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#i am not expecting much if we get another one
valeskafics · 2 days
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"Crazy In Love" - Dark Ex!Rafe Cameron x Reader
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a/n: a request from @eydi-andrius for crazy ex rafe heheheheh 🩷
Summary: Rafe doesn't seem to understand the concept of a breakup.
Word Count: 3,525
Rating: 18+, MDNI
TW: dubcon, afab reader, she/her pronouns, profanity, innuendo, intimidation, threats of violence (not against reader), jealousy, toxic relationship dynamic, references to mdma usage, stalking, choking, hair pulling, biting, fingering, slight degradation, p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie, topper is a cunt, jj is a little shit
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Outer Banks characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.
Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated 🩷
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When Rafe wakes up, he expects to find you cuddled up against him. That things are going to be business as usual. After all, when you said you wanted to break up, you still kissed him back when he pulled you in. So he’s going to assume that the stupid little idea you had of trying to get some space from him is long forgotten. That is, until he sees you pulling on your clothes, sitting at the foot of the bed, getting ready to leave without saying goodbye. You haven’t even put your shoes on, no doubt to avoid him hearing them against the hardwood floor. Rafe jolts awake, staring at you.
“Where are you going, baby? Don’t you want breakfast?”
“Oh, hey…” You trail off, turning to face him, “Uh, I have to get to work, actually.”
“But you’re off today.”
You shake your head, dropping your sneakers to the ground and slipping into them, giving up on any chance of getting out of Tanneyhill unseen, “Boss switched my schedule. I’m off Thursdays instead of Fridays.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that?” Rafe huffs, crossing his arms, “How am I supposed to know when to pick you up?”
“Because we’re broken up, Rafe.”
Rafe shakes his head, trying to hide how much that comment angers him, “No. We’re taking a break, if anything. We’re not broken up.” You don’t bother arguing with him, just continuing to walk to the front door, “Can I at least drive you to work?”
“No, it’s okay. I have my bike out front.”
He’s desperate now, and it seeps into his voice as he pleads, “Can I at least give you a hug goodbye?”
Rafe has always known how to get you to let down your walls for him. When he speaks to you, his voice cracking ever so slightly, letting you know he’s on the brink of tears. You turn to face him, your resolve faltering as you nod slowly. He pulls you into his embrace, arms wrapped tightly around your waist, his hands rubbing your lower back as he buries his face in your neck, inhaling your sweet scent.
“Can you do me a favor? Can we meet up later?” Rafe feels you pull away, your eyes meeting his as you silently question what he wants, “I think we should talk about us… Please?”
You shake your head, removing yourself from his embrace, “I’m sorry, Rafe. It’s Friday, so I’ll be really busy at work and I’m just gonna wanna go home after. I’ll see you around, okay?”
He watches as you bike down the road, farther and farther away from him, disappearing into the distance. Rafe tries to call after you, pain in his voice as he questions whether you care about him anymore. Whether you still love him. But you don’t hear him. Or maybe you just pretend not to as you bike further and further away from him.
He shouldn’t be this fucking hung up over you. Granted, you’re gorgeous and probably the first girl he’s ever really loved. But you’re a Pogue. You work at the Island Club. Hell, the main point of contention between the two of you is your friendship with the other Pogues. It’s no secret that Pope, John B, and JJ have all had crushes on you at one point or another. He’s pretty sure those feelings linger even today with how much they resent him for being your boyfriend. You always tried to assure him that it wasn’t the case, but Rafe knew. He could see the way John B’s hand would linger on your lower back when he helped you into that fucking van of his, the way Pope smiled at you, the way JJ shamelessly ogled you. It was bad enough to try and get Topper and Kelce to stop checking you out, but these three?
He’s the only guy who should be giving you any attention at all. You don’t need anyone but him.
He just needs to remind you of that little detail.
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You’re clearly trying to avoid him. Rafe knows that. But he’s not going to let that happen. He parks outside your house, a little ways down the road so he can watch you get on that bike and ride to work at the Island Club every day. He sits down at the restaurant there for the entirety of your shift, just watching you. Topper and Kelce ask if he’s ever going to go play a round with them, but he ignores them, his eyes locked on your figure as you wait on the guests. You always manage to switch tables with one of the other girls, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t see you.
Rafe isn’t over you. It’s been weeks since the breakup, but he knows he’s never getting over you. He watches as you smile brightly at the customers you’re waiting on before walking over to JJ, handing him the order slip to give to the kitchen. He hates it. He hates the way you giggle at whatever stupid joke JJ has made, he hates the way he leans in to whisper something in your ear, the way you don’t immediately push him away.
“Whoa… Is your girl with that dirty Pogue now?”
Topper’s words snap Rafe out of his trance, his head whipping toward him, voice coming out in a low snarl as he hisses, “What?”
Topper raises his hands defensively, exchanging a weary look with Kelce, “Oh, um, nothing, man. Sorry. Was just asking.”
Rafe grits his teeth, shaking his head, immediately staring at you again, hating that you’re so close yet so fucking far out of reach as he mumbles, “It doesn’t matter. I don’t even care.”
“Yeah, Rafe can do way better than her anyway,” Kelce adds, “She’s hot but she’s a dirty Pogue too.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Rafe glares at him.
“What? She is a Pogue-”
“I fucking said shut up, Kelce!” Rafe stands up, glaring down at his friend. Kelce shrinks slightly in his seat, not unused to Rafe’s mood swings, but surprised that he’s so angry despite claiming not to care about you anymore. Heads turn in the Island Club restaurant toward their table. Every head except yours. You stumble over something slightly while chatting with JJ, nearly falling, but he catches you, brushing a piece of hair off your face, the two of you laughing. And Rafe’s anger reaches a boiling point. He sits down with a low growl, yelling out, “God dammit!”
You walk over to them a few minutes later, your coworker having refused to take their table - no doubt after seeing Rafe’s temper tantrum. You greet the three with that ‘customer service’ smile, as you’ve referred to it so many times in conversation with Rafe.
“Boys. What can I get started for you?”
For a long moment, Rafe just stares at you, his lips slightly parted. You clear your throat awkwardly and Rafe finally catches himself, doing his best to ignore the way Topper and Kelce are practically undressing you with their eyes.
“Steak and potatoes,” he says flatly, looking back at the menu.
“I thought you were trying to cut back on your red meat intake-” You cut yourself off, shaking your head as if to remind yourself that he isn’t your boyfriend anymore, “You know what? Not my business. How do you want that cooked?”
“Medium,” Topper replies, leaning over Rafe and giving you a little smirk.
Rafe gives him an annoyed glare, his fists clenching, though he takes comfort in the way you snap at Topper, “I asked Rafe. Not you.” You turn to Rafe, “Medium well?”
He nods at you. You still know him so well. You always have. It’s been weeks since he’s had you in his arms, and it’s driving him crazy. He watches as you take Kelce’s order, just gazing at you intensely, and the way you scowl as you write down Topper’s order, muttering something under your breath before turning to leave.
Topper speaks up the moment you’re gone, “Why’d you even date a girl like her, man?”
“What do you mean a ‘girl like her’?” Rafe scowls.
“A Pogue.”
Rafe’s jaw clenches, “Keep your fucking mouth shut.”
You return a few moments later with their drinks, sensing the tense atmosphere. Rafe continues glaring at Topper, only turning to you when you place his lemonade in front of him. He hadn’t even ordered one. You just knew him well enough to know he would’ve wanted one. Then, Topper opens his big fucking mouth again.
“A Pogue’s the last person I would’ve expected you to date.”
Before Rafe can say anything, you give Topper a sarcastic little smile as you slam his drink down in front of him, one that Rafe knows all too well, “Maybe Rafe just has more substance than you.”
Topper looks at you, confused, “Substance?”
“Yeah. Substance. Like depth? Not to be confused with substance as in substance abuse. Like all the Molly you take that’s fried your fucking brain.”
It’s Topper’s turn to stand up, glaring at you, cursing you out, demanding you apologize, but Rafe simply shoves him back into his seat, watching the way you saunter off without a care in the world. You’ve always been like this. Confident, comfortable in who you are. Always willing to put people in their place. Hell, not even Rafe was ever spared from that.
He watches from a distance as you continue talking to JJ. He hates it. He’s so fucking jealous and he knows that you’re not even his girlfriend anymore, but fuck, he hates it. That smile? That should be for him. And when JJ wraps his arm around you, muttering something in your ear? He loses his cool. Rafe storms over to you, his voice a low, venomous hiss.
“Take your hands off her.”
Your eyes go wide at his words, “Rafe, JJ is my best friend-”
“Doesn’t matter,” Rafe says, ignoring your words, his jealousy growing out of control, “You don’t put your goddamn arm around a girl like that when her boyfriend is around. It’s disrespectful.”
“Oh, so I’m supposed to respect you, Kook-”
You cut JJ off, giving Rafe a sharp look, “You’re not my boyfriend anymore. Rafe, stop.”
He looks straight at JJ, wanting nothing more than to beat his ass into the ground, to wipe that smug little smile off his face, “I’m giving you five seconds to take your fucking hands off of her.”
“Okay, fine. If she tells me to.”
JJ’s response makes Rafe’s blood boil as he turns to you, gnashing his teeth, “Tell him. Now.”
You duck out from under JJ’s arm, speaking quietly to Rafe, “Let’s just go talk, okay?”
He follows you to the breakroom, running a hand through his hair. He watches the way you pace back and forth, pinching the bridge of your nose in annoyance, your eyebrows scrunched together in that way they always get when you’re annoyed. Normally he’d just kiss your forehead and everything would be fine. You’d smile up at him and kiss him and forget why you were pissed in the first place. But now, you just sigh.
“Rafe, we’re broken up. We’re over. You can’t just act like this.”
He takes a step toward you, “Maybe. But I still have feelings for you. And seeing another guy fuckin’ touch you like that? I’m not okay with it.”
“It’s not just some guy! It’s JJ, my best friend! This is why we broke up, Rafe, because you can’t stop acting like a jealous asshole!”
Rafe scoffs incredulously, shaking his head, “So I’m the bad guy for not wanting other guys to touch you? That’s fucking bullshit, Princess, you know that-”
“Don’t call me that! You and I need to move on, okay?”
“Move on?” He shakes his head, running a hand over his face, “There is no fucking moving on for me! Do you understand that? I fucking love you! That’s not something that happens for me! I fucking love you. And I can’t move on. No matter how much you want me to. No matter how much you wanna pretend we didn’t happen, I can’t fucking move on!”
JJ pokes his head into the breakroom, his brow furrowed at seeing how close you and Rafe are, “Everything okay?”
You nod quickly, “Yeah, Jayj, we’re fine.”
“Get the fuck out of here,” Rafe snaps without even looking at him, his gaze still trained on you.
“Come over here and make me, big fella-”
You shove JJ out the door, letting out another sigh before turning to Rafe, “Please just go. I’ll get fired. I need this job.”
Rafe nods before walking out the door, “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll go.”
He gives you one last lingering glance before leaving the room.
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It continues. Not for a second does Rafe let up. He’s constantly there, trying to get you to take him back. Your hangouts with your friends, dinner with your family, work. He’s always there. And you continue trying to ignore him. He’s fucking relentless. Rafe feels like he can’t even breathe without thinking about you, needing you back.
Today is no exception. He stands on the steps of your house, waiting for you to get home, elbows resting on his knees, a bouquet of sunflowers in his hands. He knows where you’ve been. Out on your first date since the breakup. A date with none other than JJ. He always knew the little fucker had a thing for you. He hears the two of you pull up, hears you telling JJ to just drop you off here. He watches as JJ helps you off his bike and helps you out of your helmet. He watches as JJ kisses you. Rafe inhales sharply, trying to calm himself, waiting for him to ride off before making his presence known, standing up as you approach your door.
You look so fucking pretty as you walk toward your door, freezing in surprise when you see him. Wearing that cute little sundress that hits your lower thigh, your beat up Converse. You’re so fucking beautiful. You do your best to ignore him, reaching for your keys, but Rafe speaks, turning you around to face him.
“You kissed him.”
“I… Were you fucking spying on me?!”
“Yes!” He answers without hesitation, “Yes, I was fucking spying on you! Yes, I’m fucking jealous! I’m completely batshit crazy about you! I can’t even sleep at night because I’m going insane thinking about you!”
“Rafe, we broke up, we’re over! Move on!”
Rafe shakes his head, tongue darting out to lick his lips, pinning you against the door, “I  can’t. You’re the perfect girl for me. The only one who’s ever understood me. When I’m with you… You make me better. Less angry. I can’t do this without you.” His breathing is ragged and his gaze desperate as he stares at you, all rational thought leaving his body, “But I need you to understand something. If I see you with JJ again? I’ll fucking destroy him.”
Your jaw drops, “What the fuck does that mean?!”
“I’ll hurt him. I’ll fuck him up, I’ll beat the fucking shit out of him.”
“No, Rafe, you can’t, let’s be rational-”
“Rational?” His voice cracks slightly as he laughs, pushing his hair back, “You want me to be fucking rational? I have been doing everything in my fucking power to get you back and you keep pushing me away. Going out with JJ? I’m so fucking past rational, Princess.”
You take a deep breath, letting out a tremulous exhale as you question, “What do you want me to do? What will it take for you not to hurt him?”
“What do I want you to do? I want you back where you belong. With me.”
“But-”
“No! I don’t want you to see him or hear from him ever again. I want you with me. Where you fucking belong.”
“And if I don’t come back to you?” You ask quietly, “What happens then?”
“Don’t make me answer that.”
“No, Rafe. I want to know. What happens if I refuse? You kill JJ, is that it?”
“Don’t fucking put words in my mouth, Princess,” he hisses, leaning down, his forehead resting against yours, “But yes. I’ll fucking kill him. And you know I’m capable of it.”
“You’re fucking insane-”
“No, no, no, this isn’t me being insane,” he laughs bitterly, his hand wrapping around your throat, holding you in place, “It’s me being what you’ve made me. You drive me fucking crazy. It’s your fucking fault. Your fault that I can’t get over you no matter how hard I try. Your fault I care about you so much I’ll do anything to keep you with me! And if that sounds insane, I don’t give a fuck. I’d rather be insane than lose you to someone else.”
You try to shove him away, fumbling with your keys, trying to get inside, but he manages to make it in with you, pinning you back up against the door. And when he kisses you, you hate yourself for it, but you melt into his arms. Rafe’s lips move against yours desperately, with a passion that you have never experienced with anyone else. His hand knots in your hair, tugging harshly. Your head falls back and he immediately begins biting at your neck, being sure to leave his mark. Come morning, everyone will see that you belong to him. That you always have.
“I hate you.”
Rafe’s hands move down your side, sliding under the hem of your dress to cup your mound over your panties, a dirty smile on his face as he murmurs, “Your pussy doesn’t. You could never hate me. You know I’m the only one who can love you like this. I’d kill for you. And there’s a sick little part of you that gets off on it. Gets off on knowing that I’m so crazy about you that I’d do anything to keep you.”
He’s right. You hate him so fucking much for it, but he’s right. He pushes two thick fingers inside you, making your lips part slightly, the hand wrapped around your throat squeezing harder as he pumps his fingers in and out of you. Your eyes roll back as he finds that sweet spot with ease, knowing your body better than even you do. He rubs his thumb against your clit, fingers moving in and out of you, ignoring your whimpering and whining, your choked gasps. Rafe stares down at you, his cock straining against his pants as he watches you come undone on his fingers. You look so pretty like this, staring up at him all fucked out. Needy and ready for him.
Rafe manhandles you onto your sofa, pushing your dress up just enough to reveal your ass, slapping it harshly once, twice, three times, admiring the way your flesh jiggles against the impact. He hooks his arm around your neck, his front to your back, as he pushes your underwear aside just enough to reveal your wet cunt. He pushes inside you with one fluid thrust, his fat cock filling you so fucking perfectly, the way it always does. You grasp at one of the cushions, moaning his name as he pounds into you, his arm restricting your airflow, his free hand slapping at your clit, making your entire body tremble against his.
“Yeah, you wanted this, Princess,” he snarls against your ear as he ruts against you, your vision blurring from the lack of oxygen combined with the pleasure he’s giving you, “Fuck, still so tight for me after I’ve fucked you so many times. Taking me like such a good little girl. My good little girl. All. Fucking. Mine,” he hisses, punctuating each word with a thrust, fucking you harder, deeper than ever before. You let out a whimper of his name, moving your fingers to circle your clit, only for him to slap your hand away, “Don’t be fucking greedy. You get what I give you, Princess.”
So you lay there and you take what he has to give you, the fat head of his cock rubbing against that spongy spot deep inside of you with every thrust. You moan his name, feeling his movements begin to slow, knowing both of you are close.
“Say it,” Rafe growls, “Say you’re mine. Say only I get to touch you, fuck you, love you like this.”
“I’m yours, Rafe,” you manage to eke out, eyes rolling back, “Only yours… Please… Let me come, Rafe, please…”
“Come for me, Princess,” he murmurs, rubbing at your clit furiously feeling the way you tighten around him, your walls hugging him tight as you reach your peak, his own following soon after, thick ropes of cum painting you white as he reaches his release, your cunt milking him for all he has.
He turns you onto your back so that you’re forced to face him, brushing his nose against yours as he whispers, “Don’t you ever try to fucking leave me again, Princess. You’re mine.”
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ginnsbaker · 2 days
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fic: if i bleed (you'll be the last to know) (5/?)
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Part summary: With Leigh, it feels like for every step forward, you end up taking two steps back.
Pairing: Leigh Shaw x Fem!Reader | Word count for this part: 5.600+ | Warnings Some angst, het stuff | A/N: Texts in italic indicate they happened in the past. We get an insight about R's past with Matt and a little surprise at the end.
Masterlist | Part I Part II | Part III | Part IV
-
You'd hardly expect to meet a decent guy on the street nowadays.
Though, to be fair, it's less about meeting him and more about running straight into him. At the moment, you don't give it much thought. You distinctly remember wincing from the impact, feeling solid muscle and jutting bones, and a surge of irritation bubbles up inside you because you're not exactly having the best day. But then, the man you ran into looks up, and his face is all apologies. 
He looks like he might cry if you don't forgive him, so you do. As you stand there, trying to process the situation, he notices the coffee spilled all over the floor—your coffee, which has now created a sad, dark puddle around your feet.
