#imagine the situation in the border states

[necromycologist]

on one hand i don’t think you can blame nick for any of the destroyer stuff in a way that would hold up in court (and I think he probably punishes himself about it enough already.) but. on the other hand. if biden’s nephew became friends with prince george, fucked off to england, killed(?) a bunch of his employees and vulnerable refugees, conducted what looked like bomb testing on american soil, and then everyone was like “it’s fine because He Was Possessed” you know i would start killing

[franavu]

While the Archheart's plan seems completely in character for a chaotic god who just wants out of their current situation (kudos to Abubakar), it's also an absolutely terrible idea. Let's say the absolutely best case scenario is going to happen. In that best case:

Imogen and/or Fearne can control Predathos enough that they're not completely erased (this would be the least important part in the grand scheme of things.)

When Predathos is syphoned from the moon it only takes the energy and doesn't cause the moon to crack/explode/implode, causing it to rain chunks of moon down on Exandria.

All the gods actually leave. This is not a certainty as per Taliesin the Wildmother has invested so much of herself in the world that she likely can't leave. I would imagine that that means that the Lawbearer is sticking around as well. Not to mention what would happen to the Chained Oblivion, it's not the same as the other gods, and as far as I know it only showed up sometime during the schism. (Is it even prey for Predathos? Is it of the same species? Would there be a Chained Oblivion Predathos Kaiju battle, with Exandria as the battleground? Who knows?)

On the way out the lower and higher planes get locked down so there is no extraplanar invasion. (The biggest worry would be demons/devils but I can imagine planetars etc. can make a problem of themselves if they see a good cause)

On the way out Predathos doesn't decide to snack on lesser divine beings/things (Uk'otoa, parts of the Luxon, etc) leaving its mutating properties behind. (see the Savalir wood)

The bloody bridge gets dissolved and doesn't tear Exandria's magic apart.

Now, in the absolute best case scenario, none of the above is going to be a problem. Regardless, what is going to be a problem:

Divine magic is going to be weakened at the least. The number of divine healers is going to tank, and while there are lesser beings that can grant divine magic, and it is possible, but difficult, to wield it without any (see Calamity). That's going to take a while to sort out, and in the meantime there's going to be a lot less healing.

A lot of things that got out during the Solstice are still out, like the Phoenix thing that is similar to Uk'otoa (which is probably out again as well) and they are a lot more difficult to seal without divine aid.

There is also still a significant invasion force of Ruidians that are going to be a problem, not to mention the Ruby Vanguard

With the gods gone, a lot of semi-divine powers, whether good or bad, are going to be empowered through new followers and/or warlock pacts, without anyone to keep them in line (again, see Artagan or Uk'otoa)

Vasselheim, the oldest city in the world, is going to have massive issues of at least morale, and is likely not going to be in a state to do anything outside of its own borders.

Other political entities are also going to be looking inwards, consolidating their own resources, and shedding their pereferies. I'd say that, for example, the Dwendalian Empire is likely going to shrink. Countries that are less effected by the loss of the gods, may very well go to war. Places that have been protected by the gods are going to lose that protection, Niirdal-Poc and the other cities which were protected by the Wildmother are probaly going to be run over by the Iron Authority.

Outside of actual war, demagogues, warlords, cult leaders, etc. are going to spring up in the chaos, with various degrees of violence.

And finally there is the biggest problem, wizards. Since long before the Calamity the holy grail of magic was ascension to godhood, and now the thrones are empty. A whole bunch of wizards are going to try for them, and in the best case scenario they fail and only take a chunk of empty countryside with them. In the worst case they succeed, seeing that wizards who's ambition is godhood absolutely should not have it. And now there is no divine gate or other deities to curtail them. So there'll soon be a new, worse pantheon.

So the Archheart is right, there will be a new balance, but as that usually goes, the new balance is going to be built on a pile of corpses, and is likely going to be worse than the previous one.

But hey,

[tossawary]

For a while, I kept periodically thinking about F/M Wangxian (Male Wei Wuxian and Female Lan Wangji) without being able to figure out why I kept being distracted by F/M Wangxian. I mean, I think different genderbending AU situations are fun to think about in fanfiction, especially in worlds where gender roles are a problem. M/M, F/M, M/F, and F/F Wangxian all change the story slightly and I think it's neat to explore why and how.

And obviously, F!LWJ would be a total babe, that's nice to think about, but why still M!WWX and not F!WWX? F!WWX would also be a total babe, though of a different type, especially as the Yiling Patriarch. But my brain kept insisting that M!WWX was still crucial somehow and I couldn't figure out why that setup.

I mean, it is funny to think about how M!WWX's unchanged flirty behavior in their teenage years would suddenly set off every single alarm bell in the Cloud Recesses due to people being able to SEE IT thanks to heteronormativity goggles. WWX with a degree of societal permission to be romantically interested in Lan Wangji? Intolerable levels of annoying. Unbearable to witness. Singing love songs under her balcony type bullshit like he wants her to start another fight under the moonlight. He's writing her poetry (clever "joke" poems bordering on innuendo and actual romantic poems) and has the gall to be good at it. Lan Qiren is barely resisting the urge to beat WWX off with a broomstick. Lan Xichen doesn't know whether to be horrified or delighted (LWJ is bluuuuushing).

I do also like the idea of WWX coming back from the dead and finding out that the common people have decided in the past decade (thanks to the heteronormativity goggles) that the noble female cultivator LWJ had a Tragic Romance with the Evil Yiling Patriarch. Poor woman! WWX: "Who had a what now?" (I do also like the idea of Wangxian actually having a Tragic Romance during and after the war. And mutually stated romantic interest and affection still didn't fix anything for them. But it's funny to think about WWX getting completely blindsided by this EPIC LOVE STORY if there was no actual relationship.)

(Sizhui is still adopted here! Noble and pure-hearted LWJ adopted a war orphan because she longed to be a mother but swore never to love again after the Yiling Patriarch broke her heart, obviously! WWX, listening to this gossip: "She what? I mean, Lan Zhan would make an amazing mom, good for her, lucky kid, and no one is good enough for her if she doesn't want to get married, but seriously, I cannot stress this enough, what the fuck. She didn't like me back! Aiyah, I bet she's still so mad at me for ruining her reputation like this.")

Eventually, I realized that the key piece of this AU that I was missing was that I wanted to write F/M Wangxian that turned into F/F Wangxian. Because I think Transfem Wei Wuxian would display (and I mean this affectionately) the most ridiculous trans egg behavior imaginable, especially because it would lean more towards one of those "I was mostly fine living as a guy, but I'm so much happier as a girl" situations. Absurd amounts of queer foreshadowing.

So, Wei Wuxian gets resurrected into a female MXY's body or something and obliviously goes, "Oh! This is nice! I've always wanted to try being a woman! Yes, I can roll with this." And eventually Wei Wuxian has to actually examine the fact that she really likes being a woman and doesn't want to "go back" to being a man in any way, but not before putting Lan Wangji through an incredible amount of new "joke" flirtation. And people who knew WWX before are like... "Hmm. Some things are making sense now."

Things like: 1) As a teenager, WWX insisted that LWJ was such a strong woman that, if they got married, LWJ could be "the husband" and "he" would happily be "the wife". There were lots and lots of "I want to live as Jiejie's spoiled wife" jokes. Consequently, at the Cloud Recesses, at least one outrageously inappropriate joke was made by WWX about LWJ knocking "him" up, because WWX's breeding kink is still very much a thing. WWX didn't know about her breeding kink when she made that joke; both she and LWJ learned something about themselves that day.

2) Wei Wuxian would frequently pull crossdressing-related pranks saying: "Wow, this is crazy. I can't believe you guys are forcing me to put on a dress and all this makeup for this prank! You guys are wild!" And Jiang Cheng would reply: "No one is forcing you to do this. No one dared you. You suddenly volunteered to crossdress for a prank that does not require crossdressing AGAIN. Also, give me that brush, I'll do your makeup because you suck ass at it."

3) WWX would frequently go on rants about how women are so much more beautiful than men, which flew under the radar as a "normal behavior for a lustful young man", but there was always something a little off about it. Like, WWX might say that women are so beautiful and perfect that everyone would choose to be one if allowed to pick before being born just to admire the gorgeous view, and JC might say, "I don't think that's quite right...?" But WWX would just say something like (like an obnoxious teenage sibling), "That's because you know that you'd make an ugly woman!" or, "Are you saying that women aren't perfect? Also, are you saying Shijie isn't the best person in the world?" And JC would have to be like, "I didn't say that! And I'd make a beautiful woman, fuck you! Also, how is that relevant to your point?"

By the end of this AU, there is at least one public love confession that is horribly embarrassing for everyone else to witness, in which Wei Wuxian has finally realized that LWJ used to be in love with "him" and that she loves LWJ back, but tearfully apologizes because she can't be the handsome man that LWJ loved anymore. Even if she could be a man again, she still doesn't want to stop being a woman, even if she's not very good at it yet. She can't perform the required husbandly duties like provide a good home for LWJ! She can't father LWJ's children anymore!

(Jiang Cheng: "Do you have to do this now?! Stop being indecent! There are children here. Also, we're all being held hostage.")

But it's all cool! Because shortly after realizing WWX was back and determined to live as a woman, LWJ speedran a sexuality crisis, flipped a mental switch, and essentially went, "I'm a lesbian now." (Or maybe LWJ was really confused about being attracted to WWX when they first met, because LWJ had only been physically attracted to her fellow female disciples up until then, so WWX seemed like the "exception", until WWX comes back from the dead as a woman and then it's like, "Ah. Not an exception after all.")

[dalishious]

Reclaiming Independence of the Dales

Before anything else, I’d just like to clarify that that vast majority of this is made of my own ideas, based on interpretation from the little canonical information provided, and a little inspired by my own people’s history and governing structure. Additionally, what I am presenting here is an ideal situation, not necessarily what I think is an immediately realistic outcome in the world-state established. So, please keep that in mind.

The Dales were established as a homeland for elves—a small piece of a continent that was once called their home in its entirety, before the humans colonized it—by Maferath in -165 Ancient. This was in reward for the eleven people’s participation in the fight against Ancient Tevinter. But in 2:10 Glory, Divine Renata I broke this treaty and declared an Exalted March against the Dales, ending in its annexation by Orlais.

[Related Post: All You Need to Know about the Exalted March of the Dales]

If Solas has very low approval with Inquisitor Lavellan, and Lavellan accuses him of not doing enough to help their people, he will say the following: “You could order Halamshiral returned to the Dalish, if you wished. But ultimately, you know that would fail. That even you cannot solve this.” I hate this with a burning passion. The reason I can’t do that, Solas, is because it’s not an option in the game! Why are you as a character angry at me, the player, for not doing something that is not an option for me to do? Why was this written? Just to push the point that it’s not worth it to try and fight back against oppression? Because if I refuse to accept hopelessness in real life, why would I in accept it in a video game where the story is made-up, and therefore anything is possible if the developers so wish it.

Regardless, according to Solas, the Inquisition has enough power to support the reclamation of an independent Dales. I imagine this would require a lot of political maneuvering within the Orlesian governance, and therefore I think the best opportunity to do this would be with Briala ruling through Gaspard. This would then later open the door for Briala to be the leader of the newly independent Dales, too. I would like to see Briala as ruler of the Dales not just because she is a favourite of mine, but because I genuinely believe she is the best established character fit for the job. She was trained in everything Celene was trained in, has first-hand experience in court, has extensive connections, and has demonstrated her ability and desire to utilize these skills and assets for the benefit of elven kind.

Briala’s blackmail on Gaspard may help prevent Orlais from invading again while under his rule, but to last longer, the Dales would need to establish itself as a strong, independent Nation with allies. This is why I believe it would also be important to have Leliana as Divine Victoria in such a world-state where this could happen. Leliana re-canonizes the Canticle of Shartan, and in making it available for the common person to understand, would ideally help sway the minds of the average Andrastian into supporting the Dales’s independence. The nobility would of course be much trickier, because they and the Chantry are the ones who actually benefitted from its annexation—but there is little they would be able to actually accomplish if they did not have the power of the people behind them.

As far as allies go, Ferelden could only gain from Orlais losing control of the Dales, because it would mean cutting Orlais off from a lot of Ferelden’s border, therefore reducing the threat of another invasion. Additionally, a leader with just plain good morals like say, Alistair, would easily accept the elven kingdom’s return. But even Anora is willing to grant part of the Korcari Wilds to the Dalish if Mahariel requests it, and while this sadly doesn’t last, it does show a positive sign into her potentially being open to the idea of an independent Dales as well.

