#C-Major SA

[joes-neck-scar]

cr : @crumb-crumblet-s-crumbington

[sknyuz]

before the storm | na baekjin

pairing — na baekjin x gn!reader

genre — angst, hurt/comfort (don’t expect too much of the latter), found connection, canon to whc2 events

cw — major whc2 spoilers, violence (off-screen), blood, character death, emotional distress, gang activity

wc — ~4k (don’t ask...)

a/n — #neededthat in-depth baekjin backstory and wanted to give him more of a background to his humanity so viewers can empathize with "donald na" that the show lacked so much :c ily na baekjin <333

playlist — astronomy - conan gray | the night we met - lord huron | as the world caves in - sarah corthan | sa susunod na habang buhay - ben&ben | promise - laufey (main)

part of the “i can fix him!” trilogy

masterlist | join the taglist | request a fic

update !! ⤷ read cheers to youth here (prequel to this)

the rain’s loud tonight, like it always is when you want to be left alone with your thoughts. it’s relentless, drumming against the windowpane like it’s trying to tell you something. but baekjin doesn’t seem to notice. he stands by the window, looking out, his arms crossed, folded infront of his chest. the city lights reflect off the rain-soaked streets, but his eyes are distant, like he’s not really here at all.

you’re behind him, watching him, waiting for him to turn around. you hate seeing him like this—cold and unreachable. you know what tomorrow is, what it’s going to mean. the fight. eunjang high. baku. si-eun. you know it’s been building up, and you know he’s not going to walk away from it.

but you’re still going to try.

you take a step closer, voice barely above a whisper.

“baekjin, please. you don’t have to do this.”

your words sound too soft against the noise of the storm. his fingers twitch, like he’s heard you, but he doesn’t turn around. not yet.

“you don’t understand, do you?” his voice is low, cold, like it’s been coated in something bitter. “they won’t stop. they’ve pushed me for too long. tomorrow is the only way to settle everything, i have no say in refusing to fight.”

you know why he’s doing this. you’ve seen it in his eyes every time he talks about it—the anger, the frustration, the years of being torn down until there’s nothing left but this. he can’t see past the fight, the need for closure. the need to serve the union.

but you’re still trying.

“i know what this means to you, baekjin. but this isn’t the way.”

you take another step forward, your fingers brushing against his arm. the contact is tentative, unsure, like he might pull away at any second. “you don’t need to do this. you’re better than this fight. we’re better than this.”

he doesn’t flinch, but you can feel the tension radiating off him. his shoulders are stiff, his back rigid like he's trying to hold himself together, even though it’s all falling apart.

“i never wanted this,” he says quietly, almost like he’s talking to himself. “but it’s the only language they understand. they all know what i can do. they know i’m not going to back down.”

you hate the way he says it. like this is the only choice he has left.

“i know how you fight, baekjin. but you don’t have to fight this way. you’re so much more than that.”

you reach up, fingers brushing the side of his face. his skin is cold, like the rain. he doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, but you see his eyes close for just a moment. that tiny crack, that hint of something more. it’s enough to make you take another step closer, your hand resting gently on his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath your fingertips.

“you’re not heartless.”

he finally looks at you then, and for the first time, there’s something softer in his eyes. it’s not much, just a flicker of something that’s been buried for so long, but it’s there. you know him better than this mask he wears, better than the anger and the pride. he’s not just the fight. he’s the boy you met in your first year of high school. the boy who let you in even when he didn’t want to.

“this isn’t who you are,” you whisper, your voice catching. “you don’t have to do this alone.”

he pulls away, slowly, like he’s unsure of the comfort you’re offering. you want to reach for him again, but you don’t. you just stand there, waiting for him to decide, even though you’re terrified he’ll walk away from you.

“i never asked for you to save me,” he says quietly, his eyes hardening again. “i don’t need saving. i just need to end it. i need this to end, y/n. one way or another.”

he sounds so sure, so determined. but you can see the cracks. you always could. you know him better than he knows himself sometimes.

you don’t know what else to say.

you just hold him, pulling him into your arms like you’ve done so many times before. his body’s stiff at first, hesitant, but then his arms come around you, pulling you close, burying his face in your shoulder. you breathe in the familiar scent of him, the rain, and something else—something broken that’s been there all along.

“i’m not asking you to change who you are,” you murmur, your voice barely audible. “but i need you to know that you’re not alone in this.”

he stays quiet, his breath warm against your skin. the storm outside seems to die down a little, but inside, it’s still too loud. too much. the tension is thick, like something’s about to snap, but you’re holding onto him, holding onto whatever pieces of him you can.

you pull back, just enough to look him in the eyes. his gaze is conflicted, torn between the fight and the person standing in front of him. and you’re scared, because you don’t know which side he’ll choose.

“i’m here,” you say softly, your hand brushing against his cheek. “i’ll be here, no matter what happens.”

for a moment, you think he might say something. but instead, he just nods, a barely noticeable movement. his gaze flickers to the door, like he’s already thinking about tomorrow. about the fight.

“then i’ll be there... in case you change your mind,” you whisper, your fingers slipping from his skin.

baekjin doesn’t say anything more. he doesn’t need to. he walks away, his figure swallowed up by the shadows, and all you’re left with is the rain pattering gently on the window and the silence. you don’t know what tomorrow will bring, but you know you’ll be there. even if it’s too late.

— freshman year.

you had transferred midway through the semester, and already, you felt out of place. the private academy was stiff, everyone was too serious, keeping to themselves, absorbed in their studies. you tried to smile at a few people, but no one seemed to care. and now, after weeks of struggling to catch up, you were staring at a test paper—the grade glaring at you, a constant reminder that you were too far behind. you sighed, dropping your pen, sinking back in your chair. everyone else seemed to breeze through it, their papers already turned in. you had barely managed to finish. it was a mess. a failure.

when the test was graded, the score was worse than you expected. you didn’t even look at the sheet at first. you just stared at the red ink, the marks that burned into the paper like a reminder that you were out of place here. the teacher called you up after class, giving you a look that said everything: you need help, and you need it fast.

later that afternoon, you were told baekjin would be tutoring you. great. na baekjin, the guy with the sharp eyes and the reputation that seemed to follow him like a shadow. he was known around here—not just as the smart, mysterious guy, but also for his involvement with some kind of shady organization. you didn’t know much about it, but you’d heard the rumors. he was always busy, always in some kind of trouble, always surrounded by people who made you nervous. 

but here he was, waiting for you in the library after school. you’d walked in, feeling awkward, unsure of what to expect, he had his legs crossed and was leaning back in his chair, his phone in hand, eyes focused on the screen. you weren’t even sure he’d noticed you.

you hesitated before sitting down across from him. there was no greeting, just the sound of his fingers tapping the screen. his face was slightly twisted as if he had just read something that displeased him. when he noticed you, he didn’t say anything at first—just let out a soft sigh, like the last thing he wanted to do was be here.

“sit down,” he finally said, his voice low, still glancing at his phone. “let’s get this over with.”

you sat down hesitantly, glancing at him. he wasn’t looking at you, his attention still on his phone as he swiped through the screen, clearly frustrated. when he finally put the phone down, his gaze finally settled on you—properly, this time. those cat-like eyes, sharp and calculating, now focused directly on your figure. you weren’t sure if it was the way you were sitting or if he was actually acknowledging you now, but there was a moment of pause before he spoke again.

“i’m not sure why i got stuck with you, but here we are,” he muttered, his voice quiet but firm. “answer these sample questions first. show me where you’re at. i’ll see if it’s worth my time, i’ve got places to be.”

he pushed a set of papers toward you. you stared at the first question, feeling a tight knot in your chest. none of it made sense. you looked back up at him, but he was already looking at his phone again, clearly uninterested in your hesitation.

“go on,” he sighed. “don’t waste time.”

you started scribbling down answers, trying your best, but the words felt like they were slipping away. you couldn’t keep up with the pace, couldn’t understand it the way you needed to. baekjin, however, didn’t seem to care. he only glanced up briefly, then back down at his phone.

“this is pointless,” he muttered, clearly displeased by what he was seeing. “okay, stop. you’re really not getting this, huh?”

he rubbed the back of his neck, letting out another exasperated sigh. for a moment, he just stared at the papers, thinking. then, his expression softened—just barely—and he stood up, grabbing his own set of notes.

“fine,” he said, his voice quieter now, a little more patient. “i’ll explain it to you, but you need to actually pay attention this time.” he sighed again, as if this was the last thing he wanted to do, but when he explained, it was clear and precise. you followed his lead, bit by bit. things started to make sense—slowly, but surely. it wasn’t perfect, but it was progress.

the session ended quietly. baekjin picked up his phone again, still not really looking at you. “don’t expect me to do this every day,” he muttered as he stood up. “next time, figure it out yourself. i helped you once because mr. park said so, so don’t get used to it.”

you nodded quickly, feeling relieved that at least it was over for today. but as you gathered your things, you thought the worst was over. maybe you won’t see baekjin one-on-one for a while, at least.

but the next day, when you walked into the library again, there he was, sitting at the same table, phone in hand. no greeting. no complaints. just baekjin—ready to tutor your sorry ass again. you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips.

“don’t get comfortable,” he muttered without looking up, as if reading your thoughts. “this doesn’t mean anything. just get it together.” (정신차려)

you weren’t sure what to make of it, but you knew one thing for sure: na baekjin wasn’t just leaving you to fend for yourself and fail. and maybe, just maybe, you might finally be able to make him warm up to you.

—the aftermath.

you felt cold.

the field was empty now. the fight was over, and the only evidence left were the puddles of rainwater, mixing with the mud, reflecting the fading light from the sky above. discarded broken umbrellas littered the ground, abandoned like everything else. the air was thick, heavy with the last remnants of the storm, but the rain had finally stopped, leaving only a damp chill behind.

there was a figure lying in the middle of the field, chest barely rising and falling. you barely recognized him at first—the blood staining his clothes, his face battered and bruised, eyes closed. but it was him. it was baekjin.

your heart raced as you ran to him, your legs shaky but determined. tears blurred your vision as you knelt beside him, hands trembling as you reached out to him, touching his cheek, feeling the coldness of his skin beneath your fingers. raindrops, mingling with the tears already streaming down your face, fell onto him, mixing with the blood and grime, staining his face in a way that seemed unreal.

"baekjin," you whispered, voice barely audible, but desperate. "baekjin, please... wake up. you can't... you can't just be like this."

you were in denial, your mind unable to fully grasp what was happening, what had already happened. why? why did it have to end like this? he had to win. losing this fight was never an option. you knew what losing this fight would entail—the union wouldn’t let him get off so easily. they couldn’t. not with the tension within the ranks already building up the past few weeks.

you couldn’t fathom what would happen to him. the cold, hard reality of it was creeping in on you, but you couldn’t accept it. no, you wouldn’t accept it. "please, don't give up on me." you were shaking, but you couldn’t let him go—not now.

and then, with great effort, he coughed, a weak, wet sound that sent a wave of relief through you. his eyes fluttered open just slightly, meeting yours with an intensity that cut through the fog in your mind. a smile, small and faint, twisted his bloodied lips. it was weak—broken even—but it was there.

his hand reached up slowly, trembling as he felt pain shoot up into every muscle, as if it took everything he had just to touch you. his thumb swiped under your eye, gently, as if trying to wipe away the tears you hadn’t realized had fallen so freely. but when you looked at him, you saw red. his thumb was smeared with blood, and the smear stained your cheek too, just under your eye.

the blood was fresh, a stark contrast against your skin, and it hit you all at once—how real this was. how brutal the fight had been. how close you were to losing him. your breath caught in your throat, and all you could do was shake your head, still in disbelief.

“baekjin, no…” you whispered, voice breaking. “you can’t… i can’t lose you.”

the thought of him slipping away—of losing him—squeezed the air from your chest. you clenched your fists, and before you could stop yourself, they gently thumped against his chest, not hard, but enough to feel the weight of your frustration, of the desperation bubbling inside you. the betrayal of it all—how could he? how could he do this to you when he promised?

“you promised…” your voice cracked with the rawness of it. “you promised we’d leave all this behind... after graduation. we’d leave it behind, together... there’s barely a year left, baekjin-ah... please.”

and somewhere in your mind, that promise plays again.

you were curled up on the office couch in the back of the bowling alley—the one baekjin always holed himself up in after late-night deals and longer days. the place was a mess. no decorations. walls painted a sickly kind of white, like someone had tried to bleach the past away and gave up halfway through. his textbooks were stacked on the floor. your own was half-open in your lap, one hand flipping through the pages, the other clutching onto him like you needed the weight of him to stay grounded.

his arm was around your waist, thumb tracing idle circles into your back. absentminded, but gentle. like he always was with you when the world finally left him alone.

“this place is a mess, jinnie,” you muttered, frowning. “when are you really gonna stop?”

he didn’t answer right away.

“we’re almost seniors…” you added, softer this time. there was no judgment in your voice—just worry, just that ache of hoping too hard for something that kept getting pushed farther out of reach.

baekjin looked at you then. just for a second. then his textbook hit the coffee table with a soft thud. the hand around your back slid up to your shoulders, the other falling to your thigh, warm and grounding. he tugged you closer until your head rested under his chin.

“after graduation,” he said, and he said it like he meant it. like it was already a plan written into the sky. “we’ll leave this behind, you and me. we’ll have stupid quiet lives. cute campus couple stuff. matching outfits, photobooth pictures… you’d like that, right?”

he glanced down at you, and for once, his piercing gaze softened. searching your face. waiting for your answer like it mattered more than anything else in the world.

you nodded. a little unsure, a little hopeful. and that was enough for him.

baekjin leaned down, lips pressing softly to your forehead. he lingered there, breath warm against your skin as he whispered,

“thank you, darling.”

he wasn’t one for affection—not really. but his thank you held every star in the universe. your presence, a light in a boy who had forgotten softness until you showed him, for seeing the na baekjin underneath all the sharp edges, the one who never got to be soft, or scared, or saved. you were a rare kindness in the life of a boy who was taught the world would never be kind back.

thank you for finding me. thank you for failing that stupid test. thank you for understanding. thank you for not cowering away or fearing me.

thank you for loving me.

he didn’t say it out loud—na baekjin barely used his words to express his feelings. but you felt every word in the way he held you tighter, like you were the only thing keeping him from slipping into the dark all over again.

tears blurred your vision again, and you leaned into him, needing to feel his warmth—anything to prove this wasn’t the end. but just as you tightened your grip around him, holding onto him as tightly as you could, a sound cut through the stillness.

the low rumble of an engine. distant at first, but growing louder, closer.

you froze.