“Can I buy you another coffee?”
Despite the kind gesture, you find yourself shaking your head, more keen on changing out of your coffee-stained coat than sticking around any longer.
From a few steps away, his impatient friend calls out, “Are you coming, Matt?”
“Yeah, just wait a sec,” Matt responds, his attention still on you. You usually don’t trust men running into you without an agenda, but there’s something about him that tells you he didn’t mean to, and that he’s more than willing to make up for it.
“No, thanks. I got it…”
He looks unnecessarily worried as he leans in a bit closer. “You sure about that?” he asks. 
His brown eyes are the friendliest pair you’ve seen in a while. And being essentially alone in this new town, they pull you in like gravity.
“Y-Yes. Just watch where you’re going next time,” you stammer, attempting to stabilize your shaky legs.
“Matt!”
Matt nods hesitantly, then mumbles, “Sorry, I have to go. Again, I'm really sorry,” before his gaze releases you, and you feel its force that held you in a vice-like grip easing away. 
As you're walking away, you keep having to tell yourself not to look over your shoulder, even though every part of you kind of wants to.
You guess you must be really lonely, to cling onto the first bit of kindness someone throws your way.
-
Your deliberate attempts to bump into Leigh finally pay off one brisk Friday morning. But it’s not in the way you’ve imagined it would go.
The town is just waking up, the chill in the air biting at your cheeks as you take your routine jog through the quiet streets. You've discovered that running suits you better than yoga, mainly because it's something you can do solo, and you've always leaned towards activities where you can be by yourself. You’re tired, but you try to lift your knees higher with every stride, keeping your cadence in check.
Turning a corner, a sudden commotion catches your attention. A group of rowdy teenagers barrel down the sidewalk, loud and oblivious to anything but their own world. One of them, a bit too caught up in the fun, nearly crashes into you, forcing you to swerve unexpectedly.
In your effort to dodge, you step right into the path of Leigh Shaw. 
It all happens too fast; there's no chance for either of you to do anything else. You crash into each other, the impact sending a jolt through your bodies. You tumble sideways, your arm shooting out instinctively, breaking your fall and softening the impact as you land. Leigh lets out a sharp yelp as she staggers forward from the force of the collision, a look of shock quickly spreading across her face. As she falls, her knee scrapes against the rough concrete, and when she finally sits up, there's a noticeable gash, bleeding freely.
“Oh my god, I am so, so sorry,” you blurt out, horrified at the sight. “Are you okay? Can you stand?”
She grimaces, glancing at her knee, then back at you. “Well, I've definitely been better,” she says, trying to keep her voice light despite the pain. You give her a hand up, and as she leans on you for support, you can't help but notice she's dressed in denim shorts, a blue parka, and flip-flops—not exactly the attire for a morning jog. The sun's just starting to show its face, and you're left wondering where she's headed so early, if she's not out for a run or something.
Looking around, you notice the roll-up shutters of nearby establishments are still down, indicating they won't be opening anytime soon. It’s apparent that there's nowhere immediate to find help or a first-aid kit. You scratch the back of your neck, an awkward idea coming to you.
“I don’t think there’s nowhere we can ask for help,” you start, trying not to sound too anxious about what you’re about to suggest. “I've got a first-aid kit at my place, though. It's not far. We could fix you up there, if you're okay with it?”
Leigh takes a beat, and then gives you a nod. “I guess that's my best option right now. Lead the way.”
As you start walking, Leigh instinctively grabs your arm for support. Your foot have barely hit the pavement when she suddenly grips tighter, fingers clawing into your arm as she lets out a hiss of pain. The wound must have stretched as she bent her knee to take a step, and with the way she's limping, you realize making her walk is a bad call.
“Shit, I'm really sorry,” you apologize again, the situation dawning on you. This isn't at all how you wanted to run into Leigh again, especially after trying to find a way to reconnect since the dinner in her car. “Let me get an Uber.”
Leigh starts to object, but you're already pulling out your phone. The last thing you wanted was for your attempt to help to end up hurting her more.
-
“So, where were you headed earlier?” you ask casually, hoping not to pry too much. “Doesn't seem like you were out for a run like I was.”
Leigh’s injury is more severe than you first thought; after hitting a rough patch on the pavement, her knee took the brunt of the fall. The skin is scraped away in several places, revealing angry, reddened flesh beneath. 
“Grocery, or something,” Leigh mumbles, distracted and wincing a bit as you ready another dab of antiseptic for her knee. The moment the cotton touches the wound, she can't help but jerk away slightly.
“Sorry, sorry,” you murmur, soothingly, noticing she's struggling to stay still. To help steady her, you gently hold onto her calf, and that's when you feel your cheeks start to warm up. “I'll be as quick as I can,” you promise, trying to sound more confident than you feel.
“I’m okay. You're doing...fine,” Leigh sighs between clenched teeth, obviously trying to downplay her discomfort. 
You know you're not fine, certainly not in the way Leigh means. All you can hear is yours and Leigh’s breathing, and your heart stuttering in your chest, because despite barely seeing Leigh in recent weeks, this annoying little crush won’t go away. It’s weird enough that she’s Matt’s wife, and you can't shake the feeling that you’re probably the last person she’d ever look at that way. Not to mention, you're not even sure if she's into women.
Once you’re done cleaning her wound, you carefully wrap a bandage around her knee. Then, you head to the fridge to grab some ice, noticing Leigh's puzzled look when you return.
“What’s that for?” she asks, tilting her head slightly.
“I have a feeling you're going to have a bone bruise after that fall,” you explain, handing her the ice wrapped in a cloth. “This should help with the pain and keep the swelling down.”
She accepts it, a small smile of gratitude on her face as she says, “Thanks.”
“No problem, it's my fault anyway.”
“It was an accident,” Leigh points out.
An accident that, if I'm being honest with myself, I was somewhat hoping for, you reflect with regret.
Leigh looks relieved as she presses the ice against her knee, eyes closing for a moment. With the immediate pain taken care of, you can't help but wonder again where she was headed earlier as you start pulling ingredients out of the fridge to whip up some breakfast.
“Hope you're hungry,” you say, flashing a smile as you fire up the stove.
“I'm fine, really,” she says, but the moment the bacon starts sizzling, she caves. “Actually, I could eat.”
With your back to her, you could smirk all you want at her change of heart. After frying up the bacon and eggs, you pull out some leftover rice and begin chopping garlic.
“What are you making?” Leigh asks suddenly from behind you.
“This is something I picked up on my travels through Southeast Asia,” you share as you cook. “Can't do bacon and eggs without it anymore. But I'll get some toast going for you.”
Leigh's face lights up, almost childlike. “Toast sounds great.”
You and Leigh settle into your meal, you with your plate of garlic rice, bacon, and eggs, and Leigh with her toast done just right alongside her bacon and eggs. She surprises you by complimenting how you cooked the eggs, noticing they're slightly burnt to a crisp around the edges.
“I've never had my eggs quite like this before,” she says.
“Oh, that?” you chuckle. “Learned the technique by accident some time ago. Got distracted and ended up leaving them on the heat a bit too long.”
She laughs too, and soon enough, you're both just talking like old friends, the conversation breezy and effortless. You begin to get a real sense of Leigh's sense of humor and it complements yours in the best way. Leigh loops back to when you mentioned visiting Southeast Asia, and you're more than happy to share your experiences, considering she's never left the country.
“...I’m pretty sure Hawaii counts, right? With the weather and everything, plus it’s really far—”
You’re still cracking up over some joke she made moments ago, and now you’re wondering if you’ll ever stop. 
“No way, Leigh, it doesn’t work like that!” you get out between laughs, holding onto your stomach as you shake with laughter.
The more you talk, the more Leigh hangs on every word, making you feel surprisingly at ease. Sharing stories about places you've been and things you've seen becomes less about bragging and more about just sharing your adventures with someone who’s really listening. It's kind of refreshing, actually, feeling this free to dive into your memories with someone so interested.
That is until the topic eventually shifts to your fitness routine. It's then that Leigh offhandedly mentions, “You'll probably see more progress with the new instructor next week. I heard she’s got a certificate and all.”
You pause, fork paused mid-air. “New instructor? You’re not leading the class next week?”
Leigh simply shakes her head no.
“Then, when are you coming back?”
Leigh takes a breath before saying, “I actually quit.”
Hearing her say she’s left the studio nearly makes you spit out your breakfast. You're halfway through a bite, trying to wrap your head around the news, when suddenly, Leigh checks her phone. Before you can even dive into a million questions about why she quit, she's saying she needs to head home.
Your thoughts are spinning, but you don’t miss the opportunity to offer her a ride.
“You drive?” Leigh looks surprised. 
“Yeah, just got the car this weekend,” you manage to say, still reeling from the shock that Leigh won't be at Beautiful Beast anymore.
“Are you sure? I can just call a cab,” Leigh mutters, probably noticing you're a bit out of it. 
“No, really, I insist,” you say. Making her walk on that knee seems like the last thing you should do. 
Leigh tries to brush it off once more, “Again, an accident.”
You ignore her, grabbing your keys from a dusty fishbowl. “Doesn't mean I won't be kicking myself over it.”
She lets out a sigh, and you can't quite tell if she's resigned or just annoyed. 
-
As you pull up in front of Leigh's house for the first time, you're immediately taken in by its typical three-bedroom layout. The lawn, however, looks like it hasn't seen a mower in quite some time, giving the place a lived-in, somewhat neglected feel. You quickly get out of the car to help Leigh to the front step.
Then, out of nowhere, Leigh curses, patting down her pockets in a panic. “Fuck, I forgot my keys.”
“But someone should be home, right?” you ask.
Leigh rings the doorbell, her expression turning sour. “Yeah, my sister,” she mutters, clearly not thrilled at the prospect.
You're taken aback when, a few seconds later, it's Jules from the studio who opens the door. The sharp look they exchange isn't lost on you; it's clear there's more to the story than just Leigh coming home without her keys. You're gearing up to say goodbye, assuming Leigh will head inside, but instead, she turns to you and says, “Wait right here.”
You do as she says, glancing at the ground, shuffling your feet back and forth.
“Hi, I'm Jules, Leigh's sister. I've seen you around at Beautiful Beast. You're one of Leigh's clients?” Jules smiles at you, politely offering a hand for you to shake. You accept it and introduce yourself in return. Watching her face, you see the moment she puts it all together. 
“Oh, you're the vet who Matt had—I'm sorry. It's just, I wasn't expecting to see you here, helping Leigh home.”
You knew where that first sentence was going, but you're silently thankful Jules decided to pull back and not finish it. You force a smile as you explain how you got here. “She was out for groceries, and I kind of ran into her, leading to a bit of a fall, and now—”
“No, she wasn’t,” Jules cuts in sharply. 
“Sorry?”
“Leigh didn't come home last night,” she says. But before you have a chance to process this new information, Leigh returns, clutching a fifty-dollar bill.
“For the trouble,” she tells you, getting in front of Jules.
You attempt to wave it off. “Hey, you don't have to do that—”
But Leigh isn't taking no for an answer, she presses the bill into your hand. You never see it coming what happens next: she plants a quick peck on your cheek, effectively shutting down any further protests. The spot where her lips brushed against your skin tingles, and it’s all you can think about for a moment. Without waiting for you to react properly, Leigh starts herding Jules back inside the house, throwing over her shoulder a quick, “Thanks again, Y/N. Bye.”
You're left there, holding the bill in one hand, touching your cheek with the other, and staring at the closed door, suddenly very aware of how little you actually know about what's going on in Leigh's life.
-
Suzie shoots you that knowing look again as you head out of the clinic decked out in your active gear.
This time, a blush creeps up on your cheeks, memories of your chat with her about someone “making those sweat sessions worth it” floating back, and you try your best not to let your thoughts drift to Leigh. But then it hits you that she won't be there. Despite your dedication, the sheer excitement of going to the studio isn't quite what it used to be without her as your instructor.
Just as Suzie is about to lock up, the door bursts open. A man rushes in, cradling a small dog in his arms, panic written all over his face. He explains, breathless, that his pet is struggling with labor.
Suzie looks back at you. “I could call Foreman for this,” she says, already reaching for her phone. You stand there for a second, deliberating. Leigh won't be at the class; she's no longer at the Beautiful Beast. 
Then, making up your mind, you hold out a hand to stop Suzie. “No, there’s no need. I've got this.”
-
It feels like you've just walked into one of those old-timey romantic movies, where chivalry isn’t dead and everything turns out way better than you could've ever hoped. In hindsight, it’s better. Because it’s real, and you're right in the middle of it, living a dream you didn't even know you had, with the kind of guy you thought only existed in those movies.
The night air is cool and light, brushing against your skin as the car slows to a stop in front of your apartment. To say the least, it's been an unexpected evening for a first date, and easily one of the best.
As Matt pulls up to your building, he turns to you, a sheepish grin lighting up his face. “Well, here we are,” he says, as if surprised you've arrived so soon. 
You don’t want to say goodbye. Not yet. So you stay put in the passenger seat, doing your best to draw out the last strands of the evening.
“So, Nick was the mastermind behind all this?” you tease, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between you two. 
Matt chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, about that... I had no clue he asked for your number until he handed it to me and said, ‘You owe me one’.”
“He’s the perfect wingman, then?”
“I guess you could say that,” Matt agrees, smiling. “I didn't tell him about my interest in you, but Nick knew anyway. He's good at reading people, always has been.”
“I see,” you say, your gaze following the contours of his cheeks, which carry a soft pink blush. It could be from the red wine you both enjoyed at dinner, or, you find yourself hoping, it might be because of you. “Well, he has my thanks. I really thought he was the one interested in me though.”
Matt laughs, a sound that rumbles deep in his chest. “No, it was always me. Since the moment I, uh, ran into you.”
There’s a moment where you both just stare at each other, tacitly acknowledging the serendipity of it all—the accidental meeting that could've ended with a simple apology and nothing more. 
Yet here you are.
“You know, I'm glad it was you,” you profess, feeling a boldness that usually isn't there. 
Matt breaks into a huge grin, but it's really in his eyes where you can see just how happy your remark has made him.
“Would you... maybe want to do this again? Without the running into each other part, I mean,” he says softly.
You laugh, nodding. “I'd like that. Just maybe start with coffee next time. And no spilling.”
“Deal,” he says, his grin infectious.
As you step out of the car, a proposition forms in your mind and you backtrack.
“Would you like to get that coffee now?”
-
Sometimes, you find yourself dreaming about your memories with Matt, particularly the part Leigh interrogated you about. Even though you stuck to the facts, you couldn't shake off the feeling that you were somehow deceiving her.
You wonder if this is why you haven't been able to sleep for days. That, coupled with the fact that you've been handling emergencies yourself instead of calling Foreman as you used to. Suzie has mentioned that since you're taking on all the emergency cases, you might be overcompensating your intern. You don’t tell Suzie though that your work has become a welcome distraction from the realization that your new hobby no longer holds your interest, leaving you with extra hours to fill before returning to the solitude of your apartment.
And without seeing Leigh, there’s only your own head to get your fill of her. You find yourself thinking about her now and then, about what she's been doing, wondering if she's found a new job after leaving her yoga instructor position. She crosses your mind at the most random hours of the day, take right now, for example—staring at this little 8-day-old Shih Tzu puppy in the incubator, its fur somehow has you thinking of Leigh's hair color.
The puppy was part of a litter brought in for a C-section. Tragically, its mother didn't survive, and the owner, possibly overwhelmed by the situation and the impending bills, abandoned them. Out of four puppies, this one, the runt of the litter, was the sole survivor.
“What are we going to do with you, huh?” you muse aloud, the puppy blinking back with innocent eyes. “I can't take you for myself; you'd just end up living here in the clinic with me. And let's be honest, living in a hospital can't be much fun, right? It’s not safe either, exposes you to diseases.”
You sigh, brushing its length with your forefinger. “The other choice is to send you to a shelter. I'm sure someone would fall head over heels for you and adopt you in no time. But,” you sigh, your heart heavy, “I can't guarantee that'll happen quickly, as much as we both might want it to.”
“Finding where you fit in this big world isn't easy, you know? It's like searching for that one place, or that one person, where you could simply just… belong to. But I guess when you finally find it, it feels like winning the lottery, right?”
The puppy makes a noise, automatically bringing a smile to your lips. You wonder if Leigh has ever thought of the same thing—about searching for where she belongs after losing her home and everything familiar when Matt passed away. Perhaps it's even scarier for her. The thought of finding that one thing that's uniquely ours, only to lose it forever. What if we're only given one thing that's truly meant for us?
And once it's gone, what does that leave us with?
-
One sleepless night, after deciding to bring the puppy home for a more personal touch in its care, a thought crosses your mind. What if you could restore some of what was inadvertently taken from Leigh? Maybe bring back a piece of home and purpose that seemed to have slipped through her fingers when her world turned upside down?
It’s true, the puppy's late-night energy partly nudged the thought your way, but deep down, you believe Leigh will be perfect for him. You're sure she'll adore him, and he's bound to love her just as much.
Just as you're settling back to attempt sleep again, your phone starts ringing. You blink at the screen, disbelief washing over you as you see it's Leigh calling—the same woman you've recently realized you have feelings for, and who's been on your mind just moments ago. A part of you wonders if she dialed the wrong number by mistake, but it keeps ringing, compelling you to answer.
“Leigh?” you answer, the name almost a question in itself.
On the other end, you hear her take a deep breath—an ironic move given how the call exudes a vibe of urgency. Then, she speaks, her voice clear yet carrying an undercurrent of something you can't quite place. 
“Y/N Are you available to talk right now?”
“Yeah, I am. What's going on—”
“No, not on the phone. Can you meet me right now?”
You glance down at yourself, noting your sleep shorts and tee. You're so comfortable and cozy in bed, and the puppy had just gotten to sleep. It's tempting to reschedule this some other time. But the thought of Leigh Shaw on the other end of the line, coupled with the worrying nature of her request, tilts the balance. The idea of saying no, only to find out something bad happened to her, is something you know you wouldn’t forgive yourself for.
“Yes, I can meet you,” you say, hurrying your movements and snatching your jacket from the cabinet. “Where?”
-
The date doesn't end with just late-night coffee.
Matt's hand is on your ass, fingers digging in like he owns the place. You’re gripping his tie, pulling him in, again and again. Both of you are still wearing all your clothes, but they're starting to feel like barriers as you both lean into each other, striving to get as close as humanly possible.