I sincerely doubt that all Dalish clans would return to the Dales and re-settle down. After all, they have developed differentiating cultures over the years of wandering in separated groups, with different ideals and different ways of life that they might not want to give up. But many would return, and that would likely create conflict between the elves coming from the Dalish clans and the elves coming from the cities. We know that some prejudice exists against “flat-ears” as some Dalish call those from the city, and we know that city elves have adopted a lot of misinformation from humans into their views of the Dalish. It would take time and positive leadership to reconnect the people, without risking falling into some sort of hierarchy based on origin. This is why I do not believe one group or the other should single-handedly rule alone. Rather, I think there should be a Grand Council of High Keepers made up of those voted into the position each to represent a single district of the Dales. (I like the idea of there being seven High Keepers, not just because there are seven traditional districts of Mi’kma’ki, but because it works out that there seven of the Creators. So it makes sense that there would be seven High Keepers.) The Grand Council would meet and make decisions together, with one appointed leader at the head to act as the Council’s chair.

In terms of protection and order, the Emerald Knights should be reformed. This would include the Fade Hunters, to protect the people against demons and maleficarum, with there being no Circles or Templars.

Restoring the independence of the Dales would lead to a revival of elven culture in ways that could never happen before, because they would actually be free to pursue re-learning the language, re-discovering the history and culture, and sharing it all amongst each other. They would not have to fear arrest the crime of simply being an elf.  

But what of the other races presently living in the Dales? I see no reason why they would have to leave, so long as they would be willing to follow the Grand Council’s leadership. I imagine many nobility would flee to Orlais, simply because they would not stand for it. But for the average human or surface dwarf, their life wouldn’t really even change much; they’d still be managing their farms the same as always. Hell, it might even improve things for them, assuming the Grand Council gives fairer treatment than the nobility previously.

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Maybe brennan x witch reader that help eachother all the time but at some point she gets really hurt and brennan just goes ballistic trying to get to her on time and the fluff afterwards of him being a mother hen

Don’t die

When Brennan had first come to the Riorson house he never imagined that the first thing he would be greeted by would be a hurdle of females. All visibly drained. All way paler. The silver lining their eyes. That was the first of many times you had hissed at him. Back then he had misjudged the situation. His understanding of what was going on was murky. Brennan had little to no knowledge of what else was used to power the wards. Too many scrolls were in languages he couldn’t read.

That day he had simply attempted to pick up a little girl that had been crawling across the floor. Brennan had barely bent over when a sharp knife dug against his neck. “Move and I will cut you open”, that was when he first laid eyes on you. You were younger than him. At least that’s how it looked. But even if your hand wasn’t shaky Brennon saw the fear in your eyes. If not that then the scars all across your body did.

That was also the day when a new side of anger was born. They were using witches as power outlets. Dragging innocent children to the borders. But Brennan was going to change that.

“So what does this say?”, Brennan leaned over your shoulder, pointing at the paragraph he had been struggling to translate. You were in his room. The hour was edging towards the early morning but you both couldn’t seem to put the work aside. “I’m not one hundred percent sure”, you admitted, frowning softly. As yet another yawn threatened to slip past your lips. “But it looks like a sacrifice ritual”, you tapped your finger against the illustration above, “Basically the best way to use us as outlets”. Brennon shook his head, “Then we do everything against that and make sure that everyone is prepared to see signs of someone who might try to…”, “We could help”, you cut him off. For some months now that the revolution had kicked off in full swing the question of witchcraft had been raised in almost all meetings. For the most part, witches could uphold simple powers. But where they could shine if they gave away their powers to others.

“No, not like that”, Brennan protested as he stepped away from you. “This would give us the upper hand”, you pushed on further. He had never asked anything of your kind. But his protectiveness had harmed the progress of the revolution. “I will not allow that”, his sharp features deepened even more. The dimples on his cheeks wiped off with no trace. “But I am offering. A lot of us are”, you stated, turning to face him now. “Most riders don’t know how to safely use your power”, he pointed out in a huff. You knew that he understood what the offer implied. You knew the outcomes too. You crooked your head to the side watching the male in front of you.

“Don’t”, Brennan pleaded softly, his tired eyes meeting yours. “We will be fine”, you stepped closer to him, “I will be fine”. Your fingers softly brushed across his jaw. One that he flexed out of reflex before his lips softly touched your neck. You two hadn’t given time to discuss the situation brewing between you two. At first, it was a mutually needed distance. But now with you spending almost all nights in his bed and all the little touches. It had to be more. It felt like more. “I can’t…”, Brennon breathed out, his fingers digging into your hips just a thing stronger. “We already lost so much”, his desperate eyes met yours. But you didn’t let his fears reflect in your eyes, “You won’t lose me”, even if promises like that were so wrong to make in battles like that.

Brennon had triple-checked your daggers, flying leathers. Even the pins in your hair had been fidgeted with. You had caught his hand when he moved to recheck the straps of your other weapons, “I got it, Lieutenant Colonel”, you nudged his shoulder, hoping to suffocate his nerves for him. But he only frowned, “You never call me that, don’t call me that”, he grumbled, leaning his forehead against yours. “You are sleeping in my bed tonight”, he muttered after a couple of minutes of silence. “Is that a suggestion?”, you chuckled, letting your arms sneak across his waist. “No, an order and you know how much I love when you follow my orders”, he muttered, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Kinky”, you muttered as you two watched the horizon, waiting for the signal you all dreaded most.

Through it all. All you could think of was Brennan. And rule number one was to not get distracted but you worried. Worried for all of them. The cadets that for the most part were stepping into their doom. You had just helped to carry the injured flyer to the healers when your eyes landed on Violet and the venin that now surrounded her. It took you a second to make up your mind as you darted through the field. Summoning illusions as you ran in hopes of winning more time for her.

“Use me and get to Tairn”, you ordered her, as you threw one of the daggers, her confused eyes watching you. “You shouldn’t be here”, she stared but you quickly cut her off, “You’ll be able to aim right”, you growled out as you watched another cloud of wyvern approaching. “Now, Violet”, you hissed out, right as her hand reached for you and you fully lowered your shields, allowing her to dip her mental shields into yours.

It all was going right as you hoped it was until you eyes caught a glimpse of venin. “Traitor”, it hissed, “trading our secrets and for what?”. You turned, throwing another dagger before launching yourself off the closet building as you ran in hopes of reaching a dragon that you could use as leverage. You needed to get off the ground. See it all from the air. But your jumps had gotten sloppier, and with your powers running through Violet too, you knew your time was running out quickly.

You leaped off yet another rooftop. Eyes falling on orange scales. Marbh. It had to be him. Meaning that Brennan was here you only needed to get his attention but you needed to get rid of the venin that was chasing you first. “Pathetic little witch”, the venin snickered as you dodged another blow. You only had one dagger left. If you threw it you would be left defenseless. You looked back up, whistling in the tune you and Brennan used to identify each other with while raiding. But it was Marbh’s eyes you met first. And his claw was close enough so if you just jumped now. You leaped. A pained roar sliced the chaos as Marbh quickly changed his position but you saw something in the dragon’s eyes. Something that meant…

And then you felt it, a sharp claw digging into your flesh. Wyvern. Sadistic laugh. And the claw that was meters away from crushing your body. You managed to twist yourself, plunging the last dagger that you had right at the center of the claw welcoming the felling off free fall. Until your eyes caught Brennon’s mortified ones. His lips were moving but you no longer could make out what he was saying.

It felt as if someone had ripped Brennon’s heart out of his chest as he watched your body fall. It’s like every part of him froze for a moment. And it’s Marbh who’s working on his own accord as he plunges reaching out his claw to catch your limp body. Everything else feels equally as if it’s not him. Not him getting off his dragon. Not him watching Marbh slowly letting your blood-covered body hit the grass.

“No”, and it’s share panic. Blinding panic. Not real. Brennan kept telling himself. If he blinked. If he could only make himself blink it would all go away. You would be here. His knees hit the ground as he reached for you. Pulling your body to the side so he could examine the cut. “Yn”, he calls out, eyes scanning your face. “Come on, love, open your eyes for me”, slowly he mends the fresh cut, watching the flesh come together but your limp form remained.

“Come on”, he pulled you closer to him. Not safe, Marbh growled assessing the surroundings, flashing his teeth at anyone who got too close. “Please”, Brennan brushed some of the hair away from your forehead, “You can’t die. Don’t die”. His eyes were burning with tears he refused to weep just yet. He couldn’t. Never in his life had he had anyone he loved so much. You had become part of him. Letting go wasn’t an option. Marbh let out a pained roar too no doubt feeling the same emotion his ridder was feeling. Brennan felt his mending powers flailing. He was exhausted himself and with him not knowing what exactly he was healing and what other damage had been done most of it was wasted.

He didn’t care that he was covered in blood and grime as he pressed you closer to his chest. Swaying from side to side. Trying to suppress his sobs. And then he felt a light twitch. The feeling of fingers brushing against his side. Brennan pulled back, wide eyes looking down at you. Your own eyes were barely open but he could see the slight rise and fall of your chest. “Oh, thank you, thank you”, his eyes darted up to the sky before his attention was fully back on you. “Brenn…”, you muttered, bloody lips cracking as you spoke. “I’ve got you, you will be okay”, he reassured you, “I will never let anything happen to you, darling”.

[communistkenobi]

If, as Isaac West observes, use of the public bathroom is “one of the most, if not the most, quotidian practices of citizenship,” then this chapter argues that surveillance criminalizing public bathroom use is one element of a larger effort to secure citizenship and spatial belonging through the apprehension of physical difference. [...]

Writing about the concept of civilization in the late nineteenth-century United States, Gail Bederman describes it as an “explicitly racial concept” that “denoted a precise stage in human racial evolution”: one that had evolved past primitive or barbaric characteristics. Drawing on Darwinism, this logic rationalized white supremacy through claims that people of color simply had not developed in the same ways or at the same rate as white people, situating civilization itself as a racial characteristic and producing and solidifying distinct racial categories. Bederman notes that gender was crucial in distinguishing civilized societies from the less advanced, with the former identified in part by clear binary gender divisions. [...] Moreover, in the era of formal Jim Crow, while bathrooms marked for white people were typically separated into men’s and women’s spaces, those labeled “colored” were often unmarked by gender at all, a practice that aligns with civilizational discourse. [...]

Yet citizenship status and gender status cannot be pulled apart [...]: just as the previous two chapters of this book traced specific aspects of the Department of Homeland Security that produce and rely on a gendered citizenship, we might consider how campaigns for neighborhood safety and family values regularly invoke a kind of good citizenship that is determined in part through gender attributes. [...]

We need only consider the emphasis on birth certificates to understand the extent to which anxieties about citizenship undergird these bathroom scenes, since those documents mark not only state-approved sex designation, but also legal citizen status. In the most formal sense, birth certificates purportedly confirm citizenship and thus one’s legal belonging to the nation-state. At the same time, they can serve as evidence of citizenship in a more informal or cultural sense: if producing appropriate paperwork is one way of complying with state regulations and requests, then doing so performs good citizenship. [...]

Discourses of bathroom contagion merge fears of “real germs” with “the fear of the other”; hence, public toilets provoke more anxiety than other germ-riddled public objects like computer terminals and doorknobs. Concerns about bathroom cleanliness are as much about bodily interactions and the difficulty of regulating public space as they are about actual dirt or waste. The racial integration of some U.S. workplaces during World War II, for example, prompted tremendous white anxiety about shared bathrooms, even as Black people had long cleaned toilets and beds, prepared food, and cared for children as part of their domestic work in white households. But this “private service work reinforced racialized gender hierarchies in ways that public intimacy undermined them.”