“y/n…” baekjin’s voice, hoarse and weak, barely reached your ears.

“baekjin...” you whispered, your voice trembling with panic. “no! please... no, baekjin!” as you held him tighter by the collar of his leather jacket, the faint beat of his heart the only proof that he was still there with you, he was here. baekjin was alive underneath you.

the sound of the engine roared louder, and you felt the reality of it sink in. the union. you knew what this meant. you knew the danger was still there—the threat, looming over you both. they wouldn’t let him go. they couldn’t. even more so after losing this goddamn fight.

and you knew, deep down, that if they came for him now, if they took him, you might never see him again.

the black car appeared around the corner, its sleek body cutting through the gloom. your breath hitched in your throat, and you pressed yourself harder into baekjin, as if that would keep him here, keep him safe.

“don’t…” you begged, barely able to form the words through your sobs, crying against his chest. “baekjin, please… don’t let them take you...”

his hand, weak but still there, found its way to the back of your head, pulling you closer as best as he could. the warmth of his touch was the only thing grounding you to him in this moment of terror. you could feel the tremor in his arm, the effort it took for him to hold you. you wanted to pull him up, carry him, do anything to protect him, but you knew you couldn’t. not now. not like this.

his chest rose and fell with each shallow breath, and though his body felt frail, his grip on you was unwavering. in that moment, he was the only thing holding you together.

“i’m sorry... i broke it... my promise,” he whispered, his voice cracking, but he still managed a faint, apologetic smile. “i’m sorry, i love you, y/n.” tears already streaming from the corner of his eye, his eyes shutting as his body wracked with sobs together with yours.

despite all this, baekjin’s thumb gently brushed the back of your head, trying to soothe you, even though his own voice was barely audible. “i’m here,” he repeated softly. “i’m always gonna be here, darling...”

you could feel the blood staining your skin, the streaks of red marking where his thumb had wiped your cheek. but in that moment, with his arm around you, holding you close, you didn’t care. all that mattered was that he was still there. still breathing.

you knew his words were a lie. but you held onto them like a lifeline. the raw, painful desperation filled you as you clung to him, refusing to let go. you pressed your face into his chest, your body wracked with sobs, hot tears seeping through the fabric of his shirt. you could feel his body, weak beneath your touch, but you didn’t care. you needed him here.

just then, the sound of footsteps drew closer. you felt strong arms grip you forcibly, pulling you away from him, and you screamed, the rawness of your voice echoing across the empty field. “no!” your body twisted in their hold, thrashing wildly, trying to reach him again. “baekjin! baekjin, no!”

please, please, please. please let him go. please, he’s just a boy.

you struggled against the grip that was tearing you away, but they held you tight, forcibly dragging you, thrashing against you with no mercy. you watched as baekjin was practically thrown around with no regard, his body being pushed roughly toward the waiting black car, his eyes barely open, but still locked on you. you screamed his name again, your voice breaking, almost unrecognizable with the fear and desperation.

“baekjin… BAEKJIN, NO!” you cried, your voice raw, as you were yanked away. your feet slid through the mud, your body slamming against the ground, but you didn’t care. all you could think about was him—his face, his eyes, pleading with you even though he was so far from you now. 

they pulled you back, tighter, holding you to keep you from running, from reaching for him. but your hands still stretched out, desperate to touch him, to make him see that you wouldn’t let him go. “BAEKJIN!” you screamed again, thrashing with every ounce of strength you had left. but your body was weak from the panic, your limbs refusing to cooperate, his eyes slowly fluttering close in surrender, as the black car’s door slammed shut on his defeated figure.

you were so focused on keeping him safe, on protecting what little time you had left, on clinging to every moment like it wouldn’t slip through your fingers the second you blinked. you were too busy holding onto him to realize you never got to say it back.

and now he’s gone, he disappeared without ever hearing it.

without knowing that you loved him just as much as he loved you.

and that was the last time you saw na baekjin.

the next time you saw his face, it was framed. adorned with flowers, surrounded by people who had come to mourn him. the world felt hollow as you stood there, staring at his peaceful face, knowing the price of this fight—knowing that he had given everything for something that you didn’t even understand. and now, all you had left were memories and a lingering pain in your chest.

you couldn’t breathe. you couldn’t think. all you could do was stand there, as the cold reality sunk in.

the promise of leaving everything behind. of escaping. of being free. it was gone. baekjin was gone. your baekjin. and now, you were left alone, standing in the ruins of everything you had dreamed for.

because the truth was—no matter how tightly you held him, how many times you whispered that he deserved more—baekjin had always been in pain. maybe he was just good at hiding it. maybe you were just good at pretending not to see how deep it ran.

he was just a kid. just like you. trying to survive a world that asked too much and gave back nothing but scars.

you were two kids in love, trying to dream a future into existence—one with matching hoodies and late-night takeout and photobooth strips and polaroids taped to your would-be college dorm walls. a future somewhere far from the violence, far from the weight he was forced to carry.

but this place—this twisted, brutal position he’d been trapped in—it never let him go. no matter how warm your arms were, how soft your voice sounded when you said his name, it was never enough to save him. you couldn’t save him.

and now all that’s left are the echoes of that dream, scattered around your feet like glass. and all you can do is kneel there in the shards, clutching the memory of his voice in your hands—“thank you, darling.”

like that alone could stitch the pieces back together.

edit: changed the divider to soft bae nara as compensation for my readers crying under this fic 🥺🤏 sorry 2 everyone’s hearts xx

if you liked this, i appreciate a reblog as well :3 it helps my works and writing spread to other ppl very effectively !!

a/n — it’s literally 3 am... edit: i’m sorry for making you guys cry (⁠｡⁠ŏ⁠﹏⁠ŏ⁠) i reread this before publishing with the playlist and homestly teared up too ㅠㅠ

𐔌 . ⋮ taglist .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱ @ateez-atiny380 @alien0n3arth @cuppasunu @dhaliaa1211 @seokminfilm @loserlvrss @nanamiswifesatorusgf @hateateez

[astuteology]

Warning: DO NOT read if you're sensitive to SA/BULLYING

Astrological observations:

Sun in the 4th/7th/8th/10th/12th: might have been very badly bullied from the young age. The 1st bully could've been their siblings or cousins. They used to beat you for no reason. They lacked empathy and sympathy for you.

Pluto in the 1st/8th: might have experienced some kind of a sexual trauma when they were child (between the age of 5 and 13) or in their teenage. Random guys might have sneakingly touched you, and acted like they did nothing. No one helped you.

Lilith in the 1st/8th: we all know guys become disgustingly obsessed with people having this placement that even if the person rejects them, they threaten to beat them, k*ll them, r*pe them, or destroy everything they have like post fake n*des.

Scorpio, aries, cancer mars/moon: might have been sexually abused by a male figure in their family or relatives.

Scorpio in the 7th/ pluto in the 7th/ Lilith in the 7th/ mars in the 7th: guys might have only approached you with the intention of getting into your pants. They were desperate to have s*x with you. Made you uncomfortable whether alone or in a group, and no one believed you.

Neptune square ascendant, mars, pluto, sun/ ascendant square/conjunct Lilith: majority of people might have sl*tshamed you. Spread s*xual rumours about you for no reason. Portrayed you as a wh*ore.

Libra, aries, Capricorn, aquarius, gemini, scorpio placements: might have been very badly treated in friendships, relationships, at home, in group settings, by peers, by teachers, by literally anyone. Few people might have tried to trade you into something you don't wanna do. Forced you. Crossed your boundaries without your permission. Forcefully kissed you, grabbed you, touched your private parts, made you s*ck their c*ck.

All these said placements might be suffering from hopelessness, no will to live, suicidal tendencies, unexplainable anger, numbness, irritability, random emotional outbursts, severe depression, severe anxiety, GPPPD, vaginismus, sexual trauma, heavy trust issues that cant seem to heal. And im not stating that its astrological flaw that you suffered all that, but these placements are very prominent in those who suffered. You are not alone, and youre stronger than that and I promise you, they're gona get their karma.

[carveredlunds]

"He looked like a boy, masquerading as a gentleman": A meta on Amadeo, Venice, The Picture of Dorian Gray, and standing on the cusp of adulthood

TW: Discussions of SA, underage SA, human trafficking, slavery, and NSFW content

From a historical perspective, Armand's life as a teenage enslaved boy in Venice in the early 16th century gives us a chance to discuss the culture of male-male attraction in Venice during this period, specifically the contemporary understanding that older men could be attracted to young boys. This historical grounding can, in turn, offer insight into why Armand is trapped on the cusp of adulthood, how this manifests itself in his physicality, and how his story can be cautiously and sensitively used as a mirror for the real experiences of enslaved people in Venice during this period. I will be referring to him by his birth name (Arun), the name Marius gave him (Amadeo), and the name the Children of Darkness coven gave him (Armand), where appropriate.

In 1496 in Venice, illegal sexual relations between young boys and older men were so prevalent that 'special patrols [went] searching for boys who were patientes (sc. passive partners), monitoring schools for fencing, dance and song, where youths might be found in the evenings, and once again looking for companions of unequal age.'[1] This was roughly 27 years before Arun was purchased from a brothel by the vampire Marius de Romanus. Due to Armand's fractured memories of this period, it isn't clear when he was forcibly trafficked to Italy, but it is likely that he was bought by Marius in around 1523 at the age of 15 (assuming he was born in 1508, given that he says he's 514 in 2022).

As a physically attractive enslaved boy, Amadeo would have been understood as an object of desire ("object" in a literal sense, with no personhood of his own) to the older men around him. In his recent study Forbidden Desire in Early Modern Europe: Male–Male Sexual Relations, 1400–1750, historian Noel Malcolm discusses the contemporary evidence for the attraction of men towards adolescent boys. Malcolm explains that older men desiring teenage boys was a common and accepted part of Venetian culture, provided one did not act on those desires, and that attractive young men were often described similarly to women in surviving sources and contemporary literature.[2]

The important thing to note here is that teenagers were supposed to be desired before they started to show signs of maturity, when they could almost be considered sexless. As Malcolm writes, when 'a young man's looks became properly masculine (with facial hair, developed musculature, etc.), that is, fully differentiated from a feminine appearance, was precisely the time when he ceased to be seen as desirable by the great majority of older men.'[3] Due to poor nutrition, this might have occurred later for teenagers in the 16th century than it does today, but it was usually between the ages of 17 and 23.[4] Given that Amadeo was an enslaved child, and therefore probably not well-fed, he was likely late to develop. Putting aside the fact that in the books Armand is 17 when he's turned, Queen of the Damned offers some evidence for this:

'Did Daniel know that Armand had been a boy when all this had begun for him? Seventeen years old, and in those times that was young, very young. Seventeen-year-old boys in the twentieth century were virtual monsters; they had beards, hair on their chests, and yet they were children. Not then. Yet children worked as if they were men.'[5]

In light of this, it is worth mentioning that Armand has the slightest hint of facial hair. You can see this clearly in close-up shots, for instance these ones in my gifset. Here's one clear example:

With his long hair, his high cheekbones, and his thin frame, Amadeo would have fit perfectly into the feminine, feminised, youthful archetype that Malcolm describes. It would have been socially acceptable for older men to be attracted to him in Venice in the 16th century. According to Malcolm, 'When early modern writers described good-­looking boys, the terms they used were drawn from a standard repertoire that existed primarily to describe female beauty: coral lips, pearly teeth, ivory skin, and so on.'[6]

Obviously, the last point doesn't apply to Amadeo. Instead, he would have been desired because he was exoticized by the Italian network of artists that Marius "donated" him to (that is to say, his Otherness would have been sexualised, as a young boy possibly from Bengal as @depressedraisin suggested here). This exoticization is apparent in how Amadeo is portrayed in The Adoration of the Shepherds — kneeling, enraptured, with a look of subservient wonder on his face. (For an incredible meta which delves more deeply into this aspect of Armand's history, I recommend reading "Armand, colonialism, and the weaponisation of anti-Blackness" by @shesnake.)

If we assume (besides his obviously lightened skin), that The Adoration is a fairly accurate portrayal of Amadeo at 20 years old, then the main difference between him at 20 and him at 27 is his slight facial hair. As discussed previously, the appearance of facial hair was a marker for young boys growing out of their desirability and into adulthood. Turned at 27, Armand is now stuck in this liminal space between boyhood and adulthood, and this is visibly apparent in his facial hair. His youth is mentioned in the show on a few occasions. When Louis first sees Armand in 2.01, he says that he 'looked like a boy, masquerading as a gentleman'. Madeline calls him 'young man' in a patronising tone in 2.06.

Interestingly, Armand's youth is mentioned more often than his race, though in the 18th-century flashback in 2.03, Nicolas asks Lestat, 'do you know this gypsy?' This is the only microaggression we've seen Armand face so far, but it offers a tiny glimpse into the kinds of comments that Armand will have faced for his entire life, both as a human and as a vampire. Obviously, Armand is not Romani, so the racial slur of "gypsy" does not apply to him (not that it applies in any context, but I mean it's literally inaccurate). However, this erasure of origins is common in contemporary historical references to people of colour. As historian Imtiaz Habib writes in Black Lives in the English Archives, 1500-1677: Imprints of the Invisible, Black people were often referenced in early modern sources using 'cryptic citations', referred to interchangeably as '"blackamore", "moor", "barberee", "barbaryen", "Ethiopian", and "Indian".'[7] Regardless of their country of origin, they were lumped together as one people.

In this way, Armand's lost origins could be seen as a representation for the surviving fragmentary evidence for people of colour from across the globe in English archival sources. He himself describes his memories in 2.04 as "fragments". This may be read as a metaphor for the sparse and fragmentary surviving archival evidence for enslaved people's experiences in the early 16th century, especially enslaved children. Where the evidence does survive, it is limited, and enslaved people's stories are usually recounted through the lenses of their white owners or observers, with their own voices lost to history.

