension, but I had to be disabled into the bargain, so working 40 hours a week just isn't possible for me. I start passing out from stress and exhaustion. Older colleagues gave me serious-faced advice about approaching my employer and asking them for some flexibility and accommodation in my schedule, and I tried to explain across the gap between us that employers simply did not hire me if I made the slightest noise about the workload. They weren't going to invest in me as a person; they were hiring 40 units of work a week, and if I wouldn't do it there were a dozen applicants after me who would.

At one point I broke down enough to email my licensing body because the Annual General Meeting/Professional Development Conference was coming up, and I wanted to attend, but I could not produce $500 to do it with. Was there some kind of way I could attend anyway? I felt ashamed to have to ask, and then absolutely mortified when the response came from the organization president, who needed to personally sign off on me being too poor to attend the single most important event in my profession's calendar year.

I honestly felt so ashamed all the time at how I was apparently failing to be a successful therapist, failing to be rich and successful, and every time I mentioned it around mentors and bosses, I could feel myself shrinking from a person to a problem to be solved. My closest therapist-friends and I have reflected on how much more difficult, poorly-paid and underworked, our various career starts have been than we were ever warned about. About the classmates and coworkers who couldn't get disability exceptions when they fell behind in their registration requirements, or burned out and left the field, or dropped their registrations and took up as life coaches, or moved their whole family somewhere exceptionally remote or rural because it was the only good job available, or worked for some godforsaken app skirting the bounds of malpractice like BetterHelp.

I like those conversations, because I feel less like an absolute fuck-up in them. There's less "Hey Lis, you were so talented in grad school, I really admired you, what are you doing now?" "Oh, I, uh... am professionally disabled, so I get government benefits, and I... sell embroidery patterns on Etsy now."

My own therapist kept asking if and when I felt like going back to being a counsellor, and I finally told him: I don't, actually. I don't want to go back and do it like I was doing it before. It was a profession I loved to the depths of my soul, and it profoundly did not love me back. I can't even imagine what would have to change, in me or it, to make it have a space in it that could fit me.

All of which I was way too scared to admit to at the time, because the more I let people know I was struggling, the more they hinted that maybe I just wasn't in a place in my life where this was a job I could do, and I needed to take a little break and wait to come back until money and disability just weren't issues for me anymore.

Eventually my cups of doubt and exhaustion did overflow, and I quit. I'm here now, living a much different life. And at the very least, all my years of helping people in bad life situations set me up perfectly for my own. I already knew what form to fill out for financial assistance, which student clinics to access for mental health support, and which government agency would, if pressed, cough out pharmacy coverage for the genuinely destitute. It gave me that much.

I hope this is just me being in extraordinary circumstances, sitting at the intersections of a few different shitty life situations that most people skip right past. Because it's on one level comforting, but another deeply infuriating, if I'm not, and I've just missed it or we've just all been too afraid to admit it to each other.

#staranise original #therapisting

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religion-is-a-mental-illness · 9 months

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By: Chloe Cole

Published: July 28, 2023

On Thursday, her 19th birthday, Chloe Cole testified to Congress with a “final warning” that medical treatments to change the gender of confused children is horrific. Cole, who was given surgery as a teenager to become male and soon regretted it, said what she needed most was therapy, not a scalpel. Here is what she told lawmakers:

My name is Chloe Cole and I am a de-transitioner.

Another way to put that would be: I used to believe that I was born in the wrong body and the adults in my life, whom I trusted, affirmed my belief, and this caused me lifelong, irreversible harm.

I speak to you today as a victim of one of the biggest medical scandals in the history of the United States of America.

I speak to you in the hope that you will have the courage to bring the scandal to an end, and ensure that other vulnerable teenagers, children and young adults don’t go through what I went through.

Deceit & coercion

At the age of 12, I began to experience what my medical team would later diagnose as gender dysphoria.

I was well into an early puberty, and I was very uncomfortable with the changes that were happening to my body. I was intimidated by male attention.

And when I told my parents that I felt like a boy, in retrospect, all I meant was that I hated puberty, that I wanted this newfound sexual tension to go away.

I looked up to my brothers a little bit more than I did to my sisters.

I came out as transgender in a letter I sent on the dining room table.

My parents were immediately concerned.

They felt like they needed to get outside help from medical professionals.

But this proved to be a mistake.

It immediately set our entire family down a path of ideologically motivated deceit and coercion.

The general specialist I was taken to see told my parents that I needed to be put on puberty-blocking drugs right away.

They asked my parents a simple question: Would you rather have a dead daughter or a living transgender son?

The choice was enough for my parents to let their guard down, and in retrospect, I can’t blame them.

This is the moment that we all became victims of so-called gender-affirming care.

I was fast-tracked onto puberty blockers and then testosterone.

The resulting menopausal-like hot flashes made focusing on school impossible.

I still get joint pains and weird pops in my back.

But they were far worse when I was on the blockers.

Forever changed

A month later, when I was 13, I had my first testosterone injection.

It has caused permanent changes in my body: My voice will forever be deeper, my jawline sharper, my nose longer, my bone structure permanently masculinized, my Adam’s apple more prominent, my fertility unknown.

I look in the mirror sometimes, and I feel like a monster.

I had a double mastectomy at 15.

They tested my amputated breasts for cancer.

That was cancer-free, of course; I was perfectly healthy.

There is nothing wrong with my still-developing body, or my breasts other than that, as an insecure teenage girl, I felt awkward about it.

After my breasts were taken away from me, the tissue was incinerated — before I was able to legally drive.

I had a huge part of my future womanhood taken from me.

I will never be able to breastfeed.

I struggle to look at myself in the mirror at times.

I still struggle to this day with sexual dysfunction.

And I have massive scars across my chest and the skin grafts that they used, that they took of my nipples, are weeping fluid today, and they’re grafted into a more masculine positioning, they said.

After surgery, my grades in school plummeted.

Everything that I went through did nothing to address the underlying mental health issues that I had.

And my doctors with their theories on gender that all my problems would go away as soon as I was surgically transformed into something that vaguely resembled a boy — their theories were wrong.

The drugs and surgeries changed my body, but they did not and could not change the basic reality that I am, and forever will be, a female.

Depths of despair

When my specialists first told my parents they could have a dead daughter or a live transgender son, I wasn’t suicidal.

I was a happy child who struggled because she was different.

However at 16, after my surgery, I did become suicidal.

I’m doing better now, but my parents almost got the dead daughter promised to them by my doctors.

My doctor had almost created the very nightmare they said they were trying to avoid.

So what message do I want to bring to American teenagers and their families?

I didn’t need to be lied to.

I needed compassion.

I needed to be loved.

I needed to be given therapy that helped me work through my issues, not affirmed my delusion that by transforming into a boy, it would solve all my problems.

We need to stop telling 12-year-olds that they were born wrong, that they are right to reject their own bodies and feel uncomfortable with their own skin.

We need to stop telling children that puberty is an option, that they can choose what kind of puberty they will go through, just like they can choose what clothes to wear or what music to listen to.

Pseudoscience

Puberty is a rite of passage to adulthood, not a disease to be mitigated.

Today, I should be at home with my family celebrating my 19th birthday.

Instead, I’m making a desperate plea to my elected representatives.

Learn the lessons from other medical scandals, like the opioid crisis.

Recognize that doctors are human, too, and sometimes they are wrong.

My childhood was ruined along with thousands of de-transitioners that I know through our networks.

This needs to stop. You alone can stop it.

Enough children have already been victimized by this barbaric pseudoscience.

Please let me be your final warning.

Thank you.

Might as well call her a murtad and kufr.

"The medical industry mutilated me, maybe don't mutilate other kids," shouldn't require bravery or renouncing an ideology.

Reminder: A minor under the age of 18 is too young to agree to a cellphone contract. 🤦‍♀️

#Chloe Cole #detrans #detransition #gender ideology #queer theory #medical malpractice #medical scandal #medical mutilation #gender affirming #gender affirming care #affirmation model #double mastectomy #gender cult #sex trait modification #genderwang #religion is a mental illness

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trulyhblue · 4 months

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Armband

Niamh Charles x Chelsea! Canadian! Reader

Warnings: fluff, cocky! Niamhy, suggestive.

Masterlist

__________________

You were quite new to the team, only joining the Blue’s side in July, but it felt like you had known Niamh for a lifetime.

You were Canadian, but you grew up in Manchester with your parents, playing in the City Academy before playing professionally for them until your move to London. Because of this, you knew Jessie and Ashleigh well. You grew up playing alongside Jessie at the National Camps, debuting for the Senior team in the same year. Winning the Olympics was a dream come true, especially with girls you have known since you were little.

Manchester City was a dream worth chasing. You were friends with Lauren Hemp, Ella Toone — before and during her move to United — and all the rest. When you found Chelsea interested in you, it was undeniably difficult to say no. While you had grown up in the North, the move down was something that ignited a certain thrill within you.

You met Niamh at your first training session. Jessie had been partnered with you for drills, and you were in the middle of introducing yourself to Guro when the brunette came barrelling in. Her flyaways were barren across her face, cheeks nipped red from the cold weather. Her hands stuffed in her pockets, she nearly tripped you to the ground at the speed at which she ran towards you. You had known her from previous matches against her, both for Canada and City, but something about being on the same team with her felt distinct. Sure, you had admired her beforehand, but it was different now.

“Jeez, Charles, give her some room, will you?” Guro scoffed, playfully pushing the girl back a bit. You watched as she nipped the inside of her cheek, looking at you so intently that you struggled to keep eye contact.

Niamh held out her hand, grabbing yours and shaking it. You could hear Jessie giggling from behind you. “My name’s Niamh.” She announced, continuing to shake your hand. “I’m Niamh.”

Her nervous state was apparent, and Guro was in a fit of laughter at the interaction she was watching.

“Hi, nice to meet you.” You replied, hoping your dismissal of her apprehension would cool the flames in both your cheeks. “I’m Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you.” She gulped, obviously baffled at what to say.

You couldn't help but smile, nodding. “Erm, yes, you too.”

“Fuck, let go of her hand, Charles, you're ‘gonna tear it off.” A voice called from behind. You turned to find the Australian Captain trampling over, slinging a welcoming arm over your shoulder. Her laid-back persona made it easier for introductions. Unlike Niamh, who was a worrying mess in front of you.

“Right, sorry.” The English woman muttered, tearing her hand away and shoving right back in her pocket. Her cheeks seared with an even deeper embarrassment, and you shook off the motion with a tight-lipped smile.

“You’re alright, really.” You smiled, hoping the reassurance consolidated the girl.

It must've, since Niamh gave you a wide smile back, shuffling by your side ever since.

All of the Chelsea girls were lovely. You had no problem fitting into the Grove there. After a few weeks of making scare appearances as a super sub, you became a regular starter for the Blues. Your presence on the field was noticeable, and fans reeled at how you brought more opportunities down the field and into the back of the net.

“Would you be able to give this to Niamh for me, please?” One fan said after a game, handing two matching friendship bracelets with your names on one of them each. Erin was beside you, signing off the posters, when she caught a glimpse of them. Without a second thought, she waved over Niamh, who wasted no time in sprinting towards you.

“Hello.” She spoke, trying hard to discreetly slip her arm around your waist. You leaned into her side, showing her the two bracelets.

“Look how cute.” You smiled, ignoring the way some fans had started recording. You slipped a hand into Niamh’s jacket pocket, holding out the present with your other hand.

Niamh picked up the one with your name on it, slipping it on her wrist and displaying it to the little girl who had made it. “Very cute. I wish we could wear them during games.”

Subconsciously, you put yours (Niamh’s) one on too. The two of you were pretty much hugging at this point. The wind had sent chills through you, your kit doing little to warm you up.

The two of you took a photo with the fan before calling it a day and trudging off back to the changing rooms. You shivered as the wind picked up, holding your arms over your chest tightly as you tried to fight the cold.

Without much thought, Niamh shrugged off her jacket, hauling it around your figure and zipping it up for you.

When you got back to your apartment, engulfing the comfort of your bed after a hard-fought game, you opened up your phone to find hundreds of people tagging your account. You managed to click on the video, smiling to yourself at the sight of you and Niamh huddled together, talking to the little girl with bracelets adorned on your wrists. You clicked on another image, this time a photo, of you blanketed in Niamh’s jumper, your arm wrapped around her waist with one of her’s around your shoulder. The photo was everywhere on social media, including the Chelsea Account.

After a couple more months, you ended up extending your contract until the end of 2027 by Christmas. You loved it there. Your friendship with the team had grown all the more closer. You felt a sense of home and solidarity that you had never felt before.

Your relationship with the team was selfless. Jessie and you had never been closer. Sam and Millie had taken you under their wing, calling you the baby of the group, since you were the shortest between you, them, Guro, Niamh, Erin, and Jessie. Fans had taken a ripe liking to you all over social media. But not just you by yourself, but with a certain brunette in your wake.

