anotherpapercut · 6 months ago
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I agree that drugs should be legalised and not stigmatized but you're delusional if you think "most drugs can be consumed completely safely with almost 0 risk to the user"
I think the key here is the word "can" by which I mean that if consumed in safe doses and safe environments and from safe sources etc most like mainstream drugs (I'm thinking of like mdma, LSD, shrooms, ketamine, coke) CAN be consumed safely with very little risks. I know this to be a fact #1. because I've done a lot of actual research on this where I've read numerous sources from scientists doctors and users as opposed to just say taking in the abstinence only information I received during school, reading a couple Tumblr posts and assuming I know everything there is to know about the topic and #2 I've used every drug I just listed and more and never suffered any adverse effects because I did my research, tested them for impurities when appropriate, and took other measures to ensure my safety
there are obviously exceptions and drugs that just shouldn't be fucked with (meth and heroin is what I'm thinking, but I also know people who have consumed these once or twice with 0 repercussions because that's how human experience works), but if you're actually interested in learning more about the many ways in which you were lied to about how "illegal drugs" are somehow automatically much worse for you than prescription drugs or socially acceptable drugs (like caffeine and alcohol) then feel free to either 1. do your own ACTUAL research that does not involve trusting for profit rehab centers and abstinence only educators (I'll even get you started with a couple good resources) or 2. message me off anon to have a real discussion about the mechanisms by which the most common drugs operate and the ways in which they can be consumed as safely as you can consume alcohol cigarettes and energy drinks but sending me your half cocked uninformed and unnecessarily insulting opinion on anon is not exactly productive. additionally, I'm sure you can see why I struggle to see or believe that you ACTUALLY think drugs should be destigmatized and aren't just parroting what you think the correct woke opinion is when you refuse to even take the very first step to destigmatizing drugs, drug use, and drug users and actually unlearn all the stigmatizing things you've been taught
I know that it's a lot easier just to port over all the things you've learned from dubious sources that you trusted implicitly because they claimed to be an authority and not actually do the work required to achieve the goals you claim to support, but easier doesn't mean right
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anothermonikan · 2 months ago
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Man high school was fucked up. You ever think about that. Thank fucking god I'm not in high school anymore
#Sorry I need to turn a distraction video on or smth because my mind came back to#The very first experience I had of high school#And like my father had just dropped me off right. Yknow. Big massive new place I hadn't been before#And we went into an assembly hall right and my father called me like 5 minutes after#My phone was on silent and I took it out of my pocket for what. 5 seconds to dismiss the call.#Yknow a call from my parent who probably just wanted to make sure I got in okay#And in that 5 seconds a teacher just came over and took the phone off me#And then later on in the assembly the speaker was like 'We have a strict phone policy.'#'You're not allowed to use them outside of break unless explicitly asked' and the fucking.#Teacher who practically snatched my damn phone of me was like#'I have caught 5 students on their phones already. This is unacceptable behaviour in high school and you should already know'#Like. Holy shit I got it out for 5 damn seconds to dismiss a call from a parent who just wanted to make sure I was okay :sob: I was 12 yknow#Just something so. Fucked up about that. That's not a fucking expectation in the real world#Yeah don't be distracted by your phone while doing work in class but it was nothing like that :sob:#I'm willing to bet that most of the people who got their phone confiscated in that assembly were of similar circumstances to me#Yknow. Worried parents who just dropped their 12 year old off to a big unfamiliar place for the first time calling#You could've taught that lesson in the classroom if someone was actually distracted on their phone. Come on now#What Is with some fucking primary school and high school teachers having absolute power trips over actual children#Awful. I was thinking about it because my younger sibling has just gone back school#And their in their last year of primary school and they where telling me about like all the bullshit they're pulling#And I guess I just. Worry a bit. Because high school is genuinely a little bit fucking traumatic#I tell them all the time that most of the rules they set up in primary school and high school are kinda bullshit anyways#And to follow them simply to not get in trouble. But don't let them dictate how you act forever#Because you go through the whole of high school being told what to do by people who usually view you as a lesser being to them#And then you get to college and everything changes and it's gonna be weird as fuck finally being viewed as an equal#...especially if you're like me and engrained rules way too seriously#Sorry this is breaking the no emotional posting after 10pm rule but I think I can stand by this one#Okay I've made 6 begillion grammar errors I'm on mobile I can't change em#To everyone currently in high school: please fucking survive. It get's better. I prommy you#android.txt
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cuddleprofiler · 23 days ago
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FAINTING & FEVER - When you confess your deep buried feelings to your boss in your fever.
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Summary: Hiding a fever? Check. Passing out? Check. Confessing your feelings to your boss? Wait woah?
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader, BAU x platonic!reader
Genre: Fluff
Warnings: fever, fainting, rest is good I guess.
Word Count: 3.8k
A/N: This was supposed to be platonic but I didn't feel like it is romantic :) This is my first time writing any non-platonic work. All the pics I have inserted are more clear when clicked if you want to see (Tumblr did something). Positive Criticism is welcomed.
"So, what are you ladies up to tonight?" Morgan asked while driving, his focus on the road. You'd just finished a case, and as usual, Morgan was eager to make plans before another case thrust you back into the world's horrors.
"Well," JJ began with a sigh, eyebrows raised, "I'm going to spend the whole day resting with my boys." She finished with her radiant smile.
"What about you, Prentiss?" Morgan glanced at Emily in the passenger seat.
"No plans yet, but who knows? I might have something by the time we land."
"L/N?" Derek called out when he realized you hadn't answered, lost in your own world.
You sat beside Spencer, staring out the window, oblivious to your surroundings. The heat you felt was consuming every coherent thought.
"L/N?"
"Huh? What did you say?" you asked, turning your head so quickly that JJ and Spencer wondered how you didn't get whiplash. Your voice remained calm and soft.
"You okay?" Spencer asked, his hazel eyes filled with concern.
"Why wouldn't I be, Spencer?" you replied, mustering a small smile to maintain your façade.
"You just seem...down," he commented, studying you intently. You gave him another small smile, shook your head, and winced. Your head felt as if it had been struck by an invisible hammer. Spencer either didn't notice your wince or chose not to comment.
"You up for some fun tonight?" Morgan asked again, though you were barely aware.
"What fun?" you frowned. The way he said "fun" made you think it might not be the kind you'd enjoy.
"Seriously, sweet girl? You're spending way too much time with Reid. I'm talking about bars, drinks, and if you get lucky, then maybe—" Morgan started with a Cheshire grin, while your eyes widened.
"No," you said in a high-pitched tone, embarrassed at the thought of hooking up with a random guy when you already loved someone.
"What do you mean, 'no'? Come on. We don't get many days off, L/N. You should enjoy them when you can."
"Morgan, I can't," you said, shifting uncomfortably.
"And why is that, sweet girl?"
"Hey! Garcia will take offense if you call someone else 'sweet girl,'" you said with a smile, appreciating his use of a nickname for you.
"Nah. My baby girl will never be offended by this, and you're not just someone else," he replied confidently.
"But answer the question, sweet girl," he prompted, aware you were avoiding it. He assumed your hesitation was due to your reluctance to go out, knowing how you and Reid felt about drinking and socializing.
"I've got some work to do, Morgan. Also, I'm tired," you said, leaning your head back.
Morgan's expression changed instantly.
"Go straight home when we land, Y/N, not to Hotch's office. Whatever files you have to work on can wait. If I didn't know him better, I'd say he's making you do overtime."
"Exactly. Hotch will understand, and there's no need to tire yourself out," Spencer added softly.
Their concern warmed your heart. "Of course, gentlemen," you replied, amusing the others.
The conversation drifted back to their plans while you gazed out the window, watching amoeba-shaped clouds float slowly across the sky. The view was therapeutic, but you didn't tell them how awful you were feeling.
When you woke up that morning, it felt as if hell had descended upon Earth just for you. Your muscles ached, protesting and begging you to return to bed, but you couldn't. Lives were at stake, a case needed solving. Now, the muscle pain had given way to a headache and constant zoning out.
You longed to get home as soon as possible, yearning for your fluffy blankets to engulf you completely, save for your head. You hoped your phone might end up in a ditch for the day, allowing you to remain in your cozy cocoon until you felt well enough to face the world—and potential case calls—again.
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Soon, you arrived at the airstrip, where Emily and JJ surrounded you.
"So, where's your mind wandering today?" Emily asked with a mischievous grin. Before you could answer, JJ chimed in.
"In dreams of Hotch, of course. Right, Y/N?" You quickly shushed her, glancing around to ensure no one had overheard.
"JJ, Emily, we're at the airstrip," you whispered urgently. "Someone might hear you. It's supposed to be a secret. Sometimes I think you and Garcia are determined to let Hotch find out." You began trudging toward the plane, feeling drained.
They both laughed and high-fived.
"We do want you two together," Emily said.
"You should tell him yourself," JJ added. "Besides, if he overhears by accident, it'll only speed up your love life."
"By the way, Y/N, will you only go out with us if Hotch is there too?" Emily teased.
"Guys!" you groaned as they laughed.
Your crush on Hotch had started early in your tenure, initially based on his looks. But it deepened into something more profound, to the point where his well-being affected you deeply. You felt terrified when he faced dangerous situations. That's when you knew you were in trouble.
There was no way he'd fall for someone who could barely speak to him. You had your reasons for avoiding him. The days leading up to this decision were hellish. Never had you stumbled over your words as much as you did then. And what did he do?
He always gave you a patient look and nodded softly, encouraging you to speak your mind. It was manageable until you started losing yourself in his eyes or staring at his face constantly. After that, you ensured you were never alone with him except when working on case files. You began doing this so he could go home early and rest, reasoning that a few extra files wouldn't impact your time.
You were startled from your reverie by the memory of Garcia suggesting that Hotch might like you too. You still don't believe her, but a girl could hope.
"If it gets too much, I want you to pull out."
"Sir?" you asked, confused, looking up from your gun at your boss, who was surveying the team preparing to ambush the unsub's house.
"Everyone has off cases, L/N, but with time, most of us have learned to deal with it. Still, we pull ourselves out when needed. You're still new. So, pull out if necessary. Do you understand me?" he said, now looking at you, his gaze sweeping over your shorter form. You looked up at him intently, lost in his eyes until he raised an eyebrow. You could have sworn you saw his eyes soften slightly.
"Yes, sir."
"Call me Hotch, Y/N." With that, he walked towards the rest of the team as you hurried to catch up.
Back at the FBI building, you dashed to Garcia's lair. She was your first friend, and you both had a tendency to ramble about various topics. Sometimes Reid joined in. As soon as you saw her, you hugged her. Hugging Garcia was like therapy—you could feel your worries, guilt, and other negative emotions leaving your body. You felt yourself relax, your body lighter. You called it "Garcia magic”! It was an added bonus that Garcia was fond of physical affection.
When you told her about Hotch's words and your feeling that he was worried and all other incidents where he acted the same—though you thought that was impossible—she flashed her beaming smile, all her white teeth showing. Her eyes, however, held the amusement of knowing something you didn't.
"I didn't know sweet cheeks, he cares for you this much." Garcia mused, clearly pleased by what you'd shared.
This much? And what do you mean?" you asked, your curiosity evident.
"Hmm hmm. He looks at you the same way Will looks at JJ. He's so soft with you and he isn't like this with anybody. Maybe except Jack of course."
“Garcia there’s no way in hell he likes me. Maybe he was trying to be sweet.” you asked her trying not to get your hopes up.
This is a paradox. You are sure. Damn sure! Garcia began laughing while you gave her an incredulous look. She didn’t stop until you threw a teddy at her. “My sweet sweet girl, Hotch is never sweet with anyone. Ask Emily about it if you are unsure but nope nada in my so many years of being at BAU, he’s never sweet with anyone.”
"Maybe you are overthinking this Garcia. Hotch and I don't even know each other.”, you mumbled looking at your hands in your lap.
“That is an argument I will have with you on another day but what I'm saying is that Hotch likes you.", she says with a small almost sad smile.
"If you want you can observe him. You're a profiler baby. Yow will know.", she added gleefully.
Henceforth, you observed Hotch as profiling team members was off-limit. He had a tendency to smile at you softly and he didn’t offer others the same amount of options that he did to you , but you attributed this to being new. You were certain he'd show his more authoritative side once you were no longer considered the newest member. Definitely!
Lost in these thoughts, you suddenly felt your vision blur and your surroundings distort.
"Whoa! You okay?" Emily asked as she grabbed your forearm, while JJ held the other. They exchanged concerned looks when you didn't answer immediately. You shook your head slightly and replied,
"Yeah, yeah. Just slipped."
They didn't seem convinced but didn't press further.
"Be careful," JJ said, patting your shoulder.
"Yeah, of course," you mumbled, trying to regain your composure.
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Hotch and Rossi chatted as they walked, their conversation drifting from Jack's football to other topics. Before they knew it, they'd arrived at the airstrip. As Hotch boarded the plane, he froze in surprise. You were seated next to his usual spot—an unexpected sight, given your habit of avoiding him outside of group settings or work situations. Your presence there felt nothing short of miraculous.
Not wanting to give Rossi a chance to tease him, Hotch quickly sat beside you. He was certain you hadn't noticed his arrival, as you were deeply engrossed in the case report—something you rarely worked on during flights.
His attention shifted back to Rossi when the older agent began discussing plans for a pasta dinner. From the corner of his eye, Hotch caught you glancing up, offering both him and Rossi a small smile before burying yourself in the file again. It was odd, considering the report wasn't due for days.
He didn't want to finish it quickly, knowing an empty home awaited him. No one would be there to greet him—just silent walls. Jack was on vacation with Jessica's family for the next few days, leaving Hotch alone in the city. He stole another quick glance at you, resisting the urge to look more often.
Hotch was sure he would never fall in love again after Hayley. He loved her from such a young age and so much that loving someone else felt betraying the love he had bestowed upon Hayley all those years. Even after getting a divorce, he didn't stop loving her completely. Sometimes, he liked to believe they separated not because they fell out of love, but because their love was so intense that their arguments became too painful. However, he knew this wasn't the reality. He sighed and pulled out his file.
His thoughts soon drifted to you. Lately, contemplating love inevitably led him to think of you. Sometimes you don't know what hit you until it does. Falling in love with you was the same. He was falling in and never realised until the day he got a letter. From you.
Hotch had slowly fallen in love with you. That was the truth of his life, he stayed away from for a long time. How could he stay away when your every action seemed to win his heart anew? Each time he learned something new about you, he fell a little deeper.
You were a sweet addition to the team. It didn't mean you were all the time sunshine. Everyone learnt that the hard way. He mentally chuckled at the fight you and Morgan had over dark chocolate to the extent you were ready to beat him black and blue. However, your sweet gestures towards everyone on the team always warmed his heart.
He reminded himself to remain professional. After all, he was on a plane with a group of profilers who could decipher his feelings in minutes if given the chance.
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"L/N, can you tell me about the—"
"L/N?" Hotch called out again, surprised you didn't hear him the first time. Still, you didn't reply. Rossi also looked up.
"Y/N? Y/N!" He said, touching your shoulder.
"Yeah, yeah. What happened?" You looked like a deer caught in headlights, making both Hotch and Rossi confused.
"Nothing happened. I was just asking you about the case," he replied, looking at you. You were looking...different. It was as if every laugh and joy had been drained from your life.
"I'll be right back," you said, standing up and moving before Hotch had a chance to stop you.
The moment you stood up, you knew you shouldn't have done that. You were far better sitting down. Now the pounding in your head intensified, along with the feeling of being shaken up to the point where you could see everything oscillating. You tried to keep yourself still, hoping your surroundings would become normal.
The next thing you knew, everything went black.
Hotch saw you swaying and moved instinctively. He caught you, one hand on your waist, the other on your shoulder, trying to keep you up while you were dead weight. However, it wasn't as easy as it seemed in the movies.
"Y/N? Y/N. Hey, wake up!"
"Y/N!" He squeezed your body against him.
However, his yelling got him nowhere. You didn't respond, lying still in his arms as if you were taking a nap. Hotch would have believed it if he hadn't seen you go down in front of his eyes.
"Y/N," he called out again, softly this time, yet the response was the same. He swept your hair back from your face.
Unable to keep you up, he gently lowered both of you onto the aisle. He moved his hands to your shoulders, gently shaking you, but you showed no sign of waking up.
He didn't notice anyone else until he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up and saw Rossi sitting beside him, looking alarmed by the happenings. Morgan was above your head. The rest of the team was also hovering.
"What happened, man?" Morgan asked while taking the sweater Reid offered and putting it under your head.
Hotch didn't answer. He himself didn't know what was wrong with you. One minute, you were standing and the next plummeting down like the apple which led to the discovery of gravity. His hand went to your cheeks, where he felt the heat radiating. His frown appeared and deepened as he touched your forehead.
"She's burning up!" Hotch said worriedly, still keeping his tone full of calmness while his heart was trying to beat out of his chest. Having a fever is one thing but passing out from it is entirely another. He couldn't help but feel the small burning sensation in his chest at the thought of being ill, even if it was a fever.
You could hear people talking, but why would there be people at your home? You scrunched your face and blinked your eyes multiple times before fully opening them. Everything was blurry at first, but soon it became clear, along with the horrible pounding in your head. You tried to sit up, but a firm pair of arms pushed you back.
"Hey Bella, don't try to get up. Stay still."
"Wha-what happened?"
"You fainted," Hotch said. The rest of them had dispersed, knowing Hotch would take great care of you and that a crowd wouldn't help much.
"I don't feel good," you groaned, your hand massaging your head.
"Yeah, I gathered that much. Tell me what's exactly wrong, L/N?" Hotch had your hand in his, rubbing it softly to ease the pain in any way he could.
"I don't feel good," you mumbled again with half-closed eyes. You were mostly disoriented from what Hotch could figure out.
"You have a fever."
"I do?"
It was taking you time to gather what was happening. He blamed the fainting and fever. It took you time, but you slowly opened your eyes fully when you noticed Hotch still sitting at the edge of the sofa. He still held your hand, and your legs were on his lap. Being in touch with him felt like second nature; you didn't even notice until you opened your eyes. You quickly tried to pull back your legs and hand, but Hotch stopped you with his hold.
"Don't move so much, Y/N. Relax," his voice soft and calming, as always.
You sat in silence for the rest of the journey, which wasn't very long. You were clutching onto his forearm as he helped you sit up to go home. When you came outside the plane,
"Hotch, I can go home by myself," you began, your voice small, hoping to regain some of the dignity you lost after fainting in front of your entire team.
"Y/N, you can't stand straight, and you want to drive home by yourself?" Hotch asked with a raised eyebrow.
"There are other ways to be suicidal than this, sweet girl," Morgan quipped, walking beside you, not that you noticed. You looked up at him and then at Hotch, concern shining in both of their eyes.
"I'm not joking," you huffed.
"Neither are we," Morgan said.
"Y/N, it's final. I'm taking you home," Hotch ordered. That's what it felt like to you.
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Hotch had an arm around your waist, supporting you as your body threatened to collapse. He hurried towards your apartment, aware of your rising fever. He couldn't give you medicine without food, but he was grateful for your unfiltered speech—it revealed the extent of your discomfort.
"You know, Hotch?" you began as he fumbled with the door. You leaned against the wall for support.
"Dahlias are my favourite flowers. They symbolize change, dignity, and elegance."
"They're native to Mexico, right?" he replied as you entered the apartment.
"Yeah! You know about them?" you asked, turning your face abruptly.
"Easy, honey. No sudden moves," he cautioned. "And yes, I've picked up a few facts over the years."
"I've always loved them. So colourful, bright, and beautiful," you laughed softly.
Hotch had never heard you speak so freely. He found himself enchanted by your voice, certain you could rival Reid in flower trivia.
After settling you on the sofa, Hotch fetched water, fruit, and medicine. You tossed your shoes aside and reluctantly took the pills, groaning as you slumped back.
