#and verbalizing it to that friend in DMs helped me put into words why that common fanon take bothers me

[lord-squiggletits]

On the MegOP fandom trend of saying "Optimus should apologize to Megatron"

(Speaking specifically for IDW1, though it applies to a lot of MegOP especially ones that do continuity soup with heavy reference to IDW1)

I was talking to a friend in DMs and they mentioned a common headcanon/fanfic trope that I also concurred with, and both of us said it's something that bothers us: a common take in the MegOP fandom goes basically along the lines of "If Optimus had just apologized to Megatron, the war would've ended" (or other variants including "if he'd tried harder to understand Megatron/work in collaboration with him").

And firstly, this is incorrect for a number of reasons:

There were attempts at peace negotiations during the war, but they fell through. So Optimus WAS trying to work with Megatron to the point of participating in formal diplomatic meetings.

Optimus tried multiple times on page to convince Megatron to just stop fighting and work with him for peace (Autocracy, Chaos Theory) that Megatron rejected. Given that these on-page examples take place at the start of the war and at the end of the war respectively, it makes sense that Optimus asking Megatron for collaboration is something he was trying/willing to do the entire time. So again, Optimus was always willing AND ATTEMPTING to work with Megatron and find a joint solution

Even before the war when Optimus was still Orion, he was very explicitly inspired by Megatron's writing and names Megatron as one of the people who "opened his eyes" to the wrongs of Cybertronian society. So how is it that people claim "the war went on for too long because Optimus never tried to understand Megatron" when OP literally named Megatron as one of his biggest idols, thus implying that OP does understand Megatron's ideals

But the primary purpose of this post wasn't to defend Optimus, actually. Even though I personally think Optimus did plenty (dare I say, everything) to try to end the war, there are some who may still think otherwise, so instead of arguing about whether Optimus did "enough", or who should apologize to whom, or who "deserves the blame" for starting/continuing the war, I'd actually rather talk about this:

No matter who is most "to blame" for the war, it's my firm belief that neither Megatron nor Optimus would even expect/demand the other to apologize to them at all.

On Megatron's side, he would never seek to judge Optimus negatively for the decisions to the point of saying "you wronged me, apologize." Whether it's evil Megatron who doesn't care about atrocities and revels in an opportunity to expose Optimus as a hypocrite, or post-war/Autobot Megatron who knows that his own evil actions are irredeemable, the idea of Megatron judging Optimus and demanding an apology for the war specifically strikes me as out-of-character. Why would Megatron demand or even want an apology from Optimus when Megatron knows fully well that he has his own sins to bear, he prolonged the war for his own selfish/material gain, and that he is responsible for an untold amount of suffering? Demanding an apology would imply that Megatron sees himself as the wronged party and Optimus as the wrongdoer, but by the end of the war, Megatron is too aware of his own part in the war to ever demand such a thing of Optimus. Even if he DID think that Optimus was "equally to blame" for the war (which he doesn't/wouldn't, btw), Megatron's own feelings of guilt would prevent him from trying to seek the petty satisfaction of the moral high ground or making Optimus beg for his forgiveness.

Additionally, Megatron knows Optimus very well as a person: he knows that the position of leadership is full of "loneliness [and] agonizing self-doubt" for Optimus (Chaos Theory) and that "when Optimus hurts others, he hurts himself" (MTMTE). Another reason that Megatron wouldn't demand nor want an apology from Optimus is because Megatron knows Optimus so well that he already knows that being a war leader fills Optimus with immense guilt and suffering. Given that Megatron knows about Optimus' self-doubt and guilt, why would he even need an apology when he already knows how much Optimus regrets the war and desperately wishes/wished for it to end?

Then, as established in the previous paragraphs, Optimus is too full of guilt for his part in the war (both before it started and in being unable to stop it sooner) to demand an apology from Megatron. Again, demanding an apology would put Optimus in an implied position of moral superiority and/or victimhood, but Optimus doesn't see himself as morally superior or as a victim (or rather, he sees himself as being responsible for these bad things happening and internalizes this as a duty to do better/fix wrongdoings). In other words, Megatron and Optimus both share this view of themselves and each other: Their hands are so dirty, and they both feel such guilt over this, and they know each other well enough to know that the other feels this way as well. Because both of them feel blame for the war and are acutely aware of their own flaws/part in suffering, both of them feel far too responsible for the war happening for them to ever blame their archnemesis for "not trying harder" or "being responsible for the war."

Hell, if you even look at the socio-political climate of Cybertron before the war started, neither Megatron nor Optimus were the ones who put this conflict into motion. The corrupt legacy of the Primes, Functionism, class issues-- all of these things existed before Megatron and Optimus did. Even once they started doing things like writing about social issues (M) or fighting against the Senate (OP), both of them were "underlings" in sense that they weren't leaders:

Megatron's writings may have inspired the Decepticon movement, but that movement existed as an independent entity with its own leaders and speakers long before Megatron became the "official" ruler of the Decepticons. He wasn't even the leader of the 'Cons until he took control of the gladiator arena and the nonviolent sections of the Decepticons were (presumably) subsumed into the underground, exploitative battle culture that Megatron created.

Optimus-as-Orion was a police officer to start, but even once he started going against the Senate, he mainly worked in collaboration with others like Senator Shockwave and Zeta (later Zeta Prime), who he either saw as his idols or who were literally superior to him in rank due to government/military structures.

So with this in mind, even from a social level, while Megatron and Optimus may have been "catalysts" of a sort that caused the war to escalate to an outright planetary/galactic level, the scenario is too complex to solely lay the blame for the war at either of their feet. I'm not confident in saying that Megatron/Optimus would explicitly think of this when talking to each other, but what I'm trying to say is that M/OP were just catalysts in a long chain of brewing tension that exploded into a war. Even if one could claim that one of them "started" or "escalated" the war, the social issues that caused the war and the positions of power that allowed them to become leaders in the first place were falling into place before either of them actually BECAME leaders.

In other words, this shared fate of being the final reaction that exploded a societal conflict into outright war... Megatron and Optimus both have that in common. And because of this, I really don't think either of them would even think to ask the other to apologize because they're both in such similar positions, with such similar feelings of guilt and responsibility, that they understand each other's feelings without words. To demand an apology would be akin to taking that shared vulnerability/guilt and stepping on it, attempting to claim that one is right/superior and the other is wrong/inferior, and that the inferior one needs to grovel and take responsibility for the bad things that happened.

#squiggposting #idw megop #idk if this'll get me hate or not but it's something i think about a lot #and verbalizing it to that friend in DMs helped me put into words why that common fanon take bothers me #also. hot take but if any 'apologies' are necessary then it's M who should be apologizing to OP #the war may be both of their faults but M is the one who explicitly did/said things just to hurt OP and break his spirit #i'm tired of ppl who don't understand (or at least don't discuss) how hurt OP is and how he deserves recogniztion of his feelings too #megop #then again this fanon take may just be a consequence of continuity soup culture #where ppl don't have to acknowledge specific things that M or OP did bc they can just selectively include or not include details from canon #so like. i guess in their continuity soup continuties their fanon is technically correct #but in terms of the source material which is the one shared experience we all have and the common language we derive fanon from #this fanon is very incorrect. or at least i hope i've managed to argue that it's incorrect #anyways the thesis of megop is that they're equals and opposites who are inextricably tied to each other #fanon that tries to place the blame on one or castigate one of them is missing the point of megop #the point is that they're equal. equally strong and charismatic and amazing. and equally culpable #even if they're not literally equally responsible for idw megop at least they at least both FEEL responsible #and i don't think idw megops are the type to mince words about who's 'more responsible' #they're both depressed old men who hate themselves and regret basically their whole lives. why would they judge each other like that

[ablednt]

When people are like "tone tags don't help anybody" it's like... okay but I'm somebody and they help me. Being able to use them has saved me so many panic attacks (<- has OCD and also trauma with people intentionally misinterpreting my tone and my having no recourse) and since most of my friends started using them too it cleared up a lot of miscommunications and my friendships are a lot healthier and happier now.

I really feel like tone tags gave me a part of my life back. I don't feel as anxious complimenting people now or telling my friends I love them (/p) and it's so much easier to describe how I feel when I'm upset or happy or feeling nothing too and honestly I use them so much in every day life.

It also helps me verbally cause my friends know these words can go at the end of sentences I don't need to take time to conjugate and fit them into a sentence which is difficult for me. So I can say "I love you- platonic." Or "wow you suck at this game- joking - light hearted" and that's a lot quicker and easier in my brain than "I love you platonically so much" or "I'm just teasing you here but wow you suck at this game" all of which take a lot more time for me to put into words when I'm speaking verbally.

You don't see me using them much on tumblr, one because people are assholes about them, two because it is true that they're better to use in spaces everyones had time to learn them or given a reference (but asking what one means is always encouraged if needed) rather than in public where they can cause confusion, but ultimately because this is a blog where I put a lot of mental energy explaining myself and my thoughts.

I do not talk like this with my friends or even in formal settings IRL or even in DMs cause it takes a lot of time for me to think out what to say when I'm posting on here.

So it's really annoying to me when people assume that I don't actually need them and that I'm less disabled than I appear and so obviously don't need this tool but I do I really do and that's why it feels no different than people denying me use of a wheelchair or saying I don't need a backbrace when I could just exercise my scoliosis away. It's the experience of knowing how much something improves and impacts your life for the better and being full of joy only to have people mock you for it cause they don't understand.

If you tone need tone tags fine. No one cares no one is going to force you to use them. But when you apply that to everyone to me you sound like you're saying "well I can walk fine without any pain at all so I don't think wheelchairs, canes, or crutches should exist. I think they look stupid. I don't like them just walk lmao." And I am not going to see it any differently.

Do better.

[honeypiehotchner]

Version of You (Hotch x Fem!Reader) — one shot

Call 1-800-799-7233 if you think you are in danger/a victim of domestic violence, or visit this website for resources, live chat, and more (for the USA). This is a link to the wikipedia page that has international resources. 

(I wanted to put that first because this fic deals with an abusive relationship and some scenes show the abuse. If you relate to any this, please seek help via the resources above. I want desperately to say my DMs are open, but for my own mental wellbeing, I have to let you know that the resources that I give above are about all I can do to help. You’re welcome to DM me if needed, but please know that it might take me a minute to reply, and I still will point you in the direction of resources that can better help you. I love and support and am with every single one of you, but I can only do so much through a screen xx.)

This is 100% a comfort fic, but I am safe and okay, I promise 💛 (Truthfully, this was really therapeutic to write.)

Small note: mental and verbal abuse is depicted here, not physical (though it does come close), but I wanted to remind you that just because abuse isn’t physical doesn’t mean it’s not harmful or real. Mental and verbal abuse is still abuse.

Summary: Hotch helps you find the courage within you to end your abusive relationship for good.

Warnings: depiction of an abusive relationship, verbal/mental abuse, violence (domestic and otherwise), angst, happy ending

Hotch Masterlist

Aaron is stunned and disappointed to find you’re still at your desk when he walks out of his office at the grand hour of 8 p.m.

You don’t even hear his office door open or close, but you do hear his footsteps on the stairs. By the time he reaches your desk to say goodnight, you’re already attempting to cover up any traces of emotion on your cheeks.

But Aaron is a profiler. On top of that, though, he’s one of your best friends. He’s known you for six years now, and given how much time the BAU members spend together on cases, he’d argue he knows every single person here better than they know themselves.

You’d agree. You hardly know who you are anymore. But somehow, Aaron knows. Aaron can see.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, already setting his bag down, already pulling a chair over, already sitting next to you.

You’re ready to tell him it’s nothing, to tell him to get home to Jack, that it isn’t important — but it is.

You’ve been with your current partner for almost eight years. Anyone would hear that and ask if marriage is on the horizon, or children, or something of the sort. But not Aaron. Because Aaron can see the pain in your eyes.

Truthfully, he’s seen that pain in your eyes for the past two years. Maybe more.

But recently, it’s gotten worse. A lot worse.

You’re on a “break” with your partner. Whatever a “break” even means, because you still receive phone calls and texts from them all day. You send the calls to voicemail unless you absolutely aren’t doing anything, and the texts you reply to with one word.

Going home is fine because your partner is gone — for now. Work called them away, so you’re home alone for at least another three days, but you expect they’ll want you to pick them up from the airport.

You’ve never longed for a case the way you’re longing for one right now.

This “break” has been easiest because your partner has been gone. You know if they were here, it wouldn’t have been a break at all.

“It’s made me realize that I...I want a break. A real break.”

“You want to break up,” Aaron says it for you, knowing you’re too afraid.

Your hesitant nod confirms this for him. “I do. I think I really do.”

Aaron has known the relationship hasn’t been the healthiest. You don’t open up about your personal life that much at work — you never have — but it has always been telling that you never go out for drinks with the team. And when you did, you’d have to answer texts every ten minutes. Your partner never accepted an invite to join the team for drinks or dinner, but would often get angry at you for being out, as if you hadn’t tried to invite them.

Raised voices, broken glass. Not a single hand was ever laid on you. No, instead, it was a wine glass your mom gifted to you when you graduated college when your partner was angry that you had gone out for drinks with the team after a difficult case. A coffee mug you gifted your partner for their birthday faced the brunt of their anger when you didn’t reply to a text message fast enough — because you were parking your car in the garage. Plates, picture frames. A coffee table once, three years ago. It had been a house warming present.

But they’ve never hurt me, you always argue — only with yourself. No one knows the truth, that you clean up after their outbursts, that you’re grateful to have some knowledge of first aid so you can tend to your cuts from the broken glass, or so that you could stitch up your partner’s hand with ease, because hospitals are expensive and the excuses you’d have to fabricate even more so.

They always apologize. Which is true. Apologies are frequent in your house. Sometimes verbal, sometimes in the form of flowers either on your desk at the BAU (that only Hotch seems to notice with a sad smile) or left on the counter at home. Sometimes, rarely, a fancy dinner and some gift, usually a necklace.

“If you need any help at all,” Aaron says, looking you in your eyes, carefully, intently. “I’m here. For anything.”

“Thanks,” you murmur. Your stomach rumbles loudly in the silence, making you chuckle awkwardly.

“Hungry?” He jokes, but is half serious. “I was planning to get something on the way home, if you’d like to join.”

You think it over for a moment. Your mind immediately jumps to say no because you think your partner is home...but they aren’t.

“Sure,” you say. “Why not. What’s on the menu?”

You gather your things and Hotch waits patiently, rattling off some ideas for food to eat until one grabs your attention.

Your phone buzzes with a text. Where are you?

Aaron notices your change in posture with a sigh. “Is that them?”

You nod slowly. “Asking where I am.” You quickly type back, Still at the BAU.

The reply is almost immediate, as always. Just checking. Love you.

Relief washes over you as you type back, Love you too.

Aaron doesn’t like what he sees. The panic that surges through you just from a text message, making you stand up straight, hold your breath, clench your jaw. Then the relief that relinquishes you when a reply comes and it isn’t negative for once. The sudden changes, the way your emotions are yanked back and forth. He hates it.

But he doesn’t mention it. Instead, he says, “Ready?” And waits for you to smile.

+++

Hotch really doesn’t mean for dinner with you to turn into somewhat of a routine. But it does.

It’s brought more smiles to your face than Hotch thinks he has ever seen in the past six years. And for that, he doesn’t regret the dinners.

Neither do you, until the worst thing that could possibly happen ends up happening one night, three weeks since the first dinner.

Your partner is going out with friends, so you think you’re in the clear to get dinner with Aaron. And when your partner asks where you are again, you say you’re still at the BAU. You were, but you and Aaron were in the elevator to leave when you sent that message.

The two of you grab dinner at one of your favorite spots, at a table outside because the weather is perfect, the sky is clear, and stars are beginning to show. It’s magical. Until it’s a nightmare.

“Well, well, well.”

The voice sends shivers down your spine. They’re supposed to be out with friends.

Aaron automatically stands, shoulders squared and face set. He’s wearing his gun, and you are, too, but you’d never use it on your partner. You can’t say the same about Hotch, though, and that terrifies you.