You and Niamh had grown very close over the time you spent in London. She wasn't as shy as she made herself out to be when you first met. She was cunning, confident, funny, and easy to be around in any environment. All of your teammates teased the living daylights out of the two of you, especially Niamh, who didn't waste a second in making sure you were always okay.

She would check on you when you went quiet. She always ran to you for partner work during drills, after goals, and when the full-time whistle would blow. The two of you had a habit of huddling together in any setting, holding each other’s hands or waist, cuddling their side or touching you in some way.

Everything you did with each other was full of love and adoration. It was only you two that didn't see your friendship blossom into a relationship. You weren't daft, you knew the speculations surrounding what the two of you were. There was no denying the physical acclimation you had around each other. Hell, Sam sent at least two memes a day about how whenever you were seen together, you were always touching each other.

Over Christmas, Niamh asked you out. She was a nervous wreck, which reminded you all too well of when you first met her. It was after a game, in the changing rooms. She had been given a bouquet of flowers by a group of fans, who told her to ask you out with them. She was reluctant, not only because she didn't want you to feel uncomfortable or pressured by the media to say yes, but the mere fact of ruining the relationship you already had with each other made her hesitant enough.

Of course, you said yes. It was a no-brainer, and after a few more dates you were officially together. It wasn't any more public than before. Only your close friends knew, but the public was already quite content with the PDA you already showed each other before you were dating. The only thing they needed was confirmation, but Niamh and you were happy to keep in vague.

After you said yes, the two of you became inseparable, both on and off the pitch. Niamh ended up extending her contract as well, and the chemistry you built made for an unstoppable case on the field. By the time the season came back after the break, you had moved in together. The happiness both of you felt was indescribable.

Today, Chelsea was up against Manchester United, your old rival team. Ella Toone was one of your childhood friends and was who you were marking. Not only was ManU a competitive, difficult team, but it was a team you were familiar with. They were always pushing in the midfield and up against the forwards. Their chances during set pieces were worrying to any defensive back line. With the combination of Mary Earps and a sophisticated midfield variation, you knew that you were in for a ride.

When Sam did her ACL, people started to underestimate Chelsea’s shot at winning the league. Everyone was starting to wonder whether the Blues were even contestable for the semis. After a poor attempt last week against West Ham for the FA Cup, you were adamant about proving yourself to the people who were doubting your ability to win. You were a midfielder, and while you had masterclasses in the centre field, your stats didn't excel in goals. You had many assists, but never many goals.

You were tying your laces when you felt your girlfriend's arms curl around your waist. You were leaning against your cubby, back facing Niamh. You were slightly bent as your finished the knot in your shoe, feeling the women behind you grasp your hips with a slight squeeze.

“You ready to smash it today, baby?” She muttered, her lips shadowing your ear, sending shivers down your body. You held composure well enough, straightening up and letting her wrap her arms over your abdomen.

“Mh, bit nervous, but yeah.” You replied, relishing Niamh’s pattern of breath. “How ‘bout you?”

Niamh pulled your body to face in front of her, your back now flushed against the wall. You managed to make eye contact with her dilated pupils, feeling one of her hands make their to the back of your neck.

Before she spoke, your eyes filtered down to the fabric that wrapped around her arm, the word ‘Captain’ sprawled across the armband. Niamh watched the way your eyes widened, and how you bit your bottom lip at the sight. Niamh smirked in response, pressing her front into yours so that most of your body was hidden to the rest of the room.

“What's the matter, baby?” She gloated, rubbing a hand up your side. Your cheeks flushed when she refused to break eye contact, holding tranquillity at the sight of your girlfriend as captain. It was a sight you weren't used to, but it was something you couldn't get enough of.

“Nothing. I'm— we should go line up in the tunnel.” Your breath hitched. Niamh was staring down at you while groping your waist.

Neither of you said anything until you were out on the field. You could hear the crowd cheering in anticipation. You shook your opponents’ hands aimlessly, your mind sauntering on the previous sight of your girlfriend.

“Earth to Y/N, hello?” Jessie’s voice snapped you out of your trance. She must've watched you wander to your position in a haze, since she was smirking knowingly at your flushed cheeks. Erin came up behind the two of you, laughing when she caught a glimpse of your state.

“She looks like she's already played the ninety minutes.” The Scottish woman quipped, bringing her hands up to play with your cheeks. You pushed her off playfully, gushing at the ground. “Shut up, you two.”

“God, if this is your reaction to Niamh in an armband, I wonder what Niamh would do if she saw you.”

“Go away, you pricks.” You snapped, flanking them away with your hands, trying to cool your cheeks before the game.

After the team photo, you ran back to your position, jumping up and down as the whistle blew.

The game was inevitably tough, but something had ignited inside of you at the sight of your girlfriend. As embarrassing as it was to admit, you were running up and down the pitch with the one endeavour to make your girlfriend watch you.

Chelsea was controlling the game for the most part, and it didn't take long for Guro to find you inside the box.

The crowd erupted in cheers, your teammates sprinting over to where you stood starstruck. This was one of the scarce amount of goals you had scored that season.

As you were making your way back to the middle, you felt a familiar figure creep up behind you with her hands soothing the tension in your shoulders.

“Making me so proud today, aren't you, baby?” Niamh whispered, running back to her spot in defence before you could reply.

The first half ended as quickly as it started. United had sent a flyer into the back of the net just before the whistle blew. You avoided Niamh like the plague in the changing rooms, knowing you would cave to her touch as soon as she laid hands on you. In any other circumstance, it was you who would tease, but it always ended with Niamh taking over. The two of you were strict in keeping your private life and career separate, but no one seemed to mind your change of game when Niamh was Captain.

You were having an absolute masterclass of a game by the sixtieth minute, scoring your second goal on seven minutes in. Chelsea was now up two-one, and Man U were starting to bring on subs after a close set piece that almost led to a goal.

You made a break down the wing after Lauren sent a cross-over to the field. You sprinted down the line, trying to find a way into the middle. United were tight in keeping you out, and by the time you had made it down the line, attempting to pass it to one of your teammates, you felt a pair of boots collide with your own, sending you face-first fo the floor.

The ball was long forgotten by the ref, who blew the whistle immediately, medics were sent over. While your muscles started to strain at the energy of the game, you didn't feel instantaneous pain from the fall.

You were rolling onto your back, wincing as you got up, when you first heard your girlfriend’s voice boom over the hustle of the crowd.

“Are you alright there, Zelem?!” She scoffed. You watched a smug Katie Zelem trampling off from where you sat. She didn't look like she meant the tackle, but the heat of the game left her feeling less apologetic than usual.

“Oh, let it go, Charles.” Zelem clapped back, walking towards Ella and Millie, who were tense at the sight of Niamh’s uncommon anger. “She's fine.”

“I don't think you understand.” Niamh marched towards her, grabbing the girl’s jersey, and forcing Katie to face her. “You get the fuck off her and the rest of my players. Don't be salty cause we’re winning.”

Katie rolled her eyes at that. “Don't be salty cause your girlfriend can't handle a tackle.”

Erin and Jessie were surrounding Niamh moments later, dragging her away from the United mob and towards you.

The medics have already cleared you to keep playing, and you were already up and ready to go by the time your girlfriends grabbed your hand.

“Are you sure you're okay?” She asked, taking in your flustered appearance. What she didn't know was that you were overwhelmed at the way Niamh looked just then, not by the absolute mouthful of grass you just inhaled.

You could only muster a nod, squeezing your girlfriend’s hand once before slipping away from her touch. You were now hungry for not only Niamh but that third goal. You wanted to prove yourself to everyone that you could do it.

And so you did.

It was a Chelsea corner, and you made the run from outside the box near the open post, where no one had thought to mark. You jumped as high as you could, feeling the ball hit your head in the right direction. You fell to the ground before you knew where the ball was going, letting the movement and relief of the crowd pull you to your feet. You ran to the corner of the field, taking in the shouts and cheers of the crowd and letting your teammates engulf you from behind. The weight of everyone sent you down as more and more girls piled on top of you.

This was your first hat trick ever at Chelsea, and you were relishing the feeling of the euphoria for the rest of the game.

When the final whistle blew, you nearly collapsed from exhaustion. Everything you wanted to go right in the game went right. You were reeling at the win, looking across the field for a particular someone.

“Guess I know what to do to make you score some goals.” Niamh chuckled, grabbing your waist and lifting you into a spinning hug. You gripped onto her and giggled, letting her twirl you around.

“Thanks, Niamhy.” You smiled, gazing up at your girlfriend’s proud eyes. “You looked so good today, baby.”

“You think so?” She asked, though both of you knew she was just egging you on.

“Mhm. Looked so good.”

“You always look good, my stargirl.” The taller girl grinned, looking down at you slyly. Her lips met your ear, her voice sending chills down your spine. “But I guess I’ll need to reward you for doing so well. Show you how good you were for me.”

You didn't get to respond, feeling Jessie pull you away with the Player of the Match trophy shoved into your chest.

You knew you’d see her soon… you were looking forward to it.

niamhcharles

niamhcharles — she scores more when I am Captain.

Tagged: Yourusername

Comments:

samanthakerr — yeah the girls 🙌🏼

*liked by yourusername, niamhcharles

User8 — they will never beat the dating allegations

^ user10 — at this point they are embracing it

guroreiten — she always score goals, Charles 🙄

^ niamhcharles — READ THE CAPTION

^ guroreiten — I DID

^ niamhcharles — i said she scores “more” goals

^ guroreiten — oh, okay.

^ user1 — LMAO

yourusername — always complimenting me 😍

^ erincuthburt — too much apparently… as if she didn't do it enough in the Change Rooms

^ niamhcharles — i did it more when we got home

^ erincuthburt — youre blocked.

User22 — they are so pookie together

^ user76 — omg yes

jflem_ — that armband ignited something within her

^ yourusername — EXCUSE ME?????

^ user2 — LMAO JESSIE

^ user3 — don't expose her like that 💀

^ yourusername — Ikr 😖

erincuthburt — Niamh needs to be in that armband more often 😂

^ yourusername — maybe I just had a good game?!?!

^ erincuthburt — we all have our superstitions

^ user6 — LMAO ERIN IM CRYING

User78 — If you look closely I’m jumping off the bridge

^ user90 — mood.

User67 — okay but when Niamh protected Y/N at the Man U game!? 😋😋😋 wishing I was Y/N right now.

laurenhemp — where were those hat tricks at City, Y/N???

^ yourusername — you stole them all

yourusername — can a girl just score a hat-trick because shes good? 😖😖😖

^ niamhcharles — you did it all by yourself 🫶🏼

^ yoursusername — thx niamhy 🥰

^ guroreiten — suck up

^ samanthakerr — suck up

^ milliebright — suck up

^ niamhcharles — a proud suck up x

^ jflem_ — 🤢

^ niamhcharles — ok bye.

user7 — THIS IS SO CUTE BYE

_________________________

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happiest-hotch · 10 months

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OMG please write about married!Hotch x reader going to a club tearing it up on the dance floor for a BAU night out, and an older Jack happens to be there maybe with his girlfriend and he’s mortified seeing his parents really getting down?

i would dance all over this man

Nights out with the BAU have never gotten less fun. Even as team members changed and through the years you and Aaron were away from the team, first in WITSEC then just to take a break. The plan formulated during your months together in hiding had been to wait until Jack was at college before going back to work

Hanging out at the regular bar was a sign nothing had changed in a decade.

After finishing probably the roughest case you've experienced since you rejoined the team, a team night out was needed, so you happily join Penelope in her mission to drag everyone out.

These days, Aaron doesn't need much convincing. He's more casual after WITSEC, and letting loose a little around the team isn't the worst thing in the world. It probably helps that he's not the boss anymore, and your unit chief also isn't opposed to letting her hair down.

He's only a few drinks in when you're able to convince him to come and dance. Maybe there's some using how much he loves you, but he doesn't protest.

It's hot and sweaty on the dance floor, and you're in a less-than-professional amount of clothing, dancing up on your husband like you're 24.

Aaron keeps his hands firmly on your hips, swaying to the music with you, but what's most sinful is his lips against your neck, very visible to everyone else, and the hard-on in his pants which thankfully remains unnoticed by anyone who's not pressed as hard against him as you are.

Penelope leans over to speak to you, or yell, thanks to how loud the bass is. "He's going to pull a muscle if he keeps dancing like that!" She jokes.

You giggle as you let him spin you around so you're face to face. It's gotten much more heated, and there's no doubt you're grinding provocatively against each other.

You hold his strong forearms, leaning up to whisper something downright filthy in his ear, but he talks first. "Jack."

You chuckle, grimacing. "That's not my idea of dirty talk."

