#depends on if i open my computer tomorrow or not

[crescentmoonrider]

to anyone who wanted to ask for a valentines event kiss drawing but didnt

im closing up shop now

better luck next year. or whenever i decide to do this again

[mxstellatayte]

hiiii ! could you write a part 2 for the charles and the vibe fic?

YIPPEE!!

i was gonna write it anyways but now i have an excuse to do it!

warnings: this is pure filth, threesome (mmf,) p in v sex, unprotected sex (DONT DO THAT,) mirror sex, carlos is an ass guy, charles is a boobs guy tho, kinda exhibitionism?, creampie, sex under the influence kinda?, it's all consensual though!

all you wanted to do was tease charles. all you wanted to do was see how much you could tempt his resolve before it would crumble. you had no idea it would result in getting eaten out in the bathroom and then promptly realizing that carlos had heard the whole thing and had covered for you and charles.

in exchange, carlos wanted to make even on a bet that he and charles had made at the start of the 2023 season.

monaco. february 10th, 2023.

"what do you think the odds are that one of us wins a race this year?"

charles looked up from the chessboard, his eyebrows furrowing. "what do you mean?"

"i was looking at the red bull and mclaren numbers and our car splits them. we have a fighting chance this year, so do you think one of us will get a win this year?" charles moves a rook, taking one of carlos' pawns.

"it depends. if my entire radio just sounds like 'we are checking, we are checking' and i have to make my own strategy and tyre calls, maybe. if xavi learns basic engineering and communicative skills or gets replaced altogether, i'd say yeah, there's a chance."

"you wanna bet?"

"what are we betting?"

carlos hesitates, then looks up when he hears the door opening. something clatters in the closet before you can be heard cursing quietly, then rearranging the fallen shoes onto the rack. eventually, you come through the doorway to the living room, and, when you see carlos, your face lights up.

"carlos! cómo estás?" (how are you?) you walk over and lean down, kissing his cheek in greeting.

"bien. un poco nervioso para bahrain, pero el carro maneja fantástico este año. y vos?" (good. a bit nervous for bahrain, but the car drives amazing this year. what about you?) you walk over to the kitchen while he's talking and pull out ingredients to make yourself a bowl of yogurt and berries- your favorite snack to have after work before you take your pit bull out for a walk.

"i'm alright. the marketing team made a stupid mistake so i had to do some damage control that took way longer than it should have, but i know martin is going to give them absolute hell tomorrow for it, so at least it doesn't reflect badly on me." your bowl clinks on the countertop as you sit down at the island and take out your computer, your headphones that were previously resting around your neck being slipped over your ears. "i've got some emails to write for an upcoming content creator collab we're doing, so i'll be in my zone. you guys know the drill?"

charles nods. "hermit mode?"

you smile, slipping the second speaker over your ear. "hermit mode."

a few moments pass before carlos speaks again. "are you okay with betting her?"

charles' eyebrows raise. "what do you mean?"

carlos makes his move on the chessboard. "if i win more races than you this year, i get her for a night. if you win more races than me, you can use me for a night. however you want."

the thought of his teammate and closest friend getting to fuck you lights a fire inside of charles, and while he wants nothing more than to agree to the bet purely for the stakes of it, he needs to check in with you first. "can i run it by her and get back to you on that?"

carlos nods. "just get me an answer by bahrain so we can figure something else out if she doesn't want to do that."

italy. february 3rd, 2024.

you had forgotten about the bet. charles and carlos had not.

now, just minutes later, you find yourself with your back once again against the wall, but this time you're staring into carlos' eyes while he fingers you gently, your legs wrapped around his waist and charles leaning against the vanity facing both of you. your eyes unintentionally flick over carlos' shoulder to your boyfriend who is an absolute mess. he's palming himself over his slacks, and you can tell just from the flush in his face that creeps down to his neck and the way his eyebrows are pinched together that he likes what he sees. before you can eye-fuck him the way you know he likes, carlos pulls his fingers out of you and you whine, but he carries you over to the vanity and taps your ass to get you to let go. "spin around, amor. let me see that beautiful ass of yours."

this is a side of carlos that you've never seen before, and it would be a lie to say that it's not hot. without a second thought, you spin yourself around so that your back is resting against his chest and your ass rests against his crotch. "come on, hermosa. bend over." as slowly as you can, you lean forward, resting your hands on the vanity and grinding yourself against him and you swear you can feel his dick twitch inside of his own black slacks. as soon as your forearms are fully resting on the granite vanity, carlos runs his hands down your back and to the front of your legs where he pulls the scarlet fabric of your dress to gather on your left side, the slit opening so that your entire ass is exposed. "no panties?" oh. you forgot about that.

"i kept them for good measure," charles says, pulling them out of his pocket. "you want 'em? you might have to shut her up. she never stops moaning."

"i know. i heard everything. you two are lucky i was the one outside and not anyone else. now," carlos says, taking your panties from your boyfriend and shoving them in his pocket, "do you feel like returning the favor?"

the whiskey you'd downed earlier is taking its effect, and you can't help but bite your lip and nod. normally, you wouldn't be nearly as confident as you are now with someone other than your boyfriend having you in the position you're in right now, but you trust carlos and frankly, you're too turned on to care. charles is in the same room and you're both comfortable enough in your relationship that it's okay. "yes, carlos. i'll return the favor. whatever you want." as you're talking, you can hear carlos unbuckle his belt and unzip his slacks, and when there's finally one layer of fabric between the two of you, carlos reaches into his jacket packet and pulls out a condom. before he opens it, though, you pipe up, your voice embarrassingly breathy and high. "i'm clean and on the pill. don't waste it if getting me pregnant is your only concern."

"are you sure?" carlos says, glancing over at charles. your boyfriend only responds with a shrug and points his thumb at you.

"whatever she says. you're the one fucking her."

carlos doesn't waste a second setting the condom on the vanity, pulling his slacks and underwear down his thighs just enough so that it's comfortable, and pushing into you. you have to bite your lip and cover your own mouth to prevent yourself from moaning too loudly, the stretch from carlos being so different to the one you're accustomed to with charles.

when you look up, carlos' head is thrown back and his hands grip your hips so tight his knuckles are white. it might be the hottest sight you've ever seen. "carlos." your voice is whiny, and you're shocked you can even get his name out.

"hm?"

"fuck me, please."

"are you sure?" his voice lilts in the way you're used to hearing, but this time, there's something slightly different about it. maybe it's the fact that he's currently buried inside of you, his hips flush with your own, or maybe it's the fact that every time you move your head to look up at him, your cunt squeezes around him so perfectly he fears he might cum within three thrusts, but either way, you feel so, so perfect.

"positive. now please. fuck. me." slowly, carlos pulls his hips back before pushing into you, slowly increasing his pace until every time his body meets your ass, you're shoved forward slightly on the counter and your breasts bounce forward, almost falling out of the low neckline of your dress.

"mierda, amor, tienes un coño hecho para mi," (shit, love, you have a cunt made for me,) carlos groans out, pulling your arms back and holding them with one hand while the other goes to hold you up by your neck. the restriction to your windpipe makes your head spin and the new angle has carlos' entire cock running against your g-spot with every thrust. you're able to wiggle your hands free, your left hand reaching back to tug at carlos' hair and your right goes down to rub circles around your clit, making you tighten around carlos' dick, and the combination of the pain from his hair being pulled and your cunt spasming around him makes him tip over the edge.

the feeling of carlos filling you up in turn sends you into your own orgasm, and as you cum, you look to your left, where charles jerks himself off watching you. when you make eye contact with him, though, it's the last straw and he spills into his hand with a quiet groan and his head thrown back.

the three of you catch your breaths and carlos pulls out of you gently, then shoves his cum back inside of you. the forgotten egg vibrator in charles' coat pocket is reinserted into your cunt and you whine at the overstimulation, slightly anxious that charles might tease you again, but he whispers a quiet promise in your ear that you've been good tonight, he won't turn it on anymore.

eventually, carlos slips out of the bathroom and you follow shortly after, walking back down the large hallway to return to the event. later that night, after speeches have been made, hollow promises have been spoken, and many, many bottles of expensive champagne have been toasted with, you make your way back outside, your arm linked with charles' as he calls his car to be pulled with the valet service. carlos walks up and stands next to the two of you, his car already on its way up, and turns to you.

"i'd say the bet is settled, no?"

there you have it folks :D

[literaila]

a virus 

tasm!peter x fem!reader 

summary: 

“did you try turning it off and then back on?” 

“three times.” 

warnings: peter is an asshole, reader is an asshole (a great paring i assure you)

a/n: this was a work in progress. and now it is out on the internet. because i need storage and you need some of my sarcastic comments 

*

in all fairness, you were a little bit stressed. 

and by a little bit stressed—depending on a paper for 30% of your grade without any internet. 

or a computer that worked. 

and of course, the lack of any manners. 

"did you try turning it off and then back on?" 

if you were going to try anything it would be banging your head against your desk until you properly erased any record of your existence.

"three times." 

the man--who by the way, left you on hold for five minutes--hums. "what'd you say you were doing?" 

"trying to write a research paper." 

"on sketchy websites?" 

you take a deep breath. you try and avoid yelling at this man through the microphone. “from a bunch of google approved websites,” you say, voice tight. “what can i do to get it working?” 

“it sounds like you have a virus.” 

“great," you drawl because this conclusion had not occurred to you. "what do i do?” 

the man is silent for about thirty seconds, and then: 

“i can get you an appointment to bring your computer in sometime in the next week.” 

“what can i do to get it working tonight?” 

there’s a quick huff of air. “do you know how to code?” 

“are you serious?” 

“that was rhetorical.” 

if this man didn’t sound completely nonchalant, about the age of a fifty-year-old—meaning your age—and had any more attitude than he does, you would hang up. 

if your paper wasn’t due tomorrow, you would hang up. 

“i need my computer tonight.” 

“you could try walmart.”

“aren’t you supposed to be helpful?” 

the man laughs like this is funny. “sorry, i’m a bit out of practice. most people don't click on the link a random ‘banker’ sends them.” 

“i didn’t click on anything.” 

“you have a virus.”

“i’m really bad with computers. i’m pretty sure i’m incapable of clicking anything.” 

“apparently not.” 

“can't you do anything? you’re smart.” 

“you assume that because i got this job that i’m smart?” 

“okay. you’re supposed to know what to do.” 

“i could fix it,” this man says, “if i was there.” 

he also hates you.

“okay, great. just tell me what to do.” 

“i already asked if you knew how to code…” 

you groan and fall over in your seat. 

he laughs again. “you could ask for an extension.” 

“an extension,” you repeat because you obviously haven't thought of that. 

you obviously don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. 

“for whatever you’re working on.” 

“because that’s how life works. are you going to ask for an extension to fix my computer?” 

“im just saying.” 

“no. i already got the extension.” 

“you already got the extension?”

this man thinks you’re an idiot. 

he’s also got a very nice voice. 

“there were some… personal problems. my professor was nice enough to make an exception.” 

“but not nice enough to do it twice?” 

“it feels wrong to ask.” 

“did it feel wrong to put it off until tonight?” 

you pause. looking for an argument that isn’t there. “you need to work on your customer service.” 

he laughs. “so i’ve been told.” 

and you stop. 

you think about all of the possible solutions to this problem. 

and the man who you have subjected to your irresponsibility. 

“i’m sorry,” you whisper, knowing that he can hear. “i’m being rude. i’m just stressed.” 

“it’s okay. you’d be surprised how many people yell at me each night.”

“i don’t think i would." 

he laughs. his voice is smooth and warm. a bed to fall into and sleep until eternity. “what’re you working on, again?“

“a research paper.” 

“is it done? are you just editing? because there are libraries open all night.” 

“no. i thought it was, but there’s a… it doesn’t matter. and it's cold.” 

“you have more research to do?” 

“yeah.”

“is it a lot?” 

“no,” you say. “not really.” 

there’s a brief pause. 

he might’ve hung up already. 

but then the man whispers, “okay.”

you wait. 

“what should i look up?”

*

"wikipedia." 

"just click on it." 

"this is how you got the virus." 

you sigh again, fingers tapping restlessly on your desk. 

you've been sitting here for the past twenty minutes, waiting for this boy to listen to you. 

he hasn't, of course. it turns out that you both share the lack of social ability. because you can't seem to be nice to him, and in return, he understands none of this. 

but he's pleasent enough. he laughs at your absurdity instead of mocking it. 

and you've already thanked him more than once. 

"i wouldn't have a virus if someone was better at his job--" 

"--that's a strange thing to say to someone helping you--" 

"now, will you just read me the quote?" 

"you're stressed about a research paper in which you're using wikipedia as one of your sources?" 

"i'm stressed about failing out of college." 

"that's not really how it works," the boy says because he's infuriating. 

but also nice. because he's been sitting here arguing with you and still hasn't hung up. 

even when you threatened to steal his computer. 

nonetheless. 

"i know how it works. what does it say?" 

"it says 'find another source.'" 

you are silent. you type a million curse words into the text on your phone. swear to whatever god is laughing at you right now that you will get them back. 

swear that you're going to go to bed right now and face the actual consequences of procrastination. 

or you'll fake your death. either way. 

"i'm not going to help you bomb an essay," the boy scoffs. "i'm gonna go look at the websites linked." 

"or you could just do what i say." 

"who's the one with the computer here?" 

"...what does it say?" 

*

"i disagree." 

"you disagree on the undeniable brilliance of footloose?" 

you spin around in your chair, smile slightly unnerving. "i disagree that you have good opinions." 

"says she who has broken her computer." 

this boy has a warm voice. he has a slightly teasing tone, even when he's attempting to be serious. and in the short time that you've known him, you've already picked up on the sardonic voice. different from his sarcasm. 

"the internet broke my computer." 

"the internet is a very noble place. it would never. now, scammers on the other hand..." 

"i understood about three percent of what you just said." 

he laughs, microphone muffled as something moves in the background. "okay, so you hate good movies. noted. what do you think about good tv shows?" 

"like what?" 

"um," he pauses. "friends." 

"i really hope you didn't just say that to me." 

"there's a reason that it's popular." 

"that reason would be conventional attractiveness combined with stupidity." 

"or that it's really good." 

