#and either way it's gonna be divisive

[welcometogrouchland]

Stephanie Brown and Dick Grayson: I Am Going To Be A Good Parent To Pass On The Good Parts Of My Tumultuous Childhood/Give Someone Else What I Didn't Have Growing Up

Vs

Damian Wayne and Cassandra Cain: You Could Not Pay Me To Be A Parent For Fear I Would Continue The Cycle Of Violence

[imaginarianisms]

more asoiaf comparisons, parallels & antiparallels to the first dance of the dragons vs the second & final dance of the dragons (& possibly the sixth blackfyre rebellion): the blacks being daenerys i targaryen's supporters, the golds being aegon vi targaryen's supporters, tommen baratheon being a close equivalent to gaemon palehair & his mother essie & sylvenna sand which may be interpreted as a parallel with queen cersei lannister & taena merryweather of myr, trystane truefyre being a close equivalent to aegon/young griff & perkin being jon connington & the shepherd being the new high septon the high sparrow, dalton greyjoy being euron i greyjoy's ancestor & the latter surpassing him, alyn waters later alyn velaryon resembling aurane waters later aurane velaryon & finishing what their ancestors started. history repeats itself.

[kneworder]

whoa wait why are people bitching so hard about saltburn on letterboxd like i'm the first to get in line to analyze a movie but i thought the whole point of this one was that it's kind of ridiculous and looks great. guys he slurped cum water and jacob elordi was sexy as hell i really hate to be the one to say this bc it's a personal pet peeve when people do but in this case i think a 'maybe just enjoy it for what it is?' is warranted here.

[kesoyotes]

You'll always be my favorite Ottawa Senator ❤️ good luck in DC, Downtown Connor Brown!

[musical-chick-13]

If I'm not careful, I'm going to get salty about stupid music opinions again.

[borrowmyshovel]

So. A transmasc child is dead. Assaulted by their classmates, left to die by school staff, misgendered and deadnamed by the press. And it's about fucking time we have a serious talk about the way we discuss transmasc victimisation - or rather, the way we don't.

The dynamic is especially evident in the way we talk about terfs, and exemplified by the dichotomy: "terfs recruit trans men, but they want trans women dead". This does three separate things:

It minimises the harm terfs do to the transmascs they recruit. Terfs don't just want transmascs to join them; they want transmascs to live as women. Coerced detransition kills. Suicide rates are extremely high among transmascs, and lack of support raises them further. To want trans men to detransition is to want them dead.

It positions trans men as a threat to trans women. As, essentially, terfs waiting to reveal themselves. What should be seen as a common enemy instead becomes a new vector for division. This fear is such that a common retort against transmascs who are seen as misbehaving is "you're gonna become a terf". Trans men are scrutinised for signs of this inevitable transformation, inundated with prophecies of their induction into the cult that wants to drag them back into the worst period of their lives.

It boosts the narrative terfs want to spread about themselves. Terfs love to say they are a safe space for transmascs. It helps them sound less hateful, and it helps them recruit. In reality, terfs are extremely hateful against transmascs they see as too far gone to be targets for recruitment. They see rape and hate crimes as just desserts, they wish death on transmascs who disagree with them, they talk about trans men on hrt as roided up monsters. And yet all of that has seemingly gone under the radar, because we're just not willing to acknowledge it happens.

More broadly, transmasc victimisation is seen as a joke. There was a hilarious post going around a while back about transmascs in abusive relationships with cis men who won't let them transition - the joke being on the transmasc in that situation. Multiple posts about specifically nonbinary transmascs, characterising their fears of transphobic violence as the oppression fantasies of privileged women, their experiences of dysphoria as laughably immaterial. No negative experience is serious enough once it's stacked up against murder, and trasnmascs who have been murdered aren't exactly in position to use that fact as a gotcha, are they?

There is a broad resistance to understanding transmascs as the victims of any situation. Part of it is a sort of trans-inclusive sexism: we don't think of cis men as victims, so we can't think of trans men as victims either. But they are.

Another is plain transphobia: dismissing trans people's experiences as not that bad, irrelevant to their trans status, or entirely fabricated is old hat at this point.

A third is a kind of... weaponised transfem advocacy? Any discussion of transmasc experience can be derailed by claiming transfems are somehow being harmed by it, and any harm that befalls a transmasc person can be dismissed by conjuring a hypothetical transfem who would have had it worse. And it sure seems like great allyship at the moment, despite the fact that it doesn't actually help transfems at all.

We often urge transmascs to be the protectors of transfems. Trans solidarity is crucial. But unless we are able to also conceptualise transmascs as needing protection, our solidarity will remain incomplete. And transmascs will continue to die, and be buried twice, both outside the trans community and inside it.

[jillianallen14]

Dear Baby Bats - Goth Band Recommendations

As a middle sibling goth (I’ve been in the subculture for close to 10 years now, so not a baby bat but not an elder goth either), let me turn you on to some bands because we do not gatekeep in this house!! Also, if you want consistently good lesser-known & brand new goth band recs, go follow Awfully Sinister on TikTok and Instagram. He’s a DJ & has great recs. I've found so much music through him because it's really hard to keep up with all the new bands cropping up every year. You want to avoid the goth subreddit because they are extremely gatekeeper-y and argue over labels constantly. It’ll just confuse you, and they are not nice over there.

If you’re very new to the subculture, and you haven’t yet listened to all of Bauhaus, Siouxsie and the Banshees, The Cure, Sisters of Mercy, Christian Death, Cocteau Twins, Clan of Xymox, Joy Division, and Depeche Mode, go do so now. You'll want to know which of them you really enjoy the most because it will help you know which sub-subgenre(s) of goth you want to watch out for, and it'll tell you what to look for to find it. For example, Sisters of Mercy is the gothic rock subgenre, Christian Death is deathrock, Cocteau Twins is ethereal wave, Clan of Xymox is like the original darkwave, Joy Division is classic post-punk, etc.

I’ve bolded some of my absolute must-listen to goth bands, and I've put monthly Spotify listeners for each band so you know which ones deserve WAY more love. And in my pre-list ramblings for each OG band, I've given you some key terms to look up so you can more easily find music that's similar to what you enjoy. Okay, here we go:

If you like Bauhaus:

Bauhaus is a hard one because honestly, nobody really sounds like them, and they aren't really that closely associated with a specific sub-subgenre of goth. They have an extremely unique sound. They’re my favorite band of all time (I even have a tattoo for them, like I am devoted lol), but even I have a difficult time finding other bands that scratch their particular itch for me. These bands I’ve listed are as close as you’re gonna get imo.

Virgin Prunes (80’s band that has absolutely unhinged music in the way Bauhaus has unhinged music; one of my favorites; no one else does it like them and no one else ever will; I would actually give my left foot to see them live); 13.2k monthly listeners (this is actually physically painful to me, how is it this low!!! don't walk, RUN to go listen to them)

Alien Sex Fiend (80’s classic unhinged goth); 77k monthly listeners

Sextile (modern band that has some very Bauhaus-sounding guitar work at times); 147k listeners

The Danse Society (80’s unhinged goth; has similar experimental vibes to Bauhaus imo); 36k listeners

Sex Beat (80’s band); not even really on Spotify

Ritual Howls (modern band; I don’t know why it gives Bauhaus, but it does; one of the few modern bands that scratches that particular itch for me); 45k listeners

The Agnes Circle (modern band; one of my favorites; they have the right Bauhaus-like atmosphere for me); 52k listeners

Traitrs (I can’t explain why they remind me of Bauhaus, but they do; another one of my fave modern bands; they make me want to start levitating and doing the Ian Curtis dance in the same way Bauhaus does lol); 239k listeners

Paralisis Permanente (underrated 80’s; they have a lot in common with Bauhaus’s sound actually, def give them a try!); 54k monthly listeners

If you like Siouxsie and the Banshees:

Siouxsie is another one that's hard to pin down sound-wise because again, they don't really fit into one specific sub-subgenre, so all of these recs are just goth bands with female vocalists who have the same kind of powerful vocals that Siouxsie does.

Second Still (modern band; singer sounds a lot like Siouxsie to me at times); 69k listeners

Skeletal Family (80’s band; has the same “women in punk” vibes that Siouxsie has); 55k listeners

Xmal Deutschland (80’s band; has the same powerful vocals that Siouxsie has; makes you wanna go stupid go crazy the way the Banshees do); 73k listeners

Secret Shame (modern band w/ w woman singer; has the same rage that Siouxsie songs have to me, especially early Siouxsie); 6k listeners (let's get those numbers up, folks!!!)

Rosegarden Funeral Party (modern band w/ a woman vocalist); 57k listeners

Mephisto Walz (90s & 2000s; sounds so much like the Banshees at times); 56k listeners

If you like Depeche Mode:

For Depeche Mode enjoyers (which DM is kind of on the fringes of what’s considered “goth,” but they’re so entrenched in the subculture that I included them anyway), you’re gonna want to delve into modern goth playlists that have a lot of EBM (electronic body music) and modern goth that leans towards synthpop/synthwave. So those are the kinds of playlists you’ll want to search up for similar sounds to DM.

Nuovo Testamento (modern band; combines post-punk and pop elements in a way that’s very similar to Depeche Mode; lots of fun live, and they have a good sound); 25k listeners

Boy Harsher (modern band; relies heavily on synth; feels like it should be playing at every goth club); 558k listeners

ULTRA SUNN (modern band; singer sounds like Dave Gahan); 217k listeners (they just blew up on tiktok recently, which explains why this just skyrocketed since the last time I was on their Spotify page lol; good for them, good for them, they deserve it)

Ministry's first album, which was synthwave/synthpop before they went industrial (this is one of my all-time favorite albums)

French Police (modern band); 252k listeners

Closed Tear (modern band); 152k listeners

Night Sins (modern band); 33k listeners

Panic Priest (modern band; vocals sound decently similar to Dave Gahan & there is a lot of reliance on synth; In All Severity is a gorgeous song); 5k listeners

Fad Gadget (underrated 80’s band; I just feel like if you like DM, you’re also gonna like this band); 58k listeners

If you like The Cure:

You'll be hard-pressed to find a goth band that wasn't influenced by The Cure, so I really can't give you any key terms for what to look up lol. They also changed their sound so frequently that it entirely depends on what era of The Cure's music you're looking to find similar music for.

Vision Video (modern band; combines post-punk and pop elements like The Cure does; one of my fave modern goth bands; they are INCREDIBLE live); 52k listeners (I'm gonna need y'all to get a song or two of theirs to blow up on tiktok expeditiously lol)

Urban Heat (modern band; great live); 36k listeners

The Chameleons (80’s band; very underrated; they are also very good live); 167k listeners

House of Harm (modern band, very new; also very good live; has pop elements); 44k listeners

Deceits (modern band, another very new one); 28k listeners (it's crazy how much this number has grown the past two months because it was in the single thousands not that long ago; everyone say thank you, tiktok)

Drab Majesty (modern band; their instrumentals remind me of The Cure); 172k listeners

Double Echo (modern band; their instrumentals also remind me of The Cure); 15k listeners (let's get these numbers up!!!)

The Bolshoi (underrated 80’s band that combines new wave and goth elements in a similar way to The Cure); 114k listeners

The Essence (underrated 80s band that sounds so much like The Cure it’s actually insane, but they’ve got their own sound too; they’re like a perfect blend of all of The Cure’s different sounds); 25k monthly listeners

Miss Teen America (brand new band from NYC! They only have one single out right now, and it’s well worth listening to); 940 monthly listeners (y’all know what to do!!! Let’s get those numbers up, up, up!) link to their single: https://open.spotify.com/album/4nvdZeUVLLrMv3tEziCqm7?si=2WVS7-eYQLGR7Id3wLiKhg

If you like Clan of Xymox:

Most of these bands will be modern ones because Clan of Xymox was honestly way ahead of their time. (They are also amazing live, so go see them before they eventually call it quits!) For playlists that are full of their vibe, you’re gonna want to look up “darkwave” playlists and also some EBM. Clan of Xymox pioneered darkwave, so any darkwave band you listen to is gonna be influenced by their sound in some way or another.

Harsh Symmetry (modern, very new; very heavily relies on synth); 29k listeners

Ssleeping Desiress (modern band; instrumentals similar to Xymox); 55k listeners

Twin Tribes (probably my favorite modern goth band; they are fucking incredible, and I’m dying to see them live); 276k listeners

ACTORS (modern band; heavily relies on synth); 86k listeners

Mareux (modern; heavily relies on synth); 4.8 million listeners (this is wild!!!! everyone say thank you, tiktok)

Sixth June (modern); 23k listeners

Plastique Noir (modern); 40k listeners

Rendez Vous (modern); 160k listeners

Minuit Machine (modern); 97k listeners

If you like Christian Death:

All of these recs will be deathrock recs or goth bands that heavily leaned on punk sounds. So if CD is the OG goth band you’re most fond of, you’re gonna want to delve into deathrock playlists for similar sounds.

Asylum Party (80’s band); not on spotify

45 Grave (80’s band); 47k listeners

Voodoo Church (80’s band; probably my favorite out of this bunch; I actually like them more than Christian Death); 7k listeners (let's get these numbers up immediately!!!!)

Ausgang (80’s band); 2k listeners (WHAT; they deserve so much more, damn)

Corpus Delicti (90’s band; they are very good; they sound the least like Christian Death on this list imo); 26k listeners

13th Chime (80’s band; very underrated); 6k listeners

The Birthday Party (80’s band; very unhinged sound); 54k listeners

UK Decay (you know, I actually don’t know what era they’re from; unhinged sound); 1k listeners (omg)

Super Heroines (underrated 80’s band); 2k listeners (you see what I meant about underrated?)

Specimen (80s band; this one could have just as easily gone under Bauhaus tbh, but the vocals are generally higher pitched than Peter Murphy’s, so I put them under this category); 102k listeners

Sex Gang Children (80’s band; just so unhinged & I love them for it); 27k listeners

Suspiria (90s, I think? I don’t actually know); barely on Spotify but 27k listeners

Theatre of Hate (80s); 7k listeners

Bloody Dead and Sexy (2000s, I think); 44k listeners

If you like Cocteau Twins:

Cocteau Twins’ early sound is usually categorized as “ethereal wave” goth, so those are the playlists you’ll want to look up if you enjoy their early sound. If you like their later sound, you’re gonna want to lean more towards shoegaze for similar vibes.