"No." He shakes his head before nodding across the room. "Jack's here."

You pull away from your husband quickly, following his glance across the room before you catch his son. "What's Jack doing here?" You ask in shock. It's definitely a compromising position to be caught in with his dad.

"I don't know," Aaron says, taking hold of your hand and pulling you away from the dance floor and towards his son.

You briefly wonder if it's more or less awkward to acknowledge that he's seen you all over each other. Ignoring it might mean you can possibly look Jack in the eyes again at some point in the next ten years.

There's a girl next to him and you guess it's who he had said he was bringing home to meet you and Aaron during summer vacation. Her dress is probably not what she was expecting to be wearing during a round of meet-the-parents.

"That was awful." Jack deadpans, exactly like his father. "Seriously, I'm not sure how I'm going to burn that out of my memory."

"What are you doing here?" Aaron asks, ignoring the comments that you're struggling not to laugh at.

"Thought you guys were still on a case," Jack explains. "I didn't think I'd catch you dry-humping in a club."

You let out a chuckle while Aaron shakes his head. "Don't say that." He scolds weakly.

"I am so sorry you had to meet them like this." Jack turns to the girl next to him and says.

You offer out your hand to shake hers. "I'm Y/n, and I promise we're not always like this."

Aaron shakes her hand as well, introducing himself. "Yeah, usually our son has far better manners and introduces us to people."

"Usually, my parents aren't engaging in foreplay in the club." Jack teases you both.

You know how to get him back, and you click your tongue. "You don't know that."

It makes both boys' eyes widen while Jack's girlfriend laughs slightly, and the tension is loosened.

"Should we not mention this tomorrow?" She offers, speaking more confidently now that she can read the situation as humorous.

"Deal." You agree for both you and Aaron. "We should go."

"Home to sleep." Jack finishes the sentence for you, raising his eyebrows like a parent would do to their child, rather than the other way around.

Aaron does something you don't expect, frowning. "No promises."

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #criminal minds #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb

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strawbeerossi · 11 months

Text

If You Leave Me

Pairing: Fem!reader x Spencer Reid

Description: After coming home, Spencer has nightmares of his wife leaving him after the weight of prison weighs on him after his release.

Content Warnings: Depression, mentions of problems with eating, nightmares, fear of abandonment, mention of parental abandonment, spoilers for the prison arc, mentions of blood and being beaten, anxiety, there’s a panic attack, general angst, light fluff towards the end

Word Count: 1.4K

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'The Show' is so amazing, so I might make more based on each song on the album.

“Change is the law of life. And those who look only to the past or present are certain to miss the future.” John F Kennedy.

Spencer had faced change for his whole life. Between his father leaving him with no explanation when he was a child to his mother’s schizophrenia spiralling, he was the poster child for adapting to the plethora of things that life can throw at you and making the best of things.

Child abandonment coupled with a mother whose illness was worsening, there was a lot of pressure on him at a young age. Spencer wanted to take care of his mother, make sure she was safe and sound. He enjoyed lying with her and reading, spending his time with the woman who he cared for. He struggled with making many friends.

Not a lot of high schoolers want to be friends with a twelve-year-old child prodigy. He was the target of relentless bullying, his safest place being home where he could read in the comfort of his own bedroom.

Most children who had any form of trauma as a child turned out to be psychopaths, incapable of empathy and most who exhibited those symptoms were serial killers, he was quite the opposite. Spencer would say that he turned out alright.

Three PHDs, being a supervisory special agent for the Behavioral Analysis Unit, as well as being a literal genius. He had a team of people who loved him dearly, a good amount of godchildren who he adored, as well as a beautiful wife who did so much for him.

When Spencer was imprisoned, his experience killed a piece of him. The once sweet, innocent Dr. Spencer Reid was now a man who was more prone to showing his complex emotions, his temperament changing. He wasn’t nearly as talkative, he was having a harder time processing things that used to take him mere seconds to understand. It was why they had placed him on a weird schedule; every one hundred days spent in the field would have thirty days off following behind. He thought it was the stupidest decision they made.

Despite all of his protests, nobody would hear him out. It brought on the thoughts of him being untrustworthy. After all, he did kill Nadie Ramos. He may have been under the influence of drugs but that didn’t excuse a damn thing. He killed her with his bare hands.

That haunted him. The fact that he could be capable of madness, capable of murder. It didn’t help that soon after, he was producing a tampered batch of drugs that he was being forced to push within those four cement walls.

Everyone told him that it wasn’t his fault, that some people were pushed to dark acts in order to ensure their survival. After all, a federal agent in the general population sector was a huge target, someone who would have a lot of enemies. Too many enemies.

After his release, there came a plethora of emotions. Y/N was a saint, patient as could be and more loving than he ever could’ve hoped for. Even when he was dissociating into his mind to shield him from all too familiar territory, she was right there. It had gotten to a point where he severely depended on her, the attachment so strong that he would follow her around the house as if he were a kitten who needed constant attention.

Dinner was hard, the man having to be reminded that he could take his time to eat and he had no risk of someone coming and taking it whether he allowed them to or not. There were nights where he wouldn’t take a packet of cookies from his wife, stressing over having to ‘pay her back’. It took a lot to break him out of that routine.

Don’t get him started on the nightmares. They were vivid, placing him back to the night when he was beaten in prison or to the day where Luis Delgado had his throat slit in front of him because of his own choices. It was like he could still feel the warmth of the crimson blood staining his hands in the failed attempt to stop the bleeding.

In addition to nightmares that were filled with blood and violence, there was another recurring nightmare. One that killed him more than any sort of guilt of association ever could. It started out the same way every time, he would come in the house after a long winded case. There would be a lot of stress on his shoulders, a tightening in his chest because of the fact the case didn’t end the way the team had anticipated. He would then walk into the kitchen, where Y/N would be waiting for him. There was no sweet greeting, no kiss against his lips while she hugged him and cried about missing him.

Instead there was a tense silence, the usually warm apartment freezing. She would turn to him, her eyes filled with exhaustion, no glimmer of love shining over them as they faced one another.

“I can’t do this anymore. You aren’t who you used to be, this time by myself has made me realize that I am much happier without you here. I don’t have to coddle you, treat you like a baby. I just can’t bring myself to love you anymore.”

Spencer was waking up in a cold sweat, his body jolting upwards on the mattress while his other hand was quickly, yet cautiously reaching beside him to feel his wife’s shoulder. The touch had Y/N stirring awake, a gentle frown on her face. “Spencer?” Her voice was filled with drowsiness, her hands slowly pushing her to sit up on her knees while her free hand was leaning over to turn on the bedside lamp.

Any form of annoyance from drowsiness was wiped away when she noticed her husband’s state. His face was drenched in sweat, his chest was heaving from the impending anxiety attack, he was unable to talk as his body trembled. “Shh, hey.” Y/N whispered as she was shuffling closer, pulling back the duvet so she could carefully pull her husband into her arms.

Her fingers were threading through the messy curls, a weak sigh leaving her lips as she could feel his arms tightly wrap around her torso, practically squeezing the life out of her.

“I’m here. It’s okay, baby, I promise. Luis dream again?” She asked softly, her lips pressing a kiss to the crown of his skull.

“You left.” His voice was hoarse, the tears joining in soaking his face the same way that the sweat had done over the course of the night. “Baby..” Y/N whispered while her fingers were lightly scratching over his scalp, her cheek resting against his head as she was being hugged tightly, as if she would disappear if Spencer let her go. “I’m not going anywhere. You know that.” Her words were dipped in that sweet assurance, her eyes slowly fluttering shut.

Spencer faced enough people who abandoned him in his life with little to no explanation, she could never be added to that list. He spent three long and gruelling months in a maximum security prison for a murder that he was pushed into doing under the influence of a drug that Cat Adams and Lindsey Vaughn got their hands on.

This wasn’t like he was a man who snapped and murdered an innocent woman because of deterioration of his sanity. He was absolutely nothing like the men and women he hunted down for his job, she tried to push that every time that she could. “You’re a good man, you know that. I would be a fool to leave you.” She said softly.

As her body was eventually laying down against the mattress, she couldn’t help but smile once Spencer quickly followed her movements. Her legs were spreading in order to invite him between them, the male laying on top of her as his head was against her chest. “There we go..” She cooed softly, her fingers continuing to comb through the tousled curls.

With his cheek now smashed against his wife’s chest, he listened to the steady rhythm of her heartbeat.

The drumbeat mixed his wife’s sweet words of assurance and the warmth of her love radiating against him was enough to have Spencer starting to drift off to sleep.

How did he manage to get so lucky to have a woman who wouldn’t give up on him?

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gortashs-skidmark · 24 days

Text

Tieflings DnD - variations for the fanfic writers and artists!! -

There’s a lot about tieflings on the internet. THESE ARE CANON, except for one thought i put in.

If you’re gonna do BG3 fanfics about Tieflings, please please please consider adding some spice with origin lore and CANON facts about their race :) it would be SO fun!

Pls I need more zevlor fanfic too.

PLS READ: I don’t believe in censorship or ignoring the subject of people who are oppressed, but be mindful of how you write and use oppression of dnd races on your tav pls.

- Orange; Canon Historical Events, Abilities, Bodily Facts, and Bloodlines. It means i think you should look into it.

Pink: I think it's cute. Red; Warning, Comment Purple; Headcanon (only one of them)

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- Tieflings are prone to bad luck, because of the Curse of Aasimar.

- Planar Proverb “don’t ever make a bet with a Tiefling” hey I already made one with Lakrissa.

- They’re arcanally gifted, most of them. Zariel Tieflings are much better melee fighters.

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- Tielfling Blood; is tainted from the hells so they could have human parents. Be descendants of demon, devils, evil deities, night hags, and succubus!

- i know y’all love aphrodisiac fanfics, succubus spittle is exactly what you need dawg. Someone make me a fanfic including succubus heritage.

- along with that, Tieflings are unable to breed with anyone except humans or other Tieflings. Literally. They can be Tiefling or human.

- Usually there is some tell to if they’re Zariel, Asmodeus, Mephistopheles by birth mark, or traits like cat eyes, or night hags bloodlines have red eyes without pupils or scelaras

EDIT: I thought the flaming pupils were cat-like slit eyes in the game, but Karlach does indeed have regular slits!

- Tieflings can be male, female, or without gender. It is a canon fact. A win for my gender struggling homies.

- They can have green, blue, purple, pink, yellow, red skin tones. With dark hair colors only like black, purple, dark red and blue. I don’t care for this, genes be gene-ing so have any color you want.

Mephestopheles is recorded as to having blue skin, pale blue whites and red eyes, soot black scales, with large wings in the 2nd Manual. BUT in a 3e version he is described having red skin, bat wings, being 9ft, with white eyes, and slick black hair. Both of these are present in Mephestophic Bloodlines in BG3. Raphael is the son, though cambion, is red.

Asmodeus rules the Nine Hells. Mephestopheles being his archduke, only rules the 8th layer. Asmodeus has a humanoid, and a scale-fiend version of himself. He's red, slim, 13ft tall, horned, vibrant red eyes, and a neatly trimmed beard. He is Lawful-Evil.

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The Blood War (where Karlach escaped) is described as a "philosophical war" and which kind of evil would rule. Asmodeus plays a part but didn't start it, it's rooted in ancient Hell conflicts. Asmodeus claimed it was a senselessly bloody conflict from a militia standpoint. He really hates it, he's not a fan of it. INFERNAL POLITICS ARE FUCKING COMPLICATED. look into it :)

Zevlor was a Hellrider or Rider of Elturel! a Cavalry unit for Elturel during the 14th and 15th century. They ride horseback, and use spears and bows. They're well reguarded!! Zevlor should have more pride in himself for his service, being a refugee isn't his fault, or The Descent.

In the late 1400's striving for Paladin Knighthood in the Order of Companion was a rank of Hell rider. Before and after the year 1494, you could be a Paladin and join freely.

The Order of Companions was an Elturel, of Western Heartland, theocratic realm of Paladin Knighthood. It's just a region of Paladins that are highly reguarded. They typically worship Tyr, Torm, Helm, and Aumanator.

They kept order in the high capital of Elturel, preserving local civilization from outer destruction. They're super Lawful Good.

Typically an Oath of Devotion or an Oath of the Crown.

"For a City Guard, they outmatched the armies of the Whole Realm" - Forgotten Wiki Realms

They guard general land, they aren't really police, and can escort as far as Waterdeep if privileged to. It is a job they hold for life. I FUYCKING LOVE HELLRIDERS.

Shortly after Elturel’s descent into Avernus, the Tieflings were blamed for the fall, and expelled from the city entirely. Zevlor and any tiefling hellrider’s title has been stripped from them. Any hellrider’s were arrested at The Gate. And the reputation of tieflings sunk even lower.