— Toby Beauchamp (2019), Going Stealth: Transgender Politics and US Surveillance Practices, pp. 81 - 101

In his book, Beauchamp argues that anti-trans bathroom bills should be understood as a form of state surveillance that is inextricable from anti-immigration and border security practices: these bills deputize members of the public to conduct bodily assessments of other people to determine whether they meet the criteria of a 'good citizen,' giving them the power to report 'fraudsters' to the authorities if a transgender person is found inhabiting a public bathroom. The criteria by which these assessments are conducted are explicitly white supremacist ones; not only because the imagined body of the 'good citizen' is one that reflects the ideals of white, bourgeois, cissexual bodies* (as clearly demarcated, binary gender roles is a sign of advanced white civilization, and perversion of these demarcations is a perversion of white civil life), but also because one of the primary forms of evidence that you belong in a gender-segregated public space (such as a bathroom) is a birth certificate, one issued by the state - as he says: "if producing appropriate paperwork is one way of complying with state regulations and requests, then doing so performs good citizenship." (p 93). Beauchamp criticizes the framing that trans people are treated like "second class citizens," as it accepts the white racial imaginary of (white) trans people being unfairly denied the benefits of full white citizenship; we should therefore understand gender segregated spaces not as a "remix" of "old" "historic" forms of racial segregation, but as a contemporary enforcement mechanism of it. Binaohan emphasizes this in their 2014 book Decolonizing Trans/Gender 101, arguing that non-white trans people are always "in public," denied any sort of private realm; they are always visible and marked as potential threats to white citizenship. (p. 39)

This is likewise reflected in Jenny Evang's 2022 work Is Gender Ideology Western Colonialism?, where she argues that anti-trans discourse situates the presumed natural state of 'sex' as being corrupted by an overly decadent form of Western cultural advancement, which is both degenerating the Western world and 'duping' the Global South into forsaking their relationship with nature, an argument that "[frames] “non-Western societies” as “more traditional” when it comes to gender, sexuality, and the family, since “gender ideology” has not yet gone as far there as in the West. Thus their argument relies on essentializing the very same conceptualization of “cultural difference” that structures femonationalist arguments in the first place, namely, that racialized, imagined elsewheres are stuck in a more traditional gender pattern, unable to keep up with the rampant development of the West." (p. 370). Locating the origin of transgenderism in the West reproduces notions of civilizational development, where the West is secure in its supreme cultural position but has merely gone "too far," "in the wrong direction," creating the circumstances of its own downfall - a downfall which is attributed both to mass immigration (particularly immigration of Muslims) and Marxism. (p. 372)

Fears of 'gender ideology' engulfing the Western world are inextricable from concerns about the maintenance of white social hygiene, as 'gender ideology' has been called "Ebola from Brussels" (p. 371), linking the corruption of binary, hierarchical, cissexual gender to a disease afflicting the body-politic of the white nation-state. The last paragraph of the quoted passage above from Beauchamp further demonstrates the fundamental interconnectedness between race, gender, and hygiene: The racial integration of some U.S. workplaces during World War II, for example, prompted tremendous white anxiety about shared bathrooms, even as Black people had long cleaned toilets and beds, prepared food, and cared for children as part of their domestic work in white households. But this private service work reinforced racialized gender hierarchies in ways that public intimacy undermined them." (p. 101) Discourses regarding public hygiene are civilizational discourses, as a clean world is a civilized world, and a civilized world can only be a white world.

*Beauchamp explicitly brings up that one of the 'problems' of using biometric data to scan the public for potential terrorists or 'fraudulent citizens' is the white inability to tell the difference between people belonging to different racial groups, i.e., the idea that all non-white people look too much alike and therefore must undergo even more intense scrutiny (p. 95).

[writing-for-me-at-this-point]

Obsession | Ghostface, Danny “Jed Olsen” Johnson | Dead By Daylight

Summary. the ghostface isn’t known to be gentle, but when it comes to his... obsession, he can’t seem to bring out anything other than a wicked devotion that many could only envy, even if his muse couldn’t accept it just yet.

Warnings. intimacy, suggestive material, heavy petting, yandere vibes for ghostface tbh

Reader. Female reader <3

Word Count. 1392 words

Authors Notes. another danny fic lets gooooooooooooooo, only spell check was used and i wrote this in only an hour and a half while watching house of the dragon and barely able to speak english at this point. i love commas if you couldnt tell that already lmao. enjoy!

Obsession

the state of being obsessed with someone or something.

"she cared for him with a devotion bordering on obsession"

an idea or thought that continually preoccupies or intrudes on a person's mind.

plural noun: obsessions

ㅡ”without obsession, life is nothing.” John Waters

There was something in the way he held you that made his grip secure, where you could feel the groove under every knuckle and the rise of his calloused skin, it was safe. It was comforting, really, if you ignored the suffocating reality that this wasn’t a choice of your own free will, and that your current situation was one that you had to become accustomed to. Large, needy hands move around you as you lay on your back, and you remain still enough for him to get comfortable on you.

His mask is shifted upwards slightly enough to see his lips, a wicked smile shows between them, and you feel a shiver up your spine as your body relaxes enough for the Ghostface to not know of your own inner turmoil's that are hidden behind your eyes and above your heart. He rests his head on your chest, face turned up into the crook of your neck and shoulder, his mask laying on the other side of your body while a killer finds comfort in your warmth- legs open and his weight crushing you in an oddly pleasant way.

He smells of leather, iron, and cologne, his hair is longer than usual, the short black tufts have now become loose curls that tickle the side of your face and neck. His scruff is starting to grow, you note, feeling it scratch your skin as he nuzzles into you further to comfort himself. He finally stills, and you let out a small sigh, giving yourself some time to shift under him for your own comfort.

He's cold, so unbelievably cold, and he saps the warmth your body created like a leech does to an open sore. Your heart picks up a bit as you feel his gaze on you, looking through the flesh and into a deeper part of yourself that even you refuse to acknowledge. His eyes aren't meeting yours, yours are closed, relaxed, and moving behind the darkness of your lids, His eyes stare into your skin, looking up, unmoving. 

He’s waiting, you realize. Your hand twitches, before slowly coming up to rake your nails through his hair, a satisfied hum leaves his throat through unopened lips. But his eyes don't close. He expects more from his gaze. His muse. His lover. 

Another hand, at the same pace as its successor, moves under the opened leather jacket, before finding its way under more cloth to the cool feel of his back. He isn’t a corpse, but he lacks so much warmth, you almost worry for him, 

“Keep going.” He's curt, but his voice is soft, as you realize that this is Danny you're in the presence of. Your fingertips are warm, and the palm of your hand even more so, and as your dignity falls into nothing Danny finds himself pleased as you fall to him whims of your own volition. 

For a killer, one who lacks a heart, who lacks every shred of humanity that is expected of a man, he finds himself at the mercy of his instinct. He’s needy, clingy, desperate for your attention. The beast that craves the screams of his victims, a ghost in the night, a monster that thrives off playing with the mind of his victims finds himself at the feet of an unwilling woman whom he can't imagine a life without.

You start to scratch at his back lightly, and his skin raises at the attention, begging for more of you, before flattening your palm to soothe the red flesh. His mind is full of static, and he presses himself into your body even more, the need to crawl into your skin becomes more and more evident as he stares into your body once again, and your anxiety spikes.

He feels how your body reacts to him, fearful, yet pleased. Hesitant, but yearning. You enjoy the attention he gives you, the feeling of knowing how you’d never be rejected by him in any way, shape, or form. Your heart and body fight your mind as you force yourself to remember the blood that stains his hands, the thrill he feels chasing down his prey, his victims, and the subsequent glee as they take their final breaths under a hunting knife as the phone line is cut.

You were never going to be one of them. He assured you that.

You were to be worshiped by him, to have your feet kissed and your body touched with love and safety, to have your needs provided for as you keep him sane by merely allowing him to be near you- to take what he needs from you. 

But he also can't deny the jump of his heart when your voice quivers underneath him, or when you jump as you realize he's in the room much later than the time he entered it, the way you fight the urge to lean into him and his hands hold your face or when they grab at your hips.

He was in love with the way your skin felt against his, searing hot, as your bodies molded together in a way he can only describe as perfection. The way you style your hair to fit your face in the most pleasing manner, how you bite at your lip or cheek when thinking or absentmindedly, the way your fingers would tap against the countertops or the wheel of your car as music plays- either aloud or in your own head. Everything about you screamed at him to worship that part with every part of his being, his newfound, and unknown obsession.

He mouths at your neck while you continue to massage and scratch at his back, playing and pulling at his hair at the same time, His mind races with need as you take in a quick take of air, a broken whimper leaving your throat as he continues to mark up your neck as best as he could, his own hand coming up to your jaw, to hold your figure in place before you squirm as you usually do when in his hands.

Your senses are overwhelmed by him, the way he feels, the way his body looks laid on top of you as a mess of ebony rests just under your chin, his scent filling becoming stronger as he manages to somehow get even closer. You hear the sound of his mouth on your skin, his heavy breathing, the sounds that leave him before he slowly moves his hips into yours- leaving you pawing at his hair and skin as your own hips move to meet his.

He overwhelms you. He leaves you needy and empty, craving more of him as your mind screams to just leave him and run, but those thoughts are only pushed back further and further into your head as the emptiness and need grows more in importance at that moment.

You know he’d never hurt you, even if you asked, because he can’t bring himself to.

It brings you comfort as you fall into him, allowing your heart to open up, and he notices rather quickly.

Your body finally is able to relax, sinking into the bed under his weight, no longer fighting to keep yourself up. Allowing yourself to sigh and move your own hips against his, before you tug at his clothes in a silent beg for more and it leaves Danny feral for your need.

He grins again, wicked and delighted, teeth against your skin as you finally fall into his touch. He’d gladly lay himself bare for you, ready and waiting, watching in delight as dark eyes watch as you finally start to take what you need from him.

His obsession leaves him weak for you, open, and bare.

And it leaves you hungry, and watchful, moving to please the both of you.

It soon grows, and the obsession is a mutual agreement, of blood and kisses, with bared teeth and needy hands, playful and curious as time goes on.

It's an obsession, yes, you’ll admit that later on.

But is that so wrong?

[slyandthefamilybook]

they're not dismissed because they live in "the bad country" they're dismissed because any solution they might pose, for the vast majority of them at least, will fundamentally involve preserving the state apparatus of israel, which is an inherently oppressive force. the two state solution is not justice. don't twist this into a call for the murder of the israeli population. that is explicitly not the goal. it is a demand to dismantle the fucking government system of a settler state that has spent 75 years committing genocide. if your leftism was worth anything you would believe that israel should be abolished. if you don't, your allyship is shallow and will only lead to electing people who will still do genocide, but with better pr so you can go back to ignoring it. if you really give a shit, genuinely ask yourself if the solution you have in mind would actually stop the genocide of Palestinian people, or if it would just slow it down a little, and answer the question honestly. if you can't do that, fuck off

HA

I predicted this. I saved this to my drafts 3 days ago

here's that response

there are a lot of people who seem to think that peace would be bad because it would involve Palestinians cooperating with the Israeli government. They believe the government should be spurned at every moment. Any action taken by the Israeli government is inherently one-sided and therefore it's categorically impossible to reach an agreement that's mutually beneficial and respects the dignity and autonomy of Palestinians

I hear this a lot in discussion of the UN Partition Plans. "Oh, so you want victims of violence to just roll over for their oppressors? You can't just steal someone's land and then offer it back to them!" To which my response is always "this is better?". Can you honestly look me in the eye and say that whatever lopsided colonial apartheid agreement you're imagining would've been made in 1948 would've been worse than the situation we have now?

It displays a really limited understanding of how geopolitics works. Countries aren't just a government and a set of borders. A country is also a people and a mechanism through which that people can interact with other peoples. You can't just point at a country and say "they're doing bad things, we should get rid of them". That's how America has functioned for the past 150 years and I thought we all decided that was bad. Dismantling a country doesn't solve your problems, it just creates new ones. "Burn it all down and start over" won't bring back the dead. It won't honor their deaths or make them any more worthwhile

Every time Hamas attacks Israel, Israel gets stronger. The right thrives off of conflict. It's why they don't want to give people free healthcare. When people suffer, it strengthens their positions. Every time Israel is attacked it generates more support for the military, in the people and in the Knesset. The IDF gets more soldiers, more rifles, more tanks. It drives the Overton Window further to the right. The Israeli government starts borrowing more money from the US, starts getting sent more foreign aid, further entrenching their economic dependency. The only reason Netanyahu has stayed in power for so long is because Israel keeps getting attacked. Israel gets hundreds of millions in military aid from the US, a country that has made killing people a science. You're not going to defeat them in open battle. People have been trying for 75 years with no success

I dislike the Israeli state as much as I dislike every state (which is a not-insignificant amount). But I also understand that states are massive webs of economy, policy, international trade, and agreements and treaties. If every member of the Israeli government stepped down tomorrow with no plan, the country would be thrown into chaos and millions would die. You can't say you want to destroy the apparatus of a country that is currently at war, while also claiming you want its citizens to be safe. That's not how that works. You claim that the majority of Israeli leftists want a two-state solution (something I don't believe I've ever said I support), but if that the case you don't have to throw your weight behind those people! There are also leftists who want anarchism, and a no-state solution. There's a vast diversity of thought and pretending that there isn't doesn't help anyone

I notice that in your decrial of people who are actually trying to help, you don't offer an alternative solution. You say you want to dismantle the Israeli state, but how do you plan to do that? I assume from your tone that you're not yourself Israeli, so how do you plan to affect change? You can pressure whoever is the leader of your country to stop sending aid to Israel, but Israel has a domestic economy as well. The worst you'll do is send them into a depression. And if you are somehow successful in cutting of Israel at the windpipe, what will you do when people begin to starve? When people are kicked to the curb because they lost their job? Will you be proud of yourself for sending 9.5 million people into a humanitarian crisis? Does your plan to end suffering involve making other people suffer instead?