The invitation for a nightcap, decaffeinated per his request, had both of you sitting a bit too close on the couch, sharing silly smiles over steaming cups as if you were already lost in love. When the cups were drained, conversation drifted dangerously towards the topic of sex, and that's when you caught yourself staring at Matt's lips. Before he had a chance to react, you were going for it, giving into weeks of pent-up sexual tension.
Matt's lips find their way to your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. Encouraged by the heat of the moment, your fingers start to work on the buttons of Matt's shirt, eager to explore further. 
But then his hands caught yours.
“W-Wait…”
You’re stunned, pulling back almost reflexively, feeling a bit embarrassed as you tried to figure out if you crossed a line.
“Did I... do something wrong?” you ask.
Matt shakes his head and then kisses you on the forehead. He further reassures you by saying, “No, no, it's not you. I just think we might be rushing things a bit. I really like you, and I want us to be sure about this, you know?”
Inside, you’re a mess of wants and needs, but as much as you want him tonight, you realize you want him even more tomorrow, and the day after. You won't rush this, especially if he's not ready. So, you nod, squashing down the throbbing between your legs as you try to concentrate on anything but his half-open shirt. 
“I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable or anything,” he adds, wearing that apologetic look on his face that got you the first time.
In response, you hold Matt's face gently, giving him a quick, soft kiss on the lips. “I really like you too,” you say, despite feeling like those words pale in comparison to what you truly feel for him.
Standing up, you figure he'll say his goodbyes and head out. But instead, Matt looks up at you, a sheepish grin spreading across his face.
“I don't want to rush things,” he repeats. “But, I also don't really want to leave just yet. Would it be okay if I stayed the night?”
The request takes you by surprise, a warm fluttering sensation bubbling up inside you at the thought of him wanting to stay. “Of course, you can stay,” you whisper, a smile tugging at your lips. “But I hope you're okay with the couch.”
Matt laughs and starts pulling off his socks. “There's nowhere else I'd rather be.”
-
Ever since Leigh asked to meet at a gas station on the sketchier side of town, your anxiety hasn't settled. It's a part of town known for trouble, somewhere you'd rather not be, especially in the dead of night. It doesn’t matter, because you’re hopelessly driven by concern and an unspoken affection that won't let you say no to her, no matter the time or place.
You walk up to the convenience store next to the gas station, its fluorescent lights flickering ominously, almost like you've just stepped into the opening scene of a horror movie. It's dead silent, aside from a radio playing inside the store, turned up by the person manning it in a feeble attempt to fill the silence or maybe to keep company. Leigh is inside, visible through the large, pane-glass window, nursing a coffee, alone. The way she's standing, something's off. 
You make your way towards her, hands buried deep in the comfort of your hoodie's pockets. 
“Hey—”
She's like a coiled spring at the sound of your voice. That should’ve been your first clue.
“Why did you lie?” Leigh asks point-blank.
“Leigh, I—What do you mean?”
Leigh's face twists into a grimace that chills you to the bone, a clear sign that tonight's going down one of two paths: either you both find a way through this mess, or she cuts you out for good. But you're lost, genuinely clueless about any lie she's accusing you of. You've been straight with her, at least you think you have.
Her nostrils flare, her eyes burning holes into you as she waits for some sort of confession. But all you can give her is a dumbfounded look.
After a while, Leigh's patience wears thin. “We're not doing this here,” she growls, glaring at the lone store clerk, who seems amused and makes no attempt to hide his interest in eavesdropping on the conversation.
“Leigh, I seriously don't know what you're talking about.”
“Just come with me,” she snaps, ushering you back outside, pulling at your arm with a grip that leaves no room for argument. It's painful, the way her nails dig into your skin, but you suppose you deserve it, whatever it might be. If it helps her release her anger, you're willing to bear it.
Leigh stops, plants her hands on her hips, and just looks at you, like she's waiting for something to click in your head. “Leigh, please—” you start, but you're cut off not by her anger this time, but by the sight of her eyes glistening, fighting back tears.
“You're really going to make me say it?” she manages to choke out, before giving a humorless laugh and running a frustrated hand over her face. Before you can protest again, she thrusts a phone into your hand. It's lit up, a text conversation open and waiting. As you scroll through the messages, your mouth opens in shock. They're from Matt. 
Skimming through the texts, your jaw nearly hits the ground. He's recounting your first date, detailing how the night ended with him at your place. He admits nothing happened, but not for a lack of desire. Instead, he confesses he held back because he's still wrestling with the fact that he's married to Leigh. He mentions wanting to make sure when he jumps in with you, he's not dragging any “chains” along.
He goes on, saying he felt you were on the same page, ready to go further, and implies the only reason things didn't heat up was because he had self-control. Reading this, you can't decide if Matt's just showing off or if he's trying to justify his half-steps to whoever's reading this on the other end.
“Whose phone is this?” you blurt out, the only question that registers in your brain. It turns out to be the wrong thing to say, though, as it’s precisely the spark that ignites Leigh's fury, sending it cascading over the edge.
“Don’t fucking change the subject!”
You press your lips into a thin line, your own frustration simmering. “I didn't lie to you, Leigh.” You wave the phone with Matt’s messages like some kind of proof, arguing, “He even says here nothing happened!”
“It's not just about what did or didn't happen!” she fires back, her eyes blazing. “You wanted it to happen. You were ready to go there with him. You wanted more, and you're still not owning up to it.”
At this point, keeping your emotions under wraps isn't an option anymore. 
“Yes! Of course, I wanted to go there with him,” you explode, your hands coming up in the air in surrender. “I found him attractive, thought he was a great guy, and—single, Leigh! I thought he was single when I was falling for him, okay? Are you happy now?”
Leigh's response is to laugh, but it's not a happy sound. It's bitter, mocking, and it just keeps going. 
You're standing there, breathing hard, your breath visible in the chilly air, when it hits you why she’s so upset: When you were telling her the details of your affair, you made it sound as if what happened—or almost happened—was just a casual fling. And Leigh, she just soaked up that version. In doing so, she somehow managed to forgive Matt, forgive you for your role in it, and even toy with the idea of being friends with you.
You made her believe it didn’t mean anything more than what she meant to him. It ripped off the bandage and thrust a knife back into her wound.
After Leigh's laughter fizzles out, the cold seems to bite a little harder, and you notice her shivering—whether from the cold or the tumult of emotions, you can't tell. She's just in shorts and a thin shirt, unprepared for the temperature drop.
Seeing her like this, vulnerable and cold, you feel the urge to just hug her and make her feel a fraction of how badly you regret deceiving her all along. Because saying “I'm sorry” feels way too small for the giant mess of feelings you're dealing with, especially the ones about her that you didn't even realize were piling up until now.
“Leigh,” you whisper, bargaining for something you don’t know.
She meets your gaze, a bit more peace in her eyes now, but that doesn't stop the tears from finally rolling down her cheeks. She's about to speak when suddenly a car pulls up in front of you, its headlights flashing across your faces, momentarily blinding you both.
A man steps out of the car, and Leigh recognizes him immediately. You do too, although it takes you a second longer to realize. Before either of you could react, he's already launching into a tirade. “Leigh, what the hell? Leaving in the middle of the night, stealing my phone—”
“Not now, Danny.”
You freeze, every fiber of your being locking onto the newcomer—because you're almost certain Leigh misspoke. 
His name is not Danny.
It’s Nick.
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The Brutality (and some censoring) Of The Rumbar Deaths.
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Similar to my piece on Yorki and his lil sickness, this is again just something that haunts me constantly and is honestly something I don’t see anyone else talking about. Maybe this is because I have Rumbar Pirates autism. The deaths of the Rumbar Pirates are often thought to just be the snippet we see during their final moments, however Oda paints a much darker picture, with such dark hues the anime had to censor some of this. To begin, I am going to introduce you all to a certain Rumbar Pirate. Pirates.
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This is Madaisuki! He has a twin brother named Madawadasuki Mizuta!
These Mizuta boys are named this because they are the japanese pun of “I love DOTS!” and “Dots ain’t half bad!” We know they were young, and that they wanted to be just like Brook. (I will go over these statements a bit later.) They wore matching clothing, mirroring one another as some twins do, having a tight bond. We already know their candles were snuffed out too short, but do you know how this happened to each? Madawadasuki is shown in the Bink’s Sake flashback, blood pooling on his temple and matting some of his hair. He looks tired, but with a smile, plays on with the other remaining crew. That is the key word here, remaining. There were hundreds of men on this ship yet THIS is what we see surrounding Brook on the deck? Where are the rest. THAT is where Madaisuki comes in. 
Madaisuki does not die on screen, but his body, just the body, is gruesome enough that the anime had to censor it. When we find the young man, he is in one of the off rooms, looks to be the dining area, thrown onto the floor with his arms outstretched, with his hair still attached to the skull.
This is not the reason behind the censoring, no, the reason is the cause of death.
Plunged into his skull and back, pinning his body to the floor with his jaw still open, are his own weapons. His own swords pin his body to the floor, so even if he somehow survived the attack, he could not get up, however with your own blade through your brain case and into the blood spattered floor below you, that is not much of an option.
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This leaves a few things open for the reader to take in. Why is he tucked away in an off room like this? Well, it means the battle either continued into these rooms, not just on deck, which is more than likely shown by the shattered mirrors and doors in the bedrooms and hallways we see, or poor Madaisuki was cornered, and slain.
In any case, this means his brother either also saw this and continued to smile and sing for Laboon, or held a hope that somehow, his twin was just somewhere else, tucked away to die in peace. 
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This is just one body, one upon hundreds, we know this because of a line Franky states so casually I am unsure if the anime added it; “We could not carry them all, we buried them here. The weight was too much for the Sunny to take.”
The weight was too much for the Sunny to take.
How many men died, because those multiple upon multiple coffins were not filled with bodies, but skulls. Only skulls.
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If the ship cannot carry it, how do we expect BROOK?? He must hold grief for he was acting Captian, these things on his head alone, and knowing he failed his partner, my god, that must ache. To know you created widows, fatherless children, families who will never know if their little boys or men or partners or fathers would come home. No closure, only Brook, and the poison that caused the remaining light-hearted musicians to bleed out in their little heap.
When Brook picks up the skull of Madaisuki, a memory comes to mind. Perhaps not a recent one, for he knew them for many years, but one that stood out to him. One Oda chose for us to see as a representation of Brook’s thoughts;
“You’re awesome, Brook! Can you teach me to swordfight like you?”
We see the body, with his own weapons used against him, holding his corpse in place with a hole blasted through his brain. His polka dots he adored are spattered as well, torn where his ribcage was cut open. Brook failed him. He failed them all, in his eyes, not the viewer or actuality. And this breaks my heart.
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| Ida’s Law
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Introductory Part
Summary: The American War Effort had conceded to the enlisting and commissioning of women into the Air Force at semi-integrated status. Deemed a more reliable if not safer combat post, the going rank of officer in the Air Force was intended to secure fair treatment and combatant status for these women, as it had for their male counterparts. Like most things in war -or life, if one is a woman- such recognition must be fought for.
Warnings: disturbing content- if you made it through last one this one should be a breeze, however it picks up where we left off so expect mentions of war, wounds, illusions to past rapes, Nazis being racist fucks, possibly some internalized misogyny about it all and some hopefully very 🥹🤧 reunions
A Note Going Forward: With this part now published, I am happy to open this series up for prompts. Ideally I’d like this series to end up being exclusively prompt-inspired and will be putting out prompt lists accordingly. I think that will be a fun way to keep the interaction going, stretch my own skills and explore all the different scenarios that may intrigue y’all. You’re welcome to come up with your own prompts, too. All are welcome, none guaranteed but let’s be real -I’m obsessed with this AU so I’ll likely do it. For now I’ll be keeping all writing to POW Camp and Liberation and Post-Liberation timelines.
“Well, what do we know?” Ida Brady asked the first officer out on the other side as they began to filter through the laborious processing of the camp. She counted them down, one familiar face after another appearing through the doorway again with no worse indignity than the new identification tags hanging from their necks.
“I hate a guy named Johann, and I like a guy named Fritz, and the lieutenant guy wasn’t bad.” Maureen declared, straightening her precious cap atop muddy auburn tresses. “Who went and named their son Fritz after the last war? I mean really? Who does that to a kid? It’s like he’s making up for it now, though, awfully nice.”
“Mm, I thought so, too.” Ida hummed, “Might keep an eye on that one, work on him a bit. You think, Kendeigh?”
“Work on him yourself, Ida.” Maureen scoffed.
“Not much to work with.” Ida retorted, the first general reference to her disfigurement she’d made. “What do you know? What’s up?” she left off to inquire after Tallulah Smith who came out the other side of processing looking more than exasperated.
“Know? They don’t know squat.” she said, “Never heard of a Cherokee.”
“I’ll be.” Maureen was grinning sharply. “Wasn't enough being a woman for ya Smith, ya had to go and be a brown one.”
“You’re tellin’ me.” She griped, “They kept insisting I was a fighter pilot. That’s what all the ‘dark ones’ are, according to them. Told them I’d rewire their insides and maybe then they’d take my engineering degree seriously.”
“I’d like to see that.” Maureen murmured, drowsiness beginning to take over at the comparative calm of their new surroundings.
“Looks like we got everyone, yeah?” Ida peered over the heads of the crowing room and counted out her charges in a silent tally.
“Looks like.” Smith agreed. “Got billet assignments?”
“I do. Colonel Clark, most senior prisoner here, said the combines are strict but the rooms aren’t. Let’s try to behave until we feel our way, then we can swap, if they allow.”
“It’s going to smell like feet no matter where and who we share it with.” Smith pointed out and Ida heaved a great sigh as if that were the hardest prospect she’d yet encountered.
“Mm.”
“Buck is out there!” Maureen suddenly cried out, grabbing at Ida’s arm, pointing out the window at the muddy yard.
“How nice. Gotta get this sorted first, eyes in, Kendeigh.”
Maureen reluctantly tore her eyes away from her dearly missed pilot. “Yes sir.”
“All right,” Ida’s voice carried as well as it ever had, commanding immediate quiet and attention, “those in the 350th, 419th, -the hundredth!- on me. Gather ‘round. That’s it, come on. Alright, well, we made it, well done. Truly, well done to all of you. Now I know you well enough to not accuse any of you of being pure idiots, just because we made it to where we wanted to go doesn’t mean any of what’s ahead is going to be easy. Be wary, don’t let your guard down, you don’t know plenty of these men and they don’t know you, I’m sure there are measures in place for spying already. Be sensible. I am certain we can rely on the kindness of those in the hundredth, but even then keep in mind, if you are cold, they are too, if you're hungry, you best believe they are hungrier, the last thing we need is a crisis of chivalry in here. Rely on them, except their help, but don’t ever take from them. Understood? And one more thing, since the human spirit is irrepressible I feel it’s warranted to make one more housekeeping note. None, and I do mean none, no inner relations at all are allowed. I don’t care how cold you are, how sweet he’s been, or how much you’ve missed him. The Red Cross aren’t sending rubbers, and don’t ever take the promise of a pull out. Do you want a one-way ticket to a death camp or a bullet to the head? Get pregnant. Simple as that. You think the Jerries think poorly of you now for being female? Try being a matron. The point is to blend in as much as possible, keep that in mind. Whatever you do, keep that in mind. Understood?”
“Yes sir!”
“Colonel?” One voice demurred, raised hand and respectful title only forerunners for an obvious objection incoming.
“Yes? Sanchez, isn’t it? You’re not one of mine, I think.”
“No, sir, 55th -fighters.”
“Yes, well, welcome. What’s your question?”
“No offense sir but- what about the guards?” Sanchez asked.
“We don’t know yet,” Brady replied with typical candor, “I believe so far we’ve seen a mix here. I’m sure our friends can give us tips on who to watch out for.”
“No sir, sorry I meant-“ Sanchez kept her teeth clenched until her thoughts seemed to form better, “-you said no relations. What about the guards? No disrespect meant colonel and I don’t know about yours, but mine -they weren’t pulling out.”
“Mm.” Maureen thought that if Ida smashed her lips together any tighter they’d turn whiter than her skin, the bent aviators she had managed to preserve this entire time did a remarkable job of masking whatever feeling was stiffening her spine to the current degree, but all the same, her spine was stiff, “no offense taken, an excellent point. I’ll inquire about any possible…remedies. Anyone else?”
A multitude of hands shot up and Ida Brady scanned them with bewilderment until she realized her lapse in specificity. “Anyone else with questions, I meant! Saints alive. No? Good, let’s claim our bunks and see about a wash.”
After the dark interior of the building, being processed for hours, the hazy late afternoon light of outside glared painfully against Ida’s bloodshot eyes as she stepped out, leading the way down the three wooden steps to the muddy yard. Monochrome, this place, brown wooden buildings and brown earth and a muddy sky and brown flight jackets one after another.
And there in the midst of it, waiting for them with ever constant patience and thinned stateliness was Gale Cleven and his lost blue eyes and an alarmingly symmetrical set of facial scars.
“Major.” Ida felt her face soften into an odd expression she realized was likely that of relief. Cleven had that way about him, it was better suited to her preferences than Egan’s blustering warm hearted concern, Colonel Harding’s gruff joviality or her John’s perpetually intense concern. Her little brother was, oddly, nowhere to be seen now and that was a comfort in this wide open, highly observed space.
“Colonel.” Gale Cleven’s eyes weren’t a lost blue anymore but a pair of stormy seas and Ida steeled herself for pity. She found smoldering rage in his face instead. Another relief.
“How was it?” he was nodding to the command hut.
“Fine.” she assured.
He was searching for something in her face and Ida was sure it was easily found skin deep along her puffy, purpled left cheek, but if she had anything to do with her expression alone, he’d be kept guessing for ages. “Good.” he decided at last but his smile was tight, “Made John wait in the combine, he’s in there pacing like a madman. They make a note of who’s attached to whom, Colonel,” he explained, “a more discreet reunion seemed in order.”
“We’d appreciate all the direction you—“ Ida had begun but was cut short by Lt. Kendeigh who broke ranks from the processed group and came out of the hut behind Ida like a bat out of hell, running up to Cleven and tackling him in a hug, rather like a dog with their long lost master.