"you know, i know a really good doctor. he can help you." 

any research paper that you may or may not have almost finished is forgotten. 

instead, you've been talking to this boy--the boy who refused to help you fix your computer and instead has monopolized this conversation completely--for the last hour. 

about movies and school and winter break. leaving and never coming back. 

anything, really. 

he is surprisingly easy to talk to. easy to laugh at. 

and, of course, you're completely delirious because it's four am and you have a paper due in the morning. but, at this current moment, it doesn't seem to matter. 

you want coffee. 

"maybe you should give him a call," this boy says. "not for me. just... to chat." 

"i am very mentally stable," you say, thank you very much. 

"you threatened me earlier." 

"an un-rare occasion, i'm sure." 

the boy laughs because there's something funny about that. "i'm very likable." he mocks your tone. 

"again with the opinions..." 

"i can't just not share them." 

"you can actually. you really can." 

and you, apparently, can't hang up. 

*

"no." 

"wow. and i thought we were getting close." 

"as usual, you're wrong." 

he laughs. "this is ironic, coming from you." 

"i'm hanging up." 

"you still need to finish your research." 

you scoff, throwing another piece of paper at the wall. 

it's not a waste, merely art. 

"i just have to finish the citation. easy." 

"that is definitively the hardest part." 

"maybe for you, tech guy."

he laughs again, softer this time. 

you've both gotten quieter. laughter is a mere whistle in the wind. 

and your throat is a bit sore. 

you've been talking to this man for four hours.

"how long are you supposed to be on the line?" 

"it's available until two in the morning." 

"it's almost six." 

"yeah." 

"you've just been sitting here talking to me?" 

"well, it's not really worth it to go to bed anymore." 

"yeah." 

something lingers. 

"i'm peter, by the way." 

peter, you think. you wonder nothing about him. you think nothing of the name. 

you think about walking around campus until you accidentally run into someone. 

"y/n," you say. 

he echoes your name back to you. 

*

part two

my masterlist here.

tags:   @moonlarking-blog @v1ci0us @preciousbabypeter @alexxavicry @directioner5life @inthegetawaycarwithtaylah @localrockstargf  @thestudiouswanderer @take-my-hand-time-boy @thoughtsofagodlovingsunflower @nyomjoon   @raindropstearsandtea @rqmanoff​

[loftec]

weekly tag wednesday thursday 👏

Tagged by @deedala @mmmichyyy and @wehangout thanks pals! <3

Name:  loftec

Location:  Sweden

Age: 3...8? Yes. 38.

You have an unexpected extra day off work or school!  What are you going to do? Pack my breakfast to go and eat it by the ocean after a swim, write at the library, do a bunch of second hand shops on the way home, do some crafting.

What is your favorite way to spend a summer day?  Early ocean swim to avoid the heat and the crowds, and then hang out inside with doors and windows open.

What is your favorite way to spend a winter day? Midday ocean swim lol, hang out at home and hopefully get extra snuggles from the cat (he's not normally very snuggly)

What do you do to unwind at the end of the day?  I like to sand little bits of wood into shapes, very relaxing. But mostly I'm on tumblr and watch youtube.

Do you play any sports?  No.

Other than fanfic, what is your favorite genre to read?  Fantasy and sci-fi mostly, right now I'm reading "Light From Uncommon Stars" by Ryka Aoki and "The Well of Loneliness" by Radclyffe Hall.

What is your comfort movie/tv show?  I would say Community and IT Crowd for comfort tv-shows because I have historically rewatched them a LOT and they are, but the last couple of years I would say I have more comfort YouTube videos. Hbomb's Sherlock video, ContraPoints's various JKR videos, Jenny Nicholson's Spiderquest or Escape from tomorrow is a dumb exercise in misery, or Folding Ideas's video series on 50 shades etc etc. Comfort movies for me are weirdly movies that make me cry, but they make me cry in very different ways so it depends on what type of cry I want. I'll spare you my lists of crying movies lol.

Do you write or draw?  A little bit of both, but writing is the thing I do purely for the fun of it.

What other arts or crafts do you do?  I do printmaking and bookbinding and odd little wooden earrings/pendants I'm still not sure is anything. I also like to 3d sculpt and making miniatures. Oh and I'm crocheting a temperature blanket this year, which I'm terribly behind on at the moment.

Describe your perfect breakfast: This year I've been making a very nice oat porridge with mushrooms, miso and spinach for breakfast on weekdays and I love it, can't imagine anything I'd want more tbh. I make my coffee just the way I like it, and sometimes I boil an egg to put on top the porridge *chef's kiss* I guess some nice juice with that would elevate it even more, and a fresh chocolate glazed donut after? If it's a special occasion?

Tagging anyone who wants to do this! My computer is not happy with me right now so I need to post this before it does something drastic!

[inconspicious-random-thoughts]

Do you think we'll get an arc of Husk getting free of his deal with Alastor alongside an arc of Angel freeing himself from Valentino? From what little we've seen of their dynamic, Alastor is just as cruel towards him as Valentino is towards Angel, even if the Radio Demon isn't as much of a control freak as the moth overlord. Husk doesn't like to talk about his vulnerabilities any more than Angel does, but I think as Angel starts to let himself be more open about how Val treats, Husk might follow suit. Charlie has proven that she is willing to fight Valentino in Angel's defense when she sees the former merely shove Angel, and I doubt she'd let Husk be treated the same way if she was given more insight into how the grouchy cat is oppressed by Alastor and would try to help give him a way out of his deal.

Hello there, my friend.

I been wanting to ramble about Husk, particularly his relationship with Alastor. I think, I'll restrain myself from doing so for the ask and make a post tomorrow when I *should* have an hour of peace of quiet tomorrow for me to sit in front of the computer and ramble.

I don't think we will get the satisfaction of an "arc"with Husk freedom. I think it would be addressed but not a whole story telling. We may, however, get a glimpse or at least another mention how the deal of Husk soul deal happened.

But most storytelling of a soul getting out of their contract they are bound to will be with Angel. I don't think the show would want to recycle the story arc of soul bound breaking a second time with Husk with a short amount of seasons and would rather focus on a different arc.

If we were pre approve 7 season, I say yes, Husk will be givens a small arc middle to end of series. Like mid season 5 out of 7 we will see him become free and the next seasons we get to see him enjoy his freedom.

If, and unlikely we get the arc of Charlie trying to do away soul contracts for the betterment of Hell, Alastor would be forced to do so. But if that story arc happen, Alastor would be the first to break his contracts, and willingly, of all the overlords. Mainly, as a grand show and gesture of his loyalty and faith in Charlie. Either being sincere or manipulations. I vote mostly sincerity with a hint of manipulation.

Side note: I don't think losing soul contracts would "weaken" the overlords as most of the fandom thinks. From what I gathered, it seems fans think the soul contracts is what gave overlords powers. I do not think that. I think the overlords already own that power. Soul contracts just makes them even more powerful because it A)makes them influential and B) it gives them more resources. For a lame example: Overlord doesn't know have a green thumb and suck at gardening. But they own a soul who does. They can use that resource to solve their problem with no cost to them by having that soul do the work for them. But the overlords power, for example Alastor shadow magic, is directly his own. It power level isn't influenced by how many or little souls he has, it will remain the same regardless. The only real "weakness" of losing their contracts, beside the loss of resource is, they overlords will lose their sense of security. Basically, imagine having an army that cant turn against you because you own their free will. Suddenly, losing that control of free will. Not only did you lose your army to defend with...depending what type of leader you are, they may want to retaliate. You may still be powerful and influential but now a lot more vulnerable and may not be able to defend oneself from so many attacks if they wise enough to fight in a large number. So, the overlords are still formidable and still have their powers that made them powerful and intimidating. Alastor sheer raw magical power and evadablity, Zeezi intimidating stature and raw physical strength (assumed), Carmilla's monopoly of large storage of angelitic steel that kills permanently. Etc. They just don't have soldiers that force to come to their contractor aid and defense.

If we do get a decent amount of season, and the most likely not get the soul contracts being in process of being abolished arc. I think it would be at least strongly suggested/ implored to Alastor by Charlie (and along with Veggie and Lucifer in tow) that Alastor to break his contracts with Husk and Nifty. I think, if this were to happen. Alastor is near cornered how the suggestion been presented. Worded in a way (either unintentionally from Charlie, or purposely by Lucifer or Vaggie) that if he didnt do this, that his hidden agenda would be uncovered by them if he did not following through the act. He nearly obligated to fulfill the request to either continue his manipulation he needs to do to reach his goal or otherwise all the work he put in to this point is lost. (Mostly the near unshakable trust he gained). He fulfills the request in a grand show of how willing he is to do so and how unbothered he is by it. In reality, Alastor is probably seething privately and Husk knows this, to the point he addressed Alastor privately to rub it in smugly.

If it went with this angle, I don't think Charlie pushing the subject with Alastor is not by Husk prompting. I think Charlie will still be kept in the dark how quick can turn against his soulbound servants. One reason why Alastor favors Husk so much as a servant is because of Husk silence. Charlie approach Alastor is by her own convictions and beliefs. Which is why Alastor has to give up his contracts. If he didn't follow through with her believes, it goes along with dream of the hotel. He needs that fuel to keep the fire going as he stings her along to fulfill his goal. His goal, I assume his freedom is a lot more valuable to Alastor then keeping Husk tied down to him. So, even if Husk is one of Alastors greatest resource, Alastor will sacrifice Husk contract for Alastor to get his own. It's a gamble Alastor has to take and hoped he get the greater payout. One of those, lose the battle but win the war scenario.

The other likely option and the most action pack and drama filled, is Husk saved Alastor or something very close to it (save someone he cared about, Nifty, Charlie?) When Alastor was unable to do so himself and Husk did it on his own accord/not forced to) If they did this option I would think it show more of Husk character.

But overall I think if they did a Husk freedom arc, I think it be a slight arc to test Husk character. It be a dark temptation for Husk part. I personally don't think Husk wants Alastor dead for Husk to get his soul back. But I think, that Husk sometimes feels that would be the only option to get it to happen. So, I think it be delicious arc if we have a character, either the Vees, or a new threat, seeked Husk to collaborate for Alastor demised. Husk would get his soul back if that were to happen was their sale pitch. Husk was seeked out purposely after the antagonist receive information that Alastor had a particular bad day and Husk had poor timing again (like in Dad beat Dad) that Alastor took his irritation on Husk or Husk fucked up that badly that Alastor punished Husk. Either way, Husk was sought out by his knowledge of Alastor, Alastor seemily part trust of Husk and the very recent bad blood between Husk and Alastor. The recent incident have Husk consider the collab. I think the show wouldn't show his answer. Have the viewer guessing he helping to plot Alastor murder which seem like he was.

The end result is most likely, as tempted as Husk is, he either told Alastor right away. Which Alastor struck a new deal. He return Husk soul as a reward for his loyalty if Husk play his role well of pretending to agree with the enemy and help bring down the enemy. (This deal is shown to the viewer when the enemy been double crossed and Alastor explains he knew of their plan all along like a typical villain monologues)

Or a more delightful way. It appears that Husk would go either way. Alastor makes his move against the enemy which is meant to Husk join, only Husk didn't fulfill his part. Allowing Alastor to get caught (Probably after Alastor mock the enemy how Alastor was knew all along of Husk involvement and Alastor was one step ahead of them the whole time...how embarrassing) and got in deep trouble to the point Alastor can no longer defend himself. Alastor completely felt betrayed by Husk sudden and inevitable betrayal Alastor understood it but he still pissed and hurt by it. Husk takes this moment to do his own monologue about his mistreatment by Alastor. How Alastor deserved this. This can end a few different ways:

Either Husk demands right then and there that Alastor gives his soul back if he saves him. (If Alastor didn't promise to return his soul as a rewards for informing him of "Husk betrayal" and his help)

Or after Husk rant and monologue about his mistreatment and seemily heading towards of witnessing the last few moments of Alastors after life, Husk would end the monologue with "despite it all, I don't want you dead even if it cost me my freedom" (Again if there was not a premade deal of releasing his soul). Shocking everyone in the room. If this option happen, I think Husk used his monologue not only to get things off his chest, but used it as a distraction that turn the tide in Alastor favor, such as Husk being close to the weapon to save Alastor from and turn it against the the enemy. Husk is a master magician so he knows about the importance of distraction. Alastor breaks Husk contract after saving Alastor life. Alastor saying Husk saved his soul, its only fair exchange to return Husks soul back to him. A soul for a soul. Alastor does not like to feel indebted, which included to those he has under his control.

or the other option, the one I prefer a little more then the last,...After Husk own rant about Alastor to Alastor, Husk willing to go thought the deed...only to find Alastor agree with Husk that he deserve this. Perhaps, glad and encouraging (I can see Alastor taunting "Do it!" ) its by Husk hand (possibly returning him back to his former glory as overlord?) I don't think we get an apology, but after Alastor agreed with Husks words, Alastor would say some genuine positive words about Husk and his service and loyalty (despite that loyalty seemily ended at the moment) as his last words, that be the closest thing to apology that the radio demon would make. Along with sincere words of wishing Husk happiness with his freedom and pass Alastor regret to Charlie that he is unable to continue his aid with her dream. Infuriating to Husk, the genuinity of the words got to him and similar to the last option, saved Alastor and turned against the enemy and Alastor returned Husk soul back to avoid being indebted and part gratitude. Alastor did ask Husk why he saved Alastor despite everything when Husk would been free if his death. All spoken in card talk. "It a sure bet if Alastor died. Why chance the pot (freedom) with the riskier hand." Etc. They seperate with a newfound relationship that's positive on both sides. Daresay, friends once more without complications and restrictions.

I like the idea of Husk being extremely tempted and even lured in for Alastor demised to gain freedom. But at the end, Husk couldn't follow through or unwilling to take part of it. Reluctant but willing to sacrifice the very thing he wants, his freedom, because it didn't felt right to betray and end Alastor. As much as Husk loathes it, Alastor part of Husk found family. -even if he isn't, Alastor is part of the found family to those Husk care about in his own found family. It's like an unintentional test of Husk character, and he passed. Its fitting about a show and hotel about rehabilitation and redemption. It be nice to see that good deeds can happen without promise of a reward, it just happened because it was right thing to do. Then get rewarded anyways. It would also, test Alastor character slightly, and show more insight about him. Or even reveal his true thoughts and feelings about the grumpy cat.