Dead Can Dance (80’s band; NO one, and I mean NO ONE, was doing it like Dead Can Dance; so fun to dance to in the goth club); 332k listeners

Lycia (90’s band; their music is very transcendent); 20k listeners

Linea Aspera (modern band; gorgeous woman vocals; honestly, their music is just very beautiful); 67k listeners

This Mortal Coil (formed in the 80s; some songs feature Elizabeth Fraser & Robin Guthrie from Cocteau Twins, but even the ones that don’t still have an ethereal vibe similar to CT; Sixteen Days/Gathering Dust is just like the best song ever); 310k listeners

If you like Joy Division:

All of these bands will be ones that sound very classically post-punk, so those are the playlists to search out; emphasis on "classic" because post-punk is a very broad term that gets applied to a lot of music. I would argue that Joy Division has had the most influence out of all the OG goth bands on the current goth sound/goth renaissance we're going through right now, so there are a LOT of bands out there for you if you’re a JD fan.

Molchat Doma (modern band); 2.5 million listeners (wow lol, they've grown so much over the past two years, it's actually insane; good for them)

Soviet Soviet (modern band); 152k listeners

Fearing (modern band; very good live); 30k listeners

Ploho (modern band); 146k listeners

Pink Turns Blue (criminally underrated 80’s band; they are SO good live); 98k listeners (this is an actual travesty, this band is way too good to not even be in the hundred thousands)

The Sound (another incredibly underrated 80’s band); 119k listeners

This Cold Night (modern; has the deep vocals of Joy Division and the driving bass); 150k listeners

Bleib Modern (modern); has very similar vocals to Red Lorry Yellow Lorry, which is a band listed under the Sisters of Mercy section of this post, so if you end up liking this band, you should also listen to Red Lorry Yellow Lorry & vice versa; 36k listeners

Lebanon Hanover (modern; has the existential angst that Joy Division always ignites in me); 936k listeners (this is crazy, holy shit!!!!!! go, Lebanon Hanover, go!! now if only they would tour the damn US)

She Past Away (modern; deep vocals); 226k listeners

Belgrado (modern; woman vocals!); 18k listeners (they deserve better than this!!)

Leonora Post Punk (modern; Mexican goth band w/ Spanish vocals, so support them! They’re amazing! They have those deep vocals you want when you’re looking for a similar sound to Joy Division); 56k listeners

O. Children (modern; has the deep vocals & interesting bass lines that Joy Division was known for; great band); 29k listeners

If you like Sisters of Mercy:

This is one of my least favorite goth subcategories, which is odd because I actually love Sisters. But if you’re looking for a lot of music that sounds like SoM, I’d suggest delving into the 90’s and early 2000’s goth music scene. Search out those playlists.

Rosetta Stone (90’s band); 54k listeners

Miazma (modern); 10k listeners

Red Lorry Yellow Lorry (another criminally underrated 80’s band; one of my fave goth bands); 40k listeners (THEY!! DESERVE!! BETTER!!)

Dreamtime (modern); 65 listeners (ouch lol, please go show them some love)

Fields of the Nephilim (80’s, I think; if you’re a metalhead, you’ll probably appreciate this band); 95k listeners

The Merry Thoughts (80s); 19k listeners

The March Violets (underrated 80s; might be a controversial opinion to put them under SoM, but I’m standing by it); 69k listeners

Horror Vacui (modern; it’s kind of a stretch putting them here tbh, but I couldn’t figure out what other category to put them under); 44k listeners

Also, if you want a 1500-song, 105-hour goth playlist that’s constantly growing, here you go. The name of it is a dig at my ex lol: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6jCV530pMmOEmDHj4CLNka?si=cEVKiyAwQpaieGiV2pMyqw

[starswallowingsea]

The fact that 5 of the characters who havent had shuffle units yet are also unit leaders.

[demonpiratehuntress]

stupid

Portgas D. Ace x F!Reader

Summary - your cluelessness could rival Luffy's. not knowing Ace has the biggest crush on you, you think he keeps asking to stop at a particular island to see someone. and you're confused when he brings you your favourite flower each time.

Warnings - angst to comfort (been feeling a bit angsty lately)

"Hey, it's Ace's girlfriend's island!"

The comment was seemingly harmless, purely meant to tease the 2nd Division Commander for his constant - albeit mysterious - request to always stop at this island any time the ship passed it. But despite the good-natured intention of the crewmate who'd said it, you couldn't stop the way your heart sunk a little.

Your secret was well-kept if no one knew about your crush on the fiery commander, which you were kind of grateful for considering the circumstances you now found yourself facing.

"(Name), are you gonna come this time? Maybe we'll actually get to meet her!" One of your crew asked, again not meaning any harm.

But the thought had you losing your balance, and you stumbled a little before catching yourself. You shook your head with a small, forced smile, "No, I'm okay. Looks like I'm a bit tired." You laughed, but it didn't sound quite like it usually did.

Before they could question you, though, you were gone. It was well-known that you were Ace's best friend, and the two of you were practically inseparable. Or had been. Ever since you noticed the repeated stops at this island you'd started putting distance between you and him, little by little so he wouldn't notice.

It was hard. Incredibly hard. You never stood a chance against Ace's charms and humour, and now you had to deal with the consequences of falling for a man every woman would want. You were just his best friend, and that's all you'd ever be. So you had to either learn to accept it and let him go, or else the burden of feeling so much for him would inevitably break you.

The odd thing about this whole scenario was that each time Ace would go out and spend the day with whoever he was seeing on the island, he would always come back with a (favourite flower) for you. And you had no idea why, but he just said it was because he knew you liked them and shrugged it off.

The moment you hit your bed, your emotions overwhelmed you and you broke down, crying into your pillow until you fell asleep.

This time, you weren't going to accept his stupid flower.

-

By the time you woke up, most of the day had passed. You were still docked at the island, indicating that Ace and whoever had gone with him had not returned yet. You tried not to care, dismissing their absence by immersing yourself in one of your books. Locking yourself up in your room so you wouldn't have to deal with anyone - or the crew relentlessly teasing Ace for having a girlfriend.

A knock at your door startled you, but you chose to ignore it and went back to reading. After a few minutes, you exhaled, thinking that the person had left, until a familiar voice made you jump.

"I know you're not sleeping! Come on, this is mean!" Ace complained, knocking again. "Let me in!"

You rolled your eyes but again ignored him, continuing on the adventure you were embarking on mentally. His knocking continued, and you cursed his stubbornness as you eventually threw your book aside and got up to angrily open the door.

"What?!" You hissed, harsher than you intended.

He faltered, his excitement visibly fading, "Is something wrong?"

"What do you want, Ace?" You asked, trying to be gentler but still speaking coldly. You couldn't help it, you were hurt.

He held out the flower, looking hopeful. He could see you were upset for some reason, and he wanted to know why, but first he wanted to give you the thing he searched the whole island for. Your favourite flower. It was a routine thing for him, the reason he requested to stop here. But he always forgot where the flowers were, or ended up falling asleep in the meadow, so he usually came back late. He never once thought you'd assume he was seeing someone else.

Because truth was, Ace was head-over-heels in love with you. And yes, he felt ridiculous for falling for his best friend, but he couldn't help it when you were the one person who understood him better than anyone else. The one person who made his life brighter and happier just by existing.

"No," you shook your head, "I don't want it this time."

His heart sank at your words. A frown fell on his lips, unusual for the typically cheerful man. He felt hurt by your response, and an awkwardness he'd never felt before fell over the two of you. He slowly dropped his hand, and even the flower seemed to droop like you'd broken its heart as well.

"Go give it to your girlfriend." Then you slammed the door shut.

Ace blinked.

Wait, what?

You thought he...oh no. He face-palmed, cursing at how stupid this situation suddenly became. You really thought he was out on the island meeting up with some girl? Is that how clueless you were to his affections, how naive you were to his advances? Did you really not get any of his hints?

He suddenly laughed out loud, feeling relieved. This was easily fixable. He thought you hated him, or at least just didn't feel about him the same way he felt about you.

You ripped the door open, "What's so funny?!"

"You," he chuckled. "You're an idiot."

You were used to his insults, but your eyes narrowed at this one, "And why is that, exactly?"

"Because you think I'd be out chasing some other girl when you're here," he answered honestly, genuinely. "You're so naive."

Your jaw dropped at his confession, then your expression hardened again and you crossed your arms, "Hey you're always on that island so long, what else do you expect me to think??"

He laughed even more, "Cute. The answer to that is simple. I'm stupid too." He held up the flower again. "I can never remember where that meadow is, and it takes me the whole day to find it again. And I remember you said it only grows here. I also...fall asleep in the grass sometimes." He laughed nervously, blushing.

You had no idea what to say. This whole time...he had been wanting to go to this island for your sake. To find a flower he knows you like. Your heartbeat sped up, a strong blush coming over your cheeks.

"Ace-"

"You know, you're quite mean," he pouted, "I thought you hated me. So my feelings are hurt."

You blushed in embarrassment, "I-I'm sorry! I just thought-"

"Kiss me and we'll call it even," he smirked, then his eyes widened, "Wait wait no, date me and we'll call it even."

You laughed and took the flower from him, "I can do both."

Cue the poor blushing, flustered boy bursting into flames.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

So request kinda if not just sharing my thoughts in general.

Alex. My boy. What if reader is a civ or even another soldier in a different squad and the whole thing with him joining Farah’s forces indefinitely. I think this can really lend itself to some angst and that good old misunderstanding. Kinda leaning towards civ!reader just because the more miscommunication. I guess it’d have to be an angsty ending though 😳, but regardless-

Love your writing and, as always, feel free to change anything or do whatever gives you the most inspiration

World Caves In

PAIRING: Alex Keller x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Perhaps it would have been better if your husband had died - at the very least you could understand that.

WORD COUNT: 7.9k

WARNINGS: Angst, misunderstandings/miscommunication, hurt/comfort, vulgar language, abandonment?, Alex being an adorable husband, fluff, etc.

A/N: I was gonna make this an angsty ending but I got my period and thinking about that made me cry so here we are, lmao. Enjoy, Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

When you’d been escorted out of work by two uniformed men, you knew the news wasn’t going to be good. Sitting in the back of a large black car, you spare nervous glances as the vehicle jumps, its wheels going over the last speed bump. Your work building begins to become a fraction of a memory and disappears faster than your resolve. 

The men sit on either side of you, silent, and the only comment is to the driver as you all enter the main road. Swallowing, you part your lips and mutter, plain dread in your tone, “Is he alive?”

All you get is a glance from the front mirror and nothing more. You hunch more in your seat and stew in agony, mind far off on the topic of your husband. 

Alex wasn’t overly reckless, you’d managed to snuff most of that out over the course of the many years you’d expressed concern to him about it, but a large chuck of the blond was still too selfless for his own good. It was hard not to think the worst. 

From training to advising, your husband was always off on one mission to another, far from your quaint and quiet home here—where you waited day after day for even a sliver of contact from him. Alex specialized in so many things that trying to wrap your head around it was impossible.

Even now, you only knew the bare minimum. 

The soft-smiled man worked in the SAD division of the CIA. He’s an Operations Officer. Currently, he’s somewhere across the globe. 

Away from you.

Thinning your lips, you take down a deep breath and settle back into the seat, pulse flying. The men were obviously Agents—you’d looked closely at their badges when they’d first shown their faces at the front desk and had kept within view of your work’s security cameras just in case this was a ruse. When you could find nothing out of the ordinary, you had tensely asked them what was happening. 

They would be holding his dog tags if he was dead, you had reasoned, desperately, a flag. 

It was frantic, the way you had thought that up; how could you not be like that? Alex was the light of your life! With him constantly putting his life on the line, it was inevitable for him to get hurt, sometimes seriously. It was ingrained into your mind the way you would help clean his wounds in the middle of the night when the pain woke him up with a grunt stuck in his throat. The way you would sit half-asleep in his lap and re-wrap bandages while he told you to go back to bed half-heartedly. His hands drifting over your warm skin like he was cascading his fingers up and down the spine of an old book.

You never listened. 

“It’s late, Bug, I can’t keep you up like this.” His drawl echoes in your ear as you rub a heavy palm into your eye. Alex’s hands are both on your hips, squeezing the flesh just below your tiny sleep shorts. You have him sitting on the floor, back resting on the wall and shirt discarded to the side only wearing loose gray sweatpants. A long cut up his left pec is the center of your blurry attention—a wet rag held as you dab at it. Blue eyes narrow at you. “I’m just fine with doing it myself, y’know.”

“You’re being stubborn again,” you utter, the soft light of the bathroom placed at half-capacity to at least try and keep some of the veil of sleep over your heads. “I told you to wake me up when you needed it cleaned.” Your skin brushes his and Alex shivers under you, sighing breathily. “And you’re not keeping me here—I’m helping.” 

A small flash of that full smile, mustache flinching up, “Well when you look so pretty sleepin’ I can’t just shake you awake and tell you to fix me up.” 

You take your free hand and pinch his nose, yawning as he grunts out chuckles. A delicate glance is thrown his way as the rag lowers from reddened skin. Like a butterfly's whisper, you study his face gently; reaching and cupping his cheek with your palm. 

Alex’s lids flutter, heavy weight falling into you as if waiting for this—lips pressing to your inner wrist in reverence. You hold back a tired giggle and feel the corner of his mouth pull up when he feels it.

“All that talk, and yet,” pressing a smooch to his forehead you take your hand back and hear the grumble he lets out after, “you still like it better when I’m the one that’s working on you.”

“Can’t complain too much,” he admits slowly as his head leans back to tap the wall, “my wife’s hands are way softer than mine.” 

Alex’s grip on your flesh tightens when you sipe away the last line of crimson from the wound, tattooed arms flexing. 

“Sorry,” you whisper, watching his eyes slightly awash with pain. “Got caught on a stitch.”

