#when these two work together it’s terrifying for anyone who opposes them

[nataliasquote]

Can’t You See This Is Breaking Me? | n romanoff

Summary: Natasha isn’t quite ready to give her entire life for the woman she loves

Warnings: injuries, blood, stitches, no happy ending

wc: 5.2k

note: this idea was given to me by @katyaromanoffpetrova (love you 🤍) and she’s fuelling my love hate relationship with angst. Also, this was so hard to condense, so I’m sorry if it’s lacking detail. I tried to cram three years of a relationship into 5k words :)

-⧗-

It was no secret to anyone how little regard Natasha had for her own life. Even since her very first Shield mission, she’d been a force to be reckoned with, partly down to her pure destructive nature. She didn’t care if taking down Hydra agents meant coming away with a bullet wound or two. Or if destroying an enemy testing laboratory meant four broken ribs and a cracked collar bone. As long as the job was done, that was all she cared about.

Nick Fury was getting tired of how many lectures he had given a young, 25 year old Natasha in his office when he’d read her completed mission report. He knew why she had such a blatant disregard for her life but it didn’t make it any easier seeing one of his best agents beaten and bruised each week. The redhead barely flinched when her wounds were inspected, but to be honest she didn’t really react to anything.

She was more of a ghost really, a pale figure soundlessly walking the halls at night. If her injuries didn’t let keep her awake at night, then the nightmares gladly took their turn, drenching her entire body in a cold sweat and leaving her shivering in her tangled sheets. But if the dark circles under her eyes looked worse, her friend and mentor Clint didn’t utter a word.

The structure and routine that manifested week by week kept her grounded and focused. Wake up, train, eat, surveillance, sleep. Missions were a welcome break from the otherwise monotonous rhythm Natasha had found herself in. She much preferred working solo as opposed to in a team, but Shield was all about team work so she had to suck it up.

A lot of the time she found herself alongside Clint Barton who weirdly offered her a feeling of comfort. She liked how he never pried too much into how she was feeling, or her past, but kept a look out for her whenever they were together. Her icy demeanour slowly melted away thanks to his warmth that he never failed to show her.

He showed her how to let people in, how to not keep her heart so tightly guarded in fear of actually feeling something about someone. And as much as she would hate to admit it, he was right. It did feel better knowing people cared about her. But it also terrified her at the same time. Vulnerability wasn’t her strong suit.

Yet somehow she had managed to let her tough exterior be pushed aside just long enough for a certain someone to wiggle her way in and take up permanent residence inside the redhead’s mind.

Y/n Y/l/n wasn’t really anyone compared to Natasha. Sure, she was a shield agent, and a high ranking one at that, but that was nothing compared to an Avenger. She’d spend years in their shadow, always looking up to Natasha Romanoff. I mean, who wouldn’t? She’s pretty badass.

But the young agent thought her relationship with said Avenger would end at idolisation and daydreaming. She never expected to suddenly be living amongst them in the compound. But when an empty training room was suddenly disrupted at three in the morning, it was a sign things were to change forever.

Y/n relished the silence that the training room at night brought. Most of her colleagues preferred to train in a group at 7am, but insomnia often brought her into the gym a lot earlier. She loved it though; a way to clear her head and exhaust her body whilst maintaining peak physical fitness required in case of a last second mission.

Lost in a world of music playing through her headphones, Y/n failed to notice the door slowly open, caught up in her boxing routine on the punch bag. She should have been more aware of her surroundings, like she’d been trained, so that she didn’t nearly jump out of her skin as a voice cut through her music.

“You’re gonna get a sore back if you keep using the wrong form.”

Without having ever met in person, Y/n would recognise that voice anywhere. She whipped around and quickly pulled her headphones off around her neck, cheeks flushing as she took in the woman in front of her.

A black sports bra and navy sweatpants was all that adorned Natasha’s toned body. She stood there with a hand on her hip, the other holding a small towel, a water bottle and her own pair of headphones. Y/n desperately tore her eyes away from the widow’s toned abs, feeling her own insecurities creep upwards. She itched for her sweatshirt that lay discarded on the bench just out of reach. That was the last time she ever trained in a sports bra.

“You keep twisting your back as you punch. You need to move from your hips.” Y/n just looked at her with surprise, not fully processing that they were having a conversation at all. “Do you want me to show you?”

“Yeah, sure.” That snapped her out of her trance. Y/n took a step back and allowed Nat to place her things down before she packed a swift punch to the bag, sending it swinging slightly on its stand. Y/n couldn’t lie, she looked really good, arm muscles tensed as she threw a few more punches. Her form was impeccable, but of course it was.

“When you swing round you have to rotate your hips for momentum. Just turning from your back will cause injury.” Y/n nodded, mirroring her stance on the punching bag beside Natasha. “Unless you’re doing lots of smaller ones, then you need to keep your hips still. That just comes from your shoulders.”

Nat threw a few more punches before Y/n copied, missing the small smile that broke out on the Russian’s lips as she observed. Fast learner, she noted, nodding in approval as Y/n turned back to her.

“Very good.” She bent down to grab her things, back muscles on full show to Y/n who just could not stop staring. You’d think she was used to the sight of toned bodies after working out everyday, but there was something different about Natasha and she couldn’t quite work it out.

“Thank you. I’m Y/n, by the way. I work in-“

“I know who you are,” Natasha said casually, looking the woman up and down. “You work with Hill. She talks about you.”

Y/n’s eyes went wide. “She does?”

Nat smirked. “Yeah, why? Does she not talk about me?”

“No, she does- we do-“ what happened to calm and collected shield agent she once was? Reduced to a stuttering mess of words in front of a pretty redhead. God, Y/n cursed herself for not being able to talk to women.

“I’m joking, don’t worry.” Natasha gave her a soft smile before walking off to the weights section, her headphones shutting out the world so she could focus.

Y/n however, could not focus on anything except that brief interaction. It was probably so small in Natasha’s life, yet it would consume Y/n for at least a week, if not more. Maria was going to have a field day with this.

Except it wasn’t small in Natasha’s life. The flustered agent had left quite a mark and Natasha found herself creeping down to the gym at 3am most mornings, hoping to see the woman she’d grown to love so much. And, more often than not, Y/n was there, punching away at the bag and pausing when Nat came in.

Over a course of many weeks, both had changed their training plans to match each other. It felt nice working out with another, Natasha had to admit, and Y/n was so easy to talk to she set the redhead right at ease. They talked and laughed and Y/n noticed how the usually uptight Russian had come out of her shell a lot more since that very first night.

However, one night didn’t go so smoothly. Y/n was in the training room first, of course. She sat on the bench and adjusted her socks, keeping herself busy until Natasha arrived. The past couple of nights had been just her as the redhead had been on a mission, but Maria informed her that she would return tonight, so Y/n anxiously awaited her return. She was more worried about Natasha than she let on, but they had no relationship outside of those four walls so she bounced her knee, willing her new friend to walk through the doors.

And she did. Except this wasn’t the confident Natasha she usually knew. No, this Natasha was walking stiffly, almost as if she was in pain.

“Nat?” Y/n asked, standing hesitantly at the sight of her. Small cuts and bruises littered her face and what skin was exposed under the neck of her tactical suit. Agents always had to report to medical following their return from a mission, but by the looks of Natasha, she hadn’t done that. “Why- what are you doing here?”

“Can’t miss training with my favourite girl, now can I?” She tried to sound upbeat but it fell flat, her pain evident even in her voice.

Y/n pushed aside the butterflies that erupted in her chest at those words and sprung up to help her, guiding Natasha to the nearest bench and forcing her to sit. She took note of how Natasha’s hand tightly clutched her side and she feared the worst.

She thought for a second, feeling Natasha’s eyes all over her face. “May I…?” She gestured to the zip on Natasha’s suit and the redhead nodded, stiffly manoeuvring her arms out of her sleeves as Y/n tugged it down to her waist. The agent had switched to processional mode and ignored how close Natasha’s bra clad chest was to her face as she inspected her side.

“What happened?” She asked, crouching down with a hand gently resting on the redhead’s knee as she gently felt the skin around the wound.

“Some stupid agent snuck up on me and threw his knife. Shit aim though.” Of course she tried to make a joke, but Y/n wasn’t laughing as she looked into her eyes. The redhead almost wanted to roll her eyes, and she would have done if anyone else looked at her with pity like that, but Y/n was different. Safer.

“Why didn’t you go to medical?”

Nat looked down, averting her eyes. “I didn’t want to. I hate it there.”

Y/n knew not to push. She didn’t know much about Natasha’s past but knew enough to know that it must have been horrific to endure. She sat back on her heels and bit her lip in thought.

“Will you let me sort it? I keep a suture kit and supplies in my bathroom.” She caught Natasha’s eye and gently squeezed her knee, trying to establish enough trust between them to let her accept the help. But Natasha was stubborn, so there was truly no way of knowing which way she’d swing.

“Ok.” That was not the expected answer but Y/n was happy to hear it. She knew not to help Natasha up, the redhead probably would have punched her, so she collected her things and led them both back to her apartment, walking a bit slower than normal to help Natasha keep up.

Her room was nothing special and probably looked identical to Natasha’s as they both had Shield issued rooms. Although Natasha’s would be fancier thanks to Tony Stark and his upgrades.

There were no personal items on any of the surfaces, not even in the bedroom. Natasha looked around with a frown, not liking how bare everything seemed. Not homely, that’s for sure. Even the bedside cabinets were empty, not even a picture frame for decoration.

“Take a seat anywhere, I’ll be right out.” Natasha chose the couch by the small coffee table and sank down onto it. The couch wasn’t anything special and neither was the table, ring marks displaying its age and use on the surface. The overhead light was dim but brightened up as Y/n stepped back into the room, a medical kit tucked under her arm.

She worked in silence, only broken by a hiss of pain from Natasha as the alcohol stung her wound. Y/n muttered an apology under her breath but kept working, fingers brushing gently over the soft skin as she made light work of stitching it closed. They weren’t the neatest but they’d do the job just fine.

“Thank you for this,” Natasha spoke into the silence, her eyes fixed on her fingers that rested on her lap. “You didn’t have to.”

“Maybe not, but I wanted to. I don’t like seeing you hurt.”

Natasha stayed silent for a moment, trying to organise her thoughts. She had people who cared about her, the Avengers, but not quite like Y/n had. She didn’t care who Natasha was, or how well she could take down enemies. She just enjoyed her presence and cared for her as a human being, something she rarely felt like she was.

“Can I make this up to you?” She tentatively asked, the strong Black Widow now a weird mess of nerves. What even was this?

“No, you don’t have to-“

“Come out with me on Saturday, into the city. Can I buy you lunch?”

Y/n stifled her smile and hid her face whilst packing up her equipment. She knew Natasha was asking her out on a date, albeit in a very roundabout way. It warmed her heart though, seeing her so soft. It was a side very few people ever got to see.

“Ok, sure. I’d really like that.”

Natasha smiled. “Now I know where you sleep, I’ll come pick you up.”

Y/n scrunched her nose at the odd phrasing. “You had to make it weird.”