Badlurian’s are Elturian’s rivals but Duke Ravenguard was tricked into coming to Elturel for politics and ended up helping and sending in troops to help fight. He’s extra important! I might find Wyll, all though lovely, useless, his father is very brave and noble and amazing for what he does.

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- Tieflings can have feathers! Although rare. They can have fur, scales, or be bald like humans. They can be any variation of sorts!

- A more common portrayal of tieflings, is having solid colored eyes, whites and irises the same color. They can be black, red, silver, gold, or white.

- Tieflings are technically minorities and don’t live in the highest neighborhoods. It gives them an even worse reputation.

- Most of the Tieflings with famous status, also give bad reps. Climbing their way to the top in corruption.

- When Tieflings get nervous, experience anxiety, or are upset. They’re known to wrap their tails around their leg!! Super telling.

- They can use their tail like a monkey, very dexterous about it. It’s about 5-6ft long.

- Their ages, weight, height. All similar to humans. Idk how logical that is with 5 extra feet of meat behind them. Sometimes they can live longer, to about 120-150 years old.

- Tieflings can look just like humans. Though they can have their hellish features, those with strong hellish features are often killed at birth out of disgust.

- They can also have legs of a goat, tail akin to a horse or a lizard.

- Tieflings can be really good at thieving, hiding, and deceit.

- their diet consists of meat, marrow, gristle, fat, and bones. They’re highly carnivorous. They even eat roasted insects.

- Many worship Besheba, the goddess of bad luck, finding similarities in them and their goddess.

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- Tieflings are as sensitive as humans, same hearing. They usually have dark vision. And their body temperatures can be colder or warmer than humans depending on their type of tainted blood. --Mephistopheles blood lines are from the frozen layer of hell, maybe their blood is colder.

- They don’t purr, sorry girlies. They’re closer to humans than Tabaxis or Driders.

- Tieflings don’t regrow horns unless they’re still young, though they do tend to file them down.

- They have a natural unsettling aura about them. Even if their heritage is unknown to others, it makes people uncomfortable. They also can smell of sulphur.

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

- There are so many Tieflings bloodlines. I love the Babau Tieflings bc they’re already known as uncanny creatures-- Babau Tieflings are gaunt and skinny, darker skin, and a small horn coming from the back of their head.

- Marilith Tieflings are known to be seductive- more than they already are, and have dark hair. They have snake-like half-bodies and have grey tongues.

- Succubus Tieflings! They’re like the ones you see in bg3, often have a small set of wings.

- Tieflings can have so many fucking variations it makes me dizzy.

- Tieflings can have bat-like wing shaped ears, that perk up and shit. I know yall think about ear movements. <zevlor has this>

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

Edit: Ya'll loved this :) I can do another on Tiefling politics if ya'll want. Or more bloodlines and fun facts if you want.

I have built another list of Canon facts about Driders and Kar'niss Headcanons if you monster fuckers are interested!!

Currently in the works; He Who Was Headcanons and Shadar'Kai canon facts and events.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 tiefling #bg3 zevlor #bg3 rolan #bg3 dammon #karlach #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fanart

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happyhauntt · 1 month

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a lack of caffeine — spencer reid.

writing masterlist | askbox

─── summary: caffeine makes the world go 'round. that's something you and spencer can agree on.

─── pairing: spencer reid x autistic!medical examiner!reader.

─── warnings: fluff, reader is autistic & a mom, spencer's iq gets slashed to sixty when he talks to pretty girls and it's my favourite thing. no use of y/n. swearing. i really fucking struggled with this it's so boring. thank you to everyone who requested a part 2!

─── word count: 1.8k.

The call comes in at four in the morning.

The screen reads three missed calls by the time its incessant buzzing rouses you from your slumber, and you pull it out from beneath your pillow. Squinting at the sudden brightness of it, an unlisted number stares back at you as your phone keeps vibrating insistently in your grip.

When you finally wake up enough to realise it could be work, you answer it. Agent Hotchner's familiar voice is stern and low and only a little apologetic as he informs you that you're going to be required in the field for a new case, and you should be at the airfield within the hour.

There isn't enough time to ask any questions before the line clicks, and you're left blinking into the dim light of your bedroom as you try to gather your bearings.

Sleep itches at the corners of your eyes, all gritty and blurry, and though part of your mind recalls reading this little clause in the contract you’d signed, that constant availability takes on a whole new meaning when you work for the BAU, you still take a moment to fantasise about pushing Aaron Hotchner off a cliff.

You’re not a morning person. And you would argue that 4AM isn’t even the morning, it’s the middle of the night, and why can’t serial killers do their business during normal business hours?

A new case. Not your first case since joining the unit as their resident independent medical examiner, but the first where you would join the rest of the team in the field. The first where you'll be required to exert federal authority over county coroners, where you'll have to step on toes in order to get the job done.

You know they won't take too well to an outsider coming in and derailing their whole thing. You know you wouldn't. You used to be one of them, not that long ago.

Ah, shit. As the drowsiness begins to fade out of your body, a light panic trickles in. Your skin starts to buzz as if you put your finger into a live socket. You grip your phone so hard it leaves a mark on your palm.

It takes ten minutes to get ready, stumbling around your room and shoving clothes into a bag. You don't really care about matching socks, but you count out your underwear three times and hope you won't run out before the case is done. Do they have laundries you'll be able to use? Have the other members of the BAU ever encountered this problem? Should you pack your hair straightener or is it really going to matter?

When you've finally dragged a brush through your hair and dumped the last of your toiletries into a ziploc bag, a dull realisation strikes you.

Jackie.

Going toe-to-toe with a rabid raccoon might be more appealing than waking up your sister-in-law in the middle of the night, but you don't really have much choice. She has to know what's going on, she'll be in charge of your daughter for however long you'll be gone, and leaving a note on the kitchen counter feels like the wrong move to make in this instance.

Is there a protocol for this? A single-parent handbook you can check out at the library? This is something you really should've talked about when you got the job, you know that. You'd known it would require you to travel on occasion, often without prior notice, but it hadn't seemed like a big deal at the time. You'd brushed it under the rug, labelled it to be discussed later as if you and Jackie have ever actually sat down and done that.

A thousand things sit unsaid between you. That rug has got a little mountain under it by now, almost impossible to ignore. It’s really only a matter of time before you trip over it.

“Jackie. Jackie.”

Your sister-in-law grumbles when you sneak into her room and poke her, hard and repeatedly, until she threatens to bite you. The news of your leaving doesn't take her by surprise — exhaustion seems to dull the stung of it — and she promises to call twice a day, every day, before she buries her face back into the pillow and starts to snore like a lawnmower.

You hope she never, ever changes.

Pressing a kiss to your sleeping daughter's forehead is the last thing you do before you finally manage to drag yourself out of the apartment. A dull ache thuds in your chest, where your heart should be. She'd looked so peaceful, so sweet, and you can't recall a time since she was born that you'd been apart from her for longer than a day. Her bright, happy giggle and wide eyes flash through your mind.

As your car peels out of the parking garage, you feel distinctly like a piece of laundry someone hung out to dry and then forgot about.

The sun is just beginning to kiss the horizon as you pull up to the airfield. Long streaks of a pink-fingered dawn creep across the sky. You flash your identification at the security guard and pull up alongside the jet, scrambling to grab your bag from the passenger seat.

It doesn't surprise you that you're the last to arrive, but you'd hoped that wouldn't be the case.

The clock just strikes 5AM as you clatter up the steps, practically falling into the aircraft. Technically, you're on time, but it still feels like you're late for class and your teacher is about to put it on your permanent record. A kind-faced hostess greets you, offers to stow your bag, and you flash her a sheepish smile as you hand it over and pass through the curtains into the main cabin.

"Holy shit."

You can't help yourself. Every single member of the team turns to look at you, craning their necks to see exactly who they're dealing with, but you can't even bring yourself to care. "This is a jet. It's actually... a jet."

You blink at the open space as your jaw goes a little slack. Do you sound a little insane? Sure, and ordinarily you'd feel self-conscious with several pairs of unfamiliar eyes gawking at you, analysing your every movement as if it's their job to do so — and it actually is — but this honestly insane.

You had no idea the BAU had this kind of budget. Do they own the plane? Do they rent it? Is it publically funded by the taxpayer, and why can't they fly commercial? Like, you're not complaining at all, those leather seats look so comfortable, but why—?

An austere voice says your name once, twice, and you blink, looking up to find the furrowed brow of your boss frowning at you down the aisle.

"Take a seat, doctor, we're about to take off."

His tone leaves no room for argument. A flush rises in your cheeks, and you manage to stammer out an apology before throwing yourself into the nearest available seat, buckling your seatbelt.

"It's a good thing you're the M.E and not a profiler, sweetcheeks." One of the agents nearest to you leans across the aisle. A charming grin spreads over his face as he offers up his hand in greeting. "Derek Morgan."

"Oh, I know," you reply, shaking his hand firmly. "I, uh, looked you guys up after Dr. Reid paid a visit to the underworld and I didn't recognise him. Figured I should be a little more familiar with the other members of my team."

"The underworld?" A blonde woman you realise must be Agent Jareau gives you a friendly, if slightly confused, smile.

You shrug, suddenly a little embarrassed. Group settings have never been your thing. Too many people, too many unfamiliar eyes, far too many voices clashing together until it all becomes a sensory nightmare.

You much prefer your little lab, and one-on-one conversations, usually with the unlucky cadavers that find themselves on your slab. They never talk back.

"It's just what I call the morgue," you tell her. A loose bit of skin hangs off the edge of your nail, and you really, really want to pick at it. Fatigue hovers at the edge of your consciousness, and as the plane engines begin to roar, you find yourself wishing you’d made a coffee before leaving the apartment.

You would have been late, for sure, but life would feel worth living so, y’know. Swings and roundabouts.

"In Greek mythology, the underworld is where an individual goes after death. Early ideas suggest that someone’s essence, their psyche, is separated from their corpse at the point of death and transported to the underworld. Accounts differ on whether any judgement occurs, depending on which scholarship you’re citing." A familiar voice pipes up from the back of the plane and you glance over. The rich brown eyes looking back fill you with an odd warmth.

More at ease with a familiar face, you settle back in your seat and lift your hand in a lazy wave. "Good morning, Dr Reid. It's nice to see you when I'm not elbow-deep in someone's intestines."

Agent Jareau wrinkles her nose. "Now I'm really glad I didn't have time for breakfast."

Reid's ears turn bright pink and he looks away, stuttering out his reply. "It's good to see you too. Uh, well, not good, given the circumstances, since there's a serial killer on the loose, but good because—"

"We get the picture, Reid," Agent Hotchner cuts him off, and Reid turns his gaze back to the small window, a little flustered. Hotch looks, bizarrely, like he's trying not to smile. "Welcome to the team. We'll go over the case details once we're in the air."

“Is there coffee in the air?” There might be a murder mid-flight otherwise. Really, how do they function at this time in the morning? The plane judders as it rolls over the tarmac, heading for the runway. “Or tea, or soda, or— Honestly, I’ll take whatever. I just don’t want to fall asleep in a body cavity later on.”

Again.

Reid finds himself nodding, entirely against his will. There’s something about the peculiar medical examiner, something he can’t quite put his finger on, but it makes him want to keep talking. More than usual, at least.

He wonders if there’s duct tape on board. Or a parachute.

“There’s coffee,” he confirms. Is his voice a little high?

“Dr. Reid, I could kiss you—”

Oh, hell. Judging by the way Morgan has a hand pressed to his mouth, stifling an obscenely loud chuckle, Reid suspects he’s never going to hear the end of this.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds imagine #* chapter update.

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probablyasocialecologist · 1 year

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We are living in a moment of serious gender revanchism in the United States. Feminists who self-define as “gender critical” and are otherwise openly transphobic will object to the comparison, but it is striking how much the movement to criminalize gender-affirming care for young people shares with the movement to criminalize abortion. Both find their fiercest champions in white, religious, conservative men who dismiss the evidence put forward by medical professionals that the treatment in question saves lives. Both claim to speak on behalf of silenced “children,” be they conveniently unborn or too young to be taken at their word. Both struggled to find widespread support until a father took his crusade on the road: abortion was not “an Evangelical issue” before Dr. Francis Schaeffer, a charismatic pastor, promoted his son Frank’s 1979 anti-abortion film Whatever Happened to the Human Race?; and anti-trans legislation was initially “hard to sell,” according to the Texas Tribune, until a North Texas dad named Jeff Younger built a sympathetic following online by accusing his ex-wife, a pediatrician, of wanting to “chemically castrate” their trans daughter. Texas Governor Greg Abbott’s order that citizens report parents of transgender kids to the authorities so that they can be investigated for child abuse echoes the section in SB 8 that rewards vigilante citizens for reporting abortion providers to authorities. Both movements have become central to the Republican Party’s strategy to raise funds and win elections. Not least, both movements have forced pregnant and trans people to prove, in preordained terms, their absolute certainty that they need the treatment they say they do. As the opposition puts up resistance in the form of misinformation, mandatory waiting periods, sonograms, and extensive psychological testing, patients lose precious time as hormonal processes they hope to forestall come closer and closer to transforming their bodies.