"You should change into something more comfortable," Hotch suggested, removing his own shoes.
You looked at him, startled. Realizing his phrasing, he quickly clarified, "I mean, you should put on some comfy clothes."
At his insistence, you changed. When you returned, Hotch had shed his coat and tie, his shirt partially unbuttoned.
"Aren't you going home?" you asked, confused.
"I'll stay tonight, in case you need anything."
"There's no need, Hotch. You must be exhausted from the case. Go home and rest. I'll be fine."
"Y/N, it's better if someone's with you tonight. You fainted on the plane. I wouldn't be able to relax not knowing how you're doing," he admitted, his voice soft.
You smiled at his thoughtfulness and curled up on the sofa with a blanket and pillow. You both decided to watch Star Wars.
Partway through the movie, you turned to Hotch, staring intently.
"You know, Hotch?"
"Yes?"
"I love you. Like, really, really love you," you said with a lopsided smile.
Hotch froze, completely still. He hadn't been this motionless since he first held Jack, afraid of hurting his newborn son. He never imagined you reciprocated his feelings, but he knew if he didn't get the conversation going right now, he not going to know about your feelings when you are not loopy due to medicine.
“Yea?”
"Mm-hmm. You're so wonderful and adorable and just... so cute. Yeah, you're intimidating at work, but the rest of the time? Totally cute."
"Oh, am I?"
Though your tongue was loosened by the medicine, you were more lucid than you let on. Having suppressed these feelings for so long, you couldn't stop now that you'd started. You wanted to tell him everything—him about all those feelings that you shouldn't have about him but you do, how couldn't help but fall for him slowly and every day seeing him made your day.
He was so handsome! His pretty dark brown chocolate-coloured eyes are swoon-worthy. Whenever you look into them, you feel hypnotized, unable to look away from them but not being present in the time; you often find yourself lost in them, forgetting his words as you gaze at him. Right now, he was looking directly at you, and you were drowning in his gaze.
How does he not realize the effect he has when he looks at someone like this?
Hotch's smile grew with each word you spoke.
"You're so handsome, ridiculously handsome. Have you seen yourself under that table lamp? You look like some movie hero poring over case files."
He blushed and glanced away at your flood of compliments. You cupped his face, turning it back to you, your eyes wide and intent. His smile made your frown melt into the biggest grin he'd ever seen on you. You looked beautiful.
"I just really like you, but I know you don't like me," you said, your voice small.
He frowned at your words.
"I love you too, honey, but I'll give you the full answer when you're well enough to remember it. Word for word," he replied softly.
You squealed with delight.
"You aren't just saying this to spare my feelings, right?" you mumbled a few moments later.
He cradled your face in his hands. "I would never say such a thing just to spare someone's feelings, Y/N. I love you. More than you can imagine."
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Your questioning continued throughout the movie, but you refused to turn it off.
"You must have had many admirers in college. How many girlfriends did you have?" you asked, your head resting on his shoulder while his hand on your waist pulled you closer. Both of you kept your eyes on the TV.
"I only had one."
"No, you're lying. You're far too handsome to have had only one girlfriend your entire life."
'You can become the second.'
"What did you say?"
"I didn't say anything, sweetheart."
"Did you just call me sweetheart?"
"You're imagining things, L/N. It's a common symptom of high fever. Of course, I didn't call you sweetheart, honey."
"Oh, but I—you just called me—"
"What?"
"Never mind. I must be imagining it."
"Yes, you're definitely imagining things."
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aphroditesmoon · 10 months ago
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wish you'd ask me
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clarisse la rue x fem!demigod!reader
summary: you're not good at reading subtle hints, clarisse realises that maybe she should've been more upfront with her feelings for you.
warnings: fluff, oblivious!reader, clarisse is down bad, reader is very neurodivergent coded, kissing, flirting, title n fic inspired by 'Wish You'd Ask Me' by Matt Maltese.
A/N: thank you for 1.9k followers!! I love you all dearly, my ask box and dms r always open, im glad that my writing is being enjoyed by so many people<3
wc: 4.5k
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You have been in camp half blood for more than 4 years. You have made yourself at home for the last several years. 
It was easy to view yourself as lesser or inadequate in comparison to other mortals during your days in the real world before you were sent to camp. The world has never failed to remind you of how different you were. Always too much or not good enough, always special and never normal
And it wasn't like you were dying for some sort of diagnosis to justify why you are the way you are, but upon discovering that you were actually a demigod, it felt like all the questions you've been harboring to yourself was finally answering themselves. 
Everything clicked. Everything made sense, though at the same time, it felt impossible. You were a very confused little girl when you first arrived at camp. A girl who just wanted someone to tell them that it'll all be alright in the end.
And you still remembered the first person to hold you by your shoulders and made you look into their eyes as they told you that it was all going to be okay.
The girl with beautiful long curls and dark piercing eyes. The girl that everyone else, apparently, was afraid of.
But you could never be afraid of Clarisse La Rue. 
Not with the way she smiles when every time she sees you, the way she never fails to make you feel included even in activities you're not capable of participating in. Not with the way your whole body electrifies every time your skin touches, when your hands brush against each other. 
It didn't matter what anyone think, because no one could change the perception you've built of her. Clarisse La Rue is good. Or at least she is to you.
When you first heard of the rumours surrounding her, you did think better than to force a friendship on her. You strayed away from her and stuck to your cabin siblings and your books, but you noticed daily how she'd still go out of her way to talk to you at least once a day.
It didn't need to be a long conversation, just a passing acknowledgement. An easygoing 'hey, how've you been doing.' Sometimes she'd even go as far as cracking a joke with you.
With how serious her face is whenever she make the jokes, you'd have to think twice as hard and thrice as faster than another person to try and guess if she was being genuine or not so you could fit in a necessary laugh when you needed to.
Even as her anger became more apparent because of the new kid's accidental climb to fame and embarrassing the Ares' cabin, she still found time to make a conversation with you.
It had been long since you tried to ignore or avoid her. You learned that her attention towards you is harmless, and that she seemed much more comfortable telling you certain things compared to others. If she has been viewing you as some sort of safe box, then you don't really mind it. You liked listening to her talk and keeping her heart's intent as your secret.
You too, talking to her. To some people, you are reserved,  
and to others, talkative. Either way, people find it easy to discard you at any moment they decide you are irritating.
But Clarisse listens. And she asks questions, she's patient- much patient that anyone could anticipate or guess. 
It may be hard for others to believe, but Clarisse is more complex than she seems. She had the capacity to be gentle, and she had the capacity to respect boundaries. The more time you spent with her, the more that side becomes easy for you to access.
Today, however,  marks a new record for your friendship with her. A few weeks ago, she had informed you of her newfound interest in the history of folklore monsters. What a coincidence that you were currently self-studying on that specific topic.
She insisted that you hook her in on whatever it is you're learning. She had even gotten you a doughnut to eat together outside the library as you told her of your insights of dragons and their theorized blindness and incapability to differentiate a variety of prey.
The conversation went well, she seemed immensely in awe of your knowledge and had no problem telling you how she felt. 
You even gave her some book recommendations, though you knew she wasn't much of a reader.
You felt a shift in your relationship that night and had spent the next three days studying more and more about the topic. And today, you had asked her to spend the evening with you. 
You shouldn't feel so nervous asking her to hang out. That is what friends do, after all.
She found you in the library, sitting on the floor in between two large bookshelves. She had been right on time and enthusiastically so. The two of you sat together, hidden by the shelves as some semblance of privacy. 
Clarisse looked confused when you had explained that you indeed wanted to spend the rest of the day in the library, but she accompanied you anyways.
You could never get sick of the smell of the books. Old and new, they all have some nostalgic past tied in between the pages, begging to be discovered. 
You had your back on the walls with tinted windows above your head as she's seated opposite of you in a criss-crossed position.
Today, the library isn't as packed as usual. There were still people walking in and out and checking out the books on the counter, but not too many that it became obnoxiously loud and annoying. 
After finishing another book of Monsters and how to spot them, you're feeling knowledgeable enough to explain the lore of the Giants to Clarisse, she had asked you about this the other day, giants have been long extinct to the point that some might even say they may have never even existed. And so you were interested in sharing with her all of the information you have learned about the majestic species of a beast.
You started with the general information. The basic understanding of what a Giant is the mythhs of Giants and the validity of those sources. Clarisse listened closely in the beginning, never interrupting you unless she had an actual question.
She seemed in awe of the stories you tell her of. You don't blame her, for you yourself have been most interested in the topic of Giants.
You were an hour an a half in when noticed her attention faltering. She leaned against the cases of books, her eyes twitched slightly when you began to explain the different types of giants, and the difference of how they operate.
Her hands are folded together on her lap, and you can feel her listening in on everything you're telling her as she adds in some commentary here and there, but you also felt that she wasn't entirely in on the conversation.
The dim lights of the library made the atmosphere feel warm and secluded, even with its vast space and many other campers hanging around in the other tables and shelves. You made sure to keep your voice low as you spoke in fear of the librarian kicking you out. 
You had a good reputation with the library workers, they liked how organized and polite you were. 
"A lot of people think their greatest strength is their size, which is valid, they are huge, but their real weapon is their mouth." You told Clarisse, ignoring the litter of books by your left that you had brought over for reference.
"They kiss you to death?" She asks suspiciously. You laughed shortly and shook your head. "No, I mean their breath."
She responds with an 'ohh.' 
"They're giants, so their mouth is large too, and you can easily tell what they had for breakfast even from their tall height. Their breaths are also known to be so rancid it could kill you, because they don't exactly eat what we eat." 
She raises a brow as she stretches her hands upwards. "Isn't that ogres?" 
"It's both." You confirmed.
You were about to continue your explanation but halted by instinct as you notice how her mouth keeps pursing together as if unsatisfied, and she has that look on her face that mimicked a confused expression. You're don't think there's anything to be confused of.
"Are you okay?" You asked her worriedly. Clarisse sits up straighter at the question and waved a hand off to assure you she's fine. "Of course, no yeah- I'm fine."
"You seem bored, you're not really interested in what I'm saying are you?” She opens her mouth to counter your words but hesitates to say anything. 
"I- well, I like giants-" She attempts, "-no you don't. " 
"No. I don't." She admits with a sigh. "But I thought you said you were interested in these kind of stuff?" You questioned her. "Well, yeah, like the general idea of it. I mean, I don't hate it, and I like hearing you talk about it." She answers with a shrug.
"Then why do you look disappointed? If you didn't want to come, you could've just told me. I wouldn't get mad." You told her honestly. It was conflicting for you to see her so confused on what to say, being so picky with the words she chooses.
You figured she's probably reluctant to hurt your feelings. That is a notion you're used to. You'd rather she tell you the truth to your face than to be catered around like a time ticking bomb that everyone's so afraid might explode at any time. 
"When you asked me out yesterday, you told me this would be an 'evening to remember." She tells you with such confidence like it was an explanation to her weird behaviour today.
"You don't think this is an evening to remember?" You sincerely inquire.
"No, I do! I just- well, when you said that I didn't think you'd mean we'd be doing this." Your frown deepens as you try to figure out what she means, eyeing her body language closely. “What do you mean? I told you I wanted to hang out.” 
A part of you is offended. She was the one who had said she liked hearing you speak, why would she be disappointed that this was your idea of spending time together?
"I don't know, I thought we'd just be doing...something else?"
It didn't matter what she had really meant with that. You felt completely embarrassed once she finished her sentence. Why was it that everyone else had no problem having long conversations with their friends, but when it came to you, it's all too awkward, unnecessary, and odd? 
You liked Clarisse, you considered her your friend. Sometimes you wonder if it could ever be more, but you never entertain those thoughts because you don't want to ruin what the two of you already have. 
But moments like these resemble a huge slap in the face by the universe.
You couldn't even be good friends with her, how ridiculous of you to think that there could ever be something more.
"Okay, um, maybe we should just go back to our cabin." You decided whilst standing up and picking up the stack of books you're currently borrowing from the library, ready to leave the place without waiting for her.
"Hey, wait." She called out as you walked past her. You spared her a glance, trying your best not to show how upset you are.  “We're friends." She says it so much like a question that you weren't sure if she's even sure of the fact herself until she continued speaking. "I like hanging out with you."
Another thing that you weren't sure if she really meant. "Sure." You replied thinking it's the most suitable response. 
Before she could say anything else, you turned around and started picking up your pace until you disappeared out of her sight.
You have been consistently ignoring Clarisse. Which proved to be harder than expected.
When you pass by her camp or the training ground, you make a mental note to always look down or to your front as to never accidentally cross eyes with her.
And everytime you hear her call out your name, you keep walking like you didn't even hear her, knowing that she wouldn't be bold enough to call for you again. After all, she still had a reputation to uphold.
If ignoring her wasn't hard enough, having to deal with how you felt for her is worse.
You've been avoiding confrontation with yourself for weeks even before you decided to go no contact with her.
And so far, you thought you've been handling it pretty well. Except for days where you don't see her where she's expected to be. You tell yourself that you don't care as you make your way to training in the day and reading in the evening, and yet you still go back on your own words when you asked a passerby Ares kid on where his cabin leader was.
"She's dunking some kid's head into a toilet bowl." Of course she was.
You thanked the dude and went back on your way to your cabin. It's close to dusk, the sky is turning orange and the sun is dipping itself below the earth. You take your time returning to your cabin as you enjoy the way the sun slowly removes itself from anyone's viewing.
You wondered to yourself if things like these are what makes you weird or off-putting to some people.
Was enjoying nature and having niche interests only cute when it's done by girls pretty enough to be cool or if it's only in romance movies or books.
You don't find yourself weird, in fact you think all of your hobbies are pretty common and usual, and yet the way Clarisse had spoken to you at the library last week had made you feel unnatural.
You had wanted to do normal people things with her, but maybe your perception of normal is different to her.
Either way, you are pretty hurt with how she reacted. You loved her still, of course. It's kind of hard to unlike the girl you've been obsessed with since you were 15.
Once you finally reach your cabin, you quickly put down all of your books and your tiny sling back by the side before making it to the shower to refresh yourself before dinner.
You thought it hilarious of how hard you're trying not to care about Clarisse, and yet as you're cleaning yourself up, changing your clothes and attempting to read at least 15 pages of your World's Most Dangerous Beasts book, you could only think of her.
What would it take for her to think that you're cool, what kind of things did she want to do instead of listening to you yap around for 2 hours on what is an equivalent of a boring dinosaur facts, not that you really think dinosaurs are boring.
During dinner, you kept to siblings and had to make yourself finish your plate as your anxiety wrecking thoughts have a way of deriving you of an appetite. You also had to convince yourself to not search for her at the other tables which took more strength than one would expect.
But you succeeded, and you were now sure that the only obstacle left for the day was to try and fall asleep without the thoughts of her keeping you up.
Clarisse is a force, a fierce daughter of Ares, and a cabin leader who had much better things to do then hole up at quiet small places with you.
And just because she was nice enough to mantain a good relationship with you for 4 years, does not mean that you're worth her time. Or at least that's what you tell yourself.
That night, you managed to fall asleep after an hour of recalling Harpy facts in repetition. Counting sheeps had never worked on you, so you had to find something much more active to tire out your brain.
You dreamed of Clarisse with her hair down, holding your hand and pulling you closer so she could slip a flower on your ear.
And just as she's looking down at you, moving closer to do what it seemed like to kiss you, you awoke with a jolt, swearing under your breath as if you'd just gotten jumpscared by a ghost.
Someone's palms moved to shut your lips as you're met with a girl, hovering over you in the dark. Clarisse's dark eyes were recognizable, but it sent a shot of adrenaline through your body still.
"Shh." She whispered to your face, hand still keeping your mouth shut. "I'm going to remove my hands now." She whispered again. You nod in understanding and waited for her to pry her hand away from your face.
"What are you doing here?!" You exclaimed as quiet as possible as she helped you sit up.
"I'm sneaking you out." She answers with a wink. "It's 2 in the morning." You waved your hand around at the darkness and sleeping children. "3 in the morning, and yeah, I know. That's why it's called sneaking around." She corrects you with a grin so devilish that if you hadn't known her for a long time, you'd assume she's about to turn you into a new toilet bowl or dumpster boxing victim.
You sighed loudly and glared at her despite your fast beating heart. Her hand remained on top of yours until the minute becomes more awkward and she removes it as if she just remembered that she's been holding your hand.
Without explanation,  she climbed out of your bed and tiptoes to the open cabin door. You're still sitting up and looking at her with conflicted feelings.
Only after she turns back to you, cocking her head towards the entrance, do you give into her request and softly leave the comfort of your bed and trail after her.
"Where are we going?" You asked after her as she kept walking. Instead of responding, she asks you another question back, "Can you swim?"
"We're going swimming?" You watch her shrug in return from behind her and became even more distressed.
"So, is this your idea of having fun and hanging out then?" She laughs drily and slowed down so you could catch up. You walked fast enough until you're beside her and waited for her to talk. "You sound surprised, I would've thought that after 4 years of friendship, you'd know by now that I love doing things that includes active movements."
You did know that, it's a bit hard to not notice how much working out, training and running fuels her even more.
"And why are we doing it in the middle of the night?" The walk towards the lake by the back of the forest was short, considering that your cabin is the closest to the location.
You almost tripped and fell over a stick, but Clarisse was quick to scoop you back up by the back of your shirt. "Thanks." You mumbled to her. "And you haven't answered my question."
Clarisse pulled her shirt over her head and tossed it on the ground without caring of your presence. You, having more moral obligations than her, twisted your face to your left when she began to pull her trousers off. "Too many people in broad daylight." She tells you.
That is a valid reason, this lake is mostly known as a hook up spot, and true to it's cause, many dating campers have been caught together here during dawn or late evenings.
You braved yourself to turn towards her again slowly and realised that she had already hopped into the water. She had a sports bra on and a boxer.
And though you yourself had a tank top and shorts on, you contemplate the idea of suicide as a better choice than having to strip in front of her.
"Are you gonna get in, or are you just gonna gawk at me from there?" You were grateful for the dark being able to hide your flushed face from her, but deep down, you knew that she probably saw it anyways because of the shining bright moonlight.
"I can't swim." You told her.
"That's fine, the water's not very deep." You ransacked your brain for reasons to decline her offer, but at the same time, a small part of you yearned to take this risk that you've been so afraid of for gods knows whatever reason.
Clarisse is there, in the water and under the moonlight. You are only a few steps away from her. And like she said, the water isn't deep, only waist length. She stares back at you with a raised brow like she's challenging you to join her.
"Turn around first." You tell her. She smirked slightly before slowly spinning to the opposite direction. "You know I've seen you naked before right?"
"What?" You choked out, aghast. "Who do you think changed your clothes for you when you first got to camp." Oh, that.
Your shoulder relaxes as you realize she's talking about the first time you met. "That's was a long time ago." You noted. She hummed im agreement. "Yeah, we've both grown since."
You told her she could turn around once you're inside the water. Forgetting about the heighy difference between you two, the water was high enough to reach your chest, trying your best not to trip underwater the way you always do on dry ground, your hand instinctively reached outnfor her shoulder.
Clarisse held your forearm tightly and drew your closer to her until you're inches away from eachother.
You breathed in sharply and felt the need to fill in the awkward silence. "So, you...like swimming, huh?"
"Yes, evidently so." She answered. "Right right, can't sit still and all that." She actually chuckled at your sarcasm, making you proud of yourself.
"You know, even before I came to camp Half Blood, I use to be a pretty active person, running track, volleyball, sometimes swimming." Your eyes widened in curiosity. "Really?" She nodded.
"The counselor told my mom that I just had so many untapped energy, which I guess is a code for anger issues." Her grip on your forearm moves higher until her palm is over your shoulder.  "She told her that it'd be best for me to find a...healthy way, to channel that energy, and for my strong competitiveness. So I joined what I could, and that's how I spent most of my free time there. Besides, I never was that good academically. So, I ought to at least be good at something, right?"