“Babe,” you say with a smile, and Hotch tenses, hearing the pet name fall so easily form your lips. “What are you doing here? I thought you were going out with your friends?”

Your partner crosses their arms over their chest. “And I thought you were still at work.”

“We are,” Hotch speaks up, startling you. “We’re discussing a case.”

Your partner looks around, raising their eyebrows. “I don’t see any papers.”

“Because we went digital five years ago,” Hotch replies coolly. “But aside from that, a federal investigation is none of your business.”

You swallow thickly, waiting for your partner’s reply.

But to your surprise, they only nod. “I understand, sir. I was only checking.”

Hotch holds back a scoff, but instead returns the nod. “If you’ll excuse us.”

Your partner holds their hands up in surrender. “Of course.”

“I’ll see you at home,” you say quickly. “Love you.”

“See you at home,” they reply, making you frown as they turn and walk away.

When you look back at Hotch, you nearly scream. It takes everything in you not to make the hugest scene right there, outside this nice restaurant, underneath these stars.

Your phone buzzes. One hour. Do not be late.

“Y/N—”

“Don’t,” you say quietly. “Just. Don’t, Hotch.”

+++

The next day, you knock on Hotch’s office door, twenty dollar bill in hand to pay him back for your dinner last night. You left in a hurry and didn’t get to pay. Thankfully, at least, arriving home with forty minutes to spare saved you from an even worse reaction from your partner.

“For dinner last night,” you mumble, sliding the twenty across Hotch’s desk. “Thank you.”

As you turn on your heel to leave, Hotch calls out to you. “I’m sorry.”

You sigh. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Aaron says, making you turn back around. “I hope you’re...alright.”

You’re so very far from being “alright” that you almost laugh. Instead, you shrug. “It’s been worse.”

“Did they hit you?”

You’re too shocked to move. “What? No! Why the hell would you even say that?”

“Because I’ve been worried about you.”

“They have never laid a hand on me,” you snap. “Ever.”

“But they’ve come close,” Aaron says gently. “You know they have.”

You only scoff. You feel hurt. Insulted, even, that he would assume something like that. Your relationship with your partner is rocky, of course, but never physical abuse rocky. Never that bad.

But has it come close?

Sure, maybe you’ve felt the wind off a beer bottle when it grazed by your head on its way to the wall. Maybe you have had to duck to avoid getting glass to the face. Maybe.

Maybe they have come close. Closer than you want to admit.

But they’ve also loved you. Held you while you cried. Rewarded you after you cleaned up the broken glass. Left you flowers and jewelry and love notes.

They love you. Don’t they?

“It’s fine,” you whisper, blinking back the stubborn tears that have jumped to the front of your eyes. “They love me.”

“Love isn’t violent,” Aaron replies gently. “Love shouldn’t make you as terrified as I saw you when you left last night.”

“I know,” you choke out. “But I don’t know what to do.”

Hotch is rounding his desk and gathering you in his arms before the first tear slips down your cheeks. He holds you while you cry, letting you get it all out.

“We’ll figure it out,” he whispers, resting his chin on top of your head. “Don’t worry.”

+++

It all comes to a head a few nights later when your partner springs a question on you. The question.

There, standing in the bathroom, you’re too stunned to speak.

“What d’you say, baby? Let’s get married, you and me.”

You don’t reply. You toss the makeup wipe in your trash can, flick the light in the bathroom off, and walk out into the bedroom.

“Baby?” They ask.

You’re facing the dresser, halfway to setting out a pair of pants for work tomorrow. “I...I can’t.”

“What?” Their reply is immediate and angry. “What are you talking about?”

“I can’t,” you repeat, refusing to change your answer. “No.”

By the time you turn around, they’re standing up from the bed, arms crossed over their chest. “What did you just say to me?”

“I said no,” you say firmly. “I’m not marrying you.”

“And why not?”

“I—”

“Are you seeing someone else?”

“What?”

“Your boss? Are you fuckin’ him?”

“No!”

“Then why won’t you marry me?”

“Because I don’t want to!”

You’ve never raised your voice back at your partner. They’ve always been the one to raise their voice, and you stayed silent, tried to talk them down, be the quiet voice of reason.

But not anymore. You’ve had enough.

“You don’t want to?” They scream. “It’s been eight years and now you don’t want to. You’re fucking him, aren’t you?”

“I’m not,” you say through gritted teeth. “But I don’t want to be with you anymore.”

“Baby…” They sigh, stepping closer, lowering their arms. “Why not?”

“Because,” you reply slowly, backing up. “Just because.”

“That’s not a good enough reason and you know it.”

“It’s good enough for me,” you say. You step to the side and keep backing out into the hallway, getting ready to run if need be.

“Where are you going?” They all but growl. “What’s wrong with you?”

You’re scaring me, you want to scream, but you don’t. “I’m fine.”

“You’re fine? Well I’m for damn sure not fine, I’m heartbroken,” they seethe. You see the tell-tale signs that they’re about to get angry — angry enough to start throwing things. You realize in a moment of horror that a paperweight is within their reach.

And they reach for it.

“Don’t,” you murmur, freezing when their fingers wrap around the glass. “Put it down.”

“Why?” They ask, calm as ever. “Don’t you want to see what you’ve just done to my heart?”

You shake your head slowly. “No. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, no!” Your reflexes have gotten better since being at the FBI, and you duck right in time. The paperweight crashes against the wall behind you, shattering, denting the wall, and covering the couch in fine pieces of broken glass.

“See what you’ve done!” Your partner screams. “This could’ve been easy! You could’ve said yes!”

You spot your car keys on the counter next to you, and when they turn their back to you to grip at their hair, you slide the keys off and into your pocket.

I have to get out of here. It’s a thought that you never have. Normally by now you’d be vacuuming up the glass on the couch, apologizing every five seconds, pouring them a glass of whiskey or a beer or something. But not now. Not anymore.

You’re a few steps from the door when your partner notices. “Where the fuck are you going?”

“Nowhere,” you freeze. “Go take a shower. Cool off. I’ll clean up this mess and then we can talk about this again, okay?”

They almost don’t accept your offer, but after a second, they nod. “There better be a beer waiting on me when I get out.”

“Of course,” you smile.

Your smile makes them suspicious, but they turn and head into the bedroom without another word.

Shaking, you turn to the closet to grab the vacuum, turning it on and beginning to suck up the glass off the couch.

But when you hear the shower curtain pull closed, you escape, leaving the vacuum running.

+++

It’s pouring down rain, you aren’t wearing any shoes, and you’re knocking on your boss’s front door. Can your life get any more pathetic?

When Aaron opens the door, he’s practically hauling you inside and out of the rain.

“What’s wrong?” Aaron asks, already leading you down the hall toward the bathroom. “You’re shivering, we need to get you out of these clothes — you aren’t wearing shoes, fuck, Y/N, what happened?”

“They asked me to marry them,” you choke out. You aren’t even crying. You haven’t cried yet at all. “I said no. They almost hit me.”

Aaron feels a dangerous surge of anger course through his body. “Did they hit you?”

You shake your head, and it turns into a full-body shiver.

“Okay,” Aaron says, taking a deep breath to ground himself. “Okay, let me get some clothes for you. Do you want to take a shower?”

You shake your head again.

“Okay, that’s okay. I’ll be right back.”

You sit, shivering, on your boss’s toilet for a few minutes before he returns with clothes. A t-shirt and pair of sweatpants of his. Old ones, he says, they don’t fit him anymore. You smile slightly when you realize the shirt is from his college, the sweatpants from his law school. No wonder they don’t fit him anymore.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call,” you say. “I—I think I left my phone there.”

“It’s okay,” Aaron shakes his head. “Don’t worry about that. Just get changed and get warm. Do you want some tea? Anything?”

“Just some water, please,” you murmur. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” he smiles.

After he leaves, you change out of your wet clothes and into his shirt and sweatpants. You carefully hang your wet shirt and shorts over the edge of the bathtub, hoping that’s okay.

You venture out of the bathroom and follow the noise into the kitchen where you find Aaron putting up dishes.

“Hey,” he murmurs, straightening up. “Do you want ice with your water?”

“Um, sure.”

The sound of ice clinking into the glass makes you flinch, and you’re grateful Aaron’s back is turned away from you.

“There you go,” he hands you the glass.

“Thank you.”

You sip it quietly while he goes back to putting up the rest of the clean dishes in the dishwasher. Once he finishes, your heart is still racing, now with guilt from coming here unannounced. What if he was on a date? What if Jack was here?

“The guest room is all yours,” Aaron says softly. “If you want to talk about it, I’m here.”

You nod slowly. “I don’t know what to do.” You pause, rubbing your thumb over the condensation on the glass. “But I told them I’m not marrying them. But I...I didn’t tell them I was leaving. Or where I was going.”

“Good, that’s good.”

“No,” you shake your head. “It’s not. They’re gonna be mad. I can’t— Oh my god, I can’t go back. Not alone, they’ll—”

“Hey,” Aaron shushes you, walking around the counter to get to you. “Don’t worry about it right now. We’ll figure it out. I’ll go with you. You won’t be alone.”

“Thank you.”

+++

The next morning, you and Aaron head into the office early so you have time to grab your go-bag and change into your work clothes that you left in there.

Thank God for having a job like this where it’s normal to have a few changes of clothes, a toothbrush, deodorant, and anything else you need in a duffle bag under your desk.

You and Aaron are the first people in the BAU, so you’re able to grab your bag and head to the bathroom to change without any questions. Once you return, you stuff the bag back under your desk and sit down, ready to bury yourself in reports for the day.

But before you can, Hotch calls you into his office.

“What’s up?” You ask when you step into the doorway.

“We didn’t eat breakfast,” he says, and that’s when you notice the two coffees and muffins sitting on his desk.

“Oh,” you chuckle. “I completely forgot.”

“Me too,” he smiles. “Here, sit.”

The two of you eat the breakfast in silence, but somehow you don’t mind it. You’re not in much of a talking mood, anyway.

Rossi arrives next and stops by Hotch’s office, not at all surprised to find the two of you eating together, though he does join with his coffee a few minutes later. The silence vanishes with Rossi, leaving laughter in its wake as he tells old stories about Hotch.

When the rest of the team arrives, they follow the noise to Hotch’s office, and soon you’re surrounded by your family. Your real family.

Once eight-thirty rolls around, you all begin to disperse, back to your respective spaces to start working for the day, and everything feels normal.

And then, in a matter of seconds, it isn’t.

The second your eyes land on your partner standing down in the bullpen, you fall to your knees, scaring the shit out of Hotch.

“What happened?” He blurts, kneeling down to you. “Are you okay?”

“No,” you shake your head. “No, no, no...No, Hotch, they’re out there.”

Hotch doesn’t need their name. The fear on your face is enough.

About this time, you hear Derek’s voice growing in volume. The most you can make out is, “Put...down…!” And that’s when your blood runs ice cold.

You pat your right hip, hoping, praying, your weapon is magically there, even though you know it’s not. You put it in the safe when you got home last night. You didn’t have time to grab it before you ran out and drove to Hotch’s place. You left it there, in the safe, because you never think twice about it since it’s locked away.

But now…

“Don’t do this, man,” Derek yells. “Put. It. Down.”

“Where is she?” Your partner yells. “Tell me where she is!”

“I’m not telling you shit until you put the gun down,” Derek says, firmly. You’re frozen in place, on the floor next to Hotch’s desk as you listen.

“They have my gun,” you whisper to Hotch. “I didn’t think they— I don’t know how they knew the code, I change it every week, I thought—”

“Hey, hey, don’t worry,” Hotch shushes you. “You stay here. Do not move. Try to get under my desk if you can.” He pauses. “There’s an extra pistol underneath. I want you to grab it just in case.”

You nod, but then a memory of last night grips you. “No! You can’t go out there!” You hiss, gripping Hotch’s arm.

Outside, you hear Emily’s voice adding to Derek’s, trying to talk your partner down. It’s a scene out of a horror movie. Straight from your worst nightmare.

“They already feel threatened by you, they’ll just shoot you the second they see you.”

“Not when they already have five guns on them.”

“Let me come with you,” you offer.

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Aaron, I have eight years of experience talking them down. I know what I’m doing.”

Hotch doesn’t like that you’re right.

“Are you sure?” He asks.

You nod. You’re shaking all over, but you still nod.

“Okay. Crawl over and grab the pistol from my desk. Tuck it in your waistband, on your back. Go now.”

You stay low as you crawl over, finding the pistol strapped underneath his desk on the right side. Once it’s tucked in your waistband, you stand, facing the window. Hotch stands too, with his back to the blinds, and thank God they’re closed.

“Is she in there?” You hear your partner scream. “Is she with him?”

“Shit,” you mutter. “Shit, shit, shit, they’re gonna fucking kill me.” You hate that the possibility is very real. They have your gun. They could shoot you the second they see you. You’re not wearing any protective gear.

“No,” Hotch replies. “I’m not letting that happen.”

“Come out here, you lying bitch!”

Hotch looks ready to kill your partner himself.

“Babe?” You call out, putting on a false tone, the same one you always use when talking them down. “Babe, what are you doing here?”

You step into the doorway, feeling another frozen chill of fear shoot straight down your spine. They look crazed. Insane, even. Worse than you’ve ever seen, worse than last night, worse than the last eight years.

“Don’t babe me,” your partner seethes, but the gun is still trained on Derek.

You know it makes no sense, but you want them to turn the gun on you. Not Derek. Derek can’t be hurt because of you, not like this.

“Put the gun down,” you say, trying to stay calm and sweet, the way you usually have to be at home.

“I’m not listening to a damn thing you say,” your partner yells, and then the gun turns on you. “There he is.” The gun isn’t aimed at you. It’s on Aaron.

“Put it down,” Aaron’s level voice floats through the terror roaring in your ears. “I won’t ask again.” He shifts and you realize then that he has his own weapon trained on your partner.

“You won’t need to. Come out from behind my fiancé you coward.”

“She’s not your fiancé,” Hotch says. “And you won’t shoot her.”

“Want to bet on it?” Your partner lowers the gun slightly, now pointing it straight at your chest. Strangely, you don’t feel any panic surge through you. It’s telling. That even now, your head is telling you, they won’t hurt me, they never hurt me before.

“Don’t do it,” Derek yells. “I will shoot you, man. Don’t do it. You have six guns pointed at you right now. Do you really want to do this?”

The metal of Aaron’s pistol bites into your lower back when you shift on your heels. Your arms are frozen by your side, too afraid to reach for the gun.

“Put it down,” Rossi yells.

“You’ve got five seconds,” Derek adds. “Don’t make me get to one. Five. Four.”

Your partner’s fingers twitch on the trigger. Aaron catches the movement. Nods once when Derek says three. And on two, Derek pulls the trigger before your partner can do it first.

A broken scream rips from your chest when the bullet lodges itself in your partner’s side, your gun clattering to the ground. Derek steps forward and kicks the gun further away, out of reach.

Hotch lifts you around your waist and pulls you back into his office, kicking the door closed with his foot.

You’re numb to everything as he sits you down on the couch, wrapping his arms around you as you finally sob, letting out every scream that you’ve been holding in.

+++

Your partner is taken to the hospital to be treated for the gunshot wound.

Hotch tells you they won’t stand a chance at being acquitted, too many charges looming over their head already without the addition of domestic violence. You hardly hear his words, but you nod like you do.

He takes care of you while the commotion outside struggles to calm down. A blanket is wrapped around your shoulders, you hug a pillow to your chest, sniffling every few minutes as fresh tears cascade down your cheeks. Spencer brings you a mug of steaming tea that you barely manage to thank him for. Hotch thanks him properly for you before softly shutting his office door.

For months, you’ve been thinking about leaving them. For so long, you’ve wondered what life might be like without them. Now, you don’t know a thing.

You don’t know what to do. Where to go. Will you have to testify in court? If you do, will you have to talk about the...abuse? The abuse that you can barely bring yourself to label blatantly as abuse even though Aaron, your brain, everyone screams at you that that’s what it is — abusive behavior.