What realistically happen I think we get like sad low amount of seasons, like 3 seasons. (Nothing I really enjoy, last) We only see Husk be free in the epilogue. The epilogue being the final song of the series. Sung mainly by Charlie with others chiming in their parts like the end of season one. I think it 10-15 second cut scene of Alastor dissolve his contract and the visual representation of chain breaking and fading out of existent. Probably with Husk widened shocked eyes. The scene be wordless beside the possibility of a sung out sentence to be part of the final song. I think it be funny if you see Alastor stick out his hand as a gesture as no ill-will / no bad blood between them and Husk would look hesitant on taking it as it reminded him of his deal when he lost his soul in the first place. Alastor looking amused by this and they either work out another method for the gesture (I don't think they would hug even if Husk is overjoyed) or they get interrupted by cheering Angel or Charlie being overjoyed by the event and pull both into a hug and a start of a group hug with the other residents. It be unsatisfied as we don't really get the arc or story but satisfying enough that we at least know it canon happy ending as loose ends were tied off.

Feel free to comment thoughts and opinions.

[p-redux]

Weekly Summary October 20, 2023

Hi peeps, lots of stuff happened this week, so I'm going to do my weekly summary instead of individual posts or answering individual Asks. This is a LONG one, so grab a drink, and dive right in for: Ringgate, Sam and the City, and Sam and open letter and follow up statement. Also, starting tomorrow, I'll be off for the weekend, my man surprised me with a trip away to the beach before the weather starts to cool down.

Anyhooo, let's start off with something light. #ringgate. For different reasons some fans get verklempt when Sam wears jewelry, and panties definitely get twisted or wet, depending on who you are, when Sam dons RINGS. Sam wore the 2 rings he's been wearing lately during his appearance on Jimmy Fallon a few days ago. Sidenote: Samshine is EXTRA Samshiny is in this pic. Say what you want about him, but the man is BEAUTIFUL 👇

So, of course, Extreme Shippers are convinced Sam is "finally" wearing his wedding rings because he's married to Cait. Um, one small problem, Caitriona Mary Balfe is already married to Tony McGill. Some Non-Shippers get excited to see him wear rings because maybe it makes them think of when Sam WILL get married. There is something about a man wearing rings. I find it sexy as well. But, alas, these rings are on the right hand and Scottish people wear wedding rings on the left hand. Also, Sam's definitely NOT married to anyone since we've seen him linked to several women lately.

For the people who had doubts the copper looking ring is an Oura ring, it definitely is. Here is what the two rings most likely are. The silver one I'm told by some of the Team is 👇

And here is the Oura ring he's wearing, most likely in Rose Gold. It's basically a ring with a computer in it to keep track of physical stuff, the way a fitbit or Apple watch does. Seems EXACTLY like something Sam would wear 👇 So, let's put #ringgate to rest now, please.

On to WHERE in New York had Sam been hiding. Everyone thought he had left and that his recent appearance on Jimmy Fallon had been taped earlier, until we saw THIS fan pic with him. 👇

My New York sources said he had not been seen at his usual hotel The Crosby. I'm putting out the name now just because EVERYONE knows that's where he stays in New York. He used to stay at The Bowery Hotel, but the last few years it's been The Crosby. None of the usual pic and autograph hounds got pics with him, so we assumed he wasn't staying there. All those hounds have contacts at the different hotels and restaurants frequented by celebs, so they would have been alerted to Sam staying there. Soooooo, if he wasn't at The Crosby, BUT he was in New York, THEN the possibilities are. He's aware too many fans know he stays at The Crosby, so he's switched hotels. Or he decided to rent an Airbnb instead. Or he stayed with friends. Or he does have a lady friend in New York, like some think, and he stayed with her. Who knows...but I'm sure we will find out...

Onto more serious matters. I'll preface this by saying I have made it a policy on my blog to NOT talk about anything political and to also not talk about any world events happening, which are upsetting. This blog is my escape from real life. So, I want to continue on that path. But I'm making an exception this time because based on the DMs an Anon Asks I'm getting there is some confusion as to why Sam posted this message on his social media. I just want to give people some clarity on it. And them move on. So, Sam posted this. 👇

It was in response to Sam and other mostly UK celebrities signing an open letter asking Israel to cease fire on Gaza, and explicitly claiming Pro-Palestine sentiments. If you click below, you will find an article on it and then keep scrolling down and you can read the actual letter. That's the letter Sam signed. A few days later, he clarified his feelings and regretted signing it because it doesn't represent fully what he meant. 👇

Here's the thing the history of Israel/Palestine is LONG and COMPLICATED. And most people haven't done enough research to know it fully. Most people go by sound bytes they see as they scroll social media. Or they give in to confirmation bias based on their political party, nationality, ethnicity, religion, affiliations etc.

I'm not going to get into the specifics because all of the information is easily accessible if anyone TAKES THE TIME TO RESEARCH AND READ THE HISTORY, both of Israel and Palestine...with an OPEN MIND.

The reason Sam got himself in trouble with signing the open letter and then the subsequent damage control message is that he didn't take the time to do his research. In extremely simplistic terms: Most of the UK, and in fact, most of Europe has traditionally been Pro-Palestine (except for European Jews, of course). The U.S. has traditionally been Pro-Israel and are allies. Up until recently that is. Due to the divisiveness in the US since the Trump era, Conservatives (Republicans) in the country became even more Pro-Israel, which then meant Liberals (Democrats) had to be the opposite. The rhetoric that Israel was the oppressor and Palestine was the oppressed grew louder. You had to pick one or the other. You couldn't take a step back and look at the history of the Jews being oppressed pretty much since Moses kept trying to get back to The Promised Land aka modern day Israel and Palestine. Or the Palestinians also being oppressed and their lands shrinking year by year.

The Jews have always been fucked over throughout history. And the Palestinians have always been fucked over, but especially since 1948 when modern day Israel was created. So, then, TERROR GROUP, Hamas decides, we're gonna fuck you over, Israel, REALLY BADLY, and engaged in some of the worst atrocities in recent times. No matter what anyone's beliefs are, when you saw what Hamas did (I'm not going to write the details because it's a horror show we all already know about) EVERYONE in the world should have said "Not today, Satan, not today," and DENOUNCED their savagery.

Hamas is NOT the Palestinian people, Hamas' ONLY goal is to terrorize and destroy. First the Jews, then their allies. Look up in the sky if you're in the US, one day a missile will be coming your way if they aren't stopped. After Hamas committed their savagery, Israel, understandably attacked back. They defended themselves from TERRORISTS trying to literally annihilate them. That was NOT the time to chant Free Palestine or write Free Palestine open letters. Just like after the murder of George Floyd, the Black Lives Matter movement came to the forefront in the US, but you had people countering "All Lives Matter!" Yes, all lives matter, but RIGHT NOW we're focusing on Black Lives, ya dopes. Breast Cancer awareness month. But what about Lung Cancer, Colon Cancer, they're important too?! Yes, but JFC, FOCUS people. Should Palestine be free from Israeli occupation, should they have more land? OF COURSE. But when the world SAW what Hamas did to HUMAN BEINGS, regardless of nationality or religion, the ONLY thing that should have been chanted is "DESTROY HAMAS." Hamas fucked things up for Palestinians, not just Israelis. And because of Hamas' actions, now Palestine is getting destroyed by Israel. And then Hamas will counter attack. And it will go on and on. There should be NO sides. There should only be ONE side, the HUMAN side.

So, when celebs seemingly "pick" a side, especially without considering the repercussions, they will get pushback. I love Sam and he's a good man, but he missed the mark on this one. Not through malice, but rather, naivete and ignorance. By cosigning that letter he didn't realize he wasn't simply signing a Pro-Palestine letter, he was simultaneously signing an Anti-Israel letter, Anti-Jews letter. And the reality is he alienated his Jewish fans, his more US conservative fans, his more centrist fans, assorted other fans...and I'm just going to state facts...he forgot WHO runs Hollywood, has always run Hollywood, and will always run Hollywood, including people who run Starz, as well as WHO are some of his agents, and publicists, hence the "better late than never" damage control quasi apology.

If you're wondering about MY stance: I feel badly for the Palestinian people and I feel badly for the Israeli people. There, that wasn't so hard to say, right? You CAN be Pro-Palestine AND Pro-Israel aka Pro-Humans. In the end, ALL HUMANS want the SAME basic things: food, clean water, shelter, safety and peace for their loved ones. To pick sides is to say that one set of people is more important than the other. And that can't be true. It isn't true. I pick the Human Side. Simple as that.

*big long sigh* Okay, peeps, you can leave comments, but I'm not going to answer them because I'm TIRED now. Also any hate comments, antiSemitic or antiPalestineMuslim comments and they will be deleted, and you will be blocked.

I'll check in later today. And then I'll be off until Sunday evening. Of course, still feel free to DM me and send Asks. I'll answer when I can.

Peace, people, PEACE.

[carefulfears]

@amplifyme thank you lovely! answering these one by one <3

top 5 underrated MSR moments

(i’m still not feeling well so this may not be coherent lol, just gonna ramble a bit)

1/ redux ii - "because i knew you'd talk me out of it if i was making a mistake"

this is my favorite line delivery of the series. it carries so much weight. he hasn't stopped smiling at her the entire time she's been in the hospital, trying to alleviate how much she worries about leaving him alone, and at times it is forced, but not here.

when he tells her that he was lost the night before, but found his way when he was with her. and explains to her the situation that he is in, the choice that he's been given, the decision that he's made. and she asks why he came to see her if he'd already made up his mind.

the way that he laughs and chokes through tears at the same time when he responds, "because i knew you'd talk me out of it if i was making a mistake."

it's almost ridiculous to say out loud, in the end, because it's the end. it's a foregone conclusion, and it's so so limited.

the look on her face says so much. there is so much grief in being needed. it doesn't last forever. it might not even last the rest of the day, she might not live long enough to ever find out if he's walking into that hearing to make a mistake. how can either of them do anything but cry and laugh in the face of that??

she's on her deathbed and he's flashing that smile at her so maybe she won't worry, like he did when he knelt before her in a surveillance unit and handed over his gun, a lifetime (or two years) before, trying to make it all okay. but how could it be okay when this person needs her like this? when it's all so fragile? when tomorrow, maybe, there won't be anyone to listen to him and tell him if he's making a mistake.

it aches to be depended on.

"you are going to die in your best friend's arms. and you play along because it's funny, because it's written down, because you've memorized it, it's all you know." (richard siken planet of love)

she's going to die in her best friend's arms, and it's funny, because what is there to do except choke out a laugh through tears?

2/ sein und zeit - "she was trying to tell you to stop"

this is tough as nails love.

this is the dirty work that no one can bear. this is being willing to tell someone what they need to hear, and to stay for the fallout.

i love this episode, and this whole scene is such an intense and important moment in who their characters are.

she gets down on the floor. she looks him in the eye and tells him the truth, even when her voice wavers. she holds steady in the midst of his lashing out, his eruptive grief, his inability to accept the facts that she cut through skin and bone to find. she grabs him and holds him tight and rocks him on the ground.

i always think of this quote from audries' throat, eye, and knucklebone:

"Sometimes she wishes he’d get some kind of universal object permanence. Actually practice the world-weariness he preaches with his tired eyes and dingy kitchen. Learn to anticipate the punch or else to slip and roll with it. It’s all incongruent - leaves her there cursing God and rocking him on the floor and all the while thinking you should know better at no one in particular."

mulder, who at 12-years-old, closed his eyes every time he walked into his room, because maybe his sister would be there when he opened them.

who looks up at stars and sees wandering souls, who can spin any light in the sky or water in an autopsy report into a reason why the world is still kind, despite all to the contrary. for whom "trust no one" is little more than a computer password, because he listens to everyone, believes everyone has something important to say, even cold answering machines.

he wants to believe, he comes into every situation with a bad joke and the most hopeful answer, he is rarely wrong. he still walks into every room with his eyes shut tight.

and what a thing to dedicate your life to, to spend your days with someone who sees the world this way. except, what happens when even the most complex spins and intricate theories cannot account for the dull sharp reality of loss? when there are certain things that are just too awful to be explained.

he should know better. one of them should, at least, but sometimes when you walk into every room with the most hopeful answer, you're wrong. sometimes there's just no evidence or conspiracy or mythos to be dreamed up.

his mother killed herself. she did so without saying goodbye, without telling him the "unsaid" truths she's kept secret, without leaving anything more than burnt photos of him in the trash and a message on his answering machine about how he didn't call her back. a message that he can rewind and replay a thousand times over, it still won't hold any answers. he still won't be able to figure this out.

it's horrible and painful and devastatingly human, with no grander purpose to it, and he should know better than to look. after everything that he's seen and lost and been through, he should have retained some understanding that this is the world.

but he looks anyway, with as much dedication and hope as he does everything, and there is no one there other than scully to say stop. to say this is the truth. to say these are the facts.

there is no one there other than scully for him to run up against, and she sits calmly and holds onto him.

she tells him the truth, and she tells him something else, too. she tells him that his mother wanted to tell him to let go, that she wanted to "take away his pain."

which...maybe this is true, or rather, maybe scully believes this. but scully stood in the next room when his inquiries to his mother got him little more than a slap to the face.

scully watched on tape as tena signed her son over to the devil, a hospital pen in her hand and cigarette smoke framing her face. scully's heard this voice on an answering machine too, and she never got a response either.

there's so much pain in her face as she tells him, through tears, that his mother just wanted to take his away. her own version of shut eyes and a strategic spin, this is what she has to offer.

in the following scene, it's morning now, and scully answers the door with her hair frazzled, still wearing her blouse from the day before but not her blazer.

weary from a night spent confronting the punches of the world, she's visibly exhausted when she looks at skinner and says, "it's been a hard night for him."

when mulder comes to the door, she never moves from her place in front of him, blocking him in. (she has always shared him with the world only reluctantly). as skinner tells mulder that the mother of the missing little girl in california has something to say, and she will only talk to him.

sometimes, when the worst happens, you want the person with the most hopeful answer.

skinner tells him that he's booked them two flights, and after mulder nods and walks away to get ready, scully looks at her boss and tells him that he "better book three."

tough as nails!