There is another aspect of Armand's life which may be mirrored with the life of a real specific enslaved person. In Contested Subjecthood: Runaway Slaves in Early Modern Venice, historian E. Natalie Rothman recounts the story of Omar, an enslaved boy from Zara, living in 17th century Venice, who was given the name Pierantonio by his enslaver.[8] He had a long history of service since childhood, and had been baptised in 1648 when he was 10 years old, and, at the age of 32, was seeking permission to be married. Rothman writes that Omar's story:

'suggests ways in which enslavement as a child could actually facilitate effective forms of social, as well as spatial mobility, while curtailing others. His long years of service as a baptized slave were eventually rewarded by formal manumission [release from slavery], the acquisition of a trade, and insertion into a network of patronage that secured his ability to forge new kinship ties in Venice.'[9]

Likewise, it was Amadeo's long and loyal service to Marius, since childhood, which ultimately allowed him to become a vampire ('facilitate effective forms of social, as well as spatial mobility'). If Amadeo had not been Marius' property for as long as he was, if he had not had "skill", as he puts it, then Marius would not have shared the Dark Gift with him. It might be a slightly clumsy comparison, but vampirism could be seen as what Rothman describes — the reward of a trade and new kinship ties. However, though he had been rewarded, Amadeo was not yet freed from his service to Marius. He was now frozen in that place between boyhood and adulthood, having not quite lost what made him special to Marius, but not being the same boy he was.

Finally, this liminal state is manifested not only in his slight facial hair, his long hair, and his youthful features, but it is also realised in The Adoration. I made a gifset overlaying a quote from The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde with scenes of Armand looking at his portrait, which is relevant in this discussion. Armand is almost Dorian Gray in reverse. He might have lived for five centuries, but he a part of his soul is still trapped in that portrait, in a position of unwilling subservience. The fate Dorian Gray laments has happened to Armand. He has grown older, and taken on the countless sins of his vampiric life, but his picture has remained the same — frozen in servitude, representing that young boy who was adored for his beauty.

Bibliography

1. Noel Malcolm, Forbidden Desire in Early Modern Europe: Male–Male Sexual Relations, 1400–1750 (University of Oxford, 2024) p. 44. 2. Ibid., pp. 179-81. 3. Ibid., p. 180. 4. Ibid., pp. 46-7. 5. Anne Rice, Queen of the Damned (Warner Books, 1996) p. 102. 6. Malcolm, Forbidden Desire, p. 179. 7. Imtiaz Habib, Black Lives in the English Archives, 1500-1677: Imprints of the Invisible (Taylor & Francis Group, 2007) p. 2. 8. E. Natalie Rothman, Contested Subjecthood: Runaway Slaves in Early Modern Venice, Quaderni storici, NUOVA SERIE, Vol. 47, No. 140 (2), Riscatto, scambio, fuga (AGOSTO 2012), pp. 425-6. 9. Ibid., pp. 426-7.

[sssssssssw234459]

Rhaenyra is the legitimate heir in a feudal monarchy

My history classes are finally useful lol. Anyway, this is kinda short, simplified and with wikipedia as my main source because honestly I don't feel like getting into a full argument about it as it is just a fictional world and all. But I needed to write this because there is a misunderstanding about how feudal monarchy works (although technically there are some major differences between Westeros and medieval Europe tbh). Also my english kinda sucks sorry.

To be simple: oaths are very VERY important in a feudal monarchy. We see the apparition of feudal monarchies around the 9th century after a few kingdoms' territorial expansions in Europe. The main issue of such large territory is that it required soldiers everywhere to protect it, and these soldiers needed a "leader" to defend the territories the king couldn't protect himself, someone to make sure the new conquered territories would stay under the king's rule. However, to make sure these new "leaders" would stay loyal to the king, they had to pledge an oath to him, thus becoming his vassals. Later, these vassals will themselves have vassals under them that have to swear oaths to them as well. The whole feudal hierarchy mainly existed through oaths as it is based on that the king could give his vassals lands, territories and castles (ect...) to protect.

"The obligations and corresponding rights between lord and vassal concerning the fief form the basis of the feudal relationship.[1]" (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Feudalism)

"Before a lord could grant land (a fief) to someone, he had to make that person a vassal. This was done at a formal and symbolic ceremony called a commendation ceremony, which was composed of the two-part act of homage and oath of fealty. During homage, the lord and vassal entered into a contract in which the vassal promised to fight for the lord at his command, whilst the lord agreed to protect the vassal from external forces. Fealty comes from the Latin fidelitas and denotes the fidelity owed by a vassal to his feudal lord. "Fealty" also refers to an oath that more explicitly reinforces the commitments of the vassal made during homage; such an oath follows homage.[35] Once the commendation ceremony was complete, the lord and vassal were in a feudal relationship with agreed obligations to one another. The vassal's principal obligation to the lord was to provide aid or military service." (Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Feudalism#:~:text=Classic%20feudalism,-See%20also%3A%20Feudalism&text=In%20broad%20terms%20a%20lord,of%20service%20to%20the%20lord.)

"It was sworn between two people, the feudal subject or liegeman (vassal) and his feudal superior (liege lord). The oath of allegiance was usually carried out as part of a traditional ceremony in which the liegeman or vassal gave his lord a pledge of loyalty and acceptance of the consequences of a breach of trust. In return, the liege lord promised to protect and remain loyal to his vassal." (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fealty)

In the United Kingdoms:

"The oath also specifies that this same oath to the king, is equally sworn to his "heirs and successors", in the plural, rather than a single heir and successor (...) in the event that any one of them should accede to the throne. Thus, the pledge of loyalty to the Crown made in the oath does not end at the death of the current monarch. (...) The oath of allegiance was performed to King Edgar (c. 944–8 July 975).[4] The oath was certainly in use as of the date of John, King of England's Magna Carta, signed on 15 June 1215." (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oath_of_Allegiance_(United_Kingdom))

In a Fire and Blood:

"Disregarding the precedents set by King Jaehaerys in 92 and the Great Council in 101, Viserys declared his daughter, Rhaenyra, to be his rightful heir, and named her Princess of Dragonstone. In a lavish ceremony at King’s Landing, hundreds of lords did obeisance to the Realm’s Delight as she sat at her father’s feet at the base of the Iron Throne, swearing to honor and defend her right of succession." (page 393).

"The ancient master of coin, who had served King Viserys for the majority of his reign, and his grandfather, Jaehaerys the Old King, before him, reminded the council that Rhaenyra was older than her brothers and had more Targaryen blood, that the late king had chosen her as his successor, that he had repeatedly refused to alter the succession despite the pleadings of Queen Alicent and her greens, that hundreds of lords and landed knights had done obeisance to the princess in 105 AC, and sworn solemn oaths to defend her rights." (page 430).

These are the same kind of vows the Kingsguard swear:

"Then as now, the Sworn Brotherhood of the Kingsguard consisted of seven knights, men of proven loyalty and undoubted prowess who had taken solemn oaths to devote their lives to defending the king’s person and kin." (page 428).

The "solemn oaths" term is used in both cases for Rhaenyra's inheritance and Kingsguard's vows, which is very interesting.

Anyway, it is mentioned two times the lords and landed knights swore an oath to her. From a feudal perspective, Rhaenyra is a legitimate heir. For people who want to say "oh but Tyland said he had swore no such oaths!" 1) oaths like that are supposed to be on behalf of your house and doesn’t cease to exist if your king dies, 2) technically Tyland is only the brother of the Lord of Casterly Rock anyway so it makes sense it’s not up to him to swear the oath in a feudal monarchy, though it still applies to him.

Anyway, in a feudal monarchy the king is powerful but he doesn't even have all powers… so he does need the vassals' approval. In Fire and Blood, all the lords who are vassals to the king Viserys I swore an oath to Rhaenyra and recognised her as heir. She is legitimate.

[ripleylove]

SFW alphabet ; Rhea Ripley.

pairing: Rhea Ripley x fem reader.

genre: fluff <3

A/N: I miss Rhea. These are my thoughts.

⋆ ˚｡⋆𔓘⭒๋࣭

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Rhea is for sure clingy. Like, she'd be always close to you, holding your hand or wrapping her strong arms around your waist,and she always wants to feel your touch.

I think she loves to show affection through kisses and,more precisely,with sleepy cuddles. Her arm draped over your body carelessly,while her left arm is under your head,serving as a pillow (best pillow ever besides her chest).

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

She would be those kind of friends that are a "ride or die": you and her would do the most stupid and insane things together,all while enjoying each other's company. Also, she'd be your safe place to run to at hard times,her always listening and always giving you advices would always make you feel better and,most importantly,special.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Cuddles with her are MAGNIFICENT!!!! Like,of course she cuddles (and loves to be cuddled) and of course she'd be like a mama bear,cause her strong arms and her big figure would wrap you up like a burrito so perfectly, that you would never want to go out of her arms. Also,she loves to just spend days in bed with you,under the covers,in which the only thing that will be done,is giving and receiving cuddles.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

For sure,Rhea would be the most excited about settling down with you and starting a family: she only wanted you as her girlfriend, wife,and mother of her children. When she would see you playing with little girls and boys,she'd always have major baby fever,with one of her biggest smiles on her face.

To her,cooking and cleaning doesn't feel like any chore at all,if she gets to do it with you. For example, she would be eager to do the dishes with you after lunch or dinner,you would be washing and cleaning and she would be drying and placing the dishes in their respective places.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

If she wanted to break up with you,of course she would talk to you about it. For any reason,for example the distance while going on the road or any lack of communication, she'd always respect the way you think and you would do the same for her.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Rhea,being head over heels for you,would be the most loyal person you've ever met. If someone tries to flirt with her,she'd always shoo them away,because no one could ever get her like you do. If,for example, you would get jealous of her TV relationship with Dominik,she'd do anything it takes to show you that it's all fake and that you're the only one ruling her heart.

She would like to get married 2 or 3 years in the relationship, because she doesn't want to rush things,but if the love you felt for each other was too strong,she'd propose as soon as possible.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

She'd be so so so patient it would make you want to cry. If you struggle with past traumas or anxiety, in the first months of this relationship she would do late night researches on the topic while you were sleeping,reading any tips about panic attacks etc.,so she could help you without feeling helpless.

Physically, she's also very gentle and sweet. After you'd come home late at night,very exhausted, she would remove your jacket and your shoes, before wrapping you in her embrace. I also think she's the type to lay you on the bed, and to massage your sore shoulders,slowly lulling you to sleep.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Oh,as said before,she's THE hugger. Almost a professional hugger,I must say. Head on your shoulders,arms wrapped around your waist,and you caressing her back: that's how she likes it. If she could, she would be attached to you 24/7,because your arms are so warm and so lovely and the list could go on!! Hugging her would feel like heaven, literally. Especially if she'd start to tickle you,that would be literal paradise,but anything she does is heavenly (duh).

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Oh,I think she'd say it in like 2 or 3 weeks. I SAID WHAT I SAID!!!! Because,c'mon,it isn't impossible to fall in love with you and your personality. The way you'd always blush around her,or how you'd always share your food with her,or even the way you'd shily slide you soft hand in hers. She would be head over heels for you,like,I'm not even joking. Also she'd be saying that she loves you every single minute. Over text,with calls, while colliding her lips with yours etc.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Rhea doesn't get jealous easily,because she knows she's yours and you're hers. But,sometimes,you don't even realise that someone is actually talking to you to get you in bed,and often you just mistake that intent for a simple and unhurtful small talk. And this thing happened many times in many places,for example in a a bar. Rhea,ever so caring and attentive,would notice that,and she would come over to you (and the person you're talking with) and put her arm around your waist. "So,baby,where do you wanna go now?"

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

The feeling of her kisses would be like feathers,her plump and soft lips lovingly meeting yours in a passionate and sweet kiss. While kissing,she would hold your cheeks with her rough hands,and you would caress her long hair,sliding your fingers through her black strands. Her favourite places to get kisses are: lips (obviously), neck,hands and head. (although, sometimes you would kiss the tip of her nose,and she would act like she hates it,but she actually loves it).

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Around children,at first she might be anxious, but when you'd help her to hold little babies or when you would join a toddler that was playing with barbies,she would start to warm up to the children. She'd have the preference to newborns and little babies,because she dies from their cuteness,but she also loves toddlers! This whole babies thing started when your bestfriend Mina asked you to babysit her children while she worked,and Rhea joined too. (Now she got a little attached to the babies,but this is a secret).

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

To be honest,mornings with Rhea are different based on her and your mood. If you both are tired,you would stay in bed until afternoon while either sleeping or cuddling while watching any TV series; If you both want to try cooking breakfast, you would try cooking pancakes (which often would come out either burned or raw) or,if you both feel motivated enough,you would even go to the gym with her.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Obviously, she's a night owl. She goes to sleep at least at 2 or 3 AM on a daily basis,and,as much as you try to keep up with her sleeping schedule,you just fall asleep as soon as possible. But,when you would manage to stay awake with her,you would be doing the most random things: playing uno,watching south park together,doing each other's make up... in the end,nights with Rhea are never boring.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Rhea would talk about herself and her past only later in her relationship. During your first date,she would talk about her passions,her likings and her disliking, but she wouldn't go past that. Only when she started fully trusting you,she would talk about her experiences, and about the sad and happy things that happened to her. And you would do the same thing for her,of course.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

As I already said before,she is the most patient person ever. She understands your struggles,and doesn't shame you,instead,she helps you to overcome them. She hardly gets mad at you,but when she does,she doesn't shout or raise her hands,she just closes herself in your shared room to cool off. And,obviously, everything goes back to normal after a good talk <3.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

She would be the human version of a memories box: she would remember any little detail of yours,your favourite color,what you like to do and even your habits. Everytime you tell her something about you,it's like a little drawer in the back of her mind opens,and in there gets stuffed the new information.

She would buy you a purse you told her you've always liked,and you would be surprised. "You remembered?" You would ask,and she would answer: "Obviously! It's the australian memory!"

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Rhea's favourite memory could be when you went to the beach together. You played in the water and even had a swimming competition (that she let you win). Also,you tanned,and while doing this,Rhea had her hand over your waist,and the print of her hand was very noticeable. She had to take a picture,that she even posted on her Instagram stories,and she laughed her ass off for almost 30 minutes,while you were sat here pouting.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Saying that Rhea is overprotective is and understatement: when you go out,she always holds your hand and always protects you from paparazzi,to keep you safe from any uncomfortable situations.

When you protect her though, she feels butterflies making their way in her stomach. For example, if a nosy fan would bother Rhea with uncomfortable questions,you would immediately jump in the situation and protect you girlfriend without hesitation (she thought about it for weeks).

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Even though she's often on the road,she always finds time and effort for dates during special occasions (or even to pamper you). Taking you to fancy restaurants, going on a walk together, taking you on the beach or even going to get nails together were things you would do on a weekly basis,since Rhea always likes to spoil you.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

One of her bad habits is that she always cracks her knuckles, and you always scold her,and during your scolding she looks like a lost puppy (but she never listens and you keep on scolding her). "Rhea stop doing that!" You'd shout,and she would raise her hands in surrender. "Okay,Okay,damn!"

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?