When you were a teenager, and even in your early twenties, learning about signs of abusive, unhealthy relationships, you never thought you’d end up in one. You thought surely you’d recognize the first signs and get out of there.

But instead, you did exactly what they said most people do. You brushed them off. You thought, oh, they just love me deeply, that’s all. They want what’s best for me, that’s all. They want me to be safe and protected, that’s all.

And that’s lovely, but there’s a difference. Between caring and controlling.

You never thought the difference would be so hard to see.

“Come on,” Aaron’s soft voice pierces through your thoughts. “Let’s get you out of here.”

You blink. “Where?”

“Wherever you want to go,” he replies gently. “Your apartment?”

Immediately, you shake your head. But then you pause. Because aside from your apartment and the BAU, you have nowhere else to go.

“Would you be comfortable going back to my apartment?” He asks. “I understand if it’s uncomfortable. I’m sure Garcia or Prentiss would be happy to let you stay with them, and I’ll gladly send them home with you.”

As much as you love Garcia and Prentiss, you strangely feel more comfortable with Aaron. After all, Pen and Emily don’t— or didn’t know about your partner’s behavior. Only Hotch knew.

“If you don’t mind, I’m...I’m okay with your place.”

“I don’t mind at all,” he smiles. “The guest room is yours for as long as you need.”

That makes you smile, though the expression feels foreign on your lips. “Don’t you have to stay?”

“It can be dealt with tomorrow,” he replies. “The paperwork will still exist tomorrow at eight a.m.”

“Okay,” you accept defeat. “Can I take this blanket?” You don’t like the idea of this weight leaving your shoulders.

“Of course,” he says.

You fall asleep in the car.

You didn’t mean to, but you were exhausted. And by the time you woke, Aaron had already carried you into his apartment. Startled, you gripped his arm a little too tight, but he shushed you carefully, letting you know you’re safe, he just didn’t want to wake you because you were sleeping so soundly.

He set you down on the guest bed where you tried and failed to get some rest last night, but now, you sleep like a baby.

+++

Months after the incident, the guest room at Aaron’s apartment has become your temporary home.

You still haven’t been back to the apartment you owned with your partner — even though their name is on the lease, not yours. You went once with Aaron to pick up your clothes and anything else important, but it was a quick trip. You were desperate to get out of there.

Aaron didn’t like what he saw. The broken glass, the dents in the walls. The way your body language changed immediately. Your unwillingness to return there is fine by him.

It’s a slow, uphill battle as you begin to heal. Your partner still sits in jail, awaiting their trial date. You know you might have to testify, but you know your team might have to be there as well, so that makes you feel better.

Aaron has been incredibly respectful of your space. You were the one who brought up the idea of carpooling to work, one of you driving every other day, to save on gas for the both of you. He had assumed you wanted to drive on your own and always have your car — which is true, but you didn’t mind riding with him.

He’s the only one your terrified brain doesn’t seem to be scared of.

And you’re not complaining. You’re grateful to feel a small ounce of safety after feeling every sense of unsafe for the past eight years.

+++

Your ex-partner’s trial comes and goes in the following three months. You did testify, along with the rest of your team, the verdict is guilty. Life in prison.

You wept on the steps of the courthouse from the sheer relief of it all.

“They’ll never hurt you again,” Aaron had told you and you didn’t believe him for one second.

Still now, as you know for a fact they are sitting in a prison cell, you have a small fear. But you think you always will.

You continue “rooming” with Aaron — that’s the best way you can think to put it — and you’ve come to really enjoy the weekends when Jack comes over. At the start, Aaron would try to take Jack out to the park to give you time alone, or you’d go spend some time with Penelope, but after a while, you started staying. And after a little while longer, Jack started warming up to you, and expecting your presence.

One weekend, you hear Jack and Aaron playing in the living room while you’re in Aaron’s office, trying to get some work done. And halfway through signing your name on a piece of paperwork, you hear Jack “whispering” to Aaron about you.

“Do you like her?” Jack whispers, but it definitely comes across as more of a soft shout.

Aaron’s eyes widen, and he presses his index finger to his lips. “A lot,” he says, but you don’t hear him — though you were straining pretty hard.

“Me too,” Jack giggles. “Is she your girlfriend?” He teases, poking his dad with his Lego sculpture.

Aaron pokes his son back with his own design. “No, buddy, she isn’t.” Again, you can’t hear him, but Jack’s question made your heart hammer in your chest.

You know you’ve had some feelings begin to develop because truthfully, they were blooming months ago, back when you began having dinner with Aaron. But then everything happened, and you still loved your ex, and things got too complicated.

Now, though, seven months out from the start of it all, the feelings are still there.

Aaron hasn’t made any moves, so you’ve kept silent. You don’t know how much of his good deeds are simply out of his own kindness. And you certainly don’t want to mistake it for something it’s not.

But kids pick up on things adults try hardest to hide.

You continue with your paperwork, listening to them continue to play.

It’s not until after Jack goes home to Hailey that his question is brought up, and it’s only because Aaron asked what was bothering you.

“It’s alright if you don’t want to talk about it,” he says. “But I’m here if you do.”

He’s always here. That’s what made you have a crush on him in the first place, years ago. He’s always there for anyone who needs him.

“I heard you and Jack earlier,” you start. “When he asked if I’m your girlfriend.”

Aaron sighs. “I’m sorry. I think it’s just confusing for him because to him, living together equals relationship since all he’s known is me and Hailey—”

“I’d like to be,” you interrupt his nervous rambling. “If that’s something you’d like, too.”

He blinks a few times, then smiles. “You…” He pauses. “Are you sure?”

“Aaron, I’ve liked you for so long and never said anything—”

“I’ve liked you for so long and never said anything,” he counters. “You’re serious?”

“Very,” you whisper.

When he kisses you, it’s what you’ve longed for all this time. It’s exactly what you’ve been yearning for. It’s exactly the kind of love you know now that you deserve.

Recovery has been messy, and will continue to be messy for some time, but you’ll have Aaron next to you every step of the way. Always.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotchner fluff #tw domestic violence #tw abuse #criminal minds #version of you song fic #criminal minds songfic #aaron hotchner songfic #version of you #hotch x fem!reader #hotch x reader #hotch x you

[ihearthes]

Author: @ihearthes Pairing: Harry x Unnamed OFC Rating: Light Smut Word Count: 3500 Inspired by: @wanderlustwaving and “The Lady or the Tiger” by Frank Stockton

His eyes dart around the bar, seeking her. She has to be here. It’s tradition. Their tradition. January 1st. Every year. Sunset. Anguilla. The Four Seasons. 

Harry had booked this table nearest the bay a full year ago, confirming it in mid-June and again in early December. Sitting silently, his eyes shaded behind his sunnies, he watches the giant ball of fire as it descends into the water. Less of a sizzle than one would expect. Each sip of his Casamigos Blanco over ice is perfect. The sky lights up with oranges, reds, and yellows that are reflected on the clouds, resembling the Monet painting San Giorgio Maggiore at Dusk which he had viewed in Cardiff. A second version hangs in Tokyo at Bridgestone Museum, and he had been lucky enough to see it once. 

The longer he watches its descent, the more he realises that this sunset is different from the paintings he’d seen. His fingers itch for watercolours or acrylics even though he knows his amateurish strokes would never capture the beauty. Last year, the sunset had been underwhelming, the clouds obscuring rather than reflecting the colours. Their first year, he had been unable to believe what he was seeing. It had been stunning with the reach of the palette across the sky, like tendrils of smoke straining to hug the entire planet. Now he captures his journal from the extra chair, opening it’s leather binding to a blank page. Flipping back to the beginning of his journal, he finds a sketch of her leaning on the railing -- drawn from memory years after their first meeting. His mind casts backwards to the non-date that had launched this annual trip. 

“Wow.” The voice belongs to a woman who steps to the railing next to him, leaning forward and twisting her head to take in the full sunset. Glancing at her, he does a double take as he recognizes her. Holy shit. She’s even more stunning in person. 

“Oh, I’d give it a solid 8.5,” Harry’s calm voice is the opposite of his turbulent emotional state. 

“Seriously? It’s much closer to a 9.2.”

“You’ve lost your mind. It’s worthwhile, but not a 9.2,” he scoffs, shifting his body slightly closer to hers. He turns toward her, planting a single forearm on the railing as he observes her in her floral sarong that matches her bikini top. Her hair is bundled lazily on top of her head, and her tanned feet are encased in strappy sandals. Surreptitiously, he takes in her curves while she’s examining the sunset. 

Twisting her head quickly, she catches his eyes on her ass. Rather than blushing, he smiles at her instead, well aware that the dimple is doing it’s job appropriately. The live steel drum band starts a new song, and she boldly turns to him, holding out her hand. “Dance?”

He doesn’t respond verbally. Grasping her fingers, Harry wraps one arm around her waist, stepping into her and leading them in time with the music. When he twirls her rather expertly, she laughs, planting a hand on his chest and gazing up at him with what appears to be a phony bashfulness. 

“I didn’t know you could dance,” she laughs. 

“Clearly you’ve never seen me live on stage,” Harry smirks. 

She clucks her tongue, “Oh, but I have. I said what I said, Styles.”

Looking away from her, he can’t help the smile that breaks loose. Damn, she’s got moxie. And it’s intriguing and beguiling. 

“You’re here alone?” he wonders, his eyes roaming the outdoor space. It’s filled with strangers -- to him anyway. 

“Tonight only. Yes.” She twirls him, and he grins at the move. 

“Me too.” The soft words are spoken into her ear as he’s drawn her closer. “I like to spend the first night of the year reflecting on the previous year.”

“Isn’t that what New Year’s Eve is for?” she wonders, her voice breathy. 

“Nah. That’s for drinking and celebrating with friends. Today is for reflection -- looking backwards and forwards simultaneously.”

“Planning to conquer the world this year, Mr. Styles?” 

“Indeed.” Arching an eyebrow, he mimics a cartoon villain, drawing his pinky to his mouth. 

She slaps at his chest, and he desperately wants to kiss her in that moment. After all, they are flirting, aren’t they? 

“Are you going to offer me dinner?” she asks boldly. “And take me to your room afterwards?”

Woah. Definitely gutsy. “Depends,” he whispers as he spins them both around once more while the band winds down. 

“On what?” 

“On what kind of sushi you prefer.”

“Ah!” There’s a gleam in her eye that he can’t resist. She’s playful and not shy about being the seductress. Harry finds the combination heady. Waving her hand in dismissal as she turns towards his table, “I usually try whatever the newest offering is -- especially if it’s fresh from those waters.” Fingers waggle in the direction of the bay, and he wants to grasp them out of the air and wrap them protectively in his own hand. 

Instead, he applauds the band before following behind her. At the table, she drags her chair from the opposite side of the small round table until she’s sat beside him. With his questioning glance, she again gestures towards the bay. “I’m not going to miss that sunset just so I can stare at your pretty face.” 

Rather than sketching the sunset, he attempts to paint the current sight with words. Everything he writes seems trite: clementines, flames, majestic, radiant, blush, hearth.

Where is she? Yes, it had been a year since they had spoken, but surely she would have sent a message if she weren’t planning to join him? Why hadn’t they exchanged numbers? Followed each other on Instagram? 

But he knows why. The mystery. The transcendental experience. The enchantment of meeting once a year, incognito, in this particular and magnificent place. No knowledge of each other outside of this 24 hours that belongs to them alone. 

Which is ridiculous. Because he certainly knows who she is and follows her career. And he would be astonished if she didn’t also pay attention to his. A few times this last year they had coincidentally been in the same city simultaneously, and he had seriously debated trying to locate her. Contact her manager maybe. Or put out feelers that would certainly have stretched to her ears like an old-fashioned game of Chinese Whispers (which of course isn’t what he should call the game now; it’s racist). The message, though, would have been garbled but sufficient for them to meet up. 

Every time, he refrained. Their unspoken commitment was to this place and this one day a year. Now he regrets not making contact. Had she decided that one day a year wasn’t worth the effort? Was she even now canoodling with someone else? There hadn’t been rumours of any recent love affairs on her end, and he snatches his phone anxiously to search her name just in case she connected with someone during the last week.

Picking up his now-empty glass of tequila as he scrolls through his phone, Harry draws an ice cube into his mouth, swirling it on his tongue to relish every tiny bit of the liquor there. The burn has vanished as it’s taken him nearly an hour to drink one tequila. No record of any new beaus. Maybe he should follow her now on social media? DM her? What would he do if she didn’t show? How much longer should he wait? 

“Oh yum! This roll is even better than last year’s.” She proclaims as she rushes to grasp the last bite of the Ceviche Roll. 

“Hey! That was mine!” Harry protests, laughing as she stuffs the full piece in her mouth. 

“Order more,” she mumbles around the rice, fish, and seaweed flavored with citrus and cilantro. 

“Nah, I’ve got a different appetite now,” he murmurs, watching her lips as she chews the sushi. 

Freezing, her eyes rush to his, and she slowly finishes the sushi she’s been eating, swallowing slowly. He wishes that she would move her chair to his side of the table like she had the previous year. This time, they’re seated on opposite sides of the table, but at an angle where both can watch the setting sun. 

“What?” Her look has made him nervous. “You’re not going to tell me you’re seeing someone, are you?” 

Her hair twirls as she shakes her head. “No. Broke up with him last week in anticipation of this.”

Having sipped his tequila, Harry chokes at her words. Coughing, he grasps the table with both hands. Holy fuck. She didn’t really expect him to --

“Kidding!” Her giggle lights up her eyes, bringing a light blush to her face. She’s truly stunning. Maybe even more than last year. 

When her foot, sans sandal, caresses his calf under the table, he knows that the night is going to be filled with sex. Fun, hot, brilliant sex that will last most of the night. Hmm...perhaps it would be best to fortify himself for their escapades. Raising his hand, he flags down the server. 

“Sir?”

“Another Ceviche Roll, por favor. Plus a bottle of Casamigos.” He pauses as her foot makes its way further up his leg, and he wonders if she’s going to slide under the table completely. “Send it to my room, please.” Voice catching as her toes make contact with his crotch, he demands, “Put it all on my tab please. I’ll settle up later.” 

With a nod of agreement, the server disappears. Quickly Harry rises, adjusting his slacks as he glances around the room. 

“Let’s go,” his voice rumbles. 

“But H -- the sunset,” she whines. 

“My room has the same view,” he insists, holding out his hand which she grasps. Gracefully sliding her foot back into her sandal, she rises and glides behind him towards the elevator. 

His stomach rumbles at the thought of eating, and he debates ordering food. The sushi at the sunset lounge is always fresh. In the past, though, they’ve enjoyed the dishes together, trying new ones every year. Dejected, he places his glass harshly on the table, his disappointment at her absence radiating across his psyche like the colours of the sunset. 

“I would say it’s a solid 8.5,” her voice sounds from over his shoulder, and he twists in surprise. Like the sunset beckons the stars, she summons happiness to his soul. He scrambles to rise, kissing her on both cheeks, his lips lingering each time. Not too long, though, in case others are watching and photographing. Which he always assumes these days. Fans. Paps. No privacy exists anywhere. 

“Hi,” he whispers, grateful for her presence, but unable to say the words that would tell her how worried he’s been. That might reveal too much of his emotions. And his heart. 

Fuck. When had his heart gotten involved? And why hadn’t he realised before this particular moment? 

“You agree?” she smiles, gesturing to the sunset. 

“I would say it’s a 9 or maybe even a 9.2,” Harry smiles, his dimple making an appearance to rival the sunset in front of them. 

“You finished your drink,” she nods at his empty glass. 

“I started early.” It’s a lame excuse, and he knows it. 

His annual partner tilts her head in his direction. “Or maybe I’m late?”

Not knowing how to respond, Harry waits, his fingers playing with the coaster underneath his drink, spinning it around, the glass slowly rotating with the cardboard circle with the restaurant’s name on it. 

“I debated,” she whispers, “unsure if I should…”

The server appears, a smile on his face. His white trousers and white shirt are complemented by a blue scarf at his neck, his accent strong. 

“What can I get you?”

Harry notices the man’s gaze on his companion’s breasts which draws his own attention to the bosom swelling around the buttons of her frock, which he just now notices has sunflowers across the lower half of the skirt. Was that on purpose? 