3/ the erlenmeyer flask - "mulder? i just want to say that i was wrong."

this moment exemplifies so much of their relationship in season one, and this is my favorite MSR. baby-faced and curious and overjoyed to know each other. they are best friends.

no one else would run up behind him on the street and stop him to tell him they were wrong, and that they should have believed him. it means so much.

when she tells him that she should have just trusted his instincts, and he replies, "why? no one else does." and she just smiles at him...season one scully has found secret treasure no one knows about. she can't believe she's getting away with hiding him in the basement.

4/ paper hearts - "but i do know you"

it's about THE INHERENT GRIEF IN BEING NEEDED!! of course a paper hearts moment was going to land on this list somewhere. my attachment to this episode knows no bounds. i could bring it into anything.

paper hearts is an ahab and starbuck episode. mulder is more haunted than we ever see him, as he spends the hour grasping at ghosts. scully's place in this episode is everything that makes her role so important, as she tries to balance hope and rationality. this is their quest, and these are their skeletons.

earlier, when roche tells mulder that he just wants to see his face when he finds samantha's body, you hear scully exclaim "oh my god" before standing up and screaming at him, opening the door and just getting mulder out.

she tries to reason, she tries to rationalize, she tries to get him away from "the darkness", but when it comes down to it, she digs in the dirt next to him with her bare hands.

i love these little moments that they always share in the end, when it's all over. there's nothing more to be done. all that's left is a tattered scrap of fabric with weary eyes looking on. she just comes in to check on him.

she gives him the results of the labs on the last heart, how there's nothing to go on, and then she tells him that they will find who that last little girl was. when he asks how, she replies that she doesn't know, "but i do know you."

this is their quest. they will find all of the victims, give the families the answers that mulder so desperately wants for his own. she doesn't know how, she just knows him, and that's enough to believe.

when she tells him to "go on home and get some sleep," all he can do is laugh. after all of the heartache and tension in this episode, how brutally visceral the pain of it all is, it melts away in the incredulousness of her suggestion.

he flashes that smile and hugs her, "thank you" and "i'll be okay" at the same time

and she strokes his hair and stares at the floor.

the grief in being needed. (who would come make sure he's okay if she were gone?). the grief in following ghosts. (there has never been a more brutal reminder that samantha was more than the photo in that frame). the grief in loving someone so encased in pain and loss. (he will not go on home and get some sleep).

there's so much grief in being starbuck, in the end.

5/ how the ghosts stole christmas - "maybe i did wanna be out there with you"

is there any better representation of season 6 than hanging out with a movie after a night of some light murder/suicide plans?

this episode is just the best. and one of the things that makes it so good is that it's comedy is rooted in examination, in bringing mulder and scully's psyches into question and condemnation.

😭😭😭😭

having only christmas eve to keep up their reputation, our titular ghosts, lyda and maurice, are forced to resort to "pop psychology" to fulfill their haunting. they have no idea the gold mine that stumbled into their house this year.

instantly upon meeting, maurice WHACKS mulder, calling him "narcissistic," "overzealous," "self-righteous," and prone to obsessive compulsive antisocialism

a lonely man who considers himself passionate and misunderstood, but chases illusions in order to find warped meaning and significance

meanwhile, in the next room, scully is not safe from disturbance, as lyda calls out her "conflicted yearnings" and delusions of loyalty. the reason why she's "really here"- for the satisfaction of proving her partner wrong.

in the end, mulder and scully escape the house only by realizing that the ghosts don't actually have any power over them. it's all an illusion, it's not real, and lyda and maurice can't hurt them- or make them hurt each other.

but it doesn't stop them from internalizing the messages of their haunted house, and mulder spends christmas alone watching a christmas carol, as the scene opens on him listening to scrooge say the line, "i don't deserve to be so happy."

also unable to shake the events of the night, scully shows up

and asks if any of that was real. if it was just an illusion. which, always knowing when to back down on the need for belief, mulder gives her, agreeing with her that it must have just been in their heads. (folie a deux, she is always more comfortable in shared madness with him than with the world.)

after having been dragged out on christmas eve to look for ghosts, finding them, and then deciding that it was all shared delusion: she repeats back the insecurity that lyda gave her, "not that my only joy in life is proving you wrong."

but after coming inside, she betrays her true insecurity. responding to mulder's "when have you ever proved me wrong?" with "well...why else would you want me out there with you?"

why else would he want to spend christmas eve with her, why else would he want her with him, if not to play her role? if not to offer the "science and rationalism" that he told her, not too long ago, saves him?

"you didn't want to be there? oh, that's...self-righteous and narcissistic of me to say, isn't it?"

god, they are both so slow.

they both consider for a moment, these roles they play. these "subconscious desires" that they mask in their own personal pursuits. how easy it is to turn them against themselves, to expose their uncertainties and weaponize them.

before scully lands on, "no, i mean...maybe i did want to be out there with you.”

and they exchange the christmas presents they totally swore they weren't gonna get each other this year.

maybe they do just want to be out there together.

maybe it's not about grand perceptions of loyalty or meaning. maybe it's not about the parts that they play. maybe it's not about obligation or dependency. maybe they just want to.

[rowanaelinn]

Right Where You Left Me - Chapter Two

Warnings: lots of bad words | Word Count: 5,000

Aelin threw the brown file on Ansel’s desk, startling her from whatever she was doing on the multiple computer screens she was staring at. She had long ago given up on trying to understand the miracles Ansel did thanks to the internet. It was too complicated for Aelin, too out of her range. Just like Ansel would be lost if she had to step in Aelin’s shoes for a moment.  

“Find me everything you can about this woman, all the dirt you can find, I want it.”

“For when?” The red-haired woman asked, opening the file and her brows furrowing. “We have a new client?”

“Just me,” Aelin answered. “Private matter. And I want the results for tomorrow.”

Aelin’s friend nodded and turned to her computer, “You’ll get everything on your desk in an hour.”

A smile pulled up Aelin’s lips as she left Ansel’s office. People often thought—rightfully—that Aelin was cocky. And yet sometimes, she was crushed under the realization that some people were cockier than she was. Ansel being the prime example of that. Aelin’s mind often wished to turn it into a competition. But she had to remind herself that she was an adult now. Living in the adult world, with a fucking husband and fucking kids that depended on her.

“Where were you?” Elide asked, cocking her head to the side as she entered Aelin’s office less than two seconds after Aelin did.

“Lunch break.”

The brunette snorted, “I have never seen you take a lunch break before, and somehow, you’re starting now? And you left a meeting for what, a salad?”

Aelin sat deeper in her very comfortable chair. That was a good investment she made, truly. She cocked her head to the side, “Have I missed the memo about you becoming my boss?”

Elide’s eyes darkened, and she sat in front of Aelin with only the wooden desk separating them. “Keep the bullshit for the others who didn’t grow up with you. You didn’t leave for lunch, you had that look in your eyes when you left. Tell me what’s up.”

Irritated, Aelin looked to the side. Elide had known her for years, that was true. Ever since they were five, actually. And maybe it did make her legitimate to know when something’s up. “I have a private client.”

“Who?”

“The Glass House.”

There was a silence for a few seconds, and then Elide asked, “Are you dumping us? To go back to work for Whitethorn?”

“No,” Aelin snapped. “I don’t work for anyone. I’m simply doing my uncle a favor.”

Her friend eyed her for a few seconds, and then deemed her explanation good enough. “Alright. Good, your talents were wasted there. You’re better making a name of yourself.”

Aelin knew that, even if that wasn’t the reason she left. But people believed her so shallow, thought they knew her when they had no idea who she truly was, that they all believed her when she gave them that excuse. Only one hadn’t bought it.

---

“Why I am here already?” Fenrys asked, trailing beside her as they walked through the park. They were moving too quickly to seem like tourists, and she was sure that the sound of Aelin’s stilettos was enough to tell people this wasn’t a leisure walk. She should have changed shoes, walking on the little path designed for runners and walkers wasn’t comfortable in her shoes, especially because of the hundreds of tiny little stones all over the goddamn floor. If she didn’t trip, it was a miracle.

“I need someone to testify for me in case this little thing gets further than I wish it to,” she sighed. She didn’t think it would, but she had to be cautious. Even if she was good, excellent even, at anticipating how people would react, it wasn’t a science. She could never be sure.

Her friend was grinning beside her. Sometimes, he scared her. She’d never asked too many questions about what he saw when he served in the military, how war had affected him. Sometimes, his… tendencies came in handy. She never asked him to act on those, sometimes she rather he didn’t. But sometimes he broke his… abstinence and acted in a way that always worked in her favor.

She shook her head away from that train of thought. He’d ask her to turn her head away when we’d have to use his… talents to help her in her work. She did, even knowing how illegal these things were. Because, if she had to be honest, Aelin wasn’t a sticker for the rules. And the thought of seeing her friend in prison… She couldn’t. So, she turned a blind eye.

Aelin caught sight of her target then, and she prepared herself. She wasn’t fond of what she’d have to do, but if it was her one option to save him and his reputation, she wasn’t going to hesitate. She threw a look at Fenrys, and he nodded in understanding.

He pulled back a little but stayed close enough to listen as Aelin sat on the bench, beside Remelle Rosin. She was head buried in her phone, checking something Aelin couldn’t see. She was beautiful, and there was something ethereal about her. And yet, something felt off. Cold.

“I love these shoes,” Aelin started the conversation, slightly leaning closer to the blonde. “They’re from Feyre Archeron’s latest collection, aren’t they?”

Remelle turned an appreciative eye on Aelin, and she cocked her head to the side. “You know your thing.”

Aelin nodded, “I’m so jealous. I wanted a pair, but they were sold out the moment the shop’s doors opened.” That was a lie. Actually, Aelin had secured more than four pairs. Three in different colors, and then one lavender pair for Hayley’s birthday. But Aelin wanted Remelle to feel valued.

It was hard to keep her eyes from rolling as the pale woman said, “Oh, don’t be too sad! They wouldn’t suit your figure.”

Alright. Yes, on paper, she was President Whitethorn’s type. But after this… Aelin’s trust in his claim that nothing had ever happened strengthened. “I think you’re right,” she smiled. “But if you want a piece of my opinion as well, they wouldn’t look good on TV, either.”

Remelle’s shoulders straightened, and she threw a look of mistrust to both Aelin and Fenrys. “What do you want?”

“Why, simply giving each other friendly pieces of advice,” Aelin cocked her head to the side, her smile turning sweeter.

Aelin could see the woman’s guard built up. But the truth was, even with all the flattery in the world, Aelin couldn’t be the good guy there. She’d only used it as a way to build connection.

“Has he sent you?”

“Nobody sent me,” she lied. “I’m only looking out for you, Remelle. Things out there are dangerous, they really are. Whatever you think going public will achieve, you are wrong.”

Remelle huffed a laugh. “You know nothing.”

Aelin didn’t care about the jab. “It’s my job to know this. At worse, the media will call you a liar. They’ll use the three years you’ve worked in a private club against you. At best? You’ll get called a whore who was stupid enough to open her legs for a married man. You’ll never be the people’s friend, the one they’ll look up to. You will be the woman who is a distraction to their problem. Because if the Glass House is busy denying these claims you make, it’s needed resources that aren’t actively working for the welfare of the people. You think they will love that?”

Remelle’s hands were shaking as she told Aelin, “I’m promised a book deal.”

“Alright,” Aelin shrugged. “You’ll get some money, then what? You settle in, and your kids become the joke of the school because of what you did?” Aelin shook her head. “No, you’re not stupid, Mrs. Rosin. You can get your money in a much quieter, safer way.”

“I thought you weren’t working for him.”

“I’m not. I’m merely making sure you know all of your options. You can… retire somewhere in another state. I’ve heard Terrasen is terribly beautiful in the summer. You can have a stable, nice and enjoyable life. Or you take the risk. You become the media’s pet, their slut. You become the enemy of the Glass House and believe me when I say that nobody will have the courage to back you up and put themselves against the executive power, especially when you have no proof.”

No, because if she did, she would have already gone public, or the President would already have been asked for money. No, what Remelle had been doing these past few weeks was merely building herself a support system. People who would back her claims up. But that wasn’t enough.

“They won’t love you, Remelle. Seek this love with someone else, because you’ll be nothing for the audience. You’ll be more of a Camilla than a Diana, because you weren’t the wronged woman. You’re the one in the wrong.”

Her bottle lip was trembling as she looked at Aelin, silver lining in her eyes. “When have you sold your soul to the devil?”

Aelin’s smile was small as she responded, “A long time ago.”

“I want to see him.”

“You won’t,” Aelin answered, her voice firm. No, of course she wouldn’t. If anyone saw her, if she recorded the conversation… That would only give power to her claims. But, Aelin had to point out the effort. The woman truly wasn’t stupid.

She also knew her own candidate wouldn’t back her up. Not when Dorian Havillard had been selected Vice-President, even with his differences of opinions with the current president. It was a privilege for him to be where he was, and Aelin knew him enough to know he wouldn’t ruin that for an assistant.

“I want seven million,” Remelle said, tears clouding her voice.

“You’ll get three,” Aelin said, and at Remelle’s offended eyes, she added, “Which is more than generous for claims made with nothing to back them up.”

“Five.”

If she lowered so much, it only proved that she had nothing.

“Four, it is,” Aelin said, not in the mood to go lower. Her uncle had given her the permission to go as high as ten million, but the woman didn’t need to know that. Not when she claimed to have touched him, to have tasted him.

It wasn’t something she was proud of, but maybe the personal aspect of it all made it easier to sit beside this woman and throw these threats and insults at her.

“I’ll see you in Hell, Aelin Westfall.”

Aelin stood, grabbing her bag at the same time. She smiled at Remelle, “It’s Galathynius, actually. And it’ll be my pleasure.” She handed a card to Remelle. “We’ll stay in touch, for further… advice.”

She left, Fenrys on her heels. He blew up some air, “That was something, Aelin.”

She shrugged, “That was just my job.”