"You are good." You blurted out. Your embarrassment faded away when you saw her smile. "You think so?"
"Yeah." You assured her. Her other hand had snaked around your waist without you noticing. Only when you moved slightly do you notice her holding you softly.
"The moon is really nice tonight, isn't it?" You said, trying to diffuse the tension. You pointed your finger up to the sky at the singular white orb.
She glanced up and let out a 'huh.'
"I like it when it's bright and whole like this, the moon in all of its glory. You don't even notice the starts around it when it's glowing like that." You could stare at the moom forever, even longer than the way you've been staring at the sun.
You believed in it the way children do with their birthday candle. To you, the moon has always been a symbol of hope or comfort for your future. Your fascination for it existed from when you were a child, the way it'd follow you from behind as you gazed upon it from the back of the car seat whilst your parent drove down the road.
The way it moved above you as you walked home from school, like one of the gods themselves watching over you.
"Nothing compares to the moon." You announced aloud, watching as the clouds around it began to gather over it. "Yeah, It's beautiful." You hear Clarisse speak.
As your head snapped back to her, you found that she had already been facing you.
"I like the moon...but not as much as I like you." She whispered loud enough for your ears only. Her face leans closer to yours, your noses brushing together. "Not as much as I like to hear your voice, when you tell me about your little harpy facts-"
"Oh, I haven't told you about the harpies yet." You cut her off. "I just finished that chapter this morning actually and-"
"-and, you can tell me about it after I'm done talking." You blushed and became silent, letting her speak.
Clarisse exhaled breathily, fanning your face with the subtle warm air. "I like doing things that friends do with you, but I don't want to be your friend anymore."
"Oh."
"I want to be more than friends." She elaborated.
"Oh." Oh.
You feel a sudden tightness in your chest, from anxiety or from butterflies is undecided. "You want to be best friends?" You joked, laughing nervously.
Clarisse snorted at your joke, but she was still grinning widely. "Best friends, If that's what you want to call it."
There was a moment of understanding shared between a second of shared gazes before her lips attached themselves to yours. An urgency, approval, meaning that can't be described by words.
Whatever gentleness there was inside of her before had vanished. Clarisse kissed you like a starved woman. Her lips craved yours like it'd be the last time she'll ever know how you taste like.
Your hands clasped on her shoulder and neck for support as she embraced you tighter to her body. You let her tongue slip into your mouth, meeting your own.
And as they danced together, inhaling all there is in your lips, every secret and every confession that have died on the tip ofnyour tongues, you are sure that no heaven nor hell could tear you open to see you back together like this.
You push her back abruptly, letting fresh air fill your empty lungs. "What's wrong?" Clarisse inquired worriedly.
"Last week." You sighed out, chest still heaving as your thoughts clicked together. "You thought I had asked you on a date, that's why you were disappointed."
She winced at the reminder, and for the first time in your life, you had been lucky enough to witness a flustered Clarisse.
"I'm right." Her silence confirmed. "Oh Clarisse, why didn't you just ask me?"
Huffing loudly, she rolls her eyes in irritation. "I thought I was obvious enough. "
Thinking back on it all, it did seem pretty obvious, but gods were you oblivious. The way you intepreted it all so wrongly.
"I've liked you for so long too." You admitted to her. Her scowl was gone at that, replaced by a teasing smile. "And what are you gonna do about it?" Her mouth returned to yours, letting go of all your fears and holding on to Clarisse like she's your anchor, you close the gap between your lips, welcoming the kind of pleasure that you've never tasted before.
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tannieastrology · 9 months ago
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Solar Return Observations💋❤️🌹
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💋This year I have a Virgo Ascendant in my solar return along with 2 Venus returns and Ive been so much more health/beauty focused. Like I care more about myself and am trying to break bad habits that I made in 2023. Im also alot more driven in sports/goals and back when I had this in 2020 I was also into skincare and makeup alot too and was into running and working out. I feel like the year you get a virgo ascendant for your solar return is the year to cleanse bad habits that youve made in the previous year its like a chance to start new.
💋The year you have Uranus in the 11th house is most likely a year where you will lose friends but will also get the chance to make new ones. I had Uranus and North Node in my 11th house last year and my 3 year long friend who claimed we were “besties” backstabbed me and cut me off with no explanation BUT I also found a friendgroup who are here to stay and am incredibely blessed to have met them. This was a year where my view on society and people changed significantly but i feel it was for the better.
💋Last year I had Sun and Pluto in the 8th house along with Moon and Mars in the 12th. I struggled really bad with my mental health(also a Gemini Rising) and my whole personality shifted from these experiences. From January my grandma almost died of cancer, I faced unrequited love, bullying from “friends”, losing friends, and overall felt pressure from school. I was just sensitive to what people said about me and let little things bother me and now that Im looking back none of it was a big deal but I dont know in the moment it affected me way too much. It made me realize that you cant ever really put your faith in people and that you need to trust and respect yourself the most. That you cant be attached to people and your faith should be put in god (atleast thats what I think). Most of the pain came from lowself esteem and I do believe that these placements made me grow a thicker skin and to become more independant. Im a completely different person now and while I did lose my innocence to the world I feel that I can survive on my own now. I guess I just grew a backbone which im really thankful for.
💋Everything that happened last year (like growth transformation death) is all related to the 8th house which is where gemini is in my natal so also keep that in mind where your solar ascendant falls in your natal.
💋This year I have a Moon in Libra in the 1st house and a Virgo Lilith exactly conjunct my ascendant and Ive been getting so much praise from woman its weird? Weirdly guys have been liking my instagram stories and when I posted on my birthday so many people came and viewed my story who dont even follow me. I also feel more pretty and empowered this year and Ive been trying to figure out how I want to present myself more. Compared to last year I feel like I am more upfront with my feelings. I feel like this year I might not struggle as much since im a Libra Ascendant and my solar return is Virgo and almost aligns with my natal chart.
💋My sadness and pain from my 2023 solar return actually really did last until my birthday aka my 2024 return😭 So keep in note that solar returns will remain effective until your next birthday.
💋I have Pluto, Mars, Sun, Vertex, Mercury, and POF, all in the 5th house this year and Im really hoping I can finally meet someone to date for the first time but so far its manifested as being more interested in hobbies/ having fun. Im not complaining tho I actually have been so much happier and I havent cried that much at all from this new Solar Return. I will say I feel like having Pluto in the 5th house will make your view change a bit on relationships. I lost feelings for my 3 year crush and I also feel like its impossible for me to properly catch feelings now. I dont know its like I broke the cycle of infatuting crushes and am way more realistic when it comes to love. Part of it is probably just me getting older but I think thats a good thing. I dont expect love like the movies anymore but i just want something REAL.
💋The year you have 8th house Venus a old flame might come back into your life.
💋Tell me why I have Jupiter, North Node, and Chiron in the 8th house this year and ive been attracting money/all the things i want so easily? I got almost $450 for my birthday, a vanity, a lulu bag, and a big party and its only been like 2 weeks😭
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💋 When I turn 18 in 2026 I have a stellium of Venus, Mercury, Sun, Mars, and Pluto in the 12th SOOO im predicting that I might be struggling with mental health that year, probably lost in where I want to head after high school, or Im either hiding sum secret love affair(8th house ruler of libra in 12) or like something about it is forbidden/ secretive. I also do have Moon and Jupiter in Cancer in the 5th house that year so that should be interesting lol. Let me know what aspects/ placements in your future solar returns yall find interesting and have down in the comments I wanna see.
💋A Saggitarius Ascendant/ 9th placements might mean that you get opportunity to travel
💋Having Lilith in the 2nd house might mean that you struggle with eating consistently or might struggle with self worth and body image.
💋Venus in the 4th house will be a year where you try to improve your home and find comfort in familial relationships
💋Look at transits to your solar return too theyll give you a deeper dive in whats going on you can look on astroseek.
💋12th house placements will make you inclined to find god
💋On November 16 2021 I caught feelings bad for this guy and I would go on to like him for a long time. Near that time I had a Venus Return and also a transit Solar Return with a 7th house stellium(Sun,Mars,Mercury,Moon in Libra/Scorpio). I was around this guy 24/7 and it just unexpectedly happened. Near that time Iwas having so much fun with my friends in cross country I feel so fond about those days that I could never forget.
💋 Last year having a Gemini Rising but placements like Mars and Moon in the 12th made me get talked about unknowingly behind my back so keep that in mind. Girls secretly hated me and also one of my “friends” twisted my words and spread drama about me.
💋Pay special attention to Chiron and where it is in your chart ESPECIALLY if its in retrograde
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Anyways I hope yall enjoyed this was very last minute and I know people have been complaining about there not being enough Solar Return observations so here I am lol. See yall next time💋
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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year ago
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So request kinda if not just sharing my thoughts in general.
Alex. My boy. What if reader is a civ or even another soldier in a different squad and the whole thing with him joining Farah’s forces indefinitely. I think this can really lend itself to some angst and that good old misunderstanding. Kinda leaning towards civ!reader just because the more miscommunication. I guess it’d have to be an angsty ending though 😳, but regardless-
Love your writing and, as always, feel free to change anything or do whatever gives you the most inspiration
World Caves In
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PAIRING: Alex Keller x F!Reader
SYNOPSIS: Perhaps it would have been better if your husband had died - at the very least you could understand that.
WORD COUNT: 7.9k
WARNINGS: Angst, misunderstandings/miscommunication, hurt/comfort, vulgar language, abandonment?, Alex being an adorable husband, fluff, etc.
A/N: I was gonna make this an angsty ending but I got my period and thinking about that made me cry so here we are, lmao. Enjoy, Anon!
*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*
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When you’d been escorted out of work by two uniformed men, you knew the news wasn’t going to be good. Sitting in the back of a large black car, you spare nervous glances as the vehicle jumps, its wheels going over the last speed bump. Your work building begins to become a fraction of a memory and disappears faster than your resolve. 
The men sit on either side of you, silent, and the only comment is to the driver as you all enter the main road. Swallowing, you part your lips and mutter, plain dread in your tone, “Is he alive?”
All you get is a glance from the front mirror and nothing more. You hunch more in your seat and stew in agony, mind far off on the topic of your husband. 
Alex wasn’t overly reckless, you’d managed to snuff most of that out over the course of the many years you’d expressed concern to him about it, but a large chuck of the blond was still too selfless for his own good. It was hard not to think the worst. 
From training to advising, your husband was always off on one mission to another, far from your quaint and quiet home here—where you waited day after day for even a sliver of contact from him. Alex specialized in so many things that trying to wrap your head around it was impossible.
Even now, you only knew the bare minimum. 
The soft-smiled man worked in the SAD division of the CIA. He’s an Operations Officer. Currently, he’s somewhere across the globe. 
Away from you.
Thinning your lips, you take down a deep breath and settle back into the seat, pulse flying. The men were obviously Agents—you’d looked closely at their badges when they’d first shown their faces at the front desk and had kept within view of your work’s security cameras just in case this was a ruse. When you could find nothing out of the ordinary, you had tensely asked them what was happening. 
They would be holding his dog tags if he was dead, you had reasoned, desperately, a flag. 
It was frantic, the way you had thought that up; how could you not be like that? Alex was the light of your life! With him constantly putting his life on the line, it was inevitable for him to get hurt, sometimes seriously. It was ingrained into your mind the way you would help clean his wounds in the middle of the night when the pain woke him up with a grunt stuck in his throat. The way you would sit half-asleep in his lap and re-wrap bandages while he told you to go back to bed half-heartedly. His hands drifting over your warm skin like he was cascading his fingers up and down the spine of an old book.
You never listened. 
“It’s late, Bug, I can’t keep you up like this.” His drawl echoes in your ear as you rub a heavy palm into your eye. Alex’s hands are both on your hips, squeezing the flesh just below your tiny sleep shorts. You have him sitting on the floor, back resting on the wall and shirt discarded to the side only wearing loose gray sweatpants. A long cut up his left pec is the center of your blurry attention—a wet rag held as you dab at it. Blue eyes narrow at you. “I’m just fine with doing it myself, y’know.”
“You’re being stubborn again,” you utter, the soft light of the bathroom placed at half-capacity to at least try and keep some of the veil of sleep over your heads. “I told you to wake me up when you needed it cleaned.” Your skin brushes his and Alex shivers under you, sighing breathily. “And you’re not keeping me here—I’m helping.” 
A small flash of that full smile, mustache flinching up, “Well when you look so pretty sleepin’ I can’t just shake you awake and tell you to fix me up.” 
You take your free hand and pinch his nose, yawning as he grunts out chuckles. A delicate glance is thrown his way as the rag lowers from reddened skin. Like a butterfly's whisper, you study his face gently; reaching and cupping his cheek with your palm. 
Alex’s lids flutter, heavy weight falling into you as if waiting for this—lips pressing to your inner wrist in reverence. You hold back a tired giggle and feel the corner of his mouth pull up when he feels it.
“All that talk, and yet,” pressing a smooch to his forehead you take your hand back and hear the grumble he lets out after, “you still like it better when I’m the one that’s working on you.”
“Can’t complain too much,” he admits slowly as his head leans back to tap the wall, “my wife’s hands are way softer than mine.” 
Alex’s grip on your flesh tightens when you sipe away the last line of crimson from the wound, tattooed arms flexing. 
“Sorry,” you whisper, watching his eyes slightly awash with pain. “Got caught on a stitch.”
“Ah, well,” the blond sighs, shifting “I suppose I can forgive you.” 
Laughing quietly as the house settles, you shake your head and rest your forehead on his. 
“Such a saint,” your lips utter teasingly as Alex smiles wide, his hands moving higher to your waist. You lean into him, stealing his warmth as your tired eyes flutter; feeling his thumbs run circles over the flesh of your lower spine. 
A content breath escapes you.
“Go back to bed, Sweetheart,” Alex whispers, lips brushing yours like silk, the bristles of his facial hair tickling you. “I can do the rest, promise.”
“Know you can,” your mutterings are barely heard, but the man seems to register them, sea-glass gaze incredibly soft. He chuckles at your sleepiness, one hand leaving your waist to capture the back of your head; weaving into your hair and gently massaging your scalp. You practically melt into him, limbs going slack, slurring out, “Quit it. Wanna help, Alex.”
His laughter shakes you, and with a huff escaping, you bury your burning face into his neck and lean into him, careful of his wound even in your fatigued state. 
“No offense, Bug,” Alex shifts, grunting as he easily maneuvers you until you’re laying in his arms, inked forearms under your knees and behind your shoulders with vivid images of grim reapers, snakes, and angels guarding you close. A kiss is firmly pressed to your forehead as the blonde smirks downwards, “But you’re about as helpful to me right now as an empty mag.”
You grumble, trying to disappear into his skin and letting him dig his stubble into your cheek. 
“If you bring me back to bed before you’re done,” you yawn and close your eyes, “I’m divorcing you.”
He laughs deeply into your ear, body shaking as he pulls back and sends you an incredulous look. 
“Hell, we can’t have that, can we, Mrs. Keller? I’d lose my damn mind.” 
It’s a long drive, and you worry through the entirety of it. A primal, whole-body-shaking type of fear. You’d built a life with Alex and loved him more than anything or anyone that had come before. Even if he was gone a lot, that had never dulled what the two of you had—your marriage was nothing short of something you would find in a fairy tale; flashing pictures on pages with vivid colors and tender glances. The very cover itself is made of the finest leather and inlaid with gold calligraphy. 
Please, Alex, you plead in your head as you remember his loving gaze—his back as he makes supper in the kitchen and hums to himself. Please be okay.
The men hold open the car door when it comes to a stop outside a very obviously abandoned apartment complex near the outskirts of town. You get out quickly. Looking around, you take in the overgrown grass and the broken concrete with a knife in your lung; holding back the flood of anxious tears. 
Though, confusion takes president. 
“Where did you…?” You turn to look at the Agents, but they’re already clambering back into their car and snapping the doors shut. Wide-eyed and slack-jawed you watch them speed off as a cloud of dust drifts into the air. 
Pulse echoing in your ears, you watch the vehicle speed down the road and disappear. 
Swallowing, you whisper, “What the actual fuck?” Turning in circles, no one else is around. A part of you starts to worry less for Alex and more for yourself.
They were CIA, you reiterate, I checked their badges—Alex showed me the standard ones. Could I have missed something? 
Expression nervous, you shift on your feet before your stuttering legs take you closer to the abandoned building, not really seeing much choice here. You could imagine the scene from The Wizard Of Oz—when the man pulls back the curtain and all is revealed. 
That said, you could really only hope that was what was actually happening to you and you weren't getting kidnapped or shot. Taking a deep breath, you clench your fists and enter the building through the open front door. 
It was in the wide lobby that you locked eyes with Kate Laswell. You blank, mouth parting as the scent of concrete and decaying furniture get stuck in your nose. 
The woman seems highly agitated, brows tight and jaw clenched. Her white blouse had been flattened multiple times by rough hands, lanyard swaying on her neck like Alex’s dog tags would. She holds a file in her hands; the paper bulky as if holding something more than just paper inside its manila clutches.
“Kate?” You ask, confused, “What are you doing here? What’s all of this about?” Taking quick steps forward you splay your hands as your voice grows more serious. “Where’s my damn husband?” 
You didn’t know Laswell personally, in fact, when you had first got a glimpse of her here, you’d forgotten the older woman’s name for a moment. The first meeting between the two of you had been at a CIA get-together that Alex had been forced to go to because of his position—some celebration because a group of ICBMs had been taken back into US hands after being stolen. Your husband had introduced you to the Station Chief over a drink with a hand on the small of your back.
But it didn’t stop you now from talking to her like you’d known her for years. Not when fear was flooding your veins.
“What the hell is going on?” You say harshly, glancing around the room for any sight of someone else here. 
Kate sighs heavily but wastes no time in speaking, her professional tone and serious face leaving your already fast-paced heart racing.
“Alex isn’t coming back to the United States.” Your eyes blank, staring into icy blue. She holds out her manila folder, jaw tight. Blunt. “He’s a deserter.” 
It’s like your entire being halts; your skin suit feels as if it’s sagging on your bones with the weight of a cinder block connected by hooks to the floor. 
What did she just say?
Opening and closing your mouth you stutter, lids blinking rapidly. 
“I…” Fingers flinching in the air, an exhalation from your nose sounds more like a wheeze. Kate watches stiffly, taking a look at the floor before returning her attention to you; emotion flashes in her eyes. “...W-what?”
“Keller deserted his post—I tried to speak with the Colonel but there’s only so much I can do.” Laswell takes a deep breath as you continue to go through shock. Alex wasn’t coming home? How, why? “He’s staying in Urzikstan to fight with the Liberation Force.”
“Urzikstan?!” You gape, but the woman continues. 
“For all intents and purposes, I shouldn’t be here, but Alex asked me personally to hand these to you.” Again the manilla folder is shown to you, but when you only glare and fight the fear and confusion rampaging in your gut a sigh echoes out and it’s placed on a termite-eaten side table. “Even communicating with you could put you in danger now that he’s gotten on the bad side of the entire SAD and CIA branches. This is all I can do.”
“What the fuck,” you whisper to yourself, hand coming up to capture your mouth. 
“If Alex re-enters the states—he’ll be arrested and tried in a court of law. If he’s not shot on sight for what he knows.” Kate watches you closely, shaking her head in pity. “I’m sorry,” there’s a strained pause, “but he’s made his decision.” 
As she brushes past you, leaving the folder on the side table, you feel your wide eyes well with tears—confused and horrified. But he’s coming back to me, right? Alex…Alex wouldn’t leave me here alone.
It was common knowledge that over the last years the blond had gotten more agitated at his line of work; the orders that he didn’t want to follow but had no choice. No voice. But he can’t just abandon you...could he? You’d taken vows. Had a happy marriage and relationship. Loved each other.