“Ah, well,” the blond sighs, shifting “I suppose I can forgive you.” 

Laughing quietly as the house settles, you shake your head and rest your forehead on his. 

“Such a saint,” your lips utter teasingly as Alex smiles wide, his hands moving higher to your waist. You lean into him, stealing his warmth as your tired eyes flutter; feeling his thumbs run circles over the flesh of your lower spine. 

A content breath escapes you.

“Go back to bed, Sweetheart,” Alex whispers, lips brushing yours like silk, the bristles of his facial hair tickling you. “I can do the rest, promise.”

“Know you can,” your mutterings are barely heard, but the man seems to register them, sea-glass gaze incredibly soft. He chuckles at your sleepiness, one hand leaving your waist to capture the back of your head; weaving into your hair and gently massaging your scalp. You practically melt into him, limbs going slack, slurring out, “Quit it. Wanna help, Alex.”

His laughter shakes you, and with a huff escaping, you bury your burning face into his neck and lean into him, careful of his wound even in your fatigued state. 

“No offense, Bug,” Alex shifts, grunting as he easily maneuvers you until you’re laying in his arms, inked forearms under your knees and behind your shoulders with vivid images of grim reapers, snakes, and angels guarding you close. A kiss is firmly pressed to your forehead as the blonde smirks downwards, “But you’re about as helpful to me right now as an empty mag.”

You grumble, trying to disappear into his skin and letting him dig his stubble into your cheek. 

“If you bring me back to bed before you’re done,” you yawn and close your eyes, “I’m divorcing you.”

He laughs deeply into your ear, body shaking as he pulls back and sends you an incredulous look. 

“Hell, we can’t have that, can we, Mrs. Keller? I’d lose my damn mind.” 

It’s a long drive, and you worry through the entirety of it. A primal, whole-body-shaking type of fear. You’d built a life with Alex and loved him more than anything or anyone that had come before. Even if he was gone a lot, that had never dulled what the two of you had—your marriage was nothing short of something you would find in a fairy tale; flashing pictures on pages with vivid colors and tender glances. The very cover itself is made of the finest leather and inlaid with gold calligraphy. 

Please, Alex, you plead in your head as you remember his loving gaze—his back as he makes supper in the kitchen and hums to himself. Please be okay.

The men hold open the car door when it comes to a stop outside a very obviously abandoned apartment complex near the outskirts of town. You get out quickly. Looking around, you take in the overgrown grass and the broken concrete with a knife in your lung; holding back the flood of anxious tears. 

Though, confusion takes president. 

“Where did you…?” You turn to look at the Agents, but they’re already clambering back into their car and snapping the doors shut. Wide-eyed and slack-jawed you watch them speed off as a cloud of dust drifts into the air. 

Pulse echoing in your ears, you watch the vehicle speed down the road and disappear. 

Swallowing, you whisper, “What the actual fuck?” Turning in circles, no one else is around. A part of you starts to worry less for Alex and more for yourself.

They were CIA, you reiterate, I checked their badges—Alex showed me the standard ones. Could I have missed something? 

Expression nervous, you shift on your feet before your stuttering legs take you closer to the abandoned building, not really seeing much choice here. You could imagine the scene from The Wizard Of Oz—when the man pulls back the curtain and all is revealed. 

That said, you could really only hope that was what was actually happening to you and you weren't getting kidnapped or shot. Taking a deep breath, you clench your fists and enter the building through the open front door. 

It was in the wide lobby that you locked eyes with Kate Laswell. You blank, mouth parting as the scent of concrete and decaying furniture get stuck in your nose. 

The woman seems highly agitated, brows tight and jaw clenched. Her white blouse had been flattened multiple times by rough hands, lanyard swaying on her neck like Alex’s dog tags would. She holds a file in her hands; the paper bulky as if holding something more than just paper inside its manila clutches.

“Kate?” You ask, confused, “What are you doing here? What’s all of this about?” Taking quick steps forward you splay your hands as your voice grows more serious. “Where’s my damn husband?” 

You didn’t know Laswell personally, in fact, when you had first got a glimpse of her here, you’d forgotten the older woman’s name for a moment. The first meeting between the two of you had been at a CIA get-together that Alex had been forced to go to because of his position—some celebration because a group of ICBMs had been taken back into US hands after being stolen. Your husband had introduced you to the Station Chief over a drink with a hand on the small of your back.

But it didn’t stop you now from talking to her like you’d known her for years. Not when fear was flooding your veins.

“What the hell is going on?” You say harshly, glancing around the room for any sight of someone else here. 

Kate sighs heavily but wastes no time in speaking, her professional tone and serious face leaving your already fast-paced heart racing.

“Alex isn’t coming back to the United States.” Your eyes blank, staring into icy blue. She holds out her manila folder, jaw tight. Blunt. “He’s a deserter.” 

It’s like your entire being halts; your skin suit feels as if it’s sagging on your bones with the weight of a cinder block connected by hooks to the floor. 

What did she just say?

Opening and closing your mouth you stutter, lids blinking rapidly. 

“I…” Fingers flinching in the air, an exhalation from your nose sounds more like a wheeze. Kate watches stiffly, taking a look at the floor before returning her attention to you; emotion flashes in her eyes. “...W-what?”

“Keller deserted his post—I tried to speak with the Colonel but there’s only so much I can do.” Laswell takes a deep breath as you continue to go through shock. Alex wasn’t coming home? How, why? “He’s staying in Urzikstan to fight with the Liberation Force.”

“Urzikstan?!” You gape, but the woman continues. 

“For all intents and purposes, I shouldn’t be here, but Alex asked me personally to hand these to you.” Again the manilla folder is shown to you, but when you only glare and fight the fear and confusion rampaging in your gut a sigh echoes out and it’s placed on a termite-eaten side table. “Even communicating with you could put you in danger now that he’s gotten on the bad side of the entire SAD and CIA branches. This is all I can do.”

“What the fuck,” you whisper to yourself, hand coming up to capture your mouth. 

“If Alex re-enters the states—he’ll be arrested and tried in a court of law. If he’s not shot on sight for what he knows.” Kate watches you closely, shaking her head in pity. “I’m sorry,” there’s a strained pause, “but he’s made his decision.” 

As she brushes past you, leaving the folder on the side table, you feel your wide eyes well with tears—confused and horrified. But he’s coming back to me, right? Alex…Alex wouldn’t leave me here alone.

It was common knowledge that over the last years the blond had gotten more agitated at his line of work; the orders that he didn’t want to follow but had no choice. No voice. But he can’t just abandon you...could he? You’d taken vows. Had a happy marriage and relationship. Loved each other.

He can’t just…he can’t…

Your hands shake and you’re unable to stop them, gaze locked on that unassuming manilla folder. Kate pauses in the doorway, peeking back and seeing your sickly-looking face, the agony written in the lines of your forehead. Like the picture of a loyal wife being told her husband was never coming home. And Alex wasn’t even dead. Resentment begins to burn. 

But he made his bed. 

“He told me to tell you that he wouldn’t be angry if you wanted to leave him,” was all she said, a final knife being stabbed into your heart and being ripped out like a live wire. Electricity makes your back go stiff in an instant. “It would be best to never tell anyone that we met.” 

You were alone, full body shivers and bile stuck in the back of your throat. Cold sweat coats your palms, a sticky mess of your barebones disturbance. 

“He…” your voice is hoarse, bouncing off the far walls. “Alex left me here? He left me.”

It was easier to say that the sun had exploded and you were waiting for the last beam of light to incinerate you. Inside of your skull your brain pounds as, in a mad dash of desperation, you rush to the manilla folder and rip it open with vibrating arms.

Having Laswell tell you that Alex wouldn’t be mad if you…if you…the hairs on the back of your neck rise and suddenly you’re angry beyond a sliver of a doubt. It was insulting.

“Alex fucking Keller,” the paper opens to the bulk of your husband's dog tags and a flip phone—reports like his own personal file and the patch that he had once worn so proudly on his combat vest. Red, white, and blue dig into your retinas; it was old, worn beyond measure, but that little patch was something that was never removed. Not even to be cleaned. 

“The dirtier it is,” Alex had commented on the American flag patch when you’d offered to mend it for him, cringing at all the blood stains and dirt flecking off it as he slipped his vest off in the foyer of your home. “The luckier I am.” 

“I think the stench of it alone will frighten off anyone who comes near,” you had raised a brow, smirking up at him as he walked over, laughing. A kiss is placed on your lips, Alex’s bright smile transferring over to you as if able to spread from his mouth to yours that simply. You sigh dreamily. 

He pulls back with a tiny wink as you gaze up at him, cheekily stating, “That’s the plan, Sweet Thing. Gotta make sure I come home to you in one piece.”

You brush your hands over it and think that maybe it would have been better if he had died. Then you could understand why he’s doing this to you. Anger spreads into rage. 

Looking next at the phone and dog tags, all you do is shake your head and slam the folder shut, bitter tears tracking your face. You can’t read anything—can’t see his name imprinted on that metal that used to press coldly into your skin as you both slept in bed. You don’t care about the phone or the files. 

None of it mattered.

“He fucking left me here,” it’s like you’re a broken record replaying over and over again. “You absolute bastard, Keller!” Yelling, you press your fingers into your face, hands spreading over your eyes and mouth to muffle your enraged sobs. 

“You’re still alive and you left me alone.” 

Only the abandoned building echoes your pain; replaying it back over and over again as your wails echo around the lobby like a symphony of laughing jesters. 

—

The phone that Laswell had given you had been going off at least three times every day—morning, noon, and at night. You had stared at it with fury, knowing exactly who was calling even if the thing was displaying an unknown number. By now you had steeped in your anger enough that you had found yourself snapping at friends and family alike when asked if you were alright. 

You wished Alex was here so you could hit him upside the head for being so stupid. So you could hate him until you had the pleasure to love him again.

Urzikstan. 

You’d looked up the country after you had spent two days straight in bed, afterward manically cleaning the house with a glare that could light fires. The far-off place was a land utterly divided by war. Russian occupation, a terrorist group; the force that your husband had joined. Mass against mass against mass.

Brick meets wall.

And Alex had chosen to stay—without a doubt because he’d seen the dire situation and had used that damnable good heart of his to empathize to the max. Forget donations, humanitarian work, or anything else, the man had fucking decided to join in a Liberation Force. 

As much as you wanted to say you hated him; had wanted to slam your gold wedding band to the table with a good riddance for betraying you like that…you still had his dog tags around your neck, and the ring was still on your finger. 

“Too good for his own sake,” you grumble, shoving dirty clothes into the washer like they had tried to attack you. “Deserted the fucking CIA, Jesus Alex. Do you even think when I’m not around?” 

There were only so many times you could curse his name until you felt a deceiving needle of pride slither itself into your skull. You could describe Alex as many things but he would always be steadfast in causes that truly needed his help. He often told you that the best missions were the ones where he could do so much more than take out a target—he strived to help the individuals he met. Form bonds. 

God forbid something came in between the blond and the ones he’d chosen to give his loyalty to.

You slam the washer shut and stomp into the living room after starting another cycle. Stress cleaning was really not a good look on you—the entire house was without a single spec of dust but you yourself felt like you’d run seven marathons. Clenching your teeth, you go and drop to the couch, a grunt falling from your lips as your head hits the pillow.

Staring at the ceiling, you finally take in the utter silence of the house—not a home, because it could only be that if Alex was here—with a pained crease forming on your brow. The pipes spit water, and the washer grunted its mechanical garble…but there was no humming man making food in the kitchen. No blond hair visible as a head rests on your chest; your fingers playing in the locks that act like silk as you part them, the man on top of you purring. Body a weighted blanket.

“Was it really that easy,” you whisper to nothing, lip quivering. “Was it really that easy to stay away, Alex? I thought…I…” 

Eyes wrenching shut, you hear the phone right at noon again as it sits on the coffee table. And you let it. 

There were voicemails, no doubt, but you hadn’t thought to listen to those either. This small act of rebellion was all you could act on but for the simple fact that it also harmed you. Barbed wire steadily digging deeper as it kept your hands wound to your sides—neck plastered to the pillow as bright silver spikes glinted. You stare at the unknown caller who really wasn’t all that unknown and watch the screen light, vibrating over the wood in steady intervals. 

What hurt the most was that if he’d asked you to come along—become an Expat just for him—you would have said yes. You could find a new job, a new place to call home. Humanitarian work would have been at the top of your list and Alex…well….he would still be fighting, just as he always had. 

But at the very least you would have been there to clean his wounds. Together. You’d both promised on that altar to do nothing less. He could’ve asked. He should have asked. 

Alex…

“Urzikstan,” you mutter for what seems like the fiftieth time. When the ringing stops a few moments later the new voicemail icon flashes. Placing your arm over your mouth, you clench your hand so tight it starts to shake, whispering into your skin, “Fine. I guess you did make your bed. And…and I won't be there to lie in it with you.” No matter how much I want to.

You slip the wedding band off of your finger and place it beside the phone before turning and burying your head into the cushions; feeling more numb than you ever had before.

—

It carried on like this for three months. The ring didn’t move from the coffee table and neither did the flip phone; the file had all but been tossed in the trash as it sat teetering on the living room desk. You carried on as well as you could, all things considered. 

Work was a blur, going out with friends even harder to enjoy, and any enjoyment of hobbies or activities was dulled to an almost gray existence. Like a ghost, you wafted through experiences with dog tags and a withering appearance. Eventually, you just stopped going out unless it couldn’t be helped. You still bought meals for two at the grocery store out of habit. You placed blankets where Alex used to sleep beside you. You went to work. 

And still, the calls never stopped except for a brief pause after the first month. You’d thought he’d finally given up, but no. Back at it.

It had gotten to a point now where the device was automatically deleting all recent voicemails—too little space in the inbox. 

Angry curiosity was tempting you. It would be easy, you reason, to simply play the first message and listen. The worst part of it was that you’d begun to forget Alex’s voice and perhaps that was why, on that dead-aired Saturday, you snatched the phone and brought it into the kitchen. 

Firmly planting it on the counter, you stand behind one of the island chairs and glare, hands tapping into the wood. 