--

           Aelin rushed through the two wooden doors of her house, slamming them close in a hurry. She took her shoes off, throwing her back to the floor. She was late. Goddamn her. Couldn’t she have found an excuse to not go to this stupid gala? If it was only her, she would have cancelled last minute. But… It was already bad etiquette that Chaol hadn’t been invited before yesterday. He couldn’t miss this. It would only hurt his image.

           “Mom!” Hayley, Aelin’s teenage daughter, called from the kitchen. Aelin rushed to that room, finding her three kids gathered there. Hayley was dressed, as usual, in her dark clothes. It was that moment of her teenage years when she was obsessed with black. Black clothes, black make-up, black bedsheets. Aelin had stopped her before she painted her bedroom walls black. Asper was in his pyjama, sitting around the kitchen island and nose buried into his phone. He only looked up to grin at her.

           She didn’t take it personally. Instead, she had fun ruffling his hair before leaning in to kiss Helia’s forehead. At two years old, she changed every day, and got prettier day by day. Aelin went to embrace Hayley, but the teenager made a very sweet and loving gagging noise. Instead, she told her what she was in such a hurry to say. “Asper put coffee in his hot chocolate.”

Aelin’s nose wrinkled. She was usually supportive of her kids’ strange meals, but she had to admit. That one sounded… not good. “You do realize that defies the whole purpose of hot chocolate, right?”

“Which is?” He asked with sass.

“It’s to be the to-go drink for people who don’t drink coffee!” Hayley nearly screamed. She could get passionate sometimes.

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t get your panties in a twist, I just need my caffeine.”

Hayley made another disgusted noise, and threw at his face a banana peel. Aelin said nothing, that one was quite deserved. “Don’t speak about my panties!”

“Just drink coffee then,” Aelin said.

“I don’t like coffee,” he said, as if it was obvious.

“Then just take fucking vitamins,” Hayley supplied. Next to her sitting in her highchair, Helia was babbling something. She knew how to speak well, at least as well as a two-years-old could speak. But when her siblings argued, it was like the little girl wanted to participate as well.

Aelin nearly told off her daughter about her swearing, but… It’d be hypocritical. Aelin’s mouth was foul.

“Coffee is healthier,” Asper said, his eyes rolling and then looked back at his phone. Aelin cringed, and Hayley made a noise of anger.

“Please, mom. Tell me he isn’t really my twin, tell me you found him in the trash.”

“You’re the trash,” he supplied.

Aelin cringe. As distracting as watching two teenagers fight was, she knew it was her moment to deescalate the thing. “You two have your father nose and my eyes, sorry but being trash isn’t part of our family motto.”

Hayley rolled her eyes.

“Speaking of your father, where is he?” She prayed he wasn’t home yet, or she’d never hear the end of it. He hated when she was late.

“Upstairs,” Hayley answered. “Complaining because you’re late.”

“Shit,” she swore, grabbing a glass of water. Tough luck for her. “Will you be okay on your own tonight? And for Helia too? I can stay home if you don’t feel like it.”

Hayley, again, rolled her eyes. “No. We’ll be fine. But, can I come? Please, please, please. I haven’t seen Willow in so long, and—”

“I’m not even sure Willow will be there, Hayley, and we only got two invitations.”

She sighed. “As if Rowan would say anything if you brought me over.”

Aelin cringed. He’d told her kids to use his first name when he met them a couple of years ago, and they had no shame to brag about being on a first name basis with the President.

“No, Hayley. Text Willow, and if she wants to come over one day, it’s alright. But I’m not taking you to a playdate at a work event.”

As Aelin got upstairs she was sure her daughter was using colorful names to describe her, but it was okay.

When they met during the campaign, Willow and Hayley got along immediately. And suddenly, Hayley visited Aelin more and more at work, asked to go on campaign related trips. It’d always been complicated for Hayley to make friends, so much that Aelin and Hayley’s father yielded to their daughter’s insistence to homeschool her a few years ago. She struggled to make friends, but it seemed easy for her to be friend with Willow.

Aelin couldn’t even complain. Willow Whitethorn was an amazing friend to her daughter, but for personal reasons, Aelin disliked everything that linked her family to the Whitethorn’s.

Again, she was very hypocritical, but at the very least she was self-aware.

The two teenage girls didn’t see each other often, and last Aelin had heard from Hayley, Willow got her phone taken as a punition for sneaking out. Hence Hayley’s insistence to join her parents to the gala.

She rushed upstairs, already unbuttoning her shirt. “I know, I know,” she said, entering the master bedroom. “I’m late.”

“Where were you?” Chaol’s voice came from the bathroom, and he came out with his hands trying to knot his tie around his neck.

“Work,” she answered, though she believed it was pretty obvious. Where else would she have been?

           She didn’t ask him questions, only got herself ready in the silence of their room.

---

The place was… beautiful. Stars shone in her eyes as she looked around, waiting in line with Chaol’s hand on her back to greet the President and the first lady. The entire place’s decoration perfectly fit the theme White & Gold. Golden chandeliers hoovered over them; the waiters dressed in entirely full white suits. Only these two colors were showing in the room, except for the men. It was dull, really, how they were always dressed in black and white. But she had to admit, it suited some of them more than she cared to admit.

And as usual, Aelin attracted attention. She hadn’t thought about it too much when she picked the golden, ankle-length silk gown. She had to admit, the deep, naked back was rather audacious. But as everything, Aelin pulled it off. Her hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, reaching her midback. But, she had let free two strands of her hair in the front, framing her face.

She hadn’t realized that… no other woman had decided on a fully golden gown. Some women wore dresses that perfectly married both colors, and sometimes one of the colors was only one part of their garment.

“See? We’re not that late,” Aelin said. Sure, the party had started but the presential couple were still greeting people, and Aelin and Chaol weren’t the last in line.

Chaol grunted, and she huffed a laugh. That was all the laughing she did in this marriage these past few years, ever since she found out. But she didn’t wish to think of that. She was over it.

“Senator Westfall, Aelin,” Lyria greeted them with a smile. “You look radiant tonight.”

“Thank you, Lyria,” Aelin smiled, hugging the woman. The gesture made her sick, but wasn’t it required between two friends. On the side, Chaol shook President Whitethorn’s hand. “You look very beautiful yourself.” Indeed, Lyria’s white dress with golden flowers embroiled on it was beautiful. And much more modest than Aelin’s. What a way to make her feel uncomfortable. Maybe she should have chosen another gown.

In turn, Chaol greeted Lyria as Aelin stood in front of him. His eyes were untelling, and she hopes hers were as well. “Mr. President.”

“Aelin,” he greeted her, grabbing her hand. She felt electricity run through her spine at the way his fingers felt against hers, and she nearly shuddered at the heat of the contact as he kissed the back of her hand. She mastered the rise and fall of her chest, even with the way her heart turned wild. “You do look beautiful.”

She blushed, though if anyone asked, she’d blame that physical reaction on the heat. “Thank you, Sir. You cleaned up nicely as well.”

He chuckled, his hand lingering against her a few more seconds before her hand fell to her side, purposeless without him near her.

“Enjoy your evening,” Lyria smiled at them, before Chaol’s hand made its way back to her back and led her into the room.

There were a lot of people. Nearly all senators were present, as well as a lot of journalists. Members of the President’s party, as well as the Vice president and his own circle there. Aelin noted the absence of Remelle Rosin. Good girl. She was better away from the president.

“I need champagne,” she breathed, and Chaol heard her. He made a sign with his hand, raising his fainter finger, and a waiter walked toward them. Her husband grabbed them two glasses of champagne, handing one to Aelin. “Stay right here,” she told the young waiter. He mustn’t be more than seventeen. She wondered how anxious and impressed he was. She drank her first glass of champagne in one go, ending up a tiny bit breathless. They did call it liquid courage. She winked at the boy and placed the empty glass on his plate and grabbed a full glass. “Thank you.”

He blushed and left, and she could feel Chaol’s burning glare on her skin. “Yes?”

“Do you wish to humiliate me?”

She cocked her head to the side, taking a sip of her drink. “I do wonder how my own chosen actions could affect someone else.” At his lack of answer, she clicked her tongue. “Breathe, your dear wife was just thirsty.”

He rolled his eyes but made no comment. He’d often made remarks about her consumption of alcohol which was too high for him. But he believed it was improper for everyone to drink, so she ignored all jabs.

“Is there anyone here you have to woo?” She asked. At the end of the day, that was what politics was. And she knew that as a newly elected senator, her husband still had to build his own little army. He was intelligent, and she was sure he’d do so easily. But everything played at even such as this one.

“Mostly Dorian Havillard Senior and Antoine Perrington.”

She cocked her head to the side, eyebrow furrowed in confusion. “Republicans.”

“Which I am as well.”

“Yes,” she nodded. “But you’re a republican, and they’re republicans.”

“They wish to see change in the party, and I’m ready to hear them out.”

“What kind of change? They have a running president from their own party, whose are not bad.”

He shrugged. “As you said, they’re republicans. He’s not.”

She shook her head. “It is madness to think either of them would be elected. They have been in this game for far too long, have made far too many mistakes. They’re too known as what a majority of Doranelle doesn’t wish to see.”

“Especially the reason why they wish for a new face.”

“You,” she breathed. “You cannot mean that. The President is your friend.”

He threw her an amused look. “Aelin, you’re a genius, and you know enough about this world to know friendship doesn’t matter.”

Of course, she knew enough. She had taught him everything, she had gotten him elected.

He leaned in, placing a kiss on the corner of her mouth. “And I’m hoping for my wife’s aid in this new project. We all know you’re the reason behind the latest election.”

Was he truly asking her such thing? To get him elected?

“I do not share these men’s values.”

He huffed a laugh. “You’re apolitical at best. You do not share Whitethorn’s values either, and yet you backed him up.”

“Because Rowan’s values do not mean he wishes for me and my daughters to have no importance other than being a wife,” she snapped, though not loudly.

“There is nothing wrong with wishing for a traditional family, and I agree with you. Their ideas aren’t the best. But it’s my chance, Aelin. My chance to be more than Senator.”

Was senator not enough? Was he truly wishing for the Glass House? This is a fight that you will not fight at my side, Chaol.”

He shook his head, “We’ll talk about it more at home, alright? Here is not the place.”

“Senator Westfall,” Lyria, on the arm of the president smiled. “How good to see you, we didn’t have to chance to meet since your election. Again, congratulation.”

He smiled brightly at her, “Thank you, Lyria. We must dine one evening.”

“Oh, for sure! We’ll have Elain set up a day that fits you.”

“How does Adarlan fares?” The president asks.

“Good, Sir, thank you for asking.”

A song started playing in the background, and Lyria’s smile brightened. “Oh! I do love this song. Would you do me the honor, Senator Westfall?” She asked, holding her hand to him.

He grabbed it, smiling at the woman. “It’d be my pleasure.” He kissed Aelin’s cheek and left, dancing with the first lady onto the slow song.

Rowan was still in front of her, and she tried her best to ignore him. Those glasses were very pretty, though Aelin’s was too empty. Maybe she needed a third one. She had three kids after all, third was her own magic number.

“Aelin,” he breathed.

And even if there was no power in his voice, she still felt compelled to look at him. His eyes were hopeful, and he held his hand to her. “May I have this dance?”

And she couldn’t refuse. She slid her palm into his, and he led her onto the dancefloor.

Her breath hitched as his hand found her naked back, his other hand still holding hers. And the way his hold felt on her, it was as if he would never let go. They started swinging slowing onto the beat of the dance. “You look magnificent tonight,” he breathed, barely loud enough for her to hear. “I cannot take my eyes away from you.”

And as she looked up, she was nearly chocked by the heat in his eyes. “Don’t look at me that way.”

He smiled, her heartbeat quickening.

“Stop,” she breathed. “Your wife is seven feet from us.”

He threw a look to the side, where she knew they were. “She looks busy laughing with your husband.”

Aelin tried to look away, but it was as if he was a magnet. She couldn’t. “Stop, somebody is going to see you.”

“Nobody is paying attention.”

“Someone always pays attention to you,” she answered. “You’re the President.”

“Do you pay attention to me? When you’re in that office, at the other side of town?”

A smile pulled at her lips. “You have hundreds of people working for you. You have no need for my attention.”

He clicked his tongue. “That’s where you’re wrong.”

He made her twirl, nota allowing her to process what he’d just say. She needed to find something, anything, that would distract her from the way his hand felt on her back. She yearned to feel his fingers on every inch of her skin, eliciting the most private of noises of her.

“Be careful,” she said, a little breathless. “Not your whole party is on your side.”

His eyebrow furrowed, but his steps didn’t falter. “What do you mean?”

She swallowed, hating herself for it. She was betraying her husband. Differences or not, he should have her loyalty. But in truth, she wanted Rowan to know. Not only because she worked her ass off to have him elected, but because… Because she couldn’t keep such a thing from him.

“Havillard Senior and Perrington are talking to… potential candidates for the primaries in two years.”

Something in his jaw twitched, and he asked, “Do you think Dorian knows of this?”

Dorian, Havillard Senior’s son, was Rowan’s vice president. The fact that Rowan asked for her advice… It made her feel valuable. “We can never know. But he’s made a point to stay away from his father’s politics and ideas. I’d say, don’t think of him as an enemy too quickly.”

“If they don’t pick Dorian as a candidate, then who?”

Aelin adverted her eyes away from him, and they were close enough that she felt his chest vibrate as he chuckled. “That husband of yours is getting rather annoying,” he said, his voice dropping an octave lower. “Though I suppose backstabbing me isn’t the worst thing he’s done.”

“Stop it,” she breathed.

“Why?”

“You know why.”

“And I don’t like it.”

She snorted, “Tough luck, big guy.”

He laughed, and the noise warmed her all over. “Thank you. For telling me.”

“Yes, well,” she sighed. “I didn’t work that hard for you to only complete one term. I expect a reelection in three years, Mr. President.”

He chuckled, “If it’s all I can do for the lady.”

“Well,” she sighed. “You could give your daughter her phone back, so my own daughter stops harassing me to take her to the glass house.”

His eyes shone in amusement. She lost herself in the green of those irises. “Well, why should I? It’ll just give you a reason to visit to me more.”

