#it's outstripping everyone

[itspileofgoodthings]

some of my 15 year olds will be so scared and they should be and also I will be so nice to them

#they need to be listening to debut! and speak now #some of it is not for them! #Taylor said: YOU SHOULD BE SO SCARED #she said do the fucking reading #and if you can’t please sit down #she keeps outstripping her own fanbase #this is not an @ you if you were shook #I AM SHOOK #we all have to be!!! #but this text is not for everyone and doesn’t have to be instantly accessible or easy

[therealbeachfox]

Twenty years ago, February 15th, 2004, I got married for the first time.

It was twenty years earlier than I ever expected to.

To celebrate/comemorate the date, I'm sitting down to write out everything I remember as I remember it. No checking all the pictures I took or all the times I've written about this before. I'm not going to turn to my husband (of twenty years, how the f'ing hell) to remember a detail for me.

This is not a 100% accurate recounting of that first wild weekend in San Francisco. But it -is- a 100% accurate recounting of how I remember it today, twenty years after the fact.

Join me below, if you would.

2004 was an election year, and much like conservatives are whipping up anti-trans hysteria and anti-trans bills and propositions to drive out the vote today, in 2004 it was all anti-gay stuff. Specifically, preventing the evil scourge of same-sex marriage from destroying everything good and decent in the world.

Enter Gavin Newstrom. At the time, he was the newly elected mayor of San Francisco. Despite living next door to the city all my life, I hadn’t even heard of the man until Valentines Day 2004 when he announced that gay marriage was legal in San Francisco and started marrying people at city hall.

It was a political stunt. It was very obviously a political stunt. That shit was illegal, after all. But it was a very sweet political stunt. I still remember the front page photo of two ancient women hugging each other forehead to forehead and crying happy tears.

But it was only going to last for as long as it took for the California legal system to come in and make them knock it off.

The next day, we’re on the phone with an acquaintance, and she casually mentions that she’s surprised the two of us aren’t up at San Francisco getting married with everyone else.

“Everyone else?” Goes I, “I thought they would’ve shut that down already?”

“Oh no!” goes she, “The courts aren’t open until Tuesday. Presidents Day on Monday and all. They’re doing them all weekend long!”

We didn’t know because social media wasn’t a thing yet. I only knew as much about it as I’d read on CNN, and most of the blogs I was following were more focused on what bullshit President George W Bush was up to that day.

"Well shit", me and my man go, "do you wanna?" I mean, it’s a political stunt, it wont really mean anything, but we’re not going to get another chance like this for at least 20 years. Why not?

The next day, Sunday, we get up early. We drive north to the southern-most BART station. We load onto Bay Area Rapid Transit, and rattle back and forth all the way to the San Francisco City Hall stop.

We had slightly miscalculated.

Apparently, demand for marriages was far outstripping the staff they had on hand to process them. Who knew. Everyone who’d gotten turned away Saturday had been given tickets with times to show up Sunday to get their marriages done. My babe and I, we could either wait to see if there was a space that opened up, or come back the next day, Monday.

“Isn’t City Hall closed on Monday?” I asked. “It’s a holiday”

“Oh sure,” they reply, “but people are allowed to volunteer their time to come in and work on stuff anyways. And we have a lot of people who want to volunteer their time to have the marriage licensing offices open tomorrow.”

“Oh cool,” we go, “Backup.”

“Make sure you’re here if you do,” they say, “because the California Supreme Court is back in session Tuesday, and will be reviewing the motion that got filed to shut us down.”

And all this shit is super not-legal, so they’ll totally be shutting us down goes unsaid.

00000

We don’t get in Saturday. We wind up hanging out most of the day, though.

It’s… incredible. I can say, without hyperbole, that I have never experienced so much concentrated joy and happiness and celebration of others’ joy and happiness in all my life before or since. My face literally ached from grinning. Every other minute, a new couple was coming out of City Hall, waving their paperwork to the crowd and cheering and leaping and skipping. Two glorious Latina women in full Mariachi band outfits came out, one in the arms of another. A pair of Jewish boys with their families and Rabbi. One couple managed to get a Just Married convertible arranged complete with tin-cans tied to the bumper to drive off in. More than once I was giving some rice to throw at whoever was coming out next.