He can’t just…he can’t…
Your hands shake and you’re unable to stop them, gaze locked on that unassuming manilla folder. Kate pauses in the doorway, peeking back and seeing your sickly-looking face, the agony written in the lines of your forehead. Like the picture of a loyal wife being told her husband was never coming home. And Alex wasn’t even dead. Resentment begins to burn. 
But he made his bed. 
“He told me to tell you that he wouldn’t be angry if you wanted to leave him,” was all she said, a final knife being stabbed into your heart and being ripped out like a live wire. Electricity makes your back go stiff in an instant. “It would be best to never tell anyone that we met.” 
You were alone, full body shivers and bile stuck in the back of your throat. Cold sweat coats your palms, a sticky mess of your barebones disturbance. 
“He…” your voice is hoarse, bouncing off the far walls. “Alex left me here? He left me.”
It was easier to say that the sun had exploded and you were waiting for the last beam of light to incinerate you. Inside of your skull your brain pounds as, in a mad dash of desperation, you rush to the manilla folder and rip it open with vibrating arms.
Having Laswell tell you that Alex wouldn’t be mad if you…if you…the hairs on the back of your neck rise and suddenly you’re angry beyond a sliver of a doubt. It was insulting.
“Alex fucking Keller,” the paper opens to the bulk of your husband's dog tags and a flip phone—reports like his own personal file and the patch that he had once worn so proudly on his combat vest. Red, white, and blue dig into your retinas; it was old, worn beyond measure, but that little patch was something that was never removed. Not even to be cleaned. 
“The dirtier it is,” Alex had commented on the American flag patch when you’d offered to mend it for him, cringing at all the blood stains and dirt flecking off it as he slipped his vest off in the foyer of your home. “The luckier I am.” 
“I think the stench of it alone will frighten off anyone who comes near,” you had raised a brow, smirking up at him as he walked over, laughing. A kiss is placed on your lips, Alex’s bright smile transferring over to you as if able to spread from his mouth to yours that simply. You sigh dreamily. 
He pulls back with a tiny wink as you gaze up at him, cheekily stating, “That’s the plan, Sweet Thing. Gotta make sure I come home to you in one piece.”
You brush your hands over it and think that maybe it would have been better if he had died. Then you could understand why he’s doing this to you. Anger spreads into rage. 
Looking next at the phone and dog tags, all you do is shake your head and slam the folder shut, bitter tears tracking your face. You can’t read anything—can’t see his name imprinted on that metal that used to press coldly into your skin as you both slept in bed. You don’t care about the phone or the files. 
None of it mattered.
“He fucking left me here,” it’s like you’re a broken record replaying over and over again. “You absolute bastard, Keller!” Yelling, you press your fingers into your face, hands spreading over your eyes and mouth to muffle your enraged sobs. 
“You’re still alive and you left me alone.” 
Only the abandoned building echoes your pain; replaying it back over and over again as your wails echo around the lobby like a symphony of laughing jesters. 
The phone that Laswell had given you had been going off at least three times every day—morning, noon, and at night. You had stared at it with fury, knowing exactly who was calling even if the thing was displaying an unknown number. By now you had steeped in your anger enough that you had found yourself snapping at friends and family alike when asked if you were alright. 
You wished Alex was here so you could hit him upside the head for being so stupid. So you could hate him until you had the pleasure to love him again.
Urzikstan. 
You’d looked up the country after you had spent two days straight in bed, afterward manically cleaning the house with a glare that could light fires. The far-off place was a land utterly divided by war. Russian occupation, a terrorist group; the force that your husband had joined. Mass against mass against mass.
Brick meets wall.
And Alex had chosen to stay—without a doubt because he’d seen the dire situation and had used that damnable good heart of his to empathize to the max. Forget donations, humanitarian work, or anything else, the man had fucking decided to join in a Liberation Force. 
As much as you wanted to say you hated him; had wanted to slam your gold wedding band to the table with a good riddance for betraying you like that…you still had his dog tags around your neck, and the ring was still on your finger. 
“Too good for his own sake,” you grumble, shoving dirty clothes into the washer like they had tried to attack you. “Deserted the fucking CIA, Jesus Alex. Do you even think when I’m not around?” 
There were only so many times you could curse his name until you felt a deceiving needle of pride slither itself into your skull. You could describe Alex as many things but he would always be steadfast in causes that truly needed his help. He often told you that the best missions were the ones where he could do so much more than take out a target—he strived to help the individuals he met. Form bonds. 
God forbid something came in between the blond and the ones he’d chosen to give his loyalty to.
You slam the washer shut and stomp into the living room after starting another cycle. Stress cleaning was really not a good look on you—the entire house was without a single spec of dust but you yourself felt like you’d run seven marathons. Clenching your teeth, you go and drop to the couch, a grunt falling from your lips as your head hits the pillow.
Staring at the ceiling, you finally take in the utter silence of the house—not a home, because it could only be that if Alex was here—with a pained crease forming on your brow. The pipes spit water, and the washer grunted its mechanical garble…but there was no humming man making food in the kitchen. No blond hair visible as a head rests on your chest; your fingers playing in the locks that act like silk as you part them, the man on top of you purring. Body a weighted blanket.
“Was it really that easy,” you whisper to nothing, lip quivering. “Was it really that easy to stay away, Alex? I thought…I…” 
Eyes wrenching shut, you hear the phone right at noon again as it sits on the coffee table. And you let it. 
There were voicemails, no doubt, but you hadn’t thought to listen to those either. This small act of rebellion was all you could act on but for the simple fact that it also harmed you. Barbed wire steadily digging deeper as it kept your hands wound to your sides—neck plastered to the pillow as bright silver spikes glinted. You stare at the unknown caller who really wasn’t all that unknown and watch the screen light, vibrating over the wood in steady intervals. 
What hurt the most was that if he’d asked you to come along—become an Expat just for him—you would have said yes. You could find a new job, a new place to call home. Humanitarian work would have been at the top of your list and Alex…well….he would still be fighting, just as he always had. 
But at the very least you would have been there to clean his wounds. Together. You’d both promised on that altar to do nothing less. He could’ve asked. He should have asked. 
Alex…
“Urzikstan,” you mutter for what seems like the fiftieth time. When the ringing stops a few moments later the new voicemail icon flashes. Placing your arm over your mouth, you clench your hand so tight it starts to shake, whispering into your skin, “Fine. I guess you did make your bed. And…and I won't be there to lie in it with you.” No matter how much I want to.
You slip the wedding band off of your finger and place it beside the phone before turning and burying your head into the cushions; feeling more numb than you ever had before.
It carried on like this for three months. The ring didn’t move from the coffee table and neither did the flip phone; the file had all but been tossed in the trash as it sat teetering on the living room desk. You carried on as well as you could, all things considered. 
Work was a blur, going out with friends even harder to enjoy, and any enjoyment of hobbies or activities was dulled to an almost gray existence. Like a ghost, you wafted through experiences with dog tags and a withering appearance. Eventually, you just stopped going out unless it couldn’t be helped. You still bought meals for two at the grocery store out of habit. You placed blankets where Alex used to sleep beside you. You went to work. 
And still, the calls never stopped except for a brief pause after the first month. You’d thought he’d finally given up, but no. Back at it.
It had gotten to a point now where the device was automatically deleting all recent voicemails—too little space in the inbox. 
Angry curiosity was tempting you. It would be easy, you reason, to simply play the first message and listen. The worst part of it was that you’d begun to forget Alex’s voice and perhaps that was why, on that dead-aired Saturday, you snatched the phone and brought it into the kitchen. 
Firmly planting it on the counter, you stand behind one of the island chairs and glare, hands tapping into the wood. 
“I’m giving you three minutes, Alex,” you speak as if he’s still here, as if his form stands right behind you, head tilted like a damn dog with that infectious smile and those sea-glass eyes. “Three minutes,” your fingers snap the device open and you go to your voicemails; jaw tight, “and if you don’t hear you groveling, Keller, I’m deleting all of them and chucking this phone into the sink.” 
You go down the line to the very first message, small buttons clicking, and before you can stop yourself you press play.
It begins with a small moment of silence. A cough. 
“Hey,” he says your first name, not one of your epithets. Your brows deepen their annoyed furrow, but you can’t help the uptick in your heart rate. Inside your flesh, the sinews of your throat close in on itself like a balloon. “I…I’m guessin’ I have a good enough ass-kicking waiting for me since you didn’t answer.” A strained laugh before another pause. You feel acidic tears boil behind your lids. “I’m not surprised—not really. Done some stupid things but never something like this.” You can hear him shake his head, voice going lower in defiance. “But they were asking me to leave Urzikstan in a worse place than when I entered it. This Liberation Force, Bug, it…they’re good people and what they’re asking me to do…” Alex huffs, growling under his throat. “I can’t stand by that. The man you chose to marry, he can’t stand by that. They need me here. I’m not asking you to not be angry—to not hate me for this. I know I damn well deserve it.”
You let your tears hit the counter, head slightly bowing over. That was your Alex. 
“You need a leash,” your strained voice hits the walls, bouncing off picture frames and your husband's cooking utensils. The small pieces that make up the whole picture frame of your life. “God,” you huff wetly, “you’re going to get yourself killed.”
“I know I should have talked to you first, figured out some plan. But, uh,” Alex’s throat gets choked up, and you snap a hand to your mouth when you realize he’s close to tears. He clears his throat. “Hell, I should have done a lot of things, Sweetheart.” 
You can hear shouts in the background, calls in Arabic. The pounding of a door and a woman’s voice.
“Alex, we need to move! Everyone is ready—Barkov’s lab cannot be left standing a moment longer.” The hurried hand to the line muffles the words, but you hear him anyway.
“Affirmative!” He comes back. “I don’t have time to explain more, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for… everything. I’d understand if you don’t use the passport Laswell’ll give you, but that doesn’t mean I’m just going to stop calling.” Alex laughs and your face freezes.
“Passport?”
“What kind of Husband would I be if I just let the most perfect woman in the world go without a fight, huh? I’ll be waiting until you call to tell me to shut the hell up and leave you alone or that you’re down in the airport waiting.” There’s a large sound of combat vests being clicked on—pistols being situated into holsters and a rifle strap slipped over a chest. Alex suddenly pauses and you stare at the phone blankly. “I know this is a big ask, Doll, and I know I’m horrible for even springin’ this on you when I’m half a world away from our bed. But I had to try, even if it was selfish. I just…I just really need to hear your voice telling me if I’m an idiot or not for thinking this up. Call me back soon…or when you run out of my clothes to burn in the firepit out back…I love you, okay? More…more than anything.” 
There’s a minute or two of nothing, just Alex’s ragged breathing, and then there’s an older man’s voice ordering him to hurry up. The line clicks. 
Your ears ring as it does, wide eyes dripping tears from your bottom lashes as your lungs chill over. Hand slowly flinching out, you ghost over the keys before clicking on the following voicemail. As it plays, your feet start to take you backward at a snail's pace, your spine flattering against the wall as blood drains to your feet. 
“Hey, it’s me again. I still haven’t heard from you—that’s alright. Take your time.” Steadying yourself with a hand, you look out of the kitchen and get a glimpse of the manila folder on the desk, its tan hide sucking you in. Pulse in your throat, you rush out to grab it as Alex’s voice echoes. “I know Laswell gave you the file, I trust her that much at least.” A sigh. “But even if it’s just to yell at me, please pick up the phone soon. Let me save some of my dignity and give me a chance to beg on an open line, huh, Sweetheart…? But I guess that’s all—gotta go. I love you.” 
You don’t play the next message because you’re ripping open the file with rabid hands, seeing exactly as you had when Laswell left it for you. Alex’s mission report; his patch. The dog tags around your neck clink together like a song, some brutal rhythm. 
“Passport?” Grasping the mission report you pick it up, flipping through the multiple pages of blacked-out words and more confused than ever. “Airport?” 
The words come out as whimpers, hands so shaky that the pages slip from your fingers. They slam to the floor in a flurry of bond paper and you curse loudly, snatching for the remnants futilely. Grasping on your hands and knees hitches build in your breath as your fingers dance rapidly before they slip across something distinctly not paper. 
Small, tiny, and blue. Laminate. 
Your very blood seems to stop in your veins. Pushing back one last piece of paper, you come face to face with a singular American passport. Gasping down mute breaths and licking your lips, you pick it up lightly, leaning back on your legs as if you’d just slammed your head into the concrete. 
“Alex…” you whisper to no one. 
Flipping the hard cover open, a small, palm-sized piece of paper slips out to your lap as your own face stares at you in image form. You blink for a moment before going to take the note and separate the ends. Formal script is inside, stiff lettering. Not your husband's handwriting, but you didn’t have to guess who’d written out these directions for you. 
Laswell.
There was a destination in fountain pen ink—an airport near the Urzikstanian and Georgian border. Seeing as Urzikstan was on the travel-ban list due to the turbulence of the government and terrorist threats, you wouldn’t be able to get there directly. 
But you supposed Kate had your back for that too. 
Georgian safehouse - wait for Keller there. It’s secure. More directions and then a small gap. A pause. Good luck.
You don’t know how long you stare at that paper—that passport. The first thing you think about is how could Alex ask you to do this. Uproot yourself with the snap of a finger. You wouldn’t be able to bring anything beyond what could fit in a few suitcases. No furniture, no large amount of clothes, or even sentimental items. You’d have to quit your job; leave behind family and friends to travel to a war-torn country.
But he’d said it was your choice, and he wouldn’t push you to make it. He’d said you could leave him if you wanted—keep all of this that you’d built here.
…But you’d built it together, hadn’t you? 
You think of Alex’s bright smile and his mustache. His tattoos. How he’d hold you so tight in the long hours of sleep that you half-believed he thought you’d disappear if he didn’t; nuzzling his nose into the back of your head and grumbling out nonsense. The way you could trace his scars and watch as he willingly submitted to your praise, delicate lips curving into sheepish grins as you place soft kisses on the raised skin. Red cheeks.
This place wasn’t a home without Alex in it.
You look over at the coffee table and lock onto the gold of your wedding band.
Getting into Georgia was a long affair of paperwork and screenings—not days but months of legal jargon that Alex had dodged entirely because of his desertion. By the time you’d landed in country, you were wholly exhausted down to the very marrow of your bones. You get through the checkpoints, pick up your bags, and look out at the entirely new world outside of the airport’s windows. 
“Okay,” you swallow saliva and nod carefully before looking down at Laswell’s directions to the safehouse. 
You slip the paper into your pocket after memorizing the address, tips of your fingers brushing the smooth surface of the flip phone. Clenching your eyes shut, you take your hand back out and go to try and hire a driver. You were here, but that doesn’t mean all of this was forgiven. 
After you find someone able to drive you to where you need to go, you end up standing with a quaint hostel ahead of you, home far behind. Gazing slightly nervous at the strange place you’ve found yourself, you think of Alex’s hand on the small of your back and sigh; caressing the cool metal of the ring around your finger. 
Walking forward, you hitch your bags over your shoulders and grit your teeth against the hot sun. When you meet the owner at the front desk you state your name and ask for a bed. 
The man’s eyes widen for a moment before he looks at something on his countertop, raising a brow in thought. Grabbing at a stack of papers he holds up a finger and begins digging. Too tired and overwhelmed to ask what was wrong, you just watch and rub at your face. 
“Ah,” the man snaps his fingers and laughs to himself, “here it is! I knew I had placed the note somewhere, Mrs. Keller.” You blink, confused, but the man just takes a key from the wall and motions for you to follow. Sparing a glance around for a moment, you slowly slink after, not really having a choice.
“I remember your Husband coming to me—the blond with the tattoos.” The owner looks back, making sure you’re following. He motions to his right side with splayed fingers. “Scars on the side of his head, to reserve a room.”  
Alex was here? How much had he done already pertaining to the chance that you would show up? 
“Y-yeah,” you chuckle stiffly, “that was him. Sorry for being so long I was…preoccupied.”
“You’re lucky he kept up on payments,” the man grumbles, opening a door with the key and motioning you inside. “My pleasure to finally have you, regardless.”
Entering the small and sparse room, you take the key from him with a thankful smile and a quick thank you before he closes the door. As the barrier thuds, you sway on your feet. Blinking. Breathing hard. You drop all of your bags with a heavy thump that echoes off the walls in a single instant. Heart pounding at everything that was striking you in an instant, you walk slowly back to the bed. You don’t bother to take a shower or brush your teeth; even change. 
You fall down on the mattress and pray you don’t have to dream about Alex sending money to this place every week simply on a suffocating hope that you’d come back to him. You pray you don’t dream at all. 
The phone wakes you up only thirty minutes later.
Groaning, you shift your body so your hand can snake into your pocket, grasping it and tossing it to the pillow beside your head. You’d never made it through all of the voicemails without crying, so you just deleted all of them and let the inbox fill back up again. 
Feeling the dog tags press against your chest as you form your chest into the bed, you shove your head downward and listen to it ring. 
Bring-bring, bring-bring, bring-bring
It happens in a flurry of a sleep-addled mind and a horrible desperation to see your husband after nearly a full year of no contact. You flip it open and answer with your nose pressed deeply into the pillow below you. Ears straining and pulse running like a starving cat after a mouse. 
Dead silence. 
“...Sweetheart…?” It’s pitiful how fast the tears flood you at Alex’s shocked and tiny voice. Tight breathing sounds over the line from his end and your other hand digs into your scalp. A small, cut-off laugh. “Hey…I—” 
You hang up with a vicious slam of the screen and let the silence settle again. People walk the hall; the sun dims as night sets in. This isn’t home. Dropping the phone back down to the pillow you curl into a tight ball and cry yourself back to sleep.
If you had to guess, you’d say the small curse was what woke you for the second time, though you didn’t register it until minutes later. That muffled ‘shit’ as a foot hits your dropped bags near the door. But then it’s silent again and your ears only twitch to the gentle sigh that brushes against your face; a thumb and forefinger caressing your cheek as hair is placed back over your ear. 
Perhaps the only reason at all as to why you don’t wake up screaming bloody murder is because of his calluses. They burn your flesh as they slide over it—as ingrained into your very being as your own heart is. As if Alex’s touch was another organ that was needed to survive. More important than a liver or a spleen. 
When your eyes slip open he’s leaning back in a chair he had turned to face you, built form shifting as the rickety wood creaks. No more than five feet away sits your husband, and all you do is suck in a tight breath and lock gazes with soft sea glass. 
Alex freezes at the same time, strong brow line peeling back and mustache stiff as his lips immediately thin. You both stare for a good while, a thread of tension entering the air. The night deepens. 
He speaks first, in the dense hours of confrontation. Your heart feels like it’s been stuck with a spear, vignette at the sides of your vision, and a blooming center of only Alex’s body and his messy hair. The scarf around his neck. The combat vest. 
Had he driven all this way to see if you were here? Because you’d answered the phone? But you hadn’t even said anything. Your head stays on the pillow, wondering if you were hallucinating.
“Hey,” Alex forces a chuff before he glances away, nervous arms crossed. “Hey there, Doll. Sorry that I woke you. I…ah,” your eyes bore into him, hand on the sheets slowly clenching into a fist. “I figured there was an off chance you would be here.” He clears his voice, throat closing on a trying laugh. “Guess I’m glad I looked. You should remember to lock your door, by the way.” 
At the sight of your rising glare, his tone drops, expression falling even more than it already was. Deep well of sadness grew in his eyes, lips pulling back in a strained agony. 
Alex’s gaze drops to the floor. 
“I know,” is what hits the air, “I know, Sweetheart. I’m sorry.”
“Sorry doesn’t fucking cut it,” you push your body up as his large shoulders tighten—such an accomplished and strong man brought to a squirming heap when his wife’s sharp words hit him in the chest. “What the hell were you thinking, Alex?!”
Heavy feet hit the floor as you stalk over, fatigue and tiredness pushed all the way to the back of your mind yet also enhancing your emotions. Bitter rage was sparking—held in far too long. Alex’s eyes don’t meet yours, so you grab him by the chin and angle his head up to you. 