“You know me,” she replied with a wink.

~~~

That date was a catalyst for many more to follow, and many midnight training sessions too. It took six more months of flirting and secret meet ups before Natasha pulled her heart out and wore it on her sleeve, asking Y/n to be her girlfriend.

The agent wasn’t stupid, of course she said yes. And at first their relationship was purely in the honeymoon stages; sneaking kisses in the hallway, comforting touches underneath the table, more midnight training and also moving in together. Natasha’s apartment was bigger than Y/n could ever have imagined and she adored the bed, starfishing face down on the mattress the first time she saw it.

But that was two years ago. Sure, they were still very much in love but something had shifted between them, creating a rift that Y/n had started to notice more and more. She knew what was causing it too.

Natasha was going on missions every other week, for days at a time. And she’d fallen back into her old habits, putting the job and the result over the safety of herself. More times than not did she come battered and bruised, open wounds bleeding as she walked into the bedroom. Y/n begged her to stop, to stay home more, to reduce the amount she went on even just to one a month, but her desperate attempts were met with a slammed door and a wall in Natasha’s mind. But she still persisted, trying again the next time Natasha came home. But it was useless.

Y/n always waited up for her though, the nerves of what state Natasha would be in when she returned making sleep pretty much impossible. Whatever she imagined, somehow it was always worse. She used to quiz Natasha as she led her into the bathroom and patched her up, placing kisses on each bruise that she found.

But now they barely said a word, Y/n almost running on autopilot as she cleaned cuts on Natasha’s back for what felt like the millionth time. It was draining her, anyone could see that, and being on edge all the time had made Maria notice.

“Take a week off to clear your head,” her supervisor had ordered, not taking any protests into consideration. “I don’t want to see you in this office before next Thursday, Y/l/n.”

A week off would have been great for anyone else but her. Natasha was away, again, which left Y/n with no ways to fully distract herself like she usually did to cope. She spent the first day in bed, holding onto Natasha’s pillow as her tears soaked the pillowcase. She hated how out of control she felt when Natasha was gone. It was her job, yet Y/n often wished Nat would retire, or at least pull back from constantly being in the field. But that’s what her girlfriend loved, so she had no choice but to respect it.

But on the third day of very little sleep and increasing stress levels, Y/n hit breaking point. She stared at her ghostly reflection as she splashed her face with some water, trying desperately to snap herself out of the lie she was feeling. But under the glaring lights all she could focus on were the heavy bags under her eyes and her discoloured skin, pink blotches littering her cheeks and forehead. She’d been picking at her skin to cope, but it did nothing but make her look worse.

She remained a zombie all day, curling back under the covers at 7pm to shut out the world. There was no telling when Natasha would return but part of her didn’t want it to be yet. She didn’t want to see the state she was in, the mess that she’d have to clean up. She loved Natasha, she really did, but with no contact allowed on her missions and no updates from the team, Y/n was starting to question if their relationship was even working.

She flicked off the light and turned to face the wall, images flashing in front of her as she worried herself stupid about her girlfriend. What if she wasn’t coming home? What if she’d been kidnapped? What if-

The apartment door opened.

Y/n held her breath, pulling the covers tightly under her chin as she waited. She knew the sound of Natasha’s footsteps based on her different moods, but the assassin stepped so lightly it was hard to tell. She felt footsteps getting closer and closer and she squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to face the horrors to come. She wanted one more blissful moment, but her heart was racing in her chest and her throat was getting tight.

The bedroom door opened.

Light from the living room flooded in through the small gap as Natasha stepped through, brows furrowed at the darkness. It wasn’t that late, but maybe she’d missed something. Wasn’t like she was around much.

“Y/n?” She whispered, not wanting to turn the light on. But she didn’t need to worry about that when suddenly the room was bathed in light. Her girlfriend was sat up in bed, eyes blotchy as she stared at her with a hand on the light switch. “What happened?”

“What hurts?” Y/n asked, sliding off her side of the bed and padding over to the bathroom. “Stitches? Probably bruising too.” She was talking to herself more than Natasha, hands working to gather her supplies. But she was stopped when a pair of rough hands gathered hers inside them, tugging her away from the sink. “What are you doing?”

“I’m ok,” Natasha said, removing one of her hands to gently cup Y/n’s chin, tilting her eyes to meet her own. “Just a couple of bruised ribs, but that’s nothing.”

“At least let me look at them.” Natasha knew she wasn’t going to take no for an answer so she unzipped her suit and pulled it to her waist, revealing the nasty colourful sight. It was swollen and tender and Y/n cursed under her breath. She grabbed the tiger balm and gently applied it, trying to steady her shaking fingers as they touched Natasha’s skin.

“How have you been? How’s work?”

“Its fine, thanks.” Y/n wasn’t going to admit that Maria made her take a week off. She avoided Natasha’s gaze as she worked, even though there wasn’t much she could do for bruised ribs. “I’ll get you an ice pack when you’re dressed.” That was Natasha’s dismissal cue and she took it, but not without lingering in the doorway to watch Y/n for a moment.

By the time Natasha was dressed in an oversized t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, Y/n had wrapped the ice pack in a towel and handed it to her. There was an uneasy tension between them and Natasha could see something was on Y/n’s mind, just waiting to be said.

“Y/n-“

“This is your last one, right?” She couldn’t help herself but blurt out. Somehow she found the confidence with her back to Nat, sitting on her side of the bed. “Please tell me it’s your last one.”

“Of what?”

“Your missions, Natasha.” She bent one knee and tucked it beside her as she turned her body to face Natasha who was still standing in the middle of the room, ice pack pressed to her ribs. “How many times are you going to keep doing this? Coming home in a state! I never know if one day you’re just not going to come home at all.”

Natasha bit her bottom lip. She knew this was going to happen, it always did. And shutting Y/n down didn’t exactly get easier with practice. “Don’t do this again Y/n, please. You know what my answer is.”

“No, Natasha. I’m not gonna accept that anymore. I’m not asking you to quit all together. I just mean reduce the number you go on, take up desk work or surveillance, just something, anything, to get you out of the firing line.” Y/n ran her hands over her face, trying to keep herself together. But the more she spoke, the stronger her emotions got. “I can’t live like this anymore!”

Natasha had placed her ice pack on the bed, not feeling the need to hold it up right now. She couldn’t move, even though she wanted to run to Y/n. “I know you don’t like it-“

“I hate it.”

“Ok fine, you hate it,” she held her hands up in defense. “But that doesn’t mean I suddenly have to stop.”

Y/n stood up from her position, not wanting an ache in her back from turning so much. She and Natasha were now at eye level although the redhead’s stoic face was a lot more composed than her own.

“You’re not listening to anything I say. I never said you had to stop. Ever. Because that would be hypocritical coming from me.” Natasha pulled a ‘sounds about right’ face which Y/n just ignored. “I’m just asking you to reduce the amount you go on. Once a month, maybe? You can still be in the action, still do everything you love, but that way you’re safer and you’re here more. I hardly see you.”

Natasha shook her head. “Our line of work isn’t safe Y/n, even you know that surely.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She was getting defensive, having reached her limit of Natasha trying to shut her down.

Natasha was too stubborn to give up, even when she knew she fucked up. She just couldn’t let it go. “You rarely leave this place! Always stuck in the same office, the same four walls going insane every day! I don’t know how you do it! I’d rather quit than do that.”

“I do that because I can still contribute to the missions without the risk of getting blown to hell,” Y/n spat, taking full offense to Natasha talking down about her job. Sure, she didn’t go into the field as much as the other agents but she preferred to be in the chair, handling everything from above. “And you know damn well those missions you love don’t work without someone like me.”

“And that’s great, for someone like you. But I can’t do that, you have to understand me. I can’t be behind the fight, I have to be in it.”

“No one else goes on as many as you do, Natasha. Don’t you think that just once, someone else can take a mission-“

“I don’t care Y/n!” Natasha may be a passionate person but she never raised her voice. So her elevated tone made Y/n’s jaw clench, her innate response whenever someone shouted at her. “You don’t get to dictate my life! That wasn’t our agreement-“

“Agreement? What, so this is, are we some kind of, I don’t know, contract that you’re obliged to?”

Natasha scoffed, her eyes rolling back at the pure ridiculousness of her statement. This whole argument was pointless really but she entertained it, too stubborn to give in or let Y/n win. “Oh come on, you know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I’m just sick of lying here in fear every week wondering if you’re actually going to come home or not! I can’t keep doing this Nat.” Y/n was having a hard time keeping Natasha in her vision as tears blurred in her eyes. But she wouldn’t let them spill. Crying meant Natasha won and she was done with backing down.

“We can’t keep having this conversation, Y/n,” Natasha grunted, running her fingers through her hair and tugging out the messy braid. “You know I can’t stop. This is my life, it’s what I was made to do. I can’t live without this job!”

“And I can’t live without you!” Her voice cracked and a tear slipped down but she fought the urge to wipe it, praying Natasha didn’t see. But she did see. Of course she did. The Russian noticed everything.

Natasha went silent. That was the last thing she wanted to hear. In this line of work, relying so heavily on someone wasn’t a good idea. She knew that, it had been drilled into her since she was a child. But Y/n didn’t, and that’s where she slipped up.

“Don’t say that.” Heavy emotions and Natasha Romanoff didn’t really mix well. “You have to, one way or another. You can’t just rely on me Y/n.”

“Nat, I am in love with you but lately it feels like all you care about is your job. When is it going to feel like you actually want to be here? With me?”

“I do Y/n, I do-“

Y/n dropped her head. “I know there���s a but coming.”

Natasha looked at the defeated form of her girlfriend and winced. She never thought she’d ever be in the position where she had to choose between family and her job. But she knew what her choice would be, what it always had been. Long before she even had a family.

“This job means everything to me. I didn’t choose this life, like you did, I was forced into it. It’s part of who I am, and I can’t just stop doing that to be with you.” The second those words fell from her lips Natasha knew that was the wrong thing to say.

Y/n adjusted the collar of her shirt and started to pace. If she was sitting down her leg would have been bouncing all over the place.

“What, that’s it? You’re just gonna call this whole thing off because you can’t take a break from your job?”

“What ‘whole thing’?”

“Us, Natasha! Us!” Y/n stopped in her tracks, gesturing between them both. They were on opposite sides of the room, a clear divide in space and opinion. “Unless there isn’t an ‘us’ anymore. Maybe I’m just the girl who keeps your bed warm and stitches you up in the middle of the night, no questions asked. Occasionally gives you head if you are really in the mood-“

“Stop it Y/n.”

“Stop what? It’s the truth, isn’t it? That’s all I am to you.”

“‘No, you’re so much more.” Natasha’s fingers were fidgeting with each other and they’d stumbled across a small cut on her palm that they were now playing with, the pain trying to keep her grounded. “But you have to understand that I can’t just take a step back. I love this job more than anything because I actually get to do something good with my skills that have been used for the opposite my whole life. I just need you to understand that, please!”

“You’re not gonna stop, are you?” Natasha just stared at her, chewing on her bottom lip. “No matter what, you will keep coming back here in a mess and I will keep fixing you up and we will keep having this conversation. Is there an end to this?”

“I won’t come here then.” Natasha stated simply, eyes darting momentarily to the bathroom door. “I’ll go to medical, where I should be.”

“You hate it there.”

“You hate me here.”

Y/n sighed, her breath shaky. This was the longest they’d ever fought for, and fighting Natasha was mentally exhausting. She had an answer to everything.

“I don’t hate you here, I just wish you’d fucking listen to me for one goddamn second!” Natasha nodded, almost challenging her to speak.

“I am.”

“I didn’t want to say this, but you haven’t exactly given me much of a choice. It’s me or the job, Nat. You choose. And you know what? If you choose me, you still keep half your job! But if you choose the job, you don’t get to keep half of me.” The last part sounded stupid but Natasha knew what she meant. She only had half of Y/n right now. The half that slept in her bed and fixed her wounds. If she chose her, she’d get the other half she fell in love with back.

But she couldn’t, could she? Natasha looked down, not wanting to watch Y/n’s face respond. “I’m sorry…”

“Get out.” It was barely a whisper but Natasha heard it. “Get. Out.” Y/n didn’t want Natasha to see her cry but when their eyes met again, Y/n’s were flooded with tears. She didn’t care, how could she when the green ones staring back at her were so cold. Natasha didn’t say a word, only grabbing her sweatshirt and slipping out of the room. The faint jangle of her keys sounded as the door slammed shut and only then did Y/n allow her walls to come crumbling down.

She collapsed onto the bed, only this time hugging her own pillow close as she choked out her sobs. They echoed around the room and her gag reflex kicked in from how hard she was crying. But all she could see was Natasha’s emotionless face staring back at her, not a hint of remorse visible in her eyes.

Reaching to flick off the light, Y/n caught sight of something that made her cry harder. Her bedside table hadn’t been empty for two and a half years. A single picture frame now sat there. And it was in that moment that Y/n wished it had just stayed empty.

[egcdeath]

cupid’s arrow

pairing: joel miller x reader

summary: you and joel have your first valentine’s day together. (part of the soccer parents alternate universe)

warnings: alternate universe: no apocalypse, established relationship, domesticity, so much fluff. be prepared to call your dentist.

word count: 7.5k

author’s note: happy extremely late valentine’s day!!! i tried to incorporate a little bit of all the requests i got for this fic, so special thank you to everyone who helped make this fic happen!!

technically the timelines don’t really line up from this fic and the l word (many i love you’s are uttered) but you know what. it’s valentine’s day. valentine’s day magic ✨

“So, what’s your Valentine’s Day plan this year?” Sarah asked on her otherwise quiet commute to school.

Joel drew his attention away from the road to glance at his daughter and smiled to himself, just the slightest bit. He always found it oddly endearing to see just how invested his and your daughter were into your relationship. At this point, it was no secret that Sarah and Chloe had worked hard to set you and him up a multitude of times, and Joel certainly wasn’t mad about it. If anything, he was grateful for your kids being nosy and sharp enough to know when to make a move when you and himself clearly could not.

“Well I want our first one to be a good one, so I booked a reservation at this really nice restaurant. Pretty expensive, pretty hard to get into, but she deserves the best,” Joel said with a deceptively nonchalant tone.

Joel couldn’t even lie—he was proud of himself. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had spent Valentine’s day with anyone other than his daughter, and he’d booked the reservation the moment that it was available. The restaurant really was notorious for being hard to get into on a non-holiday, let alone Valentine’s Day, so he was sure you would appreciate the subtle-yet-grand gesture.

“Dad,” Sarah began, her tone slightly apprehensive as if she were preparing to break bad news to him. “I know this is your first Valentine’s Day in forever, but a restaurant is just… it isn’t enough anymore.”

“What?” Joel asked, slightly taken aback. Given that he hadn’t had a serious relationship in some time, and was more than slightly insecure about his ability to be as good of a partner as you expected, hearing his daughter explain that a fancy dinner wasn’t enough in the modern dating scene was jarring at the least, and terrifying at the most.

“Don’t worry. You’re lucky that your daughter is full of ideas. We’re gonna give your woman a perfect Valentine’s day.”

-

At your daughter’s request, you were painting Chloe’s nails to match the upcoming holiday to the absolute best of your ability. You tried your best, but your hand-eye coordination wasn’t amazing, so the best of your ability ended up being a set of pink nails with one red finger–but your daughter was enjoying the process regardless.

“So mom,” Chloe began, fanning one hand as she attempted to speed up the process of drying her nails. “What’re you getting Joel for Valentine’s day?”

“I was thinking of taking him on a date to his favorite cafe. Something a little more relaxed,” you lightly dabbed some acetone where you’d gotten some polish on her skin.

“That’s sweet but… are you sure Joel wants that? I mean, you two always go there. It’s not particularly romantic.”

It wasn’t exactly shocking that you weren’t great with big romantic gestures. Nathan had been morally opposed to them, or too lazy for them, or something that ensured no one ever did anything romantic for you, and in return, you very rarely did anything romantic for him. Given that the last time you spent a Valentine’s Day (or anniversary… really any day that called for romance) with someone was with him, you weren’t even really sure where to start.

“Oh,” you thought aloud, trying to process the idea that small gestures wouldn’t really do justice to portray just how much you loved and appreciated your partner. “I guess you’re right.”

“Let me help you,” she insisted, excitedly grabbing onto your arm as her eyes lit up.

Well, it wasn’t like Chloe wasn’t good at these things. If it wasn’t for her and Sarah’s intervention, you and Joel never would’ve been together in the first place. It certainly wouldn’t kill you to let her help you out in this field.

“Okay, fine,” you agreed, playing up your reluctance.

“Yay!” she cheered. “This is gonna be so fun.”

You certainly hoped it would be.

-

On the morning of Valentine’s day, you were somewhat surprised when your alarm went off and you found Joel’s side of the bed to be both empty and cold.

Considering that your plan was to wake up early to leave a gift in the kitchen before Joel had the chance to get there, your Valentine’s Day plans weren’t off to the best start. You immediately rolled out of bed and suppressed the groan you wanted to let out at the sweet smell wafting up from the kitchen—both from anticipation of something delicious waiting for you, and the knowledge that your plan had been foiled.

After doing some rummaging through his closet, you managed to find the box of the coffee machine that you’d hidden, and hesitantly began your trek downstairs, knowing that your big reveal would be slightly less ideal. When you arrived in the kitchen, Joel was standing at the stove and diligently working on something. He glanced back at you, and a smile instantly formed on his lips at the sight of you—bed hair, old pajamas, and all.

“Good morning, gorgeous,” he greeted, setting his spatula down and coming over to give you a tight embrace. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” you said right back, relaxing into his hug despite the large box in your hands slightly obstructing it. “What’re you doing?”

“It’s a surprise,” Joel stated plainly, stepping back to look at what you were holding. “What’s this?”

“Your gift. I know you love coffee more than you love any person who’s in this house right now, so it’s time for you to get rid of your archaic machine. This is a Nespresso. Very modern and very good, or so I’ve heard,” you extended your hands to offer the box, which he gladly accepted

Joel examined it, the smile on his face not even faltering for a moment. With all this smiling, you were sure his cheeks would hurt by the end of the day. “Thank you so much. I can’t wait to use this,” he set down the box on the counter then gave you a peck. “Now, go back upstairs so I can finish working on your surprise.”

“Mm, sounds good,” you hummed, still fighting sleepiness as you retreated back up the stairs.

Well, your gift reveal may not have gone exactly the way you wanted it to, but you were pleased to see that Joel was still happy with what you gave him. Chloe would be proud.

“What is this?” Sarah asked, looking down at her plate of oddly shaped pink pancakes.

It was clear that this was what Joel had gotten up early to work on—Valentine’s Day themed pancakes. Although there was clearly an attempt at making what you could only assume were hearts, the pancakes came out as blobs more than anything else.