“I’m giving you three minutes, Alex,” you speak as if he’s still here, as if his form stands right behind you, head tilted like a damn dog with that infectious smile and those sea-glass eyes. “Three minutes,” your fingers snap the device open and you go to your voicemails; jaw tight, “and if you don’t hear you groveling, Keller, I’m deleting all of them and chucking this phone into the sink.” 

You go down the line to the very first message, small buttons clicking, and before you can stop yourself you press play.

It begins with a small moment of silence. A cough. 

“Hey,” he says your first name, not one of your epithets. Your brows deepen their annoyed furrow, but you can’t help the uptick in your heart rate. Inside your flesh, the sinews of your throat close in on itself like a balloon. “I…I’m guessin’ I have a good enough ass-kicking waiting for me since you didn’t answer.” A strained laugh before another pause. You feel acidic tears boil behind your lids. “I’m not surprised—not really. Done some stupid things but never something like this.” You can hear him shake his head, voice going lower in defiance. “But they were asking me to leave Urzikstan in a worse place than when I entered it. This Liberation Force, Bug, it…they’re good people and what they’re asking me to do…” Alex huffs, growling under his throat. “I can’t stand by that. The man you chose to marry, he can’t stand by that. They need me here. I’m not asking you to not be angry—to not hate me for this. I know I damn well deserve it.”

You let your tears hit the counter, head slightly bowing over. That was your Alex. 

“You need a leash,” your strained voice hits the walls, bouncing off picture frames and your husband's cooking utensils. The small pieces that make up the whole picture frame of your life. “God,” you huff wetly, “you’re going to get yourself killed.”

“I know I should have talked to you first, figured out some plan. But, uh,” Alex’s throat gets choked up, and you snap a hand to your mouth when you realize he’s close to tears. He clears his throat. “Hell, I should have done a lot of things, Sweetheart.” 

You can hear shouts in the background, calls in Arabic. The pounding of a door and a woman’s voice.

“Alex, we need to move! Everyone is ready—Barkov’s lab cannot be left standing a moment longer.” The hurried hand to the line muffles the words, but you hear him anyway.

“Affirmative!” He comes back. “I don’t have time to explain more, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for… everything. I’d understand if you don’t use the passport Laswell’ll give you, but that doesn’t mean I’m just going to stop calling.” Alex laughs and your face freezes.

“Passport?”

“What kind of Husband would I be if I just let the most perfect woman in the world go without a fight, huh? I’ll be waiting until you call to tell me to shut the hell up and leave you alone or that you’re down in the airport waiting.” There’s a large sound of combat vests being clicked on—pistols being situated into holsters and a rifle strap slipped over a chest. Alex suddenly pauses and you stare at the phone blankly. “I know this is a big ask, Doll, and I know I’m horrible for even springin’ this on you when I’m half a world away from our bed. But I had to try, even if it was selfish. I just…I just really need to hear your voice telling me if I’m an idiot or not for thinking this up. Call me back soon…or when you run out of my clothes to burn in the firepit out back…I love you, okay? More…more than anything.” 

There’s a minute or two of nothing, just Alex’s ragged breathing, and then there’s an older man’s voice ordering him to hurry up. The line clicks. 

Your ears ring as it does, wide eyes dripping tears from your bottom lashes as your lungs chill over. Hand slowly flinching out, you ghost over the keys before clicking on the following voicemail. As it plays, your feet start to take you backward at a snail's pace, your spine flattering against the wall as blood drains to your feet. 

“Hey, it’s me again. I still haven’t heard from you—that’s alright. Take your time.” Steadying yourself with a hand, you look out of the kitchen and get a glimpse of the manila folder on the desk, its tan hide sucking you in. Pulse in your throat, you rush out to grab it as Alex’s voice echoes. “I know Laswell gave you the file, I trust her that much at least.” A sigh. “But even if it’s just to yell at me, please pick up the phone soon. Let me save some of my dignity and give me a chance to beg on an open line, huh, Sweetheart…? But I guess that’s all—gotta go. I love you.” 

You don’t play the next message because you’re ripping open the file with rabid hands, seeing exactly as you had when Laswell left it for you. Alex’s mission report; his patch. The dog tags around your neck clink together like a song, some brutal rhythm. 

“Passport?” Grasping the mission report you pick it up, flipping through the multiple pages of blacked-out words and more confused than ever. “Airport?” 

The words come out as whimpers, hands so shaky that the pages slip from your fingers. They slam to the floor in a flurry of bond paper and you curse loudly, snatching for the remnants futilely. Grasping on your hands and knees hitches build in your breath as your fingers dance rapidly before they slip across something distinctly not paper. 

Small, tiny, and blue. Laminate. 

Your very blood seems to stop in your veins. Pushing back one last piece of paper, you come face to face with a singular American passport. Gasping down mute breaths and licking your lips, you pick it up lightly, leaning back on your legs as if you’d just slammed your head into the concrete. 

“Alex…” you whisper to no one. 

Flipping the hard cover open, a small, palm-sized piece of paper slips out to your lap as your own face stares at you in image form. You blink for a moment before going to take the note and separate the ends. Formal script is inside, stiff lettering. Not your husband's handwriting, but you didn’t have to guess who’d written out these directions for you. 

Laswell.

There was a destination in fountain pen ink—an airport near the Urzikstanian and Georgian border. Seeing as Urzikstan was on the travel-ban list due to the turbulence of the government and terrorist threats, you wouldn’t be able to get there directly. 

But you supposed Kate had your back for that too. 

Georgian safehouse - wait for Keller there. It’s secure. More directions and then a small gap. A pause. Good luck.

You don’t know how long you stare at that paper—that passport. The first thing you think about is how could Alex ask you to do this. Uproot yourself with the snap of a finger. You wouldn’t be able to bring anything beyond what could fit in a few suitcases. No furniture, no large amount of clothes, or even sentimental items. You’d have to quit your job; leave behind family and friends to travel to a war-torn country.

But he’d said it was your choice, and he wouldn’t push you to make it. He’d said you could leave him if you wanted—keep all of this that you’d built here.

…But you’d built it together, hadn’t you? 

You think of Alex’s bright smile and his mustache. His tattoos. How he’d hold you so tight in the long hours of sleep that you half-believed he thought you’d disappear if he didn’t; nuzzling his nose into the back of your head and grumbling out nonsense. The way you could trace his scars and watch as he willingly submitted to your praise, delicate lips curving into sheepish grins as you place soft kisses on the raised skin. Red cheeks.

This place wasn’t a home without Alex in it.

You look over at the coffee table and lock onto the gold of your wedding band.

—

Getting into Georgia was a long affair of paperwork and screenings—not days but months of legal jargon that Alex had dodged entirely because of his desertion. By the time you’d landed in country, you were wholly exhausted down to the very marrow of your bones. You get through the checkpoints, pick up your bags, and look out at the entirely new world outside of the airport’s windows. 

“Okay,” you swallow saliva and nod carefully before looking down at Laswell’s directions to the safehouse. 

You slip the paper into your pocket after memorizing the address, tips of your fingers brushing the smooth surface of the flip phone. Clenching your eyes shut, you take your hand back out and go to try and hire a driver. You were here, but that doesn’t mean all of this was forgiven. 

After you find someone able to drive you to where you need to go, you end up standing with a quaint hostel ahead of you, home far behind. Gazing slightly nervous at the strange place you’ve found yourself, you think of Alex’s hand on the small of your back and sigh; caressing the cool metal of the ring around your finger. 

Walking forward, you hitch your bags over your shoulders and grit your teeth against the hot sun. When you meet the owner at the front desk you state your name and ask for a bed. 

The man’s eyes widen for a moment before he looks at something on his countertop, raising a brow in thought. Grabbing at a stack of papers he holds up a finger and begins digging. Too tired and overwhelmed to ask what was wrong, you just watch and rub at your face. 

“Ah,” the man snaps his fingers and laughs to himself, “here it is! I knew I had placed the note somewhere, Mrs. Keller.” You blink, confused, but the man just takes a key from the wall and motions for you to follow. Sparing a glance around for a moment, you slowly slink after, not really having a choice.

“I remember your Husband coming to me—the blond with the tattoos.” The owner looks back, making sure you’re following. He motions to his right side with splayed fingers. “Scars on the side of his head, to reserve a room.”  

Alex was here? How much had he done already pertaining to the chance that you would show up? 

“Y-yeah,” you chuckle stiffly, “that was him. Sorry for being so long I was…preoccupied.”

“You’re lucky he kept up on payments,” the man grumbles, opening a door with the key and motioning you inside. “My pleasure to finally have you, regardless.”

Entering the small and sparse room, you take the key from him with a thankful smile and a quick thank you before he closes the door. As the barrier thuds, you sway on your feet. Blinking. Breathing hard. You drop all of your bags with a heavy thump that echoes off the walls in a single instant. Heart pounding at everything that was striking you in an instant, you walk slowly back to the bed. You don’t bother to take a shower or brush your teeth; even change. 

You fall down on the mattress and pray you don’t have to dream about Alex sending money to this place every week simply on a suffocating hope that you’d come back to him. You pray you don’t dream at all. 

The phone wakes you up only thirty minutes later.

Groaning, you shift your body so your hand can snake into your pocket, grasping it and tossing it to the pillow beside your head. You’d never made it through all of the voicemails without crying, so you just deleted all of them and let the inbox fill back up again. 

Feeling the dog tags press against your chest as you form your chest into the bed, you shove your head downward and listen to it ring. 

Bring-bring, bring-bring, bring-bring

It happens in a flurry of a sleep-addled mind and a horrible desperation to see your husband after nearly a full year of no contact. You flip it open and answer with your nose pressed deeply into the pillow below you. Ears straining and pulse running like a starving cat after a mouse. 

Dead silence. 

“...Sweetheart…?” It’s pitiful how fast the tears flood you at Alex’s shocked and tiny voice. Tight breathing sounds over the line from his end and your other hand digs into your scalp. A small, cut-off laugh. “Hey…I—” 

You hang up with a vicious slam of the screen and let the silence settle again. People walk the hall; the sun dims as night sets in. This isn’t home. Dropping the phone back down to the pillow you curl into a tight ball and cry yourself back to sleep.

If you had to guess, you’d say the small curse was what woke you for the second time, though you didn’t register it until minutes later. That muffled ‘shit’ as a foot hits your dropped bags near the door. But then it’s silent again and your ears only twitch to the gentle sigh that brushes against your face; a thumb and forefinger caressing your cheek as hair is placed back over your ear. 

Perhaps the only reason at all as to why you don’t wake up screaming bloody murder is because of his calluses. They burn your flesh as they slide over it—as ingrained into your very being as your own heart is. As if Alex’s touch was another organ that was needed to survive. More important than a liver or a spleen. 

When your eyes slip open he’s leaning back in a chair he had turned to face you, built form shifting as the rickety wood creaks. No more than five feet away sits your husband, and all you do is suck in a tight breath and lock gazes with soft sea glass. 

Alex freezes at the same time, strong brow line peeling back and mustache stiff as his lips immediately thin. You both stare for a good while, a thread of tension entering the air. The night deepens. 

He speaks first, in the dense hours of confrontation. Your heart feels like it’s been stuck with a spear, vignette at the sides of your vision, and a blooming center of only Alex’s body and his messy hair. The scarf around his neck. The combat vest. 

Had he driven all this way to see if you were here? Because you’d answered the phone? But you hadn’t even said anything. Your head stays on the pillow, wondering if you were hallucinating.

“Hey,” Alex forces a chuff before he glances away, nervous arms crossed. “Hey there, Doll. Sorry that I woke you. I…ah,” your eyes bore into him, hand on the sheets slowly clenching into a fist. “I figured there was an off chance you would be here.” He clears his voice, throat closing on a trying laugh. “Guess I’m glad I looked. You should remember to lock your door, by the way.” 

At the sight of your rising glare, his tone drops, expression falling even more than it already was. Deep well of sadness grew in his eyes, lips pulling back in a strained agony. 

Alex’s gaze drops to the floor. 

“I know,” is what hits the air, “I know, Sweetheart. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t fucking cut it,” you push your body up as his large shoulders tighten—such an accomplished and strong man brought to a squirming heap when his wife’s sharp words hit him in the chest. “What the hell were you thinking, Alex?!”

Heavy feet hit the floor as you stalk over, fatigue and tiredness pushed all the way to the back of your mind yet also enhancing your emotions. Bitter rage was sparking—held in far too long. Alex’s eyes don’t meet yours, so you grab him by the chin and angle his head up to you. 

At the sight of your red sclera and the baggy gaze he stills. Under your grip his beard tickles you, the soft grip of flesh that makes you want to wrap your arms over him and weep; make him promise to never leave like that again. 

“I…I wasn’t…”

“That’s the thing isn’t it—you didn’t think.” Sea glass floods over, going glossy; hurt etched into both of your faces as if carved from the same stone. But you don’t stop now, growling out as your skin burns. Alex isn’t sad that you’re angry, he’s sad he’s done this to you. “You disappeared, Alex. Laswell had to just drop all of this shit on me. I thought you had died.” You growl. “Do you know what that feels like?!” 

“Sweetheart—”

“Shut up! You let me talk,” he falls silent, hand delicately coming up to grab your wrist. Not to pull you away, just to hold you. To feel your skin and the heat of it. You sniffle and his eyes break. “And the worst part of it was that if you had just asked I would have followed you right then and there.” Alex sharply looks back at you. “But the biggest insult was that you thought I would leave you—that you even considered that.” 

Shock slowly gives way to a blank expression. He was confused, now.

Was that what you were angry about?

“You’re an idiot, Keller. Hot-headed. Cocky.” You shake your head, but a tiny smile begins to bleed onto Alex’s face. Watching you like you’d just sprung a million dollars on him. His grip slightly squeezes, calloused thumb running the span of your knuckles as you shake his head with your hand. “Damn nuisance to my health, is what you are.” Trying to remain angry is tough when he’s looking at you like that—starstruck—but you spit out, “It’s insulting that you thought I’d just give up on us that easily.”

“Most women don’t want a man who’s wanted for desertion, Doll,” Alex whispers, testing a smirk on his lips with his expression still strained. 