She was going to answer something snarky when her uncle arrived by their side, kissing her cheek and leaning in to speak into Rowan’s ear. She saw his brow furrowed, and she knew he’d leave the party right away. Those were the duties of a leader, she supposed.

“Sorry for cutting in,” her uncle apologized again, and she waved him off.

“I need to leave,” Rowan warned her, regret showing in his eyes. She wondered what troubled him so much. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she answered, mourning his touch as his hand felt her back and let go of her palm. But he leaned in to kiss her cheek and whispered into her ear, “Come visit me in my office before this party ends, I’ll be waiting for you.”

And he felt, leaving her on the dancefloor. She shook her head and left, grabbing another glass of champagne on her way. She had no idea of what to do, and regretted that everything in her told her to leave and join him, to see what he wished to tell her about.

••••••

@sheharahu // @morganofthewildfire // @thestoriesyoutell // @fromthelibraryofemilyj // @swankii-art-teacher // @itsforeverinnocent-blog // @becarefuloflove // @imnotsogoodatthis // @rowaelinismyotp // @a-court-of-milkandhoney // @feysand-loml // @elentiyawhitethorn // @live-the-fangirl-life // @story-scribbler // @loves-books // @fangirlprincess09 // @theysayitscrazy // @danibutterr // @endlessdaydream // @thegreyj // @gracie-rosee // @acreativelydifferentlove // @cretaceous-therapod // @louphantomdragon // @mis-lil-red // @backtobl4ck // @whoever-you-choose-to-love // @lemonade-coolattas // @mad-madeline-ace // @the-introverted-bibliophile // @leiawritesstories // @emilyoftheshadows s // @anniesbookshelf // @rainbowcheetah512 // @astra-ad-mare // @story-scribbler // @superspiritfestival // @wordsafterhours // @rowaelinrambling // @black-daisy-water // @fireheart-violet // @livsdriverslicense // @charlizeed // @ladykreads // @mariamuses // @autumnbabylon // @justreadertings // @highqueenofelfhame // @earthtolinds // @bowdawn // @psychopath-at-heart // @ginnyweasley06 // @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks

[gennyanydots]

I had to let go of you just to get a hold of myself part 7

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x f!reader

I had to let go of you just to get a hold of myself masterlist

AN: Warning. It is stupid angsty up in this bitch

You went to your room to let Jake get settled into his room for a while. You still had an hour before your check-in with Dr. Jackson. You tried to organize your thoughts as you laid on your bed.

It was surreal seeing Jake again after all this time. You vividly remember a time in your life that if you had seen Jake you might have tried to run him over with your car. The pain from everything still runs pretty deep.

The man you gave up everything for had decided to give you up. Decided that you weren’t worth the trouble. Not only that he didn’t even have the balls to break up with you. Just decided one day that he was done with you. Didn’t respond to any emails you sent, texts, phone calls, letters, nothing. Just done. It had almost destroyed you. You didn’t eat or sleep much. Just laid in bed wondering what you had done. Even now moving past that insecurity is going to be tough. Dr. Jackson has reminded you plenty that Jake’s actions were not because of anything you had done and were solely based off himself. You know whatever happened to Jake had nothing to do with you but try telling that to your brain. It’s already had years of anxious thoughts built up.

You have to remind yourself sometimes that Jake is trying. He really is trying. You know that. He’s putting in the effort. He’s going to therapy. He’s working at this.

And now Jake’s here. In your apartment. The place you got to get away from him. Most of your things were still at Jake’s parent’s house. You didn’t want most of it. You didn’t want those reminders. You still don’t even go to the house much. You get together as a family at Catherine’s house typically. It’s easier for the kids. It’s easier for you. Works out well for everyone.

Tomorrow Jake’s mom is hosting Thanksgiving. It’s good you’re having a session tonight since you’re not sure how you’ll do tomorrow. Being with Jake in that house may prove too much for you.

Time seemed to really fly while you were deep in thought laying on your bed since it was now 10 minutes till the start of your video call and Jake was softly knocking at your door. You sit up and stretch quickly before rushing over to the door and opening it.

There Jake stood holding his computer, looking as hot as ever in a pair of comfy shorts and a shirt that just seemed to fit him that just barely showed off some lines of his abs. Fuck. The Navy has been good to your husband.

You shake the thought from your head and give Jake a half smile, “Hey, it time already?”

Jake nods and turns to go out into your living room.

You follow after him.

He plops down onto your couch and looks up at you, “Which is your Wi-Fi?”

You point to it as you walk up and sit next to him, making sure to give you both space, “The password is Bennyistoocute1.”

Jake chuckles, “That boy still got you wrapped around his finger?”

You nodded, “Yeah, all three of them do.”

“Benny and Harper? Which of my sisters had another?” Jake asks.

“Oh I wasn’t even counting Harper. Lauren still only has her but Jared and Catherine have three boys now. Charlie, Benny, and Jamie. Charlie is a baby baby. He was a surprise. Jamie is Auntie’s baby. He’s 7. Benny is 15 now. Gosh he’s growing up so fast.”

“Holy shit. I hadn’t realized how old he would be. Harpers gotta be like what 10?”

You shake your head and laugh, “She’s 12. Sassy as ever. Really got all of Lauren’s attitude and some of Catherine’s too.”

“Poor Lauren. I’m sure ma loves to rub it in her face for all the trouble she caused,” Jake says with a chuckle.

“Depends on the day. Sometimes your mom just swoops in and fixes everything since she had so much practice,” you say with a smile. Jake’s mom amazed you. Your nephews and niece love you but even you couldn’t do that. At least not with the older two anymore. They can’t be bribed with ice cream. Well, they can’t always be bribed with ice cream every once in a while both of them still like ice cream and auntie dates. Especially if you pick them up from school early for an “appointment”.

“Do they… umm do they remember me at all? Or know who I am?” Jake asks timidly.

“They know they have an Uncle Jake. Benny vaguely remembers you. Harper doesn’t really anymore. You never met Jamie. They all have seen your pictures around in albums and such. Just as a warning Jamie may take a bit to warm up to you.”

“Why’s that?”

You sigh, “Your sister and Jared have big mouths and we’re talking about you and he overheard that you had made me cry and like I said Jamie is auntie’s baby and he may have threatened to kick you umm….. kick you where it counts.”

“Damn. I clearly don’t want that but if that’s what it takes to start rebuilding all this then….,” Jake says with a shrug. “Plus I can’t beat up a 7 year old.”

“The cutest 7 year old,” you say with a giggle.

“Well then I definitely can’t,” Jake says with a smile.

The two of you are brought out of your little chat by Dr. Jackson starting the meeting.

“Good afternoon, you two! How was your flight Jake? You get in okay?” The doctor asks.

Jake nods, “Yep. Thanks for askin’.”

“And Y/N, how are you this afternoon?” Dr. Jackson asks.

You give a small smile, “I’m doin alright. Thank you. How are you, sir?”

“I’m doing wonderful. Thank you. How is it seeing each other?”

Jake looks over at you with a fond smile, “A little odd but good.”

You nod, “Yeah, a little awkward but I’m sure that’ll go away.”

Dr. Jackson smiles, “Good, good. Glad to hear it. I don’t want to keep either of you long. I would much rather you both spend time together. I mostly just wanted to remind you both that you can text or call me at anytime. I know this is a very fragile time and you may need to talk it out and I am here for you both, okay?”

You both nod.

“Great. I’ll be in touch with both of you. If I don’t talk to either of you beforehand have a Happy Thanksgiving!” Dr. Jackson says with a wave and both you and Jake return to sentiment and Jake exits the meeting.

“That was probably the easiest session I ever had,” Jake says with a chuckle.

You laugh and roll your eyes.

“What? It’s true!” Jake says grinning.

“I’m sure it is.”

“So uhh did you umm maybe want to talk about why I first went to therapy?” Jake asks.

You nod, “If you’re ready for that. Sure.”

“Tim thinks it’s important you know and I do too, of course. Before I get to that I just need you to know I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I never wanted to stop being your husband. I know there’s a lot of damage I did and I hope to be able to repair it the best I can but none of this had anything to do with you. In no way was this your fault. It was all me,” Jake explains.

You nod, “I know. Dr. Jackson reminds me of that frequently. I had or well have a hard time with coming to terms with that. I’m working on it.”

“Oh honey no, none of this was you. This was all me. I’m the bad husband. I did this to us,” Jake says and puts a hand on top of yours.

You nod and turn your hand to hold his.

“Okay so being away from you was always hard. I would get it in my head that if I worked mg hardest with no distractions I would be able to get home faster. I’m reality that wasn’t really a thing but I convinced myself it was. Sometimes I would be working so hard and miss our planned calls and that’s completely on me. I would remember and feel terrible. Then the longer I went without talking to you the guiltier I would feel. I would start avoiding you to try and deal with my guilt. It didn’t help and I just felt worse. It all kinda culminated after a mission. I uhh became the only current generation aviator with a confirmed air combat kill. Which at first was exciting because everyone was so impressed and congratulated me but eventually it sunk in that I took someone’s life. I know that’s part of my job but there’s still a guilt that comes with it. It kinda made my life feel like it was separated. Everything before I killed someone and everything after. After I felt like I had a completely separate life and it was just easier to live with the guilt by myself. I never told anyone about it. I made a whole persona for myself. I turned into this cocky asshole to keep my emotions hidden. I mean I was always a little cocky but it was bad. I had another mission not even a year ago and I had another confirmed kill. I guess it kinda set off a depression due to the repressing emotions thing then coworkers started to notice. One of them basically kidnapped me off base one day and made me talk about it. His wife forced me into therapy.”

“Kara Floyd?” You asked.

Jake nodded, “Yeah. How did you know?”

“Did she not explain about when she called me?” You asked.

Jake shook his head.

You chuckled, “So uh she called me to tell me her coworker was seeing my husband so I hung up on her thinking you were cheating on me. She called back saying we must have been disconnected and I told her I hung up on her and explained that if you were cheating on me that you could just send me the divorce papers and she didn’t need to tattletale.”

Jake groaned, “I’m kicking Bob’s ass.”

“Whose Bob?”

“Her husband. Neither of them told me this. Can’t kick her ass. Gotta kick Bob’s. They told me you talked to Tim.”

“Once she explained herself she gave him the phone and I talked to him but first there was a big misunderstanding.”

“Sounds like it. For the record I have not and would never cheat on you. We have have gotten married young but I take those vows seriously.”

You nod, “Me too. I didn’t either by the way. Cheat on you I mean. I didn’t do that. You’re my husband.”

Jake squeezed your hand, “I’m sorry for all this.”

You nod, “Thank you for apologizing and thank you for telling me all that. It all sounds incredibly hard and I’m sorry you had to go through it.”

Jake nods, “Tim told me to ask ,if you’re comfortable, about how you felt when I stopped talking to you. I mean I know it’s not good but I really want this to work and open communication is important for that.”

“Ohh umm yeah. I guess I could tell you. It was hard. Incredibly so. I did the whole stages of grief thing. I was mad at first. Mad that you could do something like that. Mad at myself for putting that much faith in you. Mad that I gave up everything for you and in the end I didn’t have anything to show for it. Then I got sad. Real sad. I wondered what I did wrong or what was wrong with me that you didn’t want to be with me anymore. I was really depressed. Barely did anything but lay in bed. I lost a lot of weight. I had to take pills for the depression. Eventually I just accepted that you weren’t gonna come home to me so I moved out of your house to here. I got Pumpkin. I got on with my life. Since we started this I’ve had a couple sessions with Dr. Jackson to address all that. There’s still a lot of lingering insecurity and self esteem issues,” you explain not looking at Jake.

Jake squeezes your hand once and you look over at him, a few tears in your eyes. You notice Jake’s also look a little glassy.

“Oh darlin’ I am so sorry,” he says and uses your hand to pull you into a hug. You both wrap yourselves up in the other and sob. Sob for yourselves. Sob for each other.

Part 8

[lustfangs]

Treble clef anon here (𝄞)!

I hope this new piece lives up to my previous standards. Of course, as per your suggestion, we'll be taking a deep dive into the wonderful world of dumbification.

Afterall, what need have you of thoughts - when you're so wet and horny and needy and dumb that all you can think about is how bad you want to be ruined right now?

xxxxxxxxx

It began at work.

It's been a pretty busy month - with calls coming in one way, emails the other, and your boss constantly nagging you about some shit you sent to the wrong person last week, it's astonishing you're even able to keep up. Well... you haven't really been able to keep up that well. Every night you get home so tired you can barely blink without falling asleep, yet the moment you roll laboriously into bed, you're kept awake by the persistent low-level stress of knowing you've got to go to work again tomorrow.

You've thought of getting a therapist, but who has the time for that? Rubbing at your clit at night, awash with the hot flood of an orgasm or three, is all the reprieve you really get from this damn job. And even then, it's so short you barely notice.

So it's another morose, upsettingly boring day when you sit down at your desk, getting a final stretch in before switching on the shitty little company computer and opening the first few emails. They're the normal stuff: finances, shipping, some idiot lost their keys again, etc.

Except, there's one new message. Unknown sender, but you can't be bothered to run up the name. It's probably some newbie who forgot to switch to their work email. Inside, you see some garbled-looking text, obviously photocopied from somewhere, and a file attachment.

Fuck it, might as well, you think, double-clicking your way through. It's some kind of webcam app - your beleaguered old in-built cam blips to life, a dim light in its corner to show it's somehow still shambling on. On your screen, you just see your face. Haggard, strained, and shadowed with eye bags darker than your eyeliner, you look about as miserable as you feel. Across this dour screen flashes a message. Quick, subtle, but you catch it.

"Blink twice"

Hell, why not. You blink twice.

"Good girl."

Your cheeks flush, that light red startlingly noticeable in the slightly grainy camera footage. Oh, so that's what this is. One of those call-and-response porn bots? You'd heard of them before - hell, you'd been sent them before, whenever some dumbass let their email get hacked - but this one is surprisingly well put-together. Usually, big compilations of these pop up either on youtube or on porn sites, depending on what they ask people to do. Long compilations of tired workers being a little goofy, or a little slutty, into a camera that scrambles their identity when the recording's over.