She doesn't care that much about her looks,because she knows she's beautiful, and you even tell her everyday that she doesn't need makeup because hers it's a natural beauty; but she likes to take care of herself: doing her hair,her skincare,and choosing carefully her outfits. (she might get ready just to hear you compliment her,but nobody knows).

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Oh,without you,she would feel like every piece of her puzzle was missing,and she would make sure you know that. When she's on the road for RAW,you'd get a "i miss u :(" text at least every hour,and when she'd get to her hotel,she would immediately videocall you to stay up Kate while she watched you sleep <3

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

She would totally have a photo album in her gallery which contained 1000+ pics of you in any context: sleeping with drool coming out of your mouth,eating burnt pancakes,getting your make up done,and her favourite one is the one she took with her professional camera on your first date,that she still has in the back of her phone,in her cover.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

I think Rhea would hate people who ghost others. This might be,as she thinks,one of the worst trait a person could have. Also she hates people who don't help people in need for their own dignity and image. These are the biggest red flags a person could have!!

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

She just has to be next to you,or else she won't even close her eyes. Your heat and your natural smell lull her to sleep,and,without having you sleeping next to her,it would be impossible for Rhea to feel comfortable in a cold and lonely hotel room. That's why,like I have said before,she needs to facetime you,because even seeing you sleep,makes her feel better. <3

taglist: @stellakiddsblog @bibibi-tchx @p-mp @teenagedramaqueenlisa @thegalacticnacho091 @judgementdaysunshine

[boozenboze]

Right In Front Of Me Kyle Gaz Garrick x M!reader

Summary: Gaz comes to a realization

Women/Female aligned DNI

Together from the very beginning

They had enlisted together, honing their skills to be the best pair the Military had ever seen. Starting off when serving the SAS domestic counter-terror program, before being where they were now. They made a pact, to stick together no matter what the other does. It couldn't be helped nor could it be fought.

Even after being alongside one another for so long, aware of how the other behaved, conflict was always in their midst. Despite that, they always found their way back to one another, even if they got on the other's last nerve.

This time, however, they had gotten into a petty quarrel and Kyle didn't feel like talking. M/n tried to initiate their interactions to no avail, Gaz being a sass lord and ignoring him. In other terms, he was being petty and caught up in his own feelings. Now, today was the day of the mission. Get in, get out, a difficult yet simple task. Everything had gone smoothly so far, till the unexpected ambush by the enemy. It had left Gaz to hardly hold on to consciousness. On the ground, gripping his side, trying his best to stop his bleeding, being lucky enough to not have the bullet that hit him hit any major organs. His hat had slipped from his head, and his face and overall stature were covered in the filth of the field. Laid on his back, his vision got hazy with his eyes half-lidded. The sound of gunfire seemed more distanced despite being so near. Footsteps approached his resting place, Gaz unable to shift his gaze from what was above. Chocolate eyes met the head of a gun being pointed at his head, Gaz sucking in what he suspected to be his last breath. A shot rang off, a thud being followed right after. He felt no other pain besides the shot he had before.

Something bumped him from his left, hands feeling all over his body, the same hands cupping his face. It was like an echo in a cave, a familiar voice calling out in desperation and urgency. His eyes flickered open, meeting a familiar pair of e/c eyes he'd never failed to end up staring back at. "Gaz....Gaz, shit- Kyle get the hell up, ya bloke!" The voice yelled out, the commandment in his tone making him groan. He felt M/n's hand pushing his clothes up to expose the injury. The man said nothing, lips apart and a look of life in his eyes. It was like he was seeing a new light, a realization that he never had come to mind. It was always him if not anyone else.

"C'mon, told ya ass not to wander too far from me!" M/n urged, pulling him up to his feet like many times before. With everything happening so fast, it was surprising for Gaz to feel like everything was in slow motion all of a sudden. His legs showed no signs of weakening, likely due to adrenaline. Even so, while being saved again, his eyes never left him. They somehow never did.

Nobody else would do it, no matter how close they were. M/n was always the one to care, listen, comfort, and put him back in line. Every damn time, it was him who'd be right at his side, even in a moment like this. It was almost like a dream, watching how he rushed him to safety despite there being risks of him being hurt as well. He always managed to be there. He was safe, he had what he needed. And he needed him, the one who'd been in front of him all this time, even if he'd never end up saying out loud. (A/n- Good night/morning loves)

[captainjonnitkessler]

Hello again.

I just saw a very vaguely worded prison abolitionist post talking about how 'if you just make the system better, then the amount of people in jail would shrink' which A) feels rather reform-y for a post starting off talking about how no reform is possible, the system is a lost cause...and B) it feels that these people don't get that there are just assholes out there?

Because it goes on this long rant at the end talking about all the things in the system that would need to be fixed, like helping the homeless, having healthcare focused on the mentally ill, lifting up impoverished communities. And honestly, you know what, sure I approve of all of that...

But then the phrase "Next we tackle sexual assault" is uttered without any context or ideas of how to handle it. And I was like oh for fucks sake... Everything else in this post was like, here's the magic button on how to fix this but then SA is just dropped at the end.

I don't know why prison abolitionists lock up and get defensive when it comes to the question of "what about rapists?" but it seems as though they never fully take it seriously. And while I cannot speak to the full intricacies of the prison abolitionist movement, I'm only starting to be exposed because of someone on my dash I'm considering unfollowing, I can speak to statistics when it comes to sexual assault and incarceration.

Because the fact of the matter is that the vast majority of perpetrators of sexual assault will not go to jail. And so handwaving the idea of the few who have have in fact been incarcerated feels so incredibly dismissive of the hell that survivors have to go through to even get a perpetrator in court. It devalues the incredibly hard work done by the survivor to make sure that the perpetrator doesn't skip off into the sunset.

I don't know, it just got my hackles up. I know too well of how many pupatrators slip through the cracks and of how incredibly hard it is to even get a conviction in the first place. And yet prison abolitionists dismiss even the small percent as an afterthought not worth nuanced discussions.

Sorry for dumping this all into your askbox, it just seems to help to be able to type everything out so it's not just swirling in my head...

The constant pattern I see from prison abolitionists is that someone asks okay, so what are we going to do with the murderers? "Well, if we improve social conditions there won't be as many murderers!" Okay cool. But what are we doing with the remaining murderers? "You know, most murderers aren't even caught, so most of them aren't in jail anyway!" Okay cool. So what are we doing with the murderers we do catch? "You know, putting people in jail doesn't bring the victim back. Most murderers don't murder again!" Okay cool. So what do we do with repeat offenders? "Oh my god, I'm so sick of people constantly asking that question when I've answered it a million times!"

And I think it's because at some point you have to argue either a) you are a genuine prison abolitionist and don't believe serial murderers and rapists should be incarcerated, which is insanely unpopular and will cause 99% of people to stop listening to you, b) some murderers and rapists SHOULD be incarcerated, at which point you are arguing for prison reform and not prison abolition (and this will make you A Liberal, which is the worst thing a person can be), or c) if we solve all of society's problems, nobody will ever commit a violent crime ever again because humans are Good At Heart and only ever do bad things out of necessity or poor social conditions.

I think c) is a ridiculously naive view of the world, held by people who shape their view of reality based on their ideology instead of vice-versa, but it's the most palatable option for a lot of people. So you have to pretend that there's some fixable underlying condition that causes people to rape, because otherwise c) won't work and you're back to the other two options.

So yeah, I think a lot of abolitionists - at least the ones I've interacted with - can come off as though they don't care about victims of crime, because admitting that there are serial perpetrators that will not stop as long as they have access to victims really kind of undercuts the entire abolition argument.

[too-tired-omg]

Hands I'd recognise

Jegulus minific. WC: 936

TW: major character death, suicided thoughts? (Implied), angst no comfort (kinda)

(It's my first fic, I have no idea what I'm doing)

James knew he shouldn't have done it.

Sirius told him. Lily told him. Remus told him. He had told him. Kinda.

But he could just... not.

After Regulus disappeared, everything seemed so dull. True, they were broken up. True, he had chosen them instead of him. But also true, he couldn't stop loving him just like that.

And so, in a desperate attempt of keeping him close, James convinced Sirius to go back with him to Grimmund Place. He would've never asked Sirius to do it, but... he was a desperate man in love, trying to hold onto something, anything, to keep his lover close.

Sirius stood guard outside the door of Regulus' room. Noone was gonna come, Orion and Walburga both dead way before his youngest son vanished, but you couldn't ask an older brother to see the dust and the rumpled sheets of his younger brother, James could barely hold the sight himself. But he did. While Sirius stood outside, he looked. He searched. He moved every piece of furniture, of (almost inexistent) decorations. He needed something, anything. And he found everything.

A house elf, Kretcher, crying in a corner so quietly he wasn't surprised he hadn't seen him. A locket, carefully held on Kretcher's hands.

A notepad by his side, with a ripped out page and full of scratched out versions of a note, the same note:

To the Dark Lord

I know I will be dead long before you read this, but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match, you will be mortal once more. And know that someone someday will finish what I've started.

R.A.B

He read over and over all the versions. Looking for an answer. And that's when his eyes locked on a little doodle on the last page. A star inside of the sun. Next to it, 3 lines.

I wish I could tell you where I'm going, but it's safer this way. Just know that I love you, I know you won't forget me. And one day you'll be happy with me in your memory"

R.A.B.

"Kretcher," James said, surprising himself with a steady voice. "Take me with him"

The sobbing stopped momentarily next to him.

"Ma-master Regulus sa-sa-said noone wa-was to ev-er find the-the cave"

"Take me to him," James insisted. "Do it for him"

----

James couldn't remember how he'd gotten there. He just knew one moment he was holding Regulus handwriting in his hand outside of a cave, and the next, he was standing on an island inside said cave. Kretcher was shaking next to him, and only then, James noticed he was soaking wet.

"He drank from there and then... they took him," said the house elf

"Took him where?" James felt like it wasn't him talking, but he was very much agreeing with what was coming out of his mouth.

A scrawny long finger pointed past him into the water. James looked, then back at Kretcher, then turned towards the start of the water.

"Go back, tell Sirius that i had to go. Tell him... I'm sorry, but I- I just can't leave him alone"

Tears had started falling, blurring his sight, but he didn't need it where he was going. He took a step.

Crack.

Kretcher was gone

Another step.

He remembered those gray stormy eyes.

The water was so close.

Another step.

That cutting smirk.

He could fall and drown on the edge if he fell.

Another step.

His cunning remarks.

The water reached his ankles.

Another step.

His hands .

The water was so cold.

Another step.

His rings.

A hand pulled out of the water and grabbed him. Hard. Punishing.

He was dragged down the water at an incredible speed, faster than he could've swam up. Another hand held him by the hip. He tried to escape. More hands found him and pulled him down.

He gasped for air like he wasn't 3 meters down the water. Many more hands.

The hands were mean. Pulled and grabbed and took and claimed. And that's how he knew. Suddenly, he felt his face being taken between soft hands. Caring and tender soft hands. Soft hands with many rings. Hands he would've recognised anywhere, even in the brink of death. Hands he would've recognised even if they had been mean. And then nothing else mattered.

He remembered one time, out in the Astronomy tower, late at night. Reg was telling him the myths the stars carried with them while laying on his lap and letting him play with his hair.

"Pyramus went to look for Thysbe that night." He had said."He found nothing but the bloody veil she had left behind in an attempt to escape the lion that tried to kill her. But he didn't know that, so he killed himself with his own sword"

James had only thought of how lovely his hair looked under the moonlight and how beautiful his voice sounded and the way his eyes... his eyes were looking at him a bit angry.

"Are you listening to me, Potter?"

James had smiled so hard he almost closed his eyes.

"Of course I am, amor"

"As i was saying," Regulus continued. "When Thysbe came back to fund her lover dead, she followed suit"

"I would too," James said under his breath. "If it had been you, I would've followed too"

Regulus had looked so lovely blushing under the moon.

[moonandmaiden]

It's really the misunderstanding of how C/SA actually goes down that really gets me about the 'Mystra is a child predator' headcanon. Because we have to all be honest here, that's what it is: a headcanon. There is no clear, solid proof that is what happened between them. Often, I never see the die hard defenders mention how Mystra wasn't even alive when Gale was a child, just saying things are being 'misrepresented', which doesn't clarify a thing.

Do you guys not understand how a child feels when they are being preyed on? Do you think Gale wasn't scared and knew that something was wrong? Do you think this is some excusable action in the story's world because Mystra is a goddess? Do you not think Gale would've reached a certain age and realized things weren't right? Because that's what happens to real people who go through this. Sure, they might not realize at first that it shouldn't be happening, that they should say something. Kids will fight back once they get big enough. It hurts. They feel scared around their abusers. It doesn't matter if they know it or not, that physical aspect doesn't change. You don't think Gale eventually would've been wondering, "Why does Mystra scare me? Why do I feel nervous around her?" That he wouldn't have at any point asked her to stop, ask why they were doing this? The way most predators encourage a victim's silence is by threatening them or their loved ones in order to obtain secrecy. Because that's how it would've happened. Never at any point is Gale depicted as fearing Mystra. He's very comfortable directly contradicting her and speaking his piece to her when given the chance. This is not a depiction of a man that was groomed from childhood into being her obedient tool.

I just don't think you guys are able to really understand the reality of a situation like this. I don't think the majority of you have lived through it. Anyone that wants to sit here and discredit me because I "haven't learned to deal with" my own trauma is just desperate to shut down any argument they can't prevail against.

[judesmoonbeauty]

Jude Jazza Route Theories Pt. 2: Hidden Rooms, Burning Smells & Human-Trafficking ☾.

MDNI - Solely for brief mentions of sex CW: Brief mentions of SA, Child abuse, Death.

This is another post I also delayed for months, and it's a bit more of an odds and ends post. I had these notes written, but got busy translating and they just stayed stuck on paper. Then I had a nice chat with @shatcey the other day which reminded me about Jude's Crown’s S-Rank 95k Bonus Story story.

Under the cut due to event and route spoilers. As usual, this is just for fun, it's nothing groundbreaking, and we can't be dogmatic.

Burning Smells: “Shit, that burnin' smell...” - Jude Jazza, Crown’s S-Rank 95k Bonus Story

To my knowledge, this is where we are first introduced to something very odd - a Jude who doesn’t like burning smells. In this scene, a merchant whom Jude has collected evidence against for human-trafficking, started a fire within his own mansion to get rid of evidence. He intended for Jude and Kate to burn with him, so the two run for their lives as usual. Interestingly, we get a bit more insight about this vague statement at a later event……

“The smell when I smoke reminds me of that stuffy ass room. All the smoke n’ the fumes, n’ the gloom in the air would make me cough up a lung.” - Jude Jazza, Roger Barel’s Past Records-Record No. Four

This didn't hit me until I was writing this post, but I love how I Cybird expounded on that tiny morsel so many months later, and yet there's still not a lot of info. While it's implied the room Jude was in was filled with cigarette smoke (and for all intents and purposes, it probably is just cigarette smoke), Cybird doesn't explicitly state what type of smoke was actually in that room. It only says that cigarette smoke reminded him of it.