At the sight of your red sclera and the baggy gaze he stills. Under your grip his beard tickles you, the soft grip of flesh that makes you want to wrap your arms over him and weep; make him promise to never leave like that again. 
“I…I wasn’t…”
“That’s the thing isn’t it—you didn’t think.” Sea glass floods over, going glossy; hurt etched into both of your faces as if carved from the same stone. But you don’t stop now, growling out as your skin burns. Alex isn’t sad that you’re angry, he’s sad he’s done this to you. “You disappeared, Alex. Laswell had to just drop all of this shit on me. I thought you had died.” You growl. “Do you know what that feels like?!” 
“Sweetheart—”
“Shut up! You let me talk,” he falls silent, hand delicately coming up to grab your wrist. Not to pull you away, just to hold you. To feel your skin and the heat of it. You sniffle and his eyes break. “And the worst part of it was that if you had just asked I would have followed you right then and there.” Alex sharply looks back at you. “But the biggest insult was that you thought I would leave you—that you even considered that.” 
Shock slowly gives way to a blank expression. He was confused, now.
Was that what you were angry about?
“You’re an idiot, Keller. Hot-headed. Cocky.” You shake your head, but a tiny smile begins to bleed onto Alex’s face. Watching you like you’d just sprung a million dollars on him. His grip slightly squeezes, calloused thumb running the span of your knuckles as you shake his head with your hand. “Damn nuisance to my health, is what you are.” Trying to remain angry is tough when he’s looking at you like that—starstruck—but you spit out, “It’s insulting that you thought I’d just give up on us that easily.”
“Most women don’t want a man who’s wanted for desertion, Doll,” Alex whispers, testing a smirk on his lips with his expression still strained. 
“Arrogant!” your voice snaps. “Not a single brain cell in his stupid little head.” You let go of his chin and grip the sides of his skull, feeling the dirty but still soft strands of hair before you huff at him. 
But he just looks at you and smiles, face smooshed. 
“...You really came?” Alex asks quietly. You fall silent and after a moment you deflate.
After the silence of trying to keep the sneer on your face, you let it drop, lips quivering slightly. Anger glints with pain. “I should hit you upside the head, Keller, for all the worry you’ve put me through,” you grunt, eyes flashing over every new bruise on his face—every cut you’d have to re-learn. He looks tired. 
Oh, Alex…
Before the blond can respond to you, you’ve captured the back of his head and shoved it into your chest; face burying itself into his scalp to bring forth that scent of dust and cologne. You whimper out as he grips you around the waist with just as much fervor, “Did you think that I would stay away?”
Alex says nothing, only the slight tremor in his bicep betraying him. You firmly kiss his skull and run your fingers through his hair, the both of you so tight together there’s barely enough room in your ribs to allow your lungs to inflate. 
But holding him was more important than air, a sentiment that Alex seemed to share entirely. 
“I’m so glad you’re here, Bug.” He mutters into your skin. “Feels good to be able to hold my girl again.”
You stay like that for a long time before you pull back and capture his cheeks, face pulling closer before you kiss him deeply. It’s not a fast-paced or desperate thing—no clashing teeth or tongue. That wasn’t what you needed right now. 
All that you needed was Alex. Your home. 
You both separate and the blond grabs the back of your neck, forcing you back so he can lay another on the side of your mouth; nose, cheek. Anywhere that he could reach as his mustache tickled you to a smile. Giggles worm out and you wiggle out of his grip to wipe at your cheeks, spreading away tiny tear tracks and saliva.
“Quit it,” you whisper, and Alex gazes up at you reverently from his chair.
“Negative, Ma’am,” he says, equally as soft, not even blinking. “Don’t wanna.” You roll your eyes, face hot. 
The seconds draw long of only watching one another before you shake your head and move your hands to shimmy out of the dog tags around your neck. Alex’s gaze locks on the metal swiftly, smile shifting.
“You’re horrible.” You huff, quietly, before shoving his dog tags at his chest. “Now put them back on.”
“But I’m not in the—” Your glare shuts him up. Alex clears his throat sheepishly. “Yes, Ma’am.” 
You nod and watch as they’re resituated around his neck. Right where they should be. When you take a step back to really take him in, there’s a moment where you skim over the state of his left leg. After all, the metal was barely noticeable in the dark. But when you do see it every little part of you shrivels up with confused pain.
Alex stands with a noticeable preference to his right and as he towers over you, fingers coming to grab at your face and slowly drag it back up.
A slightly apologetic look washes over him.
“I’m guessing you didn’t listen to all of the voicemails.” 
“Alex…” you slowly cut off. “You…” Staring at the metal limb instead of the real one, you gape. “...how?”
“Y’know,” he laughs, but you don’t find this funny. He notices and kisses your forehead, tapping his scalp to yours and saying after a contemplative pause, “I think it’s better if I don’t explain it. I’m alright, just...” Alex smiles cheekily, the spark that you love coming back easily as it shimmers in his eyes, “just a little more carbon fiber and aluminum than I was before.” 
You hug him tightly.
“I’m sorry, I should have come sooner—I was just angry, and I wasn’t—”
“Don’t apologize to me,” Alex sighs, grabbing you and maneuvering the both of you to the bed. He sits and you end up laying in his lap like that moment in the bathroom ages ago. “None of this is your fault, okay? You deserve to be angry. I shouldn’t have put such a burden on you.” 
You sigh in his arms, head under his chin and heart finally able to return to a steady pace. Licking your lips, you ask, “Does it hurt?” 
Sending a glance down, Alex’s lips twitch with a grin before it disappears. He hums.
“Sometimes.” Your hand grips his opposite cheek and you lay a kiss on his chin, caressing his flesh.
It’s a tentative kind of love. An understanding and a plea all at once. 
The blond leans back against the wall and pulls you closer, closing his eyes. Finally relaxing for the first time in what seems like forever. But his girl is in his arms, and he’s never been this calm.
“I have a home in Urzikstan,” he confesses lightly, fingers brushing your body and giving way to shivers. You listen, eyes fluttering at the vibrations of his words. “It’s safe—protected. I…want us to live there.” Alex nods against your head, swallowing. “If you’ll come back with me.”
“Yes,” your answer is immediate. “Anywhere, as long as you’re with me.” 
You feel his breath hitch, soft chuckles brushing your hair far better than any comb. There’s a small tremor in his voice as he says, “I love you. God, do I love you.” 
Your lips pull up, body growing heavy with a final sense of home.
“I love you, too.” Soft kisses and tight arms. Shifting tattoos. “But if you ever do something like that again without talking to me, I’m telling Laswell she has permission to put a bullet in your ass.”
His loud laughs shake your body, and you press your face into his neck to steady yourself; smiling.
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soapymansuds · 6 months ago
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Eternity and Counting
(Pt2. Also pretty short but I'm kinda just handling introductory stuff, so bear with me. Uploads will be made every Tuesday for as long as I have stuff to upload. Thank you for your support, hope you enjoy!!)
Pt1
Obey me! X Angel!MC (They/Them Pronouns)
TW: Suicide, depression, self-deprecation, death, big feelings, lots of sad.
MC just can't handle anything anymore and takes their own life. Imagine their dismay to find even death isn't the end for them.
When did it get so bright? I'd swear I was staring into the face of the sun if it weren't for the gentle breeze that sways my hair. I open my eyes just barely, blinking away the glare of my surroundings. I'm acutely aware of several voices around me, one of which is more familiar than I'd like. How could it not have worked? It's impossible. I was certain that those herbs would take me out. And so was everybody else, because even if I hadn't done my research, Barbatos kept them locked in a special cabinet for ingredients never to be used while I was in the castle. I had to have died.
As the world around me slowly blinks into view, I'm greeted by a terrifying sight. Simeon sits crouched before me, worry and fear marring his perfect skin. His voice is muffled and foggy as he speaks,  but slowly I recognize his question.
"What have you done?"
It's soft. Gentle. Like when my mother used to ask after I had made a small, albeit amusing, mess. I consider for a moment how to answer him. I want to ask him what he thinks I've done, but the sarcasm feels like it'd be more painful now than it usually would. So instead I take my moment of consideration to look around. I've been to the celestial realm before, but this feels different. Suddenly, I find my answer. A pair of answers really, fluttering against my back.
"I failed... Again..." I whisper, staring at my hands, and soon the tears falling onto them. "Fuck me, you'd think killing yourself would be harder to mess up." Something maniacal in me laughs. It's hard to say if I'm laughing at my joke or myself. Maybe it's both.
When I look up, Simeon's face has shot from worry to deep, deep concern. He's quick to pull out his phone, but I'm quicker to bat it out of his hand.
"You can't. You can't tell them." I mumble, not breaking eye contact. "It's bad enough you have to know, Luke will find out I'm sure. But they can't..."
"MC, they deserve to know! Do you know how worried they are right now? You've been dead a whole month!" He's nearly yelling, but his expression doesn't change much. It's hard to tell if he's angry or confused. Maybe he's both.
"They deserve to move on Simeon. You all do, I'm just sorry I've managed to fuck up your opportunity to do it. They got their letters, they know why I did it. So do you. It would be unfair of me to put them through all of that, give them an opportunity to live without me dragging them down, just to turn around a month later and force myself back into their lives because I didn't have to forethought to consider I could have been reborn an Angel!" It's not that I hadn't considered it. I had just assumed suicide knocked you off the divine rebirth roster. Guess I should have checked.
Simeon looks prepared to say something back but is quickly cut off by another voice.
"So this is the great MC I've heard so much about." He chuckles, stepping out from behind Simeon. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, though I do wish it was under better circumstances." his head tilts as if he's considering the whole ordeal. "I'm certain Lucifer would be ecstatic to hear the news, but if you insist on secrecy, that can be arranged."
"Michael I-" Simeon begins but stops quickly, fixing his tone and face to seem more proffesional. "Are you certain? Their absence has caused such a stir in the Devildom." He looks back at me like he's expecting that to change my mind more than Michael's.
"The Devildom can handle its own turmoil. We owe our loyalties to the angels of the Celestial realm. And if our new angel here wishes to hide their presence from Lord Diavolo himself, then I'll do what I can. For now, at the very least. And if you ever change your mind, I can help you then as well." He nods, holding a hand out to help me to my feet. I take it cautiously, finding a new balance in my stance with the additional weight on my back. I never expected these to be so heavy. And getting a better look at them now, they're huge. Rivaling Lucifer's, in span at least.
"If you'd like, I have a private garden. You may spend your days there for as long as you want." He grins, something strangely knowing in his eyes.
(Thank you for visiting my silly little stories. Like I said, uploads should be pretty consistent, but if you'd like a friendly reminder, comment to be added to the tag list!)
-Your friend, The Author
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fillingthescrapbook · 14 days ago
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Let's Talk About: A Change of Plan
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Not episode-related but… is anyone else seeing the yellow oval shape on the bottom right corner of their screen when they watch anything on Dropout's website?
That out of the way--
Brennan making Evan a long-backer was not on my bingo card… but it makes sense. Regardless of how Erika, Danielle, and Aabria feel about it. Evan's energy from the very beginning was giving plank-body.
And since we're on the subject of Evan-- I am definitely vibing more with this aggressive and allowed-to-be-angry side of Evan more than the poor little meow meow we used to get before. Like, sure, I get that he wasn't sad all the time during the first season, but the energy was there. He was a sad boy. And I am learning now that I really really do not like sad boys.
Last episode, I mentioned Erika as being exceptionally great at shrinking. I did say that Lou and Danielle were doing amazing jobs as well (although not with those words exactly), but this week's MVP is Danielle Radford. Those lines of improvised dialogue that were a mile-a-minute long were simply incredible. Impeccable. And that's not to mention how she had Sam react to Evan freaking out about the discovery of how he died. "Together. Alone. Not us." Indeed.
Oh and that small reveal about Sam's family life? I want to hug Sam (to)B(decided).
And then we get to Cocaine Sam. And having her be the one to greet Boudy-boots. Amazing. Exceptional. No notes. (Also: Cocaine has to be an integral part of the Never Stop system mechanics now, right?)
Now, I'm not gonna go through everything that happened one by one. I never do. But here are the things that really stood out to me this episode, and why Misfits and Magic Season 2 is winning me over from my…lack of enthusiasm for the first season.
Number one: The breaking of wands. Erika's was sort of an accident. As explained in the Adventuring Academy, Erika saw that a tiny score was made on her wand. To allow it to break more easily. This discovery helped inform her decision to break it "accidentally" in the previous episode. The other players then realized that all their wands had been scored. And that a mechanic has been put in place for when said wands were broken. A mechanic that has now been fully explained in this episode.
I love this mechanic. I love that it--whether intentional or not--is a symbol for breaking Misfits and Magic off from "the franchise." Because the wands have become so intrinsically linked to said franchise. Although, I must admit--from a sentimental point of view--it hurts to see them break the wand. Although, at the same time, I guess that's why it's so powerful. It's their link to the magical world. It's one of the first things that showed them their potential. Much like the franchise was for many of us. And it's become very important for us to break off that connection to see that there's more magic to explore. That we are not limited to the wands. And the brooms. And the familiars.
And oof. The familiars. Aabria caught me off guard with that reveal. Like the road we were walking on were paved with figurative bones but the confirmation still took me aback. Because funny season, ha ha! We killed a player's character. We killed a major NPC. And we're killing familiars. Funny!
That's not a dig at Aabria. I love what she did. One of the most affecting episodes of television I've seen in recent memory is from How I Met Your Mother. It had a visual gag of a countdown. And the whole episode was filled with mishaps that were propelled by humor and love. And then when the countdown reaches 1--it punches you in the gut. And you were warned. But you still didn't expect it. And it feels so bad--but it's done so well. That's what Aabria did.
And that brings me to my second reason why Misfits and Magic is beginning to win me over.
Aabria is handing us character progression that is steeped in gray morality. Characters who rubbed us the wrong way are learning to be better people, while still being their snotty selves. Characters we liked have found themselves getting lost not because they're inherently evil but because of inaction, because of self-preservation coupled with their avoidance to step out of their comfort zone. There's grace in the way Aabria shows the players how their friends have fallen. And I think it's beautiful.
So, yeah, I am coming around to Misfits and Magic. Will it beat both Burrow's End or A Court of Fey and Flowers as a better Aabria season? I don't know. ACoFaF is one of my favorite Dimension 20 seasons ever and Burrow's End is also pretty high up. So probably not. But will I look back on Season 1 more kindly now? Definitely yes.
Last two things I wanted to mention:
First, the sudden volume drop when Evan stopped yelling-- I can't imagine what the poor sound guy who got the full burst of Brennan's highest vocal had gone through. Thankfully, Sam Reich takes care of the Dropout crew well.
And last, when K responds with "maybe the Tumblr users are gonna help?" to Evan's diatribe? Oh, K. Most of us are already struggling with one thing or another and are paralyzed by bigger things. If we had wonky magic to deal with on top of that? Oh ho ho, K. Oh ho ho.
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loviingpedri · 1 year ago
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my birthday baby - pedri
prompt: birthday special dedicated to me and other birthday babies!
warnings: grammar issues and like 1 subtle dirty joke
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your birthday seemed an ordinary day to you. you usually just went on your daily routine. it wasn’t until this year that your boyfriend, pedri, decided to plan a vacation to celebrate you.
you’ve never celebrated the day since you were practically a kid. pedri figured it would a good time to step away from the world and make new memories together. the relationship was still in the new phase, meaning this trip would bring the two of you together.
“y/n! are you all packed up?” pedri yelled down the hall, expecting an answer.
“yeah! i’m coming!” zipping up your suitcase. you honestly had no idea where you were going. your party planner pedri only told you to pack pajamas, bathing suits, and some dresses to handle at least 4 days of vacation.
meeting up with your boyfriend outside, you gave him a quick peck on the lip before getting in the car. all suitcase business had been given to him to handle. only job you had to do was attend and look pretty.
considering it was 7 pm at night, the whole city of barcelona was sparkling. the city lights specifically highlighting your face for pedri to look at.
“won’t you give me a hint on where we’re going?” if you had a penny for every time you begged him to tell you the destination, you would be filthy rich for the rest of your life.
“i already told you, it’s a surprise.” it was the same answer every time. sighing with anxiety and your nerves pumping, you just had to trust him. there were so many places on your bucket list, the guesses could go on for ages.
“how long is this car ride anyway?” you closed your eyes just for a bit aft
little did you know. “not long. look outside.” opening your eyes and trying to clear your vision. your jaw dropped and your back suddenly straightened.
“you’re joking, right?”
in front of your eyes was a luxurious private jet with a carpet customized to your name that was in front of the stairs leading to it. other than your boyfriend, this is probably the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.
pedri stopped the car and put it on park. “do you like it?”
“are you kidding me. i love it so much. thank you!” hugging him from the passenger seat was hard, but he could feel the excitement coming from you.
people coming to park the car in valet and take your suitcases as your hand was grabbing pedri’s hand tightly. you wanted to run onto the jet immediately, but the visuals of it made you stop in awe.
-
most of your flight was drinking champagne and then falling into a deep sleep after. pedri gently woke you up to see the view. you saw clear waters and the bright sun.
“it’s beautiful, but where are we?”
“welcome to malé, maldives.”
getting off the plane shortly and stretching your legs, the sky was so clear. you didn’t have to worry about baggage claim either since they were going to be at the resort before you even knew it.
you thought your resort would be in the middle of the city, so you can just go out. were you proven wrong quickly. you were soon on a boat riding to your overwater villa. pedri was really spoiling you this trip.
the villa was gorgeous. you had a fear that you were going to get home sick easily because it was a four day trip, but you would rather spend your whole life here without a doubt.
“it’s still early. wanna go for a swim?” pedri never missed an opportunity to do something active. you couldn’t blame him, the pool was definitely special.
changing quickly and jumping into the ice cold water woke you up after your long flight.
“thank you for all of this. it really means a lot.”
“i believe you should be celebrated. it’s even better when you’re celebrating with me.” giving you a wink made you lay your face into his shoulder from his cheesy flirting.
-
it all happened so fast. after swimming, you took a tour around a nearby resort. doing some yoga before it was dinner. putting on your best outfit and pedri having his fancy suite, it all felt like a fever dream.
this man got you a 10 course meal, 11 if you include something else.
“pedri, you don’t understand. i am so grateful you’re doing all of this. but how long did this take you to plan?” stuffing your face with the tiniest portion of caviar they gave you.
“like two weeks. i don’t know, my manager did everything for me. i just had to pay for it.”
that was such a pedri thing to do. he wanted to show you that he appreciated you, but he had troubles trying to show it. it was the thought that counted.
finishing your meal, an unexpected surprise was coming towards your table.
a birthday cake with the words ‘happy birthday’ was sitting in front of you while your boyfriend and complete happy strangers singing to you. memories of your past birthdays were running through your mind and you felt happy as the celebration of your birth was with the only person that mattered to you.
your boyfriend, pedri gonzalez.
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author’s note: happy birthday to all the october 23 babies! happy scorpio season, everyone! thank you for all the support on tumblr. i can’t wait to make new stories for you guys in my newest chapter in my life. 🤍
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hollowed-theory-hall · 6 months ago
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Do you think Snape stopped being a bigot by the time canon rolled around or do you think he still thought of muggleborns as inferior but didn't act on it cause he was always around Dumbledore?
We know his love for Lily won't change anything, Lily herself points out how Snape's completely fine with calling every muggleborn but her a "mudblood" and even participated in bullying them. He sees Lily as an exception so there's no guarantee that even her death would change his views on the rest.
He probably never outright voices it because he's tied himself to Dumbledore, but that doesn't mean he can't still hold those bigoted views deep down.
His treatment and bullying of Hermione doesn't make him look good either. Yes, she's an overzealous know-it-all who annoyed Snape, but I wonder if that was simply it or if his bullying of her was motivated by blood prejudice as well.