The experience of gender dysphoria is not identical to the experience of forced pregnancy, but it should not have to be for us to defend one another’s right to bodily autonomy as if it were our own. To respond to the heartbreak of losing Roe by further scapegoating trans people, as some cisgender feminists have done, is not only an unnecessary cruelty but a logical and political error that none of us can afford to make. There is no evidence to support the claim that inclusive language in reproductive health spaces “erases” or “harms” cis women, as Pamela Paul recently argued in the New York Times. (If anything, terms like pregnant people are more precise, as not all women are capable of pregnancy and not all pregnant people — e.g., cisgender girls under 18 — are women.) To say so anyway, with no basis in fact, is to do the far right’s work for them.

Dayna Tortorici, Your Body, My Choice The movement to criminalize abortion

#abortion #roe v wade #transgender #gender critical #transphobia

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baggebythesea · 2 months

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I really love the 'queer utopia' part of the She-Ra world building.

It's not a utopia in the sense that there are no problems - structural or otherwise (as amply demonstrated by pretty much the entire show). But there is no queer discrimination. Catra and Adora are not kept apart by homophobia but by war and abusive assholes. Bow struggles to come out to his parents not about his sexuality or gender, but about his career choice and politics. Hordak has a thousand problems, but the gender-transgressing aspects of his fashion sense is not one of them. No one hesitates to give Kyle shit, but if anyone would try to taunt him for being into boys it would just come across as weird.

And I love how that's reflected in the greater fanon when it comes to the question of how people of the same gender get children in next gen fics, because the answer is: In whatever way we feel like exploring today.

Just on the top of my head I have seen Adoption (formalised or 'is no one going to raise this urchin? Fine, I'll do it myself), Trans parents, Sperm donors, Sperm donors that's part of the greater family unit, downright policules, Magic (as in miracle, casual Etherian healthcare or 'comes with a price'), Mpreg and Fempregnation (magical or otherwise), Cloning (and other variants of 'build them ourselves'), Egg laying or simply "arrangements were made". Sometimes the same story mixes several modes, and there is never a discussion that one way is better than the other.

Kids are kids, and regardless how they came to be they will get into adorable and/or angsty shenanigans just like the rest of them.

#spop #analysis #spop next gen

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thatdeadaquarius · 4 months

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Harry Potter/Genshin Impact Crossover Fun🎉

for @kiraisastay my beta reader for the big fat Eldritch AU awhile back! :)

“…a genshin/Harry Potter crossover where reader (still fem) comes from genshin (so she has a vision) and tries to fit in at Hogwarts (would love for it to be set around the Goblet Of Fire so the hp characters in that age start maturing and actually understand what happens around them and aren't little kids , plus, y'know, YULE BALL), would also like for the reader to have a more stoic/emotionless personality with tragic past (so like having scars y'knowww) cuz it makes character building a lot more juicy ahah, but you can write it however you want tho!! (this can be funnier to write if you're feeling a lot creative)”

UGH sorry i took forever! im rlly bad at estimating time...

I hope this is a fun read at least, and thanks for much for taking on that eldritch monster fic awhile back lol

☆

Orbit: Long Headcanon/fic-thing (~2k words) - Harry Potter x Genshin Impact Crossover (4th Year)

Sun: Feminine Reader (she/her), Slytherin Reader, Reader is 15-16 year old.

Stars: Harry, Ron, Hermione, McGonagall, Dumbledore, Snape, Viktor Krum, mentions of others.

Comets & Meteors: Content Warnings: Reader has rough past, & Trigger Warnings: vague mentions of scars, Reader has bad relationship with parents.

☆

You’re so fucking happy your Cryo Vision came with you.

You knew you were in a different country, one you definitely had never been to before, but you couldn’t figure out for the life of you where it was at first

Your first guess was Fontaine, but the robes and strange overuse of catalyst weapons (actually, only catalyst weapons??) began to convince you otherwise real quick,

Fontaine was just the closest country you could compare it to

yeah so obviously by the time u realized you shouldn't be waving a sword around, it was too late lmao, u scared the shit out of the potions shopkeeper and had to make a hasty exit

bc for some reason any other weapon than a catalyst is shamed here?? which makes no sense to you, as it seems like their “magic” here could just as easily be channeled into different weapons/items??

u guess not having monsters to randomly fight everytime u just wanna take a walk outside makes for a pretty peaceful world, and specifically this country ”England” or the “United Kingdom”

u had taken a week or so to re-orient yourself to this new world, how only a certain society knew about their magic, how there were no gods here, at least not any u could easily interact with, and that most people your age would be in school still???

while u could choose to pursue higher education or specialize in Sumeru’s Akademiya, basic schooling was still provided in every country in Teyvat up until about 15 years old

but at this point u were willing to do what it took to blend into this world, and u didnt want anyone to be asking how old u were/why u werent in school when you wandered around, so u went to Hogwarts

It also proved to be a good way to acquaint urself with the world/its magic and give u a place to better excuse any social or magical mistakes

But needless to say, u struggled, u had to constantly find some workaround for “magic” from the wands/catalysts in classes

and luckily they took u being a transfer student pretty smoothly, as u were just in time for the “Triwizard Tournament” to be announced and other schools were coming to participate, u easily got accepted in

and the only one who batted an eye at it was the weird old Headmaster, who u already suspected knew more abt u than he was letting on (Dumbledore seemed to have eyes everywhere the more u learned, which made u more suspicious of him too)

you'd been sorted into Slytherin, along with the Russian magical students, (Durmstrang?)

of which you had absolutely no frame of reference for how bad that was, other than being accused of literally being from the Abyss 💀

while the rest of the student body treated u with the basic contempt u learned all Slytherins just seemed to kind of get all the time, ur own house was a little more confusing when it came to you

some were curious abt all the scars, the strange glowing snowflake gem that u concealed on ur hip, what ur country was like and what the magic school over there was like (thank fuck for ur poker face and insane lying skills that made it believable)

(there was absolutely a rumor abt u pulling a sword on Filch at some point, u neither denied nor supported it)

the other half of the slytherins were all uptight about u possibly being a “Muggleborn” and sneered at u every chance they got (some weird blond kid a year or 2 below you??)

or they outright ignored u

tbh u didn't really get much genuine favor between Slytherins just being Slytherins and ur own reputation/cold disposition until Professor Snape saw how good u were at potions a month into this insanity

(it was just basic alchemy? nearly everyone, especially Vision-users, knew how to do it back home? why was it so special here?? u had this kind of question a lot in this world over most things, like the “muggles dont know abt magic” thing, it seem like more trouble than its worth.)

U both got along in the same way a cold-demeanor father bonds with his carbon copy cold-demeanor daughter lol

in which he invited u for tea sometimes out of polite extra teaching for “ur future plans of being a potion master, like myself”

which okay?? u were better than most ur age at potions bc of alchemy (which u learned is taught at higher levels of potion mastery) and its not like you've figured out how to get back to ur world anytime soon

so u just roll with that being ur “future career” for now, it makes the old emo professor happy so u figure why not

And its the first scrap of favor you’ve found here so it works

Tho u did complain at Snape for picking on Gryffindors, saying “ur rlly not helping that Slytherin reputation for tall dark and evil here”

He proceeded to make u clean and reorganize his potion stores for that lol

(Tho he did start to lighten up the more u picked on him abt it, the poor kid with huge round glasses followed you with his huge green eyes for weeks, he seems to be the only one who's really realized ur the one convincing Snape to mellow out)

U begin researching information (thanks to Snape) in the forbidden part of the library abt different worlds/time travel, anything thatd put u close to possibly getting back home

Or, to be honest, a portal would be better, bc youd like to come back here sometimes,

Its not like u have family back home (not any who you'd want to visit), mostly just a few good friends who'd be worried abt u (Childe misses his sparring partner for sure)

Which then leads u to noticing that boy with the black hair and big round glasses (was it smth like,,, harold sculptor? Atp that seems like a feasible name to you bc in this world parents rlly were cruel abt naming their kid “feathery” or smth wild)

Harold and two others, one with fluffy long hair, and the other a redhead,

Were attempting to “spy” on u from behind bookshelves or at tables seated near the forbidden section

U saw them learn the times u came there and how they made sure to match them (tho it seems the redhead got bored easily and begged to eat instead)

You'd actually managed to make friends with some Durmstrang friends in the meantime too

And by that u mean Viktor Krum mostly

Ppl were constantly obsessed with him and he'd managed to escape up the astronomy tower to get some peace and quiet,

Only to run into u reading away, and he'd heard abt ur reputation, and wanted to befriend u

U two got along rlly well, lots of peaceful silences, and chill convos, esp since u guys had some stuff in common

Mostly how ur both foreign to Hogwarts/this country and adjusting still

Anyway that is to say, Viktor teased u abt the ducklings following u around everywhere thinking they were sneaky

And this was a routine u got used to, until it was time for the tournament

You hadnt bothered to put ur name in, u didnt feel like risking ur life for no reason afterall

So needless to say u were pissed when rumors went around abt u putting Harol- Harry's name in the goblet

(u finally learned his name, apparently he's famous for not dying? As a baby?? A powerful tyrant evil wizard wanted to kill him as a baby??? Just,, why)

Not only that but then he was obligated to be in the tournament???

U knew there was smth insane abt this school, bringing back this crazy tournament in the first place, somehow getting Harry's name in the goblet,

but u didn't think they were batshit crazy.

(Dumbledore is not helping his case in your eyes, esp as u suspect he’s got Snape involved in his BS too somehow…)

So needless to say you were going to fix this mess since these seasoned “wizard adults” weren't 😒

You snuck into the Great Hall using a high level alchemy invisibility amulet, and used ur Cryo vision to extinguish the Goblet of Fire 💀

It reset the game, and luckily they were able to resubmit the champions to the Triwizard Tournament and hide away the Goblet before it got tampered with again

Lol u got Harry out of it, and it wasnt until later in the library that u get cornered by the Gryffindor fourth year himself

He admits to seeing u under his invisibilty cloak that night and thanks you for getting him out of that hell, poor kid looks so grateful 😭

But regardless of that, he insists u tell him abt the ice spell u used, how u used it wandless, with no incantation, etc.

You just gave him a small smile (his big green eyes look even more shocked behind the glasses, what, was that old professor right? do u rlly not smile that much?) and tell him he owes u one

He agrees and u go on ur way to the forbidden section

(U dont explain the ice, afterall, who would believe him? You werent even that much older, and only “master wizards” could do what u did)

After that, Harry starts to follow u around a lot more,

much to the annoyance of his redhead friend (Rodrick? Rocky? smth with a R-) and the absolute admiration of the younger girl with big hair

the champions start the first trial, and u help Viktor out with a plan to defeat the dragon and get the egg in one piece (u had lots of experience with monsters after all, and Viktor and Snape, who couldn't keep his big nose out of your business, were simultaneously disturbed and yet not surprised by this information)

it works flawlessly, and that's when you notice the new DA teacher acting suspicious

as the champions gear up for the 2nd trial, u help Viktor try to figure out the egg’s secrets,

Both Harry and Hermione have taken to interrupting ur library research time (u finally learned her name, but not the redhead, he seemed a bit rude tbh so u don't care to know)

after brainstorming (well more like talking at the brick wall that was Snape) with the old potions professor over tea gossip time again, u finally figure out how to get the egg open without screaming, and tell Viktor

Who thanks u by taking u to the Yule Ball, but u only manage the first dance before u get absorbed in the food and the cool decor, and u also convince him to gossip with u in the corner too

(u do appreciate having a reason to dress up at least, as you attempt to imitate the Tsaritsa herself with this dress)

U notice further on into the night that Hermione ran out looking upset, and ur “girl’s girl” instinct kicks in, (regardless of ur neutrality for her, u lie to urself) and follow her outside to comfort her

u talk, and tho ur cold demanour did intimidate her a little, after she realized u were genuinely trying to help her, she took u up on the offer, and asked if u two could be friends since she’s “surrounded by stupid Gryffindor boys all the time”

u agreed amused, and convinced her to join Viktor and u in ur gossip session, which Harry (after humiliating himself on the dance floor), joined in later as well

(You may or may not have iced the floor secretly under the redhead’s and the equally annoying prissy Slytherin blonde’s feet, sending them sprawling on top of each other, so neither would come bother u four)

Over the next week you hear from Hermione’s researching/studying sessions with you that Ron did apologize to her, of which u advised her to get revenge on him anyway lmao