And if you think about it, cigarettes would just be an easy way for Jude to have access to the smell of smoke (which he uses to feed his hatred and vengeance).So, it could also be something like fumes and smoke from a furnace? Something that would constantly be spreading and harming them versus the potential intermittent smell of cigarette smoke. Maybe not though.

Regardless of the type of smoke it was, it’s both a source of trauma and a motivator for him, and he abhors it. Now about this room he was in.....

Hidden Rooms: So far we know that he was in a dusty attic (from his first BD event), and then this stuffy room that was filled with smoke.

Going to back to the mansion that is on fire in the 95k story, Jude wants them to escape by means of climbing down a drainage pipe from the fourth floor, but Kate tells him to do it alone, fearful the pipe won’t support them both. She explains that there maybe a hidden passage way to a detached outbuilding, where it’s rumored a sickly child the couple had at one point lived inside. When they reach the the wall that divides the mansion with the outbuilding, Jude says:

“……It's somethin' you often find in aristocratic mansions. They’ll dig underground and make somethin' like this.”

Now, how would he know this? He’s not an aristocrat. True, it may be that it’s something he’s noticed on Crown missions such as, Ghost House Report. In that mission, they find Anne’s skeleton in an under ground basement that’s hidden beneath the first floor staircase. It could also be that he worked as a servant in an aristocratic mansion and saw things no one should ever have to see. However, I feel like in Jude’s case, it might be……

Human-Trafficking: “Now, if ya were just buyin’ ‘n sellin’ guns ‘n other dirty shit that’d be fine. But don’t ya remember the contract ya signed with me? When I toldja, NO human traffickin’.”- Jude Jazza, Wrapped In Wicked Romance, Premium End

From the very beginning, we know at least one thing about Jude, and it’s that he HATES human-trafficking. In fact, majority of his personal missions involve this disgusting practice, and that point is further driven home in Ellis’ route. In chapter 13 of the route, they find 12 children who’ve been abducted by a lunatic, and Jude is absolutely furious about it.

A quick side note, before they discover the children, Jude tells Kate that it’s never acceptable to lock up a child without food. To me, it solidifies other evidence that Jude may have been a victim himself along with his sibling(s)/mother. Oh, and it also contributes to his medical records stating that he suffered from malnourishment!

There are ton of theories that I have about how he and his sibling(s)/mother were sold if that was the case.

Simple street abduction. There could’ve just been a bunch of bad guys looking for a quick buck and sold children to earn it. Ellis’ route has something similar happening.

Jude and his family may be from another country who were sold to someone in England. (I’m using First Class Ticket, Dark IF, and Guard IF as a basis for this.)

Jude and his family may have been offered up as collateral by their parent/guardian at an illegal gambling den. (Jude’s & Nica’s versus SE is what makes me think this).

Jude and his family may have been born into captivity by a mother who was sold to someone, and assaulted.

Jude’s mother may have been a prostitute who snagged herself a nobleman customer, and thus he was born and was simply mistreated within the home, and/or was found by the father later on and shoved into a cage.

Or, his mother may have been the one who disappeared after being sold, and he was simply left to live on the streets and earn a wage any way he could.

Final Theory? It's kind of hard reigning it all in, but I think Jude and his family may have been victims of human-trafficking in a nobleman’s home. There must've been constant burning smells of smoke that irritated baby Jude's lungs (who already suffers from seasonal asthma). This no doubt contributed to the illness of the other two who were with him as it seems they had trouble breathing too.

They may have been starved (as supported by Jude's medical record of suffering from child malnourishment), assaulted (physically and sexually), and/or at least exposed to the indulgence in vices such as drugs, sex, murder games (as Jude's mentioned once before in an event or Ellis' route...I can't remember where exactly), and other things…..we will stop at that because I can’t bear to think of what they may have had to endure or witness.

Assuming, Jude was locked away in a mansion like that as a child himself, I think it’s plausible that he escaped the mansion using his wit, not necessarily the way he did using cigarette smoke in the story, but somewhere along those lines:

Without putting the cigarette in his mouth, he held it out toward the underground passage. Then, the cigarette smoke trailed into the passage from the back of the hallway. “…..Thankfully, there's some air flow. Looks like there's an exit on the other side.”- Jude.

Of course, little Jude could’ve also climbed out a window and down the drain pipe if he was making his way down from a dusty attic instead, and I wonder…..was his family (?) able to make it out too, or was it too late by that point?

What we do know is that Jude escaped that life, and he even went to a public school (which is a paid school for the wealthy and the aristocratic). According to Past Records, it was either a scholar or a doctor who supported Jude in this endeavor.

Why? Why did they fund Jude's schooling? A selfish one? A genuine one? Did they notice how intelligent and clever Jude was, and decided it would be a tragedy if his brains were left to waste in the slums? Did they meet Jude while he was locked away? Did they meet Jude on the street? These are questions I want to know.

Again, this is just what I think could’ve happened. Let’s see how wrong I am! Please feel free to add-on to the theories.

[kami-fubuki]

⠀𓏵⠀⠀Del ⠀╱ ⠀Ink

꒰ ⠀Welcome to the pup's entertainment center ! It has so many things to share with you ! ! ! ⠀꒱

꒰⠀Shx is a⠀;⠀Nonhuman. ⠀Fictionkin. ⠀Therian. ⠀Neurodivergent. ⠀Radinclus Queer. ⠀Comp-C Paraphile. ⠀Pro-Fiction. ⠀Dark-Shipper. ⠀Anti-Abuse. ⠀SA Survivor. ⠀Age Regressor. ⠀Yume-Shipper. ⠀⠀♪

꒰⠀Shx uses the pronouns⠀;⠀It ノ Its. ⠀Shx ノ Hxr. ⠀Myu ノ Myuself. ⠀Pup ノ Pupself. ⠀Frill ノ Frillself. ⠀Charm ノ Charmself. ⠀Star ノ Starself. ⠀Cherish ノ Cherishself. ⠀Chime ノ Chimeself. ⠀Haze ノ Hazeself. ⠀Joy ノ Joyself. ⠀Ring ノ Ringself. ⠀Love ノ Loveself. ⠀Bell ノ Bellself. ⠀Purr ノ Purrself. ⠀Idol ノ Idolself. ⠀Woof ノ Woofself. ⠀Doodle ノ Doodleself. ⠀Soft ノ Softself. ⠀⠀♪

꒰⠀Shx adores feminine and nonhuman terms. ⠀⠀♪

꒰⠀Hxr gender labels are⠀;⠀Transfemmasc. ⠀Lace Nonbinary. ⠀Clingypupic. ⠀Pamperedpupic. ⠀Puppygirl. ⠀APAB ( Assigned Puppy At Birth ). ⠀Patheticgirl. ⠀Puppywife. ⠀Dollpetnamic. ⠀Pupsleepic. ⠀Dreamylexic. ⠀:3gender. ⠀Cutehoarder. ⠀Adorafae. ⠀Consumlovic. ⠀Darlingadored. ⠀Amoncitte. ⠀Lacedecorated. ⠀Crusheayne. ⠀Cutefrilled. ⠀Lesbicute. ⠀Lacefem. ⠀Amareale. ⠀Pawthing. ⠀Softpinkfrillic. ⠀Digiluvsic. ⠀Puppypet. ⠀Somnucomfic. ⠀Somovium. ⠀⠀♪

꒰⠀Hxr sexuality labels are⠀;⠀Lesbian. ⠀Loveful Aro. ⠀Odioromantic. ⠀Auti4Auti. ⠀Ductuaffian Attraction. ⠀Les4Les. ⠀T4T. ⠀Queerplatonic. ⠀Polyamorous. ⠀⠀♪

꒰⠀Hxr disorders / disabilities are⠀;⠀Autism. ⠀ADHD. ⠀General Anxiety. ⠀Major Depression. ⠀HPD. ⠀PPD. ⠀CPTSD. ⠀Anemia. ⠀Scoliosis. ⠀Chronic Pain. ⠀Hypersexuality. ⠀⠀♪

꒰⠀Hxr paraphilias / attractions are⠀;⠀Somnophilia. ⠀Cardiophilia. ⠀Lactophilia. ⠀Lolicon. ⠀Fictophilia. ⠀Gynephilia. ⠀Autogynephilia. ⠀Plushophilia. ⠀Autoplushophilia. ⠀Mazophilia. ⠀Dacryphilia. ⠀Sadism. ⠀Autonepiophilia. ⠀⠀♪

꒰⠀Shx despises the concept of dni lists , but she will block and avoid⠀;⠀Radqueers. ⠀Pro-C for the Big Three Paras. ⠀Anti-Fiction / Anti-Ship / Pro-Harassment. ⠀Self Harm or Eating Disorder Based Accounts. ⠀Reality-Checkers. ⠀Anti-Recovery. ⠀Bigots. ⠀Most People Above the Age of Sixteen. ⠀Transid / Pro-Transid. ⠀Anyone Shx Finds Annoying. ⠀⠀♪

꒰⠀Hxr interests are⠀;⠀Bungo Stray Dogs ( Special Interest ). ⠀Project Sekai. ⠀Danganronpa. ⠀Nekopara. ⠀Inanimate Insanity. ⠀Cookie Run. ⠀Okami. ⠀Little Big Planet. ⠀Call of the Night. ⠀My Little Pony. ⠀Bluey. ⠀Invader Zim. ⠀Whisker Haven. ⠀Shugo Chara. ⠀LilPri. ⠀Precure. ⠀Cardcaptor Sakura. ⠀Himouto ! Umaru - Chan. ⠀Gabriel Dropout. ⠀Chobits. ⠀Chi's Sweet Home. ⠀Lucky Star. ⠀The Helpful Fox Senko - San. ⠀Bananya. ⠀Mitsudomoe. ⠀TONIKAWA : Over the Moon for You. ⠀Miss Kobayashi's Dragon Maid. ⠀Madoka Magica. ⠀Illit. ⠀Phantom Thief Reinya. ⠀Alien Stage. ⠀Coletta ( Special Interest ). ⠀Trickle. ⠀Dandy's World. ⠀Plushies. ⠀Vocaloid. ⠀Squid Game. ⠀Underverse. ⠀Regretevator. ⠀Clinical Trial. ⠀Blocktales. ⠀Forsaken. ⠀Work At A Pizza Place. ⠀My Dear Hatchet Man. ⠀Kamifubuki Entertainment Center. ⠀⠀♪

꒰⠀Italicized + Bold = current ( hyper ) fixation. ⠀⠀♪

꒰⠀Del has been subjected to a large quantity of toxic communities , harassment , harm , etc , so shx will be paranoid and skittish as well as standoffish to new people.⠀ Shx also hasn't been on this platform for quite a long time , so it'll take hxr some adjusting , and shx apologizes for the messy or odd introduction post.⠀ Shx hopes to finally find a comfortable space here. . !

[sillysoliloquyshits]

Intro post!

Heyos everyone, I'm Cally (she/her), and this is a dump/blog (?) of my writings, two cents, possibly memes and my feral fandom and sapphic side here.

So here are my namecards:

Fandoms (current/used to be in there/knows a bit and vibing):

80% of the MCU but mostly in Agatha All Along and Loki, PJO, MCGA, Iron Widow, Good Omens, Sandman, Wicked, Wednesday, ATLA, TLOK, One Punch Man, Haikyuu, Demon Slayer, Violet Evergarden, think that's it-

If Shakespearean and Austenian stuffs are counted as fandoms, there's Hamlet, Macbeth, Measure for Measure, Merchant of Venice, and Pride and Prejudice

Special interests

Writing a whole range of stuff 😈

Lots of character building (if I'm drunk I may or may not dump some of my OCs here)

Neurodivergence because I love learning stuff on ADHD and autism and neurospicy ppl 🙂‍↕️

Literature, but for now I mostly studied Shakespeare and Austen, but I have read a bit of Kafka and Poe and even Ocean Vuong so yes

Pre-Raphaelite and classical paintings because YouTube shorts have me entranced-

Mythology, and I'm somewhat biased to Norse myths but I'm still learning about Classics in Greek plays (screeches in Ne Zha movies after a while)

Horoscopes and personality typings (MBTI/enneagram) once in a while

Anything metaphysical and magical, a bit of witchcraft like tarots (though I don't practice), or even religion

Stuff I write

More poems than short stories because they're easier to write, and stuff like contrapuntal poems/twin cinemas 😈

A few of my poems are also inspired by vivid styles of those like Plath and even Ocean Vuong sometimes so yay

Lots of character building that's inspired by stuff I read and watch and even by existing myths and religion

Short stories and even flash fiction

Snippets of things in play format even though I'm not much of a playwright

A bit of Shakespearean English if I can 🔥

In terms of genre I gravitate to fantasy mainly, if I'm very pissed I can whip out some horror fantasy, but majority of the times it's more of cozy fantasy bordering on magical realism, and I've done slice-of-life settings as well as satire and a bit of sci-fi

My poems tend to be more romantic but that's not my main alley

Currently trying to write a lot more gay stuff because bi-

I also write about what I observe from news outlets and videos from Palestine and I write Pro-Palestinian poems as a form of advocacy, while also shining the light once in a while on others who are suffering like Lebanon and Ukraine and Sudan etc

I also have a few poems that express struggles and everyday life of mentally ill people whether we know it or not as a form of raising awareness as well

And yes of course I will write fanpoetry here (cough Agathario-)

Writers I pray to for guidance because they're too good and national treasures

Jane Austen, Elizabeth Jennings, Ocean Vuong, Xiran Jay Zhao, Shakespeare, Jac Schaeffer, Sylvia Plath, Franz Kafka (obviously not in order)

Current/recently finished books

Iron Widow by Xiran Jay Zhao, The White Book by Han Kang, Nightly Sky with Exist Wounds by Ocean Vuong, Emma by Jane Austen, The Midnight Library by Matt Haig

Current listens on loop

Bardcore/dramatic violin renditions of Running Up That Hill, Runaway by Aurora, Me and the Devil by Soap and Skin, Viva La Vida Nightcore songs, Defying Gravity from Wicked (it's the only song from Wicked I listen to don't kill me 😅)

TRIGGER WARNING TAGS

Will sometimes write stuff that are emotionally and mentally triggering like su*c*de and implied SA even though I never experienced these before, but I will be careful in not being too explicit, as well as gory violence because horror fantasy, nonetheless there will be relevant TWs put when necessary and please feedback politely if you find a piece of writing that's genuinely triggering but I didn't realise

I will also likely write horny and erotic things here so uh get ready I guess

If you are someone who is a hypocrite or do not subscribe to my values of being Pro-Palestinian, in solidarity with the neurodivergent, LGBTQIA+ communities and racial minorities and you're an evil or brainwashed hater or defender of moral plagues in the world or subscribe to AI taking over the jobs of artists, you won't just get blocked you will face a wrath from me that will make the circles of hell a paltry playground, mark my words-

Socials

IG: sh_ttysoliloquy

Substack: studiesinsoliloquys

Also because I like the word soliloquy and now I'm basing my platforms on this because it's a decent word

Personality labels (and miscellaneous)

INFP, enneagram 4 (sx/not sure sp or so), Pisces Sun and Scorpio Moon, loves the number 7 and 12 and somehow likes the High Priestess tarot card best and the Perthro rune best because Hearthstone from MCGA

Final words before strapping you guys to the rollercoaster

I'm super forgetful because object impermanence so expect inconsistency but also expect some feral shit here

Bad grammar even though I speak English more than my mother tongue

Being super good in sarcasm while sometimes taking things too literally is a thing but I'll try to remember to do tone tags like /s or /lh when I can

I reblog too many things

Yeah I think that's it sillysoliloquyshits signing off~

(cue the screaming as you bolt backwards into the void)

Donation links docs:

This is a compiled list of Palestinians fundraisers from both IG and Tumblr, along with Operation Olive Branch's spreadsheet of links (all vetted from there) and Xiran Jay Zhao's LINKTREE that has links to various donations campaigns not just for Palestinians.