As far as I remember, there's nothing in canon that proves Snape is still a bigot, but there's nothing that disproves it either. Thoughts?
Honestly we aren't really told anything about his opinions about muggleborns and muggles during the books. If I had to guess, I'd say his opinions didn't change much. Lily was always an exception, so I don't think her death would change his opinion on muggleborns as a whole.
We see this outlook with Slughorn too:
“Your mother was Muggle-born, of course. Couldn’t believe it when I found out. Thought she must have been pure-blood, she was so good.” “One of my best friends is Muggle-born,” said Harry, “and she’s the best in our year.” “Funny how that sometimes happens, isn’t it?” said Slughorn. “Not really,” said Harry coldly.
(HBP, 70)
He knows some muggleborns are brilliant and talented (like Lily and Hermione) but he considers them exceptions, not the common muggleborn. The perfect special muggleborn. The talented ones he cares about.
I think Snape is a little similar, if for completely different reasons. Slughorn looks down on muggleborns because of how unfamiliar with the muggle world he is. He's a pure-blood who was raised to think muggleborns have lower chances of being talented and exceptional.
Snape, on the other hand, has something very different going on in his head. I think he also has this tendency to look down on muggleborns, and he always had, but not for the same reason as Slughorn. In Snape's case, it comes from his hatred of muggles. Snape hates his father and the circumstances of his upbringing. He probably holds some resentment towards his mother for staying and raising him in a poor and abusive environment. And, it's not like Snape's mother was overly involved in his life either, he was allowed to just run around the streets alone since he was seven (or younger) and that was pretty much it.
Snape associated the muggle world with pain, humiliation, and neglect. And while the Wizarding World wasn't free of pain and humiliation, it was better. The Wizarding World came with magic, the ability to at least have a chance to defend himself, a chance at belonging (we Lucius except Snape into Slytherin easily when he arrives), and pride. Snape is an incredibly talented wizard and he knows it, and takes great pride in it.
So the wizard side of things was always the better one for him. The one he preferred to associate himself with (calling himself the "Half-Blood Prince" is an example of that). And I think his outlook on muggles and muggleborns is still somewhat colored by this even as an adult.
I think it did tone down since his youth, I don't think he's as extreme as he was when he joined the Death Eaters as a teenager, but I think he's still prejudiced against muggles and muggleborns (more muggles than muggleborns though), at least to a degree. I mean, these sorts of outlooks don't just change overnight. So, while I think Snape isn't advocating for muggleborns registration anymore, he still looks down on them and expects less of them, like, a subtler sort of prejudice.
I think Snape's bullying of Hermione is mostly for her know-it-all attitude, being friends with Harry, and being a Gryffindor (a whole different prejudice). But I think there is a little muggleborn prejudice in there too. I don't think it's the main issue he takes with her, but, like I said, it's unlikely he just completely got over it.
And, we see that looking down on muggles and muggleborns is pretty common in the wizarding world as I mentioned with Slughorn and while Dumbledore wouldn't be happy if Snape called muggleborns "mudbloods" he himself is just as prejudiced against muggles. He looks down on them like all of the wizarding world does, in subtler ways than the Death Eaters. So Snape probably wouldn't make an active effort to change his opinions. Even the Weasleys look down on muggles:
“Are they doctors?” he asked Ron quietly. “Doctors?” said Ron, looking startled. “Those Muggle nutters that cut people up? Nah, they’re Healers.”
(OotP, 484)
“Are all your family wizards?” asked Harry, who found Ron just as interesting as Ron found him. “Er — Yes, I think so,” said Ron. “I think Mom’s got a second cousin who’s an accountant, but we never talk about him.”
(PS, 73)
All wizards, even the more muggle-accepting ones are pretty prejudiced, it's that ingrained into their culture. So much so that Hermione stopped talking about her parents even to her friends, the Weasleys' squib cousin is never mentioned, and confounding or obliviating muggles is considered harmless even though we saw it can cause harm even to wizards (Lockheart). The wizarding world is a very prejudiced place even if you don't go around shouting slures. So I think Snape still holds this baseline level of looking down on muggles and muggleborns their whole world seems to practice, but he isn't advocating for their registration and death anymore either.
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abeautylives · 7 months ago
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Times I Remember Well
(and Some That I Don’t)
Part 3
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author’s note: Thank you for reading this ridiculous story. Now for the good stuff.
pairing: female!OCxjake
time frame: 2016-2018
word count: almost 7.8k this part
warnings: language, underage drinking (implied), mentions of sex and sexual situations, nudity, oral (m. and f. receiving), unprotected penetrative sex
You know how most people’s lives change pretty drastically when they move away for college?
What, were you expecting me to claim that I was different, special in some way?
I’m not.
If you’re wondering, Sam and I were fine. I guess he’d matured enough to keep speaking to me when he found out I’d almost fucked his brother. I was still immature enough to give him a classic three day long silent treatment over the whole Sam said he thought you were fucking that guy you dated thing.
I even made him agree to never bring me up to Jake again. Ever.
Anyway, my first semester of college kind of kicked my ass. I was smart enough, but I couldn’t decide on a major and it made the whole experience feel like a waste of time. I didn’t meet anyone worth much of my effort to get to know, and I spent a lot of nights alone in my dorm room. I barely even liked my roommate. Meanwhile, Sam was at home breezing through his last year of high school and preparing to actually go on tour.
Like a real tour. It was my worst nightmare. And I had to hear all about it when I came home for winter break. 
But he was excited, of course he was. And I was proud of him. And Josh, and Danny. I couldn’t bring myself to have positive feelings for Jake. After he’d rejected and embarrassed me (again), I’d run off to school determined to lose my v-card to literally anyone who’d never been to Frankenmuth or heard of their band. Fortunately for me, almost no one had heard of either.
So, I did. And Matthew Nowak had been a very cursory and lazy fuck, but he got the job done. I mean, he popped the cherry or whatever, he didn’t make me come, and I never gave him another opportunity to try.
I almost didn’t even go home for Christmas, my dad had been begging me to come see him, but I knew if I didn’t go home, I might never see my best friend again.
Was that a little dramatic? Sure, but the dates for tour were going to start around my birthday, before he even graduated, and he wouldn’t be home for the entire summer. There were talks of getting signed, to a fucking label. Releasing their music to the world. Jake’s dreams were coming true and he was stealing my best fucking friend from me.
He really was an asshole.
I went back to school in the spring a little sad, nostalgic for a time when things were easy and fun, and I always had a weekend smoke sesh in the Kiszka garage to look forward to. There was nothing for me to look forward to in Ann Arbor. Until I met Soph.
Sophie and I were paired up within the first few days of one of our classes, and thank God we were. We clicked instantly, she was almost like a female version of Sam with even better hair.
She got me out of my slump, out of my dorm room and out of my own head.
As we started hanging out more outside of class, we learned about each other’s lives at home, and she let me talk endlessly about Sam. About moving away from Traverse and finding the best friend I’d ever had, growing up with him, becoming an adult at his side.
I don’t remember exactly when it happened, but eventually I ran out of stories and didn’t feel the need to talk about him much anymore.
For a few months, we worked hard and partied harder, and I felt more and more like myself, or my new self, with her help. My new self must have been putting out certain vibes that attracted attention, because I wasn’t hurting for it. Not that I really had back home, but home had narrowed my view, the Kiszkas my whole world. Even when I did date boys, Sam was there to tell me he didn’t like them, then Josh was there shining brighter than the sun, blinding me to them.
Then Jake was there. Ruining me for everyone else, just by existing.
In Ann Arbor, Soph had the opposite effect. Every guy was cute, cute enough to talk to, flirt with, party with. A select few were hot enough to make out with, let them touch our bodies, we would touch theirs. Dance with them, let them pull us close, throw our arms around them and tell them to take us somewhere quieter. 
There was that one time, I’d gone back to this guy’s dorm and he’d put a playlist on shuffle. Ya know, so we wouldn’t be heard. And right before I put his dick in my mouth, fucking Highway Tune started playing. 
Instant no. I left him there with a hard-on and zero promises of returning.
But anyway, Soph and I had fun every weekend, studied every weeknight. By the end of the second semester, we’d decided on my major, and made sure we would share more classes in the fall.
When summer break rolled around, we spent the first half with her family in Grand Rapids and the second, reluctantly, with my mom. Home was weird without Sam, but he was off galavanting across the U.S. Communication between us had been sparse, though he did call me once every few weeks to fill me in, and let’s be honest, brag. I didn’t mind the bragging, much, but even with how well things were going at school, I’d have given anything to drop it all and be with him. 
Even if it meant tolerating Jake. 
Life goes on, time keeps on slipping, the wheel in the sky keeps on turning and all that. 
College was hard, but Soph and I really buttoned up in the fall. More studying, fewer boys, a little less fun, but Michigan gets cold fast and running wild all over campus didn’t hold the same appeal. We vowed to live it up in the spring, maybe settle down and get some boyfriends. Maybe not.
“Holy shit holy shit!”
We were in the library, Soph across the table from me with wide eyes, laptops, books and notes spread out between us.
“Shhh! What? What the fuck?” She leaned in conspiratorially and I turned my phone around to show her the screen. 
“They’re playing in Detroit. They’re coming home!”
“Will you be quiet? Who, Sam’s band?”
That made me laugh every time. I always called it Sam’s band, because he would’ve loved it and someone else I knew would have loathed it.
They hadn’t been home in forever, they were hardly even in the states, and when they’d played the Fillmore in the spring I’d been so bogged down with new classes and so much fucking homework, I couldn’t justify leaving campus let alone the city. 
But they were coming back, and I’d be on winter break. Sam had sent me their schedule, which I’d thrust into Soph’s hands.
“Aww, reunion! I wish I could go with you.” Her pouty face was unmatched, but she was going with her parents to visit family in Ohio for the holidays. For a moment, that realization made me panic. I wanted to go, needed to see my best friend, but to do it alone? Why did that make me nervous?
Maybe because I hadn’t seen him in two years. Maybe because I hadn’t seen him in more than two. I doubted I’d even get to spend much time with Sam, and I doubted further that I’d be able to get him away from the others.
Not that I wouldn’t want to hang out with Danny, or even Josh. But… well, you know.
I wondered if they were going home for the brief break between Detroit and Seattle, and I made a mental note to ask Sam. 
I’d insisted on buying my own ticket to the show, their third added at the Fox after the first two sold out, but Sam wouldn’t hear of it. He set me up with a ticket and access to see them backstage, and I tried not to let it get to my head. It's not like they were famous or anything.
Selling out multiple shows.
I FaceTime’d Sophie so she could help me decide what to wear - I hadn’t put this kind of pressure on an outfit since the night I kissed… yeah, you saw how that went.
We landed on skin tight faux leather pants, an extremely low-cut black and tan floral print top with a fitted bodice and wide, flowy sleeves, and chunky black boots. I planned to top it off with a vintage fur coat Sam and I had found thrifting a few years back. We’d always joked that it originally belonged to the old lady they named their band after. 
“Okayyyyy, so what about your underwear?” 
I stopped spinning in front of my phone, where I’d been showing Sophie the whole get up.
“What the fuck do you mean, my underwear? Who cares?”
“Babe, it’s a rock show! What if you meet a super hot guy with like, tattoos and a tongue ring that wants to rock your world?” I watched her eyebrows waggle as she stuck her own tongue out at me. 
“Yeah I don’t think that’s really their demographic.” 
But… an idea started to form. Sexy underwear would make me feel sexy. Who would be irritated to see me, looking and feeling sexy, arguably hotter now than I’d ever been? Who would be downright furious to watch me get a little flirty, a little provocative with another man? Men? His brothers?
Ohhh, Jake Kiszka was gonna kill me. And it was gonna be worth it. 
The ticket Sam held for me was in the front fucking row. Of the seats, behind the pit floor, but still. How embarrassing, what if I didn’t know any of the words? I didn’t really listen to their music, not since I was in high school, watching them practice or play at Fischer.
As you can imagine, I didn’t need to worry. Every, single, song was familiar. Songs that they’d written or started writing when Sam was barely fifteen. But the people around me knew them all, better than I did actually. 
That was… pretty cool.
I left my seat as the guys were blowing kisses and throwing flowers into the crowd, stopped in a bathroom to check myself out, and followed Sam’s directions to make it backstage. The guys made it there before me, I could hear their excited voices from the hall as a security guard led me to their green room. We slowed as we got closer, and I stopped the guard before we reached the door, composing myself, slipping my coat off, smoothing my hair and controlling my expression. 
You should've seen his face when I walked through the doorway, slow clapping and wearing my best deadpan. They all turned their heads in my direction, but his face was the one I sought out. 
His cheeks were still flushed from the stage (he honestly goes crazy up there) but he immediately turned so bright pink I hoped his head would explode. 
“YOU’RE HERE! Holy shit, you’re here!” Sam rushed at me and instantly my feet were off the ground, he swung me around and I couldn’t help the smile that stretched wide as I laughed with him. 
“You’re sweaty! Put me down, idiot!” He dropped me to my feet and grabbed a hand, lifted it above my head and spun me in a circle.
“Look at you, you look hot, T!” His laughter cracked loud and joyous and my heart soared. He didn’t mean anything by it, of course, but he was right and I knew it.
Danny approached me next, taller and even broader than I ever remembered him being, and wrapped me up in another sweaty hug. “Good to see you, did you get tinier?” We laughed and I slapped him away. Then Josh caught my eye, arms crossed over his bare chest under an open black vest and leaning against the vanity, grinning. 
I moved toward him and he met me in the middle, opened his arms and threw them around me. He didn’t make fun of me, or comment on the way I looked. Our cheeks were pressed together and he turned his face and dropped a kiss to mine. “We’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you guys too, more than you know.”
He let me go and his grin stretched into a blinding smile. “What’d you think of the show?”
“It was fucking awesome, I can’t believe you guys are like, legit rockstars! Seems like yesterday you were jamming in your garage.” Sam sidled up and threw a long arm over my shoulders.
“To be fair, we didn’t really stop jamming in the garage until last year, T.”
I knew that, I guess. But I’d missed it, and I’d missed the moment my best friend grew up. But this wasn’t the time to get weepy about that. I still had a mission to accomplish.
Turning out of Sam’s hold, I faced him. He no longer looked apoplectic, but his nostrils were flared and his arms were crossed, one hand running a finger across his chin below pursed lips. His focus was distinctly somewhere on the floor, but I walked toward him and watched his eyes connect with my boots and then travel, slowly, all the way up my body. 
Get a good look, asshole.
And he did, his gaze lingered for a fraction of a second on my hips, and then again on my chest before it finally met my face.
Say something stupid, I dare you.
“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” 
My own eyes rolled in my skull. “Good to see you too, Jacob. How have you been?”
His features twisted in confusion for just a moment before he smoothed them back out. Good.
“Fantastic, living the dream, ya know. How have you been, Tiny?”
“Oh, really good!” I crossed one arm, tucking it under my tits and pushing them up while I twirled a finger through a strand of my hair with the other hand. “I’m majoring in English and Writing and aced all of my finals this past semester. Just really living my best on-campus life. Work hard, play hard and all that.”
It was so satisfying, the way he’d accidentally looked at my chest and then failed to look back at my face until I was done speaking. I swear to you my pussy fluttered when he swallowed, hard, before responding. It was that satisfying. 
“That’s- ahem, that’s great. Glad to hear it. Thanks for coming by to say hi or whatever but we need to pack up our gear and head to the hotel.”
Nice try.
“Oh, cool! I’d love to come with you guys, I just miss you all so much.” His face started turning pink again before I looked over my shoulder. “Sammy! Can I come with and hang out at the hotel? Just for a little bit?” I whipped my head back, my hair swinging with it, to see his face before Sam even answered.
I wanted to see if steam came out of his ears.
“Fuck yeah! You can crash with me if you want!”
One corner of my mouth lifted and curled. “Perfect!”
I regret to inform you that no steam came out. But I think it was pretty close.
When I pulled in at the hotel, I texted Sam and he told me they were in the lobby so I flipped my visor down, checked my face and fluffed my hair. After a deep breath, I got out of the car and made my way inside. 
The hotel wasn’t anything too ritzy, and I figured despite it all, they weren’t that famous. Sam still looked and sounded like the best friend I’d grown up with, though there was something about him that had become more attractive. All of them actually exuded more… sex appeal? 
Ugh, musicians. 
My timing was pretty good, I entered the building in time to catch them getting in the elevator, Jake being the last left in the lobby. But we caught each other’s eye and instead of walking on, he backed up a step. The doors closed and the elevator rose without him. 
He stood there, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans, and waited for me to reach him. When I did, he spoke before I could. 
“What are you doing here, T?”
I painted confusion on my face instead of the pure gratification I actually felt. “Visiting my friends? What are you-“
“Cut the bullshit. It’s unbecoming.”
Okay, that was a little wrinkle in my plan. I hadn’t even started shamelessly flirting with anyone yet and he was already cursing at me. I doubled down.
“I came to see them, Jake.” I pressed the button to call the elevator back down and crossed my arms.
“And what about me?”
“What about you?” Just as I glanced up, feigning more interest in the LED display of numbers as the elevator came down than this conversation, he stepped closer and gripped my arm. Pulled me closer.
It felt familiar.
“I’m not buying it. Come on.” The elevator dinged and the doors opened to an empty car, but he was already pulling me down a hall toward a stairwell door. It swung open as he shoved through it, yanked me through and pushed me ahead of him, and it slammed shut behind us.
The stairwell was silent, our breathing was amplified and bounced off the walls. His voice made me flinch.
“Third floor. Go.”
Four flights of stairs and two landings separated me from their room. That was fine, I could do it.
Except he stayed behind me the entire time and didn’t speak a word. By the time I pushed the door to the third floor open, my nerves were fried and I was still trying to discern his reasoning for taking the stairs. If he had yelled at me or pushed me to the wall and kissed me in the stairwell, it would’ve made more sense. Instead, he placed a hand low on my back and led me down a deserted hallway to room 307. I breathed a shaky sigh of relief, ready to abandon the plan completely and run to Sam, use him as a personal human shield for the rest of the night.
But he pulled a key card out of his pocket and slid it into the lock, and the heavy door opened to a dark, empty room. 
Jake stepped inside and flicked on a light, holding the door open for me. I didn’t move.
“Jake, what-“
“Get in here, we need to talk.”
It sounded like a terrible idea, I hadn’t come here to talk. I came to spend time with Sam and do enough harmless flirting with the guys to drive Jake crazy. 
“No. Where are the guys?”
He just stared at me for a tense few seconds before he sighed impatiently. “In Sam and Danny’s room.”
“And which room would that be, exactly? I’ll just go knock-“
“Please.”
I know, I know. Did he really have to go and ask nicely?
“Fine, you know what? You have five minutes then I’m the fuck out of here.” He had the nerve to give me a tight-lipped smile, lift his palm and wave me in as I started to pass him and head into the room. Then he let the door swing shut.
We were alone.
The room was pretty standard, two queen-size beds, a table and two chairs. Not exactly rockstar shit. I tossed my coat onto the closest bed.
“You want a drink?”
I dropped into a chair, crossed my legs and folded my hands over my knee. “No, I don’t. What did you need to talk to me about? You have four minutes.”
He pulled a White Claw out of the mini fridge, popped the tab and sat at the end of the bed closest to me. After a swig from the can, he leaned forward and propped his elbows on his knees. 
“Three minutes.”
“Jesus, give it a rest, T.” He pinned me with a glare and my eyes widened. “Don’t. Don’t act all affronted because you’re not getting your way, I’m sick of it.” 
“I don’t know what you mean, I-“
“Stop! Tell me why you’re really here.”
“To see Sam! I told you-“
He stood from the bed, leaned across me and slammed the can onto the table. I jumped in my seat, but then he bent down and gripped the arms of the chair on either side of me. Right in my face, he ripped me to shreds.
“I’m tired of this, T. Since day one, everything has always had to be all about you, your feelings, your stupid ideas, your fucking games.”