At some point in the mid-afternoon, there was a sudden wave of extra cheering from the several hundred of us gathered at the steps, even though no one was coming out. There was a group going up the steps to head inside, with some generic black-haired shiny guy at the front. My not-yet-husband nudged me, “That’s Newsom.” He said, because he knew I was hopeless about matching names and people.

Ooooooh, I go. That explains it. Then I joined in the cheers. He waved and ducked inside.

So dusk is starting to fall. It’s February, so it’s only six or so, but it’s getting dark.

“Should we just try getting in line for tomorrow -now-?” we ask.

“Yeah, I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible.” One of the volunteers tells us. “We’re not allowed to have people hang out overnight like this unless there are facilities for them and security. We’d need Porta-Poties for a thousand people and police patrols and the whole lot, and no one had time to get all that organized. Your best bet is to get home, sleep, and then catch the first BART train up at 5am and keep your fingers crossed.

Monday is the last day to do this, after all.

00000

So we go home. We crash out early. We wake up at 4:00. We drive an hour to hit the BART station. We get the first train up. We arrive at City Hall at 6:30AM.

The line stretches around the entirety of San Francisco City Hall. You could toss a can of Coke from the end of the line to the people who’re up to be first through the doors and not have to worry about cracking it open after.

“Uh.” We go. “What the fuck is -this-?”

So.

Remember why they weren’t going to be able to have people hang out overnight?

Turns out, enough SF cops were willing to volunteer unpaid time to do patrols to cover security. And some anonymous person delivered over a dozen Porta-Poties that’d gotten dropped off around 8 the night before.

It’s 6:30 am, there are almost a thousand people in front of us in line to get this literal once in a lifetime marriage, the last chance we expect to have for at least 15 more years (it was 2004, gay rights were getting shoved back on every front. It was not looking good. We were just happy we lived in California were we at least weren’t likely to loose job protections any time soon.).

Then it starts to rain.

We had not dressed for rain.

00000

Here is how the next six hours go.

We’re in line. Once the doors open at 7am, it will creep forward at a slow crawl. It’s around 7 when someone shows up with garbage bags for everyone. Cut holes for the head and arms and you’ve got a makeshift raincoat! So you’ve got hundreds of gays and lesbians decked out in the nicest shit they could get on short notice wearing trashbags over it.

Everyone is so happy.

Everyone is so nervous/scared/frantic that we wont be able to get through the doors before they close for the day.

People online start making delivery orders.

Coffee and bagels are ordered in bulk and delivered to City Hall for whoever needs it. We get pizza. We get roses. Random people come by who just want to give hugs to people in line because they’re just so happy for us. The tour busses make detours to go past the lines. Chinese tourists lean out with their cameras and shout GOOD LUCK while car horns honk.

A single sad man holding a Bible tries to talk people out of doing this, tells us all we’re sinning and to please don’t. He gives up after an hour. A nun replaces him with a small sign about how this is against God’s will. She leaves after it disintegrates in the rain.

The day before, when it was sunny, there had been a lot of protestors. Including a large Muslim group with their signs about how “Not even DOGS do such things!” Which… Yes they do.

A lot of snide words are said (by me) about how the fact that we’re willing to come out in the rain to do this while they’re not willing to come out in the rain to protest it proves who actually gives an actual shit about the topic.

Time passes. I measure it based on which side of City Hall we’re on. The doors face East. We start on Northside. Coffee and trashbags are delivered when we’re on the North Side. Pizza first starts showing up when we’re on Westside, which is also where I see Bible Man and Nun. Roses are delivered on Southside. And so forth.

00000

We have Line Neighbors.