“…Hearts?” Joel suggested, sounding very unsure of his answer as he sipped his cup of coffee (made by his brand new machine).

“Dad…” Sarah trailed off, pushing around parts of her pancake.

“Are you gonna eat them or not?” Joel retorted, obviously a little less than enthusiastic about the reaction to the pancakes he’d gotten up early to work on, and worked quite hard on.

“I’m not gonna say no to breakfast.”

“I tried my best. It’s harder than it looks, okay?”

“They’re cute,” you interrupted. “It’s the thought that counts. I love them,” you hummed. The least you could do was support Joel in his romantic endeavors. Sure, the pancakes didn’t look amazing, but it really was a sweet gesture. And maybe they didn’t look the best, but they certainly tasted good.

Sarah didn’t exactly look like she believed you, and she glanced skeptically at Chloe, who was quietly giggling at the oddly shaped amoebas on her plate.

“I’m not an artist,” Joel explained, almost apologetically as your kids picked at their pancakes.

“We can tell,” Chloe murmured, earning herself a glare from you and a giggle from her friend.

“I never asked you to be one,” you assured. “It’s abstract. And it’s good enough for me.”

Joel quickly pecked your lips, eliciting a collective ‘ew!’ from the table.

“Alright, that’s enough from you two. Finish up quickly so we can get you to school on time,” you instructed.

The girls reluctantly agreed and finished up their abstract plates without much more protest or teasing before grabbing their last few items and heading off to the car.

“Did you actually like it? You can be honest with me,” Joel asked as you finished off your mug of coffee.

“I was being honest! I really did love it. It’s sweet that you put so much effort into doing something nice for me. Waking up all early, being in the kitchen all morning… I bet doing pancake art is pretty difficult.”

“It is, and you’d never guess that it is. The batter kinda just runs all over the place,” he explained, grabbing your empty dish and dropping it off at the sink. You got out of your seat and followed him over to where he stood, attempting to assure him that you really did enjoy the thoughtfulness of his gesture.

“Well, I love that you tried so hard to make something nice for me to wake up to,” you took a step closer to Joel, giving him a brief little peck to show your appreciation. “And I love you.” you leaned in for one slightly longer kiss and Joel’s hands softly cupped your cheeks as the kiss deepened.  

Joel finally pulled away, dropping his hands down from your cheeks to your hands so he could hold them. “As much as I’d like to kiss you all morning, we do have two kids waiting to be taken to school sitting in my backseat right now.”

“Unfortunately, you’re right,” you sighed. “Can we pick up where we left off when we get back?”

“Of course,” he agreed, beginning to lead you out the door.

-

Although your morning plans may have fallen through, your plan to pick up on your make-out session certainly did not, which was how you found yourselves waiting for the shower to warm up so you could hop in together and wash off the ever present scent of sweat and sex.

“It’s been too long since we last showered together,” you remarked, testing out the heat of the water with the palm of your hand before taking a step inside.

“It’s just that my shower is so small,” he explained, following you into the shower. “And we always end up thinking showering together is better than it actually is.”

“It is small, but I like being this close to you,” you countered, hugging him from behind. “We’re bonding. Don’t you like bonding with me?”

“I do, until one of us slips, and won’t stop talking about how they almost died for an entire day,” he set his hands on top of yours as you embraced him.

“That was once, Joel. One time!” you exclaimed, breaking away from your partner to reach for his shampoo.

“One time too many,” he responded.

Although ‘almost dying’ was a bit of an over-dramatization, it certainly wasn’t fun to fall in the shower. The day began as a slow Sunday morning at Joel’s place. Your daughter was at Nathan’s for the weekend, and Sarah had been at a sleepover with some friends. Given that the two of you had the house to yourselves, you certainly made the most of it before heading to the shower to clean yourselves up. Halfway through Joel assisting you in exfoliating your legs, you were met with the sound of a door opening and closing downstairs, making you practically leap out of your skin, and lose your balance, leading you to fall pretty hard. Joel helped you up and immediately began to take care of you, and granted you weren’t too badly injured, but you refused to let Joel forget the time you dramatically tripped in the shower because Sarah got home from her sleepover a little early.  

“I can’t believe you’re treating me like this on Valentine’s Day,” you sighed, pouring some shampoo and reaching into his hair to massage his scalp. “We should probably break up.”

“I agree,” Joel practically sighed, relaxed from the way your fingers were working in his hair. “I think it’s for the best.”

“Okay, I’ll let the girls know when we get out of the shower. The parents that they worked so hard to set up are never going to see or speak to each other ever again,” you said the words very seriously, but the way you were massaging Joel’s scalp told a completely different story.

“Sounds like a plan,” Joel purred, letting you work your magic as you played with his hair. “You’re too good at this. Why don’t I let you do my hair more often?”

“Psht, you're preaching to the choir here,” you reached forward to rinse off your hands. “For the record, this is one of your Valentine’s gifts. Savor it while you can. Especially before we finalize our breakup.”

“I’m savoring,” he insisted.

You two took your time in the shower, truly enjoying an endeavor you didn’t often do with each other. By the time you finally stepped out, the water had dropped several degrees, and you were both becoming human prunes.

Just moments after Joel wrapped his towel around his hips, he had disappeared back into his room, leaving you peeking past the bathroom door to see what he was up to. It certainly wasn’t unheard of for one of you to get ready without the other, but you preferred to have his presence with you in that humid little bathroom.

Joel came back just a few moments later, slightly more dressed, and now wielding a flat, red box.

“I got you something,” he announced as he joined you at the sink, bashfully looking down at the item in his hands.

“Oh?” you said curiously, glancing at the box as Joel slowly opened it, revealing a thin, silver necklace with what looked like a small diamond attached to it.  

“It’s a necklace,” he explained, beginning to lift the dainty accessory out of the box so that he could fully display it to you.

You were immediately taken aback by it, an involuntary, “It’s beautiful,” slipping from your lips.

“Can I put it on you?” Joel asked cautiously. You eagerly agreed, excited to have a little piece of Joel on you at all times. You turned around and lifted up the back of your hair so that he could gently wrap the necklace around your neck, and he fumbled a bit with the clasp until it was just right.

“I love it,” you expressed, observing it in the mirror and running a finger against the chain of the necklace as you fully took it in. “This is too nice.”

“Nothing is too nice for you, my love.”

“You are such a sap,” you laughed, leaning forward to get a good look at the accessory and fully admire its beauty.

“And you love that about me,” Joel punctuated his sentence with a kiss to your cheek, leading you to giggle like a schoolgirl.

“You’re right. I do. Thank you,” you said, still checking yourself out with your new piece of jewelry.

“Can I take you somewhere?” you asked, glancing over at your partner in the mirror as he reached for his toothbrush.

“Sure. Where?”

“It’s a surprise,” you said with a knowing smile.

“So, where are we going?” Joel asked as you drove, the sunglasses on your nose preventing him from getting a good read on you.

“What part of surprise do you not get?” you teased, glancing over at him with a smirk. “We’re almost there. Hold your horses.”

Eventually, you pulled up to a little strip of businesses, and grabbed Joel’s hand as you led him out of the car and through a door.

You two were instantly hit with the smell of fragranced oil and the sound of rain from a sound maker as you walked further into the dim location. It was clear to you that Joel was still more confused than anything else.

“Are you sure we’re in the right place?” Joel asked you in a whisper.

“Yes Joel, we are,” you laughed softly at his apprehension. To be fair, he didn’t have an idea of where he was or what you were making him do, but that didn’t make his nerves any less entertaining.

“And where exactly is that?” he followed up.

“We’re getting massages! C’mon,” you beckoned him to follow you up to a desk, where a bored-looking receptionist checked you in.

The two of you sat next to each other in the waiting room, waiting for your masseuses to prepare your room.

“What made you pick this?” Joel asked curiously.

“I dunno, you’re always telling me how sore you are after work. I thought maybe this would help your pain a little. It’s also very relaxing. You’re gonna love it and have a great time.”

There really weren’t too many problems you found that a nice massage at this salon couldn’t fix. When you found the time in your busy schedule to treat yourself to something nice and do a little self care, a deep tissue massage was always one of the first things you decided on doing. It was only a matter of time before you brought Joel along with you, and when you casually mentioned something about Joel to your masseuse, she did mention wanting to see him. Although, Chloe was the one to put the puzzle pieces together to you and suggest the couples’ massage.

“So you’ve done this before?” Joel questioned, still looking somewhere between a little cynical and a little trepidatious.

“Mhm,” you hummed, already imagining yourself getting every kink and bump in your back teased out.

“Walk me through it,” he suggested, seeming a little more comforted knowing that you had actually done this before.

“Well, we go in, they leave, and we strip down to our comfort level, then they just give us a nice deep tissue massage. It might feel a little uncomfortable at first, but it starts feeling pretty good pretty quickly.”

Joel’s expression circled back to slightly skeptical, his brow raised and eyes slightly squinted as he looked at you.

“Don’t make that face! You’re gonna love it. And I’m literally gonna be right next to you. When I called to book this, the receptionist said that the massage tables are so close together, we could hold hands the whole time if we wanted to.”

“Alright, fine. But if I hate it, I get to say that I told you so.”

“Okay, deal,” you agreed.

Your massage was going so well, you swore you were on a different planet. Sure, you didn’t have a very physically labor intensive job, but all the stress you'd accumulated over the last… however long always seemed to find itself stuck in your body. The massage was doing exactly what it needed to in terms of getting it out.

Joel groaned your name, his voice slightly distorted by his face being buried in the head pillow. “I take back everything I said.”

“I know,” you responded, far too gone to even really process what he was saying.

Walking out of that studio, you felt like a brand new person. Maybe that person was a little oily, but you felt like your body had gone under a complete transformation in just that hour.

“I can’t tell if I want to take a nap or run a marathon,” you exclaimed, stretching out your rejuvenated limbs.

“That was an amazing gift. Can we make this a V-Day tradition?” Joel asked, opening the car door for you.

“Hell yeah,” you agreed, getting into the passenger’s seat and breathing out a heavy sigh. “To think you thought you wouldn’t like it. Now I get to say I told you so.”

“Fair. I deserve it. That was life changing. I could marry you for thinking of that.”

Chloe actually thought of that, but Joel didn’t need to know that. For all you cared, he could keep thinking that you were the romantic genius.

“So what’s next on the agenda?”

“Just sit and wait. It’s a bit of a drive, so maybe you can get in that nap you wanted.”

You unsurprisingly slept like a rock after that massage. So much so, that you woke up to Joel softly saying your name and gently shaking your shoulder as he attempted to let you know that you’d arrived at your next destination.

When you opened your eyes, you were met with a an interesting looking building in front of you, one you’d seen in tourism handouts, but hadn’t yet visited for yourself—despite the many times you said you wanted to.

“Is this an art museum?” you asked aloud despite already knowing the answer.

Joel simply flashed you a toothy grin before popping out of the car, walking around it, and opening the door for you.

“I know you’ve been saying you want to come visit for a while,” he explained, slipping his hand into yours while you walked inside.

“I don’t know why I’m so surprised that you actually listen to me. Thank you,” you expressed.

You and Joel took your time walking around the museum, exploring the exhibits, reading the labels on pieces, and taking in all of the interesting and beautiful art. It was refreshing to come to a museum and not be rushed the whole time by an impatient daughter or disinterested spouse, and Joel expressing every now and then that despite being surrounded by so much beauty and artwork, you were the prettiest thing in the museum certainly enhanced your experience.

The two of you entered an exhibit that was obviously targeted towards children as you approached the end of the building, and your eyes immediately fell on a station that was clearly designed for kids to use. You walked towards it, and plopped down on one side of the tiny table before Joel sat down right across from you.

“Isn’t this for kids?” he asked you, his knees audibly creaking as he attempted to get comfortable on his tiny stool.

“Whatever. They’re all at school anyway. Or at least, they should be,” you grabbed a marker that was on your side of the divider, along with a piece of paper. “Wanna draw each other?”

“Haven’t we already established today that there’s not an artistic bone in my body?”

“C’mon, Joel,” you pleaded. “Please? As a Valentine’s Day gift?”

“Fine. Only because I love you. But you’re not allowed to laugh.”

“Swear,” you agreed despite knowing that it was more likely than not that you were going to laugh. While Joel reached for his own writing utensil and paper, you set your hand in front of the timer on the desk, giving you both five minutes to work on your portrait.

The man across from you focused deeply on his paper, looking pensively and seriously down at his paper and up at you every now and then rather than actually putting his marker to the paper.

After five minutes, the built-in alarm went off, and you both put your markers down, evaluating the work you had done.

“I don’t know if you want to see this. It’s really bad,” Joel confessed, awkwardly moving the paper out of your direct eyeline.

“It’s definitely not! Here, we’ll show each other at the same time. On the count of three?”

The two of you lifted your papers at the same time, and you involuntarily giggled when you looked at Joel’s. It was more or less an extremely basic stick figure with hearts around it. To be frank, your picture of Joel was basically the same.

“Hey, part of our agreement is that you wouldn’t laugh!” Joel said in between laughter of his own.

“Joel, you’re laughing too!” you giggled, the two of you progressively laughing harder until your stomachs were hurting. Eventually, you were able to catch your breath and collect yourself enough to get some actual words out. “Here, let’s swap. I wanna put this on my fridge.”

“Please don’t,” Joel gasped as he tried to catch his breath. “I don’t think I’ll ever live that down with our daughters.”

“Oh honey,” you responded, still fighting your fits of giggles. “That was the plan.”

-

After your museum date, you and Joel grabbed a quick lunch at a nearby cafe before heading back to the girls’ school to pick them up. You’d agreed to split up for the rest of the afternoon so that you had time to prepare for a nicer dinner in the evening.

It had been a long time since you’d dressed up like this. Although it was fun to get all dolled up, to put on a new matching set of lingerie under a new, formfitting dress, spend a good amount of time working on your makeup at your vanity, and take your time doing your hair, you couldn’t shake off the nervous feeling you were getting.

“Mom! Joel’s here!” Chloe yelled from your living room.

“You can let him in! I need to finish something up.”

You heard the familiar sound of conversation between Joel, Sarah, and Chloe while you finished up applying your lipstick, taking deep breaths as you did so. You just needed to see Joel, then you would feel better. To be quite honest, you were slightly intimidated by the restaurant he’d picked that night. Obviously you knew how exclusive and difficult to get in it was, but with how elite it was, part of you worried that you would stick out like a sore thumb.

But Joel had clearly worked so hard on making this night perfect for you, so you weren’t going to let a few nerves get you down. You grabbed your purse and headed downstairs, where your partner stood in your living room listening to your kids.

“Wow,” Joel said involuntarily when his eyes fell upon you. He immediately took a few steps towards you, setting a hand on your waist as he admired you.

“I don’t know why it always surprises me when I see how gross you guys are,” Chloe said, somewhere between a laugh and a cringe. “Okay, it’s time for you to get going. You don’t want to miss your reservation,” your daughter was practically pushing the two of you out the door, a little too enthusiastic to have the two of you gone. “Bye now!”

You finally were able to get a good look at Joel once you’d been shoved out of the door. He looked amazing in a well fitted suit, and a bouquet of red roses in hand.

“You look so handsome,” you gushed as you accepted his flowers. “How did I get so lucky?”

“I’ve been asking myself the same thing. I mean, you always look gorgeous, but you somehow found a way to look even more amazing.”

“Well thank you!” you giggled, letting Joel open the door to his car for you like the gentleman he was.

Joel sat down in the driver's seat, and began to head in the direction of the restaurant. Despite how late you were on the road, it seemed like traffic in the city was particularly bad. You and Joel kept up a light conversation, but the elephant in the room was clearly the traffic, and the fact that with every passing minute, the traffic only seemed to grow.

Your eyes flicked around in a cycle between the traffic ahead of you, your hot, but increasingly anxious date, and the clock on the dashboard. With just a few minutes until the time of your reservation, you finally piped up.

“Do you think we’re gonna make it on time?” you asked.

“I don’t know,” Joel answered quickly, his nerves quite obvious from the speed of his speech. He then followed it up with a slightly less agitated, “I hope so.”

“You know what? I’ll call and let them know we’re running late,” you suggested, reaching for your phone as if that would solve all issues.

That would make things better, right? You knew all that went into Joel getting this reservation, and you weren’t just gonna let it all slip away because of a little traffic.

You pressed your device to your ear and the phone rang once, then twice, then three times before you were informed by a robotic voice that the line was busy.

The scene of traffic didn’t seem to be getting any better either, with the cars in front of you essentially coming to a full stop every now and then. Time was quickly passing by, yet you weren’t making much progress distance-wise.  

You called again to no avail, and attempted to maintain your composure. They would pick up soon enough, and you would get to your reservation on time, and you and Joel would have a lovely evening at that very fancy, exclusive restaurant.

Finally, someone on the other line picked up. You breathed out a sigh of relief as you were finally able to connect with an actual person, and attempt to explain your situation to them.

“We are aware of the car accident and the traffic jam it caused. However, regardless of external circumstances, our grace periods only last ten minutes. Unfortunately we’ve already given away your table to someone else on the waitlist. Our deepest and sincerest apologies.”

You looked over at Joel helplessly, disappointed to deliver the news about something he’d been so excited for for so long.

“Okay, thank you,” you said, quickly hanging up. “I’m sorry,” was the first thing you said to Joel. “They gave our table away.”

“You’re joking,” he said almost flatly, clearly in disbelief that something he’d worked so hard to plan for had slipped through his fingers so easily, and over circumstances that were completely out of his control.

��I’m sorry. We were later than their grace period. But it’s okay! We can just go somewhere else. I’ve heard about a few good restaurants nearby?”

“It’s Valentine’s day. They’re all gonna be fully booked,” he sighed, defeat clear in his tone. “Should I just turn around?”

“No! Right now I’m hungry enough that I’d eat your shoe if you put it in front of me with some silverware. Just… take me anywhere. Maybe somewhere you like? Preferably without a long line?”

Joel fell silent as he thought for a moment, trying to come up with a location that he enjoyed that wouldn’t be particularly busy that evening. As he pondered, a light bulb seemed to go off in his mind, leading him to turn his vehicle around and begin to take you elsewhere.

Your heels clicked against the pavement as Joel took your hand and led you towards a food truck. The smoky aromas hitting your nose were nothing short of heavenly, and if Joel believed that it was good, you were definitely taking his word for it.

“Is that… Joel, is that you?” the man in the window asked in disbelief as the two of you approached.

“It is,” he confirmed, a bit shyly.