We live in a statist world. As much as you or I dislike it, that's the reality we have. You can aspire to a better system, you can set your sights on a world in which there are no states, no governments, no militaries, and no borders. But you can't work within that framework before it's applicable. You can't eat raw cookie dough because you want it to eventually become a cookie. Liberalism won't save us, but it might stop the bleeding

[thesamoanqueen]

Blackwater XIX

Raiting: 18+

Warnings: well I said a couple of months ago that something was toxic… there’s a lil bit of non-con this time, so if someone of you is not ready, im sorry, is that chap.

A/N: this chapter wasn't very easy to write, but the next ones won't be either, let's wish each other good luck.

She had hoped to go somewhere else, but with problems piling up day after day doing so wasn't even an option. It was safer to stay south, where their reservation still acted as a natural stop to any external influence coming from across the border, plus Roman was in the area, though again not there with her, having yet another meeting with yet another person for yet another deal.

She hadn't been very happy about it at first, but had to admit at least to herself that maybe it was for the best. In town she had finally found something she could bring to Lisa to thank her and plus they were relatively close home, which meant they would be there before night and she could go to bed to recover a bit.

The stress caused by the situation did not help either her mood or body already affected by hormonal swings of a heat that Y/N prayed to postpone as long as possible. She wasn't sleeping well due to too many thoughts, she was losing her appetite, as well as the desire to go running and that afternoon she had another one of her waves of shivers which was trying to fight with some hot chocolate in an attempt to also replenish a sugars. She had bought Solo a coffee too, but he kept holding it in his hand without drinking, too busy glaring at anyone who dared come closer than necessary, that was not even so close.

- You didn't grow up here, did you? – she asked, interrupting silence between them once again, because they spent a lot of time together, but even if he seemed willing to talk with her, their conversations were never long.

He looked at her a bit confused, putting aside his perpetual serious face for a moment, coffee still in his hand.

- Jimmy said you came here after, like me – she explained, letting out an encouraging smile and he shook his head no.

- I grew up in the area, with my family.

Y/N let out a surprised oh, going back to twirling the straw in silence as they walked towards the suv.

From the stories she had thought he had come from out of state to help Roman, but she probably misunderstood. She hadn't spent much time with Solo's family, she had only seen them once actually and he didn't open up more than necessary, most of the time talking about what there was to do during the day, well she talked, he was more comfortable listening.

- Not with them. They were always together somewhere. – he added unexpectedly, perhaps not to make her uncomfortable with another silence or perhaps not to make her feel so out of place and Y/N smiled gratefully.

Y/N saw him nod slightly, as if satisfying her had satisfied him too.

She had never really thought about it, but there was an age gap between him and those three. Now he was a big boy with muscles and a menacing look, in those years he had probably just been a kid that them didn't want around. She couldn't imagine what it was like, Y/N hadn't had any brother or sister, she had grown up alone, but the half year spent with all of them before the chaos was enough for her to understand. Maybe he couldn't have tolerated them as a kid, always together already as pack leaving him at home and doing their own business, but now he was a man, it was different.

His family is broken.

- I'm sorry, Solo...

Standing next to the black suv, he looked at her, again confused by her reaction.

- We have to do what needs to be done.

- They're your brothers no matter what.

- I swore to the Tribal Chief. They did it too. – he said serious, his tone almost angry.

In packs like theirs, still tied to old laws and traditions, it was normal to have a relationship of deep respect with those at the top. Those were legacies that were now intertwined with a changed society but still subject to natural balances, such as the amendment on property rights between mates and social hierarchies for those who belonged to or were born from groups not commonly seen well. Y/N, with her omega smell, knew a lot about it and had had to deal with it there too in the first few months, but the prospect of an acknowledgment, oath, was new and something she hadn't heard.

She saw Solo open the door to let her in, his face less angry, but still solemn.

- You don't have to – he reassured her, mistaking her silence for concern, dark round eyes stopping too long lower, at the base between her neck and shoulder, where Y/N had tightened her jacket trying to send away the cold shivers – you already have his… smell.

Smell wasn't the word he wanted to say, but what Solo was referring to, she didn't have yet.

Our mark. His mark.

That too was an old legacy, dangerous in her case, but Y/N didn't have time to think too much about it by looking for her phone which in the meantime had notified of a message.

***

Paul was a smart man. Roman had chosen him as a wise man for that very reason. There was no one in the entire country more capable than him, no one who had his level of experience. He was a lawyer, an advisor, a connoisseur, he had political support, important acquaintances within the packs and outside, plus his family had practically adopted him when he was a boy, so he was not a stranger. The wise man was many things, but honest only when necessary and Roman had never had a problem with that kind of approach in their time together. He tolerated all sorts of expedient for his purpose, he had learned the hard way how much it cost to have feelings, but everything changed if those tricks helped something of which he was not made aware.

Because Roman knew from years and life lessons. Loyalty and trust were something he no longer expected, from anyone and certainly not from someone who had stayed afloat when everyone else drowned. Everyone could be a friend, everyone could be an enemy, his wolf now did no exception and all the whispers, phone calls and messages that kept Paul busy even when they were together were nothing but further proof of a picture that he knew. The wiseman acted driven by the feeling of ground crumbling beneath their feet, frightened by changes that his cousin and those dogs on the border threatened, by the possibility of a future that Roman would not allow as long as he was able to breathe. He loved the wise man, he could forgive him being a coward, pretending not to see, at least until he took a step too far.

- So? – he asked annoyed, almost making the phone fly out of his hand.

- Two weeks. Tomorrow both of you will exchange the sogi – he reported in a heavy voice, his shoulders low, his face frowning as if someone had just stepped on him after the news.

He didn't like the prospect of that fight, first of all because he was risking his head. Roman knew even without having to ask that he would play his cards to make things better and save everything, but for him the two weeks he had dealt were too much time and those plans useless. Fourteen days were the ritual time to provide what was necessary for families, so that both parties were ready for any outcome, but for him were just a useless wait. He wouldn't be the one to lose, he had no alternatives to plan unlike Jey, he just needed to have free way and get his hands on his cousin.

- About the stipulations, I was thinking- he advanced, trying to recover as much as possible.

- There are none.

- My Tribal Chief, if I may, considering what we are facing now, it would be better to leave a few more resources and perhaps-

- There will be no stipulations.

He had complied with stipulations, conditions for weeks, suffered weakness for months, the time for mercy was over. He had left many doors open for his cousins, he had tried everything and Jey however had gone where he shouldn't, disrespecting him to the point of contesting him with the Elders, they had gone too far and now there was only one way to put an end to it. The only acceptable stipulation was unconditional surrender, total humiliation, there was nothing else to talk about. Guts were needed to keep their family in line, his dad had reminded him of this and Roman was not willing to receive other reminders in the future, he was no longer a boy. Whatever happened next, he would handle it the way he handled everything, with a firm grip and without regard, he didn't need those two to do it. He was the alpha, he had control and winning cards to play against everyone.

- How much longer do we have to stay here? – he asked, tired of waiting, staring with annoyance at the watch on his wrist.

They had been in that office longer than he was willing to tolerate and he couldn't stand listening to the wise man calls or him typing messages anymore, he didn't have all day to waste signing a deal with the governor. He had to train, dedicate the next fourteen days focusing on the goal, not sitting bored in a chair waiting for a paper that should have already been ready the second he set foot in that building.

- I'm going to immediately check where Pearce has ended up, my… – the wise man snapped to attention, but he barely managed to turn to go towards the door – tribal… chief.

Roman smelled him before even moving his gaze to the man accompanying Pearce. He had no idea who he was, he didn't remember his face if they had ever met before, but he had a smell that he didn't like. He didn't like the smell of him, he didn't like the way was staring at him, he didn't like the attitude and he sure as hell didn't like that he came around when he had business to do.

We don't like him.

- Reigns.

Pearce greeted, already adjusting glasses on his nose, his expression stressed as always. Roman didn't even look at him, focused on observing the new arrival who was already taking place at the table without having been invited. Pearce had that same attitude in the past, a couple of years ago, until Roman had taken it away from him in his own way and since then had never reappeared. He almost wanted to do the same with that new guy.

- What’s this idea Mr. Pearce?! It was supposed to be a private meeting for private business! Very important business! It's unacceptable! – complained the wise man, standing up against that lack of respect.

- Our new neighbors have informed the governor of activities across the border. It seemed right to him to invite Mr. Aldis as a delegate to clarify before signing anything. He’s in charge of that area now.

That's what he was. Another puppet, another well-dressed small dude convinced to have power or a chance against him, thought he was worth something, that he could stand face to face with Roman, thanks to the talks of those idiots to whom his cousins had left the field free. They were becoming arrogant, stupidly brave, throwing in his face that he had lost his hold in the north and that now there were others there. They hadn't gone too far yet, keeping everything legal, moving with what they could to make their voices heard, their new influence known, but Roman was fine with those games as long as they didn't go beyond the limit. And the limit was his patience running out.

- Since you no longer have jurisdiction there and the upcoming Bloodline activities threaten the entire area, restrictions must be established for the future. Real restrictions Mr. Reigns that I will take care of enforcing and making clear to you. Without it, nothing new will be authorized. – the new dude, Aldis, announced, openly defying his influence, head held high and the wise man behind him jumped.

They wanted to authorize him.

- How dare you- he screamed, but Roman simply raised a finger to silence him, the other hand gripping the chair.

That tanned, smug face of him would have looked perfect smashed onto his table or on the floor, better under his foot.

They wanted to play the big game, gamble when he already had more important business to take care of. It was almost hilarious, almost because that little game would be short-lived. He would let them do it, for a while, until Jey got what he deserved since everything that was happening was his fault. That was what happened if they left their side exposed, if they allowed a pack of strays to smell weakness, it was the price to pay for a crack and the reason Roman would have no more second thoughts.

Elders were right, he had to focus, do what he had to do and what he had been chosen for. He couldn't afford any more weaknesses or they would become ready and able to bite his throat.

- Go ahead – he conceded, collecting himself.

He would get rid of them one by one, blood of his blood or not. Without mercy.

***

She had sought comfort between now cold sheets smelling of him, curling up her legs for extra warmth, keeping her eyes tighter to ward off thoughts ready to fill her mind, but hadn't made it and her she-wolf had found Roman through the link. She had sensed him immediately, probably because he wasn't shielding anything believing that she was still asleep and Y/N had snuck out to join him in the dim light of his home office.

Mate is not here with us.

He was sitting on the couch with a solitary lamp, his face serious, fingers running through the seeds of his necklace. He was physically there, but his head was somewhere else as happened too often now. In the house he always kept the ulafala in the case, but Y/N didn't need to ask to know why he was there staring at it when he was supposed to be resting by her side, in their bed. Paul had told her as soon as he received the news, keeping to their agreement or perhaps already seeking help and Y/N had finally given a deadline to the anxiety that was weighing on her.

Fourteen days of peace before chaos, before completely crumbling what was left of the family, but in a few hours it would truly become inevitable. Or it was probably already late judging by Roman's face.

- Will you have to wear it? – she asked in a whisper, entering the room almost on tiptoe.

He hadn't told her anything about how the meeting would take place nor had he added anything about the fight, but she couldn't blame him. She had promised to stand by him, to defend him, yet she hadn't reacted well to his drastic change of plans and he didn't seem to really understand why she hadn't accepted it. What had happened was serious, but what could happened next would be even worse. Standing, she watched him keep his gaze fixed on the symbol of sacrifices, of his role and pains without turning to look at her and she too observed it, perhaps expecting a revelation.

Red for power, seeds for the rebirth of the dynasty.

She knew the value and pride behind that object, Roman had told Y/N all the stories about the ulafala, but no matter how hard she tried in her eyes it was only a necklace left weighing him down. It should have given him strength, conveyed his strength, represented the family future and instead he found himself fighting to keep it around his neck, to keep what he had gained after an argument born from unpleasant circumstances and degenerated due to old grudges.

- I earned it, represents me – she heard him reply, because in his mind it was the only thought.