When she exchanges a knowing glance with Harry and smoothes the fabric over her legs, it becomes clear that she knows exactly what she was doing by choosing this dress.

He shifts in his seat. 

“I’ll have what he’s having,” she announces. 

Harry reminds the server, “Two Casamigos on the rocks please. And your newest sushi roll with light brown rice please. Thanks.”

Nodding, his date agrees to the order, and he’s relieved that at least the basics haven’t changed in the last year. 

“You were saying?” he prompts as the steward moves away from them. 

“Oh,” she blushes, her cheeks tinging slightly pink. “I just...wasn’t sure…” She swallows, her head down before she makes eye contact with him, “that this was a good idea.”

Taken aback, Harry settles his bum more deeply in his chair, feeling blindsided by the comment, wishing he had his tequila to soothe him in this moment. “I see,” he mumbles. 

“Harry --” she begins, and he waves a hand in her direction. 

“It’s just casual,” he unceremoniously argues, “right?” But his heart clutches at the phrasing. 

Her eyes drop to her lap where her hands are entwined. “Yes. I guess.” Her whisper makes him sweat. Fuck. Had she decided this was it? The last time? “It’s a pretty sunset,” she adds.

“Absolutely,” he concurs, anxious at what else she might say. Silence descends on the table much faster than the stars appear in the sky above them. Should he be vulnerable? Tell her how he feels? What he’s thinking? 

This year’s live steel drum band begins a new song, and without pause, she rises, holding her hand out for him to grasp. Grateful for the reprieve, he joins her in their corner of the outdoor restaurant, placing one hand on her waist as she rests her head on his chest. Together, they sway, and his mind wanders.

“I need another lime!” she shrieks gleefully, holding the bottle of tequila in her hand. Harry shakes his head from his position flat on the bed. They are going to need clean sheets before they sleep tonight. Maybe they will go to her room for actual sleep? 

What the fuck is he thinking? As if they had actually slept during their rendezvous in the previous two years. 

“Here. Hold this,” she laughs, thrusting a lime towards Harry to place in his mouth, pulp out. 

“Mhm. Me next,” he mumbles just before his teeth wrap around the green rind.

“You bet,” she giggles. Settling herself on the bed as she straddles him, her soft parts landing on his cock encased in its bright green briefs. She slides down his legs and leans forward, holding the bottle of tequila out to the side. “Mmmmm.” Licking a stripe up from the base of his underpants to his navel, she sprinkles salt there before tilting the bottle of Casamigos and allowing a shot of tequila to land in his taut navel. He’d worked hard on his abs the last couple of months, knowing that he would be lying here with her. They’ve got definition that most blokes only dream of. 

Quickly, her tongue captures the salt before she sucks the tequila from his belly and shifts forward to suck the lime that’s in his mouth. Fuck. If he hadn’t been hard before they started this game, he’s certainly got a hammer between his legs now. 

As he releases the lime for her, she grips it in her teeth, leaning backwards in her bra and panties, her core now on his chest, and he can’t resist reaching out with a single finger and tracing a pattern over the treasure he knows is underneath. 

“You waxed for me this year,” he comments. 

“No,” she protests, “I waxed for me this year. You give great oral, and I wanted nothing to get in the way. It’s been far too long since my pussy has been properly eaten.” 

“Oh?” Harry’s eyebrow raises, as he knows a couple of people who she dated during the previous year. 

“Yep. I would say,” she smiles, leaning down to capture his mouth in a kiss, her lips hovering just above his, “about exactly a year.”

“Hey…” he begins as they finish their silent dance just as their drinks arrive along with the plate of sushi, but he’s interrupted. 

“Here are your drinks. Our newest sushi roll is the Hot Lover,” which makes Harry cringe and shift again in his seat. “It’s spicy tuna, shrimp tempura, and avocado wrapped in soybean paper.” 

As he places the food in front of them, Harry smiles sadly and nods as the gentleman fades away into the restaurant, like the sunset has drifted into the ocean. 

“You were going to say something?” she asks, and he loses all of his courage. 

Shaking his head, he grasps a piece of the sushi roll between his fingers, sliding it onto his tongue. 

“Not bad,” he comments as he chews, trying to tuck the food in his cheek so he’s not rude. 

“It’s really not got a lot of flavour,” she grins as she mimics his eating habit. “Kind of boring.”

Did she mean their relationship? Was this one of those double-entendres? Swallowing the fish and rice concoction, he sips his tequila as the sushi sticks in his throat. For some reason, he wants to cry. It makes no sense, but the tears come unbidden to his eyes. Fuck. Looking away, he sips more of his drink as he watches the remnants of the sunset fade away, blinking furiously. 

“I wanted to call you when we were both in New York this year,” he comments softly. 

Her fingers pause halfway to her mouth, the soybean-paper-wrapped piece of sushi hovering near her lips. Harry watches as she debates how to respond to his comment, finally placing the fish on her tongue and chewing slowly. Unable to draw his eyes from her mouth, he unapologetically watches as she savors the restaurant’s latest speciality. Eyes closed, she moans. Her hands clutch the table on either side of her, and Harry feels his mouth go dry. 

Once she devours the food, she sips her tequila on the rocks, and he can visualize her tongue swirling the liquid around as she either tries to clear the flavour of the fish or fully taste the liquor. After all, her tongue has done that same move to his most favored body part. When she finishes, she makes eye contact with him, her hands resting on either side of her plate, fingers curled. Taking a deep breath, she straightens her fingers flat without breaking eye contact. Fuck. He’s sweating. 

“Truth be told, Harry -- I desperately wanted to call you when we were both in Edinburgh that time.”

“Why didn’t you?” His words are faster than his brain, and he immediately wishes he could draw back the question. 

“You know why,” she replies, and he nods because he does indeed know all of the reasons. “The sunset --” Her attention is drawn to the colours in the sky, “is lovely, don’t you think?”

“Honestly,” he admits, “I would say this is the best one of all of the times we’ve sat here together.” The words make him cringe. He wants to keep things light, but something about the moment prevents fluff. It feels momentous. Overwhelming. 

He watches as her eyes stray from his to the sky before they tear up and she nods in agreement. “Yes, Harry. I would say this is the most breathtaking of the sunsets we’ve seen.”

Did that mean that this would be the last one? Neither of them is getting younger. Sooner or later, one of them will meet “the one”. And then where will the other be? Stuck on an island with a sunset alone? Fuck. He doesn’t want to be that person. But he truly doesn’t want that for her either. 

“It’s a sensational sunset,” Harry pleads, his eyes not leaving her face, not straying to the glorious colours, not denying that they have some chemistry together. Why hadn’t he made a play for her before now? Was a hookup enough? Would he be happy if this is the last one? 

“Harry,” she sighs, sipping her drink again. “I wonder ---” 

The band starts a new song, and he shakes off the sound, willing her to continue. A group at the table behind them sings ‘Happy Birthday’ while another table nearby bursts into laughter and somewhere a server drops a tray of glasses, the shattering drawing applause from a few assholes close to the debacle. Harry ignores all of it. 

“Yes? Go on,” he encourages. 

“Maybe…” she bites her lip, looking away from him towards the sunset. 

“Yes?” His throat is dry, but he doesn’t reach for his tequila or his glass of ice water. Instead, his gaze remains riveted on her. 

“Do you think that perhaps we could…” 

His breath catches in his throat. What would she say? Would she ask for some random sex act? Cancel their relationship permanently? Or possibly -- miraculously -- suggest that they celebrate more sunsets together instead of just once a year. He holds his breath, waiting impatiently. 

“I mean, it would probably be best if we...” 

A/N: Reblogs are love, my readers.  I appreciate the likes, but reblogs help others find the story and, quite frankly, encourage me to continue publishing here. 

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #my writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry fanfiction #original writing #harry styles imagine

[obeyme-sinners]

How would the brothers react to an MC who doesn't talk in fear of saying the wrong thing due to past trama? I just said a bad thing and lost a bunch of friends, now I need comfort from fictional characterss.

Aaaaa anon,,,,, if you wanna talk my dms are open, I know this is a bit late. But I love this ask, because I'm a sucker for pain and angst and a silently traumatized MC is exactly the way to get me thinking 👀👀

Lucifer

Honestly he doesn't mind your quietness, at least for a while. At some point he does get a little peeved when it keeps him from really communicating with you properly about things that he needs to talk to you about it - but he starts noticing little things from you that makes him hurt. He doesn't like the way that it seems as if you're afraid of your own voice. He'll do his best to help, but whenever you open up enough to actually talk to him, he's quietly overjoyed.

Mammon

Look, he was just kind of annoyed about the way that you never talked. He didn't like the fact that it made you seem like a statue, the way that you would freeze up anytime he asked you anything more complicated than a yes or no question. But when he starts getting closer to you, it turns into more than just annoyance - it turns into anger against whoever scared you enough that you never want to talk. Just point him in their direction, he'll take care of them for taking such a lovely thing away from him.

Leviathan

He's totally fine with it. He won't press you to talk, and it really just gives him an excuse to rant on and on about his animes and shows while you nod along and watch as he gets more and more animated as he talks. When it comes to it though, he's always going to be texting you, no matter how close you might be. If you're sitting right next to him, he'll pull up his notes app and the two of you can write out messages to read just like that. He finds it fun, and he likes that it's a sort of secret communication between the two of you. It makes him feel special.

Satan

Do you know sign language? If yes, cool! You have someone to talk to like that. If not, get ready to learn, because he can't just not communicate with you. He'll make sure that you're always with someone who can translate for you, but if you just don't talk a lot in general? Fine, he'll find some way that you're comfortable with. He doesn't like just not being able to know what's on your mind, and not being able to have in depth conversation with you hurts him a lot. He wants to know who hurt you so badly that you simply stopped talking.

Asmodeus

Honestly, for the first little while he pities you. He knows it's not very nice, but really - such a cute little thing you are, and yet you can't even bring yourself to speak up when you so clearly want to. Instead you force yourself to undergo whatever abuse people put you through. Well, no more! He's going to pamper you and love you until you can see just how beautiful that voice of yours is~ don't worry, he'll be nice about it. He'll shower you with praise with even the smallest words that escape you. It might seem condescending, but he means well.

Beelzebub

For a little bit, he can't really understand why you just... won't talk. You made it clear that it's not like you can't, but... you just won't. Like, he's pretty quiet himself, but he just doesn't entirely understand the almost complete lack of verbal communication from you. He'll do his best to not pressure you into speaking if you're not comfortable with it, but he really can't help but grin when you do use your voice to talk to him in the quietness of one of your rooms. It makes him happy to know that you're comfortable around him.

Belphegor

Cool. He doesn't have to worry about you disturbing his sleep with trying to chat with him. He tries his best to not be bothered with it, making up all these reasons about how you not talking is a good thing, but really... at some point he will be kind of worried about it. He'll gently coax you into talking to him, as well as he can after everything that he did, but he understands if you don't want to talk to him. But when you do start to trust him enough to speak, even just a few words at a time, he's quietly ecstatic. He doesn't want to overwhelm you though - all you'll see is a quiet, meaningful smile from him.

#obey me! #obey me #obey me headcanons #obey me! lucifer #obey me! mammon #obey me! leviathan #obey me! satan #obey me! asmodeus #obey me! beelzebub #obey me! belphegor #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor

[cloveroctobers]

Also what would Marisol and Talia be like as a couple? Excuse the spam, hope that isn’t annoying x

Marisol/Talia

They’re different from each other but i do feel like they’d could possibly gravitate towards each other if the timing is right

I do feel like it would be more of a timing thing more than just a spur of a moment...which really isn’t like Talia when it comes to relationships she’s more open to find connections where Marisol scopes people out and thinks of the what if’s before going forth

Maybe there’s a difference when it comes to her dating identifying girls vs guys? I do think she isn’t as confident when it comes to girls unless she’s really comfortable with said girl

Most seems to think that marisol gets bored easily with relationships and I’d love to see Rohan’s take on why that is lol but we’ll see towards the end of this if this relationship lasts or not

Marisol’s intelligent and she knows it but there are times when it comes off as snooty and Talia isn’t afraid to tell her that which actually hurts her feelings? (She thinks people should appreciate her wisdom but whatever) Even tho she hides it well with her argumentative ways

But Talia also can brush people’s feelings off too leaving her to be inconsiderate and again Marisol will tell her that when it comes to common disagreements

They try not to disagree because it leads to the silent treatment—even if Marisol tries and always manages to get the last word before that

It started off more causal than anything, something they both agree with

Marisol likes to pick your brain whereas Talia is handsy but she’s also layered too if she’s in the mood

Talia is the calm cool and collected at first glance

Marisol is always analyzing whether mentally or verbally

She will peer over talia’s shoulder when she’s writing side notes to any new artist she’s listening to, even if it’s not for work. It’s just habit

Just like it’s a habit for Marisol to relate anything to law

She occasionally brings up injustices and it really gets her blood going which Talia likes about Marisol that she‘s passionate about any wrong-doings and will sit with her square glass listening to her go off

They intertwine their hands a lot

Marisol once gave Talia a private massage for her birthday once after learning from the best and watching some techniques via YouTube

Probably go on weekend trips to luxurious hotels even tho they’re both frugal

Talia helps Marisol put in her contacts and eye drops whenever her eyes are bothering her

Marisol tries to help Talia with her hair but, “babe, how do you do this? My arms feel like they’re going to snap apart?! You have loads of hair!”

“Oh, Don’t be a p*ssy!” Talia taunts, even tho her neck feels like it’s about to detach but she’s been used to her curly routine for years now

And nobody tells Marisol she can’t do anything

So after diffusing they’re both laying on the bed not moving until the doorbell rings signaling that their door dash is here and Marisol might actually start to sob in pain much to Talia’s amusement

Talia is a “tom-boy” so Marisol ends up stealing some of her sweats surprisingly

And Marisol will put Talia in one of her blazer’s and Talia will complain, “ya know? This makes my pits itch.” Much to marisol’s disgust and appalling expression “ugh...just had to ruin a good thing, take it off. Go on then.”

Talia WILL give a striptease

They always have a good time at the club together and when the blokes start chatting them up with intentions to take them home, they always find a iconic way to leave them hanging especially if they don’t take “no” and “f*ck off” as an answer

Marisol loves to dance and even more when she lets loose and has some drinks in her system

“I didn’t know coffee liqueur was even a thing. You need help.” Talia gagged after swiping marisol’s drink after finishing hers

Talia despises marisol’s coffee obsession but she never smells bad like some people do when they have too much

Marisol will fight you with her words while Talia has no issue putting her hands on someone...only if it comes to that point

I do think once they reach the three month mark, Talia will become a little jealous if Rocco is still in marisol’s dm’s or if Gary hits her line since they often talk and consider each other friends

“are you upset that I’m talking to other people that aren’t you?”

“No, I’m upset that it’s intervening with us spending time together since I’m leaving for New Zealand in two days?”

“Quality time isn’t even your love language.”

“Here you go.”

the fishman was never a threat

And Talia has shared words with Elisa (according to my hcs where I believe they might have hooked up a couple of times) via social media

Marisol doesn’t like when Talia ghosts her even if she’s away out of the country for work. When she’s away their contact with each other is very limited and she hates that

“Why couldn’t you just come with me? That way we wouldn’t be doing this right now.”

“I’m a college student, I can’t just up and go whenever I feel like it. I’m dedicated to making my career and I can’t put it on hold on the account of you.”

Will “okay” Marisol just not to get into an argument but if she struck a nerve she’s going off too

Marisol isn’t one to ignore problems hoping that they go away and the moment she starts discussing this with Gary or Rocco, Talia is LIVID

She already expressed how trust is super important in a relationship and she hates Marisol letting other people have insight into their relationship

And Marisol finds this more exhausting than anything ultimately finding that she wants better and they’re probably not made for each other?