That was ridiculous and it straightened my spine, I sat up taller and put us nose to nose, but he didn’t stop.
“How many times have you come between us and Sam? Pitted us against each other? Run away when you didn’t get your way, with one of us or all of us?”
With a huff, he pushed himself away from me but now I was ready for a fight. Launching from the chair, my body followed his. “And what about you, Jake?  You spent years fucking with me, leading me on, just to humiliate me over and over again!”
“Is that really what you think?!” We were squared up now, hands flailing as we yelled in each other's faces. “I didn’t do shit, and you spent years avoiding me, making me feel awkward and unwelcome in my own house because God forbid I ever be in the presence of such a self-entitled, delicate fucking princess!”
“Oh, you fucking prick. Fuck you-“
“So eloquent, that’s really lovely Tiny.”
You already know that he said that on purpose.
“Don’t. Call. Me. That.” I was fuming, the steam was probably coming out of my ears, and that pissed me off further. Everything about this was infuriating, my night completely off-railed, my time with my friends ruined. I was done.
I threw my hands up and then put them on his shoulders, with all intention to shove him out of my way and walk out of the room with some part of my dignity intact, for once.
But that’s not exactly what happened.
Because once I touched him, the tension reached a breaking point. And boy did it break.
Before I could push him away, his arms were around me, his hands spread across my back, and he pulled me in. 
Yep, he was kissing me. 
Our mouths slammed together and all the anger, all the fury, combusted between them.
My own hands betrayed me and shot from a grip on his shoulders to a grip in the hair at the back of his head, still slightly damp from sweat or a shower at the venue, I had no idea. And I didn’t care.
He ravaged my lips until they felt bruised, opened them with his and forced our tongues to battle for dominance, sucked the air from my lungs until I couldn’t breathe. I pulled away to drag some back in but he hardly gave me the chance, tugging me back in to kiss my lips, bite my jaw, murmuring between the attacks. 
“Why are you really here…”
His hands slid up my back and sunk into my hair, pulled my head to the side so he could continue his attack on my neck, my throat.
“Say it, the truth.”
My brain was in shut down, I forgot what words were and how to make them. His teeth reminded me, scraping along my skin.
“You. For you.”
His lips closed over mine again and he was moving me, two steps backward and we turned, the back of my knees hit the bed where he’d been sitting. Our mouths broke apart, our hands fell away. The sound of our breathing, fast and uneven, thundered between us.
“I’m not gonna stop this time, T.”
My heart stumbled over its next few beats.
“I don’t want you to.”
We fell back into silence as he reached forward and slid his hands up underneath my shirt, rough fingertips pushing the fabric up over my ribs, my chest, I lifted my arms and let him pull it over my head and shook my hair out as he let it drop to the floor. 
There was just enough light coming from the only one he’d flicked on, and the moonlight spilling through the uncovered window, that I saw his nostrils flare. His eyes trailed over my lace and silk covered chest before meeting mine.
“You’re so beautiful,” My breath caught, I held it. “I’ve never told you how beautiful you are.”
I couldn’t speak, emotion squeezing my throat, the words I’d always wanted to hear from him tightening every muscle in my body. So instead, I mirrored his actions and tucked my fingers under the hem of his t-shirt. Soft, heated skin met my touch and I flattened my palms over his hips, up over his stomach and I swear he trembled. Seriously! When they made it to his chest, I could feel the hard, steady beat of his heart, rapid beneath my hand. 
Maybe he knew I could feel it, maybe not, but he leaned in and pulled a soft, sweet kiss from my lips before he took over and tugged the shirt over his head. 
“Jake…” His chest and stomach were lightly toned and completely flawless, a glimpse of which I’d gotten when he was onstage, shirtless under an open jacket. I wanted to tell him just how perfect I thought he was, he’d always been, but the words wouldn’t come. So I bent my knees and dropped to the bed, the barely there happy trail leading up from the low waist of his pants now directly in front of my face.
I leaned forward and kissed it. A strangled noise came from above me, I smiled against his skin. Then his hand was in my hair and he pulled, forcing my face up. He smirked.
“You ever done this before?”
Asshole.
Blindly I reached for and found the button of his jeans, popped it open and worked his zipper down slowly. 
“Please don’t piss me off, or I won’t be nice.”
A chuckle rumbled through his chest. “Just making sure.”
His grip in my hair kept my chin tilted up, eyes locked with his. I peeled the denim over his hips and pulled it down to his knees. Heat rolled off his body in waves, I was dying to look at it, take it all in but there was fire in his stare and I was burning. My fingertips mapped out what I couldn’t see, found the subtle V that led down into his briefs and traced it before I tucked them under the elastic and rolled it down his legs. 
Jake Kiszka’s cock bobbed in the air between his hips and my face. Crazy, I know. I wrapped shaky fingers around him, felt how thick and hard he was before I’d even seen it, tried to picture what I could remember from his dark bedroom.
“Fuck, T.” I tightened my grip on him, just a little, stroked him once. His eyes slid shut.  “I can’t believe you’re here.” I stroked him again and his grasp on my hair loosened, my chin dropped and there it was. As perfect as the rest of him, his dick was big, the head flushed pink. My mouth watered.
For real.
In that moment, I wondered quickly what he liked, how fast, how slow, how hard? My tongue slid out and tasted him, just the very tip, and he snatched my hair up again. The sting in my scalp made my eyes water and I opened my lips and took him in, wrapped them around him and swirled my tongue over his skin. He whimpered.
I could be remembering that wrong, but I swear he did.
He wanted to take control, I could feel it in the smallest amount of pressure from his knuckles on my scalp, but I wanted to be stubborn. I was tired of the control he seemed to have over every one of our interactions. I released him with a soft pop and his eyes shot open. 
“C’monnn,” he groaned. I took my hand off of his dick and pushed him back, he almost stumbled, his legs still trapped in his half-removed jeans. I stood from the bed, spun us around and reversed our positions, then pushed him by the shoulders to sit.
“Patience, Jake, patience.” I flicked the front clasp of my bra open and felt the unrestrained relief as my tits spilled out, then that flutter of satisfaction as his eyes went wide right before going soft and dreamy. What can I say, Jake’s a breast man. “Aht.” He’d reached for them, lifted his hands like he just couldn’t wait to feel them again, but they paused in midair. “I said patience.”
He huffed out a sigh and dropped them, so I continued. Made a little show out of unzipping my boots, sliding them off and peeling the skin-tight material of my pants down my legs. His fingers flexed against his thighs the entire time, clenching into fists and releasing over and over. I waited until I was left in just the lacy thong to instruct him to remove his pants. 
His boots were kicked off and denim tossed away in an instant.
And there we were again. Jake, fully bared to me while we stared at each other, my tits out and pussy covered. But this wasn’t going to end the way it did two years ago. 
Not if I had anything to say about it.
I dropped to my knees and his legs spread, making room for me to kneel between them. His cock jumped when I touched him, just my fingertips, up his shins and over his kneecaps before I placed my palms flat on his thighs. When I peeked up at him through my lashes, he was staring hard, jaw clenched and nostrils flared again. So I continued to trace my fingers over his skin, further up his thighs, over his hips, up and down his happy trail. 
Through gritted teeth, “Baby, please.”
Baby? I was throbbing, slick between my thighs already but that hit me like lightning.
I wrapped a fist around him at the base and took him all the way to the back of my throat.
I had to. 
A string of rough curses fell from his lips and a hand tangled in my hair, but I kept my composure, sucking him in and stroking with my fist, letting him sink as deep as I could without choking. His skin was hot velvet on my tongue, I could taste his desire, his need, and I couldn’t help the moan that rippled up my throat around his cock.
“Jesus fuck.” His hips jerked, I gagged around him, he fisted the hair at the back of my head and yanked me off of him. “Get up here.”
Remember how I wanted to maintain the control here? Yeah, I failed. 
He used his grip on my head to bring my lips to his, his tongue sweeping in to dance with mine immediately, his hands moving down my body to pull me up and into his lap. I threw my arms around him and rocked into it instantly, his roving hands landing on my ass and pulling me in, his dick rock hard and slick with my spit grinding against my silk-covered pussy.
Just like that, I lost control of my insolent mouth too.
The kiss broke and I rested my forehead on his, my eyes trained on what was happening between our hips. “God… I-“ The head of his cock caught on my clit, I gasped at the feeling. “I’ve wanted you for so long.”
Embarrassing, I know. But then… ohh then.
His hands skimmed up my ribs until they were cupping my breasts, thumbs grazing over my nipples. 
“I’ve wanted you longer, T. Forever.”
Goosebumps. Literal goosebumps ran up my arms, I shivered, my nipples tightened, and he pulled one into his mouth. He sucked and lapped at it, thumb still moving over the other, and without hesitation he sunk his teeth in. 
“Fuck yes, yes yes…”
His tongue circled it again and he released it, pressed a hot and fast kiss to my mouth. 
“You still like that, huh?” He chuckled as he opened his lips over the other side. The silk between my legs was soaked, I could feel how easily I was sliding over his cock, and I was getting impatient despite the way I’d reprimanded him hardly ten minutes ago. 
“Jake, please…”
He popped off of my nipple and pulled another kiss from my lips, then leaned back and let one corner of his mouth curl up, self-satisfied and cocky.
Still an asshole. 
“Please what, baby? Tell me.”
My eyes rolled, even as he tucked his face into the crook of my neck, nipped and licked me there.
“I want you inside, please fuck me.” Self-control, out the window.
“Mmm,” he hummed into my skin, “No.”
Before I could be properly offended, and believe me, I was, he gripped my thighs and hauled me up, then deposited me onto the mattress. Well, tossed me, really. I bounced once, arms and legs flailing, hair falling in my face. By the time I pushed it away and propped myself up on my elbows, he was standing at the foot of the bed, dick in his fist. I opened my mouth to speak, to yell at him or beg him to stick it in, I don’t know, but he was stroking himself, and he moaned. My mouth snapped shut.
“I’m not gonna fuck you,” I scoffed, offended, pissed even. “Yet.” He let himself go and placed his hands on the mattress, then climbed onto the edge of the bed and started crawling towards me.
It was so fucking hot. His cheeks were flushed, his hair wild from my hands, his eyes dark. I backed away, moving up the bed until my shoulders met the headboard. He didn’t stop coming, and I didn’t want him to. Instinctively, my knees bent and my legs fell open, inviting him in. But he didn’t settle there, when his hands reached me, he grabbed me by the calf and threw my leg over his shoulder on his way down. 
His mouth opened over damp silk and I cried out, his name or God’s, I’m not sure, but his lips and tongue were moving against me and I may have blacked out. I came to when one of his hands skimmed up my inner thigh, and he broke away long enough to slip two fingers under the material and tug it aside. 
Jake Kiszka’s tongue was on my actual, bare pussy. 
My shoulders sagged against the headboard as I reached for him, burying my fingers in his already tangled and unruly hair, our eyes met and he dragged his tongue over me again and again.
“Shit, you were right, this is better,” I panted. He smiled against my cunt and I felt it. I smiled too.
My cheeks hurt I was smiling so hard, until he laser-focused his attention to my clit. His lips wrapped around it and he sucked it past them, my jaw dropped. 
“Oh, oh my God, oh my God!” He was good at this. Too good. The beginnings of an orgasm were already swirling, tightening in my belly, making my toes tingle. The tip of his tongue moving against me until he opened his mouth over me again, and I felt it plunge inside me. The sounds I was making were unholy but I had no shame, I couldn’t feel anything other than need. I needed to scream, I needed to come, I needed him. 
He brought a hand up around my thigh and ran his thumb over my folds, licking himself as he lapped at me, then swirled it over my clit as his tongue fucked me. Before I could even moan, two fingers from his other hand replaced his tongue inside me.
“Jake!”
His head tilted and he pressed his lips against my thigh, kissed it and grinned. “Yes?” Fingers everywhere, filling me and fucking me, circling the most sensitive part of me - I forgot what I wanted to say, if I had even wanted to. Instead I pulled his mouth back, he slid his thumb away and flicked his tongue against me. 
“Yessss, yes just like that, please!” I let my eyes close and stars were already dancing behind my lids, I was close, so close, and I told him so. I moaned it and his fingers plunged deep and curled. I screamed it and he sucked my clit back into his mouth. 
I came hard, nails dug into his scalp, bucking my hips against his face, screaming his name. 
It was unreal. College guys had nothing, fucking nothing, on him.
Before my muscles had even relaxed, he lifted his head from between my thighs and moved up my body, his fingers still pumping slowly inside me as he kissed my hip, my stomach, my breast on his way up to my mouth. He tasted like me when my tongue touched his, and he eased his fingers from my body. 
“Absolutely fucking stunning, breathtaking.”
His breath was taken? I still couldn’t breathe, my chest continued to heave as he left the bed, taking my panties down my legs with him, and I could barely lift my head to see what he was doing. My eyes closed and I felt the mattress dip with his weight as he returned and settled on his heels between my legs, still splayed open. I cracked an eyelid and found him watching me, wrapped condom held between his fingers. 
Under his gaze, I shifted down until my head rested on the pillows, spreading my legs wider, pussy presented to him on a silver fucking platter.
This was happening. There was absolutely no way this was not happening. Not this time.
“Now, Jake.” Unrecognizable, my voice had a distinct sex kitten-like quality that I loved as soon as it hit my ears. He must have loved it too, because his dick twitched and he gripped it. I reached up and snatched the condom from his fingers, tore it open and started rolling it on while his eyes bugged out and his jaw fell slack.
“Jesus, not your first time, huh?” My hand replaced his around him and I stroked, he leaned over me and I guided the head to my center, moved it through the slick pool of arousal there. He paused, poised to enter me, and met my eyes.
“I’m pretty much out of firsts, Jake.”
His eyes closed, his hips rocked forward, and he pushed just past my opening, the tip not even fully inside me.
I tilted my own hips up, he slipped a fraction of an inch deeper. I whispered, and it was sexy, and seductive. “It could’ve been you.”
He sucked in a sharp breath, opened his eyes and we watched each other’s faces as he sunk deeper, slowly, to the hilt. “It should’ve been me.”
Stunned, speechless, we stayed like that. Unmoving, bodies connected, eyes locked. He broke first, dropping his lips to mine and rocking into me softly. A sound I’d never heard before, quieter than a moan, crept up his throat, trapped behind his lips as they caressed mine. My legs lifted, cradling him between my thighs and wrapping around him. 
It was gentle, sweet. The exact opposite of how I knew it would’ve been, if I’d let him be my first, thinking he wasn’t. 
I felt my cheeks warm, my eyes pool with tears. I blinked them away. This was everything I’d wanted and more. I knew I’d been an idiot to think otherwise. Especially when he pulled back and delivered a quick, deep thrust and there was no pain. Only pleasure bloomed inside me, hot and volatile. 
“Again, more…”
An excellent listener, he repeated it. Again, again, and I met each thrust with my own. Our kiss turned frantic, sloppy, lips and tongues clashing and pushing, pulling and taking. The temperature in the room was rising with the heat of our skin, our bodies slipping against each other. He lifted his chest from mine, hands braced on the pillows on either side of my head, and the conditioned air on our damp skin made us both groan in ecstasy.
I damn near came again, almost commented on it but he dropped back down and shoved an arm between me and the mattress, rolled us both. We laughed as we landed, his hair strewn across the pillow and mine falling in his face. My laughter stuck in my throat when he grabbed onto my thighs and pulled, tucking my knees against his hips and forcing me to sit. I propped myself up with my hands on his chest and fell back into the rhythm, my hips rolling. 
“Goddamn, you feel so good, look so good riding me.”
My head fell back as his words rippled through me, his fingertips digging into me, his hands moving my body over his. He brought one to my chest, squeezed me roughly, rolled my nipple with his fingers, pinched it. Hard.
“Yes!” He did the same to the other, my pussy clenched around him. 
“You like when it hurts a little, don’t you?”
“I- I don’t know, I guess so- ohhh!” He wrapped a hand around each tit and sunk his fingertips into my flesh, then kneaded them both, ran the pads of his thumbs over the peaks. 
“Fuck, that’s so hot. You’re fucking perfect.”
Yeah, I lost my mind a little bit. My hips bucked wildly in his lap. Perfect? Me? My nails pressed into his skin, I dragged them down his chest, reveling in the sharp hiss sucked between his teeth, the way his own hips lifted from the bed and he fucked into me. Sharp, fast thrusts hitting me so deep I was screaming his name. He sat up and pulled my face to his, kissed me hard, bit down on my bottom lip, and then tipped me backwards.
My head was nearly hanging off the end of the bed, but really, who cares? My ankles locked behind his back and he was slamming his hips into the back of my thighs.
Fuck, was I gonna come? He had to be close. I lifted my head, now very much hanging off the bed, to ask him.
Beep. Click.
His hips stuttered and paused, we both whipped our heads to the door, which was fucking opening. 
Josh appeared, his foot crossed the threshold and he was looking down at his phone. 
“GET OUT!!” We yelled in unison. Josh’s head popped up, his eyes went huge, and then he laughed. 
“Shit, sorry guys.” He started backing out into the hall, the door creaking closed. “About time,” We heard him chuckling to himself and the door clicked behind him.
Jake turned his face back to me and seemed to realize for the first time that I was barely on the mattress. An arm wrapped around my back and he shifted us until I could look him in the eyes.
“What the fuck…” I whispered up at him.
His smile was subtle and affectionate before it stretched to a full grin, and he huffed a laugh.
“There was no fucking way I was stopping.”
I matched his grin and lifted to pull a kiss from his lips. “Good.”
He tucked his face into my neck and began the roll of his body into mine again. I let my hands roam across his back as he kissed and nipped my skin and his thrusts picked up speed. The orgasm that had been teasing me before we were interrupted built again quickly, and Jake was panting in my ear. 
But then… then. A whisper. Low and deep, but a whisper nonetheless. 
My name, my real name, hit my ear and I gasped, right on the edge.
“Come for me. Please come for me.”
How could I say no?
It broke, crashed, consumed me. His name on my lips as I tightened, writhed, and shook for him. 
He didn’t stop, didn’t slow, he chased after me and followed into the flames. My name burned into my flesh by his kisses, a guttural groan as he came inside me. 
Easily the best orgasm I’d ever had. Easily.
Because he’s just a man, albeit an incredibly hot, multiple-orgasm-inducing man, he collapsed on top of me. I let him. I ran my hands over his sweat-dampened hair and the soft skin of his back and we both caught our breath. Then he started giggling. 
I pinched his ass. “What’s so funny, Kiszka?”
His head popped up and he propped himself on an elbow, a wide grin splitting his face in half, gorgeous. “I can’t believe we waited so long to do that, that might’ve been the best sex I’ve ever had.”
We both laughed as I slapped his chest. “Might be?!”
“Okay okay, you’re right.” He looked at me dreamily, his eyes bouncing around my face. “It was the best.”
Because I’m a woman, albeit a mind-blowing sex goddess, I started overthinking. I couldn’t help it! You should’ve seen the way he was looking at me. 
“Jake…” He lifted his eyebrows, I lifted a hand to his face, tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear. “What does this mean?”
Those eyebrows knitted together, a quick moment to think that over. Then he kissed me, soft and slow. 
“I don’t know what it means. But I do know this hotel has free breakfast downstairs, so be up and ready by nine.” His smile stretched again, and I couldn’t help but laugh. 
“Oooh, do you think they have French toast? That’s Sam’s favorite.”
He attacked me, tickled me until I had tears in my eyes, kissed me until I was breathless, and fell asleep with his arms around me.
The truth is, I don’t remember the exact moment I fell utterly, completely in love with Jake Kiszka. Maybe you should ask him. 
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the-secret-third-mon · 8 days ago
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I was prodding around my private Discord server, adding each of our chosen emoji into the names of our personal “journal” channels, and a thought occurred to me:
Our (my) mind really is like a small community these days. XD
Even if we view ourselves as a single person, I can’t really deny anymore that I also view myself as being “multiple”, too. The best way to describe this vibe, outside of my usual “the secret third option”, is as a person with both a single collective identity and multiple identities.