“Damn, man! I almost didn’t recognize you all dressed up! What’s the-“ his eyes fell upon you, and his face lit up as he put the pieces together. “Who’s this?”

Joel introduced you by name, and wrapped an arm around you subconsciously. “We’re just celebrating Valentine’s Day.”

“Well you picked the right spot. Nice to meet you, sweetheart. I’m Louis.”

“Hi Louis. You know Joel?” you asked, curious about the camaraderie the pair seemed to have.

“I practically watched him grow up, so yeah, I guess so,” he flashed the two of you a smile, the look he gave Joel slightly more knowing than the soft one he offered you. “What’re we ordering tonight?”

Joel looked at you and shrugged, giving you the go-ahead for anything. It wasn’t like he wasn’t planning on spending a whole mortgage and kidney worth on food at the restaurant you had a reservation at.

You ordered a few different things from his menu, led more by your eyes and nose than your stomach. Louis nodded as you spoke before calling something out to the people working by the grill, and maintaining his position at the window so he could talk to you two.

“Why haven’t I met your friend before, Joel?” Louis asked, teasing in his voice.

“Well, obviously I was waiting for the most romantic day of the year to bring her here,” he looked away from his family friend and back to you. “You know, most people say that bringing your partner here is basically like having a ring in your hand and dropping to one knee.”

“Oh?” you laughed. “I’m flattered. Are you proposing to me?”

“No, not yet,” Joel shot a wink at you, and you felt a slight warmth rise to your cheeks. Of course, he was joking, but if he asked you in that moment to marry him, you’d probably say yes.

“Depending on how good this is, I may be proposing to you, Louis,” you teased, deflecting from the fantasy of marrying your partner.

“Hey! No need for that. Joel’ll bring you to one of my barbecues this summer. I promise you’ll eat so much of my food that you’ll never even want to even think about it again. Right, Joel?”

“Correct. Why do you think it’s been so long since I’ve visited you last?”

“Oh, excuses, excuses,” Louis dismissed, glancing back over his shoulder at the employee preparing your food. “Well lovebirds, since it’s Valentine’s Day, how’d you meet?” he questioned curiously, leaning further onto the ledge so he could get a good look at you and Joel.

“Our kids played soccer together on the same team, so we met through arguing like, all the time,” you laughed, glancing over at Joel who seemed just the slightest bit embarrassed at your frankness of your unconventional meet-cute.

“It sounds kinda bad when you put it like that. We were basically flirt-arguing,” Joel attempted to explain.

“Maybe you were. I was just arguing. But eventually our girls became friends, and we were forced to spend more time together, and I realized he’s not half bad,” you were downplaying just how much you adored the man standing next to you for a bit of comedic effect, but the quick look the two of you shared seemed to communicate everything it needed to for Louis.

“You’re not too bad yourself,” Joel said, cracking an adoring half-smile at you.

“That is too damn sweet,” Louis expressed as he looked between the two of you. He had to do a bit of reading in between the lines, but it was clear to him that the two of you were a rather happy pair, as evidenced by your comfortable body language and the fond teasing. He was clearly quite pleased to see Joel as happy as he was with you. “As much as I’d like to chat and hear more, your order is unfortunately ready. We’ll catch up another time?”

Louis turned around to grab your boxes, and leaned back over the ledge to pass them to Joel.

“Of course. If I don’t get back around sometime soon, we’ll definitely be at one of your barbecues this summer.”

“Good,” Louis nodded. “And before you head back home, stop back over here. I’ll make Sarah her favorite, and something for your daughter too!” he offered you both.

Louis’ barbecue was no joke. You and Joel absolutely demolished everything that was ordered as you laid in the bed of his truck, sat on the blankets Joel had packed for a previous picnic and had never seemed to put back.

“Why hadn’t you brought me here sooner?” you asked, sauce on the edges of your lips. “I feel like a brand new person after this.”

Joel reached over, dabbing at your mouth with a napkin to clean up what you missed. “I told you, this is like serious engagement food. If I brought you here too early on, I might’ve scared you off by moving too fast,” he jokingly explained as he set down the napkin and dragged himself a little closer to you.

You playfully rolled your eyes at the explanation, but leaned onto Joel regardless. “Yeah, whatever,” you muttered, setting your head on his shoulder and looking up at the night sky.

“Do you remember that night when you helped me out with making the team dinner?” Joel seemingly asked out of the blue, wrapping an arm around your shoulder.

“I do,” you nodded, glancing away from the sky and instead looking at Joel. “We’re a pretty great team.”

“We are,” Joel agreed, pausing for a moment. “Do you remember when I asked you out for the first time?”

“Of course I do.”

“I was so nervous. I really liked you a lot, but I wasn’t completely sure you’d say yes, and I didn’t want to ruin the friendship we’d been working on, or make things awkward for the girls. I just kept looking at the sky so I wouldn’t see you and think about all of those things,” he confessed, looking to the sky as he spoke.

“Are you nervous now?” you asked, noticing him watch the stars above you.

“No,” he assured you. “It’s just really beautiful out here tonight. Really clear.”

You leaned in closer, practically sitting on the lap of the man next to you at that point, “Do you see anything good up there?”

“Yeah,” Joel answered, his words blowing a few strands of hair as he spoke.

“Show me?” you asked, curiously peering up at the sky to attempt to see what Joel might’ve been seeing.

“Of course,” he agreed. “Well that right there is the big dipper. And the little dipper, too.”

“Where?” you asked, despite seeing it clearly. You had stargazed with Joel a handful of times, and he always did this cute thing when he saw something that you couldn’t see—grabbing your hand and leaning into you while he pointed out the stars with your own fingers, essentially cuddling you as he did so. His knowledge of what he was looking for, the competency in his actions, and the proximity he kept with you always drove you a little bit wild, and you’d be a fool to turn down an opportunity of getting that side of him out.

Joel took the bait, not even realizing that it was bait. He gently guided your arm to point out the constellation, speaking quietly next to your ear as he narrated what he was seeing. It was taking everything in you not to jump his bones then and there as he helped you see each set of stars.

After a period of pointing out constellations to each other, the two of you finally seemed to run out of observations to make, leaving you quietly sharing space on the blanket laid out in the bed of Joel’s truck.

“This has been my favorite Valentine’s day ever,” you expressed, gazing up at the stars with far less effort than you’d had previously. “I do love spending the day with you, but you really went out of your way to make today sweet. I appreciate it.”

“Hey, I can’t take all the credit. You are the one who arranged that absolutely life changing massage, and the Nespresso machine was great too. I will definitely be using it all the time now.”

“You know, it’s so weird. I used to hate Valentine’s day. Dread it every year because I just knew I’d be disappointed. But you changed that for me. Maybe it’s all the stuff we got to do, but I honestly think I’d be happy doing laundry or something with you today, as long as it meant I’d get to be with you.”

You were thoroughly exhausted after your day of Valentine’s activities, paired with the digestion you were going through after all of that dangerously delicious barbecue you and Joel had consumed. It was safe to say that the ride back to your place was a quiet one, only filled with the occasional uncomfortable grunt or a comment reminiscing on how good your dinner was.

By the time you opened your door, you were shocked to find your living room completely uprooted and transformed into a massive pillow fort. Your daughters, who conveniently were sitting inside of the fort, didn’t seem to notice you as you came in, as they were far too caught up in the Hallmark movie they were watching. Eventually, the sound of feet shuffling caught their attention, and the pair were out of the fort in record time.

“Happy Valentine’s Day!” they both cheered, making jazz hands towards the fort.

“To commemorate your first date, we built you a new and improved pillow fort,” Sarah explained, as she continued to Vanna White their creation.

“This time, it’s big enough for all of us. You’ve had enough alone time today,” Chloe expressed. “Come, come! Are you ready for the tour?”

Your kids showed you the inside of the fort, and there honestly wasn’t much to see. However, it was still quite impressive that they’d managed to pull off putting together such a big fort in such a short period of time.  

“But before we lay down, go change into pajamas. No one should be in a pillow fort in a suit. That’s just ridiculous,” Sarah remarked

“You heard the girl, go!” Chloe emphasized, herding you two upstairs without even giving you time to voice any sort of protest.

“You really went all out this year,” Joel gushed as he followed you into your bedroom.

Hearing him say that did make you feel a little guilty. Sure he didn’t need to know that Chloe had done most of the heavy lifting when it came to celebrating this holiday, but it felt wrong to keep things from him—even something as small as not coming up with original ideas.

“Joel, I have to tell you something,” you began hesitantly as he unzipped your dress.

“Oh no. Are you breaking up with me? Are you pregnant?” he glanced at you over your shoulder.

“No! And no, that’s just my food baby. It’s just that… basically everything I did for you today, Chloe helped me come up with. I was gonna get you a box of chocolates, show you this number,” you gestured at the lingerie revealed by your fallen dress, “then call it a day.”

“You wanna know the truth?” he asked before reaching into your dresser and tossing you a set of pajamas. “I needed Sarah’s help for almost everything today, too. Obviously it was a great day, but… I don’t need fancy things from you or huge romantic gestures, despite what our children might think. Your love alone is plenty.”

“Promise?” you asked, pulling on your pajama shirt.

“Swear.”

“Can we shake on doing a massage and getting barbecue next Valentine’s Day, nothing more and nothing less?”

“That sounds perfect,” Joel agreed, shaking your hand to drive in the point of your agreement. “Now let’s go check out that pillow fort.”

Chloe and Sarah snuggled against you as a new, cheesy rom-com played out on the television in front of you.

“So, how was your V-Day?” Chloe asked, looking between you and Joel mischievously. Obviously, the kids were curious about the fruits of their labor, and you genuinely could not blame them. With all the effort they’d put into making your day great, they deserved to know just how pleasant it was.

“It was amazing,” you confirmed, squeezing your daughter’s shoulder.

“We couldn’t have done it without you two,” Joel added, tossing a not-so-subtle wink at Sarah.

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?” Sarah asked with a slightly uncomfortable laugh.

“It means that you two are hopeless romantics, and without your guys’ help, we would’ve had a painfully boring Valentine’s Day,” you explained.

“Can you blame us for wanting to help you two old farts out? You haven’t celebrated this holiday in like 200 years,” Chloe retorted.

“Nothing wrong with that,” you affirmed. “You guys are good eggs. Is it too late to ask you both to be my Valentine?”

“Yes,” Chloe deadpanned.

“Nope,” Sarah said, popping her ‘p’. “But only if you get us heart-shaped boxes of chocolate.”

“I think that can be arranged. Right, Joel?” you asked.

“Fine. I’ll pick up some discounted chocolates after work tomorrow,” Joel said it begrudgingly, but deep down you knew that his softie heart was bursting with love for your family.

“Thank you. Happy Valentine’s day, my lovely loves,” you expressed, pulling the girls next to you closer to emphasize your point.

“Ew, mom,” Chloe squealed, only egging you on to pepper her cheeks in kisses.

This had by far been your favorite Valentine’s Day, and it really wasn’t even close. When you were surrounded by your favorite people in the world, doing something ridiculously thoughtful and sentimental, there was no way you could ever ask for more.

[boarcide]

There is something so good about Akutagawa--a very much feared, boogeyman like figure (even amongst his own men) in Yokohama because of his violence, bloodlust, and steadfast loyalty to a violent criminal organization such as the Port Mafia--given biblical angel symbolism

I don't know, something something about someone whose beauty is so incomprehensible and terrifying to most. He's not physically ugly, he's not--he's beautiful, the type of beautiful that almost feel as if he's not a real person, like he's a mirage, or a painting. But he's beautiful not like those renaissance cherubs and lovely looking maidens for angels, but more like the biblical angels with their beauty beyond mortal grasp, the beauty that brings fear and revulsion towards whoever sees them because they cannot comprehend it. Coming across him makes you understand why angels say, "Be not afraid" when they reveal themselves to mortals. An incomprehensible beauty that very few can keep looking at. A dangerous feat, literally and metaphorically.

(This isn't only with his physical appearance either--for someone who is constantly beaten down both by canon and by the fandom for being "simple", he is a terrifying bundle of different aspects that contradict each other. Like a super machine you open up and you see the intricate criss crossing of wires and bolts that hold it together. He's a mess of nerves and feelings and experiences so profound, so horrific, that you don't know where to start with him. To uncoil him and see him truly bare is almost impossible. Where does he end and the roots that connect him to the earth begin?)

Something about Akutagawa being an angel, a being created entirely to follow the will of "God", obey their every word. Unwavering loyalty to their master while singing praise. Acting entirely on the order of their master--wing always dipped in blood for his sake. A weapon of "heaven' that brings destruction to those who oppose "God" and be one of the many upon which "God" rests upon.

(Almost everything Akutagawa does is for the sake of the Port Mafia, taking orders from the "master" (boss) himself. Willingness and obedience and loyalty repeatedly exploited and used, everything he has done as one of the high ranking leaders handling most of the Mafia's dirty work playing a part so Mori's throne stays high.)

Something about comparing Akutagawa to a certain archangel, finding repulsion in "God"'s cherished creation, the inferiority that came with being "less" to "mankind", and the painful fall from grace to the deepest pits of despair when he confronts the being that created him, molded him, and then condemn him. And to his humiliation, mankind, for centuries, condemns him too.

(He can't be compared to Lucifer, God's most beloved angel. Maybe Dazai did value him, but it doesn't matter, does it? because the difference between the two is that one was cherished and one never was. However, you can compare the rage and humiliation Akutagawa felt towards Atsushi--for obtaining Dazai's approval and affection with no effort, no proper control over his skill or any seemingly differentiating quality-- to Lucifer's refusal to bow down to humanity--a creation inherently imperfect and lackluster, with not the qualities of angels. And as a result? Disgraced. Both by the creator and by ones that held their creator's favor. )

Something about Akutagawa being an angel--someone whose presence means nothing pleasant to those he appears before. A reaper of sorts, responsible for taking life and for souls to see the afterlife (killing both as an order and an act of mercy, for he despises torture and meaningless suffering). A guardian angel watching over "mankind" from afar, where he is not aware and saving him from certain death at his own expense.

There's just something so appealing about depicting Akutagawa--a fearsome, ruthless, and bloodthirsty mafioso, a boogeyman to his own men--as an angel, be it of death, of mercy, a destroying angel-- whatever anyone wants to see him as and use him for.

[helix-enterprises117]

Halo Reloaded: Master Chief & more about Spartans

Born and raised on Eridanus-II, John Downes was the son of bioengineers and gardeners, who wanted to genetically modify Earth-plants to be sustainable on other planets (everyone, up until this point, had just been using the indigenous plants from the alien worlds they colonized); up until he was taken into the Spartan Program, John attended a school known as "The Reach For Life Foundation," a prestigious upper-class school (that was created on Reach before expanding out to the rest of the galaxy) designed to turn all of it's students into the next generation of pioneers, colonizers and explorers who will bring life into the uncharted reaches of space. Humanity came in contact with The Covenant in the year 2511. The Spartan Program saw production in 2517; most of the Spartans were born in the year 2528, while John Downes was born in the year 2530. That two year gap may as well have been a chasm between him and his brothers-&-sisters-in-arms. But, like in canon, the main reason why John was chosen despite being everyone's junior was because he still exhibited the exact same unique genetic-markers that all of the others do. With John being the youngest, he's needed to prove himself to the others by working and training thrice as hard as everyone else; his angst comes from the fact that, because he's the youngest, he's the most generic one of the group. He's not the fastest (that's Kelly), not the strongest (that's Samuel), not the biggest (that's Jorge), the best combatant (Fred), the best at weaponry (Vannak), the best at demolitions (James), the best shot (both Linda & Kai, who are rivals to each other, beat John out), the smartest (Riz), the best pilot (Daisy), the best at technology (Joshua), the one with the best intuition (Kurt), or the most charismatic leader (Jerome); he's only really impressive in comparison to the standard marine, this angst he faces is something he later comes to accept as he gets older. He eventually embraces his status as 'The Generic One' and becomes the Jack-of-all-trades, the one everyone can lean on for just about anything; the "Swiss-Army Spartan," if you will. They all got augmented, and the rest is history; but it wasn't until Operation SILENT STORM, the Spartans' FIRST mission as Spartans, where John was given the rank of "Master Chief Petty Officer," the highest rank a non-commissioned serviceman in the Navy can attain; he even got his first metal, "The Purple Heart," after he got shot on the line of duty (and survived, obviously). When he was a kid, before being inducted, John had discovered an ancient Forerunner rock (not that anyone knew what it was) that had almost possessed him; his obssession over it resulted in his father forcing John to bury the drawings he made of it in the backyard. The training and conditioning of the Spartan Progran, while not designed to brainwash anyone, did result in John repressing any memory of the rock. In the present (2552), John had discovered a similar rock during an extraction mission on Biko, which brought a terrifying wave of memories back to him; this drives him to rediscover the rock he found as a kid back on Eridanus-II, in cave beneath the abandoned ruins of his father's old Solar-Paneled Garden Field. After some back and forth battles between The UNSC and The Covenant, John is quick to deduce that the rock he found on Biko is a keystone to the artifact that he found as a kid; with two rocks joined together, they create a starmap that leads to the one thing The Covenant had been after this entire time: Halo.

Spartans are much younger here than in canon, being in their early 20s as opposed to being in their 50s like in the show and the games. Their youth, combined with their less traumatizing upbringing, makes them more colorful in their personalities (still professional and their canon personalities are about the same, but they're less sociopathically brusque and terse like in-canon). Super-Soldiers in media are usually portrayed with two major qualities: Extreme Aggression and Complete Obedience. They're designed to be ruthless killers, desensitized to violence, who are more aggressive than the average soldier, as they are more than willing to make the hard-choices and will not stop until their opponents are dead ("They [Spartans] just... keep killing. Until there's nothing. Left. To kill... You in or out?" - Angus; Halo, Season 1 - Episode 1) and the battle is won. As for complete obedience? Well, that's self-explanatory; they are happiest when given an order and only do what's asked of them ("Good soldiers follow orders." - Crosshairs; The Bad-Batch). The Spartans as seen in Halo Reloaded are the opposite. They're trained in: Lateral Thinking, Improvisation and Freestyling. They're very creative, on and off the field, people who are capable of salvaging a busted plan and thinking on their feet in the midst of high-stress situations; which is precisely why they're so good at their jobs, BECAUSE they're not dependant on the word of their superiors. They're less an army of Robocops and moreso an army of Captain Americas. John himself, particularly in his later years at 22, is a more "Commander Shepard' type of person: Swashbuckling, noble, still emotionally guarded but far less traumatized, charismatic (again not as much as Jerome) and often goes with the flow. He's still much more brusque and aggressive in comparison to the other more lively Spartans (the others often call him "the mean one"), but he's still as nice and compassionate as he's always been.