Harry at one point came groaning and complaining to you abt Cedric bothering him abt the egg problem, and u went ahead and gave it to him

Finally the next task was here, something abt rescuing smth underwater that mattered to each of the champions

u were immediately on ur guard when Dumbledore called u and 3 other seemingly random ppl to ur office (but u began to connect the dots after realizing one of them was the little sister of the Fontai- French Champion)

only to deflect the spell that would've knocked u out, and instead pretend to be knocked out

u obv kept ur Vision on u at all times, as always, and realized what was happening as the teachers levitated u all out to the lake

Snape snapped about being the one in charge of you, (and lowkey told u he knew u were awake, did he sound a little,, proud?? no, not Snape surely of all ppl)

Viktor did end up fishing you out, which he said u “looked like a very unhappy drenched old tom cat” while swimming to shore, (u awkwardly pat him on the back for thinking ur the best part of Hogwarts, and then smacked him for getting u kidnapped to go into a freezing lake)

and u also ended up helping Viktor rescue the other girl left behind, and froze some of the mermaids’ tails in the water for their trouble

Fleur was so grateful that she came to hunt you (and Viktor too at the time) for helping her and her sister that she came to thank u two again while at the library

which then led to her sometimes hanging around ur table at the library (everyone avoids it like the plague initially bc of you, but now youve got a gaggle of wizards rotating out all the time, like the younger years Harry/Hermione/Ron, Viktor, and now Fleur)

by the time the third trial rolls around, youve taken to bullying the prissy blonde brat a year below you to keep him from not only bothering Harry and Hermione, but also ur own peace and quiet

The other Slytherins are beginning to warm up to you, or at least not actively ignore you, since you’ve been hanging around Viktor Krum, along with gaining favor from Snape more obviously (he’d plopped a singular towel in ur lap after getting out of the lake, and u might as well have “Snape’s Favorite” written across ur forehead for all that means)

(also some of them may or may not find u roasting the annoying blonde bully kid amusing too)

it isn't until u see the creepy retired Aura (or whatever they call their knights) DA professor milling about the castle more, nearer the Gryffindor tower, that you begin to warn Harry to spread the word among his little lion club to not travel alone, esp in the evenings

(u don't like how his weird rolling blue eye looks thru you, it reminds u of Dumbledore)

by the time the third trial is finally announced, you have ur sights set on that weird old man, and end up following him to his classroom at one point,

in which he cracks open a rattling trunk, tosses some food in, and seems to have definitely stolen what you assume to be the Triwizard trophy

he casts a spell on it, and you put on that same invisibiltiy amulet from alchemy to better follow him, and watch him sneak into Dumbledore’s office to return the trophy

(You break the “portkey” spell you find on it)

(you also leave a note behind on the headmaster’s desk to look into a trunk in the new DA professor’s classroom storage, and to be more careful hiring the next one.)

Harry somehow gets sucked into the maze you find out, and you end up sneaking in to save him, using your sword and Cryo Vision to battle him out

(finally, Archons, you didnt realize how much you'd miss fighting monsters)

Aurors descend upon Hogwarts, only just after the trial ends, and Viktor wins (you trained him too well for him to not, and may or may not have viciously sparred with him a little too much for him to not be a little afraid of the consequences of losing after you helped him so much lol)

Just as Harry is taken in by Dumbledore for questioning of how he got trapped in the maze, he runs back to nearly squeeze the life out of you in a hug, he tells you thanks for helping him again (and forced u to promise to teach him sword fighting or “ice magic”)

Then, surprisingly, the entirety of Durmstrang (and some Slytherins??) haul you up into the air with Viktor to celebrate his victory

(You can see Snape snickering at ur misery in the air)

Viktor and Fleur stay penpals, and the “golden trio” (more like “gryffindor triplets”) sticks around your library table

and you think you could start to get used to this, and Harry, Hermione, and Snape had gotten you a Yule/winter gift

(what’s Christmas. and why is everyone obsessed with decorating trees??)

…that is until Hermione looks over your shoulder one day at your usual reading table, and points to a book you’ve chosen for research,

saying “if you need to make a portal somewhere, that’s the book you should be looking in.”

☆

i hope you liked it!! and that it wasn't too much of a clusterfuck/chaos that was barely readable 😅

again, thanks for being patient with me, and here's finally ur payment for dealing with my ass lmao

Happy late new year!!

Safe Travels Kirarisastay,

💀♒

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#genshin impact crossover #harry potter crossover #Genshin x Harry Potter crossover #Genshin x HP AU #genshin harry potter crossover #genshin isekai #genshin imagines #harry potter imagines #hp imagines #platonic #fem reader #happy late new year kiraisastay!! :)

192 notes · View notes

daemour · 6 months

Text

Pairing: royalty!Mingi x royalty gn!Reader

Genre: Fluff, light angst, royalty au, arranged marriage au

Warnings: none

WC: 1898

Summary: You and Mingi aren't friends, not even after marriage. But you're not enemies either. In fact, you don't know where you stand but after an incident maybe it could be something more?

after being complained at for "never writing Mingi" (ahem @mingsolo) here we are! to tide us over while i struggle through nanowrimo i have a handful of prewritten fics so y'all aren't dehydrated

“With the power vested in me by the Gods, I unite Princess (Y/N) (L/N) and Crown Prince Mingi Song in holy matrimony, thus joining their kingdoms.”

The priest leads the two of you to join hands, and as you do light shines from within your clasped hands. The ceremony is over and you are now married to the…well, former nemesis of your people. The funniest thing was when you were just toddlers, your parents had even talked about marrying the two of you together. But then something changed. And it wasn’t long before both countries were locked in a war before you even had the chance to talk to the prince for more than your greetings.

It was devastating. Both countries were large and powerful, and the smaller kingdoms around them suffered for it. It was only when his father died that the high empire intervened and, as a result, decided to use your marriage to make peace. Mingi would not be crowned until he was married to you, and the wedding took place much sooner than you had hoped.

Which brings you to now. Neither you nor Mingi talked or even looked at each other the entire carriage ride home. It was not a joyous occasion, not for the two of you. No shared beds, or rooms, just barely acknowledging each others' presence.

In fact, you’re pretty sure he hates you. He rarely acknowledges your presence. You don’t know what to do with yourself in this hellhole. All you do is show your face in the throne room when needed and then retreat to either your private gardens or room until next called for.

“Yuri, could you do me a favour?” you call for your handmaiden, who might just be one of your only friends in this dreadful castle. The servants like you well enough but there’s only some much kindness they can offer before the nobles’ words get to you.

“Yes, milady?” Like a ghost, she moves to stand beside you, her hair glowing in the sun. Sometimes you look at her and feel she would be a so much better fit for the role of queen here. You can barely hold the attention of the court ladies while Yuri can shut them up with a single polite sentence. “How may I assist you today?”

“Could you do me a favour and fetch me some tea? You know my favourite. I’ll take it in my room, and you can take the day off.”

Yuri bows her head. “Thank you, milady.” You can hear the smile in her voice, excited at the prospect of a day off. You wave her off and as she enters the side door, you lean back on your hands and enjoy the rays of sunshine on your face for just a moment alone. You take moments like this with gratefulness, as it’s only when you’re truly alone that you feel almost at home.

With another sigh and a crack of your back, you brush off your full skirts and make your way to your room. It’s when you almost reach your quarters that you run into Lady Miyoung, a lady of high social standing that you heard was rumoured to be marrying Mingi before the war had started.

“Lady Miyoung, what a surprise,” you greet her quietly, tilting your head into a bow. “I did not expect to see you near this wing.” You did not expect her because this area is regulated strictly as only you, your personal servants, and your husband are allowed entrance.

“Oh, yes, a pleasant surprise, I’m sure,” Miyoung sniffs haughtily and your eye twitches. As much as she despises you, she’s popular among the court and if you dare raise a word against her the social exile you would face would be irreparable. “I heard the most interesting conversation the other day, you know.”

“Ah,” you are not quite that interested in court gossip, but if Miyoung found her way into your wing without being stopped, it must be something important.

“I heard,” Miyoung leans in as if you’re sharing secrets about childhood crushes, “that King Mingi has been looking for a second wife to bear him a son. A woman of his court, with high social standing, of course. In fact, I heard that he’s quite sick of his war trophy.”

And her words cut you deep. You know she’s referring to herself as the lady of the court with a high social standing, and that you are his war trophy. She’s not subtle, but she’s subtle enough that you cannot sentence her to anything without the wrath of the court against you. You feel your throat tightening but you force an almost painful smile on your face. “I see. Well, the rumours of the court have no bearing on how I will go about my day, so I thank you for your wisdom. You may leave.”

Miyoung raises a perfectly shaped brow, no doubt pleased at your obvious hurt but also craving more of a reaction. “Now, now, there’s no haste. A court doll like you must have nothing else of interest as her husband, His Royal Majesty, has much more important matters to attend to.”

Your eyes widen in shock. Never before had a court lady been so openly disdainful of you. Behind your back, easily, but to your face and in your quarters? You open your mouth to rebuke her but before a single word leaves your mouth, you hear wind rushing past your ears as a person stands before you. As your eyes move up his broad back your hand flies to your mouth as you recognise the back of Mingi’s head.

“My King,” Miyoung stutters out, just as surprised at his sudden appearance.

“Why are you here?” Mingi’s booming voice echoes in the narrow hallway. “I do not recall you being given permission to be in this area of the castle.”

“Why, Queen (Y/N) invited me herself,” she lies straight out of her teeth.

Mingi looks back at you, his eyebrow raised as he awaits your confirmation. And on any other occasion, maybe you would have folded in your eagerness to please the court, but your heart still stings from Miyoung’s words. You shake your head ever so imperceptibly.

Mingi nods. “I see. Now, Lady Miyoung,” his head snaps back to her and she has the audacity to flutter her eyelashes at him. “Lying to the King and putting words in the Queen Consort’s mouth is a punishment worthy of being stripped of your title.”

“Your Majesty!” Miyoung squawks and Mingi holds up a hand to silence her in the middle of her sentence.

“Not to mention the other offences I heard when walking by,” Mingi continues and Miyoung swallows as she realises the trouble she put herself into. “Spreading harmful rumours about the King and the Queen Consort?”

“You’re majesty, I wasn’t–” Miyoung tries to save herself but Mingi is not having it.

“Keep your snake mouth shut” he snaps “lest I cut your tongue off for disrespecting my wife. You have, by extent, insulted me as well. Second wife? Don’t make me laugh. Queen (Y/N) is a hundred times more the queen you would ever be.”

Before Miyoung could protest anymore, Mingi snaps his fingers and guards you didn’t even expect to be there come out of the shadows to take Miyoung by the arms.

“My King!”

“Mingi!”

Both you and Miyoung gasp in surprise, although yours is more confused and hers is plain offence, but Mingi ignores you both as he addresses his guards. “Take Lady Miyoung to the dungeons while I decide what to do with her.”

And without hesitation, the soldiers drag an offended and whining Miyoung away. It’s only when her hollers finally cease that you snap to attention, quickly bowing at your husband. “I didn’t expect you to be here, Mingi,” you state as he bows back. “I thank you for your help in dealing with Lady Miyoung, though.”

Mingi sighs. “I should’ve done more before, (Y/N), and I’m sorry. I should’ve known how hard it would be for you, moving so soon after the war.”

You shake your head as your hands clutch at your full skirts. “You have no obligation towards me. Lady Miyoung was, in a way, correct about one thing. I am a war trophy.”

“No obligation?” Mingi’s voice raises in volume but he pauses to calm himself down after he notices you flinch at the volume of it. “(Y/N), you are my wife. The furthest possible thing from a trophy. I should have nipped the gossip in the bud—neither of us wanted a war and we could not control our circumstances.” Mingi reaches forward, almost as if to hold your hands, but decides against it, his hands just hovering awkwardly in the air.”

“But you don’t care,” you contradict him, your voice small. “I know you don’t owe me anything, but I rarely ever see you, and the court thinks I’m a joke. I can’t show my face without hearing the whispers behind my back. I do my best to listen to the commoner’s struggles and offer solutions but there’s only so much I can do when the officials and their wives are against me.”

Your words stun Mingi to his core. “You think I’m indifferent?” At your careful nod, he overcomes his hesitation and takes your shaking hands, bringing them to his chest as you are pulled forward at the motion. “My wife, I adore you. I would be lying to call it love, but I hold you in such high regard, and given time, I would come to love you if you’d let me. I am so sorry that you came to that conclusion.”

You hesitate before reaching forward and squeezing his warm, large hands. “It’s okay,” you whisper. When Mingi raises an eyebrow you laugh breathily at his suspicion. “It truly is. Yes, I felt alone and out of place, but your words and kindness have comforted me. We can try again. I’ll attend more councils with you as is my duty, and we can have lunch together afterwards. I’ll do my best to appeal more to the nobles and we can get to know each other. I don’t hold it against you, Mingi.”