I'll keep adding families if they are vetted or approach me so please open this document and help those families who's names are bolded or underlined as well because they tend to have the least funds!

[whencyclopedia]

Amphictyonic League

The Amphictyonic League was an early form of religious council in ancient Greece. It was typically composed of delegates from several tribes or ethnes living in the vicinity of a major, prosperous sanctuary, who then collaborated in supervising the temple's maintenance, managing its finances, organising the sacred rituals and games, and seeing to the protection of its temenos (sacred precinct).

The earliest evidence about the existence of such executive assemblies appears in the 7th century BCE, and the most significant and best-documented examples are the Amphictyonic Leagues of Delos and Delphi, both presiding the sanctuaries of Apollo, his Pythian Oracles, and the Pythian Games.

While the Amphictyonic League was primarily a religious organization, it sometimes played a significant role in the political and military affairs of ancient Greece. The League's most notable involvement in Greek warfare occurred during a series of conflicts known as the Sacred Wars over control of the Delphic sanctuary. These conflicts had a dramatic impact on the course of Greek history and the development of the poleis (city-states), fostering changes that eventually cushioned the ambitious plans of Philip II of Macedon (r. 359-336 BCE), and his son Alexander the Great (r. 336-323 BCE), for conquering the Hellenic world.

Origins & Structure

The exact origins of the Amphictyonic League are wrapped in myths and legends, but it is generally agreed that, by the 7th century BCE, the gathering of a council of tribal representatives to look after their local sanctuary was a practice already recognised in Archaic Greece (c. 800-480 BCE). According to Herodotus (8.104) and Pindar (Pythian Odes, 4.66, 10.8), the Greek word amphictiones (άμφικτίονες) means "those who dwell around," implying the solidarity among neighbouring tribes through their connection with and their care for a pivotal sacred place.

In Greek mythology, Amphictyon, the legendary founder of the league, was a son of Deucalion and Pyrrha, the surviving couple of the Great Flood in the Greek version of the story, and the younger brother of Hellen, whose name became the overall denomination of the Greek people as Hellenes (Graecus, the eponym of the Graecians as the Romans called the Greeks, was the son of Zeus and Pandora). Following the flood, Amphictyon with his family took refuge in Athens, where he became the son-in-law and later the successor of King Cranaus. Amphictyon then became king of Thermopylae near Phthiotis in Thessaly, where his brother Hellen was the ruler. Since Cranaus, Deucalion, and many other legendary Greek founder-rulers were believed to be chthonic, born of Mother Earth, the earliest Amphictyonic council was then formed to protect and provide for the sanctuary of Demeter Amphictyonis in Anthela, Thermopylae, since Demeter was the goddess of the underworld in her older cults.

Based on this inherent connection to the underworld, members of the Amphictyonic council (pylaia) were known as the pylagorai, guardians of the gate to the underworld. A second, and superior, group of the delegates were the hieromnemones, sacred recorders, who had the power to finalise the debated decisions by casting votes (Aristotle, Politics 8.6). The pylaia met twice a year, once in spring at Delphi and once in autumn at Anthela. Their agenda, essentially, covered the matters considering the maintenance and protection of the sanctuary, which typically consisted of a central temple (and often some related side temples, shrines, and altars), the temenos, and the treasury. Organising and supervising the sacred rituals held at the sanctuary, including public games and competitions, was another important task of the Amphictyonic Council.

Amphictionic Law of Delphi

Jastrow (CC BY-NC-SA)

Although presumed more or less ubiquitous, there are only a few Amphictyonies known to us apart from the ones at Delos and Delphi: the Amphictyony of Onchestos near Thebes in Boeotia dedicated to the temple of Poseidon, the Amphictyony of Amarynthos in Euboea tending the sanctuary of Artemis, and the Amphictyony of Kalauria, an island near the coast of Troezen. The latter, also related to the cult of Poseidon, was claimed by Strabo (8.6.14) to be one of the earliest in the Archaic times – functioning at least until the end of the 4th century BCE – and archaeological evidence accordingly places its foundation between c. 680 and 650 BCE. On the other hand, an alternative legend accounts for the unification of the guardian councils of the Demeter Amphictyonis and the Apollonion at Delphi as the Great Amphictyonic League in the aftermath of the Trojan War, c. 1200 BCE. Historically, however, the great Amphictyonic League at Delphi was founded no earlier than c. 590 BCE. It is the best-documented council of its kind and has the longest remaining history, not least because of its pivotal role in the Sacred Wars.

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[deceptive-daydreams]

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Smoke Signals

Chapter Four - Boiling Point

W/C: 7.4K

Eddie x Fem reader - Grumpy!Bartender!Eddie x Shy!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of vomiting, slight SA (groping), drinking (if I missed anything please let me know)

A messy night and several unfortunate events.

A/N: This one got a little long but it was so fun to write, chaos is really fun to coordinate but my poor babies are taking the brunt of it all woops

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Working nights had flipped your entire sleeping schedule upside down.  Two weeks had passed since that first evening where you worked an entire shit show and you still weren’t accustomed to resting in the afternoon in preparation for the night shift.  It didn’t seem like such a big deal seeing as the bar thrived around three nights a week and remained quiet to steady the rest of the time but with a staff of only four, the workload piles up.  Tossing and turning on the couch, you groan, longing for a peaceful sleep that would energize you.  The bed wasn’t doing you any justice which is why the couch sounded that much more appealing but as it turns out they both had the same effect.  

Keeping you awake.

Now, there wasn’t anything remotely wrong with either one however, you just couldn’t seem to get comfortable enough to find that blissful sleep you were yearning for.  

You were restless.

What didn’t help was the incessant shredding of an electric guitar next door.  The high pitch clawed at your ears and echoed throughout the canyon your house was settled in.  You could either suck it up and muffle the sound as best as you could with a pillow, or you could confront your noisy neighbor and politely let him know you were trying to sleep in order to fuel yourself to run his bar.  Confrontation was not your specialty and you would avoid it by any means necessary.  But it couldn’t hurt to just ask him to stop.  The worst he could do is laugh in your face and slam the door.

And that would be enough to turn your blood hot, not in rage, but in shame and embarrassment.  Maybe it was best to tuck your sweaty and fidgety body back into the couch for long enough that the imprints of the rough fabric would show up as indentations on your skin.  Hopefully the shrieking of the guitar would eventually fade away and become background noise in your dreams.  

It never did stop.

–

“Jett, could you please toss me that rag?  Major spill at table four.”

It was 6:00 PM, Friday night.  Just about every table and every stool was occupied, a competitive game of pool provoking many men to yell at the top of their lungs, causing your ear drums even more grief than the endless guitar solos you had to endure earlier.  On top of it all, drunk people on a Friday night were not easy to clean up after, several spills inevitably happening on your watch, with more than enough evidence to back your claim up.

“I’ll get it, you go on your break.”  Jett advises.

The Bourbon was nearly at capacity, a majority of the town’s regulars seated along the bar and even more of its residents engaging in their pre-weekend activities.  The people of Knife’s Edge were rambunctious or at least, that’s the only side of them you��d seen so far.  Most likely because they were all getting hammered.  Maybe you should get out more?  Then you could see their personalities sober and not glazed over with the confidence of alcohol.

“You sure?”  You ask sincerely.

Jett didn’t even have a second to glance up at you from the beers he was collecting, a whole round of them for a table of five men roaring with laughter.

“Yeah, if you don’t take it now it’s only going to get busier and you never will.”  He yells over the booming music.

“Okay.”

You’re reluctant to leave him alone but you trust his judgment, seeing as he has no issue making that call.  And customers seemed to love him, joking back and forth until he practically dragged himself back behind the bar.  They hadn’t seemed to take that kind of liking toward you quite yet and the only compliments you received were gross comments from older men that slurred their words, you respectfully dismissing yourself to tend to other customers just to escape.

Quickly, you make your way toward the back through the narrow hallway that leads out to the alley.  The bar had become stuffy, too many humans populating the small space, prompting a much needed break for a breath of fresh air.  Almost reaching the door, a haven that would relieve your sweat coated skin with a crisp breeze, you collide into something firm, a deep grunt coming from the source.

“Watch it, Bambi.”  Eddie barks, glaring down at you.  He holds an unopened bottle of tequila, knuckles white as he tightens his grasp.

“I-I’m sorry.”  You stutter, taken back by his stern voice.  It was for the most part, always stern but this time it was especially disapproving.

“Where are you going?”  He asks, brows furrowed.

“My break.  Jett just–”

“Your break?  Now?  I need all hands on deck right now, take your break in like thirty when it calms down.”  

A vein in his neck looks as if it’s about to pop, stress evident in his entire demeanor.  Even his lips are bitten and red from what seemed to be constant tugging from his teeth.  Maybe he needed a toothpick to chew on instead?  Maybe that’s why he chewed on them in the first place?

“Well I–Jett just sent me on break.”  You reason.

“Jett?”

“Yeah.”

He breathes in deep, head tilting toward the ceiling as he exhales through his mouth, clearly trying to maintain his calmness.  Although it always seemed like he was going to blow up and cause a scene when he got like this, he never did.  

“Jesus Christ, kid’s gonna give me an aneurysm.”

Walking down the hall toward the commotion of the bar, he shakes his head, curls bouncing and that famous frizz framing his head like a halo.  You keep your movements halted, feet glued to the floor in confusion as to whether you’re meant to follow him or actually go on your break.

“So do I–do you want me to take my break or–”

“Just go.”  He calls back, this time a calmer tone detected in his voice.

If you were meant to do the opposite in some sort of reverse psychology moment, you didn’t.  The cool air called to you and you were going to use all ten minutes to bathe in it, and reset your nervous system.  Eddie could sweat in your place for the time being.  

Things had been easier since that first shift; the cook, Randy, had returned and said that he left in the heat of the moment, explaining the following day that he lost his cool and was so certain he was going to quit.  Then he came back to his senses and realized how unrealistic that was and that he was in no position to be searching for a new job right now.  He was on the verge of begging for his job back but what you’d heard from the back office was Eddie telling him not to ‘pull that shit again’ and to ‘get back to work’.  No further discussions or arguments on the topic ensued since that day.

The chilly Autumn air brushed against your cheeks upon stepping out the door, not too much of a bite to it yet but enough to warrant a slight shiver.  The sun had already set just over an hour ago, darkness already enclosing the surrounding world.  It felt empty and devoid of life, but not in an apocalyptic way, but rather in a serene kind of way.  It was quiet except for the whisper of leaves of the birch trees in the wind.

This place still felt so far from home and your loneliness was still as prominent as ever.  You worked, went home, slept, woke up at around 10:00 AM, fixed breakfast, attempted to go back to sleep, failed and sometimes visited Donnie at the supermarket, and repeated.  The routine was sad and you might as well have been a grouchy old woman that no one spoke to or went near, not a twenty something year old who should be making the most out of her life.  The locals weren’t unfriendly, you just couldn’t seem to fit in.  Jett was the closest thing you had to a ‘friend’, although he was your coworker and some may see it as mandatory that he remains friendly with you.  Outside of work you had little to no interaction with others, usually opting to stay in and clean or watch reruns of some shows you had pre-recorded on a collection of VHS tapes.  It’s not to say you didn’t enjoy your nights in, you just wished you had the option to call someone up to hang out or make plans every now and then.

Ten minutes flew by like it was seconds, the door leading inside swinging open unexpectedly and smacking against the concrete wall, Eddie’s head poking out in search of you.  

“Excuse me, do you work here?”  He asks sarcastically.

You control the urge to roll your eyes, having a better sense of his antics in the past two weeks and knowing that no real consequences would apply to you under these circumstances.  You still maintain the need to react to his dramatics and remind him that you were helping him out just as much as he was helping you.  But you push it down and straighten your posture.

“Yes.”  You reply, eyes staring up at him with a hint of resistance.

“Could’ve had me fooled.”  He snaps, ducking back inside.

Following him, you finally give into the urge to roll your eyes behind his back.

“I timed my break just right.”  You notify him, glancing at your watch.  “I was about to come back.”

“You’re a minute late.”

Instead of allowing you a chance to argue with him, he jumps right back into action and starts clearing off a vacant table.  The rush hadn’t stopped all night, table after table being cleared only to immediately seat a new party.

After he strides off with a pile of glasses and a few plates, you get to work on wiping everything clean.  It was a newfound system, a plan that hadn’t been agreed on by either of you but was understood regardless.  With how understaffed the bar was, it worked like a charm.  

Jett’s main role was behind the bar but every now and then he would catch onto whenever you and Eddie were running behind and he would swoop in to take care of a table or two.  Recently, you learned that the other bartender, Pete, had quit and skipped town about a week before your arrival, making it that much harder to keep up with the demand of the customers who regularly chose The Bourbon to decompress at.  So now it was only you, Eddie, Jett, and Randy running the whole place.  It turned out not to be too bad of a gig, weeknights were slow enough and Sundays the bar was closed, leaving Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays as the busiest nights of the week.  The tips were decent enough as well.