She felt it, she knew it. He felt his efforts, sacrifices threatened and they were, but Y/N still felt like it wasn't Jey or Jimmy who was the real danger. At least not initially, now everything was a danger, even the elders who were supposed to accompany and advise him. Them all had fallen into a trap were building with their own hands and she couldn't resign herself to the sight of that disaster.

He's not just that for us.

- You don't need it – she reminded him, stopping looking at the ulafala to focus on him.

She saw him inspire with frustration, felt annoyance pass through him at the mere idea of continuing that conversation, his eyes far from hers.

- Go back to bed Y/N.

- Come with me then, is not mornin yet – she insisted, refusing to give up.

They had different opinions, different approaches, it had always been like that and perhaps it would never change, but they were on the same side. She didn't want to go back to their room if he wasn't there, didn't want to sleep if he wasn't there, she had been alone for too long to throw away moments, to wait two weeks to pass and then hope to go back to what they had before. She trusted Roman, she had never trusted anyone like him, but it wasn't going to end up with Jey and Y/N was honestly afraid of the aftermath he talked about. The threats were different, without blood ties and were just waiting the right moment to attack him, they wanted to get him out of the way and take everything, not just his role. No one can get rid of a weed without pulling out its roots. It had already happened with her family and now can happen again because he was focused just on what was in front of him. But she couldn't wait for the inevitable, it wasn't in her nature to do what she had to do or what he wanted, she existed to do what he couldn't.

She saw him stay silent, sign he had no intention of moving. So she stood in front of him, slipping the ulafala from his fingers without asking. That move finally forced him to raise his head, trying to understand what was happening, while she carefully placed it back in the case where he kept it and then went back to the couch. She listened him breathe heavily, scratch his dark beard with a grimace, and she sat down on his lap to take up the entire view.

- Ain't doing this talk once more – he stopped her soon, shaking his head.

- Not even if im the one asking? – she tried, seeing him immediately clench his jaw.

- Im doing it for you, for us, all! I told you and you said we were on the same side, now what?!

- I'm not taking anything back. I'm just worried it’s already too much – she confessed, not really knowing how else to explain the feeling in her.

Maybe she was giving in to the hormones, anxiety, or maybe was the fact she hadn't cared about others in years like she did now for him, but it was all happening so fast and whether Roman was ready to admit it or not, he was losing control and not facing things with a right mindset. Those outbursts of anger, the way he turned against everyone, judgments, drastic solutions, he was getting carried away by the desire for revenge and his justice. He kept saying he was doing it for them, for their future and instead seemed like a pretext to rush towards other problems. They didn't need acknowlegment, a border to build anything, they were fine, everything worked when it was just them, together. They had never been happier than in the time spent getting to know each other, digging their bond out of the dust and strengthening it. Life certainly couldn't be made up only of moments like those, dates and runs in the woods, but things could certainly have been different.

- Whatever it takes, doesn't matter, at all – he announced, almost exasperated by having to explain, by having to hear, his gaze so confident and Y/N stared at him for a moment without being able to say anything else.

Whatever it takes, he said.

The prospect of those sacrifices and ease which he said he wanted to face them would torment was heavy, but as she had sadly learned to do growing up, she hid all the worry in the back of her mind.

He didn't listen or maybe he didn't want to.

So Y/N simply moved closer, challenging his growing temper, to seek some warmth and his lips in an uncertain kiss. Saw him look at her almost suspiciously for her reaction, studying before reciprocate the kiss and sliding his hands down her thighs. Close, felt their breaths slowly mix in the silence of the dark house and that warmth she had found too late, growing from the most vulnerable part to her chest begging for comfort.

- You matter to me – she reminded him in a heated murmur, forehead resting on him, swollen lips touching, eyes burning for something that went beyond words.

She didn't really care about anything else. They could have been anywhere, surrounded by anyone or in utter desolation and Y/N would still have searched for those eyes. They were her firm point, he was her person. The thought of it terrified her, but she was done fighting and pretending. Roman was everything for her, she had nothing else anymore and she wanted, hoped... he would understand that for that exact reason they couldn't give in. They had to stay together, as a pack, mates.

She saw his gaze lingering on her lips, rising then to meet her eyes, two brown pools now dark in the dim light of the room. Felt his fingers gripping her hips, digging into soft flesh with possession, domineering and lust, marking her skin to claim and force her where she already was.

- Then you gonna be there with me, as you should – he demanded, resolute and despite fighting with everything her head suggested, Y/N nodded to please him again, letting Roman finally crash his mouth against her, satisfied.

They would find a way, they would find a solution even if it seemed difficult, they could do it together, but in that moment Y/N just needed to feel him close, just for her, far from all the noise and problems that awaited them out. They could give themselves that moment of rest, cherish it and Y/N rocked on him, moaning into his hot mouth as their bodies inexorably warmed up. His tongue was insatiable, ready to devour and intoxicate her with his good taste, thrown into a fight that she didn't even dare win. She preferred to let him have control in those moments, while her fingers made their way through dark soft locks, scratching the back of his strong neck to once again elicit that raw growl that vibrated through his broad chest into her bones. Felt his hands slide deeper, grasping her ass, encouraging Y/N to move her hips, pushing on his boner which was quickly answering to juices already wetting his pants.

She had stopped wearing panties when they went to bed a while ago and now was even grateful. She would bear nothing but the feeling of his hard body against her, pressure building like a blessed torture as he guided her growling for her to ride him shamelessly. Y/N had been trying to slow down and control herself for months now, so as not to give in to the heat of their bond, stay with feet on the ground and mind clear now that everything was falling apart, but it was an inexorable descent faster every time Roman touched her. She clung to him, feeling one of his hands travel up under her shirt to roughly grab one of her breasts, his calloused palm rubbing her sensitive nipple making her squirm. Her body had always been hyper-reactive to his attentions, but now she had fallen into a spiral with no exit. Y/N yearned him like a castaway for salvation and in moments like that the need mixed with something more, something that Y/N had never felt for anyone else and her she-wolf fought to make her whisper.

Tell him. We need him. Our mate. Tell him.

- My pussy wet as fuck hm? You need me, don't you? – he said voice like velvet, breaking their kiss and motioning for her to raise herself just enough to sink easily into her cunt – Ima fill you up good, babygirl… don't worry. Aint going nowhere and you'll be stuck with me.

The heat caused by his intrusion had already forced Y/N to open her mouth without being able to speak back, but the sudden thrust of his hips quickly accelerating to pound her almost made her cry. Hands tightened on his shoulders, eyes narrowing with each thrust and then opening as the wave of heat rose from her belly, sending her entire body into flames. Bouncing on his lap, she felt Roman moving his hand from her breast to give her a sharp slap on her ass, he did it one more time drawing a moan and then move up to her throat, to squeeze it just enough to bring tears to her eyes. Quickening the pace, in the frenzy of their moment, Y/N began to confuse the her own pounding heart with the slick sound of bodies slamming together. Her mind becomes more clouded by the second, ears filled with Roman's growls and threatening promises like dark spells ready to tear her soul and climax away. Confused between pleasure and desperation, she held him to her as he held her by the throat, twitches of her wet center uncontrolled amidst the panting of both of them that grew angrier. Room around flashed, throbbing like folds around his cock, impregnated with smell of their bodies, air charged and heavy, saturated with sweat and lust, with a mix of their smells.

They were racing with no intention of slowing down, as if the only goal was to consume, melt and crumble thanks to the other one. Y/N end came sudden and violent between a sloppy kiss and a particularly insistent push on that soft point on which Roman loved to rage without any mercy, fast, powerful, in a strangled moan that made her bare feet tingle, rising in an electric discharge up her legs to a sweaty body, chest begging and hot face. She closed her eyes, grabbing Roman's arm for her life, throwing her head back and then immediately hiding her face on his shoulder because he wasn't slowing down, he wasn't even giving her a moment to breath and she had already went over her limit. Heat kept growing and shake her, causing Y/N to lose all contact with her surroundings, ears ringing as if she had been underwater, body still crying out for more while Roman pounded furiously. Stunned, she stood abandoned in his arms, letting him have his way as he wanted, until something made her eyes widen, pushing her to gasp.

- R-Ro- she tried, because his hand had somehow left her throat, to grab Y/N by the back of her neck and tilt her head to the side.

He was holding her by her curls, beard scratching her hot neck, tongue ready to lick away sweat from her sweet pulsing weak spot to prepare it.

- Easy, stay still – his breath against her skin, so close, pushed Y/N to stiffen as much as his words – I'll be gentle, ssh…

Roman had never pushed, he had never held her like he was doing at that moment and feeling his teeth on her flesh sharper than usual, Y/N wriggled away.

- Don't - she tried again, feeling him tighten his grip, slowing down his thrusts, another hand moving to her wrist.

Why he was acting like that?

- Don't panic, its me – he reassured her, words heavy, attitude raising for her reaction and she planted her feet, her only free hand tapping on his bare chest.

It was him, Roman? Was it really him that one? Suddenly Y/N wasn't so sure and ignoring her wolf pleas, confused between the sense of discomfort and desire to give in, she pushed again to put some space between them.

- Y/N

- No, not like this! – she wailed and when finally managed to slide away from his legs, Y/N saw him jump up with a growl.

The crash of the coffee table froze her on the couch, eyes wide as she watched him pant in anger with clenched fists, body stiff. Still dirty for their moment, but with her mind completely clear now, she watched him stand there trying to regain control in a heavy silence she hadn't felt between them in a while. Roman rubbed his face, rolling his large shoulders, rocking his head and even though she was shaken, something in Y/N's chest tightened following the imperceptible direction of his gaze across the room, where she had put the ulafala away.

Did he want to mark her to prove a point? To have full control in order to not go through what had happened with his family? It was that?

Mate…

She moved her eyes to his hand, the one would have grabbed to calm him, to bring him back to there with her, the one she always found on herself for any reason even the stupidest, the one Y/N had learned to want, but a second too long passed and her hesitation was enough for Roman to quickly settle down, deciding to walk out of the room without a word to leave her again.

***

Uncle Afa was a man bent by age and illness now. When him and his dad stopped traveling around the country, he opened a gym in a recreation center on the eastern outskirts of the city where family had settled. He only trained their people at that time, city folks didn't want to set foot among savages, but his uncle ignored comments like his dad, dedicating himself heart and soul to the pack. Roman remembered going into that place the last time when he was sixteen, probably with the twins, to put on muscles that had grown bigger on their own later and fill his stomach always asking for more. The gym was different now from then, it was larger, it had incorporated buildings next door and it wasn't dusty at all. There was a sign, clean walls full of photos and articles, in the central one there was also him, right at the top.

They had organized the meeting there to have a neutral place, a place that represented everyone, a symbol of the pack values as the Elders demanded. Yet sitting at the head of the table in the gym hall, with the attention of many of his blood just beyond the threshold, Roman kept undaunted watching that perfectly framed photo at the top of the wall. He was there to talk, ready to prove his worth even if it was thanks to him that that picture had a wall to still be on, if that gym existed after his uncle's family had spent almost everything to pay the national healthcare system, if the next generations would have a place to go or eat like he did. He acknowledged his family efforts, but all of them would have been still in that dusty past of mediocrity if Roman had not taken everything into his own hands knowing he was more than what the world saw.

- Don't try, don’t think about it, I wouldn't do it if I was in your place - he heard Jimmy warn, blocking the wise man from trying to come forward to break the silence of their meeting that had already started a few minutes ago without a word.

Roman heard him clear his throat anyway, but payed no attention until Jey, the only one sitting besides him and Y/N, decided to cut it short.

- I don't have any piece of paper with me – he announced, rubbing his hands on his legs.

Roman eyed him silently, slowly tilting his head and Jey shifted in his seat, face so serious as he settled himself better to speak.

He could broaden his shoulders and give himself as much tone as he wanted, but he would never be on his level, he would never be like him and it was evident. That meeting was ridiculous, disrespectful even.

- It's just between us for me. Families have nothing to do with it – he explained, quickly nodding to whoever was outside the door – Same for Solo, he's my brother... and Y/N, she's family too. He disappears with you though and won't set foot in the packland again as long as I'm here. – he concluded, pointing to the wise man who didn't even manage to mutter his disappointment before Roman burst out laughing.

He’s crazy and dumb.

His hoarse laugh echoed throughout the entire empty hall and he didn't bother to hide it or hold back, simply running a hand over his beard to regain control only after a while. With the entire family's eyes on him, he knocked the table with his hand, eyeing his cousin once more.

Jey. The little soldier Jey. Roman had tried to keep him close, to teach him how things worked, because he loved him and still he didn’t get it. Not a single thing. Anything at all.