It's funny, you never thought you'd get caught up in one of these. Maybe you'll be able to get off to it later, when it's inevitably uploaded to the hornier channels of the internet. No new emails. So for now, you keep watching.

"Blink again"

You blink, a damp little spot between your legs.

"Good girl." "You love doing what you're told."

Your breath hitches, the look on your own face enough to send a thrill of lust through your body.

"Nod for me."

Your head bobs once

"You love doing what you're told." "Nod again."

Thank god you're in a cubicle with a door, even if it's just a flimsy bit of cardboard. You nod, mouth slightly agape, and keep staring.

"Good girl." "Show me your tits."

You glance around, making sure nobody's around. Getting up a little, you can see there's even fewer people in than usual. Just you, your boss, and a cleaner. Guess everyone else took the weekend off. Or they're just working from home; you live too close to work not to bother coming in and keeping home separate.

Dropping back down into your seat, you flash your tits - short, sweet, and just long enough that you get an eyeful of yourself, before tucking them back under your shirt.

"Good girl."

The look on your own face is something else. Mouth a little open, tongue just by your lips, you barely manage to restrain yourself from groping at your tits, just dying to see how hot you'd look doing it.

"Again."

They're out in the air before you even realise, and with the click of the far door, you know the janitor's gone for the day. Just you, and your boss in her closed office.

"Touch them."

Your repressed need for some release takes over; groping needily at yourself, you do everything to look as slutty as you can in your reflection - kneading, pinching, pressing them together until your nips are nice and puffy, and you're aching to have them sucked.

"Good girl." "You hate thinking, don't you."

You keep staring, transfixed.

"Nod if you don't want to think"

You've nodded already, and it takes a second for you to realise you actually need to stop. Breath shaky, you drop your hands from your chest, just moving your arms to squish your breasts together and jiggle them a little, chair creaking beneath you.

"Good girl." "Don't think, just nod."

Your head bobs on its own, following the words.

"Don't think." "Take off your shirt."

The cotton lands in a heap on the floor, barely able to contain the instinctual nodding, as you get to see your smooth skin for the first time today. A drop of drool lands on your leg. Where'd that come from?

"Don't think." "Good girls don't think."

Another wet drop on your legs.

"You're a good girl, aren't you?"

You nod vigorously, staring at the image of your own tits.

"Say it."

You stop, suddenly unsure. It feels so good, but... say it? Your mouth forms the words, your head fills with their tune. Will your boss hear you? Surely not, she's behind a closed door afterall?

"Say it."

You raise your head a little over your cubicle wall, just enough to see. She's busy behind her desk with something, barely visible through the slats of her covered office windows. The door is firmly shut.

"I'm a good girl."

"Good girls don't think."

"G- good girls don't think~"

"Good girl." "What are you?"

"I'm a good girl."

"That's right. You're a good girl. And good girls don't think." "Good girls are dumb."

You shift your legs, and feel your own fingers already there, rubbing away at your clit like there's no tomorrow. It's so, so, wet down there, and you can't help yourself now, can you?

"Say it."

"Good girls... are dumb."

"Good girl." "What's your name?"

"I-"

You can't... remember? Your own name? Where was it again - oh, yeah. It's on the floor, on your discarded shirt. You fingers slip inside for a second, and the blind, gasping lust that seizes you refuses to let go, wetly plapping your own hand against your plumply pretty labia, every thought vanishing like smoke.

"What are you?"

"I'm a good girl~"

You whine, eyes rolling over how good you're making yourself feel.

"Your name is slut."

"My name is Slut?"

"Remember, good girls don't think."

"Mnnh~"

You bite your lip, unable to block the low moan sliding out of your throat, your new name locking into place. You should have that put on your... cube ickle? That's a long word.

"Long words are funny." "Good girls are dumb. Long words aren't dumb." "You don't need long words. You're dumb." "What's your name?"

"Slut."

"And what are you, slut?"

"A good girl~"

"And what are good girls?"

"Uhhh..."

You strain your mind to think, absently licking the sweet slick off your own fingers. Humping your hand, creaking the chair, you desperately try to grasp what you were thinking about - was it your wet, aching pussy? No, that's not it. What about this hot feeling between your legs? And how about those cute tits on the screen in front of you? Yeah, that makes sense!

"Good girls are dumb." "My, you really are a good girl."

"Mmhm..."

"So what are you, slut?"

"Uhm... I'm..."

"You're a dumb slut. That's what."

Your whole body trembles as the pleasure suddenly washes over you, hips rolling your sloppy pussy onto your fingers, helplessly riding them as you stare at the pretty slut on the screen.

"Stand up"

You shoot to your feet, tits bouncing as you try to keep fingering yourself, even standing up. Oh look, you're boss' door is open. Wow, has she always been this hot? You shoot a look back down at the screen.

"Cum in my office." "Edge until you reach me. Kneel every time you get close."

You follow the pretty instructions, dumb brain shorting out every time you get so, so close, and dropping to your knees, dripping wet juice all over the floor each time. By the fifth time, you're right by her door, and fat tears are rolling down your face as you grope desperately at your tits instead of your puffy pussy. Finally, you step inside. The office is decorated all in black, as is your boss, her chest and thick cock both straining against her clothes. Standing there, you fingerfuck yourself for her pleasure, squealing with need as the floor soaks in your juices, the smell of sex wafting through the room.

She just watches, clicking a pen.

Why is it so hard now? you think, mashing your clit so hard you're crying all over again. Let me cum for her! I want to cum for her! I'm a good girl! Good girls are dumb! I'm dumb slut! Dumb slut want cum! Just those words flash through your mind, and soon enough you're saying them out loud.

"I'm a good girl! Good girls are dumb!"

"Yes, my dear. Good girls are dumb. And you're such a perfect, pretty, dumb little girl for me, aren't you~?"