Ahead of us are a gay couple a decade or two older than us. They’ve been together for eight years. The older one is a school teacher. He has his coat collar up and turns away from any news cameras that come near while we reposition ourselves between the lenses and him. He’s worried about the parents of one of his students seeing him on the news and getting him fired. The younger one will step away to get interviewed on his own later on. They drove down for the weekend once they heard what was going on. They’d started around the same time we did, coming from the Northeast, and are parked in a nearby garage.

The most perky energetic joyful woman I’ve ever met shows up right after we turned the corner to Southside to tackle the younger of the two into a hug. She’s their local friend who’d just gotten their message about what they’re doing and she will NOT be missing this. She is -so- happy for them. Her friends cry on her shoulders at her unconditional joy.

Behind us are a lesbian couple who’d been up in San Francisco to celebrate their 12th anniversary together. “We met here Valentines Day weekend! We live down in San Diego, now, but we like to come up for the weekend because it’s our first love city.”

“Then they announced -this-,” the other one says, “and we can’t leave until we get married. I called work Sunday and told them I calling in sick until Wednesday.”

“I told them why,” her partner says, “I don’t care if they want to give me trouble for it. This is worth it. Fuck them.”

My husband-to-be and I look at each other. We’ve been together for not even two years at this point. Less than two years. Is it right for us to be here? We’re potentially taking a spot from another couple that’d been together longer, who needed it more, who deserved it more.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Says the 40-something gay couple in front of us.

“This is as much for you as it is for us!” says the lesbian couple who’ve been together for over a decade behind us.

“You kids are too cute together,” says the gay couple’s friend. “you -have- to. Someday -you’re- going to be the old gay couple that’s been together for years and years, and you deserve to have been married by then.”

We stay in line.

It’s while we’re on the Southside of City Hall, just about to turn the corner to Eastside at long last that we pick up our own companions. A white woman who reminds me an awful lot of my aunt with a four year old black boy riding on her shoulders. “Can we say we’re with you? His uncles are already inside and they’re not letting anyone in who isn’t with a couple right there.” “Of course!” we say.

The kid is so very confused about what all the big deal is, but there’s free pizza and the busses keep driving by and honking, so he’s having a great time.

We pass by a statue of Lincoln with ‘Marriage for All!’ and "Gay Rights are Human Rights!" flags tucked in the crooks of his arms and hanging off his hat.

It’s about noon, noon-thirty when we finally make it through the doors and out of the rain.

They’ve promised that anyone who’s inside when the doors shut will get married. We made it. We’re safe.

We still have a -long- way to go.

00000

They’re trying to fit as many people into City Hall as possible. Partially to get people out of the rain, mostly to get as many people indoors as possible. The line now stretches down into the basement and up side stairs and through hallways I’m not entirely sure the public should ever be given access to. We crawl along slowly but surely.

It’s after we’ve gone through the low-ceiling basement hallways past offices and storage and back up another set of staircases and are going through a back hallway of low-ranked functionary offices that someone comes along handing out the paperwork. “It’s an hour or so until you hit the office, but take the time to fill these out so you don’t have to do it there!”

We spend our time filling out the paperwork against walls, against backs, on stone floors, on books.

We enter one of the public areas, filled with displays and photos of City Hall Demonstrations of years past.

I take pictures of the big black and white photo of the Abraham Lincoln statue holding banners and signs against segregation and for civil rights.

The four year old boy we helped get inside runs past us around this time, chased by a blond haired girl about his own age, both perused by an exhausted looking teenager helplessly begging them to stop running.

Everyone is wet and exhausted and vibrating with anticipation and the building-wide aura of happiness that infuses everything.

The line goes into the marriage office. A dozen people are at the desk, shoulder to shoulder, far more than it was built to have working it at once.