“Arrogant!” your voice snaps. “Not a single brain cell in his stupid little head.” You let go of his chin and grip the sides of his skull, feeling the dirty but still soft strands of hair before you huff at him. 

But he just looks at you and smiles, face smooshed. 

“...You really came?” Alex asks quietly. You fall silent and after a moment you deflate.

After the silence of trying to keep the sneer on your face, you let it drop, lips quivering slightly. Anger glints with pain. “I should hit you upside the head, Keller, for all the worry you’ve put me through,” you grunt, eyes flashing over every new bruise on his face—every cut you’d have to re-learn. He looks tired. 

Oh, Alex…

Before the blond can respond to you, you’ve captured the back of his head and shoved it into your chest; face burying itself into his scalp to bring forth that scent of dust and cologne. You whimper out as he grips you around the waist with just as much fervor, “Did you think that I would stay away?”

Alex says nothing, only the slight tremor in his bicep betraying him. You firmly kiss his skull and run your fingers through his hair, the both of you so tight together there’s barely enough room in your ribs to allow your lungs to inflate. 

But holding him was more important than air, a sentiment that Alex seemed to share entirely. 

“I’m so glad you’re here, Bug.” He mutters into your skin. “Feels good to be able to hold my girl again.”

You stay like that for a long time before you pull back and capture his cheeks, face pulling closer before you kiss him deeply. It’s not a fast-paced or desperate thing—no clashing teeth or tongue. That wasn’t what you needed right now. 

All that you needed was Alex. Your home. 

You both separate and the blond grabs the back of your neck, forcing you back so he can lay another on the side of your mouth; nose, cheek. Anywhere that he could reach as his mustache tickled you to a smile. Giggles worm out and you wiggle out of his grip to wipe at your cheeks, spreading away tiny tear tracks and saliva.

“Quit it,” you whisper, and Alex gazes up at you reverently from his chair.

“Negative, Ma’am,” he says, equally as soft, not even blinking. “Don’t wanna.” You roll your eyes, face hot. 

The seconds draw long of only watching one another before you shake your head and move your hands to shimmy out of the dog tags around your neck. Alex’s gaze locks on the metal swiftly, smile shifting.

“You’re horrible.” You huff, quietly, before shoving his dog tags at his chest. “Now put them back on.”

“But I’m not in the—” Your glare shuts him up. Alex clears his throat sheepishly. “Yes, Ma’am.” 

You nod and watch as they’re resituated around his neck. Right where they should be. When you take a step back to really take him in, there’s a moment where you skim over the state of his left leg. After all, the metal was barely noticeable in the dark. But when you do see it every little part of you shrivels up with confused pain.

Alex stands with a noticeable preference to his right and as he towers over you, fingers coming to grab at your face and slowly drag it back up.

A slightly apologetic look washes over him.

“I’m guessing you didn’t listen to all of the voicemails.” 

“Alex…” you slowly cut off. “You…” Staring at the metal limb instead of the real one, you gape. “...how?”

“Y’know,” he laughs, but you don’t find this funny. He notices and kisses your forehead, tapping his scalp to yours and saying after a contemplative pause, “I think it’s better if I don’t explain it. I’m alright, just...” Alex smiles cheekily, the spark that you love coming back easily as it shimmers in his eyes, “just a little more carbon fiber and aluminum than I was before.” 

You hug him tightly.

“I’m sorry, I should have come sooner—I was just angry, and I wasn’t—”

“Don’t apologize to me,” Alex sighs, grabbing you and maneuvering the both of you to the bed. He sits and you end up laying in his lap like that moment in the bathroom ages ago. “None of this is your fault, okay? You deserve to be angry. I shouldn’t have put such a burden on you.” 

You sigh in his arms, head under his chin and heart finally able to return to a steady pace. Licking your lips, you ask, “Does it hurt?” 

Sending a glance down, Alex’s lips twitch with a grin before it disappears. He hums.

“Sometimes.” Your hand grips his opposite cheek and you lay a kiss on his chin, caressing his flesh.

It’s a tentative kind of love. An understanding and a plea all at once. 

The blond leans back against the wall and pulls you closer, closing his eyes. Finally relaxing for the first time in what seems like forever. But his girl is in his arms, and he’s never been this calm.

“I have a home in Urzikstan,” he confesses lightly, fingers brushing your body and giving way to shivers. You listen, eyes fluttering at the vibrations of his words. “It’s safe—protected. I…want us to live there.” Alex nods against your head, swallowing. “If you’ll come back with me.”

“Yes,” your answer is immediate. “Anywhere, as long as you’re with me.” 

You feel his breath hitch, soft chuckles brushing your hair far better than any comb. There’s a small tremor in his voice as he says, “I love you. God, do I love you.” 

Your lips pull up, body growing heavy with a final sense of home.

“I love you, too.” Soft kisses and tight arms. Shifting tattoos. “But if you ever do something like that again without talking to me, I’m telling Laswell she has permission to put a bullet in your ass.”

His loud laughs shake your body, and you press your face into his neck to steady yourself; smiling.

NEW TAGLIST SIGN-UP: Here

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm

[alexa-fika]

Pops reacting to childreader 💳💳💳💳💳💳💳💳💳💸💸💸🪙💰

I have been cliff hung 1 to many times...

*this part opt but I have a feel either dragon or winged reader would be kinda scared at first.. cus he's built fucking different bro*

Wandering Dragon pt2 (Whitebeard Pirates x fem!reader)

A/N: Homie you got me dying with the comment uou left on the last post and the request made me cough out a lung 😂. What do y’all think bout this one? Cause I think I COOKED, it’s really wholesome

Part one With Whitebeard pirates and revolutionary army

Dividers by @/saradika

“And you know what? Even if you are only 8, I’m sure Pops isn’t going to turn you away. He’s gonna love you, Reader. You are just that darn adorable.”

She digs her head in his shoulder.

He snickers, feeling her face hearing up

“Aww. You’re so cute, you know that? What happened to the bold rascal?” he teases, gently stroking her head and hair.

The only response he receives is a gentle swat from her tail

Ace laughs even more.

“Aww, is that your way of saying you’re shy? “he says, pulling her closer.

“And a bit of a brat, aren’t you? Don’t think I missed that tail swat. But I can’t stay mad at such a cutie, now can I?” Thatch snickers, ruffling her hair

“Hmm... I need to bring you to Pops. You’re getting clingy already.”

She gasps and shoots up

“Am not!”

Ace laughs a bit.

“Are too!” he says, playfully poking her nose.

She pouts

Thatch grins at their interaction and gestures to Ace, who nods slightly; he approaches the girl slowly and suddenly digs his fingers in her.

She shrieks as he starts tickling her as she tries to wriggle out of Ace’s grasp

Thatch laughs loudly at seeing her struggling.

“Heh.. that’s adorable,”

She begins flapping her wings, getting out of his grasp, and flies up and out of the Storage room, giggling

“H-Hey, come back here.”

She laughs, looking back at them as they try to catch up to her, a similar emotion on their faces; as they chase her, she fails to notice where she is going, crashing right into someone.

“Ow, So…rry?” she begins, but her words die out as she sees who she crashed into, as right in front of her was a man the size of a mountain.

She wraps her wings around herself, coiling her tail around her body in a similar manner as she tries to hide from the man in front of her in fear.

The man is none other than Whitebeard himself, looking down at the young stowaway.

“Hm... who are you?” he asks, glancing at the men who run and stop behind her.

Ace laughs, pointing at her.

“We found her below deck. She says her name’s Reader. Looks like she was exploring before we happened upon her. Probably didn’t even know she was on our ship.”

She whimpers, wrapping her limbs tighter around herself until someone slowly steps closer and kneels down next to her; she takes a peek, spotting a man whose appearance reminded her of a pineapple

Marco smiles at the girl.

“Hey, kid. Don’t be scared. I’m not gonna hurt you,” he says softly in a soothing tone for her.

She stares at him but makes no movement to release her defensive stance

He approaches slowly before squatting in front of her.

“Look, I’m the first division commander of this ship. It’s fine. You’re in safe hands. And that guy you crashed into...”

He points at the big guy.

“That’s our captain. Edward Newgate, but most of us just call him Pops. He’s a real sweetheart. But he can be a bit of an intimidating when you first meet him.”

She sniffles, glancing at the man towering next to them and back to Marco, and then glances at Thatch and Ace behind her

Ace and Thatch smile, seeing her look at them.

“Don’t worry,” Ace says gently

“Pops, he’s not gonna hurt you either. No way.” Ace confirms

“Marco’s right. I know he may look intimidating, but he’s like a father to all of us; he would never hurt you,” Thatch says, backing his crewmates up

She glances back to Marco in front of her

He’s still smiling softly at her, not pushing her to come out of her defensive position.

“Do you want to come say hi to him?”

She nods, slowly unfurling herself

Marco gently grabs her hand, walking her right up to Whitebeard himself. He gently nudges her forward so she and the captain can meet each other.

She glances up at him, stretches her wing, and slowly flies up so that she is face-to-face with him

“..ny…mi…ter” she mumbles

He raises an eyebrow

“What was that?”

“You look funny, mister,” she mutters

Whitebeard laughs uproariously.

“Haha! Do I look funny? That is quite an interesting description, young lady. I mean, I suppose I look a bit weird but funny? You’re the only person to ever say that to me.” he snickers

“I like this one, bold one,” he says, glancing down at his sons

“And she’s pretty feisty, I can tell. Not too many kids can call Whitebeard funny,” Thatch adds in

“She’s one of a kind, that’s for sure,” Marco says, smiling at her

“She’s a clingy one, too,” Ace adds

This snaps her out of her shy, fear-filled state as she flies down and barrels into Ace

“Am not!”

Ace laughs, catching her.

“See, clingy!” he says teasingly.

“And a brat, can’t forget that,” Thatch scoffs.

Whitebeard laughs louder, amused by his crew’s responses

She hmph fluttering away from the pair and closer to the giant; she began buzzing around him

Whitebeard chuckles, amused by her playful behavior, as he begins playing with her, making her flutter around.

“Heh, you’re a real-spirited kid. Almost reminds me of a certain someone I know,” he says, looking over to Ace.

“Are you a dragon? You’re big like one.”

Whitebeard laughs at her question, amused by the comparison.

“No, I’m not a dragon. I’m a Human, just a very, very big one.”

“Do you know much about what a devil fruit is, kid?” he asks her

“Yeah! Mister Sabo told me about it! They give you these superb powers, right?”

Ace’s eyes widen

“Oi kid, come over here a sec.”

“Hmm?” They dive down towards the three men

“What?”

“Who did you say told you about a devil fruit?”

“Mister Sabo!”

Ace grins

“By any chance, did this Sabo tell you if he had a devil fruit?”

“Yeah! He said he had a Mera Mera fruit. I thought he was a dragon since he could make fire, but he said he wasn’t a dragon.” She pouts as she says this

“He just ate the Mera Mera and was a fireman! And it’s so funny, 'cause there was this grumpy guy called Dragon, and he wasn’t a dragon either! I was so sad,” she rambles on

Ace burst into laughter, igniting his hand on fire in a similar fashion Sabo had done back then

She looks at it and glances between the flame and Ace’s face a few times

“It’s you!”

Ace grins at her before extinguishing the flames on his hand

“It is me,” he says, confirming the little girl’s discovery

“Mister Sabo said you and him had the same mera mera fruit, which is never heard of!”

Ace nods

“Yup, that’s about right. Me and Sabo both ate a specific type of fruit known as the Mera Mera no Mi; I got really hurt a while ago, was gone for a minute there, which is why we think the mera mera appeared again, and he ate it, so now we both have it’s power” he said pointing to a big scar on his chest

“That’s so cool!” She squeals

“Ah! Are you okay? That looks like a pretty big scar!”

Ace chuckles

“I’m fine now; got seen by the best doctors to get a look at it; one of them is the guy behind you!”

She glances at Marco

“Mister Pineapple did?!”

Marco stills as her comment slight red tint growing on his face while Ace and Thatch start laughing uncontrollably; even Whitebeard lets out a snort at her exclamation

Marco sighs, shaking his head with a slight smile on his face

“Really are a little Rascal,” he mutters

“Yes, I helped patch him up a while back, used my devil fruit,” he said as his body ignited in flames

She gasps

“Did you also eat Mera Mera?”

Marco chuckles

“Not quite. I also ate a devil fruit, but unlike Sabo and Ace, I ate the Tori Tori no Mi.”

“Wah? There’s more than one type?”

“There are hundreds, if not thousands, of them. Each grants you a different power.”

“Superb! Mister Pops, what about you? What fruit did you eat?”

“Me? Well, I happen to have eaten the Gura Gura no Mi. It was a long time ago when I ate it, but it’s a very powerful one. It allows you to control earthquakes and vibrations.” Whitebeard explains with a smile on his face

“That's so cool,” they squeal

“It certainly is,” Whitebeard says, smiling.

“I can do all sorts of things with it, like this.”

He raises his hand, and a massive shockwave emanates from it, shaking the Moby Dick to its core. It even causes the little girl to fly backward into Ace’s arms.

The tiny child squeaks, her coordination being thrown off at the sudden movement

She takes a second to get her surroundings straight but marvels at Whitebeard’s display

“Haha, see what I meant? Pretty potent fruit, huh?” Whitebeard asks, seemingly pleased that the girl is so engaged by his abilities.

Ace takes this as a chance to play around with the little girl a bit, holding her and swinging her slightly as she lands in his arms.

“Ah, that reminds me, Reader, you hungry? I can prepare you something. Got you this in the meantime,” he says, throwing an apple her way

“Thank you! Here!” She says, coughing; the others look worried; their worried stares soon turn into something else as she coughs up some gold coins, offering them to Thatch

They just stare at it dumbfounded as she coughs up gold coins.

“What the hell?!” Thatch exclaims

“Watch your language around her,” Ace says, slapping the back of his head

“Why you…” he growls as they begin brawling

Reader flies above them, laughing at their interactions

“You have a wild family, Mister Pops”

Whitebeard sighs, chuckling at his son’s antics.