The orgasm comes with a scream, dropping you to your knees, then onto your face, as wet cum squirts against the glass of her office, thumping dully in the heart-pounding quiet. Your breaths are nothing but moans and whines, your poor mind gone completely. Just a fuzzy haze left, mumbling something into the wet carpet as trembles wrack your body, showing off your pretty back, and your pretty cheeks, to your new master. Wasn't she your boss already~?

~~~~~~

tadaa! I can do a part two if you like Something tells me your boss won't be satisfied with just watching you lose your mind in front of her.

I get the feeling she wants to keep you.

But who am I, the author, to decide such things?

P.S. I hope you feel a little better now, and hopefully you'll have an easier time of it than before.

Treble clef anon you are my savior!!!! I’ve missed you <33 please send that second part over I’ve been so busy lately :((

[thisonesatellite]

Catch up tag

i was tagged by the lovely and incomparable @booksandabeer, who makes my life better and also adds to my never-ending pile of reading and watchlists with a maximum of impunity and a minimum of compunction. 😂😍💖

Last song I listened to: Last Train to Nowhere - Ghost Hounds

If you like blues - check them out. Their sound is straight out of a 1940s oil drum and they're channeling every last dirty guitar riff and bass line through the last six decades from Free to The Black Crowes to Rival Sons. From earlier tag games some of you know that i listen to the gamut from grunge to industrial to hiphop to metal, but sometimes, darlings, it's just gotta be blues.

Last thing I read: The Second Sleep - Robert Harris

He does a lot of alternative-versions-of-history novels, often with a mystery /thriller element, but this was a bit of a letdown, unfortunately. It has an incredibly well-built world with some very thought-provoking elements of how civilization would fall and rebuild after a technological extinction event (not a calamity -- just the absolute dependence of society on not just technology, but the cloud, and the complete ruination its failure and loss brings) --- which is revealed very gradually and organically (initially you think you're reading a normal high-middle-ages story and then, suddenly -- ancient plastic artifacts. It's well done). But the story builds and builds and builds -- and you keep watching the pages dwindle and worry about how he'll wrap this up, and then, basically, he doesn't. It's not an open end, not even unfinished -- but it is intensely dissatisfying and has an air of "my publisher wanted this by tomorrow". It was definitely worth reading once, but it won't become perennial.

Last movie I watched: Dune Part Two

Enough said. 😂 i'm going to go see Civil War this weekend.

Last TV show: The Continental (look, i love everything John Wick, i won't apologize. And this has a lot of really good world building and storytelling ideas so far.)

Which doesn't disguise the fact that i. Am. So. Fucking. Behind. On. EVERYTHING.

EVERYTHING. OMG. i have not enough time in the day for all the stories i want to imbibe and write and also i have to make room for my current Leverage re-binge, because sometimes i need to see a world where justice is A Thing.

Next up: Fallout, obvi. And Ripley. And The Gentlemen. And now that @booksandabeer mentioned it, Shogun has climbed up the watchlist to #4, and 3 Body Problem has entered it.

You guys still want fic from me, or can i stop writing to free up some time? 😂

Last thing I googled: i cannot stress this enough: i DO NOT GOOGLE. i DUCKDUCKGO.

Having said that, the last thing i searched for was: "longest sniper shots in military history". For a throwaway fic line. i'm going to end up on a letter agency watchlist one of these days and they're not going to like my explanation of 'realistic fictional character dialogue'. Are they.

Last thing I ate: Buttermilk. Which is either very cool, or very sad. 😂

Sweet, salty, or savory: Here's the thing: i do not like the taste of sweet. All sweet. Every iteration of sweet. My fave chocolate is 85 - 99% and my actual hell is a candy store. So, like, SAVORY all the way. And then salty, natch.

Sleep: What is sleep? Do not compute. Want it, though.

Currently reading: Rivers of London - Ben Aaronovich

Mostly for phrases like: "Being a seasoned Londoner, Martin gave the body the "London once-over" - a quick glance to determine whether this was a drunk, a crazy or a human being in distress. The fact that it was entirely possible for someone to be all three simultaneously is why good-Samaritanism in London is considered an extreme sport - like BASE jumping or crocodile wrestling."

Really, it's all the fun you can eat.

Absolutely zero pressure tags: @stoneserafina @cable-knit-sweater @ace-in-reserve @ohhsodebonair, @voylitscope

[simpingforsimjake]

The Guilty Defence - Chapter Three

Warning: slight mention of insomnia and PTSD. 

Y/N knocks on the door and quickly adjusts her blazer before hearing a 'come in' from Jay and steps inside.

Jay was like your typical boss: tall, handsome, neatly suited up outfit with his hair brushed up and sleeves to his elbows. Anyone could've swoon for him. As he sees the door open, he glances at Y/N and smiles,

"Ah, you're here. I knew you would come as soon as I called you Prosecutor Y/N~" he says in a friendly way before standing up and gestures to the sofa. "Come, have a seat."

Y/N chuckles before going over to sit down.

"Thanks Jay. So, who confessed? Who did the hit-and-run this morning?" she asked while drinking some water.

Jay cleared his throat and sat down, an uneasy look on his face.

"Do you remember the double homicide case back in 2013 and then the drug induced driving in 2019? The one by Johnny Martinez?" 

Y/N almost choked on her water and widens her eyes.

"J-Johnny- you being serious? He just got out of prison a few years ago-" she replied before quickly scrambling for the documents and looked through the information.

"Yes, that Johnny. He was well behaved in prison...I wonder why he suddenly did a hit-and-run. Anyway, the evidence seemed very clear that he did it. However, there's something a bit fishy...the car registration number doesn't match with the name." 

Y/N looks at the picture of the car, and then back at the document. 

"Don't worry Jay, I'll be adding this to the case. But since Jake is a lawyer, could he interrogate him tomorrow? I got an appointment with my therapist."

"With Gyuvin? Yeah, that's fine, just let Jake know." he replied.

___________________

"Gyuvin~ it's been a while~" Y/N smiles while walking into the room and hugs him. 

"Y/N~ how have you been? How's work going?" He asks while sitting down and pulls up her medical records.

"Tiring, long, stressful to the point that I think I'm gonna get bald...how's mum doing?" 

"She's doing good, just that she misses you. Anyway, how's your...insomnia and PTSD..?"

"Not that good...? I don't know, I need more medication, can you prescribe me some?"

"Sure," he said before starting to type on the computer and stands up to get the medications. 

"I hope I can visit you and mum one day...work is hectic. Oh yeah, have you heard about the hit-and-run case? Apparently the convict is Johnny Martinez, not Kim Seongkyu." 

"What- you mean that guy who did the double homicide and drug induced driving?" he said in shock while passing the medications to her. 

"Mhm, Jake is doing the interrogation...I wonder how it's going."

"I bet its going fine." 

_________________

Johnny just grumbled in his seat, mumbling incoherent words to himself before hearing the door open and sees Jake walk in with a pile of documents on top of his laptop before sitting down and sighs. 

"Johnny Martinez. We meet again I see," Jake says while opening the laptop and glances at him in a way to keep his mouth shut from the threat before clearing his throat.

"So, you're confessing that you did the hit-and-run case that happened a few days ago instead of Mr. Kim?" he says while pulling out some pictures and CCTV footages. 

"Yes, it was me...so what?" Johnny says while relaxing back on his chair as if it wasn't a big deal.

"Then, can you explain to me why the car registration number doesn't match with your documents?"

Johnny sighs before replying,

"I borrowed a friend's car, and he had insurance so I was able to use it." 

"So, just because you borrowed your friend's car, you decided to do a hit-and-run and caused a murder? You do realise that you could go to prison for up to five years according to Article 5, Section 3 of the Act of Aggravated Punishment? Maybe even more depending on other crimes we might find on you..." Jake says while raising an eyebrow at him. 

Johnny sighs, annoyance evident on his face. 

"Oh really? What if I tell you that I also killed Y/N's father a few years ago?" he says with a teasing grin on his face.

Jake suddenly tenses up, before glaring at him and then turns around towards the mirrors.

"Can you stop recording for a second?"

He then turns back to Johnny with a deathly stare.

"You idiot, don't mention a word about that here. Anyone could eavesdrop and I would be indicted from my job." Jake mumbles, irritation clearly shown in his tone of voice.

Johnny then chuckled before leaning close to him and whispers in his ear.

"I still have the knife you used hidden somewhere with your DNA on it. If you want to get away with it, then give me a less harsh sentence. I'm clearly innocent." 

Jake then looked at him in disbelief before hitting his fist on the table pissed off and sighs. 

"That wasn't me stop making up lies. But fine. I'll see what I can do." 

_______________

Thanks for reading this chapter~

[falseroar]

Was trying to post a new chapter of Murder on the Warfstache Express roughly every other day, but work was rough today and I think I'd rather toss my computer out the window than open another word document right now. Depending on how things go tomorrow and how lost I get in the woods after work, it might be Friday before the next chapter gets posted.

But next two chapters will both be on the long side, so hopefully that will make up for the wait.

[fairytaleriots]

Repressing emotions, being ironic...the family business - Chapter 1

Summary:

Dave wants to find his Bro, Rose wants to return to her normal live as a college student. Instead they get involved in some rituals, find themselves and a family and maybe save the world. The last part might pose a problem. or Dean Winchester wishes he had what Dave Strider has

ao3 link

Chapters: 2

Act 1 Chapter 1

„On recent developments: Dave’s skills in shooting, hand-to-hand combat and knives is improving faster, since he’s actually going doing with the set training regiment without complaining. Despite that Rose still wins against him in a brawl. She just doesn’t hesitate.“ – /home/personal/twins/training_observations_11.odt , Bro Strider’s computer files

Your name is Rose Lalonde and you have the life you always wanted. You have left the past behind you, started studying psychology at your first choice university, your apartment is small but enough and you have accumulated a small group of friends that you can depend on and that make you laugh occasionally. It’s nice. It’s normal. If only your subject of study didn’t regularly remind you that the past isn’t left behind that easily. To the point where sometimes it comes crashing through your living room window in the middle of the night.

You watch Jessica lock her car twice, first when you get out of the car and then again just a few steps later. She turns back as if she isn’t sure whether or not she has already done this and repeats it, just to be sure. She always does this, you note mentally. Just an innocent habit? Or maybe a prior bad experience? You want to dig deeper, crawl in and find the roots of it, but it’s late and right now you need to go to bed, because there is class tomorrow, so instead you file it away for later and smile at Jessica.

“Thank you for the ride. It is appreciated”

Jessica gives you s slight smile back: “Oh, any time, really. Come on, I’ll bring you to your door.”

That might have been flirting. Or another sign of anxiety. You add it to your file while making inconsequential chatter on your way to the door. You’re still halfway in thought when Jessica says her goodbyes.

You’re no longer in thought when you see the entrance floor of your apartment. You haven’t really gotten around to decorating here – or anywhere else in the apartment. You’ve been meaning to put up some pictures on the wall, to make it feel more like a home, for a while now. You just haven’t gotten around to it yet. The relative emptiness of the room makes the small shimmer of light coming though the slit of the slightly open living room door even more noticeable. Your hands go to the stiletto knives hidden in your boots. You hadn’t managed to make yourself get rid of them. After all, you might have wanted to leave that life behind you, but that didn’t make you unaware of what’s out there. Silently you sneak towards the door and open it, knife in each hand, ready to jump.

You see glass splinters scattered on the floor and over most of your furniture. A cold night’s wind blows through the jagged remains of what was once your living room window. You see your brother standing in the middle of the room, hands in his pockets.

“Sup.”, he says. “Sorry to just barge in like that, but you know how it is. Not that I don’t totally respect your space and shit, hell, I respect it more than an anxious teenage boy leaving room for Jesus during his first dance at prom. Hands all sweaty and he hopes nob-” You don’t lower your knives and give him a look that clearly conveys ‘Get on with it’. He swallows and, with a lot of practiced calm, he says: “Bro’s on a hunting trip. And he hasn’t been home in a few days.”

You take the tea bag out of your cup while watching Dave crawl around on the ground with a dustpan. “Surely this could have easily been avoided and my poor window might have been spared.”, you point out, when he gives out an annoyed sigh.

“I was going to! I’m a merciful burglar, I do nothing but spare windows all day long. I looked at your apartment and thought ‘No windows will be harmed in this breaking and entering’. It’s not my fault your window resisted, at that point a man’s gotta do what he’s gotta do and in this case it’s taking a big stone and shattering that window into its tiny, resisting pieces. You have to show the window who’s boss, ya know. Good job in securing it though, maybe account for big stones next time.”

He puts the rest of the glass in the bin and sits across from you. When you gesture slightly, he takes the cup of tea you had readied for him.

“I will remember that. Did at no point in this process occur to you that maybe the reason the window was secured is that I did not want somebody to break into my room or was the need to show the window ‘who’s boss’ simply to great?”

Dave lets out a snort and takes a sip of his tea. He immediately makes a face as if it’s the worst thing he’s ever tasted and then takes another sip.

“What the fuck else was I supposed to do?”

“Have you considered waiting at the door? Or, god forbid, call?”

“Would you have let me in?”

You look down instead of answering. You would have, probably. You can’t imagine turning Dave away, especially now. But, with how the two of you split, you can understand why he would assume otherwise and you can’t bring yourself to correct him. It might give him hope that things are gonna be like before you left hunting behind and they can’t be.

“I presume you want me to abandon my studies and help you find Bro then?”, you ask instead.

Dave gives you a look, like he noticed your change of topic, before he answers. You’re usually better at getting away with things like this.

“Well, yeah. It sounds kinda shitty, when you say it like that. But I… he didn’t say where he was going and, if whatever he found actually got him, I might need some back up. Not that that’s likely, Bro’s made of harder stuff. He probably just forgot to check back in, you know how he is.”

You do know. And you know how Dave is, too. You can hear the over-the-top confidence in his voice that betrays his anxiety. You know that Bro would not want him to be here and here he is anyway.

“Ill come. I’ll be able to catch up on most of my classes as long as I’m back in time for my exams. And I will be back for my exams.” You leave him no room for argument. He gives you a small smile, as if the look you’re giving him right now hasn’t made several of your professors shit their pants.

“ No shit. I wouldn’t and couldn’t stop you from being a giant fucking nerd.” “Then let us bounce.”

Your first stop is one of Bro’s contacts, a seer. Since Bro had left no hint of his current whereabouts or the job he had taken behind, Dave had thought that this might be the way to get a lead. Now you are walking into maybe the most tacky occult shop you have ever seen. Listen, you get committing to an aesthetic for a bit but maybe that aesthetic should include less knock-off dream catchers. Have a bit of integrity.

The seer is expecting you and you don’t know if Dave called ahead or if she’s simply good at her job. She must be, otherwise Bro wouldn’t have bothered with her. You bet he liked the dream catchers.

She gives you a blinding smile and says in a calming voice: “Hello, hello, sit.” She gestures to two seats heaped over with colorful pillows in front of the table she’s sitting behind.

“My name is Cassia and I am so overjoyed to be your spiritual guide today and this meeting is surely bound to be fortuitous.”

When Dave and you give her identical deadpan stares, she flips her long hair and the smile turns into a smirk. You are 90% sure that Cassia is not her actual name.

“My, my, you both really take after Bro, don’t you? Always right down to business.”

Dave flinches the slightest bit and you think she notices. She really is good then.

“That would be sensible. We really don’t know if this is time-sensitive or how far we might need to travel. Expedience would be appreciated.”, you start, when it doesn’t seem like Dave is gonna take the lead.

She starts rummaging around her drawers and pulls out an assortment of crystals and symbols embroidered into cloth without giving either of you much attention anymore. Not the right move either because you can practically feel Dave starting to vibrate next to you, thanks to the silence, before it bursts out of him: “Where do you get your info from anyway? Has to have a source, doesn’t it? Do you trade something for it or is it like a present, like does Santa show up and hand you a convenient little package full of other peoples issues. ‘Merry Christmas, this dude is cheating on his wife, Uncle Jason has gotten into some drama again and this is the place where the lost family member of these to fucked off to. Please use at your discretion.’” Dave’s eyebrows are furrowed in clear suspicion. Your family possesses remarkable eyebrow skills.

Cassia looks at him as if he’s a cat that has just thrown up on your bed while you were trying to carry it away as fast as possible.

“Some of us are just blessed with more insight than others.”, she says in a measured tone.

“And if your question is whether or not this means a hunter like you needs to kill me, might I remind you that I have worked with your guardian, who is undoubtedly a hunter through and through, for quite some time and he has not seen the need to do so?”

Dave’s look doesn’t change, but, when he doesn’t say anything else, she continues: “Shall we begin then?”

From an ornate box that has been decorated with paintings of clouds, she takes out a stack of cards and starts shuffling them. She handles them with ease and it’s quite mesmerizing to watch, cards flying through the air while still never seeming to leave her hands, faster than you can quite follow with your eyes, even though you try. Then, out of nowhere, her hands seem to catch on something invisible, breaking her rhythm, and a card falls from the deck and lands on the table. You see the image of the High Priestess before everything turns black.

Or not black. It is more...nothing. And then, all at once,the nothing becomes everything and it feels like too much and you want to scream except you are also everything, so everything screams. Suddenly the everything unravels, pieces falling off like petals, and it zeros in until you’re left with a scene of a man in a motel.

You have never seen the old-fashioned furnishing before and yet it feels incredibly familiar. It takes you a moment to become you again and you recognize the man as Bro. Glasses, hat, popped collar and seemingly unharmed.

You’d nearly forgotten how long it has been since you last saw him and you get the sudden urge to get out of here, to leave and go back to your studies. At the same time you have the bone-deep realization how satisfying it would be to just snap these fucking glasses into pieces.

He’s checking in and the man behind the front desk is giving him a key. This must already have happened a while ago. You mentally jot down the name, Bonnybridge Inn. You feel something like approval at the back of your head and then this last piece of everything falls away as well.

This seems to not have been part of the plan because Cassia seems both shocked and very determined to get rid of you when you wake up. With a last look to Dave and a murmured “You should be more concerned about that than the sources of my visions.” she practically shoves both of you out of her door.

“She didn’t even tell us anything.”, Dave says confused. “What the fuck just happened?”

You think of ‘Bonnybridge Inn’. You think of the overwhelming sensation of more than you could ever handle. You think of the presence in the back of your head and the satisfaction you felt at the image of snapping Bro’s shades in half. “Get in the car. I’ll fill you in on the way.”, you say out loud.

Bro had left the Chevrolet Silverado with Dave before going on this hunt. It had surprised you that Bro would leave his semi-ironic pick-up truck behind but apparently this had been established as a thing whenever Dave and Bro split up to go on separate hunts since you left. One could mistake it for sentimentality. You’re sure that Dave does.

After a quick google search you find your destination to be Chicago, at least 2 days travel from where the two of you are right now.

Dave rummages through his pile of cassette tapes and puts something on that not only have you never heard of, your barely sure its a genre and it’s definitely not old enough to have actually been released on a cassette tape. You look at the cassette case that reads ‘Meaty Fist Glassward’ and for a moment you consider making a comment about how this band has been gaining some traction, just to see if you can piss him off, but his face is blank in a way that reminds you of nothing good.

“So you could get started with the filling in now.”, he says, voice perfectly calm.

Part of you feels protective of the vision in some way, but the bigger part wants to make him see what you have seen, so you tell him the whole thing.

“We shouldn't trust that shit! Why did you get the vision, not the actual seer?”

“Well I hardly think we have another choice and it’d be foolish not to follow this up. And maybe I’m just better than her at her job.”, you say with a tone that may be slightly too smug.

Dave shoots you a look, except you can’t see his eyes and he doesn’t turn his face from the road so it ends up more like a disapproving grimace.

“Shouldn’t you be more unhappy? You were the one that wanted a ‘normal’ life and now you’re getting weird visions from some weird all-powerful hentai tentacle-monster.”

“There were no tentacles involved.”

“And I bet you’re real sad about that.”

He’s correct of course. About how you should be a lot madder at the situation. This is something that doesn’t fit in your plan and you hate it when things don’t fit in your plan. But something about it feels so right.

[strugglingyetvibing]

alrighty, it's all-nighter time

essentially, my mentor wants an export of a project snippet i'm to present next week, and we meet tomorrow at 10am. i wasn't expecting him to want an export, i thought we would just go through my wip. i get why he wants an export, i'm working on a newer version of premiere than he is so his computer can't open my project, but it's no less stressful.

i have a start on the snippet - the idea is to show the prettiest images, not necessarily the meat of the project, in a 30-second to 1-minute edit - but it's not coherent enough to export. i was really just putting luts on clips to see if they would work for the cut. 30 seconds to a minute isn't that long, but i have (legitimately) about 4 terabytes of footage to sort through and cherry-pick the best clips. i also need to pick audio (music? if so, what do i pick? can i use a copyrighted song? who knows?), but depending on how long the visuals take (and how coherent i am by the time i'm ready for audio), i may just export a silent clip and ask my mentor for advice in the morning.

he confirmed our meeting at 10pm tonight, it's currently 12:17am, and we meet at 10am.

let's fuckin' go dude

[evermorethecrow]

I start my day with a set amount of marbles in my head but every hour I lose one and right now I'm low on marbles and high on the joy and whimsy one may associate with wakefulness, no I haven't gone woke I've awoken my third eye and I'm using it to look into your devices and examine your unfinished wips. No one can stop me because am a liar and a fiend of sorts and friend to many. It's 11:56 pm and another marble is about to drop

Oh free my harrowed soul from this wretched body and let my spirit feel what I never could quite grasp

The sense of wonder that does so divide us from common man and does so place us upon a silver plate dished out and presented to anyone willing to lift the lid

Anyone so willing may be as unwilling as me, the person tied to the platter, their body may move on it's own victim to human curiosity born from a lack of paranoia which was achieved from high headed horses beliving themselves impenetrable and solid crafted by the gods themselves or the people before them depending which way you believe

And ah is believing so human

Belief in life and death and the sun and the stars and the tide and breeze and any other word that has been cut and rised dry by the starving poets of the world

And as I do not consider my words much beyond a ramble for anyone willing to hear and interpret I won't state many opinions instead I shall hold my tongue and ears and eyes and fingers and thumbs and any other aspect of my personal anatomy- of which I can live without

It is, after all, not the shell that makes a human or the flesh underneath but the thought and dictatorship of the mind

A human gets moved to a computer in science fiction and it is said they have been trapped, not that they are not human. So I'd say no matter the body it's the mind that makes a person but I may be unknowing

After all it's my opinion and a debatable one at that. Unfortunately I am not open for debate right now perhaps try again tomorrow