@ionlymadethissoicouldleaveanask

@mrtobenamedlater

@killer-orca-cosplay

@biomecharnotaurus

@authortobenamedlater

[sleepingdeath-light]

relationship hcs ; vaggie

requested by ; cookie simp anon (14/02/24)

fandom(s) ; hazbin hotel

fandom masterlist(s) ; here

character(s) ; vaggie

outline ; “may i request some vaggie relationship hcs? thanks!

-cookie simp anon”

note ; female reader is assumed because… well… she’s canonically a lesbian haha

warning(s) ; none, just fluff!

vaggie is, above all else, incredibly protective over you as her significant other and would put her life on the line for you in a heartbeat if the situation called for it — but she’s more than capable of handling herself in battle due to her past as a prolific exorcist, so you’ll never have to worry about anything like that

she mainly calls you ‘sweetie’ or a shortened version of your name, but she’s happy to respond to anything you choose to use as a pet name for her — well, as long as you keep the sillier ones to more private settings (she’s not opposed to them, not at all, she just likes to keep certain aspects of your relationship behind closed doors)

she is your number one cheerleader and your biggest supporter without a shadow of a doubt — she’s always there to listen to you talk about the things you’re passionate about, always the first one in your corner when you’re pitching a new idea, always there to catch you when you fall and help figure out a new strategy to get what you want, and always there to make sure that things go to plan (even if that means keeping other people… like alastor… in line through some more militant means)

vaggie is an expert at helping to ground you in the present moment whenever you’re struggling with something like a nightmare, a panic attack, self doubt, or fears about the future — she committed the exercises and reassurances that actually help you to memory and is always able to calmly walk you through them until you’re back in the moment with her and actually able to take in her advice

she has zero tolerance for anyone who talks down to you, makes you uncomfortable, or otherwise tries to treat you poorly and will shut that shit down the second she becomes aware of it — for as sweet and loving as she is with you, vaggie can be a terrifying woman when she wants to be and she takes full advantage of that when it comes to protecting you and your reputation

she loves physical affection, even if she’s not the biggest initiator of pda, and loves any and all forms of it — but there are a few favourites of hers, including: any sort of hug (whether that means you tackling her to the ground, one of you pulling the other into your sides, hugging you from behind and resting her chin on your shoulder as you go about doing your work at a desk, cuddling in bed, or huddling up together on one of the hotel settees and watching whatever is on the television), you playing with her hair, and, of course, kissing

vaggie’s kisses range from tooth-rottingly sweet to so passionate that they leave you flushed and breathless, and she switches between them depending on the mood of the moment

her sweeter kisses are always so very gentle and usually end with the two of you smiling at each other because, well, how could you not? — her thumbs are stroking the sides of your face, her palms are cupping your jawline, and she’s sighing into the kiss as she pecks your lips once, then twice, and a third time before you give in and wrap your arms around her waist to keep her close

intimate, gentle, sweet, and tinged with that unmistakable inclination that she feels as if you’ll vanish from her grasp the second she opens her eye and pulls away

her more passionate displays, meanwhile, are usually saved for private moments or those times just before or immediately after an intense battle where your hearts are beating so hard you can barely breathe and you’re both complete messes but you can’t bring yourself to care because you can see each other and you’re both alive and okay and all is right with the world again — her hands are in your hair or clinging to the back of your neck and your shoulders, her lips are moulding perfectly, wetly, against your own, you have to steady yourself on one leg to stop yourself from tumbling back onto the ground as she throws herself at you and your arms fly to her waist to steady her, your cheeks are both wet with tears of relief, and you’re laughing and crying and saying ‘i love you’ over and over again between kisses

glad to be alive, glad to be together, and wanting nothing more than to clean up as the rest of the world melts away and leaves you both in that bubble of relief and love and adrenaline

once she’s gotten her wings back, she makes a habit of wrapping them around you when you’re hugging — it’s not a conscious thing but it feels right, being able to hide you away from the world and keep you in that private bubble of love and smiles for a little while, so she keeps on doing it (and you’re certainly not complaining)

date nights are usually spent indoors enjoying each others company because of how chaotic and dangerous the world outside of the hotel is — but there’s plenty to do inside so you’ll never run out of fun activities to do

[farlee-wander]

Daijiro Morohoshi: The Black Ships of Manhattan

Fellow people on Tumblr, I have just had an exceptionally surreal experience, and I would like to share it with all of you, particularly other Americans.

I have seen people joke before about what it might be like if another country depicted the United States in a work of fiction with the same wild caricatures and stereotypes as we do other countries, and in some ways this is that story. Granted, I have seen other examples before, but I don't think I've seen anything quite like this.

Perhaps the weirdest part is that, aside from the translated manga itself, I can't find any additional information about it in English anywhere on the internet, at least not after an hour of furious googling. Articles exist about the author and some of his work, but none of them mention this exact story. I can't even find anyone talking about it on forums or social media. And in this particular moment of exceptional American insanity, I simply feel compelled to show it to as many people as I can.

Folks, this is going to be a long one, but I promise it's worth it.

So. This is a manga short story by Daijiro Morohoshi, who is very well known in Japan but almost completely unheard of in America. He has, however, influenced Japanese creators who are famous here, such as Hayao Miyazaki, Hideaki Anno, and Rumiko Takahashi.

The story was published in a collection called Paradise Lost in 1988, which you can read online HERE at the same place I did. It is an anthology of bizarre science fiction tales, and there are six stories that come before this one. The title story is a highly allegorical two-parter set in a post apocalyptic landscape that looks like the covers of a dozen pulp sci-fi novels come to life. Adam's Rib and Landscape of Men both have themes of "women are terrifying monsters who will drain men to empty dessicated husks, and the men kind of deserve it" and read exactly like something you'd find in Galaxy Science Fiction in the 50s. Chastity's Wreck feels like something Wally Wood might have drawn for an adult magazine, with the nubile astronauts of Project L.A.D.I. hunting the universe for hot alien hunks. Bio City is a potent body horror tale about a strange alien virus that causes all animal life and anything made of metal to melt together into one super-organism. The Call tells the story of a Japanese civil servant who is suddenly transferred to the "Earthquake Prevention Department," where he is given cushy work and a massive salary for one year, then sacrificed to a pagan god.

And that finally brings us to Black Ships of Manhattan, where things get really wild.

Presumably inspired by the "Black Ships" that brought Westerners to Japan between 1543 and 1858, the story begins sometime in the 1980s, when the United States abruptly adopts a completely isolationist policy, elects a President-For-Life, and starts their own calendar. 100 years of cultural stasis later, Japan - which, like the rest of the world, has grown far more technologically advanced - makes contact with the strange, isolated land, and attempts to bring the outside world to America.

It, uh, doesn't go well.

After first contact, the Japanese ambassadors demand a trade treaty, and the US is quickly split between Anti-Isolationists, who want to reopen contact with the outside world, and Expultionists, who oppose any foreign presence in America. We are also treated to some spectacular "American" names such as Tock Gowan, E. Common, and Kirk Cashew. An Expultionist extremist group attacks the Japanese residents (drawn in curiously racist caricature by the Japanese artist) of a trade post off the coast of San Francisco and kick off a war, in which the woefully-outmatched Americans are swiftly crushed. Anti-Isolationist support takes over in California and the treaty is signed, but it is against the President-For-Life's will, while unrest and violence continue to rage between the opposing American factions. At a protest, an Expultionist assassinates the Vice President with a grenade.

Meanwhile, a Texan Cowboy™ adopts the sole survivor of a Japanese passenger plane shot down by Californian forces, and that's where our story really begins.

The cowboy is Leo Sacamondo, a dedicated Anti-Isolationist. He hopes to form an alliance between California and Florida to turn against the government in Washington, and also to bring the orphaned boy to New York, where he can find safe passage on a Japanese ship.

In New York, the Japanese ambassador, now Consul, makes observations about the local culture - such as how the TV plays state-sponsored messages from the President-For-Life every fifteen minutes reminding all citizens to wear their "Democracy Machines." In California, an Expultionist leader watches one of these broadcasts before committing ritual suicide with an automatic rifle.

In Washington, the Consul tries to meet with the President-For-Life, only to be repeatedly denied access. In New York, special police roam the streets, searching for Leo and the orphaned boy. Leo reveals to the boy that the "Democracy Machines" are a direct connection to the "United Computer" in Washington, but claims that all "true patriots" no longer wear them.

The Consul manages to convince one of the President's staff to grant him an audience, and is taken to the White House, which is surrounded by tanks and completely stuffed with outdated computer circuitry - so much so that there is hardly any room for people.

Despite persistent rumors, the President's aide insists that the President himself is not a computer, and takes the Consul through a secret passage to the President's true dwelling in the Capitol. While Leo hides from the cops in a honky-tonk bar playing patriotic stage shows, the Consul learns the truth: the President-For-Life is a massive, formless, energy being, the "accumulation of the psychic energy of all Americans" transmitted through the Democracy Machines.

Leo explains to his allies that a century of cultural stagnation has severely weakened the psychic energy being transmitted to the President, that the President has in turn been harming and controlling the citizens in an attempt to siphon more from them, and that "the Will of America is a dictator that must be overthrown!"

At the same time, the Consul confronts the President over these very issues, and goes on to assert that by clinging to isolationism it has harmed all Americans, and is no longer serving their best interests.

In New York, the special police find and raid Leo's hideout, shooting wildly into the crowd. In Washington, the President remains steadfast against the Consul's scolding, but suddenly starts to panic when he realizes that California has disconnected from the central computer. The revolution, it turns out, has already begun.

Muttering slurs, the President transforms into a giant Superman with a "P" instead of an "S" and smashes through the roof of the Capitol.

Leo and the orphan manage to escape from the cops, and discover crowds of people dancing in the streets as they are freed from the President's control. Super-President arrives to ruin everyone's fun and orders the crowd to disperse, but his control is already waning and nobody listens to him, thanks to the California-Florida Alliance.

Unable to accept his loss of control, the President declares "Fuck the people!" and possesses the Statue of Liberty Tyranny in a last-ditch attempt to destroy the Black Ships.

The President is destroyed and vanishes in a flag-shaped explosion. Leo declares the battle over and looks forward to a new, better America. Before he can celebrate victory, however, one last cop appears and kills him.

As Leo dies in the orphan's arms, they look out at the Statue of Liberty, sinking in the water, shot in the heart, clutching at nothing, and America dawns. The End.

So yeah.

To be honest, I'm not entirely sure how to feel after that. Like, I'm pretty sure I understand the story, but I really can't emphasize how strange it feels to have just stumbled across it like this. It's 36 years old. It is and it isn't about things that were happening then and still happening now. It's a parody. It's dead serious. It's weird as fuck. And as far as I can tell, quite literally nobody is talking about it (in English in a place where I can see). I feel like I stepped into a fairy ring.

So here. Have this. please show it to other people. I don't feel confident enough to offer a complete analysis, but here is my best summary and you can make of it what you will. I would actually love it if this post got tons of attention and mutation. I've always believed in the power of narrative, and this seems like one worth talking about. And if anybody knows more about this than me, by all means please share.

America is counting on you.

[ghostinthegallery]

Okay so about Orikan and Imotekh!

Yup, I continue to be the most hinged person on the planet when it comes to imaginary ancient Egyptian themed space robots.

But anyway, Orikan is canonically a member of Imotekh's court, and Imotekh might be one of the only people in the universe Orikan actually respects (or fears? It's 40k, close enough). Which is interesting because Orikan is An Intellectual with a healthy disdain for the military (probably some family issues there, he did come from a military family then ran away to go to star college). So why serve a soldier? I mean yes, Imotekh is one scary dude, but that's a boring answer. Naturally they've never had a scene together because GW hates me specifically.

Which leaves me to wildly speculate, and I think these two have some key things in common that really get to the heart of issues with necron/necrontyr society...

Because the thing is, necron(tyr) society might be one of the most highly stratified cultures in all of 40k. So much so that it was baked into their physical being after biotransference. The higher their social status, the better the living metal body they got. The more mental capacity they got. The more *free will* they got. We see in a Twice Dead King flashback that members of the nobility could and did kill anyone without consequence. Life was so cheap to the necrontyr that it didn't matter. Class mobility was and is not a thing.

Enter Imotekh, who started as a soldier and became a general and then a *phaeron*. He did the thing no one is supposed to be able to do by being just *that* competent and terrifying. Remember, Imotekh woke from hibernation because some Sautekh noble wanted to *use* him to get one up on their rivals in a dynastic power struggle. This guy really thought Imotekh the Gods Damn Stormlord would be so grateful that he'd just help this clown take over the dynasty? Yeah no, Imotekh offed that guy and anyone who wasn't going to vote Stormlord 4 Phaeron.

Which must have been pretty mind blowing for Orikan to see. After all, Orikan may be important, but (as Trazyn loves reminding him) he isn't nobility. A fact that matters in a society where status directly correlates to how much of a person people think you are. Other necron lords "use" Orikan all the time. For his predictions, during battles (seriously check the wiki, feels like the poor guy gets dragged out for like every necron campaign). Orikan may manipulate those nobles on a regular basis (aka "strategically editing" his prophecies) but he won't straight up oppose them. At least not without invoking Imotekh's name, as he does during the Court Scene of TI&TD.

Again, I don't think the two have ever interacted in the canon, but Imotekh respects Orikan's work enough to base battle strategies on his divinations (which is huge, as being a master strategist is the basis of his power). And Orikan doesn't bullshit Imotekh the way he does other phaerons who ask for his counsel. Is Orikan scared of Imotekh? Of course he is. Trazyn calls him out on this during War in the Museum. But I think it's interesting that these two characters are trapped in a cruel society determined to use them up and spit them out, and both of them have found ways to resist that. Ways that could set them at odds with each other (nerd v. jock false dichotomy) but don't.

I do wish there was more canon material to work with, because I am filling in a ton of blanks with my own interpretations. But hey, speculation is fun!

And if you want to see these two in a room together read my necron longfic on AO3 here (heck yeah shameless self promotion!)

[ramblings-of-a-mad-cat]

Idk what is it with legacy but everything seems to me like it was written on a napkin five minutes before the programming started. I'm crying about the ancient magic and the fact that nothing was done with it. The friends weren't involved with the plot enough, Fig was involved too much (were they trying to copy year 4 and 5 with Rakepick???), we CAN'T FUCKING ALLY WITH RANROK, Isodora and Bragbor successfully cooperated to create the repository but we can't have main character and ranrok paralleling that and working together.

You know, you're absolutely right.

This game was like...almost incredible. But in every area it could have been incredible, there's this pesky "almost" stuck as a prefix for this reason or that reason.

The companion mod is proof that not enough was done with the characters in this game (Amit doesn't even get a quest-line) but it's obvious that the characters are still compelling. Poppy and Natsai are three dimensional and lovable, and Sebastian's popularity speaks for itself. Even the ones who aren't meant to be in focus can be well crafted. (They rolled a real winner with Ominis, I said what I said.)

Fig was obviously meant to be a significant character (I am still not clear on what subject he teaches, does anyone know...?) and given his connection to the plot through Miriam, that's to be expected. He's a lovable guy and I don't mind him being so relevant, but it's obvious that (for better or for worse) the student characters are largely here by obligation and in the mind of the developers, they're more for side-quest content. That other characters like Fig and Lodgok are meant to be the important ones. Again, for better or for worse. I've heard it said that Sebastian's story should have just been the main storyline of the game and honestly...that's not entirely a bad idea.

Though frankly, I think a far better idea would have been just having Isidora as the villain instead of Ranrok.

Which is a good segue into talking about the other points you mentioned. I've talked about this before as well, but yes. Ranrok was beyond wasted as a character. What you describe would have been perfect, and yeah, it would have mirrored the backstory. It seems so obvious. Ranrok deserved more development and deserved to be portrayed as someone the MC might sympathize with. He deserved an ending of his own, where the player can side with him. Never mind the political, real-life reasons for why this was essential, it's just a no-brainer in an open world RPG that would have you believe it has multiple endings. (It really doesn't...)

Oh and that reminds me, this game pretends it has two endings when really, it only has one. Yes, you can choose to harness the Ancient Magic rather than becoming a Keeper, but it changes nothing about the game's ending. Half of the players were already going to head-canon their MCs as doing that anyway. The Ancient Magic is such an intriguing concept but apart from being a map marker for The Fifth Year to discover new plot threads, we don't learn much about it at all.

Honestly, the most fascinating the Ancient Magic ever gets is when we're learning about it through Isidora. The scene where she removed her father's pain was genuinely chilling, and in that I saw the glimmer of a terrifying villain wielding magic we had never seen before. Isidora would have been the best kind of villain because she would have believed she was doing the right thing and would have had understandable reason why she believed it. What she could do to those who oppose her...what she did to the people she loved, and all because she wanted to help them...the power of Ancient Magic is frightening, in no small part because we know so little about it, but we could definitely have stood to learn a little bit more, especially as it's unlikely to be featured again. (Unless they make a sequel.)

I think above all, what this story needed was more nuance. Everything is way too black and white. There are hints of something more, but they get dropped almost immediately as they get brought up. Maybe that's why Sebastian's storyline is a fan-favorite. His dynamic with Ominis and where his story ultimately goes, not to mention the sympathetic reasons why it ends up where it does...and the actual impact The Fifth Year's choices can have on this story...yeah, the rest of the game could take note. Isidora isn't developed enough, and neither is Ranrok, when they could both be exceptional characters.

You want to know my favorite scene of the game, bar none? The scene where Lodgok opens up about meeting Miriam and his grief at her death. That. That is the kind of nuance I'm talking about, and combined with the scene's atmosphere and raw emotion...I teared up. I mean it. That was so powerful. I wish more of the Ranrok storyline was like that more of the time. Any story in the Potterverse that centers around a Goblin Rebellion cannot afford to be this black and white, and we all know why. But in general, it's just better storytelling if there are more shades of gray.