“Oh, you have no idea, girl,” he chuckles

Marco laughs quietly at the both of them,

“Settle down, boys,” he chides them, not moving to try and settle the argument between the two of them; as Reader continues laughing at the chaos unfolding, Whitebeard glances at her.

“Man… you’re gonna be a real handful for all of us, aren’t ya?” Whitebeard chuckles

I was intending this to be a real short one but then I couldn’t find a place to stop it without it being to sudden so I just kept going I found a place I could have cut it but then I was like nah, we need more.

Taglist:

@imaginarydreams

@amethystviolin

[girlgenius1111]

no one speaks to you like that

r deals with a cruel coach at the world cup. misa makes it better. feat. the girls finding out that their friends are together.

The door slammed shut behind him, and you exhaled a deep breath, collapsing back onto the bed. You'd never been more unhappy to have your own room than at that moment.

You'd stepped out of the bathroom post shower, just barely throwing on clothes, when you'd heard a knock at your door. You were hoping it was Misa, but when the door opened to reveal Vilda on the other side, you felt your heart sink. He had his characteristic scowl on his face as he stepped past you.

The following 15 minutes were what could only be categorized as verbal abuse. He went after everything; your skills, how hard you were trying, how fast you were, how you were "clearly not" following the meal plan he arbitrarily changed whenever he felt like it. You stood, completely still, looking just over his shoulder, taking it. You wouldn't argue, that never ended well. You didn't let yourself cry either, because he never appreciated tears. Instead, you let the words wash over you, and dug your nails into your palm.

You thought of Misa the whole time. How if she heard what he was saying she'd probably do something to get herself more than benched this time; maybe sent home. The last time Vilda had gone after you like this, he had made the mistake of doing it in view of Misa, who completely lost it at him. Now, she was unlikely to play the rest of the tournament, and Vilda seemed to enjoy screaming at you more than anyone else.

No one knew about the two of you, even if Vilda suspected. No one else had witnessed her reaction to his cruel words directed at you; everyone just knew she'd argued with him, and she would be riding the bench no matter how far we got. The division within the team was stark, and although Misa was a Real Madrid player, she mostly hung out with the Barcelona girls; with you. You'd gotten together a few months ago, and decided to keep it to yourselves, not wanting to deal with her club teammates finding another reason to dislike her.

When Vilda finished, you just wanted Misa. You wanted to wrap yourself up in her strong arms, bury your whole body in her larger one. You never felt safer than when Misa held you tightly to her. You knew that you should probably find Alexia or Irene and tell them what happened, but you didn't want to make a big deal out of it. You pulled out your phone, intending to see if Misa was alone, so you could go to her. You needed to get out of this room; the scent of Vilda's aftershave hung in the room like a fog, and it felt like it was suffocating you.

-Are you by yourself?

-Yes. Do you need me?

You could practically see the smirk lighting up the goalkeepers face as you read her response; you did need her, just not in the way she was implying.

-Can I come up? Vilda just left.

The little bubble that let you know she was typing appeared and disappeared a few times, before her reply came through.

-Dick. Yes, of course, please come up.

With that, you slipped your phone into your pocket, grabbing your room key, and headed out the door. You yanked your hood up, trying to hide the tears leaking out of your eyes. You walked down the hall, trying to keep yourself from crying until you got to Misa's room.

You heard voices coming from the direction of the elevator you were headed too, unmistakably those of Alexia and Jenni. Fuck. You had nowhere to go, and as soon as they saw you, they wouldn't let you out of their sight until you told them what was wrong. You had no choice but to keep walking towards them, turning the corner, hoping they'd be too wrapped up in conversation to notice you.

"Y/n!! We're gonna watch a movie in Mario and Ale's room, come with," Jenni called the minute she spotted you. You didn't know how to say no, so you said nothing, trying to walk past them.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Alexia asked, putting a hand on your shoulder to stop your movements. Again, you didn't say anything, continuing to stare at the ground. A gentle hand came to tug your hood off your head, before lifting your chin up. Your watery eyes met the older girls.

"What happened?" Jenni questioned, looking overly protective even though she didn't know what happened. She kept her hand under your chin, not allowing you to drop your gaze again.

"Nothing, I'm fine, I'm just going to hangout with Ona," you lied, trying to shake off their hands.

"What happened," Alexia asked, in a firmer voice. It wasn't mean, or harsh, but it still reminded you of the verbal lashing you'd just endured, and more tears were flooding your eyes before you could stop them.

"Vilda," you started, before a sob escaped your lips.

"Fucking hell," Jenni swore, pulling you tightly against her. "What did he say?"

"Come on, bring her to my room," Alexia said quietly, looking furious, realizing you weren't going to respond. Jenni maneuvered you down the hall, never letting go, through the door to Alexia's room, before pushing you to sit down on the edge of her bed. You wanted to pull your phone out and tell Misa that you'd been intercepted, but you couldn't do that without arising suspicion. Also, you couldn't really see clearly through the tears blurring your vision.

Alexia spoke a few words to Mariona, who looked equally as murderous as the other 2 girls, and you knew you needed to pull it together and make sure none of them did something stupid. They were all older than you, and were quite protective. It wouldn't be the first time they clashed with Vilda over him mistreating younger players, but with the semifinals coming up, you knew you couldn't risk anyone else getting benched.

The problem was that you were only getting more worked up, even as Jenni wrapped an arm around your shoulders, and began talking quietly in your ear.

"Whatever he said isn't true, I promise. You're an important member of this team, and you haven't done anything wrong," she told you.

You nodded, but the tears wouldn't stop. The embarrassment you felt was only making you cry harder. Alexia took a seat on the other side of you, placing a hand on your back.

"Jenni's right, you haven't done any-" her words were cut off by a frantic knock at the door. You knew who it was, even as the other girls exchanged confused looks. Mariona went to answer it, as Jenni and Alexia looked curiously after her.

No sooner had Mariona opened the door, than Misa's panicked voice was filling the room.

"Have you seen y/n? She texted me that Vilda..." She trailed off as Mariona stepped to the side, revealing your shaking form sitting in between your captains. The other girls watched as Misa's face melted from one of panic into one of pure adoration; one they'd never seen on her face before.

"Y/n, baby," she said, seemingly forgetting that you weren't alone. Your teammates exchanged looks, Mariona and Jenni mouthing “baby??” at each other, as Misa crossed the room, tugging you out from under the arms of Jenni and Alexia, pulling you into hers. They were just as surprised to see you wrap your arms around Misa, clutching tightly to her sweatshirt. Your tears immediately slowed as Misa held you tight, the feel of her around you calming you down instantly.

"I'll kill him," Misa said through clenched teeth, addressing no one in particular.

"Easy there, why don't you tell us what the hell is going on before you go kill him," Jenni said, glaring at Misa. Your Barca teammates had clearly connected the dots, and did not appreciate that you were clearly keeping a secret from them. Misa made to let go of you, make this more of a conversation had with you, rather than one spoken over your head, but you only tightened your grip on her, shaking your head into her chest. Her attention was, again, solely on you as she pulled you over to the other bed, tucking you under one arm as she sat down.

Misa was still gazing at you, fingers scratching lightly at your scalp as you emerged from her chest, wiping harshly at your face. Her hands pushed yours out of the way, ridding your face of tears much more gently than you had been doing. The simple gesture was so sweet, so intimate, and Alexia cleared her throat, drawing both of yours attention back to her.

"Well? How long has this been going on?" She asked, voice no longer the soft tone she had been using with you, instead replaced by what can only be described as her authoritative voice. Misa retreated to the rather quiet version of herself that most people experienced, and you spoke up. Still, her arm remained protectively wrapped around you and no one missed the way you leaned into her unconsciously.

"Since May,"

"And you didn't think you should maybe tell us that you were in a relationship with someone on the team? A relationship that appears to be pretty important to you?" Jenni asked. Her jaw was clenched, but she didn't look like mad Jenni, she looked like sad Jenni. You realized the three of them were not necessarily angry, but hurt that you'd kept this from them. You paused, unsure how to respond to that. In truth, Misa had asked to keep it to yourselves, but you didn't want to throw her under the bus. She had no such reservations.

"I asked her to not tell you guys. I didn't want anyone to know anything until I figured out how serious y/n was about me. And by the time I figured that out, we were at camp, and I didn't want to give my club teammates another reason to be... the way they are with me."

The other girls stared at the pair of you, somewhat stunned at the vulnerability just shown by Misa in admitting all of that. She was a reserved person, a private person, someone much happier to help her friends than allow them in at all.

"Well... that makes sense," Alexia said decisively. "We won't tell anyone."

Misa nodded once, a small smile gracing her lips, before she turned to look down at you.

"What did Vilda say?" She asked, eyeing you carefully. In response, you just shrugged, refusing to make eye contact. You absolutely did not want to discuss what he'd said in front of the rest of your teammates; you trusted them, but the things he had said were humiliating. Misa seemed to pick up on this, as did Alexia, as they quickly made eye contact, and Misa stood, pulling you with her.

"Let's go back to my room, yeah?" She asked quietly, and you smiled gratefully at her. Mariona and Jenni both voiced their disapproval at that idea.

"I have like 15 more questions for the two of you," Jenni protested.

"Yeah, what are we supposed to do, just let you go back to Misa's room all alone? We have a game tomorrow, girls." Mariona said teasingly.

"Alright, let them go." Alexia said, hiding a smirk at Mariona's comment. It really hadn't been that funny, but the way you and Misa immediately blushed, and looked anywhere but at your friends was amusing.

You and Misa walked out of the room, ignoring the suggestive jokes that Jenni and Mariona were making. You walked in complete silence to the elevator and up to Misa's room. You'd broken apart the minute you'd exited the room, and Misa longed to take your hand. Now that you were away from your friends and their teasing, it seemed the weight of whatever Vilda had said to you was settling back on top of you.

You allowed Misa to pull you into her room, nudging you to sit on the bed, as she took a seat next to you. You were distracted, caught up in your own head, only looking up at her worried brown eyes when she said your name softly.

"Are you okay?" She asked, feeling like she probably knew the answer. You shook your head slightly, leaning to lean more against the brunette. "Tell me what he said," she requested, and you sighed.

"More of the usual. I'm not playing hard enough, I'm not fast enough, not good enough," you paused. You looked up at your girlfriend, not sure if you should continue and tell her the worst part. She smiled encouragingly, a smile you only saw on her face when it was just the two of you. "He told me I need to start following the meal plan better, because 'it's clear' that I'm not," you finished quietly.

Misa's hands clenched into fists once again, knowing exactly how those words would effect you. She, more than anyone, knew that you struggled with keeping your habits around eating and working out healthy, and not letting them become obsessive. The goalkeeper reigned in her anger, though, realizing that it was clearly not what you needed from her.

She lifted your chin with one of her large hands, her touch gentler than you thought possible. "He's wrong, baby. You're having an incredible tournament. We're as far as we are partially because of you," she said earnestly.

"And yes, you aren't following his stupid meal plans, because he isn't a dietician, and you need to be careful with how you keep track of what you're putting in your body. You're doing what you need to do to stay healthy, and that is what's important."

You were still looking at her with so much doubt, as though you desperately wanted to believe her, but weren't sure if you could. Deciding that maybe words had taken her as far as they could, she leaned in, pressing her lips to yours, hard, in what she hoped was a reassuring way. You met her with enthusiasm, relaxing into the kiss as your mouths moved in sync with each other.

After a few moments, she pulled back pressing her forehead to yours. You looked slightly dazed, and Misa bit back a smirk at the effect she had on you.

"You are beautiful" she whispered, "you are strong, and you are fueling your body in the way you need to, in order to do your job. And I am so proud of you."

Misa often shocked you with how gentle, how kind and soft she could be. She put on such a hard exterior, all harsh frowns and flexed muscles on the pitch. Off the pitch, she was only slightly less intimidating, opting often to remain quiet and listen, her hard expression only wavering when she was around people she was comfortable with.

She was so different when you were alone with her though, the severe expression that normally rested on her face melting away to soft lips that pressed gentle kisses to your forehead, and wide eyes that looked at you with so much love.

It hadn't started off that way; it had started as passionate, rough hookups. Slowly though, you wore her down. She couldn't get enough of you, and she eventually stopped trying to.

She was enamored with you, and you with her. Privately, she felt that you made her a better person, a kinder person. You felt like she had a unique ability to make you laugh when nothing seemed funny, and hold you together when you felt like you were minutes from falling apart. Like right now. She knew exactly what to say, what to tell you.

"I'll say something to him," she said quietly, and you pushed her off of you, sitting up.

"No, Misa, you can't," you argued. She looked determined, a familiar smoldering look on her face, one she got when she was getting ready to save a penalty.

"Baby, he can't speak to you in that way," she began.

"No!" you responded, almost shouting. She looked at you in surprise, startled to see an incredibly panicked expression on your face.

"Calm down, y/n-"

"No, you can't say something to him. Promise me you won't. Please," you interrupted, almost begging.

"Why? I'm already benched what else could he do?" she wondered.

"He could send you home, Misa. And if you left, I couldn't... I couldn't do this, not without you," you responded, looking at her desperately. Misa brought you back into her arms before responding, holding you tight.

"Alright, baby. I won't say anything. I'm not going anywhere, and you don't have to do this without me," she promised.

"Thank you," you murmured. The goalkeeper smiled at you softly, rubbing your cheek gently with her thumb. You still looked nervous, still upset, biting the inside of your cheek like you were thinking hard. She waited patiently, content to sit in silence until you were ready to say what was on your mind.

"I'm sorry they found out. I just kind of freaked out when I ran into them, and I wanted to find you but they were in the hall..."

"Don't worry about that. I don't care that they found out. I don't care if everyone knows i'm with you. I just care that you're okay," she told you. "Anyway, now that Jenni has probably told the entire team, I can stay in here tonight with you."

You leaned closer against her, more relieved at her saying she'd stay than you'd like to admit.

"But you have a big game tomorrow, and you need to rest. What can I do to get you to sleep?" she asked, knowing you were likely too anxious to be able to sleep right away. Again, you marveled at how well she knew you.