40-50% chance of survival

#litg #litg marisol #litg2 #litg s2 #litg talia #litg Gary #litg Rocco #litg graham #litg Elisa

[onelastbreath-writes]

On Bruce And Texting:

Author’s Note: Hello and welcome, this is my first properly written fic, originally posted to my AO3, and now that I have finally created a writing blog, it’s here as well. Please enjoy!!  AO3.  Masterlist

Warnings: Hopefully none, its all cute and fluff <3

Summary: Bruce Wayne texts like he's sending correspondences to the Queen, so of course the little monsters he calls children just have to make fun of him! Brats, the lot of them, but he wouldn't have them any other way.

Features: Bruce Wayne/Selina Kyle, all the bats and birds, mentions JL, no crime fighting, only family fluff, jokes and nods to Millennial and GenZ shenanigans.

Word Count: 2.7k

---

Billionaire, genius, tech expert, father of many children, and all around up-to-date-with-just-about-everything type of person he may be, it is also a well-known Fact that Bruce Wayne, the Batman(TM) himself, can’t text to save his life.

Whether it’s due to his Very Proper English Upbringing, his inability to be informal via written correspondences of any type, his indifference, or the fact that it bothers his children so much, Bruce Wayne has not and never will text with anything less than perfect grammar, spelling, and formality. If he has not sent you a proper letter (featuring a dedication, indentation for every paragraph, signature, and post-script when applicable), he did, in fact, not send you that text. Informality is not his Batman Way(TM) according to his children... he’s not too sure what that even means, but it makes his young ones laugh so it’s probably fine?  

His oldest children (Richard and Jason) were raised in the time of Change, where computers, internet access, social media, and all things similar were only just being introduced into households en-masse. They were young enough to remember a time without such devices and connectivity (both for very different reasons, of course, but they grew up without the newest technology none-the-less). They could understand his relationship to the digital environment more so than his younger children, but they still tended to poke fun at his ‘texting blunders’ regularly. All his kids somehow ended up as brats. He doesn’t know how this happened. It’s certainly not his fault. He blames the League members, and especially Clark Kent, for their defiant personalities. 

His younger children, whom he loves dearly, like to confuse him as much as they possibly can with their slang, egregious spelling errors, and all-around ‘internet humour’. He doesn’t know what ‘wig’ or ‘worm’ or ‘oof’ or anything means. He has no idea what those dances are, or how they relate to the music that seems to always accompany them, and for the love of all that is good, don’t ask him what he thinks of this or that ‘meme’. What even is a ‘meme’, and should he be more concerned about his kids being obsessed with them? He tries, oh my god, does he try to follow the children’s conversations, but they somehow all learned a language he has no idea how to decrypt. His best response to them once they start speaking in tongues is as follows: smile but not too much, listen to child even though he is deeply confused, and pat child on head or shoulder when they are finished and are looking for assurance.  

He refuses to be a parent who ignores or tunes out his children, so he always makes sure to put down his work, his crossword, his tools, or whatever else is in his hands when a child searches him out for a conversation. But somehow, despite all the time he spends around them and their strange words, when he gets text from them comprised of abbreviations, acronyms, and completely random words, he goes a little cross eyed. He would never tell anyone, but he keeps a running list on his phone about the things they say that he has had to translate in the past. Spilling tea? Speaking the truth, usually to do with gossip. Wow? Multiple possible meanings: either a video game, or someone saying it (different pronunciation depending on context and who sent the text). Stickbug? A nice little prank with no ulterior motives, just for fun. Something along the lines of “this basic bitch Karen at the grocery store who is a dirty rat-licker and is def an anti-vaxxer just took 45 (forty-five) minutes to decide she didn’t actually want that almond milk. I Stan the cashier who had to put up with her. Rad af dude.” roughly translates to “A rude, middle-aged white woman who wasn’t wearing a mask and doesn’t believe in disease control or vaccinating her children wasted a great deal of an essential worker’s time in the checkout line. The cashier was very professional in their dealings with said customer and should be commended on their actions.”  

Given enough time, the internet for searching up new slang words, and occasionally some help from a friend (Alfred, Selina, Lucius, another of his children, etc), Bruce could decode and respond appropriately to most texts. He was quite proud of these achievements, and although he didn’t always like how often his children were on their phones or computers or gaming systems, he was quite proud of how integrated and easily they adapted to the ever-evolving world of electronics. All his kids were gifted in many ways, but their ability to learn, their hunger for knowledge, and their perseverance when exploring new and challenging ideas were always the things that he was most impressed by.  

He could do without their comments though. Yes, surprisingly, he did manage to get girlfriends with his type of texting. No, he doesn’t miss the ‘good old days’ when telegraphs were the main form of long-distance correspondence (how old do these brats think he is?!). And yes, he does know what a “tweet” is, and how to “post” on his social media accounts, and what “sliding into your DMs” is (thanks to a frantic search after a WE employee mentioned it near him). The Wayne children, truly whom and what Bruce considers his pride and joy, are cruel little jerks to him sometimes. His hoard of parenting books fails to mention what one should do when their children gang up on them. Bullying is covered of course, but he can’t really talk to a teacher or his guardian about how his second son calls him an idiot sandwich, or that his third son regularly tries to get him to do something “For The Vine”. His oldest and youngest boys are only slightly better in the bullying him department; Richard and his puppy dog eyes when he wants to do something dangerous or not-Alfred-approved, and Damian and his growing collection of pets because “Mother never let me have them, and I am deprived, and don’t you love me Father?”.  

His only good child is his beautiful daughter Cassandra, the flower of the Wayne clan. She gives him hugs, and pats his hands, and can sit with him and just enjoy the quiet and stillness when his other children are not around. Her language skills are improving by leaps and bounds every day, and her heart and spirit are unparalleled, but her main method of communication is in her movements. Her hands, her posture, her dancing; Bruce couldn’t think of a more graceful, fluid, powerful person if the world depended on it. His amazing little girl doesn't bully him (and if she ever does, he probably deserves it, he trusts her), so he turns to her most of all when it comes to communicating with someone else. She doesn’t let him send anything that is “sketchy” or “wrong words, bad meaning, Dad”. He would give the world to his children, but for Cassandra, he would destroy it and build her an entirely new one.

Social media, especially with his terrible children all having accounts dedicated to making him look like a simpleton, was another rocky terrain he had to navigate on the regular. He had professionals in place at WE to run the company’s many accounts, paid top dollar to help appeal and relate to the masses, but he mostly had to manage his personal accounts himself. And so, @TheRealBruceWayne was one of the greatest struggles in his adult life. Why can’t he just retweet every post from @WE_Offical and leave it at that? People should only want to know about what’s new with the company. What do you mean they want to know more about our family and private lives? That’s unnecessary, and not important to the running of the company, right? Right? Why are you laughing?!

Luckily, most people in his life aren’t so intimately aware of his struggles. He can act and lie all he wants about being “hip” and “woke” and whatever else the kids are saying these days when he’s with the JL or in board meeting intermissions, networking with his associates. The Batman knows all and sees all, Green Lantern, of course he understands how “Tiktok” works. The Batman is a robot without a funny bone in his body, Green Arrow, but I did witness him sigh and say “same” when he knocked his cup of coffee over while on monitor duty once. No matter how badly his darling children call him out, the Justice League would be so much worse. So, it’s one of his most importantly guarded secrets... even more so than his secret identity at this point. Being unmasked in front of every Gotham rogue would be less detrimental to him than his “friends” learning of his utter ineptitude in staying on top of the younger generations’ lingo.  

When questioned why the League doesn’t have a group chat or a forum or anything that they can use to contact each other outside of world ending matters and communicator (”because we’re friends, Batman! Ma and Pa Kent would love to have everyone over for a barbecue!”), the person who dared even mention texting isn’t even given a verbal response. They are just glared at, silently, often for several uninterrupted minutes, frozen in place only able to breathe shallowly in fear of setting off the Bat. “You know why” his glare says, “I’ll eat you, your family, and everything you have ever held dear” the younger members hear. No one makes the mistake of asking about it twice.  

Outside of his children and Alfred, and his small circle of true friends involved in all aspects of his life, there is only one more person Bruce allows to know of his Darkest Secret. Selina. Someone most people would recommend he not be involved with. Catwoman: accomplished thief, distraction, chaos-incarnate most nights, and his significant other. Sharp as a whip (ha) and crafty like no one’s business; he is head-over-heels. On again/Off again and all over the place their long romance has been, but no one has ever challenged him, intrigued him, like this clever, beautiful, amazing woman has. He’s brought his partners around his children before, both for their judgement, and for their worst behaviours to vet out any “unworthy” suitors. He trusts them explicitly to tell him the truth about those he allows into the manor; were they rude about Bruce wanting to have group outings, did they say something about Bruce’s money, did they get angry or shout or make anyone uncomfortable while they were here? If his children even looked slightly unhappy with someone he brought them to meet, that person would not be invited back. Children, he finds, have the best sight when meeting people; no motives other than finding safety and love, no fear of consequences from speaking honestly...  

Selina, or Catwoman, as they had known her first, was someone all of his kids liked without issue right off the bat. She would make puns and play word games with Richard, his first Robin, tiny, still working on his English, able to connect with him over their acrobatic abilities. His second Robin, Jason, skittish and feisty as an alley cat, knew of Catwoman and her daring escapades long before Bruce found him. The young boy had a few heroes, and no one (not even Wonder Woman) could compare to the incredible burglar who bought food and jackets and medicine for the street kids in Crime Alley. She was saintly in his eyes, and to this day, Bruce was still working on convincing Jason he was good enough for Selina. Tim and Cass and Stephanie (basically another daughter to Bruce, she spends so much time with the family) all joined the Wayne clan around the same time and officially met Selina as a friend and partner of his, and in the good graces of his first two sons. Selina, in all her nightly business, and many travels and acquaintances, had met the three independently, helping Tim get home safely back to Drake Manor when he escaped to photograph Batman and Robin in the dank darkness of Gotham when he was just a young boy, spending some time with Cassandra when her despicable father left her alone long enough to recover from his rough treatment, showing her the first scraps of kindness in her short life, and watching over and protecting Stephanie as she followed and sabotaged her father Cluemaster and his criminal activities. There was no need to win them over once they met her civilian identity, she had already gained their favour and acceptance, and they were happy to have her near their new family. Damian, his youngest, his biological son, took the longest to warm up to Selina. He would never fault his little boy for fighting so hard against a woman that was not his birth mother, especially after all the manipulation and cruelty dealt to him by Talia for the first decade of his life. But as he began to learn about his father, these people in his father’s life, and this woman that was Not His Mother but “still okay, I guess”, he grew to see her as acceptable. Her cats definitely helped, he’d say, no one with cats that loyal and happy can be a bad person.  

Selina, the love of his life, he’d admit quietly to himself, was also a dirty traitor and in cahoots with his terrible children. She would say his texting skills were “sweet” and “very gentlemanly” when she was asked by anyone outside the family, and privately to him she would say she thought they were “adorable” and “please don’t ever change, Bruce, I like it.” However, nothing seemed to bring her more joy than his children sending her texts and “Snaps” and “memes” about him to her. Sometimes it was screenshots of the family group chat that they forced him to join, where he would post “To whom it may concern...” and “In regards to...” when he needed to reach all his delinquents in a timely manner. Sometimes it was video clips of him staring at his phone intently, then typing something on his laptop, then him reading and nodding along, and then finally going back and responding to the text he received with a small, pleased smile. And sometimes, when he got too injured or was too incapacitated to text coherently, he’d have his nearest able child transcribe his text to her. Depending on who was texting her for Bruce, she could expect many different things. From Dick, she’d get lots of shorthand and silly emojis, and many, many, winky and crying/laughing faces in brackets depending on what Bruce had made him type. Jason, bless him, used proper English most of the time, but would never write a single word of Bruce’s soliloquy to her, instead she enjoyed the TL;DR version: “hurt again, missing you, come home soon, blah blah blah, sappy gross words here, love you”. Tim would allow speech recognition to run on Bruce’s phone, and just let it go until the man passed out. Stephanie, the little chaos child, would film it and send it to her, including all her muffled laughter and shaky camera shots of Bruce emoting with his available undamaged limbs. Cass, still more versed in physicality and emotive movement, would interpret Bruce’s text into mostly emojis, hearts and happy faces and animals, but would include photos, and phrases that she found important enough to type out for Selina. Damian, forever his Father’s son in any way possible, texts very formally, referring to her or his siblings Bruce mentions by last name only, and lots of “Father requests me to tell you...” and “Kyle, know that Father...”. She adores these kids, and once Bruce recovers enough to text her himself, or she gets back to the Manor, they get to laugh about whatever she was sent this time.  

So, while it’s true that Bruce couldn’t text his way out of a wet paper bag, and his kids are sometimes brats about it, there’s probably a lot of different reasons he doesn’t spend too much time trying to improve his skills. Whether it’s the smiles of his children, the giggles of his significant other, or the warm feeling in his chest when he sees all his important people bonding over him, well, in the end, who’s to say?

#batman #batfam #bruce/selina #batcat #bruce wayne #selina kyle #bruce x selina

[daltonsden]

So, a couple things.

I think there may be a few things worth addressing because this has just spiraled into something that does not remotely resemble reality anymore. This is likely to be my last lioden-related interaction on here for a long time. I apologize for the novel.

First of all, any of the things, which I am still confused about what all you folks are going on about, has not happened in the Breed Only Beauties discord server. I don't understand what exactly these anons would prefer for me to do. I can't ban individuals based on alleged actions outside of my server, that doesn't seem logical or right to me. I can’t moderate actions outside of my server. If something happens in the in the server, create a ticket. I am not psychic and can not address things I am not made aware about. Everything that we are made aware of is addressed promptly.

Second, there's a ticket system in the Breed Only Beauties discord server which will connect you immediately with the admins and has an average response time of about a minute. So to say admins/moderators aren't doing anything is simply not based in reality. Many users have received warnings and have adjusted their behavior. You can also typically get an instant response you if DM any of them directly. Helpers, by the way, can not see tickets. If you are curious what most tickets are about, it’s failure to use trigger warnings. Well, actually most tickets are people testing the ticket system (please do not do this), but that doesn't really count. If you need something in the sever, create a ticket if it is actual issue in the server. For everything else, create a Tumblr post apparently.

Some, well at least one person, has complained about the choice of Aggy. I will not be demoting Aggy from the helper position. I am unaware of the alleged actions of Aggy that would warrant this (besides of course the favorite crime of guilt by association), and Aggy was chosen as a helper due to merit. They have exhibited nothing that would contradict this initial assessment, and has been doing an excellent job. If you have an issue with Aggy and believe you have evidence of why they should not be a helper, please create a ticket in the server or DM me. I am always open to being proven wrong.

Fourth, no I will not arbitrarily kick an individual because you do not like them or do not get along with them. This applies to people on "both sides". They will have to break the rules either severely enough, or enough times to be kicked. You not liking them is not an appropriate reason to have someone banned from the server. Pretty much everyone has been and will be given a chance in this server, even if I get DMs from people bemoaning their entry. So no, everyone, I will not be kicking someone because they are a clown gang, I will not be kicking someone because they are friends of Jax, I will not be kicking someone because you think they may be the user that bought out your mispriced trade last year or kinged a lion similar to yours. None of these are valid reasons. If you have a valid reason, please create a ticket or DM me. We will instantly kick users who underage, who engage in clear-intent scams, steal art, or engage in any activity that would result in a ban from Lioden.

Unfortunately, I can not dedicate my entire life to volunteer to watch every channel in a pet sim server for a small community. Realistically, this is not even dependent on my mother's condition. I just humanly can't do that, because sleep is a thing, and nor would I want to. I don't even want to spend most of my free time doing it. If you see something, report via the ticket system. As much as the salt blogs care to insinuate, I do not bear the weight of responsibility of the actions of individuals who sometimes chat in a server I set up for everyone to enjoy. I am not these people’s parent, nor can I control any individual’s actions. Also, if I were to chose to leave the server be and let the weeds grow wild, that would not make me a “bitch” as one anon so eloquently put it. Anon, you are not entitled to the volunteered time I put into building a little community for Bob. Everything I, the admins, and the helpers, put in is volunteered and not at all a given, or requirement. If I can not drop everything in a moment’s notice to service a voluntarily run discord, that does not make me a “bitch”. It is not, and will never be, my sole or number one responsibility in life. It’s a game. And to insinuate that I am somehow less than or a bad person for not being able to manage the server 100% of the time is unreasonable and cruel. Look, I’m only human. And the users chatting in Bob are only human. And there's going to be squabbles, and people are going to complain about stuff, and not always get along, and that’s okay, because that's part of being human. But I’m not always going to be online to catch it, so please use the ticket system.