[wacky-nameless-inventor-24]

Main Negaverse AU. Refresh my memory. World, characters, dynamics, everything. Go! (I only remember the basics). :D

LETS GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

You asked for this ;)

SO! Dunno much about the actual Negaverse from the dwd series so things may change if I ever decide to actually watch an episode about it but for now we have this (gonna focus more on the team science aspect of this because that's what most of the stories are about ssldfjdlkj). Oh gosh I've gotta go digging into ye old docs from 2020 help meeee-

So far we've got Scrooge as the evil crime boss overlord over Duckburg. He does whatever the heck he wants and essentially just regularly pillages the city for whatever he wants. He doesn't actually rule anything, he just wreaks havoc and hardly any force is organized against him because everyone's too busy trying to put their lives back together. Gizmoduck acts as his enforcer and is the one who does most of the pillaging, along with being the one who's sent out to squash whatever kind of rebellions come up against that. Gyro is his evil scientist, he makes things that to his vast frustration regularly turn out good and try to rebel against Gyro and Scrooge. He's the most two-faced person ever, he acts like the sweetest person you'll ever meet but then will absolutely stab someone in the back. Said it before but I'm really just going off of this because I absolutely love this idea. Boyd (here called 2-BO still) is so far one of the only inventions that he's managed to keep 'evil', he acts as Gyro's bodyguard and if Gyro ever needs any shady things done and Gizmoduck isn't available, he'll have 2-BO do it. Despite relationships being different in this universe he does still have some genuine affection for 2-BO in there somewhere. Gyro and Fenton just kind of tolerate each other, Fenton's been around long enough to know all about Gyro's nice outward appearance, while also being wholly familiar with the darker side of him. So Gyro doesn't usually bother with being nice to him anymore, and Fenton is just his usual mean and pessimistic self right back at him. I wouldn't call them friends, at least, not on a surface level, but they've known each other long enough that they know each other well and can work well together.

I think I said it in their post but Blue again was one of the Moonvasion clones of course, brought down by one of the Moonlanders (Lunaris was just trying to free Duckburg and the rest of the world from Scrooge's evil-ness). Something about what happened to them acted as a wake-up call, they were able to see how terrible Scrooge (and therefore everyone else who worked with/for him) really was from the outside. When they found out that the rest of the clones had been killed for being excess weight, that finally drove them to do something about all of this. But because the clones were killed, they're terrified of being discovered as one so they do whatever they can not to meet face-to-face with pretty much anyone in their universe. They're afraid of confrontation anyway too, so they do most of their opposing as just quietly sneaking around. They're terrified of Fenton, and he gets a special kind of delight out of messing with them. They've never actually fainted around him (yet), but it isn't for a lack of him trying. They can't stand how fake Gyro comes off most of the time, but they know firsthand how ruthless he can be so they stay well away from him whenever possible. And tbh it's really fun to think about my stories switched over to the Negaverse, because like any wholesome moment or happy ending is the opposite. Mads and Fenton bleeding out in the snow and having a nice heart-to-heart before being saved? Could that be changed to Fenton trying to kill Blue before they managed to get back at him in self-defense, and when Gyro went to get Fenton he left Blue there to die? Gyro being kidnapped by F.O.W.L. and Mads and Fenton going to rescue him? Or Fenton forcing Blue to tell him where Gyro is and making them be his hostage?? And angst would be the opposite here too- switching Here's My Day so Far so it's Blue staying with F.O.W.L. for a few months before Fenton comes and kidnaps them and holds them hostage at his house, before making them come along to rescue Gyro from F.O.W.L. (and possibly hurt their F.O.W.L. agent friends- wait maybe in this universe Bradford's death was on accident??? 👀) too. Anyway. It's fun.

Story starts when Scrooge tells Gyro and Fenton to go ask the Negaverse people (who they know about somehow... haven't worked that out yet) for help defeating F.O.W.L.. NScrooge says he'll help, but only if they pick someone for a fight against his champion. His only condition is that whoever they pick, their weapons have to be homemade. Because the armor was largely made by Gyro, they go ask Mads, who made the weapons in his hand himself. When they head back to the Negaverse with him they discover that NScrooge's champion is NGizmoduck, and the two have a very intense and also very sexually charged fight, where Mads wins (but it's implied that NFenton let him win 'cause someonessssssss catching feelings already ;)). And I was originally thinking from there that they just kind of immediately fall for each other, but lately I’ve been thinking it would be really fun if they had some sort of enemies-to-lovers things going on where they take turns kidnapping each other, and it's left unspoken but they both know that for the most part this is just a game. Eventually they do confess and after that their relationship is mostly just little dates in each of their universes, telling each other how different things went down and how their respective universe even works (never resolved the 'negaverse people are now fighting F.O.W.L. too' thing here because LISTEN this was just an elaborate scheme to get these two together slsdjflsdjflsj). I haven't worked out how Mads met Blue yet, don't know if he went looking for them on purpose or somehow they just ran into each other. Blue is scared of Mads and his universe at first- because everyone there knows that Mads (and therefore Blue) is a clone of Gyro, and they're afraid that someone is going to tell someone in their universe about that too. Blue does eventually warm up to Mads (and Mads really tries to be their friend), though they are very distrusting of Gyro and Fenton because no matter how nice they are to them they'll always have that first impression of NGyro and NFenton.

I’m thinking that the relationship between NFenton and Blue does get better while Mads is there, he’s close with both of them and isn’t gonna tolerate NFenton harassing them at all. That being said!!! (This is where it gets tricky because I don’t know all about how it worked in dwd but this is how I’ve chosen to interpret the basic stuff ik sldlflfm) Their universes do run parallel to each other so if something happens in one, then some kind of version of that happens in another. Now if Mads and Fenton do ever have a major interaction in their universe then some kind of likely negative version happens between NFenton and Blue (and that was actually something really fun I messed around with in one of my stories, someone dies in the Negaverse and now they’ve got to figure out if they can prevent their death in the normal universe, if that’s even possible).

So yeah I think that’s most of what I’ve figured out so far lmk if there’s more you wanna know about 👀

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Devotional Hours Within the Bible

by J.R. Miller

The King in Zion (Psalm 2)

“Why do the nations conspire and the peoples plot in vain? The kings of the earth take their stand and the rulers gather together against the LORD and against his Anointed One. “Let us break their chains,” they say, “and throw off their fetters.” The One enthroned in heaven laughs; the Lord scoffs at them. Then he rebukes them in his anger and terrifies them in his wrath, saying, “I have installed my King on Zion, my holy hill.” I will proclaim the decree of the LORD: He said to me, “You are my Son; today I have become your Father. Ask of me, and I will make the nations your inheritance, the ends of the earth your possession. You will rule them with an iron scepter; you will dash them to pieces like pottery.” Therefore, you kings, be wise; be warned, you rulers of the earth. Serve the LORD with fear and rejoice with trembling. Kiss the Son, lest he be angry and you be destroyed in your way, for his wrath can flare up in a moment. Blessed are all who take refuge in him.”

“Why do the heathen rage, and the people imagine a vain thing? The kings of the earth set themselves, and the rulers take counsel together, against the LORD, and against his anointed.”

Men have always been ready to conspire against God. They think of Him as like themselves, as one they can oppose, one whose authority they can reject. To us, with our thought of God as the glorious King of all the world, opposition to Him is the worst folly. What can puny man do to resist God’s power, or to interfere with His sway? Yet evermore does heaven behold the spectacle described in the opening of this Psalm: “Why do the heathen rage, and the people imagine a vain thing?”

There are two possible meanings in this “Why?” It may suggest the folly of such opposition. Or it may indicate the enormity of it. It does seem strange that the world so hates God. What has He ever done to hurt anyone? If He were a cruel despot, like many of earth’s own kings it would not be strange if men hated Him. If He were a Nero, or a Caligula, or a Diocletian, or a Napoleon, it would not be surprising if the nations dreaded Him and if His name aroused rage. But never was there any other king so gentle, so loving.

The prophet foretold the reign of the Messiah as most kindly and gracious. He would not break a bruised reed. He would not lift up His voice in the street. He would not strive nor cry out. He comes not to destroy men’s lives but to save them. His reign is one of love.

A glance over the pages of the Gospels will show us how He fulfilled the Messianic prediction. He went about doing good, healing all manner of sickness, comforting sorrow. The “program of Christianity,” the work of Christ in this world, is mapped out in these words of the prophet Isaiah: “He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners, to proclaim the year of the LORD’s favor and the day of vengeance of our God, to comfort all who mourn, and provide for those who grieve in Zion to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair.”

Does it not seem strange, therefore, that the mention of the name of Christ causes such rage among the nations and peoples of the world? Why do the people not love Him? Why does the gentleness of His reign not win men to loyalty and affection? What is there in Him that makes the world dislike Him? Yet from the day He came into the world unto the present He has been rejected and despised. When Herod heard of the birth of the King he trembled with anger and slew all the infants of the town in which He was said to be, in hope of destroying the hated One .

All through His life it was the same. He did nothing but good, and yet the rulers ceased not to plot against Him, until at last they nailed Him to the cross! It is not otherwise today. The gospel breathes only love, and yet it is met by many with hate, scorn, and rage. Why is it? Why do the nations rage? “Let us break their bands asunder, and cast away their cords from us.” The words tell of revolt. They will defy His rule and cut themselves off from obedience to Him. They treat Him as if His rule were cruel and inhuman.

“He who sits in the heavens shall laugh! The Lord shall have them in derision.” The picture of God sitting on His throne in heaven, laughing at man’s puny efforts to frustrate His plans is a very striking one. It suggests to us the calm quiet of God in the face of men’s opposition. Can a man put up his hand and arrest the lightning bolt as it flies athwart the sky? Can he stand beside the sea and with his puny arm hurl back the waves that come rolling from the great deep? And can man resist omnipotence or defeat the divine purpose?

Look at the outcome of Herod’s plot to kill the infant Jesus. What came of the rage of the Jewish rulers who finally nailed Jesus on the cross? It only carried out God’s counsel and exalted Him to be a Prince and a Savior. So always, persecution has but advanced Christianity, not destroying it, not hindering its progress. The rage of infidels has resulted in strengthening what they sought to destroy. We need not be afraid, when the enemies of Christ seem to triumph. God is not disturbed on His throne. His plans go on in unbroken fulfillment. He laughs at men’s plots and schemes against Him.

“Ask of me, and I shall give you the heathen for your inheritance, and the uttermost parts of the earth for your possession.” It is a suggestive thought that even this Son of God, exalted on His throne, must ask for the inheritance that was promised to Him.

We get the lesson that no blessing comes to us but through our own prayer. The clearest, plainest promises must be taken up and claimed. They are checks which must be presented at the bank, before payment will be made. Promises do not mean anything to us until they are believed and then pleaded before God.

We know that Christ claimed the Father’s promise. Before He ascended He said, “All power is given unto me in heaven and in earth.” Paul tells us that having humbled Himself to death on the cross, God has also exalted Him and given Him a name which is above every name, that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow and every tongue confess that Christ is Lord.

So all nations are Christ’s. He is the rightful King of all lands. This ought to be an encouraging truth for all missionaries, and in all missionary work. India and China and Africa and the islands of the sea belong to Christ. They have been given to Him by His Father. In going into those lands and preaching the gospel, the missionary is but claiming Christ’s own for Him. So in offering Christ to any man and asking him to accept Him as Savior and Lord, we are only asking one of Christ’s rightful subjects to own his allegiance, to receive his true King.

This word has also its glorious assurance of the success of Christ’s kingdom on the earth. God will surely give Him the nations for His inheritance, and the uttermost parts of the earth for His possession, because He has promised to do so. Not a Word of God can ever be broken. Heaven and earth may pass away but not the smallest of God’s Words shall ever pass away.

“Kiss the Son, lest he be angry and you perish from the way, when his wrath is kindled but a little. Blessed are all those who put their trust in him.” The only true and wise thing to do is to submit in love and reverence to this glorious King. Those who will not yield to Him, shall be broken with a rod of iron. Gentle as He is, He is also just. Defiance of Christ can have only one outcome. It can end only in the utter destruction of those who lift up their hands in rebellion. Easily as a potter’s vessel is dashed in pieces when hurled against the rock shall the proudest human strength be crushed and destroyed by the power of Christ!

Submission, therefore, to this heaven-ordained King is the only wise course for anyone. Submission brings life and great gladness. “Blessed are all those who put their trust in him.” He makes them joint-heirs with Him. They sit with Him on His throne. They enjoy all the privileges of sonship. “All are yours; and you are Christ’s; and Christ is God’s.” We should all therefore submit to Christ, the Son of God, and become His subjects.

[froshele]

Hello tmoblr!

On a lark one night I decided to write a horror comedy novelette for fun. The next morning I realized that I don't know enough about the subject matter and cultural nuances of the setting not to look like an asshat writing it :)

This is mostly a checklist for myself and my own research, but if anyone is open to like occasionally dropping in when they have time and just infodumping a little about these things or tossing me a paper or three written by people who know what theyre talking about, I will be your friend and we will have tea together :)

There is a special interest guy for everything so if anyone is like moved by that to reach out I will absolutely be thrilled ☆

So, without further ado:

☆ American Christianity as a lived religion throughout the country (am foreign and Jewish, have never been to church, know enough about people to know that the letter of the law and the way religious people, including priests, live under it can be two very different things)

- especially ^ in large urban areas, especially in specifically Detroit; currently I am here for the medium to long term and think it'd be funny to set this atrocity here, but there are things that people would rightfully simply not have it occur to them to explain to me or invite me to, and unfortunately these are the ones I need to know to do this place and its people justice

there is seriously so little you can read that is worse than some chud from not your area writing about your area in like that weird holier than thou way they sometimes do and having come from a country it used to be socially acceptable to shit on recreationally pre current high profile events i Get It and do not want to inflict it on people

☆ When you would actually go about getting an exorcism and who (denominationally, in terms of census categories, etc) is more likely to believe in their efficacy

☆ Common tropes in media made by people outside "observant" Christian culture (again, especially throughout Michigan and specifically in Detroit) that are Just Tropes, and especially ones that people would prefer not to see

☆ Where the line is between pop culture angels, devils etc and doctrine about them, and what on that scale people tend to actually believe (ex. It seems to be a common belief that dead humans and animals become angels but according to a very cursory wiki crawl of Christian theology this appears to sometimes be opposed officially)

☆ Where the distinctions actually are between ambient American state religion and the practices of more specific faith communities, and how those work as such on the community level; almost certain they are not like Jewish kehillos

☆ cultural regions of Michigan as such and their like local tensions and stuff; will likely pick this up in the course of people watching but would appreciate primers generally so I can speedrun not seeming too weird to people (please ive already terrified my neighbours help me contain this before it spreads)

☆ local points of interest :^) of course, of course

[ourlastbastion]

Some Archmage character deets

Phoenix: current physical embodiment of the limitless potential of Magic. Goes from happy kid to angst and anger distancing himself from everyone, but by the time he’s an adult, he’s literally run away from the responsibility of his blood, went into hiding in a remote Romanian village that doubled as a cult to Baphomet. The hollow hole in his chest eventually closed and he learned to be genuinely happy again working as the only servant for one of the apostles of Baphomet, the reclusive Maria Constantin. They fall in love. It’s very sweet.

Zoe: Phoenixs best friend, human who learned sorcery (magic that uses the mana of other creatures /ingredients as opposed to your own energy) despite Phoenixs aversion to it. She and Phoenix had very cute mutual crushes on each other, but then Phoenix got trapped in the fae realm and when he finally escaped he was still 15 and she was 19 going on 20, so that romance died before it could start. Remains his staunchest supporter. Somehow befriended the asshole who cost Phoenix his arm and got him trapped in the fae realm when he ended up her roommate at magic school. It’s complicated.

Aeron: the asshole who made Phoenix lose his arm due to necrotic magic and got him trapped in the fae realm. Is actually an okay-ish guy, doesn’t have any malicious feelings towards the heroes, he’s just doing what his mother tells him because obedience to her is all he was allowed to know. Is also Phoenixs cousin, sort of. He was conceived two hundred years ago by Phoenix’s many-times great grandfathers oldest son. Rather than get born, he was put in a stone and was hatched a few years before Phoenix was born. Got to be his mother’s favorite test subject in working g with eldritch horrors, as such his magic is wack. Loves animals more than people. Has a complicated history with Carmilla and ends up marrying her. It’s less romantic than it seems, she kidnapped him, told him he has to marry her, and him not knowing what to do now that his mom /master was killed and having no ambitions of his own just went “okay”

Carmilla: vampire nobility, youngest daughterof a countess. A few hundred years old. When Aeron was 8, she got injured in a winter storm in her bat form, Aeron found her as said bat, nursed her back to health, and she developed an obsession with him, deciding he was the only good human, and that he has to stay by her side. Kidnapping attempt got thwarted of course, and for the next twenty years or so, she remained obsessed and possessive over him in her very violent way. When their paths finally crossed again, she kidnapped him and told him he had to marry her, and he agreed. So now their husband and wife, and she will gut anyone who she thinks is making a move on him.

Maria Constantin: One of the four apostates of Baphomet who rule a remote European village. Has severe social anxiety and is reclusive, village rarely sees her, and she never speaks when they do. Has even more crippling abandonment issues. Once she comes to like someone who’s entered her life, she is terrified of losing them and becomes incredibly possessive. Is a very soft spoken woman. Phoenix is the first person outside of her adoptive “family” with the other apostles who entered her life and refused to leave no matter what. They fall in love and are very cute together.

[dfroza]

“It is finished!”