The Major’s lanky frame staggered under her surprise attack, perhaps more from shock and ill preparedness than poor rations and a weakened constitution. Or at least Ida, hoped that was the case.
Well, there went all intentions for discretion about partiality on their part, five seconds had gone by and Maureen still hadn’t let go, her valued cap about ready to knock off her head and his too. Seeing the gig was up, Cleven even belatedly brought an arm up to hug her shoulders, his pleased face bashfully pacifying her intensity. “If it isn’t my favorite bombardier.” Cleven mumbled, his lips failing not to tug upwards in the tiniest of smiles, and he gave her a pat on the back.
“Buck!” Smith was coming in hot behind Kendeigh and knocked Ida’s shoulder in her haste to get around her and join in. “Thank Jesus you’re here.” she grunted as she squeezed him and Kendeigh both, “I mean -we’re sorry you’re here but since we’re here-“
“Glad you’re here, too, Smith.” he assured her gently, another pat on another back and Ida watched Cleven’s composure began to flake as he took stock of their roughened appearances. “It’s gonna be ok now.” he offered, and coming from someone else that statement would’ve sounded a great deal less impressive than it did coming from him. It also sounded hollow without Bucky’s typical parroting of the upbeat sentiment. “Let’s get you girls sorted.” he nodded at Ida who fell in alongside him, if only to distance and displace Kendeigh and her over familiarity just a tad.
“What’s your Kommandant like?” Ida asked by way of conversation as Gale directed them in a trudge along the brown paths towards his specified hut.
“Think I know him as well as you.” Gale admitted, “Tried to stay low, been no reason for socializing. Wouldn’t advise a trip to the camp doctor though.” He added the last part after a beat.
“Why?”
“Your Johnny says he’s got an experimental mind.” Gale smiled wryly but there was a grieved look behind it that made Ida’s pulse pound in alarm, “If you go in with a cold, you might come out with a radioactive arm instead.”
“Noted.” Ida muttured with a shiver, wishing to god her jacket hadn’t been taken off her a couple stops ago, the sun was waning in the dull sky and the breeze was frigid without it. “Speaking of doctors,” she decided to go for it, “is Johnny -my John- is he alright? At the gate it was such a racket, was he…standing?”
Gale paused in his step up into the combine, brows knitted in surprise and she noticed along with him that their little march had drawn quite a little audience from the fellow inmates. Females in a Stalag -what a novelty. “Yeah, John’s fine. He’s fit.” Gale still had that quizzical look on his face.
Ida swallowed hard and gave him another curt nod, one she wanted to come across as grateful but wasn’t sure it did, her battered cheek was responding less and less to her mind’s commands. “Right. This us?”
“Yeah. Figured we’d try to keep as many close as possible.” He explained, “Welcome to paradise.”
“What did y’all name this shack?” Maureen asked him as she stepped over the threshold, it was dark inside and smelled of lumber and smoke.
“We haven’t.” Gale admitted, forlorn at the realization that things like that didn’t occur to people like him. If Bucky had been here, he’d have had it named in an hour, and something awful, too. Something that would make them all laugh.
“Damn oversight, Gingerale.” Maureen teased merrily but Cleven noticed the dimming light in her eyes as she took in the cramped, uninspired utility of the place. One wooden doorway after another.
“Talked it over with Colonel Clark during your processing,” Gale said, “decided it were best if we mingle you all among the men we know. Boys from your squadrons, friendly faces. A few of you in each room.”
“I call dibs on yours.” Maureen unabashedly grinned up at Cleven but Ida saw how a heartbroken look of protectiveness skittered across his features.
“Alright.” he muttered without a fight for once.
“Mm, Smith, Sanchez, Tong, you in here.” Ida decided and having snapped her fingers she was moving on to the next stuffy room. Asking Cleven at each about their current occupants, and with the precision of memory required of a woman who had to memorize her opponents on the promotional ladder, chose their new bunk mates accordingly.
“And where’s Johnny bunked?” she asked him in a low tone as she watched the next set settle in from the doorway.
“In with me, further down the hall, Demarco, Hambone, a few others.”
Ida seemed to hesitate as she eyed up an extra bunk in the current room that the last of her girls were settling into.
“Don’t be a stick, colonel,” Maureen spoke up gently, a surprising liberty even for her, “you need friends right now. Bunk with us. Everyone’s going to be fine. Can’t be all places at all times, ya know?”
Ida didn’t reply but after a moment she admitted, “I should go see John.”
Gale and Maureen exchanged a look and then moved in unison to catch up to her as Ida Brady walked, brisk as if she were back home at Thorpe and about to pick a fight with Jack Kidd, down the long hall to one of the last rooms. “In here?” she asked Gale, pointing at the closed door -they liked to keep it so for warmth and privacy, and to acclimate the guards to it being closed when the radio was out.
“Yeah that’s us.” Cleven replied, reaching out and snagging Maureen back a step as Ida turned the handle. “Let’s give ‘em a minute.” he suggested, referring to the Bradys.
He held her jacket sleeve for a brief moment before turning it to grab her hand, he’d missed those hands. To his horror their usual calloused elegance was a swollen paw of bruises. “The hell, Maureen?” he whispered in shock, turning it over to examine it, grip strong around her wrist before she could pull away. “Who did this?”
Maureen did her best to shrug, “Some bitch stood on them.” she said simply, and surrendered the other hand for a similar heartbroken inspection.
Kendeigh was indeed not as visibly marred as Ida Brady or a few of the others, but still, Gale kept turning her crushed hands over and over, recalling with vivid agony the way he’d admired them at all manner of work before. To hurt them that way, to restrain her so meanly- “Maureen,” she’d never heard his voice dip so low, and his eyes were simmering where they cataloged her hurts, “what’d they do to you?”
“What’d they do to your face?” she shot back, perhaps more perturbed by the immaculately symmetrical scars on his once porcelain face than her own condition. Women expected the treatment they’d gotten, in some twisted way, but this on the other hand, it disturbed her.
Gale looked taken aback by her question and quickly dropped her hand to touch his right cheek as if to remind himself the scar was obvious to everyone. “Flak.” he replied a beat too late.
“Awfully precise.” she snarked.
“I asked you first.”
“I told you, a bitch stood on them.”
“I’m your superior officer.”
“Who it looks like someone had some fun with,” Maureen snapped back, “who did this?”
“What happened to you?” He hit right back but his voice quavered.
“I’m fine now. I wanna go see the boys. Come on.”
“Just- give them another minute.” Gale insisted, pulling her back away from the doorway again, “It’s a lot.” He reminded, “For a brother to see his sister like -that.”
Maureen couldn’t argue with that, besides Gale looked so sad and more fragile than she’d ever seen him, and the gentle hold he had on her jacket was as needy and scared as a child’s. “I’m glad we’re in this together.” she whispered.
“Me too.” he admitted, guilty and sad over how true that was before letting her press her lips to his.
Ida Brady didn’t know what she expected when she opened the door, not much she supposed, just a living brother with any luck. It was a decently tidy room, plates stacked on a rough hewn board at the far end, eight bunks lining the walls, stacked three tall. A table was in the middle and there sat dear old Crank and Hambone too, Murph with Benny. A card game was ongoing.
They looked so fine, quite normal, all in all.
All motion in the small room stopped upon her entrance. Cards were dropped and cigarettes forgotten in open mouthed shock.
“Holy shit -colonel?” Demarco didn’t have a dishonest bone in his body, and his disbelieving horror over her appearance came through loud and clear in his greeting. She hadn’t seen him at the gate.
The same for Hambone’s face, one that had never bothered to be discreet in pleasant circumstances, much less in shocking ones like seeing a notorious superior officer come in looking about as battered as a body could get -although his torn cheek was one to talk. Crank recovered first, in his mild, stammering sort of way, glancing at the lean figure who still stood looking out the lone window.
“Well, if it isn’t Ain’t Pretty Brady.” Crank clapped uneasily, summoning her nickname from basic just to cut the tension, it served to startle John.
He turned from the window abruptly, blank faced and unblinking as he realized the sister he had been watching for had already arrived. If their ole nan from the motherland had suddenly materialized before him he could have hardly looked more haunted or aghast, wide fringed fox eyes and that straight fold of a mouth -always so very held together, her little brother. Even after his third belly landing.
But those startled unblinking eyes...
Ida wanted to tell him to blink, that it was all alright now, that they were both alive and that it was good enough, it had to be. But she seemed to have fully lost all power over her throbbing cheek at last, she could feel her lips move in a motion she realized with supreme panic was likely a wobble of emotion. She ripped her aviators off, as if seeing her eyes might help his to come alive.
“John John?” she croaked in greeting, oblivious of the childish endearment tumbling off her lips in a room full of soldiers. If it were something their family was in the habit of doing, Ida Brady might have rushed him like Maureen did her pilot, or held out her own hand to be held, asked for a gesture from him -after what she’d gone through, surely it couldn’t have been weakness to want a clap on the shoulder, a flick to the bicep, a little “well done” for staying alive.
But she just stood there and watched him clock her shame. She could feel her swollen lip splitting in real time as the swelling and incessant trembling tore the taut skin apart, they’d passed around a single canteen in processing and it wasn’t enough, the walls of her throat felt collapsed together. Maybe she should have asked for a mirror first, maybe Cleven or Kendeigh or Smith should have told her she’d bring a whole room to a frozen standstill by her looks alone. They’d seen her at the gate -were these meager lightbulbs really so much more illuminating?
“Eye-eye.” Johnny let it out in a breathy rush as if he’d suddenly come to, and then he was in front of her, hands cradling the sides of her neck, thumbs hooked gently under her bruised jaw. A calloused pad swiped away the ticklish trickle of blood sliding the crease of her mouth.
Eye eye -his onetime baby babble for Ida, and she’d never let him forget it.
She could have wept at the useless sentimentality of it, of the gentle familiarity of familial hands, at the seething loyalty storming across his face.
“The fuck did they do?” he articulated at last, voice gravelly as shit but also reminiscent of the squeaky olden days when his castrato role suddenly no longer served one Sunday in choir.
“You’ve got legs.” she answered instead, sounding maniacal in her happiness.
He looked at her like she’d gone fully crazy as well as beat, “Yeah? Yeah I do.”
“They said, they said you didn’t.” she chuckled, a bizarre merriment trying to take hold in her relief, “During interrogation, that bespectacled cunt told me you had your legs crushed when you crashed.”
“No? No- no I jumped.” He insisted, then let go of her face to step back and gesture to two fit legs, as long and lanky as she remembered, as long and lanky as her own. “I jumped, I’m fine. They told you that?”
“Yeah.” Ida said, “Told me the longer I didn’t comply the longer you were without medical attention. I -I’ve been so…uneasy…about you.”
“I’m fine.” He repeated, hands back on her shoulders and she was grateful for it despite the bruises he was gripping, grateful for the way he kept touching her like he was going to hold her together with his own two hands, same blood, same flesh, same memories, maybe whatever she’d lost he could supply back like a blood donation. “Those sons of bitches.” he cursed them.
“Plasma for planes.” she agreed.
He kept looking at her, at her cheek and at her ragged hair and at the missing buttons, “You didn’t tell them anything did you?” he suddenly asked, wide eyed. “You know i’d rather die than have you tell.”
Ida scoffed, and gave him a grin, the best one she could manage with her cheek and split lip, “What do you take me for, Johnny?”
“A cold hearted bitch, I hope.” he returned the small smile but his voice cracked, still that hint of something long gone and juvenile.
“That’s what their Lieutenant called me.” Ida confirmed, a little proud, and sensing a renewal of his inquiries, Ida chose to take the offensive and call out for a conspicuously absent Kendeigh, “Candy! Didn’t you want to tell Johnny about your charming admirer? The Lieutenant?”
Kendeigh came round the doorway hastily, her lips puffy and cheeks oddly red. Cleven followed after and matched her, and his blush did nothing but highlight those scars of his. “Brady.” Maureen greeted, boldly hugging Ida’s very stiff brother without care —due to his red cheeks and rigid shoulders Ida concluded Cleven had given his own inner-relations talk to the men—, “Yes, I wanted to -oh hello Crank, Benny you son of gun- wanted to tell y'all about my ticket outta here -hell Hambone, how’d you manage to get uglier? -see my integrator, he found me fairly fetching. I think one of these days he’s gonna roll up in his shiny car and take me away from here and you’re all gonna wish you’d taken time to learn a little know-how about Alligators and their hibernation tactics in the winter. He was enthralled.”
There was an awkward silence hanging in the room, Crank grimaced a smile out of sheer generosity of heart and Benny Demarco still sat with his cigarette neglected on his open lip. Cleven, used to her preening brazness kept a tight lip, though a thousand questions seemed to swirl in his eyes.
“He the one who stood on your hands?” John Brady asked her without hesitancy.
Maureen whirled round then, comedy hour over and an angry flush creeping up her neck at his directness. “No.” she snapped. “Can’t some of them be alright?”
“A German’s a German.” he countered.
“There’s Fitzs and then there’s Johanns.” she disagreed nebulously and only Ida got her reference.
“And a shower is a shower,” Ida butted in before this became an experiment in an immovable object meeting an unstoppable force “which we need, badly. We’re…filthy.”
“We’ve got working sinks, trough sinks.” Cleven clarified with an apologetic look as if it were his fault the showers only ran once a week and poorly at that, and the water they had was frigid already in autumn.
“Water is water.” Ida reasoned in return, wondering when Johnny was going to finally let go of her arm.
“We’ll clear it out for ya.” Cleven said.
“And we’ll guard the entrance.” John added emphatically.
“Thanks.” Ida muttured, “Some of us could use to mend our uniforms.” she added, refusing to blanch at the subtle inventory of her jagged tears and crusted blood being made by every man in the room.
Maureen at least had her jacket intact. Her cap, too.
“Here, you can have my trousers while I stitch yours.” her John decided and was unbuckling his belt before she even registered the hand gone from her shoulder.
“What?” Ida balked, “You’re going to go ‘round in your skivvies?”
“Not as uncommon around here as you’d think, Ida.” Gale said, a small smile on his face. “I’m afraid order and decorum has gone to shit without you.”
“Well I’m here now.” she replied sternly but didn’t stop Johnny as he stripped.
“And so am I.” Kendeigh grinned and all Ida could do was to bless the saints for having let only one terror into the camp, were Bucky Egan to be here too, things would become intolerably lax. As soon as she thought it she repented it, sending up a prayer for the poor, absent bastard.
“Say Benny, you’re shorter, can I have your pants?” Maureen pleaded.
“Why mine?” Demarco protested, only offended at the height implication.
“Because Cleven’s too tall and I’ve already been in his pants.”
“Maureen!”
“Ida, order somebody to give me their pants.”
“You can have mine.” Crank offered kindly, and then stood up and bashfully began to unlayer. It left him in skivvies, a snuggly sweater and his flight jacket.
“It’s a good look, Crank,” Maureen grinned at the finished product as he handed the trousers over. “I’m seeing you in a different light.”
“Maureen!”
“Just sayin-“
“Take the pants with you to the washroom!” Brady interjected desperately as Maureen looked ready to strip right here and now. “Jesus, Kendeigh.”
“Touchy, touchy.” Maureen ribbed him, out for blood in her tired state and if she couldn’t have that of the Germans she would of her friends’.
“Alright let’s - let’s settle down.” Gale implored, a tired expression firmly etched onto his face and Ida herself considered giving up on the wash altogether and tumbling into the available bunk to court the oblivion of sleep. Were it only blood and dirt she just might, her usual tidiness be damned.
As it was -it was, there was…the filth was so much worse.
And if Ida thought on it too long she’d go mad and want to pour boiling lye on herself to wash herself clean and to kill the shame of it. She’d have to scrub the pants before she gave them to Johnny to be mended, it was bad enough for a bother to see the blood and busted seams.
“Yes, settle down for God’s sake.” she echoed Cleven, and something about her hoarse voice compelled Maureen to temper herself more than any direct order could. “A wash, come on, let’s get the girls. Oh and one more thing, Cleven-“ Ida turned to Gale and found him alert, eager to help. She was afraid she was only setting him up for failure but she had to make an effort to find those “remedies” she’d promised Sanchez. “There any lemons around?”
The incredulous look on his face suggested he thought she knew better, but he was ever polite in his reply, “No, colonel. No lemons.”
“Mm. Nutmeg?” she tried to recall each wicked trick she’d heard condemned when a girl got herself in the family way without the needed family in place.
“No, no nutmeg.”
“Mm.”
“Nothing but potatoes and cigarettes, ma’am. Do you- why?” he asked.
“Nothing.” she assured, “Just, a hot toddy sounds good right about now. You know?”
“Uh,” he floundered, half in suspicion and half in genuine confusion, “never had one.”
“Well then,” she grinned as she passed him, “that’s something to add to our to-do list for when this is all over. Jameson, though, none of that Kentucky stuff.”
“Yes ma’am.” his tone was vacant, smiling concern brittle, “You uh, you alright, Colonel?”
Ida gave him a withering look and then Gale too, had cause to be repentant.
“Come on Kendeigh, let's get the rest.” Ida gestured as she followed Gale back into the hall, aware of Johnny’s eyes still on her, still taking stock, “They better not be in bunks without a wash. Come on, showers, everyone! Out, come on out. You can sleep afterwards. Out! Would one of you be so kind as to wake us up in time for roll call?” she inquired of the male officers straggling behind her in the hall.
“Course! Yeah, for sure.” about five offers went up.
“You wake Me up.” she clarified coming to a full stop, wary of the enthusiasm, “I’ll wake up the rest.”
“I’ll get you up.” Her John said.
He’d probably sit and watch her sleep, too, needle and torn pants in hand, like a creepy little owl but that was one of those things she figured make or break a family, you either find it endearing you have a brother who rarely blinks or you go mad. Today, after all of it, she didn’t mind having a guardian Angel. Or a watchdog. Speaking of-
“Hey,” she asked him, “you two flew out together, where’s Bucky?”
But no one had an answer for that, not even Little John.
💋Hope you enjoyed AND REMEMBER -prompts are now open.
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On Disrupting the Status Quo: The Archeron Sisters
First of all, I want to thank everyone so much for the love on my previous post! I genuinely thought I was sending a Vassien Hero's Journey dissertation out into the void and not a soul alive would read it. I am thrilled and delighted to have been met with such welcome in this space!