Also, on to the anonymous user who posted and the salt blog who permitted this comment,” hey fun fact anon, i'm aware she's dealing with her sick mother but that doesn't excuse the terrible moderation. if she told her mods to step up or do something, they could do something so she could do what she needed to do. she's a bitch, and terrible owner. she has the power to do stuff, but does nothing.” What is wrong with you? How on earth does this progress anything, and why was this permitted to be shared? I understand everyone enjoys salt, and everyone is stressed due to the global circumstances stances right now, but moderators and posters please keep in mind there is a human on the other end of the keyboard, and thanks to the 2020 energy I think everyone is going through something. I have my mother's situation, but everyone has something right now. I have an open DM policy with players in and out of my discord, where if you have anything you need to talk about I can always provide a safe and confidential place to talk, and many, many users have come to me upset about even just the tiniest thing shared on these blogs. These words and comments genuinely hurt people, and it doesn’t take needlessly calling someone a “bitch” because they can not dedicate their life to moderating a discord server to do that. You can hurt people with much less. This request is to everyone, including individuals in the Bob discord server. I don't think anyone deserves to be just berated or cussed out needlessly by anonymous randos, not myself, not Roxanne, not Jax, not the clown gang, not Noluck, not BO breeders, not applicator lovers, not the Lioden staff. All these individuals are people who are just doing the best they can right now, I'm sure. Even Roxanne and Jax are nice, normal and understanding people if you talk to them one on one.

Yes, my mother is dying from liver failure caused by cancer. It is an awful and ugly death, especially for someone who is far before her time. Her medication to manage the pain and rising liver toxicity she is has made her very not herself, though we are finding a better combination. There are still some good days ahead I hope. She is combative, physically and verbally, and can not physically do most basic actions herself. She keeps fighting us to go back to chemo, even though it did nothing to help the tumors and would just quicken demise. It breaks my heart because I know she just wants to live and wants to fight it, but she is going to die where she lays. I just really hope I get to have a fully aware conversation with her before she passes, and that she knows I love her so much despite me being a bit of a hellion in my teens. I think it would be hard to watch if I was an observer, unfortunately I am active participant.

On the matter of me deleting things that violate our rules in server. The alternative would to be leaving up things that violate our rules, which would be the same as deeming it acceptable. This is just the strangest complaint I've seen on here. If there was a delete, someone is essentially being spoken to/receiving a strike/ECT. According to Tumblr, I'm quite the paradox, apparently, I somehow both manage to completely disregard the server while still managing to delete stuff every time insert your favorite salt blog character here does anything. Congratulations Bob, you got yourself a girl that can do both.

At the end of the day, the Bob server is a pretty mundane lioden server. If you don't like breed only marks/bases, it’s probably pretty boring. It’s really nothing like how it’s portrayed here. If it’s toxic then my vocabulary is far too limited to describe the anonymous culture on platform you’re reading this on. Usually I would suggest joining us and checking it out, but after watching the last 48 hours on Tumblr, I think I’m likely aquantited with enough users from this platform for now. If anyone is still reading, thank you for your time, I'm appreciative of it. Writing this really helped my headspace regarding the community. I should have never read the blogs to be honest, so some of this does fall on my shoulders. I won't likely answer questions, I apologise in advance. I still love you all, and I know this is just a tiny fraction of the Lioden community, but today it just feels incredibly bad.

#lioden #pet sim #petsim #dalton #breed only beauties #lionews #COAL #lioden salt #toxic culture #anonymous #jax #game culture #discord #salty lions #salt #cancer #tumblr #tumblr toxicity #tired

[midlifemusingsfromthemidwest]

Charlatans, Liars, and Frauds

Sometimes the truth is stranger than fiction, and this is one of those times. I have long been an avid reader of the trashy British tabloid that masquerades as a newspaper, The Daily Mail. Every morning for years, I have enjoyed reading the DM as I drink my morning coffee. I read the stories and laugh at the acerbic comments, as the Brits do have a way with words. When Meghan Markle arrived upon the scene while dating Prince Harry, suddenly every story was about them. As an American, I was amused by their painting of her as a star and well-known actress, because no one, and I mean no one, outside her immediate family and friends, had ever heard of this chick. Not only that, no one I have ever talked to watched the show Suits, where she played a supporting role. Suddenly, Meghan Markle was everywhere, and quickly I came to the conclusion that she was a complete social climber who was dating poor dumb Harry to advance her desire for fame. In the comments of the Daily Mail, someone mentioned a Facebook group devoted to shared dislike for Meghan, and on a lark, I joined it. The group was known as Meghan Markle The Charlatan Duchess, often shortened to MMTCD. I'll be honest, the group was a lot of fun as women from all over the world dished and bitched about what a fraud Meghan Markle was. We laughed at her horrific wigs and her clothes that cost millions, yet were always ill-fitting. We chuckled over how dim Harry was, and we guessed how long it would be before the divorce proceedings were started. Some of the women believed more outlandish tales such as that Meghan was born a man, that she wore a moonbump and was never pregnant, and that Archie (I am still scratching my head over that choice of name…Archie????) was, in fact, a doll, and not a real boy. Maybe Meghan should have named him Pinocchio instead of Archie. All in all, it was good fun…not nice, yet good fun.

Now, the interesting part of the story is that the founder of the group was a woman who referred to herself as "Lady L”. Lady L claimed she was a high-ranking member of the British aristocracy with strong ties to the British Royal Family. She wrote in flowery prose about how she felt compelled to start a facebook group to help expose Meghan Markle as a fraud and charlatan. She was single-handedly going to save the British monarchy from the grubby clutches of the American interloper. Lady L claimed her grandmother had been a lady-in-waiting to the Queen, and that she had a huge ancestral home outside of Edinburgh. In fact, she often wrote that once Meghan and Harry divorced, she was going to host a huge party for the group in her ancestral pile in Scotland, oooh la la! Sadly, some women in the group actually started saving money for the trip so they would be able to afford to go. Seriously, shame on her for that. She wove the tale that she was a successful antique shoppe owner (notice the British spelling, which meant it had to be true), and that she came to the United States every year to buy antiques for her stores and shipped them back to the UK. Um, what? Why in the world would someone come from the UK, where antiques simply had to be older and more valuable, to the United States to buy antiques that were generally far less old and far less valuable. How odd, and the first red flag that made me think the Lady wasn't all she proclaimed herself to be.

After some time, Lady L introduced us to her cousin, Lilly Beth, whom she had recruited to help run the group, as Lady L simply couldn't keep up with it all by her little old blue-blooded self. Shortly after that, Lilly Beth became the self-appointed Queen of the group with every member hanging on her every post, all while competing for her attention. Lady L rarely posted in the group once Lilly Beth was brought on board to run the place. Occasionally when the group members became unruly, Lady L would pop in and shout at everyone to stop whatever they were doing to anger her, post a giant red angry emoji, and then "feck off" back from whence she had come. Lilly Beth claimed that her husband, fondly known as “Mister”, worked for the Crown and that she had "grown up with Wills and Harry." Hmmmm….ok then, it seemed somewhat implausible, but I was game to play along on the off chance it was true. Maybe she was just some rich bored British aristocrat hiding behind a laptop. I had been a member for just a few weeks when the group was rocked by a Daily Mail article that doxed or exposed, several anti-Meghan private citizens in a story that shared the pictures, names, and even twitter names of several women who happened to be members of the group. I still believe that Meghan Markle's people were behind the doxing, and it made me dislike her even more. The members of MMTCD panicked, and most of us then created fake facebook profile identities and rejoined the group under nom de plums. It might seem like an overreaction, but many of the women in the group whom I had become friends with were successful professionals. They didn't want to see their faces and names publicly shamed on the Daily Mail for having the audacity to dislike Meghan Markle. Not only that, but it was quickly become the modus operandi of Meghan and her band of flying monkeys, I mean supporters, to harass, defame, dox, and call every person who didn't like her a racist. Despite the influx of anonymous Facebook profiles, the group MMTCD flourished.

Over the next year, Lilly Beth became increasingly over the top, and she was an incessant braggart. She claimed that her husband, Mister, not only supposedly worked for the Crown, but that he also was a member of the House of Commons, owned a village, and that he had even surprised her with a mansion in upper New York where they would summer, amidst the ungodly heat and humidity. Who in their right mind would summer in New York where it is 100-plus degrees when one could be in much more temperate UK? Mmmhmm…sure. As time went on, Lilly Beth bragged more and more and more. She claimed she brought their entire household staff with them to the United States to the new mansion. She bragged that her daughter Violet was friends with Prince George and that there was a possibility she could even marry him someday. My goodness, was it possible that our humble Lilly Beth could someday be the mother-in-law to a future King? Would we all get invitations to the wedding? Should I start saving for a bespoke dress? She bragged that she was invited by the Queen herself to an upcoming ceremony—and that the queen had insisted that she attend. Well, goodness me, wasn't Lilly Beth becoming more and more important with every passing day? She would regale the breathless fans of hers in the group with tales of how Cook would whip up ten-course meals, and how she was ordering bespoke gowns. She tooted her own horn more than Meghan Markle, and that is no easy feat. Lilly Beth kept us up to date on her pregnancy and her newborn, "Master Jack" and even shared pictures of him and his sister little Violet with bright auburn hair and vivid green eyes, clearly photoshopped and poorly at that. The list of Lilly Beth's tall tales was vast. They included that she had met Kate several times, Mister was a RAF pilot, Cook make enough stew for their entire village of shut-ins, Mister waved rent for the entire village because of covid, she was a barrister, she was a buyer for an auction house, she was a violinist, she could sing beautifully, she was a muse for a famous artist, she got her ice cold milk straight from the village dairy (insert eye roll here), and on and on.

A monster was born. The more attention Lilly Beth got, the more she loved it, and the bigger the tales got. Not only that, but she also started getting sloppy. Her use of British words began to slip, her photoshopping skills were appalling, and her tales were becoming increasingly unbelievable. With each embellishment, I became even more convinced that Lilly Beth was a con artist who was no more a British aristocract than I was. During this time, Lilly Beth also set up a second group where she and other group members would verbally duke it out with Meghan Markle fans and then try to recruit members to come to their defense. It was like watching an episode of Jenny Jones show when it devolved into a fistfight amongst the guests. I got to the point where I posted less often, and I would go days or weeks without visiting the group. When I did, I would post and fly out of there. The entire group became like primary school kids trying to outdo each other to attract Lilly Beth's attention with their tricks. Watch this, Lilly Beth…No, watch me, Lilly Beth…Look at this Lilly Beth. A few times, I knew Lilly Beth was lying and full of "shite" as she would put it. Once, she said her husband, Mister, had been at a wine-tasting with Harry and that Harry had come in "knackered." I asked why Harry was tired, and she said, Nooooo, knackered means he was drunk. Hmmm…while I don't pretend to be British, I do have Brits as friends and have only heard of knackered meaning tired. As usual, when questioned, she slithered away and stayed gone for several days.

Finally, the beginning of the end happened one day when two former members who were booted from the group—something that happened on a weekly basis for one offense or another— blogged on tumbler some of Lilly's supposed "tea." Tea was the term the group used for inside information. The supposed inside information was a bit like the overly vague guesses of a carnival psychic. If the “tea” was specific, then it was usually a rewording of a DM or other tabloid story. Then, shortly after the Tumblr brouhaha, Lilly Beth posted that someone on twitter was saying she lived in Alaska and that Lady L lived in Arizona and how hilarious it was that someone was making such crazy accusations. She laughed maniacally about it…LOLOLOLOL!!!!! This was her trademark over the top response to anything even mildly humorous. Then, the balloon popped, the air escaped from the overstretched bladder in a split second with a whoosh. When members tried to access the site all that was there was a message that the group been archived. Like the carnies they were, the frauds scurried off into the shadows leaving behind hundreds of confused and incredulous former members. It turned out that Lady L and Lilly Beth were no more connected to the British Royal Family than am I. In fact, they were a mother and at least one of her daughters, posing as British aristocrats all the while living in the United States. For a year and a half, they had perpetrated a gigantic fraud on hundreds of unsuspecting, and some suspecting like myself, women from nearly every continent and country on the planet. Former members quickly found other groups to join to maintain the friendships formed within MMTCD. Everyone wondered, why would these women have gone to such lengths to fabricate such intricate and detailed lies? What was their end game? Were they setting the group up for financial fraud, were they data-mining for identity theft, were they just stroking their egos, or were they creating an alternative reality vastly more interesting than their mundane, sad lives? I doubt we will never know, but how very ironic that two complete charlatans and frauds created a group dedicated to uncovering another charlatan and fraud. Isn't it ironic, don't you think?

#MMTCD #Charlatans

[monstersdownthepath]

Spiritual Spotlight: Ydajisk, the Mother of Tongues

Chaotic Neutral Protean Cantor of Language Evolution, Lost Words, and Slang

Domains: Chaos, Knowledge, Rune, Trickery Subdomains*: Protean, Thought, Language, Innuendo

Concordance of Rivals, pg. 21

Obedience: Recite, copy, or graffiti a text in a dead or self-created language in a public place, regardless of whether any others understand the meaning, and provide no translation. Benefit: Gain a +4 sacred bonus on saving throws against language-based effects.

(*IMPORTANT NOTE: The Subdomains are my best guess; Subdomains are not listed in Concordance of Rivals)

A step above Ssila’s Obedience in that, while it requires your act to be seen publicly, you can still stealth it by simply using graffiti in a public place so you’re not as likely to be arrested or seen as a menace.

Canon dead languages in Pathfinder include Ancient Osirion, Azlanti, and the ever-popular Thassilonian (the language of the Runelords), by the way, and studying any of those three languages is an automatic +1 to your character’s Cool Points if you manage to work it into their character concept. A DM may make it a little more difficult for you to acquire them, as dead languages are difficult to resurrect with mere points in Linguistics, but you can just cheat and have it be part of your character’s backstory. Anything can happen in your backstory!

You can also go the route of just making up a language. It has to be consistent, but you don’t have to go all out and present your DM with a journal filled with runes that help them decipher what you’ve written; you can just say it’s being consistent! And it’s yet another way to get Cool Points for your character, having them write journals or a diary in their own unbreakable code. Ydajisk requires their followers to deliberately not provide a translation for anything they create, leaving others to puzzle over the strange sounds coming out of this person’s mouth or wonder if the new paint all over city hall is an occult symbol or harmless vandalism. It’s also a pretty easy Obedience to hide, if you don’t want people knowing who you work for, since you can get away with translating an existing document into another language. It’ll make you look eccentric, but in a charming way.

The benefit is, sadly, rather poor. Many of the most dangerous spells in existence don’t rely on language, and this spell really only protects you from the seldom-seen Litany spells. It DOES work on Suggestion, though, which is commonly used and devastating if used right, but all in all this benefit is too narrow to matter in 99% of cases.

Boons are gained slowly, gained at levels 12, 16, and 20. Servants of the Monitors, though, can enter the Proctor Prestige Class as early as level 8. If entered as early as possible, you can earn your Boons at levels 10, 14, and 16. You MUST take the Monitor Obedience feat, NOT Deific Obedience. Monitors grant only a single set of Boons. 

Boon 1: Sibilant. Gain Aphasia 3/day, Sonic Scream 2/day, or Tongues 1/day.

Nice! Tongues has almost unrivaled utility if you’re trying the diplomatic route in unknown territory, allowing you to speak and understand any spoken language. You can slap it on the party face if you’re not already the Diplomancer, and it can last for hours at a time at higher levels! Since you’re in the business of learning languages, though, you may end up the party polyglot in due time anyway, reducing its usefulness as you put more and more ranks into Linguistics. If you don’t plan on following through on that, though, it can be useful to carry Tongues around with you... Unless you plan on going into combat.