Especially from those creepy old men which was an unfortunate situation you could do without but hey, it helped pay the bills.  If you ignored their advances and didn’t completely reject them, they’d leave behind a nice tip.  It felt icky, pocketing the money but the more you thought about it, the more compelled you felt to take their money.  If they were going to waste your time, you might as well be compensated for it.

One man in particular had been lurking at one of the corner tables, purposely opting out of the bar seating to instead have a higher chance of you waiting on him.  He must have been in his sixties and had an unnerving stare that just made you want to hide back in the kitchen.  You failed to inform Eddie, simply because he didn’t need further reason to see you as dainty or incapable of holding your own.  

So you gulped down your fear and put the blinders on as best you could.  

Just take his order and get it over with.  Then you can move on with your night and hopefully he’ll be out of here soon.

And right off the bat, his disgusting mouth started running.  Something about ‘can a pretty little thing like you get me a drink?’.  Then a few more unsolicited nicknames with a smirk and some remark about how good your body looked.  Something you didn’t care to hold onto in your mind, you only felt the need to take a shower.

As you rounded the corner of the bar and got to work making the pervert’s drink, you found yourself lost in thought.  Thoughts about if he found out where you lived, you may be done for.  It was a small town after all and it wouldn’t be difficult.  

“Hey, you good?”  Jett asks, shaker in hand, concern obvious in his knit eyebrows.

“What?”  You’re pulled out of your mind, shaking your head as if to lure yourself back to reality.  “Yeah, I’m fine.”  You assure him.

He nods but his expression shows that he’s not very convinced.  You finish off the drink you’d been absentmindedly making, a scotch on the rocks while offering Jett one more reassuring smile before making your way out from behind the bar.

Like you were throwing yourself back into the lion’s den, you approach the man’s table, hoping to quickly drop off his drink and be on your way.  If only life were ever so kind to you.    

“Thank you, sweetheart.”  A disgusting grin paints his face and just before you can mumble an ‘mhm’ and rush off, an unwelcome hand gropes your ass, sliding down, down, down.  You can’t see his face but you know he displays the most revolting smirk following his actions.

With a yelp followed by a gasp, you freeze.  Paralyzed, you aren’t sure how to move forward, how do you recover from being reduced to a piece of meat?  Flesh to be gawked at and held onto without permission.  An object to be handled.

“I-I’m sorry but—“  You begin to stumble over your words but never get the chance to say much more when the sound of a chair screeching against the wood floors, arguably worse than nails on a chalkboard, is heard behind you.

Upon turning around, you’re met with the sight of your boss shoving the repulsive man toward the door by the collar of his mustard stained shirt.  Eddie's strength shows despite his lean figure, appearing to have no trouble in maneuvering the man where he wants him against the door.

“What the fuck was that?”  Eddie bites, nostrils flaring as his cheeks seem to heat with a hue of red.

“Listen—“

The man’s hands are thrown up in surrender but it’s apparent that wasn’t the true intent behind his actions.  An excuse was on the tip of his tongue before Eddie cut him off, not an ounce of patience left.

“What.  The.  Fuck.  Was that?”  He repeats, grip tightening on the shirt collar, face inching closer to the man as a means of intimidation.

“Just a little flirting, she was into it.”

You can’t help but grimace at the pathetic attempt to cover up what had actually happened.  And it seemed that Eddie didn’t take too well to that answer either, further pushing the man into the door if even possible.  The scene had drawn the attention of almost the whole bar, a sea of eyeballs glued to the altercation about to happen, your very being flushed from embarrassment from the mere idea of being the source of all of it.  Had you walked away quicker, it would’ve gone unnoticed and you could’ve gone on with your night, leaving everyone else undisturbed.

“Yeah?”  Eddie cocks his head to the side, his chest heaving.  “Didn’t seem like she was into it to me.”  

“She was—“

“I wasn’t fuckin’ asking.  She wasn’t into it.”  

If looks could kill, the guy would be erased from existence with no trace of life left behind on Eddie’s account.  His big brown eyes showcased pure rage, a distinct difference from the annoyance and the fiery glare he’d cast on you every so often, especially when you would forget to pile up the dishes his way.  No, this was far more devastating and should you one day be the recipient of his aggressive stare, you’d be reduced to tears on the spot.

“Now you’re gonna get the hell out of my bar.  I never wanna see you again—“

“Listen man, I’m not—“

“I’m fucking talking.”  Eddie growls.  “You get the hell out of here and never come back, you hear me?  And you better fucking hope I don’t catch you pulling some shit like that again, I will kick your goddamn teeth in.”  He promises.

Confrontations like this were not something you were familiar with, always running off before things got too far.  You suppose that’s why people feel it was okay to use you as a doormat.  It always feels easier to drop it and walk away, ‘be the bigger person’ or whatever they say.  Even if it actually meant making you feel like the smallest person on earth.

All the back and forth and frequent swears with intention of aggravation had labored your breathing, your chest struggling to allow movement, feeling like a straw was delivering air to your lungs.  Just when you’d attempt to swallow a big enough breath of air, it would all go to waste and only provide just enough oxygen to get by.  A cold sweat threatened to spill from your hairline, your palms clammy to match.  The murmurs and whispers of witnesses had your eyes darting from person to person, suddenly all too aware of the life you were living.

Too human.  

You don’t remember another word exchanged between the two men and you certainly don’t remember how you managed to claw your way to the bathroom amidst the turmoil.  But here you were, staring into the dingy mirror with no purpose other than to escape.  And it wasn’t working.  Suddenly the lights were too bright and the room was too small, but it was secluded and that's what mattered.  Having some kind of an episode in front of the entire bar would be far worse, having an episode alone where prying eyes cannot dissect your every movement and reason for being is the better option.  It wasn’t often that your mind went to this extent when being faced with a challenging situation but when it did, you didn’t find it easy to come out of.

You heard your name floating somewhere in the bleach scented air but couldn’t quite bring yourself back enough to recognize who required your attention.  There was a head peeking in at the door after some frequent knocking and though you kept insisting you were okay and just to give you a few minutes, the individual seemed to have reason not to believe you.  

“Hey, Ed!”  He called behind him.  It was Jett.  A sweet and scared out of his mind Jett from what you could decipher through squinted eyes and blurred vision.  He was obviously being faced with unfamiliar territory, I mean who is ever prepared to talk someone down from an anxiety attack in the middle of a shift?  Panic was evident in his voice just as much as it was evident in your whole body.

“Eddie, I need some help!”  He yells again.  “Hey, you okay?  What happened?  Do you need–”

“Move over.”  You hear Eddie mumble before the door swings open, the hinges squeaking painfully.  “You’re asking too many questions.”  

With a swift shut of the door, Jett hurries back to attend to the several customers awaiting service.

“Listen to me, Bambi.  You gotta breathe.”  His voice is smooth, a huge contrast to what you’d just heard moments ago. 

When your legs begin to feel wobbly, as if you were a calf taking its first steps, you slowly lower yourself to the ground, a sturdy hand wrapping around your upper arm to support you.  

“In.”  Eddie inhales, though you can only hear him since your eyes are shut so tightly, your eyelids might rip.  “Out.”  He exhales.  “C’mon, breathe in–”

“Is she oka—”

“Jett, fuck off for a minute.  Please.”  Eddie begs, clearly fed up before returning to his newfound gentle tone.  “Can you look at me?”  He diverts his attention back to you, Jett taking the hint and shutting the door, leaving you and Eddie alone.

Eyes squeezed shut, you shake your head.  Your body shakes involuntarily, the anxiety becoming even worse when you try to contain it, like it wants to jump out and strangle you.

“Okay, okay.”  He attempts to soothe.  “You wanna get some air?”  He asks just above a whisper.

“I-I dunno.  ‘M sorry.”  You manage to choke out, sniffling.

“Okay, no big deal.”  He sighs, running a hand down his face, not out of irritation but more so exhaustion.  “Let’s get you outside, it’s too hot in here.”  

Before you can protest, he’s wrapping an arm around your shoulders and supporting the majority of your weight against him, walking you out of the bathroom and out the door into the alley.  The chilly air bites at your skin and thankfully, reality slowly starts to return again.  

“Try breathing again, in and out.”  Eddie encourages.  

You nod, jaw locked tightly both from the cold and from the paralyzing anxiety coursing through your veins.  Your teeth feel as if they could crack at any second, the pressure from you biting down too immense but you can’t bring yourself to unhinge your jaw.

“In.”  Eddie coaches, exaggerating a large breath, his chest rising with the motion.  “Out.”  He exhales through his mouth, his breath visible in the air.

He continues the breathing exercise a few more times, you following carefully as things become clear again.  And from all that had just happened, all you could gather was that you were a huge baby who couldn’t handle a rogue customer.  You weren’t capable of holding things down when it got rough.  

Pathetic.

“I-I’m sorry, I don’t know–I don’t know what happened–”  You try to make sense of it all, failing miserably.

“What happened was some pervert copped a feel and we don’t play around with that shit here.”  

Anger is obvious within his expression, even more so when he pulls out his pack of cigarettes and lights one hastily.

“Did you…”  

The question is on the tip of your tongue however, you won’t let yourself say it at the risk of sounding even more like an injured bird.  

“What?”  He asks, kicking around a few pebbles, the cigarette hanging from his lip before he brings his fingers up to grab it and inhale.  His brows are knit together, still beyond bothered by the dispute that just occurred.  

“Nevermind.”  You mumble.

His gaze meets yours, lashes casting perfect shadows just over his cheek bones in the warm lighting of the street lamp and once again, among all the darkness that pools in those chocolatey irises, there is a twinkle.  Barely noticeable but still there.  

“What?”  He urges again, voice monotone.

“Did you…did he…?”

“Did I fuck him up?”  He asks, brows raised.

You nod bashfully, a hint of fear flashing in your eyes.

“No.”  Eddie scoffs.  “I should’ve though.”  He flicks the ash from his cigarette toward the ground.  “Motherfucker.”  He mumbles.  

“Why didn’t you then?”

It was too forward and you had no business asking.  Really, it just tumbled out, off of your tongue, barely a thought behind it before it was too late.  Now you were just asking for a reaction, not a good one at that.

“It was either that or let Bambi suffocate in the bathroom.  Gotta pick your battles.”  He gestures toward you, shrugging.  

It wasn’t the reaction you were expecting, you were bracing for a bigger explosion.  Waiting for him to tell you to get back to work and to stop asking questions.  But he didn’t.  He just continued to kick little pebbles around on the pavement, his boot scuffing along the surface as he smoked.  He looked relaxed for once.

“Oh.”  You reply, staring down at your own shoes.  “I-I’m sorry.” 

“Is apologizing like…your hobby?”  He questions, shoving his other hand into his pocket.

“Well–uh no, no–”

“I love that you’re out here having bonding time but I’m a one man show in there and I need some supporting acts.”  Jett interrupts, the door creating a gust of wind and then flooding you with temporary warmth from the air inside.  “I at least need Eddie.”  He pleads.

Nodding frantically, you begin to make your way back inside, Jett already speeding off to resume his duties.

“Hey, you okay to go back in there?”  Eddie asks, dropping his cigarette and stomping it out.  “You can take another minute–”

“I’m fine.”  You insist.  He didn’t need further evidence that you were frail and incapable.  Whether it was intentional or not, he had bruised your sliver of self-confidence.

–

The rush was finally over, the last of it being a party of ten which left a table full of dishes to be delivered to the kitchen for washing.  Each plate was stacked in your palms, piled high as you worked one hand out from underneath to add on a few cups, cutting down on the amount of trips you would need to make.  You’d blocked out the vile events that occurred earlier in the night, at least until you had time to cry about it to yourself which when working at The Bourbon, there was never time for that.  So it would have to wait until the drive home.  Maybe you’d even save it for the shower where you could truly release all of your emotions in peace, no judging eyes or risk of a car accident.

Successfully stacking a few cups among the tower of plates, you spin on your heel, making your way toward the kitchen as the others cleaned up, Jett wiping down the bar and kicking out the lingering drunks, and Eddie cleaning up the mess that the pool table had become.  It was 1:00 AM and if everyone did their part, you’d be out of here by at least 1:30.  Tensions had been high all night, one inconvenience after another occurring, only adding onto everyone’s stress and only giving more incentive to clean quicker and go home.  A broken glass here, a messed up order there.

The kitchen door is just in reach and when you push into it with your shoulder, all of your calculations fail, the pile of plates collapsing as they hit the door frame rather than dodging it like you intended.  Each plate crashes against the floor, shattering into pieces, a few of the cups also breaking on impact.  It was the icing on the cake of a bad night, the final straw and your reason to burst into tears and yet you don’t.  

Not yet.

Not here.

A total of four eyeballs watch in shock, two more joining in as Randy, the cook peeks out from the kitchen door.  Though the tears didn’t burst from your eyes quite yet, they did sting, they stung horribly.  You could feel them brimming at your waterline, just a centimeter away from trickling down your cheek and exposing you as the biggest crybaby in the world.  If it wasn’t already apparent.

Do not cry.

And if it wasn’t already bad enough, Eddie seemed to completely reverse his gentle attitude you’d become suddenly accustomed to earlier.

“What the hell.”  He glares, slowly approaching as he sets a few glasses back down on the pool table.  “Do you watch where you’re going?  Do you have eyes?”  He asks.

You don’t dare answer, frozen in place as your nerves tingle in panic once again.  You don’t feel real.  You feel as if your spirit has risen from your body and is watching over the conversation playing out.

“Now I’m out what–ten or so plates?  Do you know what it costs–”

“Eddie.”  Jett tries to take control of the situation, taking notice of your watering eyes.  And unfortunately so does Eddie.

“What–oh, you’re gonna cry?  What did I tell you?  I told you this job wasn’t for someone like you.”  Eddie snaps.

He was bitter, unpleasantly bitter like a shitty cup of coffee.

“Eddie, stop it.”  Jett tries to defend you, though you wish you could defend yourself so you didn’t seem so pathetic.

“I told you I can’t babysit you–”

“I know.”  You manage to quietly sob, bending down to start collecting the broken pieces.  There’s an awkward moment of silence, the air thick with tension and anticipation of more insults.  All you can do is wait.

“Just leave it, just–leave it.”  Eddie sighs, running a hand through his bangs.  “Just go home.”