I'll keep this next one short and sweet, (retcon- I did not keep it short and sweet) but one of my additional favorite topics to break down regarding the structure of the Archeron sister's and their journey's is a disruption of the status quo to the world at large. Through their stories of healing, love, and coming into their power, both Feyre and Nesta have tackled a system of patriarchy within Prythian/Illirya and improved conditions for females in a way no one has been able to do before the arrival of the Made Sisters. I truly hope Elain gets her chance to do the same!
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Feyre at the beginning of her Hero's Journey: There are no High Ladies. Only males have the power to oversee a court. Feyre, not only through her relationship with Rhys but through her own healing journey and establishing her power, takes his side as an equal. She is High Lady. Feyre showed that females can be more. They do not simply have to sit by the side with no titles or agency and let males fight over who gets to keep them as Lady of their court. They can be equal in power. Even Tarquin, who has his own plans to disrupt power imbalances, was surprised.
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And of course, my hope is we got some foreshadowing for more High Ladies to step up with Viviane. She single handedly held the Winter Court together during those harrowing years Under the Mountain, both as a warrior and a leader.
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Moving on to Nesta, her Hero's Journey led her to solve a problem that her mate and the High Lord of the Night Court hadn't been able to solve for HUNDREDS of years- getting females training.
More than that, she and Gwyn and Emerie became not only the first females to ever participate in the Blood Rite, but they also won.
By coming into her power and going down her path to accept her life as Fae and heal, The Valkyrie's have been restored and females of any heritage now have a safe space to train without the leering contempt of Devlon and the Illyrians. I certainly hope Illyria continues to progress, but this is a huge start. And it is all because of Nesta and her choice to lean into who she would be in this new life now that she had chosen to face it.
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Aaaaand I'm crying. Please hold.
Now we move onto Elain. And this is my question- if Elain is *not* going to disrupt the status quo by challenging the mating bond, by pushing against the expectations of her court to satisfy political conflicts and taking away her agency in who she wants to love, then who is going to do it? And what is going to be done for the females of Prythian who are unhappily mated? What is going to be done for Lady Autumn, for females like Rhy's mother, for all who *tried* to make it work because females have little to no choice in who they are paired with?
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*Someone* is going to tell this story. And in doing so, they will not only be making the best choice for themselves, but they are going to challenge the very foundation of another way females are kept in submission like Feyre and Nesta did. They are going to demand that no one else goes through what Feyre did-giving Tamlin the right to wage a war simply by putting a ring on her finger then deciding not to go through with the wedding and leaving him by choice. Someone is going to ask why anyone had the right to sell Lady Autumn into a lifetime of abuse. Why Morrigan was allowed to be sold as a commodity. Someone is going to remember what it felt like to lose their fiancé because the mating bond meant they "belonged" to someone they didn't even know.
Someone is going to say no more. No more of females being political pawns, being objects to be sold and traded, to having their choices stripped and lives controlled over a system that is widely accepted as deeply flawed and not entirely understood.
This story will be told. And if it is not told by Elain Archeron, then I simply ask, who will?
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The Archeron sisters are not maintaners.
They are disruptors.
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madame-fear · 2 days
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꒰ 𝐊𝐔𝐊𝐔 𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐃𝐀𝐘 | 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒. ꒱
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˗ˏˋ ꒰ summary : how would Kuku celebrate your birthday with you? ♡
˗ˏˋ ꒰ genre : just fluff. ˗ˏˋ ꒰ pairing : Esteban Kukuriczka x (fem!)Reader
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𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖🎐It’s your birthday! And your boyfriend is probably more excited than you are to celebrate it, because it’s yet another year of celebrating the fact that on a day like this, the world has been blessed with your presence.
𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖🎐I have the feeling that he’s probably been organising it probably a month or two before your actual birthday. He prefers to have everything prepared beforehand, so it’s as perfect as possible.
𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖🎐Expect to be woken up with breakfast on bed, and tons of kisses— and of course, a softly muttered ‘happy birthday, my love’ in between kisses. At one point, Kuku will put the breakfast aside (like on a nightstand table) just to attack you with a tight embrace and more kisses.
𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖🎐Don’t be surprised if you receive warm birthday messages from his cast friends. He basically told everyone about your special day, and expects you to be as pampered and cherished as much as possible.
𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖🎐 And, since we are talking about you being pampered— I can imagine you’d get showered in gifts. From roses, to plushies, books, maybe even a bracelet or necklace with both your and his initials on it; literally you would be gifted tons of things from his part.
𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖🎐^ And if you receive something that you saw, liked, and wanted while being somewhere together and didn’t tell him; don’t be surprised either if he gifts that to you. I have the feeling he’s a very observant person, especially around you, his sweet love.
𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖🎐He’s organised an entire day just for the two of you to do your favourite things together, or maybe just something special to celebrate your birthday.
𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖🎐 You would hang out together around somewhere you like— literally wherever you wish, or whichever place you enjoy being around the most. He’s taking you to anywhere you tell him to go.
𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖🎐 Or if you prefer to stay at home, that wouldn’t be a problem at all. Kuku would just organise something fun & special to do at home, filling you with all the cuddles and kisses you very well deserve. ♡
𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖🎐 Makes an Instagram story wishing you a happy birthday, telling you just how much he adores you eternally, and loves only you— nobody else, but you. Maybe, just maybe it’s a bit of very long message, but it’s an extremely endearing one.
𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖🎐 He would most definitely cook your favourite food for your birthday, and would also get you your favourite treats & cake! (if you want a birthday cake, ofc)
𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖🎐You would probably watch movies together and spend some good, loving quality time together. The entire day would be filled with kisses, hugs, cuddles, constant praising, him pampering you endlessly, and sweet birthday wishes. Kuku would adore to spoil you every single day, but you’d be particularly showered in affection for your special day. ♡
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◞ ꙳ ๋࣭ ⭑ ` HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY DARLING LOVE @luceracastro.ᐟ Today is the day we all cherish your lovely existence— you are filled with pure positivity, love, care, and are also one of the most understanding persons I ever had the fortune to meet. I can never stress enough how proud & grateful I am to be your mutual, thank you for sm everything you do and give !! 🥺 May all your days be filled with love, joy, and prosperity ♡ Have a marvellous day, mi amor! 🥳🥂💕
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shapelytimber · 12 hours
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Wdym it's been 5 months ? Anyway, here is the end of my little comic serie about this niche Skyrim mod
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*Insert me 100%ing the 4th arc of the hit mod 'vigilant' for the elder scrolls V Skyrim with little difficulty having a grand ol' time*
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I messed up my files so Teldryn divorced me while I was away ckgkckkc And you know what good for him, he got a cottage and a kid out of it
[PART 1] - [PART 2] - [PART 3]
[COMMISSIONS]
If you're interested in my thoughts about this mod, you can read that below (it's fucking long so I'm sparing you all just here for the art to have to scroll through all that) vvv
A fantastic mod for sure ! I had so much fun, the voice acting was (for the most part) quite impressive, the music !!!!!!!!! Excuse me who gave this mod permission to have this fucking banger of an ost ???? Loved the new environnements, and there was so much of them !! Especially in act 4, I felt that all the locations had a unique and gorgeous aesthetic (frankly it was the most fun I had doing dungeons in skyrim... the bar is on the floor tho- if I ever see another nordic tomb or draugr I'll not be responsible for my actions), and fucking impressive mise en scene.
And the fights were so fun ??? In skyrim ?? Incredible.
But I still have some problems with it- first let's get the elephant out of the room : act 1 and 2... Boy oh boy were they not so great- I get that the begining is a slow burn to 1) get to know the vigilants of stendar, and 2) drive home the fact that the vigilants are quite incompetent and stendar hates them. Ok this is cool ! And they definetly were some highlights, like with the story of the three kajiits (I'm not good with remembering names (forshadowing for later-)), the ending of act 1, and uuuuuuuhhhh underground windhelm looked sick in act 2 !
But the quests in general were not very fun, at least not fun enough to distract me from the parts of the scenario I understood- which were kind of sexist and not that interesting (the sexism doesn't get better with act 3 and 4 but at least I'm having fun)- like I don't expect great women characters, this is still a tes mod, and it definitly doesn't get to "the man writting this is a fucking creep and I'm not playing this any longer" territory... But all the women we interact with are either : prostitutes, mothers/wives, or abuse(it's nearly always rape) victims- like I don't really mind that the first quest is to track down a vampire prostitute who propose to show me her sweetrolls, but it gets pretty tiresome after a while (and kinda ridiculous, like do all the big musley men I'm fighting in act 4 have to angst about their wives ? Can't a big musley woman angst about her partner too...). The worst one is Lamae Bal. From the charadesign, to the dialogues with her, to her story- hated that.
And also we don't have much dialogue choices and ways to influence the story in these 2 (3) first acts. Which I understand like this is a lot of work for fan content, but it's such a stark contrast to act 4 it's a bit jaring.
But speaking of the story... I get this is a very thoughtful and well researched story. A lot of work reading the tes wiki as been done by the author... But I, on the other hand, did not read the entire extended lore wiki- and I admit I was not understanding any of it during Act 4. Like I got a general idea, and the epic, dramatic and emotional moments were still impactful ! But I really don't think the author did a great job getting the story accross, and the more the mod progress, the more this problem becomes relevant. The recuring problem of tes games is that they have really deep interesting lore that we rarely get to see in the games ; the problem of this mod is that we get presented with this lore as if we already knew it.
And after watching an explaination of the story, it's such a shame because it's really good !! And well written ! But I don't think I should need a youtube video to understand it...
Also omfg I am not good with names mod please- everything has like 2-3 different weird fantasy names (but it's never explained it's the same thing, and what the thing is is never explained-), there is a billion men characters with weird ass long names, and the mod expects me to remember them all 5-6 hours after they got killed ??? I don't remember them 5 seconds after I'm done talking to them-
But I had fun playing it, and that's what matters <3 and I'll never get other twink molag bal <3
Also, my mage dragonborn is even more op now omg I can summon an army of 8ft musle men + molag bal + Jyggalag ??? The only fight I had a bit of trouble with was Pelinal's, the rest got obliterated easily (by Pelinal) kgkgkfjfifb
I'll probably need to nerf Elaris at some point in the future-
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permanentswaps · 5 hours
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New Tricks Pt. 3
Inspired by needsastory. Read Part 1 and Part 2 first!
Ben’s POV
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Dad in my body burst back in through the door less than an hour later, his expression a mix of frustration and disappointment. I raised an eyebrow, curious about the sudden return.
"You weren’t gone very long, what happened?" I asked, confused.
Tom let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. "Kim's parents came back from their vacation early. She wasn't expecting them, but she told me I couldn’t stay the night anymore."
"So, does that mean … ?" I started to ask.
Dad, frustrated, said. "Yeah, we made out a bit, but... we didn't get to fuck," he admitted, a bit frustrated.
"Thank god," I said
Tom shot me a curious look. "Why? You worried I was gonna set expectations too high for when we swap back?"
I hesitated for a moment before explaining, "If you had fucked with her, it might have made the swap permanent. We'd be stuck like this forever."
As I verbalized the thought, a strange mix of emotions washed over me. Despite the initial shock and frustration of being trapped in my dad's body, I was definitely coming around to the idea of staying like this. The prospect of embodying the masculinity and strength I had always admired was strangely appealing.
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Dad seemed to sense my conflicting emotions and raised an eyebrow. "You sound almost disappointed," he said, amused.
I chuckled nervously. "Yeah, well... I guess I am.” I admitted, scratching the back of my head awkwardly.
To my surprise, Dad didn't seem fazed by my confession. Instead, he leaned back against the door frame, crossing his arms thoughtfully. "You know, even if this isn't permanent, maybe we should consider staying like this for a bit," he suggested, his tone surprisingly earnest.
I stared at him in disbelief, caught off guard by his proposal. But as I mulled over his words, I couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement building within me.
"Yeah," I replied slowly, a tentative smile tugging at the corners of my lips. "Maybe we should."
Tom’s POV
Over the next week, I found myself surprisingly at ease in Ben’s routine.
I really liked hanging out with Ben's friends. They were a cool group, each with their own quirks and personalities. One of his friends, in particular, stood out to me - Colin. We chatted a lot at school, sharing jokes and stories between classes. It was easy to see why Ben enjoyed his company so much.
"So, you coming to watch the game tonight?" Colin asked, tossing his backpack over his shoulder as we walked to our next class.
I nodded, a smile playing on my lips. "Wouldn't miss it for the world. You ready to crush it out there on the field?"
Colin grinned, a glint of excitement in his eyes. "You know it, man. We're gonna dominate!"
Later that day, Colin and I stood on the sidelines, watching the girls' soccer team play before the boys went on. I couldn't help but admire Kim. She was a force to be reckoned with on the field, her determination evident in every move she made.
"Damn, she's really good," Colin said, nudging me with his elbow.
I quickly looked at him before shifting my attention back to the field and grinning. "Yeah, she's something else, isn't she?"
But my attention didn’t stay focused on the field for long. Stealing another quick glance at Colin, I began to admire him too. His hair tousled from his earlier warm-up run, a faint sheen of sweat glistening on his skin - he was undeniably cute.
"You okay, man?" Colin asked, noticing my distraction.
"Yeah, just... admiring the view," I replied casually, hoping he wouldn't pick up on the sudden shift in my thoughts.
As the week progressed, I couldn't shake the realization that Ben might be a bit of a repressed bisexual. It wasn't a problem for me - I had already come to terms with being gay and was out and proud. But I made a mental note to ask him about it when we switched back.
Despite the newfound comfort in Ben's life, there was still a lingering sense of sadness. I missed the muscles I had worked so hard for, the physical strength that had become a part of my identity. But as I looked around at Ben's friends, at the camaraderie and laughter they shared, I couldn't help but feel grateful for the opportunity to take a walk in his shoes, if only for a little while.
Ben’s POV
Over the next week, I found myself reveling in the virility of my new body. It was a strange sensation, feeling the raw power coursing through my veins, the result of years of dedication and hard work that had sculpted my dad's muscular physique.
I indulged in activities that I had only dreamed of before. With each passing day, I spent more time in the gym, pushing my body to its limits and relishing in the sensation of strength and vitality that surged through me.
But despite the exhilaration of my newfound physical prowess, there were moments when the tension built up, the strain of unfamiliar muscles protesting against the strain of my workouts. It was then that I decided to treat myself to a massage, hoping to alleviate the knots and tightness that had accumulated over the week.
As I entered the massage parlor, I was greeted by a super attractive guy, somewhere between my current age and my old body’s age. His warm smile and soothing demeanor immediately put me at ease, and I couldn't help but feel a flutter of excitement in my chest as he led me to the massage room.
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"So, what brings you in today?" the masseur asked, his voice gentle and inviting as he prepared the massage table.
I shrugged, trying to play it cool despite the nerves that fluttered in my stomach. "Just feeling a bit tense lately. Thought a massage might help."
He nodded understandingly, motioning for me to lie down on the table. "Don't worry,m you're in good hands," he reassured me with a wink, causing my heart to skip a beat.
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As his skilled hands began to work their magic, kneading away the tension that had built up in my muscles, I couldn't help but relax into the sensation. It was like all the stress and worries of the past week melted away under his touch, leaving me feeling lighter and more at peace than I had in ages.
"Wow, you're really good at this," I murmured appreciatively, my eyes drifting shut as I surrendered myself to the blissful experience.
He chuckled softly, the sound sending a shiver down my spine. "Just doing my job," he replied modestly, though there was a hint of pride in his voice.
As the massage continued, lost in the sensation of his hands moving over my body with practiced skill. Eventually, his hands made their way down to my waist and torso. Quickly, I felt my cock start to harden and peak through the towel he had laid across my lap.
“I am so sorry.” I apologies profusely, my cheeks turning red.
“No worries at all.” He said, trying to hide a smirk. “Happens all the time”
“Should we stop.” I ask.
He hesitated. “Normally I would say that we should take a break, but,” he winked at me, “that's not really want I want to do with a guy like you.”
He swiftly to grasped my dick before taking it all in his mouth and continuing to rub my muscles with his hands. As he sucked me off on the table, I arched my back and raised my arms up to flex towards the ceiling. In that moment of ecstasy, I thought to myself.
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“There is no way I am ever giving this body up.”
I gently stroked his chin with my thick fingers, guiding him up to kiss me. Then, whispering in his ear, I said. “How about I make you feel good too.” Before grabbing his ass.
He quickly took off the rest of his clothes and straddled me over the table before we started making out again. As he lowers his ass, I begin teasing his hole with my cock. He feels up my biceps again and moans, “oh you’re so sexy daddy.”
That's all the confirmation I needed. I thrust upwards, holding onto his waist with both hands, and feel my thick cock enveloped by his warm hole. Immediately I feel a bit dizzy, but as quickly as the feeling comes, its replaced by a sense of incredible clarity. In that moment I knew, I was Tom, forever.
Tom’s POV – Epilogue
Three years had passed since my dad made the swap permanent, and while I was initially upset, I couldn't deny that I had lucked out.
Sure, I no longer had a super muscular physique, but my new body was undeniably cute, and that counted for something.
Once I knew this was my life to live, I made some changes. First thing was I decided to break up with Kim. It wasn't an easy choice, but as I came to terms with my evolving identity, I realized that my heart belonged elsewhere. Despite this new body being bisexual, I found that my preferences leaned heavily towards guys. I also, began to update my style, since, unlike dad, I didn't care about what the other guys at school would say.
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About a year after the swap, I met my boyfriend, Zander. He was everything I had ever dreamed of in my old life- kind, funny, and super super romantic. With him by my side, I felt like I could take on the world.
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In a twist of fate, I also found unexpected success as a model in my new body. While Dad had always complained about his delicate features – in the model industry they were actually an asset. And besides, he was always concerned that people thought he looked gay, but now, with me in control, this body was gayer than it had ever been.  
Now I make an absolute killing, and I get  to enjoy the perks of fame and fortune while still in my twenties. Even though I didn’t choose this body, I now can’t even imagine living my life any other way.
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Ben’s POV – Epilogue
I know what you're probably thinking - I must be crazy for giving up my old body. And yeah, maybe I am a little crazy, but it's a decision I don't regret in the slightest.
Since the swap, Benji - as he now prefers to be called - has thrived in my body. It's like he's living out the life he always wanted but never had the chance to before. And I have to admit, seeing him so happy and fulfilled brings a sense of warmth to my heart.