Today’s reading of the Scriptures from the New Testament is the 19th chapter of the book of John:

Pilate took Jesus and had Him flogged. The soldiers twisted thorny branches together as a crown and placed it onto His brow and wrapped Him in a purple cloth. They drew near to Him, shouting:

Soldiers (striking at Jesus): Bow down, everyone! This is the King of the Jews!

Pilate (going out to the crowd): Listen, I stand in front of you with this man to make myself clear: I find this man innocent of any crimes.

Then Jesus was paraded out before the people, wearing the crown of thorns and the purple robe.

Pilate: Here is the man!

Chief Priests and Officers (shouting): Crucify, crucify!

Pilate: You take Him and crucify Him; I have declared Him not guilty of any punishable crime!

Jews: Our law says that He should die because He claims to be the Son of God.

Pilate was terrified to hear the Jews making their claims for His execution; so he retired to his court, the Praetorium.

Pilate (to Jesus): Where are You from?

Jesus did not speak.

Pilate: How can You ignore me? Are You not aware that I have the authority either to free You or to crucify You?

Jesus: Any authority you have over Me comes from above, not from your political position. Because of this, the one who handed Me to you is guilty of the greater sin.

Pilate listened to Jesus’ words. Taking them to heart, he attempted to release Jesus; but the Jews opposed him, shouting:

Jews: If you release this man, you have betrayed Caesar. Anyone who claims to be a king threatens Caesar’s throne.

After Pilate heard these accusations, he sent Jesus out and took his seat in the place where he rendered judgment. This place was called the Pavement, or Gabbatha in Hebrew. All this occurred at the sixth hour on the day everyone prepares for the Passover.

Pilate (to the Jews): Look, here is your King!

Jews: Put Him away; crucify Him!

Pilate: You want me to crucify your King?

Chief Priests: We have no king but Caesar!

Pilate handed Him over to his soldiers, knowing that He would be crucified. They sent Jesus out carrying His own instrument of execution, the cross, to a hill known as the Place of the Skull, or Golgotha in Hebrew. In that place, they crucified Him along with two others. One was on His right and the other on His left. Pilate ordered that a plaque be placed above Jesus’ head. It read, “Jesus of Nazareth, the King of the Jews.” Because the site was near an urban region, it was written in three languages (Greek, Latin, and Hebrew) so that all could understand.

Chief Priests (to Pilate): Don’t write, “The King of the Jews.” Write, “He said, ‘I am King of the Jews’!”

Pilate: I have written what I have written.

As Jesus was being crucified, the soldiers tore His outer garments into four pieces, one for each of them. They wanted to do the same with His tunic, but it was seamless—one piece of fabric woven from the top down. So they said,

Soldier (to other soldiers): Don’t tear it. Let’s cast lots, and the winner will take the whole thing.

This happened in keeping with the Hebrew Scriptures, which said, “They divided My outer garments and cast lots for My clothes.” These soldiers did exactly what was foretold in the Hebrew Scriptures. Jesus’ mother was standing next to His cross along with her sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene. Jesus looked to see His mother and the disciple He loved standing nearby.

Jesus (to Mary, His mother): Dear woman, this is your son (motioning to the beloved disciple)! (to John, His disciple) This is now your mother.

From that moment, the disciple treated her like his own mother and welcomed her into his house. Jesus knew now that His work had been accomplished, and the Hebrew Scriptures were being fulfilled.

Jesus: I am thirsty.

A jar of sour wine had been left there, so they took a hyssop branch with a sponge soaked in the vinegar and put it to His mouth. When Jesus drank, He spoke:

Jesus: It is finished!

In that moment, His head fell; and He gave up the spirit. The Jews asked Pilate to have their legs broken so the bodies would not remain on the crosses on the Sabbath. It was the day of preparation for the Passover, and that year the Passover fell on the Sabbath. The soldiers came and broke the legs of both the men crucified next to Jesus. When they came up to Jesus’ cross, they could see that He was dead; so they did not break His legs. Instead, one soldier took his spear and pierced His abdomen, which brought a gush of blood and water.

This testimony is true. In fact, it is an eyewitness account; and he has reported what he saw so that you also may believe. It happened this way to fulfill the Hebrew Scriptures that “not one of His bones shall be broken”; and the Hebrew Scriptures also say, “They will look upon Him whom they pierced.”

After all this, Joseph of Arimathea, a disciple who kept his faith a secret for fear of the Jewish officials, made a request to Pilate for the body of Jesus. Pilate granted his request, and Joseph retrieved the body. Nicodemus, who first came to Jesus under the cloak of darkness, brought over 100 pounds of myrrh and ointments for His burial. Together, they took Jesus’ body and wrapped Him in linens soaked in essential oils and spices, according to Jewish burial customs.

Near the place He was crucified, there was a garden with a newly prepared tomb. Because it was the day of preparation, they arranged to lay Jesus in this tomb so they could rest on the Sabbath.

The Book of John, Chapter 19 (The Voice)

A note from The Voice translation:

Now you know who “the beloved disciple” is: the last eyewitness to the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus. Mary has become family to John, fulfilling the dying wish of Jesus, his Savior. For those who are gathered at the foot of the cross, family is less about blood kinship than it is about covenant obedience.

The mother of the Lord will serve the redemptive purposes of her son and the Savior of the world until her last day on earth. Anyone feeling sorry for himself should think about Jesus. He spent all this time before His death, and through His death, demonstrating how to love and how to serve. He is asking John to do no more in serving Mary than He did in serving us.

Today’s paired reading from the First Testament is the 31st chapter of the book of Genesis:

As time went on, Jacob overheard what Laban’s sons were saying about him.

Laban’s Sons: Jacob has taken everything that belonged to our father; he gained all his wealth from taking advantage of him.

And Jacob also noticed a change in how Laban looked at him and treated him. He seemed colder toward him than before.

Eternal One (to Jacob): You must now return to the land of your ancestors and to your own family. I will be with you always.

So Jacob called his wives Rachel and Leah to meet him in the field where his flock was grazing.

Jacob: I notice your father’s attitude toward me has changed; he doesn’t regard me with the same respect as he did before. But the God of my father has been with me. You both know how well I have served your father—with all my strength. However your father cheated me by changing the terms of my salary 10 times, but beyond that my God did not allow him to harm me. If your father said, “The speckled will be your payment,” then all of the flock became speckled; and if he said, “the striped will be your payment,” then all of the flock became striped. In this way, God has taken away your father’s livestock and given them to me. During the mating season of the flock, I once paid attention to a dream, and in the dream, I saw the male goats that mated with the flock were striped, speckled, and mottled. Then God’s messenger said to me in the dream, “Jacob!” and I answered, “I’m here.” And the messenger said, “Look up right now, and see all of the goats that are mating with the flock are striped, speckled, and mottled because I have noticed everything Laban is doing to you. I am the God of Bethel, the place where you poured oil on a pillar and made a vow to Me. Now get up, leave this land, and return to the land where you were born.”

Rachel and Leah: Is there any inheritance at all left for us from our father’s house? He regards us as foreigners now that we’ve married you. He sold us in exchange for your years of labor, and he has been using up all of the money that should have been ours. All of the property God has taken from our father and given to you actually belongs to us and to our children anyway! So do whatever God said to do.

So Jacob got up, and he put his children and his wives on camels for the journey. He rounded up all of his livestock and all of the property he had gained, including the livestock he had acquired in Paddan-aram, and he began to drive them to his father Isaac in the land of Canaan. Meanwhile Laban had gone off to shear his sheep. While he was out, Rachel stole her father’s household idols. And Jacob likewise deceived Laban the Aramean by hiding from him the fact that he was leaving. He just left quickly with everything he had. He crossed the Euphrates River and set pace south toward the hill country of Gilead.

Three days later, Laban was told that Jacob had left. So he gathered a group of his relatives, and together they pursued him for seven days until they closed in on Jacob in the hill country of Gilead. Then God came to Laban the Aramean in a dream during the night with a message.

Eternal One: Be careful what you say and do to Jacob.

Laban caught up to Jacob. Now Jacob had pitched his tent and set up camp in the hill country; and Laban, along with his relatives, also camped in the hill country of Gilead. Laban went out to meet Jacob.

Laban (to Jacob): What have you done, deceiving me and carrying off my daughters as if they were your prisoners of war? Why did you run out on me and try to trick me? Why didn’t you just tell me you were going? I would have sent you off with celebration and songs, with the joyful sounds of the tambourine and lyre. And why didn’t you even allow me to kiss my daughters and grandchildren good-bye? What you have done is foolish. It is certainly in my power to punish you, but the God of your father Isaac spoke to me last night and said, “Be careful what you say and do to Jacob.” Now you have left because you missed your father’s household—I can understand that—but why did you have to steal my family gods?

Jacob (answering Laban): I left because I was afraid, and because I thought you would take your daughters away from me by force. But I pledge to you that anyone who stole your gods will not live. I certainly did not take them. Here in the presence of all of our relatives, search the camp and let’s see if anything I have is yours. If there is, you can take it back!

Of course, Jacob had no idea Rachel had stolen the idols.

So Laban went into Jacob’s tent, into Leah’s tent, and into the two female servants’ tent; he searched, but he did not find them. Then he came out of Leah’s tent and into Rachel’s. Now Rachel had taken the household gods and concealed them in the camel’s saddle, and she sat on them. Laban looked around and felt everything in the tent, but he did not find them.

Rachel (to her father): Please don’t be angry that I cannot get up for you, sir, but I am in the midst of my “time of month.”

So Laban searched, but he did not find the household gods.

When Jacob saw that Laban’s search had come up empty, he became angry and confronted Laban.

Jacob: What is my offense? What have I done that is so wicked to make you pursue me like a common criminal? You searched through all of my things, and what have you found that belonged to you? Whatever it is, set it down here between your family and mine, and they can decide whose it is. I’ve worked for you for 20 years. Your ewes and your female goats have never miscarried under my care. I have never feasted on any of the rams in your flocks. When wild animals attacked, I didn’t bring the carcass to you to deal with; I bore the cost myself. You required me to cover any losses, whether the animals were stolen by day or night, and I did so. There I was—at your service—during the day I was hounded by heat; during the night I was cold and couldn’t get a good night’s sleep. For 20 years, I have been in your household. I served you 14 of those years in return for your two daughters, and six years for your flock. And you have altered my payment 10 times. If the God of my father, the God of Abraham, and the Fear of Isaac had not been on my side, surely now you would have sent me away empty-handed. But God knows my plight and how hard I’ve labored for you, and it was He who reprimanded you last night!

Laban: The daughters you speak of are my daughters; the children are my grandchildren; the flocks are my flocks; all you see is mine. But what can I do today about these daughters of mine and the children from their wombs? Come, let’s make a covenant between us, you and me, and let there be a witness to our agreement.

So Jacob took a stone and set it up as a pillar. He told his relatives to gather up more stones. So they all took stones and made a large pile of them. Then they ate there by the pile. Laban called it Jegar-sahadutha (Aramaic for “witness-pile”) and Jacob called it Galeed (Hebrew for “witness-pile”).

Laban: This pile of stones stands as a witness to the agreement we have made today.

This is why he called it Galeed. The pillar was called Mizpah, which means “watch post.”

Laban: May the Eternal One watch us when we are away from one another. If you in any way mistreat my daughters or if you take wives in addition to my daughters, even though no one else is with us, remember that God is a witness between you and me.

See this pile of stones and this pillar which I have set between us. This pile is a witness and this pillar is a witness that I will not pass beyond this pile of stones to harm you, and you will not pass beyond this pile and this pillar to harm me. May the God of Abraham and the God of Nahor (the God of their father Terah) serve as judge between us.

So Jacob swore an oath on the Fear of Isaac, his father; and Jacob offered a sacrifice on the hill there and called all of his relatives together to eat bread. And they all ate bread and spent the rest of the night in the hill country. Early the next morning, Laban got up, kissed his grandchildren and his daughters, and blessed them; and then he left and returned home.

The Book of Genesis, Chapter 31 (The Voice)

A link to my personal reading of the Scriptures for Tuesday, April 2 of 2024 with a paired chapter from each Testament (the First & the New) of the Bible along with Today’s Proverbs and Psalms

A post by John Parsons about the “yes” and “amen”:

The last promise of Scripture is "I come quickly" (אֲנִי בָא מַהֵר) and the last prayer is, "Amen, come, Lord Yeshua" (אָמֵן בּאָה־נָּא הָאָדוֹן יֵשׁוּעַ) [Rev. 22:20]. Meanwhile we "inwardly groan" for the fulfillment of our redemption, since presently we are suspended between worlds, walking in hope yet subject to the vanities that befall all flesh... And though God may tarry, He declares, "I am the LORD; in its time I will hasten it" (Isa. 60:22). So we are made captives to hope, clinging to the promise of our ultimate healing and redemption. Our hearts therefore affirm that God is faithful "to keep you from falling, and to present you faultless before the presence of his glory with exceeding joy" (Jude 1:24). Amen. God will help us before He will help us, and may He come speedily, and in our day....

[ Hebrew for Christians ]

========

Isaiah 45:22 reading:

https://hebrew4christians.com/Blessings/Blessing_Cards/isa45-22-jjp.mp3

Hebrew page:

https://hebrew4christians.com/Blessings/Blessing_Cards/isa45-22-lesson.pdf

4.2.24 • Facebook

from yesterday’s email by Israel365:

But Moses is doing more than speaking to Aharon – he’s also speaking to us about how we can elevate our relationships with God. Even more than feeling the emotions – which is an important first step in worship – Moses is illustrating that there’s an even higher level – that of taking action to advance Godliness in the world. Whether it’s setting an example of good conduct in our families or communities, actively participating in workshops or events, or leading the way in a charity, we can take inspiration from Moses’s words of comfort and do our part to “show” the holiness of God.

Today’s message (Days of Praise) from the Institute for Creation Research

April 2, 2024

Sodom and Gomorrha

“Even as Sodom and Gomorrha, and the cities about them in like manner, giving themselves over to fornication, and going after strange flesh, are set forth for an example, suffering the vengeance of eternal fire.” (Jude 1:7)

These cities provide two stern examples of God’s judgmental wrath. Their sin had reached such an intensity and had become so widespread that the entire region suffered the “vengeance of eternal fire.” Just like the awful misuse of human sexual potential distorted by the angelic beings cited in the previous verse, these cities had become so perverted that God’s longsuffering and mercy had ended.

“But the men of Sodom were wicked and sinners before the LORD exceedingly” (Genesis 13:13). Whatever they were involved with had become so heinous and so completely a distortion of everything God created man for that God appears to have reached the limit of human vocabulary to describe it. Their character (wickedness) and their deeds (sins) were “too much” for God.

Two classifications are listed. The first, fornication, is cited nearly 100 times in the Old Testament and is referred to over a dozen times in the New—always as a condemnation of sexual behavior outside of the intimate relations of husband and wife. The other classification is going after “strange flesh.” Genesis 19 makes it perfectly clear that this “exceedingly” awful sin was homosexual perversion.

For these sins God rained down “brimstone and fire from the LORD out of heaven” (Genesis 19:24). The Scripture is precisely clear: vengeance belongs to God (Romans 12:19), and He made Himself absolutely clear about His view of widespread fornication and homosexual behavior. This example is a sobering warning for those societies that promote such lifestyles. HMM III

[queer-whatchamacallit]

Thinking about Hotch and how my brain has chosen to smoosh him to fit what I want from his character

Thinking abt how Hotch grew up in a horribly violent home that he did everything in his power to protect his little brother from because Hotch is so incredibly on the side of ‘no one deserves to feel this’ as opposed to ‘I want others to feel how I feel’

Autistic Hotch who hid everything in him as best he could because his home did not treat his differences and needs kindly, who was still considered ‘not quite right’ by those who interacted with him but wouldn’t be diagnosed and able to understand the disconnect he experienced with most people until he was almost 40

Hotch who was always a little lanky and resented how he only really gained weight and muscle well after his father died because he’d been counting down the days until he could fight back from the time he was like 13 but never had the physical strength to

Hotch not knowing how to deal with the myriad of ways this home has effected him and picking up smoking and drinking as a way to make everything feel less

Hotch meeting Haley and knowing he wanted to feel everything if it meant truly experiencing the way she made him feel

Hotch who hated his father and couldn’t understand why he was so devastated by his death. He has two main theories, and the answer is likely a combination of both and some things he hasn’t thought of. 1, that there was a million things he wanted to do and say to him to get some kind of closure after the torture he endured and never got the chance, and 2, that’s one of the biggest changes he’s ever experienced, and he sometimes just needs time to adjust

Hotch smoking on and off since meeting Haley, but after hearing Haley suggest they have kids some day, completely stopping because he would never want to leave Haley and a son behind because he got lung cancer like his father did

Hotchley who love each other to the ends of the Earth and tell each other everything and do their best to show the other the insane amount of love and trust they have for each other

Hotchley who are inseparable and take care of each other and are sweet to each other and always know how to make the other feel safe

Hotch who is completely terrified to have kids because he doesn’t feel like he is good enough to be trusted with a human life but also can’t think of any other life he would rather have with Haley than loving her and raising a kid together

Hotch who grew to have the body type of a brick wall, over six foot and all broad shoulders and stockiness, and is terrified of hurting people and always treats himself as dangerous when he’s in distress because on one or two occasions, his unintended strength has proven to more than anyone expects from Hotch, the gentle giant

Hotch who was nervous about holding Jack because he was so worried he was going to hurt him somehow

Hotch who has autism and obsessive compulsive tendencies and can be debilitatingly paranoid and has only slept well a handful of nights throughout his entire life and thinks he’s a failure at anything other than working and takes years to get therapy for any of this and is so fucking tired and the list goes on

Hotch who learns to take care of Jack after Haley’s death and thinks he’s doing everything wrong but is actually an amazing father

Hotch who finally gets help for how horrible his mental health is and realizes for the first time that there are ways of living that don’t involve him being miserable most of the time

Hotch after Witsec who drives a blue pickup truck to his job as a high school teacher every day and who can’t wait to have Jack in class because his favorite thing is spending time with his son

Hotch who still feels the need to help people, and can find that in teaching kids and looking out for them

Hotch figures out a lifestyle that works for him and a set of medications to help him manage everything better. He develops a special interest in escape rooms to fill his need for problems to solve, and he’s truly content for one of the first times in his life

I’m going to stop at these, but I could literally go on all day

[slasherscream]