Mingi nods slowly as he processes your words. “We shall,” he smiles and you can’t help but smile back. He brings your hands to his lips, pressing a kiss against them. “We will, and that’s a promise. I will defend your reputation with all I can, and you will blossom in this court, I’m sure of it.”

You giggle a little at his phrasing and you give his hands another gentle squeeze. “I will hold you to that promise.” A pause as you stare into each others’ eyes and an idea hits you. “Mingi, are you busy right now?”

Mingi shakes his head. “No?” he cocks his head, his eyes warm.

Your eyes shine as your smile grows even more on your face. “Then please do me the honour of accompanying me to my garden, my King.” You punctuate your question with a short laugh and Mingi’s eyes shine as he nods.

“Please, let’s.”

You feel a warmth bloom in your chest as you gently pull him down the hall back from where you came.

299 notes · View notes

updownlately · 11 months

Text

make me yours my love (cause you’re nobody to me, yet somebody to me)

| alessia russo x reader | fluff (tooth-rotting fluff) | 4.5k | a/n: heard a song from another language, got obsessed with it, translated it to english, and wrote a fic. ended up losing the plot half way through and bs-ed the rest over the course of a week. anyways, i hate it, here you go.

~~~

You had never thought you’d leave North America. It was where you grew up. Where you’d had your best and worst times. It was home.

And when you had moved to Seattle from Vancouver to join the OL Reign, you thought that playing in the NWSL would be your greatest achievement, never expecting anything outrageous to occur, never daring to entertain the idea that you would ever venture any farther away from home. Thus, you clearly didn’t account for your hard work to actually pay off and for you to attract the attention of European clubs with the likes of Manchester City, Aston Villa, or Manchester United.

Even with your hesitance on leaving the continent, you had accepted United's offer almost as soon as it had come through, only waiting to double check with Sue and Megan on what their thoughts were. Of course the two women you saw as parental figures had freaked out on your behalf. They didn’t need to say it verbally but with the way they supported you as you virtually signed the contract and got ready to move showed you how incredibly proud they were of you for not only continuing to rise to a higher level in your career, but for pushing yourself out of your comfort zone.

But when the offer to extend your single year contract into a three year came, however, it wasn’t Sue, Megan, or anyone else back home who played a role in your decision. Surprisingly, or unsurprisingly as some of the training staff would say, it was your United teammates that unknowingly convinced you to stay.

In the single year you had spent with them, they had welcomed you with open arms, taking you in as one of their own.

Zelem and Mary had become your unofficial team moms, making sure you never got into too much trouble whilst Tooney, Millie, Leah, and the other girls had practically become your sisters. And of course, you had Alessia. Sweet, clumsy, back heel queen Alessia had become one of your closest friends in the new city, her being one of the only few people your introverted self had felt fully comfortable around.

You never understood why or how you were able to so quickly feel so relaxed around the tall girl, you typically being quite shy and reserved with new people, but you definitely weren’t complaining.

Moving countries, much less continents, was never easy, but with Alessia beside you since day one, it had never been too difficult.

Since the day that you had awkwardly waved hi to the United girls and attended your first official WSL practice, Alessia hadn’t left your side once. In fact, within the first few weeks of you being in England, the rest of the girls had established that wherever Alessia was, you were and vice versa, one rarely being found without the other.

Through the homesickness, loneliness, anxiety, and at one point, even depression, she had been there next to you. Be it picking you up and dropping you off from practice, bringing over home cooked meals, or tours around the city, she’d been your rock as you struggled but finally adjusted to being alone again.

And when city tours turned into trying new restaurants together and her dropping off home cooked meals led to bi-weekly movie nights with Alessia’s heavenly dinners or take out, you both never acknowledged how much you cared for each other. Really though, you didn’t have to. A blind person could feel the love that you both radiated for each other.

It was spoken through the way Alessia had become less clumsy over the months, with you now there to catch her. To pull her aside before she could crash into a defensive training dummy. To ensure that her laces were tied and she was aware every time the ground was raised or there was a kerb to watch out for.

Alessia told you she cared when she’d hold you tightly against her chest, after every hard game, practice, or just day. The height difference between your 5’3'' and her 5’9'' was near comical but neither of you minded. If anything, in your opinion, it just made the hugs better since you could bury your face in her neck and block out the world for a few minutes. If Alessia minded, she surely didn’t say a word to you. You didn’t know it but if Alessia was completely honest to herself, she truly loved when you’d hug her. She absolutely adored the way you’d hide your face as you’d hug her, you standing on your tiptoes to comfortably rest your head in the crook of her neck, letting only her see you break, trusting her so easily, warming her heart each time.

You’d whisper the depths of your care when you’d let her lean on you during your movie nights, carding your fingers through her hair when you knew she was on the brink of sleep. In the way you’d slowly manoeuvre both yourself and her into a more comfortable position, her often ending up curled up on top of you, not that you minded at all, welcoming her warmth. How you’d ignore the inevitable stiff neck you would always wake up with since you’d always watch movies in the living room. In your eyes, the pain was always going to be worth seeing the blonde hugging you tightly whilst she slept on your chest.

The star striker would whisper her care ever so softly, staying on call with you during the nights where you missed Seattle a bit too much. When she’d bring you your favourite coffee the next morning, knowing that you’d be tired from your mind running the night before. When she’d drive you to practise, putting on your favourite playlists for the fatigue ridden ride, without you so much as having to ask, her knowing you almost as well as she knew herself.

You both had eventually become so close that even Tooney joked that she should move out and retire from being Alessia's best friend now that you were here for the title. You had simply laughed in response, knowing that at the end of the day, at the end of the month, at the end of the season, even though she was just your teammate at United, she was also simply your favourite person in Manchester (and possibly England, and maybe, just maybe, even in the whole world).

You weren’t someone to really believe in love, having had to witness almost every romantic relationship around you crash and burn, save for Binoe (bless them). So when Alessia clumsily toppled into your life, you didn’t expect that she’d make a home in the cracks of your broken heart. You didn’t expect for her to line the streets of your heart with cosy buildings of every delightful colour known to mankind. You didn’t expect for your heart to flutter like a butterfly each time she was near, the euphoria of having her close nearly causing your feet to grow wings, placing you on cloud nine.

She had your heart and you had no idea when she had taken or how she had taken it, but she had. The way her eyes would crinkle as she laughed had wrapped its threads around your soul. The way she’d have to lean down to hug most of her teammates, you included, and she’d never complain, doing so without being asked, restored your faith in the world. The way her smile would rival the warmth and brightness of the morning sun on your worst days had you smiling softly by yourself as you couldn’t help but stare at her, the only star that you would gladly let damage your eyesight.

While to everyone else she was just your teammate and friend, to you she was so much more. She wasn’t yours but she was something to you, somebody to you, and you hoped to god that you’d never lose her.

It’s funny looking back at when you first realised you were in love with the blonde. It had taken you almost half a year to register that you wanted more than a friendly relationship with her. You remember the exact moment so vividly, having replayed it over and over again in your mind as you lay on your bed, gently begging whatever higher deity existed to make your dreams a reality.

You both, as well as the rest of the team, had just finished a gruelling late training session and Alessia had somehow managed to convince you to let her come around so both of you could make pasta from scratch. You were unbearably tired, not having slept well the night before and the request to postpone the plan was on the tip of your tongue. However, you had made the mistake of looking up from your training bag and right into the bright blue eyes of the taller girl just as you were about to say no, and instead, you (embarrassingly easily, might you add) were persuaded to do nothing but hum in agreement to Alessia’s request.

So once she had picked up the necessary ingredients whilst you waited, trying and failing to nap in the car, and you both had made it to your flat, she had begun flitting around your kitchen, already at home in your house.

You were sitting on the counter, banned from helping due to your tiredness, contentedly watching the partially-Italian woman as she stirred the pasta sauce she had made, that the thought of this scene being ever-present for the rest of your life had briefly crossed your mind. However, you had waved it off at that time, blaming the exhaustion in your bones for your delusional feelings. It had worked and you had forgotten about your yearning for a few seconds, until Alessia had switched the stove off, turned to you, and had taken in your drowsy appearance.

Wordlessly, she had bridged the gap of a few feet between you and gently pulled you towards the edge of the island, pushing apart your legs and bringing her arms to gently wrap around your midsection. It was as she slotted herself perfectly in the space she had created, nudging your head to rest comfortably in the crook of her neck, that you inhaled a deep sigh and let yourself relax, sinking into the hug. As your mind finally began to slow down, the circles Alessia was rubbing on your back calming you quickly, the whole situation hit you.

Here you were, in the arms of your best friend, after she had just finished cooking you dinner, and was holding you so gently, reading you like a book, providing you with the comfort you needed to finally rest. If you didn’t know any better, you would say that Alessia was currently peak girlfriend material - hell even possibly wifey material. Tired and relaxed, this time when the thought of being the only one who Alessia would treat so perfectly like this for the rest of her life came across your heart, you let it warm you, indulging in the loveliness of being cared for.

You had known then, that the blonde irrevocably had your heart, and you were helpless to do anything about it. You were nothing but putty in her hands, your fate lying in hers.

From that point on, you had made it your goal to love Alessia the best you could, regardless of whether she loved you back or not.

As days and months went on, you two got even closer, if that was even possible. If you had thought that both of you were close before, the present put the past to incredulous shame. Your morning routine now definitively consisted of picking up Alessia before morning training and other team events and driving the proud ‘passenger princess’, as you liked to call her, to grab breakfast and head to practice, Tooney joining you two once in a blue moon. Bi-weekly movie nights had become weekly occurrences, and her dropping off home cooked meals turned into you both cooking together in your tiny kitchen most nights.

Telling Alessia you had extended your contract had been one of your favourite moments of the postseason. With her due to play for United another two years too (totally not a deciding factor in your renewal at all), the idea of her getting to spend the remainder of her contract playing not only with Tooney, Mary, and many of the other close friends she’d made, but with you as well excited her unfathomably. The blonde hadn’t stopped smiling for a week straight, and you had a feeling that if she had gone even a single day longer than she had, her face would’ve frozen with her blinding smile stuck permanently.

You knew then, you were a goner for her, for that smile, for the comfort she gave you, her hugs that healed you. You knew you’d give her all of you without taking anything in return, and you couldn’t find it in yourself to care either. You’d give her the world if she asked, all it would take for you to do so is her saying the words, no qualms on your end. You knew that be it as a friend or a lover, you wanted to be the cause of her smiles, her laughs at everything stupid, and the reason her eyes would sparkle with joy. You knew that you wanted her, you just didn’t know she wanted you too.

So caught up in your own head, in your own yearning for the taller girl, you never noticed the longing stares or the blush that would coat her cheeks each time you were near. You never questioned why she’d hug you significantly longer than anyone else, even Tooney or her own mother. You completely, almost idiotically obliviously missed the way she’d go out of her way to make you comfortable, how she had made it her priority as much as you had made it to ensure that her smile would stay.

The two of you danced around each other for months without knowing, two threads dangling from the sky, tangling so effortlessly, yet making no move to separate. You two were bound together unknowingly, without a title, without it being something, without a label. You both were each other's nobody’s, the “no-one special”, yet both of you were silently craving to be each other’s somebody. All you needed really was for the other to make you theirs, the pair of you too scared to accidentally overstep and risk losing the other completely.

At the end, it only took the two of you just over a year and a half before the two of you made any move towards dating.

It was a chilly mid February day. You had gotten injured that morning, hurting your ankle quite severely and Alessia had so graciously offered to crash with you for a few nights to help you out. You had once again, familiarly, found yourself situated by your island, slumped on the counter, painkillers from the hospital coursing you through your veins, as Alessia cooked for you.

While the sight had become more common to you over the past handful of months, it never got old. The way she’d (for once) gracefully move around, opening your cabinets and rummaging through your pantry and fridge with familiarity and ease, in her element, swaying gently to yours and hers shared playlist you had playing on your speaker. The way her hair was tied back yet a few strands always seemed to spill through, framing her face perfectly. How the heat from the stoves had her cheeks tinted, ever so slightly strawberry red. How absolutely breathtakingly gorgeous she looked bathed in the soft golden lighting of your house, a house that turned into a home whenever she was there.