He persisted with his speeches even a few days before the moment which Roman would have removed him from the family, putting everything on the table to play the good pup. He wanted the title, he wanted to chase him away, but he was willing to vouch for his family anyway, for Solo who had kicked him and even Y/N… as if there was only one scenario out of all the ones imaginable in which Roman would have left her if not as a deadman or it would have allowed him to realize the ideas he had in his dumb head. He still thought the problem was him or the advice the wise man had given him to stay on top, he thought he could keep his hands clean, not involve anyone and he didn't understand that the situation they were in already, was the exact reason for which he would never have survived in Roman’s place.

- You're wasting my time – he said, giving him an annoyed smile.

Jey didn't reply, cashing in without even a nod. He was good at cashing in, Roman acknowledged it, it was his talent, perhaps his only one, but it still wouldn't have been enough against him. He might be determined and willing to fight him one more time, but it would be no use. Roman had no limits and had learned over the years and blows what was needed to kept the role he had.

- Whoever will standing at the end decides, tha’s the deal, the stipulation. There's nothing else to say – he established, tone suddenly deadly heavy.

There was nothing he wasn't willing to do or lose to keep what was his.

He saw Jey nod, imitate him and stand up and in the silence of the room leave the table to join him. Face to face to each other, he stared at his reflection in his cousin's dark eyes, the ulafala still around his neck as it was in the photo of him on the wall and as it always would be. He squeezed Jey forearm and allowed that even if the bond between them no longer existed, their wolves shared a final breath.

Blood of my blood. Brother. Traitor.

When the air left his lungs again to fill them with the stale smell of the center, Roman let go without hesitation, Jey imitating him in a perfect mirror. However, was he who turned his back on his cousin this time to go away first, ignoring the wise man's sad look and those of the rest of the family outside waiting. Y/N who had been on the sidelines the entire time, unexpectedly joined him, her back straight and face betraying nothing as she took her place next to him. Roman didn't comment, there was nothing to say.

Two weeks and he would have control again. Only two weeks before moving on.

Tag squad: @sunnyfleur23 @racerchix21 @alyyaanna @reignsangel444 @romanreignsdefencesquad @romanstheory @claymorexpunisher @keybladeofsteel @msbigredmachine @nayys-world @gobbersworld @utika151209 @cumxxslutt @civildawn @romanmydaddy @triscillal @papireigns-05 @helensanders92 @darqchilddaydreamz @meggylynnloves @unfriendly--blvck--hottie @nicolewoo @joannasteez @reignsx @kianaleani @daguenoire @extra-11 @333creolelady @snowpanda18 @brattyfics @mzv11 @romanreignseater @spritelucozade @tribalchiefdaily @dreamsinfocus @vebner37 @depressedneedingrevenge @cyberdejos2 @mahi-wayy @jxtina-86 @harmshake @southerngirl41 @smile1318

[sky-kiss]

At this point I'm gonna need to make a binder/scrapbook with your fics and little stickers of Raphael, Joi and heart shapes.

May I please request a bathing drabble? Maybe with Tav and Raph in his Devil's Den room and he takes a bath not caring if she joins. And she does join and omg wait that feels nice Tav, what else those hands do?

Okay sorry I'm done. Enjoy writing the Geralt bath scene with RaphxTav!

In truth, he ought to have returned to the House of Hope hours prior. The debtors have had free reign of the place for the past fortnight, overseen only by Korilla on her occasional return and Haarlep more frequently.

If he's being honest, the prospect is horrifying. And yet, despite the existential dread that stems from his incubus dictating the new status quo in his Home, Raphael lingers on the prime material plane. His centuries of living fade, leaving him grappling with a near-boyish excitement. All his years of planning and expectation are coming to a close. Tav and her friends will deliver the crown. He will assume his place as the rightful ruler of the hells, an archdevil in truth. Everything will be as it should, and the anticipation chases a thrill down his spine. 

So, he lingers in the Devil’s Den, surrounded by his mortal trinkets and silence. The contract is not signed, not yet, but that will change shortly. And he has a moment to simply exist. He cannot remember the last time he indulged. More than a century, at least. 

The devil lounges in his pool, head tipped back against the side. Rose petals float on the surface of the overheated water, already in the process of wilting. They are lovely little things, scenting the air so sweetly, fading like the mortal lives that cross his threshold. He finds it a pretty analogy, poetically suited for his situation. Raphael closes his eyes. The images that greet him are pleasing for the first time in so long. He imagines Tav, a flush in her cheeks, dipping her head in deference as she offers the crown. He imagines his Lord Father, falling to one knee before him. Mephistopheles will admit he was wrong in his estimations, so wrong; his son has become so much more than his blood might have entailed. 

He’s so lost in the fantasy that he doesn’t hear her enter. Unlike the other suites, the door to the Den is always unlocked. His wards threaded through the door, the flooring, and every inch of the building, and so he’s never felt the need. It's the true duality of a devil: ever cautious and never willing to turn away potential business.

Tav clears her throat. If she expects some sort of embarrassment at his nudity, she’s picked the wrong devil. He cracks one open to spare her a look and then shuts it. Raphael feels her gaze sweep over him, lingering on the expanse of his chest and his thighs. 

“Yes?” he drags the word out. 

To his surprise, his mouse does not recoil or flee in the face of his nudity. Tav crouches near the pool's edge, reaches out, and smooths a wet string of hair away from his forehead. Her nails tickled across his skin, bordering on gentle. “It appears I’m intruding.” 

“Oh, my dear. You could never.” The devil grins. Raphael plucks a scarlet-colored washcloth from a bowl of scented water and holds it out to her. “Come. Make yourself useful.” 

Her lips curl in that delicious way, a touch of defiance but never enough. She crouches by the edge, fingers curling around his wrist instead of taking the cloth. “I wanted to discuss business.” 

“And I am more than amiable. But…” he indicates his state of undress. “Needs/must. Let this be a compromise. Business and pleasure.” It’s the second word chasing a poorly hidden shiver through her. Tav purses her lips. She takes the rag and tips his head back. Raphael clucks his tongue. “No, no, none of that prudery. It shall go far more pleasantly for both of us if only,” he snaps his fingers. It’s an admittedly dirty trick, toeing the line of outright manipulation, but the cambion has always been a bold player in the great game. He doesn’t strip her nude; that would be cheating. Instead, he trades her pragmatic leathers for a gauzy little number. Entirely sheer when it hits the water, but semantics are everything in his line of work. She’s still clothed. 

And she fits so sweetly between his spread legs. Tav blinks at him, disoriented at the shift in positioning and temperature. Ever selfish, he traces the elegant line of her neck. “There,” he purrs. “Isn’t this preferable, mouse?” 

“Ass.” The hint of color is too high in her cheeks to blame the water. 

He chuckles, drumming a lazy beat against her shoulder. “Language. If you don’t watch that tongue, I’ll find another use for it.” Her eyes flare. She is a delightful little creature, his Tav. Raphael dips her hand in the water before moving it to his chest. “Now. The matter at hand. Speak as you work.” 

She watches the rag's path across his skin, water sluicing down the exposed muscle. He’s softer in this body than his true form, a man securely in his middle-age, but he’s taken great pains to balance age and beauty. Muscle remains, though less defined, and the smattering of hair across his chest is more pronounced. Tav’s free hand comes up, pressing her palm flat against his sternum. She curls her fingers in the hair and presses them flat again. 

Raphael arches a brow. “Your business, dear. Unless you’d prefer to table it?” 

“Apologies. I…” Tav shakes her head. The fabric of her new gown drifts on the water; quite an angelic image, if he does so say, quite lovely. She steps closer. Bold or stupid, she considers their positioning a moment longer before seating herself on his right thigh. “The contract. I said I’d consider it and I have.” 

She says this while sliding her hand back into his hair, nails scraping over his scalp, tugging lightly. It feels better than he wants to admit. “And have you reached a decision?” 

“I have.” He can hear the damnable little creature's pleasure. Nails skate down his neck, over his shoulders, back down to his heart, and then the circuit repeats. She scrubs at a nonexistent smear of dirt on his bicep. “I do believe we’ll find our own way through. No deal.” 

“What!?” 

Tav laughs. She hooks an arm around his neck to keep him from dislodging her from her seat when he stands. She holds up a placating hand. “Teasing! I’m teasing! You said we were friends now? And friends…” She chews her lower lip. He has half a mind to drag her back to the house and toss her to the jailor. She pushes his chest, leads him into a seated position, and resumes her task. “It’s becoming increasingly obvious I can’t trust the Emperor.”

“Yes. Any idiot might have seen as much.” 

“Don’t be prickly, devil. I’m on your side.” Tav sighs. “I’ll sign the contract. Better the devil you know and all that.” 

“How rarely forward thinking of you, pet.” She makes a face. One that says she intends to argue. Raphael cuts her off in the simplest way. He traces her lower lip with his thumb, heated from the water. Her tongue flicks out instinctually, just a little thing, to taste his skin. “We’ll celebrate this illustrious partnership, mouse. But first…finish your task.” 

[kyoghurts]

because this is where i want to be, where it's so sweet and heavenly <3

"what's wrong?"

reo's voice echo through the silence. soft yet reverberating, a gentle cease to the growing waves of unease.

the waves come in the form of tired eyes, it looks over distant realities, one that reo will never see nor even begin to imagine. he doesn't need you to admit you haven't been getting enough rest from how shadows are distinct under those eyes, it's awful, he thinks, he wishes he hadn't wasted a week dancing around in the backdrop with small talks and half-hearted 'you okays?' to you. now as he stands in the middle of the living room, lines of worry tugging in his face, he knows this is enough to show that he's done staying quiet.

you look up from your laptop situated on the low table, mildly startled. "ah no, nothing's wrong-"

reo's lip stretches into a grimace in disbelief and you pause. without giving you a chance to continue, he settles beside you with knitted brows and caring eyes.

"you can cut the act now. it’s just me"

the way he whispers, hushed and soft, it almost seems like a plead. you gaze a little longer than him to notice his eyes glowing under the opalescent light, you find it oddly soothing to look at, he stares right back, tentative silence pervading the room.

there lies a difference in letting the eye see what’s in front, to what’s beyond the border, and you’re not certain in allowing him to cross the latter. you’re never certain in anything, hands gradually shake at the thought as you watch it clenched tight in your lap. in any case, you’d rather not consider it. you’d rather not be near to this warmth, especially to your roommate for half a year who always makes it a point to be a nuisance in the rhythm of your life.

(but this warmth, his warmth, it’s a little more unusual, a little more alluring, a little more reassuring)

“shit’s all over the place— it’s stressful and i— well, you know” you need a diversion, something to cling on, your hands motion in emphasis. “i-it’s nothing new, everything passes right? yeah, this will pass, too”

(reo mikage, a friend you have shared these four safe walls that have comforted you like no other. a friend who you have dragged towards your dumb shits and him who, on more than one occasion, takes care of you without fault.

it comes easy for him; as easy as to cook dinner for you after a long & dreadful day. as easy as to reprimand you for sacrificing a 'few' hours of your time as you stated just to finish a series and play through your game as if you hadn't had a life. as easy as to converse with memes in the dead of the night, not bothering to question how silly the situation is when he's practically in the other room throwing in a fit of giggles.

and it's easy, for him to discern the slightest change, for him to become the voice you had long yearned to hear. a voice of solace, it's real, and it doesn't cost anything.

reo mikage says it himself. it's just him. why do you feel the need to put on an act?)

warm hands rest atop of yours, each fingers finding a place in the gaps like slots. his thumb brushes against your knuckles slowly, laced with sweet affection, it does more to your heart than words could reach. he continues to be there, unbothered by the sudden lull to your ramblings.

(he sits here with you so naturally. a part of you is certain he already crossed the borders himself.)

finally, it breaks.

like the crack to your voice as your throat tightens. "ugh...shit. i don't know, reo— i don't... know" like the rapid blinks as melting tears shatter, stinging and hot and blurry. "everything... it's just... it’s so overwhelming. i don't know when will it pass, i don't know anything and i'm— i can't...anymore. i feel really stupid and i’m hating myself every second and i just want to stop… for everything to stop." relenting as you cry, shutting your vision, your head downcast and shoulders tremble beneath the heavy weights of your emotions. it's too much for you to carry, too much and not enough for your heart to bear.

he cups both of your cheek, a stream of light welcomes you as you open your eyes, fading the darkness that which had wrapped you for so long. he calls your name under his breath, casually sweeping his thumb across your tears, wiping it away. "hey, it's okay. look c'mere" he ushers you with his arms spread out, inviting you in his care.

you sniff, leaning in his embrace, he closes the distance as he hugs you with firmness, you feel his touch as he rubs your back in slow circles. something about the gesture leads you tearing up for a different reason.