A Sister of Perpetual Indulgence is directing people to city officials the moment they open up. She’s done up in her nun getup with all her makeup on and her beard is fluffed and be-glittered and on point. “Oh, I was here yesterday getting married myself, but today I’m acting as your guide. Number 4 sweeties, and -Congradulatiooooons!-“

The guy behind the counter has been there since six. It’s now 1:30. He’s still giddy with joy. He counts our money. He takes our paperwork, reviews it, stamps it, sends off the parts he needs to, and hands the rest back to us. “Alright, go to the Rotunda, they’ll direct you to someone who’ll do the ceremony. Then, if you want the certificate, they’ll direct you to -that- line.” “Can’t you just mail it to us?” “Normally, yeah, but the moment the courts shut us down, we’re not going to be allowed to.”

We take our paperwork and join the line to the Rotunda.

If you’ve seen James Bond: A View to a Kill, you’ve seen the San Francisco City Hall Rotunda. There are literally a dozen spots set up along the balconies that overlook the open area where marriage officials and witnesses are gathered and are just processing people through as fast as they can.

That’s for the people who didn’t bring their own wedding officials.

There’s a Catholic-adjacent couple there who seem to have brought their entire families -and- the priest on the main steps. They’re doing the whole damn thing. There’s at least one more Rabbi at work, I can’t remember what else. Just that there was a -lot-.

We get directed to the second story, northside. The San Francisco City Treasurer is one of our two witnesses. Our marriage officient is some other elected official I cannot remember for the life of me (and I'm only writing down what I can actively remember, so I can't turn to my husband next to me and ask, but he'll have remembered because that's what he does.)

I have a wilting lily flower tucked into my shirt pocket. My pants have water stains up to the knees. My hair is still wet from the rain, I am blubbering, and I can’t get the ring on my husband’s finger. The picture is a treat, I tell you.

There really isn’t a word for the mix of emotions I had at that time. Complete disbelief that this was reality and was happening. Relief that we’d made it. Awe at how many dozens of people had personally cheered for us along the way and the hundreds to thousands who’d cheered for us generally.

Then we're married.

Then we get in line to get our license.

It’s another hour. This time, the line goes through the higher stories. Then snakes around and goes past the doorway to the mayor’s office.

Mayor Newsom is not in today. And will be having trouble getting into his office on Tuesday because of the absolute barricade of letters and flowers and folded up notes and stuffed animals and City Hall maps with black marked “THANK YOU!”s that have been piled up against it.

We make it to the marriage records office.

I take a picture of my now husband standing in front of a case of the marriage records for 1902-1912. Numerous kids are curled up in corners sleeping. My own memory is spotty. I just know we got the papers, and then we’re done with lines. We get out, we head to the front entrance, and we walk out onto the City Hall steps.

It's almost 3PM.

00000

There are cheers, there’s rice thrown at us, there are hundreds of people celebrating us with unconditional love and joy and I had never before felt the goodness that exists in humanity to such an extent. It’s no longer raining, just a light sprinkle, but there are still no protestors. There’s barely even any news vans.

We make our way through the gauntlet, we get hands shaked, people with signs reading ”Congratulations!” jump up and down for us. We hit the sidewalks, and we begin to limp our way back to the BART station.

I’m at the BART station, we’re waiting for our train back south, and I’m sitting on the ground leaning against a pillar and in danger of falling asleep when a nondescript young man stops in front of me and shuffles his feet nervously. “Hey. I just- I saw you guys, down at City Hall, and I just… I’m so happy for you. I’m so proud of what you could do. I’m- I’m just really glad, glad you could get to do this.”

He shakes my hand, clasps it with both of his and shakes it. I thank him and he smiles and then hurries away as fast as he can without running.

Our train arrives and the trip south passes in a semilucid blur.

We get back to our car and climb in.

It’s 4:30 and we are starving.

There’s a Carls Jr near the station that we stop off at and have our first official meal as a married couple. We sit by the window and watch people walking past and pick out others who are returning from San Francisco. We're all easy to pick out, what with the combination of giddiness and water damage.

We get home about 6-7. We take the dog out for a good long walk after being left alone for two days in a row. We shower. We bundle ourselves up. We bury ourselves in blankets and curl up and just sort of sit adrift in the surrealness of what we’d just done.