The demand isn’t necessarily an insult like you’d imagined but it still feels backhanded.  Like he was telling you ‘I told you so’ and rubbing it in your face.  As if he gave you a chance with the means of preparing for this moment, the moment you fucked up even slightly.

“I’m gonna get the broom.”  Jett says, eyes wide as he scampers to the back.

Staring up at Eddie, large pieces of plate collected in your hand, all you can make out in his eyes is outrage.  Downplayed outrage that hadn’t fully escaped yet and you didn’t want to hang around long enough to witness it.  He was capable of much more than he was letting on.

“If you can’t handle–”

“You know Eddie, you’re just mean.  You’re being mean.”  You declare through a frown, internally screaming at yourself to keep it together, to not let a tear spill over.  He didn’t deserve the satisfaction of watching you cry.

“Did you know you never even asked for my name?”  You swipe underneath your eyes, catching any tears that longed to trail down your cheeks, displaying your distress, instead wiping them on your apron.

His unkind stare lets up, eyes softening ever so slightly.  

Too late.

“I’m not a person to you.”  You drop the shards from your hands, standing up to head toward the back for your things.

“Wait–”

If he kept talking, you didn’t stick around to hear it.  You scooped up your bag from the rusting lockers toward the back of the kitchen, tucked away in a corner before striding to the front, toward the bar.  If he thought you were some kind of an entitled brat that needed babysitting then you were going to give him more than he bargained for.  Granted, you weren’t thinking straight either, the stress of the night only adding up and creating an outburst you would otherwise bottle up.

Grabbing a shot glass from under the bar, you reach for one of the nicer tequilas, something smoother that wouldn’t burn as much.  Tequila always put you in a good mood and never gave you a hangover.  Filling the shot glass, you don’t even bother looking over at Eddie or Jett, who was now sweeping broken plates into a dustpan.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”  Eddie hurries over, staring you down.  All you offer him in response is a shrug before tossing the liquor back.

Refilling the glass, you sneak a glance over at him from across the counter, his jaw dropped in shock and his face red and flushed with anger.  Steam was nearly shooting out of his ears.  The second shot is thrown back and your muscles begin to relax, anxieties melting away even at the basis of creating more problems.

If that wasn’t enough for him, you finished it off with a third shot, hoping it wouldn’t be too much all at once.  You were brave enough to look right into his eyes, daring him to say the wrong thing.  

“What are you doing?”  He asks again, calmer but still heated.

“I’m just acting how you think I should.”  You answer, a fake smile painted across your lips.

“I’m not comping those.”

His focus burns into you, lips in a tight line as he watches.  If looks could kill.  For the second time that night.  Except this time, you were on the receiving end and had you not been three shots in, it would’ve terrified you and had you apologizing profusely.

“Well, I’m not paying for them.”  You say, pouring yourself one more for good measure, swallowing it like it was water.

As you go to make your big exit, you’re faced with a harsh reality.  You’re definitely drunk, or at least very close to being drunk as the alcohol consumes your body, and you’re definitely not driving home like this.  You did not think this through.  But you kept walking anyway through the kitchen and out to the back just to lean against the concrete wall pathetically.  You were starting to wish that you’d gulped down some water before leaving to aid in sobering up.

If the sight of you leaning against the wall behind a bar at 1:12 AM wasn’t sad enough, tack on the fact that you had finally let the waterworks flow, your drunk self especially susceptible to your muddled emotions.  

“Bambi, what the fuck.  You gonna drive?”  Eddie emerges from the kitchen door leading outside, seemingly cooled down but you still don’t trust it.

“Don’t call ‘m Bambi.”  You slur. 

“What are you doing out here?”  He ignores your protest.

“‘Jus gimme a few minutes.”  You whine, eyes shut as if it would make him disappear.

“No, not a few minutes.  You’re not driving.”

You never intended on driving but you were finding it difficult to fight him off in your discombobulated state, willing to say anything to get him to leave.  Obviously he had the upper hand at this moment, clearly able to outsmart you.

“I know.”  You wail, tears on full display for him.

“I’ll drive you, let me get my keys.”  

“Nooo, wha ‘bout Jett?”  You ask, wiping away your tears, mascara coating your fingertips.

“Jett doesn't live right next door to you, you’d just be making him go out of his way for no reason.”

Snot dripping from your nose, you glare up at him, earning an expectant stare from him.  All you can do is roll your eyes, too drunk to care anymore.  You still preferred having Jett go out of his way, at least he respected you as a person.  But the argument was lost among gargled thoughts and a short term memory.

“Still mean.”  You insult, finger poking at his chest harshly.  It doesn’t do much.

It feels like hours that you two are staring at each other, likely due to the alcohol running through your system.  He hesitates in running back inside, even if just for a few seconds to grab his keys, his eyes looking you over in concern.  A muttered ‘be right back’ is heard and then he’s gone.

The stars catch your attention, drastically brighter than they would be back home, many more of them too.  A few stand out, gleaming in the sky and making them that much more admirable.  Your mind drifts off to thoughts of the Milky Way, swirling around the universe and ultimately making you feel infinitely smaller and more insignificant.  

What was your place?

Eddie steps back out, keys twirling around his fingers, straight-faced, not an ounce of amusement in his handsome features.  Glancing at him briefly, you then tilt your head back up toward the sky, dazed and almost in a trance.  If you weren’t careful, you could’ve been staring at him like that.  But you weren’t that drunk.  

Or so you thought.

Thinking about it, you must have been the spitting image of insane; mascara smeared across your face, tears glimmering in the moonlight, and your bottom lip set in a perfect pout like a child waiting to get their way.  Your bag was twisted around your body in the most uncomfortable way but you couldn’t find it in you to untwist it and realistically, you should be wearing your jacket but instead its clutched in your fist, the cold pricking at your skin and eliciting goosebumps up and down your arms.  The chattering of your teeth interrupted the silence and played as the soundtrack of your hazy daydreaming.  

It also let Eddie know that he needed to either force you to put your jacket on, or get you in the car.  And he knew he wouldn’t win that first battle so ushering you to the passenger seat it was.  

“C’mon.”  Is all he says, huffing out a breath.

You vaguely recall being helped into the passenger’s side but you don’t remember walking a few yards to actually reach the car or if you were even able to do so on your own.  From what you could tell in your state, his car was a beaten up thing, kinda old but it smelled like those little pine tree air fresheners.  

Once the scenery outside started to move, all thoughts subsided, the only one left was solely to keep yourself from vomiting all over your boss’s car.  You would stoop as low as to drink his most expensive tequila but vomiting all over his carpeted floor was another low you wouldn’t dream of wishing upon anybody.  

Trees zoomed by and you were sure you were going cross eyed from trying to keep up with each and every one.  Some metal song plays through the speakers but in your own little world, you hardly hear it, still subconsciously bobbing your head to the fading beat.

One minute you were sitting content in your dream land, the next Eddie was shoving something into your hands while urgently pulling over.  Your mind hadn’t caught up to what was happening yet however, you could vaguely make out Eddie yelling at you to aim for the bag while you stared directly into said bag.  When you glanced over at him, everything felt as if it were in slow motion and again, he was panicking while yelling at you to ‘puke in the bag!’.

The perfect cocktail of a situation for an individual so reserved and so inexperienced with this much attention.  At least most of it would be a blur by morning.

–

“There you go, just grab my–shoulder!  Ow!”  Eddie complains, your fingers a bit too comfortable with digging into his skin through his cotton shirt as you attempt to hoist yourself up into a standing position from the passenger seat.  

Home was only steps away and then you could collapse wherever you pleased.  Forget about this stupid night.  At least until you awakened as your regularly anxious self.  You’d have a few hours of drunken bliss to forget about life but that’s all you were allowed.  Then you would need to face your consequences, whatever they may be.  Come the morning, you most likely wouldn’t have a job anymore, Eddie would probably come knocking at your door and let you know that you blew it.  And he’d probably laugh in your face at the fact that you proved yourself to be too weak, too dainty, as he so adamantly proclaimed before.

“Oh no.”  You mumble, feeling yourself wobbling, knees giving out underneath you.

“Whoa, whoa, okay!  You’re fine, you’re fine.”  Eddie stabilizes you, arms around your waist.

Your limbs might as well be Jello at this point, rendering you a useless human unable to even stumble to your destination.  It dawns on you that you can’t remember if you even actually puked in the car or not.  Was it coating his interior or had you shoved your head in the bag just in time to spew your guts?  Or did you bravely swallow it down?  Whatever the case, Eddie doesn’t seem to currently have any grievances or any trouble touching you so you must have been somewhat responsible about it.

Your weight depends on him, leaning into his chest as he practically carries you toward the house.  Your eyes flutter repeatedly and—your question of whether you had already puked or not is quickly answered as the contents of your stomach spill out and onto his shirt before you’re able to aim for the ground.  Humiliation was starting to look like your middle name.

As you dry heave and allow a long string of saliva to drip from your mouth while hunched over in the dirt, you hear Eddie muttering several curses.  You think for sure he’s going to ditch you for creating such a stir up throughout the night until his boots come into view in front of you, his hand pulling the hair away from your face as you finish emptying your stomach.

“Okay.”  He sighs.  “Puke it out.”  A hesitant hand smoothes over your back, the lightest touch.

The smell of putrid vomit invades his nose, nausea threatening to take over him as well if he didn’t hold his breath.  Try as he may to ignore the chunks of god knows what on his shirt, it was still all that was on his mind.  He didn’t even want to chance looking down if there was the slightest possibility that it had also gotten in his hair.  Even being covered in your sick, he knows he should be fuming.  But he’s not and it's all so puzzling.  

You marched your ass behind his bar and consumed more tequila than you could handle which in turn forced him to drive you home and then you vomited all over him.  If that’s not enough reason to be pissed beyond belief then he doesn’t know what is.  Yet he remains calm and collected, running his hand between your shoulder blades as he soothes you throughout your dry heaving and gagging.

“It won’t–oh god–it won’t stop.”  You sob, looking up at him, a mixture of snot, tears, and saliva coating the lower half of your face.

You look repulsive and yet he can’t tear his eyes away from you.  The prettiest definition of repulsive he’d ever seen.

“Don’t hold it back, let it all out.  You’re only gonna feel like shit if you hold any of it in.”  He instructs, kneeling down to meet your eye level.

With a few sniffles and hiccups, you nod.  Only now you’re hyper aware of being watched.  It was a sobering experience, puking right in front of your house, not able to even make it to the nearest toilet while your boss spectates and–oh.  

It hits you that the front of his shirt is caked in your puke, bile soaking the fabric while remnants of your late lunch displays itself on his perfect black shirt.  You would never live this down and you would certainly never work another shift at The Bourbon again.  Even if he did scream at you for no good reason, you took it a few levels too far.

“Y-your shirt, oh no–”

“Relax, okay, Bambi?  I can handle a little puke, now where’s your key?”  He asks.  

It’s not that he could handle a little puke, he had to.  Because what good would it do if the two of you were both throwing up in your front yard?

Attempting to answer him, the rest of your stomach interrupts and unexpectedly spews all over his combat boots.  As if the night couldn’t get any worse.

“Shit.”  He mutters under his breath.

“‘M sorry, ‘m so sorry.”  You whimper, glassy eyes staring up at him with regret.  “I din’t mean it, I swear, m’ just–”

“I know.”  Eddie exhales.  “You done puking, is there anything else left in there?”

Shaking your head in sorrow, a few more hiccups escape your lungs but there are no further signs that you’re going to be sick again.  Even if you were, it didn’t matter anymore, Eddie was already well acquainted with your vomit, what harm would a little more do at this point?

As you start shuffling through your bag and patting at your pockets, panic settles in and you can only recall that the last place you’d seen your keys was at the bar, where you set them down to spitefully gulp down as much tequila as you could.  Now it was biting you in the ass, hard.

“Left my keys at the bar.”  You pout pitifully. 

Eddie glares at you, rightfully so.  The man was covered in foul smelling vomit, kneeling on the ground, taking care of you.

“Fucking christ.”  He mumbles.

~end~

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[usafphantom2]

Major Jerry Crew, an RSO, told Air & Space/Smithsonian that he used a jammer to try to confuse surface-to-air missile sites as their crews tracked his airplane, but once his threat-warning receiver told him a missile had been launched, he switched off the jammer to prevent the missile from homing in on its signal.

RSO Jerry Crew the first time the SR-71 was shot at by a missile. Turning inbound on our first sensor run, I noticed the “R” light on my electronic countermeasures (ECM) panel was illuminated. A North Vietnamese SAM site was tracking us on its radar.

What we didn’t expect was the illumination of the “M” light, followed closely by the “L” light! This meant that the North Vietnamese had actually fired one or more SAMs at us. (The “R” light meant they were searching for you, the “M” light meant they were tracking you, and the “L” light meant they were launching at you.) Attempting to seem calm (I failed),

“I told Tony we had just had a SAM shot at us.

“This news couldn’t have occurred at a worse time. We had just started our sensor take, and evasive action was not an option. Tony asked how long ago was it launched, and I replied, “About five seconds.” The time of the missile launch was important; we were told countless times by our intelligence experts that the SA-2 missile’s total flight time was only 58 seconds. In other words, if nothing happened by then, we were probably safe.

“We had practiced what to do in the event of a SAM launch many times in the simulator. My duty was to turn off the ECM jammer because we didn’t want the missile tracking the jamming frequency during flight. The purpose of our jammer was to confuse the missile prior to launch. My other duty was to start the stopwatch to time the missile’s flight.

“My reaction time seemed terribly slow. It took forever to turn off the jammer (actual time: five seconds), and I never started the stopwatch. However, I did notice the position of the second hand on the clock when Tony asked how long ago the missile had been fired.

“The next 50 seconds are in dispute! I thought the whole time was spent answering Tony about the length of the missile’s flight. “How long has it been?” he asked. “Five seconds since the last time you asked,” I answered. Interphone tapes show that Tony only asked four times. I do know it took much longer than the missile’s predicted flight time to convince us of our safety. We hit a tanker over Thailand. And then flew back over North Vietnam. Our cameras confirmed that they shot two missiles at us luckily they shot too early and too low.”

The electronic defense was the RSO’s job. Over its operational life, the Blackbird carried various electronic countermeasures (ECMs), including warning and active electronic systems built by several ECM companies and called Systems A, A2, A2C, B, C, C2, E, G, H, and M. On a given mission, an aircraft carried several of these frequency/purpose payloads to meet the expected threats.

Not one single SR 71 was ever shot down by the enemy. What a proud record the Blackbird has.

Linda Sheffield Miller

@Habubrats71 via X