"i can't tell you how to feel, i can't tell you when it will end, because, like you, i don’t know anything, but listen to me—" he sets his head on top of yours as he mutter "i'm here, you know i'm here, and i will be here through and after. no one—absolutely no one expects you to deal with all this by yourself. you shouldn’t, in the first place."

reo sighs, his steady heartbeat faintly sings you into tunes of tenderness. you don't say anything, instead, you bask in his warmth as you cling to the fabric of his shirt and quietly sob against his chest.

"wanna know something? i really care about you, like, a whole lot."

he holds your heart. he holds you close. and you let him, you let him be a part of the world that which speaks a little more of you.

and, maybe, he's beginning to understand the language of it. "you're not alone." — i won’t allow you to feel that way any longer — “you hear me?”

you nod, your lips wobbling into a smile. “yeah… i hear you loud and clear.”

he shares one of his own. you think, this is what you need. a pocket of reassurance, and for the rest of the night you have learned to spend the present with a certain roommate your heart has given a special place.

— writing this with cig after sx playing made me cry ahrjfdhrkfd oh how i badly need a hug rn.

a little tag: @yuquinzel (sending you sm virtual hugs bbg ily)

© kyoghurts ★ reblogs & likes are well appreciated!

[imnameimswrld]

╰┈➤ ❝ [𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞, 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 || 𝗠𝗝 ꒱꒱

━━ ❪ prince!jun x duchess!reader || part one ❫

━━ ❪ . . . description : with the war long over, your home borders on bankruptcy that only the higher kingdom can provide aid in, but aid requires a marriage. however, you're suprised when it is the oldest of the seven, that chooses you ; ❫

━━ ❪ . . . royalty au, marriage of convenience ❫

━━ ❪ . . . disclaimers : this features ricky of zb1, renjun, chenle and kun of nct, and the8 of seventeen, and most of them are asses in this au ! also featuring as your siblings is xiaojun of nct, xiaoting of kepler, and handong of dreamcatcher ! ❫

━━ ❪ . . . warnings : none ❫

( next part ) coming soon !

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

A snarl pulls at your upper lip as as grimace at your reflection.

"I assume you have words, my lady ?" your handmaid inquires from your side, hands clasped respectfully behind her back.

You grunt once as I raise a single finger to point at my perked up, suffocating, breats.

"Is this necessary ? It leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination and," my sharp gaze cuts to the handmaid, and instantly her haze drops to the ground. "Last time I checked, I was to be a princess, not a whore."

There's a stiffle of laughter from the doorway, and you watch as your oldest sister gestures for the handmaid to leave. As if she couldn't leave fast enough, she all but scurries away with the kind of haste she could've used earlier with bringing your tea.

"You're very mean to her, you know." Dong chirps, sauntering in with poised grace. Unlike yourself, she, was made for this life of ballgowns and pleasantries.

You were made for a sword and armor.

"It's not like she likes me all that much anyway, sister," you glare at the low neckline of your dress one more time before turning your full attention to her. "Or have you forgotten the many times she's purposely dropped my food and drinks on me."

A knowing smile pulls at lips, and she nods slowly, but says nothing further on the topic. Dong comes to stand before me, placing her gentle hands on your tense shoulders.

"The war is over, sister. We've won, thanks to you who led our men. Now, it is time to lay down your sword, and place that crown on your head that you so rightfully deserve." Her gaze is soft, but her tone fierce.

"It was not meant to be me-"

"But it is you, sister."

A cloak of silence settles over the two of you, your mind not able to find the words to explain how wrong this whole situation is. One of your sisters should be the  ones to marry first, they're fit for royalty. You, are not.

A knock at your open door echoes painfully loud through my room, and my gaze shifts to see the rest of my siblings standing in waiting.

"Are you ready, sister ?" Xiaojun inquires, swallowing hard as he stares at you. He's the only one who hates this idea as much as you do, because it means no longer sharing a home with his twin, his best friend.

You make to deny, but Dong doesn't allow it. "She is."

Your gaze flits back to her intense ones, and you let out a breath.

"Because you are Han Y/N, Duke Han's fierce and mighty last born. You, are ready for anything."

You take a staggering breath, willing your knees to quite their shaking as if meeting seven men is more frightening than going into battle with thousands of them at your command.

With one arm through your brother's, you other hand clasping your older sister's, Xiaoting's, tightly, you lift chin and straighten your posture.

Just like Dong told you, because you are the woman who led men into battle, and if anyone should be afraid, it's the seven that are waiting for you in the next room.

Nodding once, the guards pull open the double doors to one of the many ballrooms that sit in your home. Eyes forward, you do your best to not meet any one of their scrutinizing gazes as you walk, opting to just state at a family painting that hangs on the opposite wall, standing at seven tall.

As you stand, you can feel all their gazes inspecting, noting down my every feature, flaw. You make sure to settle a minuscule glare in your eyes, because if they think they can treat anything less than a noble lady, they'll be very sorry.

This process should be anything but slow, and yet, with how closet they analyze me, it feels as if an eternity passes until their steward speaks.

"The princes will now make their choices." the older man speaks, his silver hair glinting in the sunlight that hits through the floor to ceiling windows.

Yippee.

The youngest steps forward, his white hair styled to perfection with a few lose strands left out for the purpose of adding to his beauty – because although younger than you, he is beautiful, and you cannot deny that.

But Quanrui is as arrogant as he is stunning.

"Your beauty is not to the standard I expected, Lady Y/N," you feel Xiaojun stiffen beside you, and you have to dig your nails into his sleeve before he lunges and gets you all into major trouble.

"Therefore, I decline you, Lady Y/N of Duke Han."

Thank God, he's too young and is better off marrying his own goddamn reflection.

Quanrui steps back, his incredibly sharp eyes giving you one last once over before refocusing on Xiaoting beside you. Ha, good luck with that one kid.

The fourth borns step forward simultaneously, twins, but their features couldn't be more different. Chenle you don't know all that well, but one thing is for sure, he has absolutely no desire in what you have to offer.

He'd much prefer someone with a...yeah.

But that is not your secret to tell.

Hence why it's no suprise when he steps back after reciting Quanrui's last words. Renjun seems to have a bored expression on his face.

"A place beside me is not fit for a warrior such as yourself, Lady Y/N. Nor is our home truly," he sighs, clearly uninterested in this whole situation. "But alas, my father disagrees. However, I decline you, Lady Y/N of Duke Han."

He steps back, and you fight back a scoff. As if he could handle a woman like you anyway.

Your gaze flicks to the much taller prince, his body lean and shoulders broad. His gaze is anything but full of distaste. You're taken aback most of all by him. Minghao is silent as he simply steps back, not even showing a hint of respect towards you.

This time you're unable to fight back a glare, and Minghao meets yours with a dark one of his own.

Although the line is coming to an end, the worry practically radiates off of Dong as she stands beside Xiaoting. You understand why, because logically Minghao was your last chance. The next two brothers are older, and would have no interest in a younger woman like yourself – and even though you couldn't care less if you return with no betrothed, you know your father would be disappointed, and Dong fears the limit his patience will continue for you.

You realise in this moment how being declined by all the sons of the High Kingdom could effect your family. You'd be left with a disappointed father, possible bankruptcy because the Duke grows old and there's only so much burdens Dong can carry as the eldest. This house can and will crumble if it doesn't recieve aid from the richest. You've been chosen as the offering, and as degrading as it may feel, your peoples lives depend on being chosen.

With that knowledge, you raise your chin once more, standing just a little taller than before.

One can hope.

"I decline you, Lady Y/N of Duke Han."

But that hope cracks with Kun's words as he steps back, joining his younger brothers. He's the only one to grant you a respectful nod, and for that, you offer him one in return.

Lastly is...

Your gaze travels from the gleaming tips of his boots, up his towering stature, his chest broad and shoulders seeming ever so mighty. The eldest son carries himself with the kind of natural confidence every man dreams of possessing, and in your eyes, it is his beauty, that is unmatched.

But Junhui won't choose you, it's highly unlikely. He's the most quiet, barely ever seen roaming outside of castle walls, and has never, ever been spotted with a woman on his arm. Some say he's a cold man incapable of love. Others say there's just no one worthy enough of being at his side.

However, you are not a woman of stories, but one of reality.

His eyes are unreadable as they stare into yours, not daring to violate your figure as his younger brothers had done. In fact, if you recall correctly, he's not looked anywhere but your eyes this whole time. Does that mean he's interested ? Or is he just being polite ?

For Christs sake, put me out of my misery already and say you decline-

"I accept you, Lady Y/N of Duke Han," Jun strides over with more grace than your whole entire being holds.

Your breath catches in pure shock, an unfamiliar spark jolting in the hand he takes into his own, traveling like wildfire up your arm, before raking down your spine. His touch is gentle, soft, but nothing could compare to the tenderness of his lips that kiss the back of your hand; and the whole time, his gaze never leaves yours.

"I make my choice, and it is you, Lady Y/N."

[max1461]

I had a dream last night that I ran for president. In the Democratic primary I won California, Alaska, "Washington" (which was directly north of California) and another state whose name I don't remember because it doesn't actually exist, but it was east of Washington along California's northern border (you have to imagine the two of them shaped approximately like triangles, making up an approximate square directly to CA's north).

There was a brief moment when I was in the lead. I knew it wouldn't last, but I remember capitalizing on the opportunity to proudly tell my parents "I'm the front-runner in the race for president of the United States!". Again, this was supposedly the primary, but I recall the electoral map showing blue for the establishment Democrat, red for the Republican candidate (Trump I think), and yellow for me. So maybe it was the national election; I think this is just one of those dream inconsistencies.

Anyway, for whatever reason me and most of my campaign staff were down in a cave. We didn't have internet access anymore, so I was relying on my campaign manager (who was above ground) to clue me in to what was going on. We were in an upper chamber of the cave, and there had been some kind of near-disaster in a lower chamber where the fire department had to come and rescue a bunch of people who were trapped. I don't remember if any of them were part of my campaign staff. Anyway, as the establishment Democrat took the lead, I remember talking on the phone—a big, thick, 90s-style cellphone—with my campaign manager about what I should do. Should I give some sort of statement to the press about it? Should I congratulate the winner on Twitter? He said no, no, don't worry about it; everyone knows you're down in a cave and don't have service, so they can't possibly expect that.

I have no idea why we were in a cave, if it was intentional or we were stuck there. I guess we were just in a cave!

Anyway, then disaster struck! One of my staffers found a bunch of people in need of rescue in our (upper) chamber of the cave! Now, this wasn't as dire as the earlier rescue. These people were much easier to get to. They were like, sort of hanging upside-down from a horizontally suspended rope, like clothes on a clothes line, basically. I don't know how they got that way but they were in a dire state from hanging upside-down for some long. Some of my staffers insisted they could rescue the people themselves (I think they were worried that calling in the fire department again would be viewed as wasteful and damage my campaign). They managed to get some of the people down from the clothes line. I asked my campaign manager what to do (I was still on the phone with him) and he was like "no, call the fire department!". So he put me through to the fire department and I told them what was going on.

You have to understand throughout these events that I'm like, me. I have no idea how to run an electoral campaign, I'm 100% relying on my campaign manager for every cue, and I'm really nervous about figuring out the proper etiquette for everything. When I was asking him about whether I should congratulate the winner on Twitter you have to imagine it in this sort of tone. Like, first day on the job, nervous "I'm following your lead here" energy. And when I get on the phone with the fire department I'm super awkward (I've never called them before!) and as I'm explaining the situation I'm thinking like "good, good, that was normal, I sound normal to the fire department right now".

Anyway then they come down into the cave and start rescuing people. I get back on the phone with my campaign manager and he tells me confidently "look, here's what we do: on Monday you're gonna give a press conference. You'll announce that your bid for the presidency is over, congratulate the winners, and reiterate your policy positions." I don't remember what else he said about it, but basically this was the most graceful way to end the campaign and keep my political career strong. I was a popular candidate with lots of youth support and energy behind me, so it was gonna be easy to parley that into later success. Now, I didn't want a further political career—this campaign was 100% a one-off—but I agreed the press conference would be a good idea. Unfortunately that would mean I had to write a speech by Monday, which was annoying.

Anyway, the establishment Democrat won in the end, and turns out it was Obama.

Then I woke up.

[beardedmrbean]

Hey Grunkle Nunya, I was wondering if you could explain to me how people are seeing Israel as the good guys in the Gaza situation, because I can only ever find Palestinian civilian body counts and blown up hospitals and stuff, and it honestly does look like a genocide from the standpoint of someone who generally doesn't research politics and conflict. I know the way I worded this looks like I'm being inflammatory but I mean it genuinely. What am I missing?