As for me? Well, I've found myself exploring a whole new side of life that I never knew existed. I’ve kept on hitting the gym, and I think it looks even better than when Benji was still controlling it.
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Dating guys might not have been something I ever imagined myself doing, but there's something undeniably freeing about it - like shedding the expectations and constraints of my old life and stepping into something new and exciting.
While Benji may be going steady in my old body, I haven’t slowed down at all. There’s constantly a new twink in my bed, begging to be railed by me. Even though each twink is cuter than the last – I still regret that I am related to my old body, otherwise I would’ve fucked him a long time ago. That said, he would never do the kinky stuff I’m into now. Now, every Grindr hookup we experiment with leather, bondage, BDSM … and I always go in raw so that I can fill their insides with my seed. After all, with a body like this, life is too short to play it safe.
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givemearmstopraywith · 11 hours
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My mom keeps asking me why I stopped going to confession (I'm catholic, but it's complicated) and one of the reasons why is that it feels stupid and pointless to me. But is there like good reasons why I maybe should give it a try? Is confession even biblical? Or am I right for staying away from it? (side note: I've not been to confession for about 6 years now (I think), but before that I've been going to confession pretty much regularly for maybe 10 years. So it's not something I've just "tried" once and never again.)
there is no biblical precedent for confession as it exists in the catholic church. in 1 john 1:9, we're told that if we confess our sins to one another, God is faithful to us and forgives us. number 5:7 lays out the historical jewish practice of publicly confessing sins and making restitution. confessing to a priest means that you are confessing to a mediator between yourself and God, and that mediator gives you your restitution for those sins- these are works, since in catholicism we are justified through faith and works and not by faith alone, as in the protestant tradition. there's a lot of strength and depth to justification through faith and works, rather than just justification through faith: but i think you, like many christians, probably crave "works" that are a bit more comprehensive, more humane, than what is typically utilized in confession.
on the other side of this issue, hebrews 3:1 and 7-22-27 tells us that jesus is the high priest of our confession, the one mediator between God and men. on christ can forgive sins: but importantly the priest does not forgive your sin himself, he simply acts as a mediator on your behalf- a descendent of prophets, you might say. part of what i like about the anglican church is that the confession of sins is built into the liturgy, said as a congregation before partaking of the eucharist. this to me seems pithy and practical. but i am also someone who suffers from scruples: i never feel quite good enough, i am oppressed by the knowledge of my own fallenness and base nature (but i am getting better at not feeling this way all the time- nobody should, God does not want us to be crippled by guilt).
it is neither right nor wrong to stay away from confession. what it comes down to is your calling. everyone is called, but we are called in different directions. some are called to partake fully in the life of the catholic church, with its rites, rituals, sacramentalism, and tradition: all of these things are beautiful and meaningful in their own way, but they will be neither of those things to anyone who is not called to it. some are called to have a personal, private relationship with God. others are called to not have one at all. whether we conceive God in an inherent manifestation of "thinginess" or not, we are all called somewhere. it is the nature of being human, because to be human means to be woven into the universe and all it contains. the other thing is that we all do require confession on some level, because we all commit acts that are devoid of goodness- whether accidentally or with purpose.
my personal belief about sin is that it does not exist the way goodness exists, with form: sin is simply an emptiness, created by my own wrongdoing, waiting to be filled with goodness. part of how i feel that emptiness and try to fill it again is through public confession in the anglican church, by private prayerfulness, and by a concerted effort to minimize the harms i commit in my life as much as i can, which means restitution, reconciliation, and sitting with my guilt. but i have never felt personally called to the act of confessing my wrongdoing to a priest, although i have felt called to seek advice and clarification from them.
i am also someone who has a complicated relationship with catholicism and religion in general: i also had a mom who got on me for not performing my religiosity the way she expected me to, or the way i was taught or raised. my advice is ultimately, that this issue is between you and God. if its something you feel comfortable with, talk to God (or the universe, or Spirit, or whatever you conceive a higher power to be). wait. listen. pay attention. if your spirit does not feel called to confession, listen to it. in the practical side, i might suggest tell your mom that you are in a process of discerning God's call for you. if you are comfortable with it, you may want to talk to a priest or another member of clergy on this topic- you may also want to try attending a different denomination, or another faith tradition altogether. read the bible. read torah. read the qur'ran. pray. i spent a long time discerning what God wanted from me, went through a period of agnosticism, atheism, and other, more pearl-clutchy things, and ended up more involved in my faith than anyone, including my mom, ever expected- but i needed to walk away from it first. i needed find my way home. God does not mind if we wander. he made a whole world for us to wander in. God's story with humanity is full of people walking away and finding their way back where they started again: or they are taken to places they could have never imagined. either way, he is there. either way, you'll know. but lean into this place you're in now: it, like everything, has something to teach you.
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Text
Lady of the Ashes: Chapter 8
House of the Dragon Season 1
Aemond x TargaryenOC
Chapter Word Count: 5506
She was his everything… For her…he would do anything.
From the moment of her birth, Aemond Targaryen swore himself to the protection of his niece Aelinor Velaryon. As the two grew up inseparable, they find themselves entangled in the Dance of Dragons, battling to stay together even as their families try to pull them apart.
A/N: Sorry for the delay! Accidentally posted this one to the wrong blog haha Thanks for reading! Cross posted on A03
Let me know what you think!
Masterlist A03
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 P.1 P.2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7
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Aelinor was awake even before the sun had appeared through her window. She had not slept well, and was still exhausted from her late night, but she knew that this morning would not be one for leisure.
She wanted nothing more than to remain curled up under her blankets, but she could already hear people moving about in the parlor. Ser Vaemond would make his petition before the king at ten bells, and she had no doubt that courtiers would be flooding the throne room from the early hours, determined to get the best spot.
When she arrived in the parlor her mother was pacing back and forth, one hand on her swollen belly and the other twisting nervously at her side.
“You must rest, Mother,” Aelinor cautioned. “These nerves cannot be good for the baby.”
Rhaenyra held out a hand as her daughter stepped closer, and Aelinor took it in both of her own. “I trust you slept well.”
“As well as can be expected,” Aelinor sighed. “But come, you must sit.”
Rhaenyra shook her head. “I find myself restless. It is best that I stay on my feet.”
Aelinor gave a little smile. “I trust this isn’t a sign of my sibling to come. I could not handle another little boy with Joff’s energy.”
“It could be a girl, you know.” Rhaenyra said. “You could have a sister.”
Aelinor pursed her lips. “I suppose it could. But I shall rejoice all the same. As it is, Baela and Rhaena are all the sisters I need.” She caught her mother’s eye, letting her know just how much she meant that.
Rhaenyra sighed. “Aelinor, if you wish to speak about your father we could—”
“My father,” Aelinor said quickly. “Was Ser Laenor Velaryon. No other.”
“But we could—”
“Today is about Luc, Mother,” Aelinor said. “About his succession. We share a father, and I will stand with him as he claims the seat to which our father’s blood entitles him. As Velaryons.”
Rhaenyra squeezed her hand. “He would be a good father to you, Aelinor. I know it.”
How many times throughout the years had Aelinor wondered the same thing. This was as close as her mother had ever come to just flat out admitting the truth. Daemon Targaryen was her father. She knew it, he knew it, Baela and Rhaena almost certainly knew it. She did not think Jace and Luc were aware, and she wanted to keep it that way. It had not been Daemon Targaryen who had bandaged her bruised knees, who had taken her for her first dragonflight atop Seasmoke. No, that was her true father, a man now nine years in his grave.
But she knew her mother longed for them all to be a family. And she would not jeopardize that for anything. No matter what she suspected, family was the most important thing in the world to her, and she knew Daemon would kill for her mother, possibly even for her and her brothers.
“So long as he is good to you, Mother.” She smiled. “Now, should I begin getting ready?”
Rhaenyra looked as if she wanted to say more, but nodded. “Yes, we should all get ready. I’ll rouse the boys, and I’ll have a maid bring your dress to you.”
“No options for today?” Aelinor asked, recalling the dresses she had tried on for the ball the day before.
Rhaenyra shook her head, giving her daughter’s hand one extra tight squeeze. “It brings me heart, Daughter, to hear you speak of standing together.”
“Of course, Mother.” Aelinor nodded, dropping her mother’s hand. “I am with you, always. Now, you can rouse Luc. Because I love you so, I shall attempt to awaken the beast that is Jace.”
Rhaenyra laughed. “Then I wish you luck. I don’t think he returned to his chambers until well past midnight.”
“I think it was practically morning.” Aelinor forced a laugh. “But I’ll get him. And we shall all make ourselves presentable for you.”
Aelinor waited until her mother was gone before hurrying to Jace’s door, not even knocking before pushing her way inside. 
“Jace?” She hissed. “Are you awake?”
The shape on the bed groaned, so she moved to the window and threw open the curtains. “Let me see. We need to be presentable and I need to see how bad it is.”
Jace protested loudly at the light, pushing himself into a sitting position. Aelinor sat on the edge of his mattress, watching as he stretched both of his arms. He was shirtless, his pale skin unmarred except for a ring of dark bruises around the base of his neck. Bruises that Aemond had put there.
Aelinor clucked her tongue, reaching out to touch the edge of a bruise. “Does it hurt terribly? should I fetch something?”
“It’s fine,” Jace sighed. “My tunic should cover it.”
“And your arm?” She asked worriedly. “I could call a maester.”
“No, I…” Jace blinked sleep from his eyes and studied her. “Gods, Aelinor, why are you fretting so much?”
She punched his leg through the blanket. “Because you’re my brother and you’re hurt, you idiot. Am I not allowed to be worried? Besides, it’s my—”
“Don’t you dare say it’s your fault.” Jace interrupted her.
“You said that last night?”
“Did I?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry. I’d had a bit to drink. I should never have made you think that this was your fault. This was only Aemond’s doing. No one else’s. Which means you don’t need to be such a mother hen.”
Aelinor sighed. “I just…there has to be more to it, Jace. If I just talked to him.”
“He’s dangerous,” Jace protested. “Do you not see these bruises? This probably would have broken your neck.”
She rolled her eyes. “You aren’t that strong, and I’m not made of glass. Besides, Aemond would never hurt me.”
“Aelinor.”
“Jacaerys.” She crossed her arms. 
They stared at each other for a long moment, before he threw himself back into his pillows. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
“I’m right,” She stood, grabbing the covers and dragging them off of him. “This entire thing is supposed to be about bringing the family together. I’m not just going to stop talking to my best friend.”
“Your best friend?” Jace clawed the covers back. “Does he know that that’s what he is? Your friend?”
Aelinor groaned. “Obviously it’s more than that, Jace. Either way, I shall speak with him and find out what reason he had for attacking you. I’m sure it was all a misunderstanding.”
“And I’m sure that the only reason I’m alive is because I’m your brother,” Jace said. “If anyone else had insulted you, he probably would’ve fed them to Vhagar.”
Aelinor faked a gasp. “Are you saying you wouldn’t feed someone to Vermax to defend my honor?”
“Obviously I would,” Jace managed to wrestle the blankets out of her grip. “I would just be more diplomatic about it.”
“So you say,” She laughed. “Just leave it to me, Jace. I’ll sort out this mess. Now, get ready before Mother’s nerves give out.”
She stepped out into the hallway, nearly running into the maid coming from her room. “Your gown is inside, Princess. Will you require assistance dressing?”
Aelinor shook her head. “I’ll shout if I need help with the laces.”
“Certainly, Princess.”
She was just about to step into her room when the door next to hers opened. “Aelinor?”
“What is it, Luc?” She stopped in the doorway.
Her younger brother stepped out of his room, already dressed in his tunic, though he wore mismatched boots. “Which ones should I wear? These ones make me look taller, but these—”
“You don’t need to get any taller, Luc.” She laughed. “I already have to look up at you.”
“That’s because you forgot to grow,” He responded with an old joke, one she used to make all the time before he caught up to her in height. “But alright. Are you not ready?”
“I will get dressed now,” She stepped over to ruffle his hair. “Don’t worry, Little Tidemaster. Everything will go well.”
He batted her hand away, and she was chuckling when she closed her bedroom door behind her.
She would be lying if she said that she was truly confident about this hearing. Since she had been at court, little more than two days, she had heard nothing but rumors of Lucerys’ parentage, which she knew had likely been spread by the Queen. There was every possibility that this trial was simply a chance for Queen Alicent to weaken Rhaenyra’s claim on the throne through her children. 
But, it was a settled succession, and even with the Sea Snake’s injury there could be no good reason to challenge it that did not constitute treason. She just had to pray that everyone stuck to their own honor, and all would be well.
Her mother’s vision for a united family became clear when she saw the gown laid out on her bed. She changed quickly, slipping into the fitted black gown and managing to adjust the laces on her own. The dress was made of a thick material with embroidered dragon scales dotting the shoulders. It clung tightly to her hips before spilling out into a wider skirt, and the neckline fell wide on her collar bones. The sleeves were a deep Targaryen red, hanging nearly to her knees. At least she would not have to wear gloves with this gown, and her mother had not provided her with any.
She was running a brush through her hair when there was a knock on her door.
“Come in, Luc!” She called. “I’m nearly done!”
The door opened, but it wasn’t Luc who stepped inside.
“Prince Daemon,” She turned quickly, dropping the brush on her bed. “Is something the matter?”
The Prince was already dressed, Dark Sister hanging at his side, and he had both hands resting on the pommel as he stepped into her room, closing the door behind him. In nine years, Aelinor could not recall ever being alone with him like this. With her father.
He studied her for a long moment, a glimmer of approval in his eyes. “You’re ready, then?”
“I am.” She clasped her hands in front of her, noting how his gaze caught on her injured hand, She resisted the urge to hide it in her sleeve. “May I help you with something?”
He walked slowly around the room, examining the few meager possessions that she had unpacked. “Today is a very important day for your mother and brother.”
“I know that.” She said, turning as he moved. “And I shall do whatever necessary to help them assert their claims.”
“Will you?” He seemed genuinely surprised. “I spoke to your mother this morning. She told me of your…conversation.”
Aelinor crossed her arms. “Give me some credit, Prince Daemon. Whatever point you are trying to make, make it.”
He stopped, his fingers tapping against the pommel of his sword. “You do not call me Father.”
“No, I do not.”
“Why?”
“Do you want me to?” She scoffed, unable to believe that he was the sentimental type.
He tilted his head, considering it. “It would make your mother happy.”
“And I place my mother’s happiness above all else, except in this.” Aelinor said. “Or are we to pretend you were thinking of my happiness, or Luc or Jace’s, when you murdered the man who had raised us.”
Daemon’s lips curled upwards. “There it is. I knew my daughter was in there somewhere.”
“You have two other daughters, Prince Daemon .” Aelinor glared at him. “I think I have made it exceedingly clear how I feel about you. Now, I ask again. What do you want?”
She did not like how he studied her. Her father — because denying that he was her blood was fruitless — often reminded her of a dragon about to seize its prey. He was still, deathly so, and yet his eyes took everything in with frightening speed. And now that focus was trained on her. It should have been terrifying, but some part of her recognized herself in his gaze, and so she stood her ground.
Finally, he reached into the pocket of his tunic. “I have something for you.”
She blinked. “For me?”
“Did you not understand me the first time?” He held out a hand. “Here.”
Against her better judgement, Aelinor held out her hand, letting him drop a small metal object into her palm. It was surprisingly heavy, but when she held it close to her face, she found it to be nothing more than a hair bauble.
“A hairpin?” She said incredulously. Prince Daemon did not seem the type to give frivolous gifts, and yet that was what this was. She lifted it between two fingers. The metal was a steely silver, with the circle of the pin cast with small dragon scales, and the pin itself sharp as a dagger on one end, and shaped as a dragon’s head on the other, with a deep red gem inset as the eye. It was finely made, that was true, but it was still a hairpin.
“Why have you given me this?” She knew it was rude not to thank him, but she found the entire thing so out of character that it was unsettling.
He was quiet again, considering his words before he spoke. “It’s Valyrian steel. That particular piece came over with the Conqueror. If the rumors are to be believed, it was worn by Queen Rhaenys herself.”
“Truly?” Aelinor gasped, holding it up the light. “It is extraordinary.” Lowering it slightly, she looked at her father. “Why?”
There were a thousand questions wrapped up in that one. Why now? Why this? Have you suddenly decided to try and be a father to me? 
“It belonged to my mother.” Daemon said finally. “And it should belong to my eldest daughter.”
Her lips parted, something like warmth flooding through her. Princess Alyssa was spoken of like a god in their household, the beloved mother of King Viserys and Prince Daemon who had reportedly been a figure of light and love. To be gifted something of hers…Aelinor was without words.
“I…thank you.” She said quietly. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t need to say anything,” Daemon said, gripping his sword with one hand. “Wear it. Today. Let everyone see that ours is the line of Old Valyria. Wear it for your mother.”
Aelinor nodded. “I shall.”
Prince Daemon gave a curt nod, and then left without a word.
Aelinor closed her palm of the pin, feeling the metal bite into her skin as she pressed. The pin was sharp enough to puncture flesh. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine this same metal in the hands of Princess Alyssa, or even Queen Rhaenys at the time of the Conquest. She wanted to feel some part of her ancestry sing into her blood through the cold steel.
But at the end, she felt only empty metal, and the only meaning it carried was that of the man who had given it to her. Complicated. Unyielding.
Moving to the large mirror in her chamber, Aelinor swept half of her hair up and away from her face, securing it at the back of her head with the pin. When she turned, the ruby eye glinted through her silver hair. 
She searched for her mother’s face in her reflection, for some hint of familiarity. But the more she looked, the more she settled on just how much she looked like her father. What use was it denying that which was so obvious?
“Aelinor?” Her bedroom door crept open. “Are you ready?”
She sighed, turning to Luc with a smile. “Well, heir to Driftmark? Will I do?”
“Aelinor, you…” He stepped inside, taking her hand in his and giving it a squeeze. “You look like a princess.”
“Don’t I always?” She teased. 
“Of course you do,” He bumped her to the side as they started to walk out of the room. “I just meant…”
“I know what you meant. “She sighed. “Now, let’s get this over with.”