We’re fluid parts of a single whole, and enjoy existing as that “fused” whole whenever a situation lends itself to such; but we love interacting with each other, our friends and loved ones, and the world in general as each individual part of us, too. Both is good.
It just really amuses me when my personal Discord server has more channels on it, and regular activity, than a vast majority of the smaller, private Discord communities that we’re part of. We have a handful of close, mutual friends on our private server, but often times it’s largely just us (aka. myself) rambling away in a “thinking aloud” way or writing at each other. How one person can talk away so much to and/or at themselves I have no clue, yet here we are. 😂
It also often blows my mind how much different my life is now, two years after first realizing (and consciously acknowledging) that we had DID, compared to my life prior to that. In many ways, it honestly does feel like another lifetime…
I guess in a sense, recalling our past life is like another secret third option, too: not quite an entirely different person’s life, but definitely not the exact same person we were prior to DID awareness either.
Having so many previously internal parts of us fully integrated, fused, and actively fronting now has significantly changed my daily identity, even if the average person couldn’t even tell. My own internal vibes are just strikingly different to how I used to feel, not least because I finally comprehend why my gender orientation shifts so frequently (gender fluidity is a trip). It’s also really lovely having ready access to so many different emotions, memories, and everyday skills nowadays, too, and I’m most definitely a better teacher and employee as a result.
But returning to my original observations: I just find it very amusing how natural it is to exist as multiple these days, despite also feeling more singular and “whole” than ever before. Everything just makes so much sense now, in ways my mind previously never did for as long as I could remember…
I really do love every part of me (us), and this strange little community we’ve created. There’s a particular Japanese song and music video that used to resonate with me long before I ever fathomed being multiple, and in many ways it’s even more meaningful and dear to me now. All I can do is keep praying for safety and good health, so that I can properly enjoy the rest of my life with every part of myself/us/we and this wacky mind community we’ve forged together.
youtube
(The song in question that I referred to above)
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boopiyu · 4 months ago
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my thoughts about zoraal ja
originally this was meant to be tags on a reblog of another post, but it ended up getting really long and being pretty negative and i don't want to inflict that on OP lmao.
one of the biggest criticisms i have of Dawntrail (maybe THE biggest) is that Zoraal Ja's heel turn felt completely senseless. i genuinely like the points OP made in the post this was responding to, but i think the execution was SO lacking. it needed to be foreshadowed better, or it needed more exploration before we get to Heritage Found, or just... treated with more care. there's so much that's just lacking for a major antagonist, and one with deep personal ties to Wuk Lamat no less.
we don't get to see him fail the rite. we're told he attacked an elector after the fact, but there's no chance to show off his thoughts or emotions in that moment. that could easily have been the point at which we see the weight of expectations come crashing down on him.
we then don't get to see how he got from storming off to knocking out Ketenramm for his keystones... i guess that's sort of a separate issue, actually, but how he even found out about about the keystones feels like a very odd omission to me.
we don't discuss any of that??? Zoraal Ja goes MIA, and we mostly just forget about him until he returns with an interdimensional army. there's like a casual one-off comment about him not showing up for Wuk Lamat's ascension. during that intervening time would have been a great opportunity to dig into his motivations, or his childhood, to understand how the family grew up with views him snapping like that.
he keeps repeating his aim of "uniting the world through war" and then the whole idea is just dropped hard. obviously plans change when you become king of another reflection, but there's no acknowledgement of it at all. not even a disdainful "so all that talk about unity was just a pretext for conquest after all."
then we just get people speculating about his motivations after his death. Gulool Ja, the Wandering Minstrel, they're just like "well maybe he felt this way..." but that's something we should have gotten earlier! show his motivations through his actions; don't just tell me what i'm supposed to get from the story after it's over.
the other post made a point about Gulool Ja Ja not being the father he needed, but it's not a point the narrative acknowledges: from beginning to end we just see Wuk Lamat's view of him as the best dad ever. i think it would have benefited not just Zoraal Ja's, but even Gulool Ja Ja himself's characterization (adding nuance!) for the script to have been more critical of his parenting?
overall, Wuk Lamat decries Zoraal Ja from the beginning as a warmonger, and Krile sees that he's full of darkness and malice... and after the attack on Tuliyollal, Wuk Lamat (whose entire thing is reasoning with people) declares that there's no reasoning with him; he just has to die. i guess the intention there was to emphasize just how serious this situation is, that not even Wuk Lamat is willing to reach out to him, but it really does not work for me. if you can reason with hundreds of years of bloodshed driven by entrenched cultural values, don't tell me you can't reason with your brother. that you won't even try. or at least show that you've tried and failed in the past! that would work too! but instead, we just write Zoraal Ja off as irredeemable and call it a day.
i just... see people calling Zoraal Ja's characterization "subtle" when it feels to me like it's not the writers being crafty so much as it's players patching the holes they left behind. i just find the writing frustrating. o|--<
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communistkenobi · 1 year ago
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i know next to nothing about queer theory, but i did exist online during (what felt like) huge exclusionary periods (ace discourse, bi/pan discourse, and transmedicalism were the big ones i remember)
i wonder if the first drive for sexuality being something unchangeable and intrinsic to you had something to do with those things, that queerness was fixed and definable, which meant that there were strict lines to be drawn about who was and wasn't gay/lesbian/bi which was only made worse by trans and nonbinary people who didn't exactly fit the previous molds
ill be doubly honest and say i only interacted w/ the community online at the time bc living in a homophobic country doesnt give you a lot of opportunities to meet up in person which means my view of the whole thing is skewed. im not sure if this makes any sense
What I’m about to say isn’t a diagnosis of the causes behind those discourses (partly because i don’t think there is a single reason animating those arguments), but like I guess in general a very baseline authority people fall back on is biology. Dominant reactionary discourses describe being gay trans etc as a lifestyle choice, as an active decision to participate in sexual and gendered degeneracy, and so a very appealing counter-claim to make is to point to biology - we are born this way, we can’t help who we are just as cishet people cannot help who they are, so you should accept us because we can’t change our identity. That rhetorical strategy requires/assumes a stable sexual and gendered ontology, a primary authority of the body that can’t be altered. While I believe this argument is fundamentally flawed, I think this is a straightforwardly easy argument to make re: sexual orientation. With trans and non-binary people this is more difficult because the foundational claim to our existence is that gender is mutable, is alterable, is subject to change (and also “I’ve felt this way since I was a child” is a pathological model of gender dysphoria that is enforced through medical and psychiatric institutions, not a reflection of lived reality for many, many trans and non-binary people). That doesn’t necessarily mean being transgender is a “choice” (although if someone said they woke up one day and chose to be transgender then that is a perfectly authentic justification), especially because “choice” in these discussions is often framed as individualised, private, detached from the social world - we are all just free agents making rational autonomous decisions in a field of equally rational choices, etc. which I think is a very impoverished way to understand choice and agency. Gender is an institution, it is a set of behaviours and performances that we choose to engage in in many different ways, and my use of the word ‘choice’ there does not imply these choices are free from coercion, violence, or harm. I chose to transition, I chose to engage in performances and behaviours that signal to the social world that I am a man - where that desire to make those choices arises from is another matter, and honestly not one I’m super interested in figuring out. Like if I discovered the ‘origin’ of my transness it wouldn’t make any difference to me. Similarly, how I choose to signal masculinity is very obviously bound up in dominant gendered assumptions. Trans people get accused of upholding gendered norms a lot, but that’s only because we aren’t taken seriously unless we do so! It is a survival mechanism that allows us to better navigate incredible amounts of violence and social exclusion, and arguing that our desire to do gender with our bodies comes from some grade-school assumption that dress = woman and pants = man or whatever is pure projection on the part of cis people. cis men think if they drink pink wine they’ll become gay - trans people are not the ones enforcing these norms here.
Getting a bit far afield here, so to loop back around - I think a stable state of sexual and gendered subjectivity or “being” is very appealing to a lot of people because it’s a way to dismiss reactionary fears and to justify to yourself that your oppression is entirely out of your control (which is true obviously!). Again I think these arguments are flawed because they buy into cisgendered and heteronormative ideas about gender and sexuality, that it is a biological burden imposed on us, that deviance is not a choice, that gender is done to us as opposed to being gendered agents, that we are similarly trapped in a sexual prison and should be accepted on those grounds, etc, but they have massive rhetorical power.  
As I’ve said before I’m a pretty staunch believer in Butler’s assertion that it is social all the way down, that gender is not discoverable in the body but rather the body is the medium through which gender is done in the world. Cis people choose to do gender just as much as trans people do! The only difference is that institutional architecture is set up to facilitate and make invisible (in very misogynistic and racist ways) those gendered practices. I think the stronger counter argument to make is that cis- and het-normativities are deeply violent and miserable status quos that need to be dismantled and discarded, that true choice can only emerge vis a vis gender and sexuality once those institutions are abolished, and that choice is actually a desirable end-goal - I want people to be able to participate in gender and sexuality as free agents, as non-coercive practices that are sites of great joy and wonder and pleasure. And this world is only possible if we accept that there is no gendered or sexual ontology, that it is all smoke and mirrors, that this current system’s primary function is to reproduce the nuclear family, to maintain the hereditary nature of class and wealth and race, to provide a standardised system of labour division, to maintain a distinction between the public and private labour realms, and so on.
So again like, is this what animates discourses about who gets to be counted as lgbtq/queer/whichever label you want to use? I don’t know. Probably some of it has to do with that. Queerness is in party a pathological category that is used to describe a failure to meaningfully reproduce cishet norms and practices, it is a set of relationships you have to legal and political and medical and administrative institutions (which is especially true for trans/non binary people). I like this definition because built into it is the possibility of change - I do not want trans people to be assimilated into cishet society, I want society to become transgender, thereby making transgender an irrelevant medical and legal category of person. Much like communism aims to abolish class by universalising the proletariat, I want to abolish gender by universalising the legal and political and medical mechanisms of transition. Only then will cisgenderism be abolished.
One thing I have been thinking a lot about is something a friend said to me, which is that human rights to do not begin with a definition of human - in the same way, I think trans rights do not require a definition of transgenderism. Just universalise and de-pathologise the mechanisms through which transition is expressed. Make it easy to change your name, remove all barriers to hormones and surgery, make everyone economically secure enough that they can change their wardrobe however they please,  desegregate all gendered spaces, de-gender clothing, remove gender markers from all documents, and so on and so on. Doing so would make both cisgender and transgender an irrelevant legal and political category and, again, allow choice to emerge as a meaningful mechanism of gender expression. 
This isn’t a comprehensive policy platform, there are many things I’m sure I haven’t thought through and a large portion of this discussion has to contend with the colonial and white supremacist nature of the western binary gender (bringing us into discussions of decolonial efforts, socialist efforts, and so on), but this is already getting long and I feel like I’m rambling. But like fundamentally I believe in a radical political imaginary that argues that all of this is subject to change and therefore any arguments about an essential gendered or sexual being is, at the end of the day, a reactionary description of gender and sexuality 
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fl3shm4id3n · 1 year ago
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Fₒᵣ ₕₑᵣ
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𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠.
ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ᴍɪɢᴜᴇʟ ᴏ'ʜᴀʀᴀ x ᴡɪꜰᴇ! ᴠᴇɴᴏᴍ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ
Tw: Death of a child, murder, angst, descriptions of gore? nudity, reader is kind of pshyco, comfort
A/N: Sorry that its short
Masterlist
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Who knows how long you've been knocked out, when you woke up, you felt your whole body in pain. You were also laying on a bed, the same bed that you used to sleep in, looking down you saw that you were dressed in a big t-shirt. You forgot the last time you wore clothing, your symbiote companion was basically your clothes. Slowly you sat up, looking around the room, everything was still intact. Almost everything, the room was a mess and on the wall there was a board with papers and red strings.
Getting off the bed, you went over at the board, there was new papers and reports of venom, about their crimes and recent murders. Looking over, there was a missing person poster. It was of you, he used an old picture of yours. In the picture you were smiling and seemed happier. Now you just looked tired and with so much hate.
"I didn't think you'd wake up" you heard a masculine voice refured to you. Turning to see who it was, it was the one and only Miguel, your husband. You sighed and crossed your arms over your chest. "So, I'm guessing you're going to turn me in?" you asked, almost sounding snarky. Miguel shook his head. "No.." he stopped, looking at you. "I just want to know why?" he asked. You were busy playing with strands of your messy hair, acting as if you had no clue what you were talking about. "I don't know what you're talking about" you said.
Miguel groaned. "Por amor de-" for the love of- he stopped, taking another deep breath and spoke again. "Why did you kill those men?" he asked. You let go of your hair and looked back the board with the papers of your crimes. "I'm pretty sure you heard me in the ally" you said, looking at the recent murder. You've changed, you were no longer that loving person who wanted nothing but for the world to be a good place, now you were basically someone filled with rage and a murderer. It was as if he didn't know you anymore. "I didn't kill them instantly, killing them would be like, giving them a pass for their crimes. So I improvised.. I made sure they felt my pain.." you said coldly, this made Miguel a bit sick. He knew what you did to those men, he would be the one at the crime screen to witness the things that you left behind. He couldn't get that view out of his head.
"You're not better then them y/n, you also did crimes, crimes worse then pick pocketing and robbing!" Miguel explained, all you could do was laugh. "So? I never did this to be better than them! I did it for my daughter! my baby!" you began to yell at him. "Did he think about what he was doing?! That man shot my fucking baby dead! Her blood was in my hands!" You continued screaming, feeling your eyes fill with tears. "The last words she told me was 'mama, I'm scared'... she was a fucking child Miguel!" you shouted, already falling into hysterics.
"She was my daughter too, I saw everything that you did, she was also my baby." Miguel said in a calming manner, trying to calm you down. "You weren't there when I needed you... you were gone for work and doing your spiderman shit!" you presided to scream. "... the only time you were here was to try and put me in a fucking psych ward.. " you reminded him. It was true, he was gone, leaving you alone to cry. He felt guilty, he regretted not being able to give you the help that you needed, he approached you the wrong way, he shouldn't have shouted or threated you to lock you away for a time. He also felt responsible that you had left and why you became the person that you had become.
You were still crying, going back to remembering that same day many years back. How you carried your daughter to the hospital and how both your hands as well as clothes had blood on them. It began to feel as if her last words to you echoed in your head, causing you to let out a loud sob. You then felt a huge pair of arms wrap around you, Miguel had pulled you into a tight hug as you continued to cry. "I did it for her!" you sobbed, while trying to get away from him, but he didn't let go. You still struggled to get away from him, but he kept a hold on you. "I DID IT FOR HER!" you screamed loudly, even though it hurt his ears, he still held you.
Eventually you stopped fighting, you just cried. "It was for her.." you sobbed as you cried while holding onto his tightly. Miguel continued to hug you and stroking your hair trying to calm you down. He knew that you needed to let it all out. It sounded as if you had been holding it in for years. You both stayed like that until you eventually stopped crying, who knows how long it's been since you stopped. You were just snuggled up in his arms as while you crying. All Miguel could do was hold you while stroking your hair and whispering that it was okay. It felt nice having your husband back.
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ₚᵣₑᵥᵢₒᵤₛ ₚₐᵣₜ
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666writingcafe · 9 months ago
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A Surprise Visit
Author's Note: This is the official start of my season three rewrite. To quickly recap how I ended season two, MC basically convinces Solomon to live with them in their home instead of the two of them going their separate ways. That's number one. Number two is I'm axing the whole babysitter gig setup, because I feel like it's a bit unnecessary (and weird).
So, without further ado, the first part of lesson 41 is under the cut.
MC
Solomon looks over my shoulder and examines the potion I prepared in the cauldron.
"Nicely done," he remarks. "Just the right shade of blue."
"Thanks," I reply, quickly glancing up at him.
"You know, you've done a nice job keeping up with everything I've taught you. You're certainly one of my better apprentices." I chuckle.
"I mean, I would like to not destroy my home."
"Or any surrounding ones." I turn my full attention to him, confused as to why he would say that. He merely shrugs as he adds,
"It's happened before."
"I see." Should I be worried?
"Anyway, you almost have the fundamentals down. Pretty soon, you'll be able to get your Sorcerer's License, and I can begin teaching you summoning magic."
"I'm sure the brothers would appreciate that."
"Oh, probably. They like you alright." His smirk indicates that he wants to start bantering with me. He does it on a daily basis, and I've gotten pretty good at coming up with good responses on the fly.
Suddenly, someone knocks on my door.
"I'll get it," Solomon states, patting me on the shoulder and kissing me on the temple before leaving the room. I take the opportunity to begin pouring my potion--a serum that causes people to change size--into the bottles Solomon set up in front of me.
Just as I finish filling the first bottle, Solomon returns.
"It would seem as though the brothers got tired of waiting," he tells me.
"What do you mean?" I ask, setting the cauldron down.
"Surprise!" Asmo pops his head in the room and waves excitedly at me.
At least, I think it's Asmo. His hair's a lot longer than usual, and his choice of makeup makes him look rather feminine.
As he steps into full view and reveals his outfit--a spaghetti tanktop, a denim miniskirt that barely covers his crotch, and strappy high heels--I realize that he's in drag. And it looks good.
Has he done this before?
"You alright, MC?" Solomon asks, walking over and touching my shoulder.
"I'm sure they are," Asmo answers before I can open my mouth. "They're just in awe of my beauty."
"Just the same as always," Solomon quips, causing Asmo to stick his tongue out at him.
"What are you doing here?" The question comes out a lot more quietly than I was expecting. Maybe it's because I can't stop staring at Asmo. For once, he's right; I am in awe.
"Here in your home, or here in the human world?"
"B-Both, I guess." Asmo clasps his hands together.
"Well, after you left, Diavolo started making plans for us to come visit you in the human world. He and Lucifer bought a property nearby, and we've been working on making it our own for a few months. We just finished last week." He briefly pauses. "I've actually been sent to pick you up and take you over there. That is, if that's alright with your teacher over there." He smiles at Solomon, who nods his head.
"I think we've reached a good stopping point for today," he replies, glancing over at me.
"Great! I'll help you pack." Huh?
"Asmo!" I call out before he can go too far.
"Yes, MC?" He bats his eyes at me, and I have to force myself to focus.
"As much as I appreciate the enthusiasm, I can't spend the night. I have to work tomorrow." Asmo stares at me blankly. "You know...the job that helps me pay my bills?"
"Oh right! You don't have to worry about that for a while." That can't mean what I think it means.
"Asmo...what did you do?"
"I didn't do anything. It was all Diavolo." He didn't...
"MC isn't like you guys," Solomon pipes up. "They rely on their job to make ends meet. It's not like they can just leave at will." This makes Asmo widen his eyes.
"No, no, no! It's not like that at all!" he exclaims. "MC, you still have your job. Diavolo just arranged for you to be on vacation until we returned to the Devildom." He walks over and clasps my hands. "I am so sorry for worrying you like that, MC." I sigh.
"That only covers part of it. What about--"
"Check your bank account."
"What?"
"I got it," Solomon states, leaving the room and returning with my laptop. Once he pulls up my online account, he shows the screen to me, revealing...
"Is that four zeros?"
"It appears so, yes." He clicks on the checking account to view transaction details. "It looks like Diavolo's been transferring money to your account. At least, I assume that's who 'David Prince' is." Asmo nods his head.
"We thought it best to adopt human alias while we were here." Well, that explains the drag. "I decided to go with Azzy."
"The name suits you," I tell him, still staring at the screen.
I can't believe that Diavolo went out of his way to do something like this for me. It's not like I've ever expected him to provide for me or anything.
"So, am I good to start packing?" Asmo asks.
"Sure." I make sure to follow him as he enters my room. If I leave him unsupervised, there's no telling what he'd do in there.
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