Asking anonymously because currently, asking questions about the Gaza conflict makes me either pro-genocide or anti-jew to the people with no critical thinking skills. I can't physically handle the toll of being accused of supporting genocide (Israeli or Palestinians) because of a mental disability I possess.

I apologize if this still sounds like bait, I am just poor with words and you are rich with knowledge.

It's war so everything gets muddy, especially with the body counts the gaza health ministry puts out.

I do not believe those at all, they put them out faster than should be possible even at the best of times, they also make no distinction between hamass militants and civilians so that's another issue with them.

We're going to make up a scenario here.

If you're looking for why Israel went in, imagine if New Jersey were another country, one that regularly sends people into the surrounding US states in order to kill Americans and generally sow chaos, and they've been doing it for 15-20 years with no sign of stopping at all ever or even dialing it back.

No real rhyme or reason to most of their attacks, occasionally they'll get pissed off about something or other and fire off a few thousand unguided rockets, just point the at the surrounding states light the fuse and hope they land somewhere where they kill people, no specific targets just anything they can hit and cause damage with and blaming the US when their own rockets fall back down on them.

Again doing this continually with no indication that it's ever going to stop or anything will convince them to tone it down.

Instead they do a coordinated invasion and just start killing everyone they see, which they went to Sesame Place right near the border with them and Pennsylvania instead of anywhere with any military value because the plan was to kill the most people they could while encountering the least possible resistance.

The US finally says, ok we're done with you and all of this and the organization behind most of the previous attacks and this current one which happens to also be the elected government of NJ is now in the crosshairs and we're going to keep shooting till they're gone one way or the other.

That would also be where Israel said we're done with you, hamass is going to cease to exist after we're done one way or the other.

So then it's full scale invasion time.

24 hour notice was given, saying this is where we are hitting, get out, 24 hours turned into several days, couple weeks I think, there were some air raids and strategic bombing and what not, a hamass rocket hit a hospital and Israel got blamed, the usual.

Obviously mistakes were made at times on both sides at the start and continue to be made, incredibly fluid thing wars are, things change on a dime.

And then we run into issues with the fact that hamass uses civilian buildings as weapons caches, staging grounds, command centers, pretty much anything you can thing a building would be useful for if you're fighting a war, which is a massive violation of international law as well as a war crime because they're hiding behind civilians.

From 2014

Great line toward the end

There is no indication that Israel deliberately targets civilians, as Hamas does. But

The argument is brought out that this kills civilians too, which yes it does, it shouldn't unless there's a misfire from one of the guided munitions in use by Israel, for one simple reason

Which they don't need to do, not if hamass has made the place into a valid military target by keeping rockets in the school.

They try at least.

In the first couple weeks before the ground invasion started there were reports coming out of gaza where the residents were saying that hamass had either taken the keys to their vehicles or disabled them making civilian evacuation that much more difficult, on foot and such kinda screws things up.

Allegedly threats were made to civilians as well.

As for the numbers, the side that's getting invaded is going to have more of those, as for the accuracy of those numbers, there's a reason why every news agency that cares even slightly about credibility includes 'according to the gaza health ministry' to the number.

As to the genocide question, there is no genocide, mass casualty attacks =/= as genocide and someone saying they'd like to wipe gaza off the map does not indicate a official government stance regardless of if the work for the government or not.

It's a war, innocent people die in war, it's a unfortunate reality of a even more unfortunate situation, especially if your on the side that's on the defensive folks in Israel have less to be worried about it's a lot harder for hamass to get to them, true at the best of times for hamass anyhow since it's not like they have a air force of any sort.

This whole thing did not need to happen, if it weren't for the fact that there's a group that has refused any reasonable offer and some that were incredibly slanted in their direction as well people at a music festival would have gone home when it was over and had great stories to tell.

Neither side is innocent, but at least for the one Israel complete and utter annihilation of everyone in Gaza isn't the goal, they just want hamass gone.

Not to say there aren't shitheads that want everyone in gaza gone in Israel and in the IDF, but that's not the stated goal of their mission.

If it was gaza city would look more like stalingrad after the nazis were done with it.

Choice of location is made purely because 99% of the area was razed, that is all so.

As for all the ceasefire stuff, the one they had going ended because hamass couldn't manage to keep their end of the deal up even though they were given several do overs, they just had to keep launching rockets and shooting civilians at bus stops.

No reason to think they would do anything different if another one were declared, they tend to be the ones that start off the shooting when it happens.

I don't know if I've made anything clearer for you or not, jumble of information and I've tried to leave politics and religion out of the whole thing setting it up as just 2 groups of people, and it's late so my brain is going a bit slow so I likely missed stuff.

When it's all over there's probably going to be enough war crimes to nitpick over on both sides.

I just hope there's also a lasting peace

[unkipt]

Hello! Just to start I love the world falling series and your writing :)

I was wondering if you have any historical inspiration for the world falling series? Like, time periods, places etc?

Keep being amazing and have a great day :)

hi! I'm so glad you like the series!

As for historical inspiration, oh boy do i. I'm a history major, so there is a Lot of things. I'm gonna do this by kingdom to make it easier if i can lol.

Ok, first, the End: The End is kind of a weird one because it's a blend of its older culture plus what Enderian, who is originally from the Overworld, brought with her and implemented when she took over. One of the main things is the use of rivers to separate the three old kingdoms, and the fact that the Shulk castle/the one the first fic takes place in is on water. A lot of borders historically were designated by water because it was the most consistent way to remember them since they didn't have modern tech, same with having cities on water because of transport, ease of farming, etc. Even though the End is an ice land, the rivers would still provide faster travel then through large drifts of snow. In the last chapter of WF the duke gives rae an elytra, though he doesn't tell him much about it other than the fact that it took craftsmen from all three kingdoms to make them, which was meant to be symbolic of a steady trade relationship between the three. that was slightly inspired by indigenous communities who would make art of some sort of pattern to represent allyships between various communities, and was also a fun way to tie in the elytra to the story (it will become relevant again in this fic, eventually)

The Nether: The Nether is fairly simple, in that it's meant to be a really warm climate, with lots of autumn ish coloured trees, so not totally realistic, but I tried to describe a lot of their fashion to be both unique and have some influence from their neighbours. Largely, i looked at warm climated areas irl, like india, or south america, and took influence from that, with the silks and light fabrics in a wide variety of fabrics. this was definitely also inspired by how Athena portrayed the Nether in their lore, but i tried to expand it a bit. as for political, it's sort of inspired by like 1500's ish germany, where there were many princes but one high prince (holy roman empire actually, i think?) so before netherum and soul, the princes would have been in charge of smaller areas, but then netherum and soul united all the lands into the Nether, and as an act of good faith they were elected as the King and Queen (this is more fantasy than fact based), but, all the previous princes, are still princes, so they are largely in charge of their own lands still, but they refer to Soul now, netherum in the past, about certain things. it's sort of a state situation? i was mainly thinking HRE when i planned it.

The Overworld: Admittedly, the Overworld is pretty plain. It's basically Canada inspired, since that's where I'm from, so that's where my brain goes. It's the most north american of all the kingdoms, with 4 seasons, but the northern parts of the kingdom are snowy most parts of the year, though not quite to the extent of the End. It also used to be about 4 different kingdoms, with Morningstar kingdom being the largest, so when magic hit and everything started going weird, the four kingdoms kinda came together under Morningstar, which then got renamed when Enderian took Rae and erased the name Morningstar from most memories. also, the capital of morningstar is crete. greek myth is not canon to the wf series, but ill be damned if i can't make references to it lol

The Aether: I have not talked about the Aether a lot! BUT cliamte wise I imagine it like England, where it's kind of mild most of the time, if it snows its fairly minimal, and it rains a fair amount. we're ignoring the scorching summers tho. I did also take inspiration from like Ancient Greece and Rome, just due to the Aether sort of having the rep in canon/in the fic of having the library or being scholarly. I also imagine a lot of their aspects of culture, like the wine, the art, etc. maybe not the nudity

The East Isles!: This was purely me wanting Ocie to be a queen. Again I kind of took inspo from like irish/scottish history, with britain especially. except in this case britain is the overworld, and not the aether, even though i just compared the aether to britain lol. other than that it doesn't really have any historical inspo

And thats it! the End and Nether are definitely the most historically inspired, but every once in a while i learn something new in one of my classes and i just kinda shove it in because its neat. there may very well be more, but this is what i can remember right now

thanks for the ask!

[astrojulia]

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Advanced intuition: Cancerians possess a naturally developed intuition, often bordering on mind-reading abilities. They have a knack for picking up on unspoken cues and can be highly perceptive. Their cardinal nature makes them naturally suspicious of others if they sense any hint of deception or betrayal.

High expectations in relationships: When it comes to romantic partnerships, Cancerians have high standards and specific desires. They may have a long list of qualities and expectations for their ideal partner, making it challenging for someone to win their heart.

Compassionate and charitable: They are renowned for their big hearts and their inclination towards acts of kindness and charity. While they may be cautious about giving their heart to just anyone, they readily offer love and support to those in need.

Artistic souls: They possess expressive souls and often find their creative outlet in various art forms. They may excel in painting, architecture, sewing, storytelling, or any other artistic pursuit. Their imaginative nature can be particularly evident in activities like being a Dungeon Master in a role-playing game.

Emotional vulnerability: They tend to pay a high emotional price for situations that may not be worth the pain. They are sensitive individuals and can find themselves deeply hurt and betrayed, often hitting rock bottom when faced with emotional turmoil.

Generosity from the heart: They have a generous nature and are willing to give gifts with sincerity. When they are empathetic and know the recipient well, they choose gifts that align with the person's desires. Even when they don't know someone intimately, they give something they hold dear, reflecting their own affections.

Keepers of secrets: They tend to hide their emotions as a defense mechanism. They may not readily share their traumas or difficult life experiences, preferring to keep those matters private until they feel ready to address them.

Appreciation for leisure: They have a strong affinity for lazy, relaxed moments. They value their leisure time and cherish days when they can unwind and do nothing. Once they enter this state of relaxation, they are reluctant to leave it for anything.

Complex emotional landscape: They may not easily delve into their feelings, which can cause them to either explode emotionally or withdraw rapidly from a topic. This tendency to avoid emotional intensity is especially pronounced if the subject matter aligns with their vulnerabilities.

Lunar influence: They are strongly influenced by the phases of the Moon. Diana, the Moon goddess, reigns over their lives. During the waning and new moon phases, their loving nature may not be as prominent as it is during other times.

Affectionate beings: They thrive on physical touch and affection. They enjoy cuddling, hugs, and intimate gestures. They may even have a knack for inventing endearing displays of affection, such as the Eskimo kiss.

Nostalgia enthusiasts: They embrace the bittersweet feeling of "saudade," a combination of longing and nostalgia. They find comfort in reminiscing about the past, holding onto memories that evoke a sense of warmth and happiness.

Strong bonds with family and friends: Ruling over the fourth house, Cancer highly value the presence and support of their family. They consider their close friends as honorary family members. In relationships, they seek harmony between their partner and their family, longing for a sense of acceptance and inclusion.

Seek emotional connection: For Cancerians, intimacy goes beyond physical desire. They need a deep emotional connection and a sense of comfort and security with their partner before they feel ready for sexual intimacy. They require time to establish trust and establish a strong emotional bond.

Craving comfort: They have a deep need for a cozy and comfortable home environment. They desire a space that is both practical and inviting, where they can welcome their family members and create a sense of warmth and sanctuary.

Love for meaningful conversations: They enjoy engaging in meaningful discussions with others, particularly in the company of friends. Once they start a conversation, they are eager to delve deeper into the subject matter and can either enjoy lighthearted banter or engage in more profound debates.

Honest and straightforward: They value honesty and transparency in their actions and opinions. They strive to make their intentions clear and fulfill their commitments. They also have a strong sense of reciprocity and remember when they owe someone a favor or kindness.

Multifaceted individuals: Just like the phases of the moon, Cancerians can exhibit various personas and characteristics. They may have expansive phases akin to the full moon, nurturing phases like the crescent moon, or even melancholic traits. Around their Saturn's return (between the ages of 28 and 30), they can undergo significant personal transformations, similar to the changing phases of the moon.

Possibility of enemies: Over time, Cancerians may encounter and even create enemies. Those with strong egos and a desire for expansion may clash with Cancerians, as they don't find such qualities in themselves. When in contact with enemies, Cancerians may experience negative emotions and low vibrations.

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