Sonic Scream’s damage is way too low to consider once you advance past level 4, coming in at 4d4 and halving each time it’s used (up to three times per cast). If it didn’t eat your standard actions to use it might have been worth picking, but as it is, using your standard action to deal 2d4 or 1d4 damage is abysmal. Plus, there’s the fact that Sonic Scream prevents you from casting any other spell with verbal components until you use all three of its charges, so casting it just to deal with a swarm of tiny foes will see you creamed by any of the survivors as your ability to fight back is severely limited.

Aphasia is a spell very few people look at, understandably so. It’s a compulsion and mind-affecting spell and is only level 1, meaning its DC is 11+Cha, pathetically low unless boosted via feats or other spells. However, it’s also basically a Save-Or-Suck if used on an enemy spellcaster because, among other things, it keeps the victim from using any spells with verbal components. It also prevents them from communicating with their own allies and ruins their coordination, so there’s rare moments when hitting someone who’s not a caster also works, such as versus enemies with some form of rallying ability, or the power to inspire themselves or their allies with words alone. Slapping it on a dimwitted creature that relies on orders from another entity to function also works.

It’s a hilarious spell to have, is what I’m saying, but it requires some pretty heavy investment if you want to keep it useful at higher levels.

Boon 2: Burning Tongue. 3/day as a standard action, you can transform your mouth into a serpentine maw with a tongue of roiling energy. This grants you a ranged touch attack that targets a single creature within 30 feet. The attack deals 8d6 points of Sonic damage and renders the target confused for 1d4 rounds. In addition, a creature hit by this attack must succeed at a Will save (DC 10 + 1/2 your Hit Dice + your Cha mod) or it is unable to communicate through any spoken or written language for a number of hours equal to your Wisdom modifier. 

Oooooohhhhh, now this is a REAL nice power. A beefy 8d6 Sonic damage--one of the least-resisted elements in the game!--on a ranged touch attack, so not even a mountain of armor can protect against it! And, you will likely realize, a confusion effect stapled onto it that hits automatically. No saving throw to avoid or shrug off the effect early, it’s an automatic confusion for 1d4 rounds and only immunity to mind-affecting effects will protect you from it! It really doesn’t matter who you slap with this, because it’s ALL equally hilarious. People under the effects of Confusion have a 1/4 chance of acting normally, wasting their turn doing nothing, hitting themselves, or hitting the closest available target.

That’s a four-sided coin flip each turn and, with only 1d4 rounds to its effect, there’s a chance they won’t be inconvenienced by the confusion at all... But that’s still 8d6 damage you knocked their nose in with, and since you can do it 3/day you can just hit them again next round! The only unfortunate limiter to this power is its 30ft range, requiring you to get within slapping distance of about 84% of all Pathfinder’s nasties, a dangerous place to be if you’re not a melee character.

I do like the touch that you get a snake mouth while using the power, though. I wonder if you can perform the transformation even when you’ve got no more uses of this ability for extra Intimidation points.

Boon 3: Screams of the Deep. As a standard action a number of times per day equal to your Charisma modifier (min 1), you can cast either Power Word Blind, Power Word Kill, Power Word Stun, or Word of Chaos as a spell-like ability, treating your character level as your caster level. You cannot use the same spell-like twice in a row. The saving throw DC, when applicable, is equal to 10 + 1/2 your Hit Dice + your Cha modifier.

hold on let me

Why, Ydajisk, if you wanted my hand in marriage you needed only to ask. You didn’t need to do this for me!

Some deities are content with giving you a level 9 spell as their final Boon, while most of the Monitors are often too busy to provide you with such power. The Mother of Tongues, however, says “No, MY flock deserves the best” and hands you two level 7 spells, a level 8 spell, AND a level 9 spell on a silver platter. Not only that, but they’re GOOD level 7/8/9 spells! Really hope you didn’t dump Charisma, buddy, because if you did you’re really missing out.

Barbatos may finally have some competition in the Best Boons Ever bracket, though I’ll admit that an obedient Pit Fiend is still more flexible than the Power Word spells. They can only affect one creature at a time, are mind-affecting and compulsion effects (Death is also a death effect, obviously), and require the victim to be below certain HP thresholds, but they offer no saving throw and their effects can often end a battle as soon as they’re cast. Word of Chaos is the unique one here, affecting everyone within a 40ft burst of you and blasting non-Chaotic entities in the radius with pure chaos energy, potentially killing anything too low on the totem pole for you to deal with while crippling everyone who’s more on your level.

Unfortunately, Word of Chaos has zero effect on creatures with more hit dice than you have caster levels, so using it to crunch the boss of a given adventure is a no-go. Extremely effective for wiping out their low-level backup, though... unless, of course, they’re Chaotic. And watch out for non-Chaotic allies you may have, because Word of Chaos doesn’t differentiate between friend and foe.

The only real “weakness” of this Boon is that you can’t use the same word twice in a row, but this isn’t a huge impediment. Its Cha-per-day restriction isn’t much of a restriction when you consider that other deities who hand you the Power Word spells (such as Orcus, off the top of my head) limit you to 3 or 1 a day, whereas a Charisma-based caster can rattle off lethal words up to ten times a day if they have a bunch of Cha-boosting magic items. The power of this Boon lays in the fact that it specifically doesn’t fall into the “save this for later” trap by giving you the option to use it on smaller mobs with how many times per day you can throw it out, potentially saving you way more resources later.

A real good Boon! 11/10! And Ydajisk is a pretty good god to serve, because they’re just a weird book collector! 12/10!

You can read more about them here.

#Spiritual Spotlight #Neutrality Notes #Pathfinder #Dungeons and Dragons

[inexorablebloodmoon]

I don’t know why Cass is throwing shade out right now? But apparently someone accused her of copying your oc. And it seriously looks 100% copied. It’s on her main blog. I hate seeing those shit drama loving people stealing your guys stuff.

«──────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ────────»

Oh chile. Go ahead and get comfy, get your teapots and teacups out, because this is going to be a wild story and some really hot tea ☕️

I knew about the OC long before people told me, since I was the one who caught onto it since I still somehow had been following her on my main blog titanialynida. She posted a collage of pictures of her commissions on her main blog and I believe shared it on her Diabolik OC blog as well. Looks similar to my D&D version of Titania and she knew she’s basically a sorceress and archer. But aside copied work and an unoriginal OC, Cass has always been trouble since she sold the fake Azusa plush to a friend of mine and to someone named bitter-doll.

If people really don’t believe me on this, her own friend Summer sent her a screenshot of her “accidentally” talking shit on her which I have proof of. Cass seemed so stupid as to believe in her that she was still a friend and didn’t “mean to say or send that” and Summer is a known two faced liar and user. I also want to mention their friend Rylin was the one who gave our friend her refund which she should’ve never done, but Cass is irresponsible and lives with a man who hardly takes care of her which I’ll get to in just a moment. My second problem with Cass, is she’s a liar. A big liar in fact. She claimed her father was actually native, but when I and others went to see for myself, he doesn’t live on a reservation and in one photo of Cass, he has a Confederate flag in the background so she can fuck RIGHT OFF trying to claim being POC and putting herself in topics she had no space in. Even claiming her fiancé Joe is because he isn’t fully White because he’s a “dark skinned” Italian man. Which by the way, Italians are White People, just the rest of Europeans. My mother’s parents were born in Portugal and lived in Europe till they decided to move to Canada. Both of my parents are immigrant and come from immigrant families. My father being Chicano so that is disrespectful for me that she has no place in our conversations about problems that minorities face. And White people don’t get to define what is and isn’t racist. Because that isn’t how racism works within a society built off the backs of Black and Brown people world wide.

Another thing to know about Cass, is she’s extremely two faced. She lies about being supportive and is always trying to find an excuse. She lied to my best friend Mika about traiding her Dazai merch for Azusa merch Mika already had. Mika also, never received a tracking number for her stuff and was lied and cheated to similar to the Azusa Plush. She excuse was she had problems with her bank and PayPal as she usually does with people she has interacted with. Which I also have proof of since my best friend Mika has sent merch to quiet a few Diabolik fans within the fandom.

Lastly, her “fiancé”, or as I like to call him, a predator and abuser. His name is Joe and he’s a fucked up person. Think of misogyny on cocaine. Not only does he throw things in their trailer home and apparently she takes after this, but she herself said he would get extremely drunk and violent in front of her who was 19 and basically relying on him as a place to stay. I have no doubts he’s done this after their daughter was born. I know this all too well and what this man was after, since I lived with a man similar and no healthy man in his mid 30’s is going to take care of a 19 year old girl and think that’s a healthy relationship. That’s abuse waiting to happen and she was young and vulnerable. Their whole relationship is gross and many of Destinee’s friends advised her to leave and get away from him for a long time. He even called me racial slurs like “wetback” and “beaner” when talking about immigration and that he’s beat me up and got to the point of sexually assaulting me in his comments. Called me a cunt and was extremely abusive saying he would hit me. When that happened, I told Cass she needs to leave him and that was completely uncalled for. She doesn’t care about my rights or my safety, and he’s also a known Islamaphobic White man. So she’s just as guilty by proxy and has never once formally apologized.

Go ahead and talk shit on me, Cass. Try. At the very least, when I was in an abusive relationship I reached out to the friends I had and contacted the police when I was able to. I went to get help so I can throw a predator in jail and before he was gonna get arrested, he killed himself. You let that innocent little girl be around somebody who is physically and verbally abusive. All you care about is a fantasy of Joe and what he “was”, not actually caring about the well being and safety of your daughter. Having an abusive father around is no benefit to her life. And Summer, I’m not a pos mom thank you. I work 40 hours a week while my daughter goes to public kindergarten full-time and I buy her what she wants and needs. She’s in Girl Scouts and Soccer. What’s Cass doin for her baby and what’s Misa even doing for her disabled son? No sports, no after-school program or time with peers. Both are lazy and selfish parents who don’t care about their children’s welfare.

If people do not believe my words, they may feel free to that and I can’t change people’s opinions, but feel free to DM me for proof because I have it, and eventually today I’ll post it in imgur files.

Try me bitch

«──────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ────────»

#diabolik-cass #diabolikcass #personal #anon #ask

[punchmedanny]

Chicago II July 25, 2018

Alright strap yourselves in cuz this is gonna be a long ass post WITH SPOILERS for Interactive Introverts. I will mark where spoilers begin if you want to read about pre show stuff. If you don't want any spoilers whatsoever, don't feel obligated to read this even if we're buddies! Feel free to send me an ask/dm instead 😅

Alright folks, let's go!

Playing the Waiting Game

I was supposed to get to the venue at 4 for m&g, but I got there before 3 because a) i'm terrified of being late and b) my uber driver made excellent time.

The venue was not open yet, so my bf and I walked to a nearby mall. We passed by the tour buses (presumably dnp's plus other performers'). There was a group of people hanging around them looking v stalkerish (please don't hang around the buses before the show)

We got back to venue around 3:50 and waited in line outside till 4 when the venue let us in. We were near the middle of the line, so if you want to be closer to the front, get there sooner lol

Turns out I was behind the lovely @noodlephil in line (although I didn’t know till after!)

Two internet friends were meeting for the first time and crying (it was adorable)

Inside, there was a table with staff that checked and marked our tickets then gave us silver paper wristbands

We got in a second line where we had a bag check (our venue allowed sealed water bottles, but that might vary) and were scanned by a wand metal detector. After that, staff scanned our tickets 

We went to a third line which was the actual line for m&g and were told the m&g itself would start around 4:30

Marianne came by and said we would be waiting a bit longer for "latecomers" (im p sure dnp were the latecomers because most people were there at that point haha)

Marianne walked like a frickin goddess and her voice was beautiful

She made a speech giving us a rundown of how m&g would work, which I recorded

The m&g area was set up in the lobby to the side of the theatre doors

Dan and Phil entered from our left (towards the back of the theate)

They jogged across the m&g backdrop where we could see them better and waved. Dan did the cutest bouncy jump ever while waving. He stayed out longer than Phil

There was a table to set your bag on as you approached the backdrop

The music was loud af and there was NO WAY to see or hear other people's m&g - it was v private even though there were tons of people

Marianne was at the very front of the line and asked what she could do to help. I was like uhhh (because I'm eloquent like that) and she asked if we had anything for them to sign. My bf had golf balls lmao and gave them to her. I said I wanted to take a Polaroid for them to sign. She had me turn the camera on because apparently they’d had issues with Polaroid cameras in the past

I thanked her for the way everything was being run and joked a bit while we waited

When it was our turn, the people in front of us were completely gone (I repeat: v private). Marianne gestured and verbally told us to go on in

Meeting Dan and Phil

Phil was wearing his red jacket and good vibes t-shirt just like the beginning of "week in the life" He welcomed us with open arms and I went in for the Phil Hug. Wow. Phil is an excellent hugger and his arms felt a lot stronger than I imagined. And, yes, he waited for me to let go first

As soon as I let go of Phil, I stepped to the side and and looked at Dan. He was wearing his II denim jacket over a white t-shirt. He also had his arms wide for a hug. And lemme tell you, that boi has a fuckin wingspan. Dan gave a more gentle hug than Phil and we let go at like the same time

I am not a hugger and wasnt even 100% sure before I went in that I would hug them tbh

After the hugs, I stepped back and took them both in that's what she said. My initial impression was confidence and class. Literally, the most confident people I've ever encountered irl

Everyone says they're tall, but they are, as my bf said, taller than advertised. He's 6'2 and still looked up to both of them. I feel like they're both close to the next inch up honestly

They are wide. Like we've all noticed the Phil is wide, but Dan is too! They are literal giants

The cameras do NOT do them justice. Phil looks his age irl and I mean that in the sexiest way possible. He does actually have pores and tiny wrinkles (gasp), but I think they only make him more attractive. He oozes understated masculinity. But he also has serious nerd energy and idgaf attitude. Basically, he seems kind of badass

Dan looked flawless. Like I know every so often people wonder about if he wears makeup and all imma say is either he does OR he has the best damn skin care routine and/or genetics ever. He looks like someone after they use a filter

I'd say dan is suave and phil has swagger

(I'm about to sound real fucking weird) They both had such strong auras or energy or whatever you want to call it. It was palpable and BIG - like it extended off of them a couple feet. Dan's felt more static-y, while phil's felt more like balloon about to burst. It merged together between them to where I couldn't tell where one stopped and the other started

Marianne handed Phil the golf balls and he and Dan just stared at them in his hand in confusion for a second then Phil said "golf balls?" before my bf explained it was because they were the caddy lads. They chuckled and Dan said it was "the only series that has any value"

I am now the proud (?) owner of photos and video of phil holding two balls in his hand and I feel really weird about it

Dan asked if I had anything for them to sign, so I told him I wanted to take a Polaroid to which Dan replied, "D'ya want me to attempt the rare Polaroid selfie?"