hear me out crazy ass boy gang with a s/o that writes them songs but has never shown them. randomly the guys find them knowing them some are gonna be insufferable with the amount of arrogance they now possess and some of them have no clue what to do with the concept of someone loving them and verbalizing it 🥺

A/N: oooh my gosh i'm obsessed with this concept

billy loomis: Was waiting for you to get back from school/work, and couldn’t keep his hands to himself. He wasn’t necessarily trying to find anything, but the book was on your desk- you were asking him to read it, at this point. He’s only halfheartedly looking until he realizes the words are lyrics. It doesn’t take a genius to realize the love songs are written with him in mind. At first it makes him smirk. But he can see the evolution of your relationship through the lyrics. General feelings of infatuation melting into the deeper connection of being in love with him, as opposed to being in love with love itself. It’s an ego boost, for sure. Mostly it’s a relief. Here are your feelings, written out on page, clear as day. Your every unfiltered thought. He doesn’t tell you he read the book. He just walks around with a knowing smirk on his face that you’re very suspicious of. You’re easily distracted from this onset of smugness by his sudden romantic nature. He’s never been a bad boyfriend, but he’s certainly never been so downright doting. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, you decide to just enjoy this random streak of tenderness.

josh washington: You two were moving in together and he was just trying to unpack some of your boxes for you. He’s honestly just setting up your desk for you. All the boxes are marked so that either one of you can unpack anything inside with at least a vague idea of where the stuff should go. Something about the unmarked notebook that doesn’t look like its for school makes him take a look inside. When he realizes how personal it is he wants to put it down. Then he spots his name... and well, he isn’t a saint.

He melts as he goes through the pages. He knows the two of you love each other. You have to love each other, with all the bullshit you’ve been through. But he knows it’s not easy to be with him. Sometimes he worries that you’ll wake up one day and be done with him. Be done with all the problems that come with being with him. He wouldn’t blame you but the thought leaves him hollow. He doesn’t know what he’d do without you. He doesn’t know if he could handle you being gone. You love him though. It’s inked into the pages. Some songs written out slow and careful, and others written out sloppy and fast, like you had to get all the feeling out of your chest because it hurt to have it all trapped inside. You’ll walk in carrying takeout and find Josh crying. You nearly drop the food to run and comfort him. When he tells you what’s wrong - or really, what isn’t wrong, you won’t even have the heart to be angry. He looks somewhere between overwhelmed and awe. All he can think to do is pull you into his arms. He holds you so tightly you wonder if he’s afraid someone will come and take you away.

stu macher: He was just going through your stuff because he was bored, honestly. He wasn’t expecting to find anything juicy. The minute he realizes he’s holding onto a notebook full of songs he’s giddy. It’s practically a diary! You'll come into your bedroom and see him poring over your words without shame. He won’t even have the decency to stop. “Hey babe!”, will be his absentminded greeting as his eyes stay glued to a far-too-familiar book. You’ll have to literally snatch it from him. “Didn’t know you felt this way about me.” His teasing will be relentless. You’ll have to threaten to break up with him, and give him a bit of the silent treatment too. Eventually he’ll ease up on you, his grin going soft around the edges. “You should show me them on your own next time. Else I’ll have to go hunting for ‘em.” It’s not an idle threat. Now that he knows the book exists he’ll really tear up your entire house looking for it. Don’t bother trying to hide it. It won’t be worth the headache. 

jd: His first instinct is to become insufferable. As he reads more of your lyrics, he starts getting overwhelmed. Even as he holds the proof in his hands, he can barely wrap his head around you feeling so strongly about him. He traces over your handwriting and relishes every word. You'll catch him in the act but you won't have the chance to get angry. He kisses you like a man starved. Whispers every thought of love he's ever had against your lips, uncaring if he sounds obsessed. He was allowed a glimpse at your soul. It's only fair that he bares his in return.

kevin khatchadourian: Honestly was indifferent at first. He was going through your things because ‘why shouldn't he?‘ when he found all the songs. Page after page he reads. Slowly but surely it starts to get to him. The only person who's ever loved him is his father, and that love is built upon an endless tapestry of falsehoods and manipulation. His father loves someone who doesn't exist. His mother knows him, always has, but she despises him. Celia loves him, but it's pathetic. The hopeless and unthinking love of a dog. And now there's you. When he's with you he drops the act of normality he puts on for everyone else. You were around so constantly that he couldn't stomach wearing the mask 24/7. Beyond that though, there was something about you that made him want to show you everything. At first he thought he wanted to scare you. Now he doesn't know what he really wants from you.

As he reads through the pages he's sifting through your words, finding the deeper meanings. Watches as you stop writing about his mask, and start writing about him. Jagged and malicious and apathetic as he might be. You're infatuated          maybe you even love him. You've written out the words in a hundred different ways. He can see it every time you look at him, reach for him, follow him, talk to him. Reading it is different, somehow. You probably never wanted him to see these words. To know the depth of how you feel. You were probably afraid he'd mock you. A few months ago he would have. Now? He puts the book back, exactly where he found it.

He won't tell you about reading it, but the words are always on his mind. You'll think you misplaced the book one day and be beside yourself over losing it. Eventually you’ll find it again, out of the blue. Something is off about it though... but you’re not sure what. You’ll never know that what you have is a replica of the original book. A good replica, granted, but a replica nonetheless. Kevin thought about the songs too much, and committing them all to memory hadn’t scratched the itch. The constant cycle of the words running through his head. The irritation he’d feel when he forgot a part of a song, or mixed lyrics together. Having the book itself? It quieted his mind. He’s uncomfortable with the fact that he keeps it under his bed, tucked away inside a lock box, just so no one would be able to look at it. He’s never felt so protective over an item before. He tries not to think about it too much.

nathan prescott: He actually looked at your song book on accident. He needed to borrow some notes for a class and you told him he could just go to your room and grab them. He would never go searching for something like that. Saying he values his privacy would be an understatement, so he'd never disrespect yours. As soon as he realizes these are songs he wants to stop reading... but he's desperate to know what you think of him. People lie so easily, but here's a chance to see the raw truth of how you feel. He's terrified as he starts to read. Then he's just shocked. He'd hoped you weren't like everyone else around him. Wanting him to fail, to lose it, waiting for some sort of pay-off or trickle down. Even if you were, he wanted you so badly he was willing to have you any way you came, as long as you stayed. But here you are, your deepest feelings written out in ink, and you love him. You don't even pity him, you ache for him, want him. The next time he sees you he tells you he loves you for the first time. You'll never know that he read your songs, you'll only notice how much your relationship seemed to change over night.

sebastian valmont: Has to deflect. The only reason he’s being such an asshole about your songs is because he’s trying to deflect. He’s the only one here who has also written about you. Maybe not in lyrics, or in poetry, but he’s written about you. His diary is full of you. He started writing about you the moment he met you. Not unusual for him, considering absolutely everything is in his journals. But from the start there’s been something different about the entries that mention you. All his words suddenly become electric, leaping off the page. His descriptions of you, of the time you spent together, nearing obsessive in their detail. As if you were a puzzle he was trying to solve.

If there’s anything Sebastian is good at its manipulation. He knows he has you. He can have anyone, if he puts his mind to it. He’s made people fall in love with him before. There’s a long line of people who wants his head on a platter for that very reason. You’re the only prize that’s ever mattered, though. He has you now, sure. But what about tomorrow? Or the day after that? It’s easy for eyes to wander, for the heart to turn fickle. Sometimes he watches you and tries to imagine what you might want from him. Tries to figure out what he could do to keep you interested from moment to moment. If he ever shared his worries with you, his worries that you could just get bored with him and leave, just like that - you’d tell him you don’t want him to be anyone but himself. And Sebastian doesn’t want to be anyone but himself, he doesn’t. But people contain multitudes, are more than a single face. He’d rather be a version of himself that captivates you then a “true” version of himself that you can grow tired of.

But here’s written proof that you love him. As he is. All the long nights you’ve spent talking to one another, side by side. The conversations where you traded barbs and philosophy, and everything in-between. The dinners, and picnics, and phone calls, and rooftops. He was so busy observing you, and trying to create a version of himself that you could love, that he forgot that there was something real for you to fall for. Didn’t even know how much of himself he was earnestly offering to you. Now he can see it in ink, and it’s scary, even with how much he loves you, to realize how much of the real him you know.

So he’s an asshole for a few days. When you confront him he falls apart like a wet sandcastle. You won’t have time to get angry before he’s pushing his own journals into your hands. Sebastian has never played fair, but something about you seeing through him despite all his masks made him want to show you more. As scary as it had been, it was also a moment of pure connection. The most electric, addicting thing he’s ever felt. He wants to feel it over and over again.

[thewayshedreamed]

Nessian prompt:

We’re playing truth or dare and I just got dared to sit on your lap for the next two rounds but now I’m sitting on your hard-on and I’m kinda getting turned on cuz the ✨positioning✨. We’re both tryna fix the situation without drawing attention to us but the fidgeting definitely isn’t helping 👀

Thanks for the prompt, Bby! I know you sent it as part of my follower celebration, but it worked so well for @nessianweek Day 4: Rivalry that I couldn't pass it up.

Enjoy!

Warnings for strong language and mature themes. Slightly nsfw.

--

Nesta didn't know the last time she played Truth or Dare. She thought those days had left her at some point during undergrad, but apparently not. There she was, her last semester of graduate school, somewhat invested in a round of the game. The group had been playing for almost an hour, the drinks they poured becoming more and more stout as the night went on.

Gwyn and Emerie had convinced her to join them for a night out with the others, and to be fair, it had been quite some time since she'd allowed herself a carefree night out. Her sisters and Mor were there, as well as Rhys, Azriel, Cassian, and Lucien. Amren mentioned she would "see how things went", which meant she and Varian were staying in to fulfill their own agenda. There was no doubt that was for the best since their activities would likely scar them all.

It was Mor's turn, and her mischievous smile turned on her girlfriend. "Truth or Dare, Em?"

Emerie considered it for a moment, making a show of staring at the ceiling. One of the guys made a sound similar to a ticking clock, but she paid them no mind.

"Truth."

"Okay," Mor drawled, taking a long sip of wine. "Fuck, Marry, Kill; for Rhys, Azriel, Cassian."

Emerie's eyes grew wide, snapping to Feyre and back to Mor. Nesta dared to chuckle at her friend's tight position, earning a pointed glare reserved for the worst of traitors.

"Don't hesitate on my account," Feyre giggled, resting her head on Rhys' shoulder. "I'm curious."

"That's not a fair one!" Emerie argued, gesturing with her hands. "The answer is none of the above, on all counts. For more than one reason."

The three men had the audacity to look miffed at her rejection, even though none of them had any interest in Emerie. They'd all known each other too long for any blurred lines. Mor leaned heavily against her, a look of apology in her rounded, brown eyes.

"Fair enough," she conceded, pressing a kiss to Emerie's cheek.

"That's not how it works!" Cassian challenged. It was unclear whether his ego or strict principles motivated his outburst.

Nesta fought the urge to roll her eyes, to rise to the challenge in his voice like she usually did. But Emerie was her friend, and she wasn't going to take him pushing her lying down. The words left her with more snark than usual.

"Oh, would you come off it?"

His eyes snapped in her direction, locking in on her face like a predator circling prey. "Let me guess. You have an opinion."

Nesta's blood boiled, despite the fact that she told herself Cassian wouldn't get under her skin the next time they were around each other. She was 0 for... hundreds at that point.

"She answered it truthfully, so I don't see the problem."

"It's the way the question was framed, though. It's a game within the question. There were three options. 'None of the above' wasn't one of them."

Nesta loosened the reins on her eye rolling. Cassian was good for that. "No one made that rule."

"Sweetheart, the rules are pretty clear. But if you want to make sure they stay nice and loose so you can back out later, I get that."

Emerie cleared her throat, eager to redirect his challenge before the two of them escalated. "Show us how it's done, then. Truth or Dare, Cassian?"

His attention lingered on Nesta a moment longer, a familiar glint in his eyes. Her blood heated for an entirely different reason, and she was sure to berate it for doing so.

"Dare."

"I dare you to kiss Azriel," she said, grinning around the rim of her glass. "On the mouth."

Azriel pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, resigned to his fate. He knew Cassian better than anyone, and it was only a matter of time.

Without hesitation, Cassian said, "Oh, done. Tongue?"

A chorus of laughter drowned out Azriel incredulous curse in Cassian's direction. When she finally recovered, Emerie took mercy on Azriel and excused any tongue. Cassian didn't hesitate to lean toward Azriel, cupping him roughly by the back of the neck and planting a full kiss to his mouth. There were catcalls all around; not at all needed in the encouragement department.

Azriel turned his attention to Feyre, fully succumbing to his soft spot for her and letting her off on the easiest Truth ever. It was something to do with who she would most like to draw or paint of the lot of them, excluding Rhys. No surprises on her choice of Azriel himself, but to his credit, he didn’t preen at the compliment. He humbly nodded as if anyone alive wouldn’t want to catch those angles on canvas.

“Nesta,” Feyre called, interrupting another quip she had been prepared to launch Cassian’s way. She couldn’t remember why. “Truth or Dare?”

She took a long pull of her drink and licked her bottom lip. “Dare.”

“Hmm,” Feyre considered, and Nesta had to admit to being slightly terrified of how diabolical sibling could be in a game such as the one she played. It didn’t take long for her to realize she’d been right to feel that way. “I think you two need to learn to get along. I dare you to sit on Cass' lap. Minimum of two full turns.”

Nesta’s nostrils flared. Cassian’s red hot challenge bore a hole into the side of her head, and all she could hear was his taunt from before.

Sweetheart, the rules are pretty clear. But if you want to make sure they stay nice and loose so you can back out later, I get that.

She snapped her attention to his face, suppressing the urge to throttle him for the narrow-eyed smirk he offered. Angling his large body backward, he draped a muscled arm across the back of the couch and eased his thighs open. Cassian wouldn't be the one to back down, she realized.

"Fine." Nesta threw back the rest of her drink and set it roughly on the nearby table.

Cassian's eyes were sparkling, his smile feline. He tapped his thigh with his free hand to goad her, and she wondered if he— if they— would ever tire of the constant challenges. Nesta sauntered over and dropped heavily into the center of his lap, earning a loud oof.

"Fuck, Sweetheart," he fussed, gripped her waist in his large hands to rearrange their position.

The heat of his hands, the scrape of his calluses; they came together to monopolize her focus. She was almost sure that others were amused by their display, but her world was singularly focused.

Cassian cleared his throat while he eased her into a position that better balanced her weight. The tension eased from her thighs as she settled, only for him to shift her again. Nesta let out an exaggerated sigh at his constant fidgeting. The only silver lining to the near motion sickness she'd no doubt endure as a result was the steadiness of his grip against her.

The reason for all his maneuvering revealed itself seconds later. Nesta had been initially impressed with the muscle tone in his thighs, how firm the muscles felt beneath her. They were nothing in comparison to the very obvious hardness pressing against the swell of her ass.

Animated conversation continued around them, and Nesta took the opportunity to turn and offer an accusatory glare. He hissed against the pressure of her movement, sending her eyebrows into her hairline.

"Are you really h—"

"Shh!" Cassian ordered, clamping a hand over her mouth. "Can you not announce that shit to the entire room?"

Nesta blinked incredulously and dragged her tongue against his palm. He grimaced, rubbing his palm against his jeans as if she'd poured acid onto his skin.

"It's not my fault you can't... control that," she hissed.

"Well, shit, Nesta. When's the last time you had a beautiful woman on your lap and had to keep your boner in check?" His whisper was low, frantic. There were words that latched onto her nerves and left goosebumps in their wake, even when she barely heard them.

"It's only two turns," she managed, swallowing against the dryness in her throat. "Then, it'll be a non-issue."

Cassian's hands clung to her hips once more, the delicious grip of them even firmer than before. "You can't get up now; not in front of them." He gestured with a jerk of his chin to the rest of the room. "They're savages."

A laugh bubbled out of Nesta's chest, and surprisingly, it was more due to the unlikely alliance forged by biology than her pleasure in his panic. The irony wasn't lost on her, but she didn't get to dwell on it for long before Cassian started strategizing.

"We're supposed to get along, right?" He paused, waiting for the excessive noise level to settle around them. Someone must have performed a solid dare, and Nesta was mildly concerned that it hadn't managed to be a blip on their radar. "You're gonna have to keep fighting with me."

A smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. "To be clear, you want me to argue with you so that we can hide this?" She rocked back into him for emphasis, and a pained sound left him. Nesta was grateful for the small silver lining that was her private arousal, otherwise she and Cassian would be in the same boat. The way his eyelids fluttered didn't help.

"I'm asking your for a small favor. When I get my shit together, you're free to go. I'm not exactly happy about it either."

Another smile teased her lips. "Small?"

"Mother's tits. Just turned around."

Nesta complied, if for no other reason than to hide the chuckle she'd been trying to choke down throughout the conversation. They engaged with the others as nonchalantly as possible, ignoring each other completely until opportunities arose to take opposing stances on anything at all. The rules of the game. Who brought the best drinks. If someone had successfully completed their dare or answered their question. Cassian had been correct in assuming the group would advocate for their continued canoodling since they weren't yet cooperating with one another.

"Nesta," he almost growled, sometime after a dozen turns of their faux discord. "This isn't helping."

She whipped around, noting the pained expression on his face. "Wait, is this working for you?"

Cassian squeezed his temples between his thumb and middle finger, looking as if he was in as much disbelief as her. The tragic part was that the arguing hadn't curbed her own body's reactions to him, either.

"That's what it looks like."

Nesta didn't cage it then, the full and melodic laughter that shook her shoulders and made her eyes water. He continued bracing his head in his hand while she delighted in his torture.

"That's awfully kinky of you."

"Alright, enough out of you," he grumbled, situating her for the hundredth time. "You have any better ideas?"

Tears pooled in her eyes, and she flicked them away. "I guess your only choice is to wait until the game ends, or someone causes enough commotion for you to adjust and take a break for a few minutes."

Cassian huffed, clearly unimpressed with her tactics.

"You'll just have to trust me, of all people, to keep your secret in the meantime," she stated, turning her attention back to the room.

His only response was a muttered curse before she felt his forehead drop between her shoulder blades.