********************************************************
As if the entire ordeal weren’t enough of an insult, Princess Rhaenyra and her family were expected to wait in the corridor outside the throne room until it was time for them to be heard. They were forced to stand outside, watching as throngs of nobles made their way into the room ahead of them. Already Aelinor felt a sense of dread building. Whether they achieved the desired result or not, this would be a spectacle. Her family would become a spectacle.
It was enough to have her picking loose threads out of her gown in nervousness.
“You’re going to ruin your beautiful gown, cousin.” Rhaena said.
Aelinor sighed, looking up at her two cousins. “Sorry. I suppose my nerves are getting the better of me.”
Baela reached out to give her arm a squeeze. “With the news of the engagement, surely things must go our way. You should not be so worried.”
“I would not trust that the Hand or the Queen will take your betrothals as enough.” Aelinor said. “They’ve been waiting for this day a long time.”
They all looked to where their parents stood, Rhaenyra pacing back and forth and Daemon tracking her with his eyes, his expression unreadable. She sometimes wondered if Baela and Rhaena knew the truth of her parentage, that her existence meant that their father had been unfaithful to their mother. Sometimes she thought Baela might know, often making a comment about their sisterhood in such a way as to make Aelinor think she knew the truth, but she had not spent enough time with Rhaena to glean whether she knew as well. She did not think either of them would hold it against her, but she also did not want to throw their peculiar family even more out of sorts.
“Speaking of the betrothals,” She said quietly. “My congratulations to you both. I did not have a chance to speak with you last evening.”
“Thank you, Cousin.” Rhaena smiled, but Baela gave Aelinor a look of regret, reaching out to touch her shoulder.
“I am sorry, Aelinor, that it happened that way.” She apologized. “I did not—”
Aelinor shook her head. “I’ve heard enough apologies from my mother, and I know no one wanted me to be surprised in that way. Jace and I were not suited, and I can bear a little court gossip if it guarantees you your happiness.”
She meant it. She loved her cousins, and she loved her brothers, and she truly thought that they were all well matched. If that announcement had come in the form of a breakfast declaration or an intimate family gathering, she likely would have been the first to rejoice. It was only the unfamiliar setting of the ball, and the strangers surrounding her that had dulled her enthusiasm. After having slept on it, she truly was brimming with happiness for her family. 
“Think,” Baela grinned. “Now we shall all be sisters.”
They shared a knowing grin, before schooling their faces into something more dignified as more nobles flooded past.
“I’m going to go wait over there,” Aelinor pointed around the corner, where she would be out of view of her family. 
“Why?” Rhaena asked. “Hiding from us?”
“Hardly,” Aelinor laughed. “I’m just…waiting for someone.”
The girls let her go, and she stepped around the corner and took a deep breath. She did not want to enter this trial without speaking to Aemond, without getting to the truth of what had happened the night before. Despite what Jace said, she knew that there had to be more to it than a simple insult. There had to be.
Her prayers were answered when Aemond strode around the corner, alone and unaccompanied. His eye settled on her and he nearly skipped a step, before catching himself. She could not read the expression on his face, his lips pressed tightly together and his jaw clenched.
“Aemond,” She said quietly, aware that her family would be able to hear if she spoke any louder. “You’re early.”
“Yes, well.” He clasped both hands behind his back. “What of it?”
Ignoring his curt tone, Aelinor gave him a little smile. He had come early to speak with her, she knew it. 
“Is everything alright?” She asked. “Jace came back last night and said—”
“What did he say?” Aemond asked quickly, his eyes meeting hers like a clash of swords.
Aelinor swallowed. “He said that you attacked him. That it had something to do with my honor. But I know that cannot be true.”
Aemond didn’t respond.
“And now he thinks you’re dangerous,” She said. “But you must tell me the truth, so that I can fix this. Had you had too much to drink? Or perhaps—”
“Perhaps what?” Aemond lifted his chin. “Tell me, Lina, what excuse would justify my beating your brother in the dark of the night.”
Aelinor flinched back at his tone, and something in his face softened. “I just…I just want to know, Aemond.”
“And what…” Aemond’s voice was tight, as if he were speaking without breathing. “What if it was for your honor? What if I decided that he had insulted you enough for one evening, and that I would not stand for it? What then?”
She shook her head. “What do you mean, Aemond? I felt no insult.”
“No?” He stepped closer, and she moved away, her back pressing against the cold stone. “You are too generous, then. I am afraid that I am not so willing as to forgive a slight against you.”
“How was I slighted, Aemond?” She demanded. “The announcement was a shock, but it’s not as if Jace stood in front of the court and declared me defective! I am happy for my family. Truly, I am. I was simply unsettled from the crowd and there being so many unfamiliar faces.”
She reached out her hand and touched his upper arm. “I swear, Aemond.”
His jaw ticked. “I don’t believe you. You spoke of returning to Dragonstone. Of fleeing. Because of what they did! You’ve only just returned, how was I to—”
“So Jace was right then?” She asked. “You truly attacked him over me? You hurt my brother?”
“I let him walk away because he was your brother.” Aemond said. “But what of it, Aelinor? Now that you know what I would do for your honor, are you done? Shall you listen to him? Am I too dangerous? Am I a monster?”
Aelinor was shaking her head, trying to understand where this was coming from. “No. No! Aemond. Of course you aren’t a monster! Whoever said that you were?”
He did not answer. 
“Aemond, please,” She leaned forward and whispered. “I shall never, ever turn my back on you. You know this. We…we understand each other, don’t we?” She recalled his words the night before, when he had shown her his eye, shouting that he understood her. How could he not tell that it was the same for her?
“Just…let me in.” She begged. “Something has made you unhappy, and I—”
“Brother!” Aegon’s voice carried down the hall, and Aemond jerked out of her grasp. Without looking back, Aemond walked toward his family.
She wanted to go after him, wanted to chase him and demand that he confide in her like he used to. She still did not believe that she had the full story, and she needed to know who had ever told him that he was a monster. That was…that was too cruel to even imagine.
But a hand grabbed her elbow, and then Rhaena was at her side. “Come, Cousin. It is time.”
So with one last longing look over her shoulder, Aelinor went to stand before the Iron Throne.
*****************************************
Aemond wouldn’t look at her.
It felt like she was nine years old again, standing across from him at Laena Velaryon’s funeral, with him refusing to meet her eyes and her forced to just stand there in dignified silence. Except instead of a funeral on Driftmark, this was a petition before the Iron Throne. And Aelinor wasn’t a child anymore. She understood what the stakes were, and she was determined not to fail Lucerys and her mother.
Keeping her back ramrod straight, she stood at Luc’s side as Ser Vaemond made his petition. Across the way, Alicent stood with her children, all of them looking as if they’d been forced to attend. Aegon was openly yawning and Helaena, who had once been as close to her as a sister, was huddled at his side, as timid as a mouse. Aemond had kept one shoulder angled her way throughout the entire ordeal, as close to turning his back on her as he could come.
All things considered, Ser Vaemond’s case was surprisingly restrained. There were no flying accusations, only a general plea for the preservation of the Velaryon name. Aelinor had imagined hurled insults, perhaps some thinly veiled threats. But it seemed that they were not entirely doomed.
“Princess Rhaenyra, you may now make your case for your son, Lucerys Velaryon.” Otto Hightower spoke down at them from the throne. 
Rhaenyra stepped forward, her face composed. Only Aelinor saw the way her hands shook, the only evidence of just how frightened her mother was.
“If I must grace this farce with an answer, I will begin by—”
The doors at the back of the hall opened. Two hundred heads turned toward it, to the two guards swinging apart the massive doors, and to the small man who stood there.
A strangled sound escaped Aelinor’s mouth.
“The King!” One of the guards shouted.
It was her grandfather. Frail, feeble, shuffling forward as if every step pained him, it was King Viserys. A gold mask covered half of his face — the half that she had seen bandaged the night before — and his golden crown rested on his head.
She turned, watching Otto Hightower stumble down from the throne. The Queen’s face was pale as a ghost, one hand held to her chest.
Aelinor let her eyes drift to the side, where she caught Aemond’s gaze. He must have seen something in her eyes, something that moved him, for her gave her a small nod, his mouth tightening in what might have been a smile. But then his gaze was back on the King, following the sea of people as they bowed in his wake.
Sometimes she forgot that Viserys was Aemond’s father too. He had so rarely spoken of him, being raised much more closely by Queen Alicent, learning the types of things only boys could teach from Ser Criston Cole or his older brother. But she wondered if he too felt this shuttering in his heart, seeing the head of their family rise again.
Aelinor dropped before her grandfather reached her, her curtsy taking her down to the floor. The charcoal skirts pooked around her, her chin dipping low as she felt her family follow in her wake. Only when the edges of his cloak had moved past did she rise, watching as her grandfather reached the foot of his throne.
He turned and said something to Otto Hightower, something that had the Hand nodding shakily, and then he started to climb.
Aelinor wanted to run forward, wanted to take his arm and help him as he struggled, but she knew it was not her place. Instead she knotted her sleeves in her firsts, swallowing her cry as he stumbled and his crown clattered to the floor.
But then someone else was there. Prince Daemon. Her father. The King’s brother. And with surprising tenderness, Prince Daemon helped his brother to his seat, before kneeling and setting the crown back atop his head. As he descended the steps, she shared a look with her father, dipping her chin slightly
Silence hung in the air for a long moment, broken only by the King’s labored breathing. 
“I must admit…my confusion.” The King said suddenly. “I had thought this matter settled. But surely the only person who can shed some light on the wishes of Lord Corlys…is the Princess Rhaenys.”
The Princess Rhaenys stepped forward, bowing to the King. “My husband has never wavered in his desire to be succeeded by our grandson, Prince Lucerys, and I have ever supported him. Additionally, Princess Rhaenyra and I have just announced the betrothal of her sons, Lucerys and Jacaerys, to my granddaughters, Baela and Rheana, an agreement which we have heartily accepted.” 
Aelinor saw the Queen look at the ground, and resisted the urge to grin. 
“Well, then the matter is settled, again.” The King spoke slowly. “I hereby reaffirm Prince Lucerys Velaryon as heir to Driftmark and the Driftwood Throne.”
Aelinor turned to Luc, offering him a smile. They had done it, it was settled. She saw his expression melt in relief.
“You break law, and centuries of tradition, to install your daughter as heir,” Vaemond stepped forward, outrage on his face. “But you dare tell me who deserves to inherit the name Velaryon? No. I will not allow it.”
Aelinor tensed, feeling the room collectively hold his breath. What was he doing? Had the fool gone mad?
“Allow it?” The King hissed. “Do not not forget yourself, Vaemond.”
Let that be it . Aelinor prayed. Please, please let this be it .
But alas, Vaemond did not listen to her prayers.
“That!” He shouted, whirling to point at Luc. “Is no true Velaryon!”
Aelinor stepped forward, pushing Luc behind her. He did not have to stand here and take this abuse, and she was better equipped to handle the fury rolling off their uncle. Over Vaemond’s shoulder, she saw Aemond jerk forward.
“And certainly no nephew of mine.” Vaemond continued.
“Go to your chambers, you have said enough.” Rhaenyra muttered.
But Vaemond remained, his gaze leveled on Aelinor, at the boy who was too tall to hide behind her. Luc’s hand gripped her wrist, and she thought he might be preparing to pull her behind him. What a funny pair they were, an older sister with her big little brother, both of them fighting to protect the other.
Vaemond was still talking. Still ranting, lost completely to madness.
“And gods be damned, I will not see it ended on account of this—” He caught himself.
Aelinor lifted her chin at the same moment she heard her father whisper ‘Say it.”
Vaemond cast his gaze over all of them, presumably deciding whether these were to be his final words. Aelinor saw the exact moment that he chose to accept his fate.
“Her children….” He began. “Are Bastards!”
Everyone gasped.
“And she…and her daughter…are whores.” Vaemond turned to the King, his challenge clear.
Viserys struggled to his feet, drawing a catspaw dagger. “I will have your tongue for that.”
Aelinor was not sure where it came from. One moment she was staring up at her grandfather, waiting for him to declare Vaemond’s life forfeit, and the next there was an unfamiliar whistle through the air, and Daemon’s sword cleaved Vaemond’s head clear in half.
Aelinor jerked back, finding Luc’s arms around her as he pulled her away. She saw Helaena cover her ears, everyone flinching away as the blood sprayed across the marble. Aemond’s hand was on his waist, to where his own sword hung, and she saw the question in his searching look. Are you alright?
She nodded quickly, shrugging out of Luc’s arms, yet staying pressed to his side.
“He can keep his tongue.” Daemon declared, satisfied.
“Seize him!” Otto Hightower cried.
“There is no need.” Daemon sheathed his sword, stepping away from the body. 
Alicent stepped forward, her nose wrinkling as she dodged the top of Vaemond’s skull. “There is every need. To bring this kind of…this kind of savagery into this hall. How dare—”
“Enough!” The King shouted, the power in his voice shocking everyone into silence. “This stops now. This ends today.”
“Father?” Rhaenyra said quietly.
“My King?” Alicent turned, both of them standing at the foot of his throne, staring up at him.
Aelinor looked up too, her mouth parting when she found her grandfather’s gaze trained on her. Confusion crinkled her brow, and she did not find her answer before he looked away and addressed the room.
“I have one last announcement,” He declared. “One which shall benefit our House, and the Seven Kingdoms, in blood and in name.” His breathing was quickening, every word a struggle.
“Your Grace?” Alicent was climbing the steps now, concern coloring her voice.
“I announce the betrothal of my granddaughter, Princess Aelinor Velaryon!” The King shouted.
Her mouth dropped open, and she met Aemond’s gaze, seeing horror flooding his face. This could not be happening. Who could she possibly marry? Her grandfather was sick, his mind addled with pain, and yet he would betroth her to…to…
“To my son, Prince Aemond Targaryen.”
The hall descended into chaos.
QUESTION: Do you think Aelinor chooses Team Green or Team Black? I'd love to hear your guesses.
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plethomacademia · 2 days
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wip wed: rockstar/coffee shop/bookstore au
There is an event on the GaleHeart discord for fics about Gale and Shadowheart's first time and instead of being normal or sane and just writing a little thing, I have invented an AU that is somehow both a bookstore (Gale is one of the booksellers) and coffee shop (there's a coffee shop in the bookstore and Shadowheart works there) and a rock band (Shadowheart is in a band with Karlach, Lae'zel, and Wyll) AU all at once.
Anyway! Two snippets. One is Gale showing some rizz and the other is when he first meets Lae'zel. In this universe, Lae'zel and Shadowheart are already dating but it's an open relationship and Shadowheart already has told Lae'zel about wanting to date Gale. Gale is the one who was not sure if Lae'zel truly was ok with it. And this is how he finds out that she is!
She spots him the moment that he reaches to adjust his hair, of course. Her green eyes flick over the top of the book that she is holding with one hand while she leans against the counter on the elbow of the other. Gale notes the couple on the cover of the trade paperback: a woman wearing a bodice that has been loosened and a tall man with long hair and a very open shirt. They’ve sold dozens of copies of the same book in the past week. She is standing by the time he reaches the coffee stand, her open book page down on the counter to hold her place. “You only get one free a day, you know,” she says once he has arrived. “Yes, well, I paid for the last one, so I am aware.” He puts his hands in his pockets, not sure what else to do with them. “What can I say? You are quite talented at what you do.” Jenn gives him a once over and whatever she sees makes the corner of her mouth tick up. “Maybe a decaf this time. We wouldn’t want your heart to burst, Gale.” He swallows. “Yes. Decaf sounds lovely.”
and
Gale is still leaning on the counter when he hears the sounds of at least two pairs of heavy boots behind him. Jenn looks over his shoulder and the glance she gives him is the only warning he gets before a hand claps onto his back. He clenches his jaw to keep from yelping. “Gale of the Bookshop!” he hears. The owner of the voice stands beside him, taking up the remaining space at the counter. Gale moves over a little to give the woman room, using the moment to give her a quick inspected. She has a pleasant face, brown skin with sharp features and a scattering of freckles, all framed by shoulder length brown hair. She is wearing an outfit that suggests she just came from some kind of athletic event or perhaps the gym, a black sports bra visible underneath a white tank top with large dropped armholes. He notices how her muscles bunch as she leans against the counter beside him. She smiles at him and he cannot help but return the gesture. “So, have you fucked my girlfriend yet, Gale of the Bookshop?” she says. Gale feels his cheeks heat as Jenn puts a hand to her mouth to stifle a laugh. As he had expected, this was the woman that Jenn had only referred to as Lae. Her girlfriend, she had told him. One that was apparently ok with the idea of Gale taking Jenn out on a date, something that he had had a hard time believing until this very moment. He glances behind him to see the other person that he heard approach. He is met by glittering brown eyes belonging to a tall Black man. He is just as fit as Lae is, but with much longer hair styled into thick dreadlocks. Another one of Jenn’s bandmates, he presumes, although Gale does not know his name. The man looks over him toward the counter. “Man, Jenn, you know I would fuck you if you just asked,” the man says. He glances back at Gale long enough to wink at him. Gale turns to look back at Jenn, who is shaking her head. “Bullshit,” Jenn says. Now she, too, is looking at Gale. “Wyll wants to be a player but he’s the biggest softie that I know.” She smiles at him. “Present company excluded, perhaps.”
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Bengiyo Queer Cinema Syllabus
Not to sound repetitive but, I had a busy couple weeks, but finally had a second to return to @bengiyo’s queer cinema syllabus. I am currently working my way through Unit 4: Heartbreak Alley, the totally light-hearted, definitely not agonizing section of the syllabus where I get to watch countless acts of violence be committed against queer people. Thank fuck I have Lesbians waiting for me at the end of this unit. The films in Unit 4 are: Bent (1997), Strange Fruit (2004), Boys Don’t Cry (1999), Brokeback Mountain (2005), Parting Glances (1986), Philadelphia (1993), The Living End (1992), Holding the Man (2015), Jeffery (1995), and Boys on the Side (1995).
Today I will be talking about
Parting Glances (1986) dir. Bill Sherwood
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[Run Time: 1:30, Available: tubi and fubo, Language: English]
Summary: As Michael and Robert, a gay couple in New York, prepare for Robert's departure for a two-year work assignment in Africa, Michael must face Robert's true motives for leaving while dealing with their circle of eccentric friends, including Nick, who is living with AIDS.