Then I actually gently teased Dan (!?!?) because I'm a little shit lol I said, "I successfully did one this morning, so I hope you can"

They both seemed mildly amused and he did the thing where he touched his chest lightly in mock offense and said, "Well, let's see"

Tbh I think this was why I got genuine smiles in my pic

Dan said, "Beautiful" and Phil said "Amazing" lol (it really was tho)

Dan described the signature he'd be doing as "the tiniest little dan" and he used the highest voice ever

Phil's signature was so bad im pretty sure dan laughed at it lmao

Dan offered another selfie with my phone (i love him)

I shook their hands before I left and they seemed surprised, but appreciative. They both had excellent handshakes: firm, but not too hard. They both had soft, warm hands with Phil's being about average and Dan's being warmer than average

Overall, they were incredibly kind and professional. The vibe to be was sort of like talking to a boss who isn't your direct boss at a work party: fun, but still guarded

The saying goes "Never meet your heroes," but whoever said that obviously never met dan and phil. This was one of my happiest memories of all time

1500+ word description of the meeting including a sommelier worthy account of how the boys smell

And here’s the (real shit) video of my m&g

The Pre-Show

After meeting the bois, we were immediately given our goodie bags (one of them was double stuffed, lucky me)

Staff asked if we’d be staying in the theatre or not. Upon telling them we’d be leaving, they let us know we’d need to scan out so we could re-enter later

We bought merch (tie-dye/marbled look tee, long sleeved tee, and denim jacket). The line was basically non-existant, so if you have VIP 100% get your merch at this time

We scanned out and were told we could re-enter at 6 along with general admittance ticket holders

We had dinner then got back around 6:10. There was no line this time and we went through security and ticket scanning again

There were so many people everywhere and everyone was so cute! Why are we such a good looking fandom??? The line for merch was EXTREMELY long. RIP those folks

So was the line for the restrooms (and multiple men’s rooms were turned into ladydoors women’s restrooms)

We got 2 drinks (both for me) then went to our seats. We were front and center - I could literally touch the stage with my shoe from my seat. At this time I met @phandommom and @crunchytoasted1

The pre-show music was loud af where I was seated (I actually put in ear plugs lol). Lots of people were dancing and I got to witness crunchytoast dance to “Ladydoor” live which was a treat. At one point various people were running across the theatre with various LGBT+ flags to plenty of cheers. ‘Twas glorious. People did the whole waving the phone flashlights thing and sang along during “Welcome to the Black Parade”

My bf got me 2 more drinks

Showtime! 

THIS IS WHERE THE SPOILERS START!!!

It was so, so weird to see them onstage after having the m&g. I legit wanted to climb onstage and like be close again, but, ya know, I didn’t cuz I know what’s socially acceptable

We were called Susan. Classic

Phil was wearing waffle socks. As in socks with tiny waffles all over them

We sacrificed Phil to Satan and Dan died in a furry nightclub

None of mine or my bf’s answers got chosen and I’m a bit salty lol

We sacrificed Dan (the only correct choice fite me)

At intermission the line for the bathrooms was sooooo long omg. I got myself 2 more drinks at this point and called @h-owllslide to gush about the show. I spilled one of my drinks on my bf a little when I sat back down.

Danny was 3 centimeters away from loosing his dick and he got paint on his shoe. He seemed legit irked lol

Nick Jonas was in Dan’s box, but I don’t recall the other two cuz that was the only one that mattered imo

I got a piece of the sign and when they threw it into the audience it was a bit disturbing how everyone tore into it like a swarm of pirahnas

They wore Cubs baseball shirts over their usual shirts during the rap/song finale which was absolutely precious. I LOVED the finale so fucking much - it was magnificent

END SPOILERS!!!

Closing Thoughts

I wish I hadn’t drank so much (6 wines for those of you keeping track at home). I was getting real embarrassing by the end (as in screaming excitedly too much/ too often) and I don’t remember it as clearly as I wish I did. I was just freaking tf out and my anti-anxiety meds weren’t cutting it

I was struggling incredibly hard not to disassociate the entire time

I wish I could go to another show. It was so fun!

The following day, I had a major mood drop. If you’re prone to this, maybe have a plan to hang with someone and do something nice, but lowkey the next day

This was literally the most fun thing I’ve done in at least two years and was one of my happiest memories ever. We’re talking patronus conjuring levels of happy

If you can go, go. If you can’t, don’t feel too bad. It was EXTREMELY intense and not for everyone (especially m&g). Plus they are putting it up later, which I’m looking forward to because I think I’ll be able to better absorb it

Please feel free to ask me anything about the show! I’d love to go on about it lol

#omg this is so much longer than i anticipated #i mean i aint apologizing lmao #i will be legitimately surprised if anyone reads this in its entirety #it's mainly to help me remember because i have some memory issues #Dan and Phil #dan howell #daniel howell #phil lester #amazingphil #DNP #interactive introverts spoilers #interactive introverts #ii spoilers #ii m&g #text post #punchmedanny #tw: alcohol

[mental-health-advice]

Submission About Seeking Therapy

Hello! So I actually have a few things (apologies in advance, both for length— had to take out some context due to length restriction— and it kind of being all over the place)

Context: I’ve been trying to get help and my university’s counselling centre keeps rejecting me (the reason can be oversimplified into: overbooked + they think I’m “well off”), so I’ve been doing “unofficial sessions” with counsellors (for example, a walk-in pairs you randomly with the first available counsellor and is typically for something minor. Everything is confidential, but it’s unofficial and all that) as I didn’t have access to other options as I can’t drive (due to medical reasons and, due to this area, no means for transportation at the time. I can’t afford something like Uber and there’s no public transportation) and my insurance didn’t really taking any online/virtual sessions (and the places that take my insurance didn’t do video appointment). Now, due to it being summer (and the virus), I have more options (e.g., insurance now covers videos appointments, as long as they’re from a place that takes my insurance, and relatives willing to drive me places)…although my privacy not being respected (by relatives) is an issue for virtual therapy.During the “unofficial sessions”, the counsellors (multiple) suggested I bring up the possibility of having a personality disorder (+ some possible [autism] spectrum-y stuff) due to some red flags (constantly wearing a mask, inability to feel guilt, lack of compassion, sympathy and empathy, unable to read emotional cues, unconcerned for the feelings of others and inability to “determine” them and only caring for social norms, rules and obligations to avoid certain negative consequences). If I do have a personality disorder, I don’t really want to “treat” it (it has benefits), but there are a few things I would like help coping with (e.g., wearing a “mask” constantly is draining, but my personality without it doesn’t really get along with society and can cause major issues, and how to interact with people during those times I can’t “recharge” by being alone and the mask is cracking)…if that makes sense. Also, if I do have one, I can see a diagnosis/label being useful.

I also have trauma (unlikely to be classified as PTSD though; I don’t meet the DMS criteria. Also doesn’t fit CPTSD. To clarify: I’m not saying to negate it or minimise it or anything like that. I’m stating it more for context) from about 6 years of emotional and verbal abuse (with the occasional threat involving things like finances and, once I was an adult, getting kicked out as well as “minor” physical aggressions like slamming doors— never got physically hurt from it or anything like that which is part of the reason nobody did anything despite constantly trying to get help) from mother’s boyfriend and I would like to see if I can get help with it now that I’ve escaped into a healthier environment (escaped the ending of November when I was kicked out. Currently staying with grandparents). Also, occasionally, when I interact with certain people (e.g., therapists who aren’t for me), I get “negative pleasure” (not sure how to describe. Not an emotion. Interactions are just…draining. Usually they’re “neutral”; I don’t get any “positive” or “negative” from interactions…is that makes any sense?) from interactions (with everyone) for a good while of alone time to recover (last time it was one or two months)

Questions: - Any tips for privacy if I do virtual therapy when relatives don’t respect boundaries (no matter what I do/say and I’ve tried/said a lot)? (Not as important as I can wait until in-person sessions and a relative can drive me. Plus the place I plan on going to might not do video appointments) - How many sessions should I give the therapist before deciding if I need a new one/they’re “incompatible” (assuming they’re don’t say/do something that’s a flag of sorts)? - How do I cope, if needed, with the “negative pleasure” (to give the new therapist a fair chance)? - When and how should I go about bring up the different things (trauma, possible personality disorder and etc) to the therapist?

(Please tag as: ⭐︎)

Hey there!

Thank you for your submission, I hope that I’m able to give you some advice on this. It sounds as if you’ve had a time of it trying to seek out some proper professional help, but I think it’s great you’re trying despite everything that seems to be in the way for you. From your unofficial therapy sessions, it seems the therapists think there might be a diagnosis to make there. I think that if you feel comfortable, discussing this with your doctor might be a good idea. Getting a diagnosis does not mean you have to medicate anything, but having a doctor talk through with you all your options and the pros and cons of each could help you make a well informed decisions about what is best for you. And I think that’s the most important thing at the moment. I’ll just number each questions as I’m answering as you have 4 separate ones, just to make things a bit clearer for you!

1. Privacy in this time is tricky, as we’re all cooped up at home, many of us with family or partners or friends. I had to call my doctor recently, and my mum is quite nosy and would listen in if I told her and I didn’t want her to just walk in and I hadn’t told her I was calling the doctors, so I went for a walk! I used the consulting software on my phone, and walked while I video chatted. Somewhere quiet of course, but this is the great thing with it being a video call - you can do it from anywhere! If you can’t leave the house for your countries current restrictions, there are a couple of things you could potentially do. One, put some music on in your room at a reasonable volume so you can still hear, maybe some speakers next to the door, so family can’t listen in. Also, therapists are aware at the moment there are certain things people wont want to say while at home because of this reason, so there might be a a chat box where you can type things instead, or your therapist may ask you yes or no questions so you can narrow it down. They’ll have had some experience of this by now, so likely they can also talk you through how to deal with this. 

2. With regards to how many sessions you give someone, it’s really like asking how long is a piece of string. I guess it depends on the nature of the sessions you’re given. When I went for counselling through my university, I only had 6 sessions. For some, weekly sessions are indefinite and are for as long as they are needed. If you have 6 weeks like I did, for me it didn’t make sense to change therapist as it was such a short amount of time I felt I wouldn’t get much from changing at any point. Honestly, there’s no definite answer to this. Try and approach your therapy sessions with as open a mind as possible - they’re trained and there to help you. If there’s a certain thing that they do that you don’t like, or something that they say which upset you in any way, try your best to be open and let them know. Generally, I wouldn’t stay for too long with someone who you don’t think is giving you any benefit or helping you deal with your issues - it does take a couple of weeks I found to get into some kind of dynamic and understand their ways of working, and if you were incompatible I would think that you’d tell sooner rather than later. 

3. For dealing with this negative pleasure, I’m not sure I fully understand what you’re describing, I’m not sure if it’s the way it’s been worded but I think what I’m getting from it is that from dealing with particular people, you sometimes prefer the negative dynamic as opposed to the neutral one? And that you want to try and be as receptive as possible to new therapists? If this is wrong just follow up and let me know if I haven’t answered your question! I would again say that honesty and openness with your therapist is key - you could let them know from the start about this feeling you sometimes have, and maybe they could talk through certain things that would make you turn into this emotion so they can avoid it as best they can. Perhaps taking some time to reflect after each session and evaluating how you feel, how your therapist communicated, how you communicated, what went well and what you didn’t like (and why) could help give you a better perspective on the situation, and can also help in general process the discussions had in therapy. 

4. I would say that when you are in therapy, one of the first things after a get to know you session is typically what brings you to therapy and what you want to get from it. This is a great importunity to explain from your unofficial sessions your therapists thought that there might be a personality disorder, and that you have dealt with some trauma in the past also. The first session being so open and upfront with a therapist can be uncomfortable, but it really helps lay foundations for productive sessions in the future. You of course don’t have to dive in to every detail of your trauma session one, and if you’re feeling uncomfortable about certain topics or details for the moment - communicate that! Therapist will slowly guided you toward conversations at a pace that;s good for you, and if you think it’s too fast or too much at once you can just say ‘I don’t feel ready to talk about that in detail yet.’ The therapist is there for you at the end of the day, and is there to help you talk through what it is you need to. 

I hope that this has answered all your questions - sorry it’s a bit lengthy! This however is just my advice from my own experience, so feel free to take on board or ignore anything I’ve said based on how well it related to you. I hope you manage to secure yourself some therapy, and are able to work through some of your issues. 

Take Care, 

Hollie x

#mhahollie #advice #advice blog #mental health advice #therapy #professional diagnosis #seeing a professional #coronavirus #personality disorder #trauma #⭐︎

[psychicmedium14]

December's Gemini supermoon is also known as the Full Cold Moon, and as the year's only full supermoon, it will appear brighter and larger than any other moon in 2017, appearing up to 14 percent larger and 30 percent brighter than usual. While la luna blossoms to her fullest point Sunday morning, the supermoon will reach “perigee“—the point in her orbit at which she is closest to Earth—in the wee hours of Monday morning, December 4. Believe it or not, the Gemini supermoon is the first and last full supermoon of 2017, however, it's also the first of three supermoons in a row! The next two lunations arrive at the beginning and very end of January 2018, bringing us two full moons in the same month. As the star sign of the chatty Twins, Gemini governs dynamic duos and synergistic connections, and kindred spirits are spotlighted under the potency of these "twinning" moonbeams. For the next two weeks that follow, the missing piece to your partnership puzzle could manifest. Gemini's energy is often more platonic than romantic, but that's not to say that love can't spring forth from the friend zone. Hey, you just never know! A mistletoe moment could spark with a coworker, bandmate, or even a partner on an important project. You could think of your "other half" as your playmate—or revamp your dating app profile to reveal as much about your extracurricular interests as your long-term life plans. Gemini is the zodiac's curious communicator and the cosmic mayor of the local scene. Explore hometown happenings or help to create a thriving social scene in your 'hood. This supermoon also comes with a warning label, however, as messenger planet Mercury—Gemini's planetary guardian—turns retrograde on the very same day. From December 3-22, the trickster planet will backspin through outspoken Sagittarius, messing with our holiday travel plans and scrambling signals. Here are some tips for tapping into the supermoon potency of the Gemini full moon: 1. Practice active listening. Listening is a form of communication. When you actively listen to another person, you create a space for sharing between you. This channel can either be or cluttered with judgment, depending on how you're listening. For example: "I already know what they're gonna say, so why don't I finish their sentence" is NOT a practice of active listening. During this weekend's Gemini full moon/supermoon, aim to be a better, cleaner listener. Be direct: Grab your partner by the wrist, sit them down, and ask thoughtful questions to understand them better. Instead of mentally crafting a response while they talk, give them the opportunity to be seen and heard. We're all familiar with post-conversation exhaustion—what happens when someone has monopolized the entire dialogue. So give what you want to receive: the attentive, thoughtful, engaged and sincere listening that you desire. 2. Partner up, and prosper! Synergy-seeking Gemini is all about rocking out, tag-team style. Two is your magic number at this full moon/supermoon, so collaborate with someone whose skills complement your own. Step up and step back. Repeat. Gemini knows how to pass the baton. This dynamic duo energy is especially helpful if you've been struggling to get a project off the ground. Perhaps the missing link in the chain is another person. Be open to the kindred spirits that enter your sphere now. In the case of business dealings, consult a lawyer. Alliances that have been bubbling over the past six months since the Gemini new moon may become formalized within two weeks of the Gemini full moon. Drafting an official agreement is always a smart idea, if only to prevent miscommunications from happening down the line. Cosmic tip: Try to hold off on getting the first draft of the deal proposed in writing until Mercury turns direct on December 22 if you can. 3. Be a mirror. Gemini is the sign of communication, and the Twins provide us with the ability to mirror back what someone is trying to articulate. After you've heard them out, try repeating back what the person just told you. Not in an awkward parroting way, but in the "What I think I hear you saying is (fill in the blank) Is that right?" Maybe they'll correct you a little, or maybe they'll just thank you. But, it's incredibly validating to feel like someone really "gets" it. As the sign of the talkative Twins, we are all encouraged to speak up at the Gemini supermoon—voicing what's on our mind and in our hearts. Geminis were born in conversation with another, which is why they're so sensitive to verbal nuances. Between two people, there could be some interesting declarations and confessions—and yes, a few misunderstandings, alas. Because Gemini is ruled by Mercury the messenger planet, you could also receive intriguing news by email, phone or DM. Just be sure you read between the lines, too! 4. Channel someone else's "higher self." Have you ever waited for someone to properly say "I'm sorry"...only to find yourself waiting around forever? And if you did get some kind of half-baked amendment, it left you feeling unfulfilled inside? Well, here's a technique we've tried before, which can help you gain some resolution: Put pen to paper. Relax. Imagine yourself as the person who hurt/betrayed/upset you—and write YOURSELF a letter, as though it's from them. This person may never apologize to you in real-time, but you'll find as you channel their higher self (it will happen as the words flow), you resolve some of the energetic conflict, on a higher plane. It doesn't mean you have to bring this person back into your life, like, ever. You'll just have the satisfaction of experience "them" say things like, "I'm sorry I stopped calling. I was insecure and afraid you'd reject me first." You might even find that it doesn't matter who actually wrote that words—but just that they got expressed.

#astrology #full moon #december #gemini #supermom