This time, instead of shying away from watching her as you usually would, you let yourself indulge, eyes tracing the way her arms would flex as she chopped the necessary ingredients, as she used the bench scraper to toss everything into the sizzling pan. You admired the way your old oversized hoodie fit her absolutely perfectly, your last name sitting prettily on her back, as if that sweatshirt was meant to be hers.

You’d been so caught up in your unabashed staring that you didn’t realise Alessia had turned to face you, ladle in hand, the other on her hip, a single eyebrow raised in amusement.

“You didn’t hear a word I said, did you?” she teased.

“Definitely did. Something about dinner and it being ready?” You jested, hoping that your obvious guess was at least somewhat close.

“You’re lucky you’re attractive, and half a decent defender…otherwise I wouldn’t be cooking for you y’know.” The way Alessia smirked as your cheeks heated up told you that the striker knew exactly what she was doing, winking at you before laughing and turning around. “Anyways, like I was saying, the doc said you’re probably going to feel really drowsy once the meds wear off, though the pain should definitely be gone. I’m thinking once dinner’s done, we can just go crash in your room, put on a movie or something so I don’t have to carry you around when you knock out? I’m clumsy enough on my own, I don’t need to be holding another person to test it,” she continued.

“Good with me. Plus, at least you’re self-aware enough to know that you are a walking Bambi. It’s honestly a miracle that you aren’t constantly wrapped in bubble wrap at this point.”

“Okay just for that comment, I’m picking the movie and I’m not giving you my hoodie.”

“That’s not fair, I’m drugged up right now. If anything, that’s abuse. You’re torturing a helpless individual,” you mumble as you lay your head on the cool surface of the island.

“Definitely torturing you by cooking you supper and not giving you my hoodie… and as I let you rest since you’re injured and doped up, right?” You could only groan in response to her logic, pouting at not being able to come up with a response.

As Alessia continued to move around your kitchen, finishing up on dinner and plating the food, you went back to observing her. You studied the way she tried the stir fry, taking a bite before scrunching her face adorably and adding more ingredients to fix whatever she thought was lacking. You watched her as she finally decided everything was ready, as she sweetly plated food for you first, handing it to you, before doing so for herself. You smiled, fascinated with the way her body moved as grabbed waters for the both of you, entranced by the ease in her movement.

You were distracted throughout the whole dinner, mumbling responses, missing questions. You blamed it on the medications and fatigue when the forward beside you asked if you were okay, but in actuality your mind couldn’t help but constantly wander to imagining what it would be like if this was your life. If dinners with Alessia could be your future. If movie nights in your bed, you in her hoodie could be a regular occurrence. You knew you’d thought it before, the ideas were nothing new to you, but you had never craved it this bad before, never wanted it more than right now.

You’d been so lost in your thoughts you hadn’t noticed Alessia grabbing your dishes or her own, nor her loading the dishwasher. It was only when she had stepped in front of you that you snapped out of your reverie.

“You sure you’re okay? You seem really out of it…you know I’ve got you right?”

When you fail to meet her eyes immediately, she cradles your face in her hands, one on either side of your jaw, gently tilting your head back to meet her eyes. Her worried eyes scan your face and then the rest of your body, trying to pinpoint something, anything that could have been the cause of your dip in mood.

“Seriously, what’s going on? You were fine just a little while ago. Is it your ankle? Is the pain back? The doctor said the medication would wear off around midnight but if it’s wearing off right now we can call the hospi-”

Shaking your head amusedly at her worried rambling, you cut her off before she forgot how to breathe. “Less I’m fine.”

“Bull. You haven’t said more than 5 words ever since I asked about watching a movie. Oh my gosh, is this about how I said I’m picking the movie? ‘Cause if so, you can totally pick, I swear. I was just teasing. And… and of course you can have my hoodie too. I promise I was just joking. I didn’t mean t-”

“Alessia,” you stated firmly, a slight frown returning to your face when it was her who now couldn’t look at you.

Sensing her anxiety, you reach out for the blonde, hands finding home on her hips, squeezing gently, just enough to get her to finally stop scanning your body for injuries and instead look at you.

“I’m fine, I promise. Just been thinking, that’s all.”

“About? What’s got you so distracted? If it’s the injury, we both know you’ll be back in no time. I don’t mind sticking around to help around while you’re recovering. I’d be happy to help you know? I don’t mind. Plus-”

“Less, it’s not the injury. I don’t care about the recovery. I’ve already accepted that I won’t be playing for a few weeks. Stop worrying, okay? It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal, yeah right…” she scoffs, her hands moving to your shoulders. “Are you actually not going to tell me what’s going on? What’s bothering you? Was it something I did? Is that why you’re not telling me? If I messed up I’ll fix it okay? I'd rather fix it than lose you. Please. Please tell me what’s going on so I can fix it.”

It was in the next few moments that you contemplated whether it would be worth it. Whether potentially destroying your friendship with the blonde that you’ve been in love with since you met her over a year and half ago would be worth the risk of telling her and outing yourself. You considered pretending everything was fine, to make up some excuse using your newly acquired injury or something about the fans and the pressure, but you couldn’t. You couldn’t lie to her. You couldn’t be dishonest. Not when you looked up and saw the care and concern etched in her face, wrinkles scattered across, creases from distress that you had caused.

You figured that if anything, if, no when, when she told you she didn’t feel the same, you could take the next few weeks you had off for healing and rehab to get over her. It wouldn’t be so bad right? You could take those three weeks to heal your ankle and your heart, and then you could go back to being Alessia’s best friend again.

“Hey, I promise I won’t judge alright? Whatever it is, it’s safe with me, I swear on football,” came the gentle voice from the girl towering above you.

You waited a second before looking up, taking a deep sigh in, revelling in the peace before the chaos that you knew was going to come after. Looking in her eyes, you audibly swallowed, before closing your own.

“I’m in love with you. Have been for ages now, and it’s killing me. It’s killing me to see you in my kitchen, at my house, making it a home. It’s killing me to have you cuddle into me when I know I can’t pull you closer at every chance. It’s physically breaking me when I can’t walk up to you in my kitchen and kiss you to thank you for cooking for me, for taking care of me. It’s hurting me when I know that there’s probably going to come a day where you find someone else and I’m left here with your ghost. It terrifies me that I’m nobody to you but you’re somebody to me.” Your voice cracks in the last sentence and you pray to whatever God existed that she couldn’t hear your heart quietly cracking too.

When a minute passes in complete silence, and then another, you dare to open your eyes. Taking a shaky breath in, you don’t know what to make of the sight in front of you. There, Alessia stands, in all her glory, your hands still on her hips, her head tilted back, eyes glazed over, on the verge of tears.

Your heart’s breaking further with each second that passes and you mentally prepare yourself for the rejection that’s incoming.

“Please say something. Please…”

A beat passes. Then two, before Alessia finally looks back down at you, a lone tear falling from her eyes, one that she quickly wipes away, a smile on her face. “Took you long enough to catch up.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. The possibility of your dreams becoming a reality never seemed plausible to you. “Less, don't play. Please,” you beg.

“You were never nobody to me idiot. You weren’t ever nothing to me. You’ve been somebody to me since I met you y’know? You’ve had my heart since you walked onto the training pitch, looking like a lost kid.”

“Honest?” You asked, just to make sure you weren’t hearing things, that she actually liked you back, that you weren’t dreaming. When Alessia nodded in return, you couldn’t help but smile, your grin stretching from ear to ear.

Wiping the few tears that had made their way down your face, you moved your hands to wrap around the other girl, pulling her close to you, hugging her tightly. You tucked your head into the chest, her arms wrapping around your neck, your beaming smile hidden in the cloth of her sweatshirt.

“Let me make you mine? Go on a date with me?” The blonde quietly asked, kissing the top of your head.

This time, it was your turn to nod. You did so energetically, practically vibrating with happiness, twin grins adorning both yours and Alessia’s face.

You couldn’t ever fathom the idea of leaving Canada as a child, yet now, all grown up, on your own, you’d never been more glad you had left. That you had allowed yourself the opportunity to find a new home, one that you found here, in the arms of Alessia Russo.

You’d spent months thinking you weren’t anybody to her, and now? Now you knew you were somebody to her. That you weren’t alone this whole time. That she wanted to make you hers all along.

#woso imagine #woso x reader #alessia russo imagine #alessia russo x reader #woso fanfics #fluff #x reader #reader insert #my writing #fic #mmyml #alessia russo

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gojos-thot-patrol · 9 months

Text

Ok, LISTEN. I'm about half way through seven minuets in heaven pt.2, but because I'm working on it while watching season 2, I got SatoSugu on my mind. so...

Now Presenting...

A little SatoSugu themed supplementary material.

Ok, so let's start standard

Suguru is a psychology major with a minor in musical performance

Satoru is a theoretical physics major with no minor because "ew, minors."

Suguru joined the ABO frat because fraternity housing is wayyy fucking cheaper than living in the dorms. Plus, easy access to booze.

Gojo did it for the memes and cause his best friend was joining.

Suguru is for sure an alcoholic and in denial about it

Gojo smoked weed once and won't shut up about it. He does take a weak ass edible every once in awhile to sleep though.

Gojos tolerance is absolutely shit. Two shots and three puffs in and he is gone!

Suguru on the other hand could drink an entire bottle of tequila and smoke 12 joints and only really be kinda buzzed.

Suguru is definitely in denial about his bisexuality. Everything that he does with Gojo is just for female attention, ya know?

Especially when they're making out alone in their shared room. That's definitely for attention. Source:just trust me bro

Gojo is very comfortable in his pansexuality, and has been known to use "are you a frying pan? Cause you're so fucking hot" as a pickup line.

Ok, now for their background!

Suguru and Gojo actually grew up together, and are the closest anyone can get to childhood friends,

Which morphed into the well documented phenomenon of an all too intense friendship that blurs the line of friends and dating, where if one of them were the opposite gender they would totally be together, but because they’re both boys there using that as a shield to avoid confronting their identities beyond the default settings

They were each other's first kiss 💋

Gojo actually had really kind and loving parents who were very supportive.

Sugurus' mom died when he was young though, leaving him and his dad to struggle. His dad wasn't necessarily bad, but he did have to work constantly and therefore wasn't home often.

Gojo was naturally smart and school came very easy to him. Meanwhile, Suguru struggled a lot, specifically with anything math related.

This led to Gojo, with his great grades and generational wealth, being able to go to basically any college he wanted to.

He still decided to go to the local community College in the end, at least to get his gen-eds and the first few years of his major out of the way at a heavily discounted price.

Yea, Suguru had no such opportunity, his options were community College or to start working with his dad as a mechanic immediately.

And while he's not opposed to the idea of working with his father, and will even work with him for some extra spending money in the summers, he really wanted to give the whole higher education thing a shot.

He's very proud to be in his community College, as he's the first person in his family to even attempt to get a degree

Now, here's how they are in a relationship because you can't have just one.

These boys have historically shared everything: their hot wheels, their Xbox, their bed, and their women. You are no exception. Lucky you 💜💙

When it comes to the three of you together, you find the boys actually work extremely well as a unit.

Where one struggles, the other thrives. Gojo isn't great when it comes to emotional venting and stuff, always looking to "fix" it.

Suguru is better at actually listening and only offering advice when you ask. He’s always willing to just cuddle and listen.

Suguru is terrible to try and watch movies with, he gets bored so fast. Meanwhile Gojo is obsessed with movies.

Gojos fixer attitude also comes in clutch whenever you need to get something done, but just do not have it in you to do it. Need to call a doctor but have phone anxiety? Gojos your man.

Suguru craves to be the primary partner for both you and Gojo. Yes he's aware this is irrational, no he's not sure what to do about it. All he knows is that he gets jealous when he sees you with Gojo, and has to find ways to cope.

To his credit, he's never made this a problem for anyone other than himself, and he is actively working on it.

Gojo on the other hand fucking loves to see you and Suguru spending time together. Those are his two favorite people in the god damn world, aren't they cute?!

Sugurus love language is music. He'll make you playlists, old fashioned mix tapes, and has forced you to listen to vinyl with him. He's written songs about you too, though he's too shy to show them off.

Will play his guitar for you only when asked because he knows the optics of 'frat guy with a guitar' are not ideal.

Gojo shows his love by sharing his candy. Splitting a Kit Kat, giving you a handful of skittles, sharing a sleeve of oreos. If Gojo shares his sweets with you he wants to marry you.

They two of you bond by baking together. You buy new cute molds and cookware together and set up entire spreads based on one theme.

Suguru was probably the first one to be in your life: I.E. the one that you agreed to date before realizing (and agreeing to) the package deal.

But Gojo said I love you first. He feels everything at 100% and hides none of it.

He said it loudly and in front of the rest of the frat, showing you off to everyone.

When Suguru said it for the first time though, it was quiet; whispered to you late at night while you were curled up in his arms.

Both of the boys are massive cuddle bugs!

You call them Sugubear and Satotoro. Gojo loves it and Suguru does too, but he pretends he doesn't.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #satoru gojo #suguru geto #satosugu #gojo x reader #geto x reader #satoru gojo x reader #suguru geto x reader #satoru x reader #suguru x reader #satosugu x reader

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