"Hmm," you said, scooting down the bed and rolling onto your stomach. Misa was looking at you adoringly, and you grabbed one of her hands, placing it on your back. She laughed in response, beginning to run her nails lightly up and down. You sighed happily, and she scooted down too, kissing just above your eyebrow, before resting her head on the pillow, continuing her motions. You were drifting off, but still, the thoughts of Vilda and what he'd said to you still bounced around in your head.

"Do you think he'll yell at me again?" you asked groggily, blinking your eyes open just enough to see the girl opposite you.

"No. I won't let him," she responded, sounding completely sure. You nodded, shutting your eyes again. You believed her, inexplicably. Her tone was so confident, and more than that, you trusted her. More than you'd ever trusted anyone before. You fell asleep easily, feeling completely protected with the strong girl next to you, watching as you drifted off.

-----

[maxwellatoms]

Do you think the new division of Cartoon Network Studios will end up exploiting and abusing AI to make new cartoons of their old properties?

I wouldn't put it past any studio to do this.

We're at the end of The Animation Industry As We Know It, so studios are going to do anything and everything they can to stay alive.

The way I see it is:

AI "art" isn't actually art. Art is created by humans to express ideas and emotions. Writing prompts allows a computer to interpret human ideas and emotions by taking other examples of those things and recombining them.

Just because something isn't art doesn't mean that humans can't understand it or find it beautiful. We passed a really fun prompt generation milestone about a year ago where everything looked like it was made by a Dadaist or someone on heavy psychedelics. Now we're at the Uncanny Valley stage. Soon, you won't be able to tell the difference.

It's not just drawings and paintings that are effected, but writing and film. It's every part of the entertainment industry. And the genie is out of the bottle. I've seen people saying that prompt-based image generators have "democratized" art. And I see where they're coming from. In ten years, I can easily see a future where anyone can sit down at their desk, have a short conversation with their computer, and have a ready-to-watch, custom movie with flawless special effects, passable story, and a solid three act structure. You want to replace Harrison Ford in Star Wars with your little brother and have Chewbacca make only fart sounds, and then they fly to Narnia and fistfight Batman? Done.

But, sadly, long before we reach that ten year mark, the bots will get hold of this stuff and absolutely lay waste to existing art industries. Sure, as a prompter I guess you can be proud of the hours or days you put into crafting your prompts, but you know what's better than a human at crafting prompts? Bots. Imagine bots cranking out hundreds of thousands of full-length feature films per minute. The noise level will squash almost any organic artist or AI prompter out of existence.

AI images trivialize real art. The whole point of a studio is to provide the money, labor, and space to create these big, complicated art projects. But if there are no big, complicated art projects, no creatives leading the charge, and no employees to pay... what the fuck do we need studios for? We won't, but their sheer wealth and power will leave them forcing themselves on us for the rest of our lives.

The near future will see studios clamp down on the tech in order to keep it in their own hands. Disney does tons of proprietary tech stuff, so I'm sure they're ahead of the game. Other studios will continue to seek mergers until they can merge with a content distribution platform. I've heard rumors of Comcast wanting to buy out either WB or Nick. That's the sort of thing I'm talking about. The only winners of this game will be the two or three super-huge distribution platforms who can filter out enough of the spam (which they themselves are likely perpetuating) to provide a reasonable entertainment experience.

400,000 channels and nothing's on.

I do think that money will eventually make the "you can't copyright AI stuff" thing go away. There's also the attrition of "Oh, whoops! We accidentally put an AI actor in there and no one noticed for five years, so now it's cool."

One way or another, it's gonna be a wild ride. As the canary in the coal mine, I hope we can all get some UBI before I'm forced to move into the sewers and go full C.H.U.D.

[ghouljams]

Ok so I know you don’t write Keegan into your AUs but I had a thought about the cowboy au like Keegan dating a barrel racer maybe she’s one of gooses friends but I see him with no one else other then a crazy horse girl .

It's funny that I keep thinking Goose is a barrel racer, but honestly she's probably in either bareback or saddle bronc riding. She is absolutely friends with every rider in the circuit though. This is also maybe sacrilege to the cowboy au point but I don't think Keegan has horses. I think he's a sheep farmer, so he's got dogs. Does that stop him from admiring a pretty barrel racer or having a thing for crazy chicks? Nope.

You kiss your filly's nose for about the hundredth time, her ears flicking back and forth with excitement. Everyone has their rituals, and yours win you buckles. You hold your horse's big head between your hands and assure her that if she wins this for you she can have as many carrots as she wants. That seems to spark her attention. Her big wet eyes staring into you with all the trust in the world. You give her another kiss for luck and turn to lead her to your gate.

There's a man in the center of the action, looking around like he's lost. Must've wandered in from the fair, that happens sometimes. As soon as the man lays eyes on you though he's making a bee line in your direction. You squeeze your horse's reigns and lean a little closer to her. Men don't usually approach you, or really any of the other riders in your division. You have a bit of a reputation.

The crowd parts for him. The glare in his eyes clearer the closer he gets. You wonder if maybe you accidentally blew this guy off at some point? Maybe he catcalled you and didn't like how you talked back. You gotta stop taking pointers from bronc riders.

The twisting white skull print on his mask distracts you from the dogtags. It's only when a man jumps out of the way of him that you notice he's holding a dog. That takes some of the scare out of his glare, and you laugh a little when it wags its tail. He stops in front of you and holds out his free hand.

"Keegan Russ," he introduces, his voice rumbles pleasantly in your chest. You stare at his offered hand, still wondering if he's here to enact some sort of revenge. "I don't bite, much." His eyes crinkle at the edges, it softens his face tremendously. Enough for you to take his hand and offer your name as well.

"Your dog looks uncomfortable," You point out, eyeing the large German shepherd that Keegan is carrying. The dog is resting almost limp in his grip, looking around at the horses with keen interest. It sniffs towards your filly.

"Him?" Keegan points at the shepherd under his arm, the dog wags its tail and licks his fingers. In response Keegan shifts his grip, hauling the dog up to his chest to hold like a baby. You don't miss the way his biceps flex, and tighten his sleeves. "He's fine."

The dog does look fine. Perfectly content to be carried around however his owner sees fit. You think it's a little silly looking, but that's all the more reason not to tell him to stop. You giggle, and quickly stop yourself. Oh god he's got you giggling.

"You're not supposed to bring dogs in here," You tell him, you're sure he would've seen the signs outside the doors.

"That's why I'm holdin' onto 'im." Keegan raises his brows, daring you to kick him out. Somehow it makes you smile. The full sentence really drives home the gruffness in his voice. The rough rumble that makes you think he could get anything he wanted from you if he just kept talking like that.

"Did great Riley," Keegan sets the dog down outside, and scratches between his ears, "gonna get you a mom in no time."

"Do you ride?" You ask him, trying to suss out what he'd come over for.

"Don't need to," he sniffs, "I got sheep."

"Really?" You grin, somehow you can't imagine this man with something so... cute. He nods, raising a questioning brow.

"Something wrong with that?" You shake your head.

"No, I just-" you turn to hide your laugh, stroking your filly's nose, "Why're you in here then?" You turn back to him, catch the tail end of another eye crinkle. It makes your chest feel warm and fuzzy.

"This is where the pretty girls are," He tells you plainly. You feel your face heat, a giggle rippling through your chest at the compliment. Keegan switches Riley to being held under one arm again and pats his pockets, drawing out a business card with two fingers. He holds it out to you, and you try not to think about how big his hand is as you take it.

"You're giving me your card?" You question, seems like a strange way to conduct business, but sure.

"My number," he corrects, "if you ever need wool, or dinner." He thinks for a moment, "or dick, 'm pretty good with it."

You open your mouth to respond and close it just as quickly.

"Good with my mouth too," Keegan tugs his mask up, and you get the briefest flash of silver on his tongue as he flicks it out. His mask is pulled back into place quick enough you think it might've been your imagination. "If you're interested."

The loudspeaker calls your name, and you glance up at it then back to him. You stuff his card in your pocket and give him a quick apology before leading your horse towards the ring. You wish you could promise to see him afterwards, but the thought makes you nervous. You've never had someone come on that strong before, you're not sure how to respond.

This guy better not fuck up your run.

Keegan watches you lead your horse towards the gates, swinging up onto the palamino with effortless grace. You were prettier up close, although he shouldve known that would be the case. He doesnt bother with trying to wait for you, you'll call. He's got a sense for these things.

It's an easy walk out of the holding area. People always jump out of the way for him, have since he was in basic. Now that he's outta the army it's funny to watch cities do it.

[forwntrx]

GIRLS LIKE GIRLS ┊͙˚. 13. THE JEALOUS TYPE

𑁍┊how i met you (written flashback)

sweat stuck to your forehead. the higher ups of sm entertainment judged you with sharp, razor focused eyes. they looked at your curves. your thighs. they noted your attitude. your flow. your stability. they only wanted the best of the best.

out of the six in the room, you knew you had a spot on this team.

it wasn’t arrogance. you just knew. you heard it in the upper offices, in overheard meetings with shareholders, this girl group was made for you.

it was just a matter of keeping up with their word—proving yourself over and over, so they’d never have a doubt in your mind. that you wanted this. and you did. more than you had ever wanted to breathe, eat, or drink anything.

the song came to an end. the six of you are in the final poses. you turned around to the representatives at the back of the room. white nametags stuck to your clothes with a number.

you’re number one. the representatives call you out by name. you come forward, and this time they will give you a one word response. pass or fail.

this was the final cut. the final decision on who would be in the group and who wouldn’t.

you’re called first. they looked at you for what could be the final time. they’ve studied you for years.

each one of them nodded their head. internally, you breathed out in relief. not because you thought you wouldn’t make it, but because now you could live without constantly looking over your shoulder. you moved to the other side of the room. who would be next?

the other girls’ in the room, some of them you’ve known for a long time, looked terrified. you held your fingers together, wishing for good results for jimin and yizhuo. luckily, jimin is called second and yizhuo third. the rest of the girls looked ready to vomit, except for one. it’s like the more time went on, the calmer she got. and then you saw why.

you had barely talked to her. she had joined the same time as jimin and yizhuo. they were both her friends. you thought at first she had hated you based on the way she avoided you. but jimin assured you that she was just shy.

but this was not shy behavior. she was confident, assured, even more so as her name was said.

“kim minjeong. pass.”

jimin and yizhuo cheered. the two girls left broke out into tears. you felt the sting. one of the representatives lifted up, and rubbed both of their shoulders.

good luck next time, the representative said.

the four of you bow to them and it finally set in. you were teammates now. no longer did you have to compete and compare.

now, you could be real friends.

jimin offered to treat for the meal out in celebration. you shared millions of laughs and hugs. but still, your eyes only gloss over minjeongs (you hope you are remembering her name correctly). you have no idea what to do—or what to talk about?

how come you always knew what to say except for right now? jimin and yizhou seem to notice the division between you two. as you both finish up eating, yizhou offered to head for ice cream, being the youngest she nominated you to buy. you rolled your eyes before agreeing.

“whoever’s there last is a rotten egg!!” yizhou winked to you, before grabbing jimin and running down the street.

you knew what she was doing; you weren’t gonna run after them, and it seemed like minjeong wasn’t doing that shit either.

you both laugh together for a moment, because yizhou is unbelievable. but then the laughter ended.

there’s an awkward silence that settles between you two. you can feel her eyes on you for a moment. then, you look at her—properly that is. she didn’t wear much makeup, if any at all. her hair is long, and shiny, and her face is oddly..cute? that’s the only way you describe it. you wanted to hug her until she got tired of you and threw you off.

you really wanted to be her friend.

so you smiled at her. “i’m yn. you’re minjeong right?”

minjeong smiled back, then nodded. “that’s me. i think i’ve met you somewhere, no?”

you hum and tap your chin like your in deep thought. “maybe in a mall somewhere?”

“i thought i saw you at that one spa?” minjeong asked with a furrowed eyebrow. there’s a certain glimmer in her eye. like she saw something in you that you didn’t understand.

you will see it more and more over the years.

you both fell into laughter. you shook your head and pointed to the ice cream shop only a bit away.

“how about we race and see who gets there first?”

she rolled her eyes. “i’m winning.”

you grinned. “wanna bet?”

years later, she’d turn into your best friend. aeri would join the group after this. aespa, the name of your group, would debut and soon become something more than just friends.

𑁍┊i’ve waited years

you were tolerating the situation. just one more day. then things would go back to normal. that’s what you kept telling yourself.

the van felt tighter somehow. even though minjeong was right next to you, you two couldn’t be more far apart.

schedules felt long and boring without you two laughing and giggling the whole time. your fingers were cold. your lips were blue. your heart was angry. it was barely december and seoul’s weather still had your teeth helplessly chattering, fingers shaking inside the pockets of your fur jacket. you want to hold her hands, they were always warm like baskets of oven-baked bread, but she was so cold now.

you were good at pretending for others, but you had little luck when it came to minjeong. it’s hard to act like you don’t feel her eyes on you.

her glare never eased up.

it was at practice when you messed up a dance move. at interviews when you laughed and smiled. at schedules when you greeted other groups. at twelve hour flights fresh out the airport.

she wouldn’t say anything. wouldn’t even open her mouth to let you know what was going on. she would just blink and look at you with those big pretty eyes of hers.

you hated the way she frowned when you spoke. you wanted her to smile. somehow, you made her feel this way, and you had no idea how.

you tried to touch her, hold onto her, hold onto some part of her she had now locked away from you; and become confused when she just..pushes you away. like you meant nothing.

you kept trying. everytime, she’d brush you off with a timid, half-assed laugh.

at first it hurt.

then it started to annoy the shit out of you. it was breaking you. there was only so much you could take.

now, it’s the second week of schedules. as of today, minjeong has ignored you for a solid five days. you asked jimin about it, and she just shook her head. then, you asked ning ning. she wore that guilty look on her face like she knew.

last, you went to aeri. they all knew what was going on, but no one wanted to be the one to break the truth. aeri is the only one who’ll tell you a little portion of it.

she’s mad, she told you. yeah, you already knew that. so you asked why. she shrugged, and said, when isn’t she? and you rolled your eyes.

you finally understood at a particularly late practice. in three weeks time, your group would be releasing a single for sm station. a remake of a popular girl group song. you liked your parts. you and minjeong went toe-for-toe with drawn-out high notes, and she sounded beautiful.

the legendary boa was mentoring you all, making sure everything being worked on was crisp, pristine, and neat. you’ve been worked this hard before, but that didn’t make it less tiring.

you knew the dance well. you had picked it up the fastest. five minutes. but that didn’t mean you were a robot. in the middle of the song, you collapse. the whole room rumbled in annoyance.

you breathed hardly, and made something of an apology. aeri instantly dropped to your side and rubbed your back.