Cast: 
John Bolger as Robert
Richard Ganoung as Michael 
Steve Buscemi as Nick 
__
Well, I have to say this was very much not what I was expecting for the first AIDS related movie of the syllabus. After some pretty hefty violent deaths of queer characters in the first half of Unit 4, I was very much anticipating the heart wrenching tragedies to continue immediately once I hit the AIDS epidemic portion. But Parting Glances very much subverted my expectations of what I was walking in to, because honestly…so much of it was lovely. 
It’s not that tragedy is not a part of this movie, it is, it’s just hidden under the layer of friendship, community, and love that feels like the core theme of the film. I am thinking about the party at Joan’s and how much happiness and celebration was happening there, with community abound, and yet how Michael kept telling people they should call Nick because he would appreciate it, showing just how much Nick has lost of his own community since his HIV/AIDS diagnosis. 
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I really loved how real these relationships to one another felt, the way that Michael and Robert were playful with each other, the way that Nick sat on Michael’s lap so casually for a few minutes when Michael cooked him dinner, I loved the conversation Robert had with his ex-girlfriend, the young and hopeful queer boy who wished to live forever. I just loved watching the queer community be a queer community. 
Even in the moments that get a little dour, where Michael gets especially weepy with Nick, those scenes did not make me sad, did not destroy me the way other films in this syllabus have, because that is just grief. Grief is a mighty and terrible thing, but I find beauty in it as well. I find beauty and loveliness in the fact that those tears came from Michael finally admitting to Nick that he loved him, that Nick got to hear himself that he was loved, especially when so many people seemed to have fallen away from him after his diagnosis. I find comfort in the conversations about death that Michael and Joan have together, because those are conversations I’ve had, they feel familiar, they feel like a natural part of life, perhaps they should not have to feel those points so soon, but Nick himself is right, living forever is the only thing none of us can do. 
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I really loved that we saw Nick when he was at a stage in his illness where he was simply being careful, but was still full of life, energetic, that he was able to be a support system for Michael and was not only being tended to. We know what is coming, but we are not made to see it. I was really in to what the film did with it’s use of ominous backing track, that Nick could hear it, that it felt like the progression of his illness, that it felt like a sense of impending doom, a cloud that hangs over Nick. 
Throughout a lot of this film I found myself thinking about The Inheritance Part One & Part Two, a play written in 2016 based off of the book Howard’s End by EM Forster. I saw this play a few years back and was lulled in to a false sense of security that this would not be a play about AIDS because it was set in the relatively modern day with a focus on younger queer characters, but ohhhhhhh how wrong I was. Towards the end of the first part, we hear a story from a character named Walter, an older gay man that lived in the same building as the main characters, and he recounts the story of his life, how his husband, Henry, built a farm outside of New York city for the two of them to live in…right around the time that AIDS started decimating the area. How that distance still was not good enough for Henry so he would leave on business trips, because his fear of catching AIDS was so strong. 
Walter tells the story of when he went back in to the city for the first time, and ran in to a friend he used to know, who had acquired AIDS and was on the brink of death. He talks about how when Henry was away, he brought that kid to the farm Henry had built to hide from AIDS, and Walter cared for that boy until he died. Walter talks about doing that again and again and again and again, dozens of times, he would go in to the city, bring a friend back home, and care for them until they passed. 
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^[sidebar: I very much do not like Robert]
Part of the play ends with Walter being asked what it was like at that time, Walter asks the main characters to name someone they know, they give a name, he says “they’re dead. Give me another name, he’s dead”. For what felt like minutes, name after name after name is called and name after name after name is dead. When I saw that scene I broke down in the theater, I cried for the entirety of the walk back to the train station, I was brought to the brink of tears at the thought of that scene for a month after I saw the show. 
I mention this because it was all that I could think about while watching Robert and Michael interact with one another, while seeing this plot unfold. Robert fleeing New York while Michael stayed to care for his dying friend. Knowing that Walter and Henry stayed together after all was said and done, after Henry had stopped running from reality, and the death rates had slowed; then seeing Robert decide not to go to Africa, and how Michael did not show any signs of planning to break up with Robert knowing, despite knowing how Robert felt too settled, how Robert had chosen to go, despite knowing that Robert was running from loss, and running from being a support for Michael when the love of his life finally dies. 
So despite the fact that Parting Glances didn’t evoke the same feelings, though I felt like overall it was a relatively upbeat, uptempo, gentle film, the current underneath it all, the dying underneath it all, the tragedy is right there but it is just out of reach. 
Favorite Scene 
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I think my favorite scene is when Joan and Michael are laying in bed together, holding stuffed animals at Robert’s going away party while they just casually talk about death and dying. It just felt very much like a conversation I have had with my best friend on multiple occasions, especially lately because we've had a number of deaths happen in our lives recently. And yes, my friend and I both match the type of conversation part this scene, and also the beating each other up with stuffed animals part of this scene.
Obviously we do not spend enough time with the other characters at the party to know exactly what is going on in their lives, and there is not doubt many if not all of them have lost loved ones to AIDS, but we know that Joan and Michael are really the only two people who go and visit Nick, and it feels so symbolic of the weight that they are shouldering caring for their dying friend to have the only two people who have not cut themselves off from Nick be sitting together, in another room away from all the other gay attendees, discussing, speculating, joking about death. 
Favorite Quote
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We all know the real right answer is: “Straight men are jerks. Gay men are jerks. Straight women are jerks. That leaves lesbians and they are off in their ivory towers laughing their heads off at the rest of us. I should’ve been a dyke” 
But I am going to go for the more serious:
“...look at the others, waiting, wondering if some innocent moment of pleasure long past can set them up with the ultimate form of [German word my subtitles did not state]...  I’d like to stage a piece in which all of the performers are people who are terminally ill, can you imagine the intensity, the concentration, the purpose”
This is said off-handedly in a conversation between Joan and a heterosexual male artist who was attending the party. I put it here for two reasons: a) the first half is a very succinct commentary on the state of the queer community (at least who were at the party) and feels like general commentary about the movie’s premise as a whole. Especially because Nick talks about how he didn’t realize how long the gestation period of HIV was, and by the time he started taking protective measures it was already too late. b) because the second half is just the most pretentious, absolutely mindless, careless, and shitty thing to say to someone who is actively losing a friend to a terminal illness. This fucking hetero artist came in to a room full of queer people and decided that dying people would be great to put in to his next project for ~The Vibes~ and I love that comment so much because first, it shows how much he Does Not Get It, and second because of how much disgust is baked in to Joan’s “Excuse me” as she leaves before he can finish his thought. 
Because to say that to someone who is watching loved one after loved one after loved one die before their eyes is an absolutely disgusting thing to do (in my opinion). 
Final Score
8/10
Up next, Philadelphia (1993)
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richard, on a friday
robbie showed annie some texts he'd exchanged with their mom. she'd asked him if he'd deletd the pictures he took of her yet and he said "of course not, i made it your contact photo when you call me."
mom: oh noooo
him: relax, you look great
mom: well thank u
him: perfect tits, cute bush
mom: i really hadn't trimmed it enough when you saw me, it was a mess, i've since done a better job
him: let me see
mom: lol!
him: take a pic of your bush for me
mom: you're so bad
him: come on, don't be shy
and she'd sent him a photo of herself in the bathroom mirror, in just a bra, smiling, posed just slightly, bush well-displayed. she'd trimmed it down to nearly a shadow, with very defined, angled edges.
him: excellent work, my only note is to take the bra off next time.
annie gave him a blowjob after that. "it's not my birthday or anything," he said, as she wrapped her mouth around him. she was very aware what she was doing -- she had to beat her mom at this.
of course, she already was beating her mom at this, and she'd casually sent robbie dozens of nudes and videos of herself fucking. but it wasn't enough to just win by a margin. she needed to leave her mom in the dust. she got robbie's cum all over her shirt and had to change before work.
ted had asked her out that night but she'd told him she would just come over and fuck him after a work event. the work event was another party richard had invited her to, a fundraiser for a nonprofit. annie wore a short black dress and a white, small pair of panties. no bra. when annie got there, she was surprised to see that richard's daughter was there too. "annie, this is my daughter sophie, this is my therapist annie," he said.
"wow, hot therapist," sophie said, grinning.
"richard has shown me some of your work," annie said. "it's really lovely."
"sophie's in the city for a few weeks as an artist in residence at AIC," richard said.
"impressive," annie said.
"not really," sophie said. "they just kind of hand those grants out. want to get a drink?"
annie was surprised but delighted by how brusque sophie was. she'd expected a wilting little soft-spoken french flower. but she was funny and vulgar and sharp.
"my dad thinks you are so smart," she said to annie. "which i know from a rich white guy sounds condescending but he really means it."
"yeah, he's a very earnest person," annie said.
"it's very sweet. my mom was the bitter acid that balanced him out. now he's fuckin' ted lasso."
"well, it seems like you're the acid now."
"i try but i don't see him much."
"that's hard. i'm close with my dad too. he lives in the suburbs but he's always coming to hang out with me and get away from my mom."
sophie laughed. "i know i have a dead mom so i'm supposed to tell you to appreciate her but my mom was kind of a cunt."
annie laughed.
"you want to do some molly?" sophie asked.
"of course," annie said.
sophie pulled her into the bathroom.
"last time i let someone pull me into the bathroom around your dad, she took a picture of my tits and showed it to him."
"very professional," sophie said, putting a pill in annie's mouth. "don't worry, if i take pictures of you i won't show my dad."
"i'm not sure i minded, honestly," annie said.
"of course you didn't," sophie said.
the night was buzzy, blurry fun. sophie often circulated away from annie, and annie made wide-eyed small talk with other people, but was always grateful when she returned. richard was mostly busy with others but winked at them a lot.
claire was texting annie, and at one point sophie caught sight of a nude claire had sent.
"i definitely didn't clock you as queer but i think france has fucked up my gaydar," sophie said. "no one is fucking gay over there. which you wouldn't think would be the case!"
"i don't know if i am, i just... i met this girl the other week and we impulsively fucked and i think it made us both question..."
"wow, the pussy was that good huh?" sophie said. "can i have her number? i haven't been properly eaten out in like a year."
"i'll give you her number, yeah."
annie texted claire. "i'm kind of busy tonight but do you want to fuck my friend?"
"female?" claire replied.
"yeah, female, very hot, kind of high right now..."
"yes" claire said. "my boyfriend is visiting home for the weekend. yes."
annie gave sophie claire address and put her in an uber. she went back to the party to said goodnight to richard.
"where did sophie go?"
"uh, i kind of got her laid?" annie said. "sent her to a female friend's place who was kind of in the mood."
"well, you two are already fast friends, huh?" he laughed. "have a great night, i'll see you on monday!"
annie took an uber to ted's place. he'd taken a pill, and they fucked hard on the couch, annie's dress still on, panties pulled aside. annie came three times on his cock, and ted finished twice inside her. annie was a mess, and took a long shower after. when she got out, she had texts from claire -- pictures of sophie nude in her bed. annie was surprised to see that sophie was fully shaved.
surprisingly, it came up in therapy on monday. richard was remarking on how nice it was to have sophie stateside for a while, living at his apartment, and the intimacy of that. he told annie that he'd sat in the bathroom and chatted with sophie as she shaved her bush in the bath.
"why?" annie asked. "it was such a great bush!"
richard laughed. "you know, I think it's a when in rome kind of thing. the bush makes sense in france. not as common here. i mean i don't want to speak for all women. she said your friend was shaved."
"she was?" annie said. "surprising. she was not when we hooked up a week ago." she laughed at herself disclosing this kind of thing in front of richard so readily, so eagerly. "maybe i inspired her."
richard smiled.
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jqhotchner · 2 days
Text
stars
nine
yn adjust the camera making sure it didn’t show her baby bump. she is about to do an interview discussing the album and fenty beauty. she didn’t need to world to see her bump just yet.
“rihanna! it’s so great to have you on the show!”
yn smiles. “it’s great to be here!” she states honestly. yn is really excited to discuss more about the album and she’s really excited to discus more about fenty beauty. she’s been working on her cosmetic line for a few years now! wanting everything to be absolutely perfect.
yn is now onto making her last name into an even bigger brand. she’s now getting into the fashion world and making sexy lingerie, bras, a few t-shirt designs, even making men boxers and everything you could think of. yn is ready for this new era in her life!
this just means she gets to be home more with her babies and her husband. she’d still travel here and there, but she’d be able to work from home instead of moving around too much.
aaron’s excited about that. he’d expressed he’s going to be putting in less hours as well! with derek and david willing to help out with more paperwork, he figured he could take advantage of that so he could get home to his family as soon as possible.
“so, we saw you’re currently married. congratulations are in order!”
“thank you!”
“how’s married life treating you? from our end you look absolutely stunning!”
yn blushes. “yeah, it’s been great! my husband and i got married two months back. we’re really enjoying married life. although if you talk to my mother she’d say we were already married. just made it official in the court of law.” yn giggles.
“mothers are always speeding up the process. id like to think mine just wanted me and my husband to give her grandchildren right after the wedding.”
yn laugh.
“how’s the album coming along? we hear this one’s gonna be the last for awhile.”
“yeah, im in the process of doing other projects. it just came down to wanting to spend as much time with the people i love, you know? ill get back into my music eventually. for now i think the fans will enjoy other plans i have!”
“like fenty beauty, correct?”
“yeah!”
“how long have you been working on your cosmetics line?”
“for about two years! i wanted it to be perfect and inclusive! so many different skin tones out there, you know? i have family members with darker complexions than mine. a lot of times they couldn’t find the right foundation or concealer. i wanted to make sure that everyone feels included. not left in the dust!”
“i understand that completely. took me awhile to find one that matches my skin tone even slightly. what else can we expect from fenty beauty?”
“it won’t just be makeup, it’ll also lead to having a better skin care routine. i just got a few family members into taking better care of their skin. you wouldn’t believe what most of them said they use for their skin.” yn shivers.
“well, i for one am really excited about fenty beauty and about this next album. when can we expect another single? and do you have a date for when the album is released?”
“the next single is out the twenty-second and the album will be released the eight of next month! along with a few other surprises!” yn winks into the camera.
“you heard it here first, folks! rihanna album will be released february eight! that was rihanna. thank you for your time, ri.”
“thank you for having me.” yn waves before shutting her laptop. she turns over and spots aaron staring at her. “what?” she blushed.
“just—you’re so fucking beautiful.” aaron kisses her shoulder.
“baby,”
“i mean it.”
yn leans over and aaron kisses her passionately. “how much time we got?” aaron groans.
yn turns to look at the clock. jessica currently has jack. she took him to the park to give yn alone time for the interview.
“twenty minutes.”
aaron smirks. “that’s enough time!”
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i wish there was a space for actual adults within this fandom. i guess i will have to create it, even if it's just me and other five people and a shoelace. i wonder how this whole thing is gonna develop!
#personal#the entire internet but also this fandom specifically is infested with ppl whose reading comprehension is lower than a 6th grader's#can't a gal enjoy a middle-aged actress without being pestered by toddlers with pitchforks#and i know i'm the pettiest bitch but i am ANNOYED esp when i see how old these ppl are. if you're over 25 you have no excuse daskjfhg#like i have cut my audience in half at least! if not more with this fic#but i'm happy bc i'm producing content i wanna produce#i wonder how my new fics are gonna be received#after i finish “particular” i have another thing coming up that ppl probs won't like lol#but i think it's important i post it#and then we have murder mysteries and gothic horror and wooooo you know#it's gonna be fun! and a bit disturbing!#wonder if imma be dragged on twitter again lol#but i sincerely hope no one will care lol#honestly i never expected ppl to care THAT much but i guess they did#it also annoys me that a concerningly small amount seems to care abt the actual quality of writing#and i'm over here agonising about Stylistic Choices(TM) lol#i feel like it flies over ppl's heads and they just wanna read abt larissa weems fucking them with a shapeshifted dick#which okay i guess but also what abt Literature#you could do smth creative with a shapeshifting character just saying. and include your magic cocks or whatever tf you're into#ah i am fuming in vain i will just write my lil fics and hope i don't get a new influx of kys messages lol
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pepprs · 6 months
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genuinely so angry and scared im shaking. how many other times this week this month this year have i been exposed without knowing it. do people even tell each other anymore. it’s just so grim. it’s so fucking grim
#purrs#delete later#covid19#i am fighting for my fucking life every day to stay safe and to keep the people around me some of whom are disabled / chronically ill /#immunocompromised / medically vulnerable safe. i am fucking fighting for my life. it’s already hard that i am usually one of two people in#any given room still wearing a mask let alone an n95 mask. hard and bad enough that we get looks for wearing masks and people think im crazy#for my life still being on hold and for my family still basically never going anywhere. ITS FUCKING WORSE that we are still very much in the#throes of all of it and we are in constant physical and quite frankly EXISTENTIAL danger not only of getting sick / becoming (more)#disabled / literally fucking dying but also returning to the absolute hell of lockdown which while important was psychologically damaging in#ways that are difficult to even articulate. like not only have we as a society decided to not give a shit about unpacking all of that and#healing from the trauma and assuming everyone went through the same thing when we very much did not and to just send everybody back to#school and work because 🤑🤑🤑🤑🤑capitalism🤑🤑🤑🤑🤑 but we have ALSO decided to pretend like the freakish unceasing danger just doesn’t exist#anymore and to get rid of every tool we had available to keep us safe or at minimum make people have to pay exorbitant amounts of money to#access them because 🤑🤑🤑🤑🤑capitalism🤑🤑🤑🤑🤑 !!!!!!! im TIRED. im so fucking tired of it. i am so fucking exhausted and angry and scared. and i#HAVE the luxury and privilege of being able to afford n95 masks and covid tests and to be able to work a job that i can do remotely if i#need to and to not be disabled or immunocompromised. what makes me fucking furious is we decided to throw all the people who don’t have#that access or privilege under the fucking bus and forget about them lol. but what do you expect from a country rotten to its core the way#it is lol. im fucking despondent. why are we living in an incinerator.#* the lockdown(s) werent just important they were necessary. and arguably we should have another one even though if we do i genuinely fear#for my mental health both during and afterwards and quite frankly before. im tired. i am grateful for the life i live which has resulted in#part from the different things that have happened because of the pandemic but i also so desperately wish this never happened and every day I#think about what life would be like if it hadn’t happened. the grief of it all is unspeakably big.
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