“don’t worry about it, yn. you’ve been going hard this whole time. calm down,” she smiled, trying to make the tense air lighter.

though no one said anything about it, everyone was tired and wanted to go home. your inability to keep going was only making things worse. you wish you could pull it together, but the pain in your abs from hours and hours of hardwork begged you to rest.

beside you, minjeong whispered. “how many times are you gonna mess up the same part?” you almost snapped. it took everything in you to close your eyes and focus on your breathing.

not in front of boa. not right now. you opened your eyes and glared up at her. she looked away in surprise. yeah, i definitely heard you.

“all right,” boa said, her eyes flickering from you to minjeong in confusion. “someone get her some water, and we’ll go over this tomorrow i think. i’m gettin’ a little tired. yn?”

everyone let out a little noise in relief. ten hours of practice, and now, they were granted with a couple hours of sleep.

you looked up to boa. “i’m sorry. i don’t know what’s up with me today.”

boa shook her head. “you’re fine. you’re a phenomenal dancer. one of the best i’ve met. that’s not what i want you to worry about.”

jimin ran to grab you some water and once she had your bottle, kneeled beside you and carefully held the drink to your lips. you gulp it down in five seconds. she pulled it away from your lips and nodded. aeri, still beside you, continued to rub your back supportively. though everyone was tired, they still would always make sure you were good. minjeong, even with how things were with you two, was looking down at you worriedly.

“you okay?” she asked. “i’m sorry for my comment. i let my tiredness get the best of me.”

you wiped away the excess water from the corner of your lips. “it’s whatever.” you’re cold. she winced. yeah, you can do it too.

boa made a face at your communication. you can tell by her face what she’ll say next. you want to wince next. fuck.

“i can tell you both know it well, but yn, i want you to work with minjeong for a short while on the part you two have together. there seems to be a little bit of tension here. for it to have the best look, you have to work together.”

easier said than done.

the others waste little to no time on getting out the room. your manager peaked his head inside, said he’d back for you two later, and ushered the others out the building. you groaned as the door shut behind him. now there was no telling when he’d be back. ‘a short while’ could be another two hours.

you weren’t fond of picking up others messes. to you, this was a mess that wasn’t your responsibility to fix. minjeong was mad. okay? you had already asked her five million times what was wrong. it was her choice to sit there, mope, and glare at you instead of helping you fix the issue.

jimin is the last to leave the room. she gave you both a look and whispered to you. fix it. why was it always your responsibility?

you loved minjeong. you did. but you weren’t doing shit until she said something.

the practice room is eerily quiet. you noticed her small movements. she walked across the sleek wood, rummaged through her bag, drunk some water, closed the cap, and took her position at the mirror. you turn to look at her, head to toe—messy hair, grey sweatpants, loose grey t-shirt, bare face. you loved her like this. she looked so new. not like winter, but like minjeong.

you wished she would look back at you.

instead, she spoke.

“let’s just do the part so we can go home and sleep.” she said.

“yeah, sure.” you slowly nodded your head. you hated the way her words lingered in the air. you lean forward to a long table on the left side of the mirrors. there’s some cds on the table and a music player. you press down on the familiar track, and quickly get into position before it began. an electronic beat entered your ears. you count down.

jimin opened the song, then ning ning, then you.

you mumbled the lyrics, expertly and skillfully dancing on the beat. minjeong followed after you with small little moves, only going all out when her parts come on. her voice is strong, powerful, and feminine. she had gotten her lines down in two takes. if there was one thing minjeong could do, it was sing her ass off.

you tried your hardest to just focus on your own body in the mirror, how it moves and flows from years of practice and natural talent. but minjeong is distracting. there’s something about her dancing. it’s not unique or jaw-breaking. but it’s sharp, and steady, and focused. she knew what she was doing. she loved what she was doing.

you missed your part. you blinked. fuck. she was distracting. you quickly tried to match up your footwork with hers but you’re a beat behind. minjeong let out an exasperated sigh.

she paused the song and quickly spun around to you with arms folded against her chest. “what’s up with you?”

you have to stop yourself from screaming. why is she making this your fault? why is she acting like YOU did this?

“what’s up with me? what’s up with you!” you didn’t know why your voice was so loud. it’s been years since you’ve spoken like this to her. you didn’t raise your voice much, it wasn’t in your personality but you couldn’t help it. minjeong pushed your buttons and now she took it too far.

“what?” she asked, playing dumb.

“don’t WHAT me! you’ve been avoiding me for days. in real life, in texts, at work! it’s exhausting!”

her eyes narrowed and her bottom lip quivered with anger. you both took steps. breaking the gap between you two. you got the closest you have gotten in days. you could smell her easily. sweat, amber, and vanilla. you could almost taste her.

“i’m exhausting?” she asked, her voice growing louder.

“you know that’s not what i meant!” you’re almost yelling. she is too.

“sure it is! you’ve stopped making time for me!started hanging out with other people! stopped texting when you go out! what am i suppose to think, yn?”

you laughed in a slightly condescending way. she recoiled. “i’m not your girlfriend, minjeong! i don’t need to constantly update you on my whereabouts!”

her face flashed with hurt, before it quickly went away. “you disappeared, yn! you can’t do that. you could’ve been hurt, or dead, or something—i don’t know! you don’t just abandon your friends!”

you stared at her for a moment. she’s talking about after the show. when you snuck off with yunjin. she’s still upset over it.

both of you are breathing hard. her chest rose and fell. the room was quiet. you hyper-focus on the sound of fast cars zooming through seoul, the energetic chatter of people on the streets, the sizzling pans of street vendors. the faint violin strings from another practice room. she surveyed your face, searching for any type of an answer.

“you sound jealous of yunjin.” you said. it made perfect sense. you had friends, but none of them were as important to you as minjeong. she never had to deal with competition before.

how she saw it, yunjin was competition. you didn’t see it the same way. you could admit you had messed up in this situation, as everyone was saying. but you can tell that’s not the only thing she’s upset over. minjeong won’t admit it, but you knew it was yunjin.

minjeong is shocked. she shook her head. “i’m not!” she yelled again.

“yunjin is my friend, you’re my friend!” now you’re yelling again. minjeong is quick to cut you off.

“please,” she’s exasperated. she’s close. your eyes widened, but you don’t take a step back, “don’t lie to me. i know you.”

you paused. you didn’t think of it much—the possibility of your feelings for yunjin. you liked her company, you thought she was cute. maybe pretty. no, honestly, she was beautiful. but feelings? that was something big, that was something too tangible for someone like you. that was real. you didn’t do real. not like that.

you loved your career. your band mates. your fans. your friends. you didn’t have room in your life for a relationship. for something so new.

“i don’t have feelings for yunjin!” do you mean it? you don’t know. this is all new. and it might be real.

minjeong wanted to believe you did. “yn—“

this time, you cut her off. “be honest with me! for once, minjeong. tell me the truth.”

you’re high off the tension, off the senseless anger. you closed the space, whatever is left, between you two. her eyes widened next and for some reason, they flicker down and then back up to your eyes. what?

she swallowed. it’s quiet again. she couldn’t deflect now.

“if it’s not yunjin, then i’m seriously confused. i just want to fix things, okay—” you tried to continue, but minjeong groaned.

“fuck it.” minjeong’s fingers grabbed onto your waist, jutting you forward. you gasped.

she scrambled your brain into soup. your skin felt like it was on fire. your eyes fell onto her lips. they’re so pink. you’ve never seen them this close—her breath fanned against your lips—this barely made sense. you can’t form a sentence, or even think, because none of this made sense.

“m..minjeong..” you are able to whisper out.

minjeong is in another world. she’s usually shy, non-confrontational, always in her own head, but now she’s present. here with you.

“would you be surprised if i told you i’ve wanted to kiss you since i met you?”

you’re lightheaded. what? you tried to make a sentence, but it just came out in a gibberish mess. she laughed a little.

“you’re always so cute when you’re confused.”

you want to say something, anything, but then she asked you a question.

“can i kiss you?”

and you swear you can hear your heartbeat in your ears. this is real. too real. and you should say no, but she’s too pretty like this—and something deep inside of you wanted this—and then you’re nodding your head—but then she’s talking again.

“i need to hear you say it.”

you knew that a kiss would change everything—your relationship would never be the same—are you ready for that? are you ready for this? but then her lips parted slightly, and you lost all train of thought, and for some reason you’re whispering—“kiss me,” so gently you thought she didn’t hear you.

but she did. she’s just taking it in. like she had been waiting for this. you realize that she had. and then her lips were pressing onto yours.

her fingers cupped your cheek, and you leaned into the touch. her scent of amber and vanilla is overpowering you, but you couldn’t get enough.

the kiss was careful, scared—and you start to panic—you’ve never done this before, with minjeong and—you thought of yunjin.

no. no. no. you pulled away before you could overthink even more.

minjeong realized instantly that second. you regretted it. her cheeks’ fled red. “i’m sorry, yn. so sorry. i—i’m sorry.”

you hated the way she hid from you. you wanted to tell her, you don’t regret her. it. but you don��t know what you’re feeling right now. but still, you reach out to her, but she’s already running from you.

running from her emotions, again. running from communication, again.

“wait, minjeong—”

but she’s already gone, and the door of the practice room slammed after her.

you stood alone. confused. you took the ride back to the dorms by yourself.

yunjin called you later that night.

you declined it.

𑁍┊masterlist －previous — next

and that’s act one

i enjoyed this throughouly

don’t worry yunyn agenda you will have a comeback!!! ;)

𑁍┊ a/n: i’m sorry, i’m really putting y’all through it 😭😭😭

𑁍┊ taglist: open :) @runawaymazola @wintersgff @winieter @luvjanexx @justme-idle @sewiouslyz @lcv3lies @yerisdumbass @nasyu-kookies @kchwnsgf @jeindall777 @dr-wholehearted @thoughtfulqueenlady @yunalvrrr @juhyunsthirdwife @haerinfangs @awkwardtoafault @idk-idc-rn @unforgiven-000-hotline @dream-chasers-things @pandafuriosa60 @1r3n31ty

[david-talks-sw]

The Sith don't want peace.

I've seen some fans use the below quote by Lucas in the Revenge of the Sith director's commentary to frame Darth Sidious/Sheev Palpatine as "evil but with well-meaning intentions".

"Lord Sidious thinks he's bringing peace to the galaxy because there's so much corruption and confusion and chaos going on. Now he's gonna be able to straighten everything out, but the price the galaxy is gonna have to pay for it is way too much."

And uh... no.

Sidious thinking that him ruling the galaxy will bring about peace as a byproduct and him wanting to bring about peace are two very different things.

He's not doing what he does for altruistic reasons. He's a selfish dick who is saying that technically the galaxy won't be fighting anymore and the corruption in the Senate will be quelled... because of course it will be, they'll all be under his thumb in his totalitarian regime.

So Palpatine is not lying, but he's not being genuine either. And that's his whole schtick.

"The Jedi are holding you back, Anakin." Yes, because Anakin has a tendency of flying off the handle, mainly because you enable him to give in to his darker instincts, Sheev!

"The Jedi are trying to take over!" Temporarily? Yeah. Because you're a dictator who orchestrated a war and cemented division across the galaxy, and everyone behind you is corrupt to the bone, SHEEV!

He's not Thanos or Killmonger, he's not the "if you think about it, he's actually a good guy who took it too far" villain.

This is a modern myth with a binary view of good and evil. He's Iago, Jafar, Freezer. He's not "gray", he's the classic "he's evil because he can be" villain. The Emperor is the Devil. As stated by Lucas himself:

"Palpatine is the Devil. There’s no fall from grace there. He’s the evil one." - Starlog Magazine #337, 2005

And the Sith are not pragmatists or people who try to bring positive change using their passion. They're not "free thinkers" who "follow their own path". They're not "religiously persecuted for pursuing knowledge beyond the dogma of the Jedi".

And this battle between the Jedi and Sith, thousands years prior to the films ⬇️...

... it didn't happen the way it's shown in the comic panel. That's Sidious showing horrific unreliable visions to Maul - a child - to indoctrinate him into hating the Jedi.

You know who does that? A cult. That's what the Sith are.

Hell, their code was partly based on Mein Kampf.

The whole "the Jedi 'limit' but the Sith 'embrace' and that's why we're being hunted down" line is just that. A line.

It's what the Sith tell themselves to justify the fact that they fucked with Dark Magic, got corrupted, and are now making it everyone else's problem.

"The Sith are people who are very self-centered and selfish. [They] learned how to manipulate both sides of the Force, and then they fell into the trap of being corrupted by the dark side." - Sci-fi Online, 2005

Which is why the Jedi step in, to stand up to them.

"The Jedi are the enemy of the Sith because the Sith want to dominate the galaxy, to control everything, and for a thousand years they have had a plot against the Jedi." - Sci-fi Online, 2005

The Sith just wanna subdue and control everyone around them, including the Force itself, to fashion the galaxy in their image.

"The end game for the Sith was to bring the world into a very selfish, self-centered, greedy, evil place, as opposed to a compassionate place." - James Cameron's Story of Science Fiction, 2018

So sure, have fun with your The Old Republic OC, go to town.

But when it comes down to it, when we're talking about the intended narrative (I'm looking at you, The Acolyte):

The Sith don't care about peace, they're literal religious extremists.

While some Sith may say they're misunderstood and some may justify themselves as being altruistic... at the end of the day, they're objectively not. They're greedy, power-hungry and self-centered.

They're the anti-theme to Star Wars' theme of "be compassionate".