We wake up the next day, Tuesday, to read that the California State Supreme Court has rejected the petition to shut down the San Francisco weddings because the paperwork had a misplaced comma that made the meaning of one phrase unclear.

The State Supreme Court would proceed to play similar bureaucratic tricks to drag the process out for nearly a full month before they have nothing left and finally shut down Mayor Newsom’s marriages.

My parents had been out of state at the time at a convention. They were flying into SFO about the same moment we were walking out of City Hall. I apologized to them later for not waiting and my mom all but shook me by the shoulders. “No! No one knew that they’d go on for so long! You did what you needed to do! I’ll just be there for the next one!”

00000

It was just a piece of paper. Legally, it didn’t even hold any weight thirty days later. My philosophy at the time was “marriage really isn’t that important, aside from the legal benefits. It’s just confirming what you already have.”

But maybe it’s just societal weight, or ingrained culture, or something, but it was different after. The way I described it at the time, and I’ve never really come up with a better metaphor is, “It’s like we were both holding onto each other in the middle of the ocean in the middle of a storm. We were keeping each other above water, we were each other’s support. But then we got this piece of paper. And it was like the ground rose up to meet our feet. We were still in an ocean, still in the middle of a storm, but there was a solid foundation beneath our feet. We still supported each other, but there was this other thing that was also keeping our heads above the water.

It was different. It was better. It made things more solid and real.

I am forever grateful for all the forces and all the people who came together to make it possible. It’s been twenty years and we’re still together and still married.

We did a domestic partnership a year later to get the legal paperwork. We’d done a private ceremony with proper rings (not just ones grabbed out of the husband’s collection hours before) before then. And in 2008, we did a legal marriage again.

Rushed. In a hurry. Because there was Proposition 13 to be voted on which would make them all illegal again if it passed.

It did, but we were already married at that point, and they couldn’t negate it that time.

Another few years after that, the Supreme Court finally threw up their hands and said "Fine! It's been legal in places and nothing's caught on fire or been devoured by locusts. It's legal everywhere. Shut up about it!"

And that was that.

00000

When I was in highschool, in the late 90s, I didn’t expect to see legal gay marriage until I was in my 50s. I just couldn’t see how the American public as it was would ever be okay with it.

I never expected to be getting married within five years. I never expected it to be legal nationwide before I’d barely started by 30s. I never thought I’d be in my 40s and it’d be such a non-issue that the conservative rabble rousers would’ve had to move onto other wedge issues altogether.

I never thought that I could introduce another man as my husband and absolutely no one involved would so much as blink.

I never thought I’d live in this world.

And it’s twenty years later today. I wonder how our line buddies are doing. Those babies who were running around the wide open rooms playing tag will have graduated college by now. The kids whose parents the one line-buddy was worried would see him are probably married too now. Some of them to others of the same gender.

I don’t have some greater message to make with all this. Other then, culture can shift suddenly in ways you can’t predict. For good or ill. Mainly this is just me remembering the craziest fucking 36 hours of my life twenty years after the fact and sharing them with all of you.

The future we’re resigned to doesn’t have to be the one we live in. Society can shift faster than you think. The unimaginable of twenty years ago is the baseline reality of today.

And always remember that the people who want to get married will show up by the thousands in rain that none of those who’re against it will brave.

#gay marriage #gay rights #gay history #gay

[seravphs]

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — GOJO x FEM READER

Gojo Satoru likes his girls clingy. 

wc — 1k

tags — confident reader 

He lets you loop your arms around his neck and whine for kisses, gifts, everything he has. With an unlimited budget and the deep pockets of a man in love, he spoils you rotten. 

Here’s the problem with being the strongest: you will always be the strongest. From the day he was born, there was no competition. Gojo didn’t even have to begin to outstrip his peers. He was simply born better than them. 

But eventually, even that level of talent grew exponentially until he went from being simply unbeatable to untouchable. His growth was incomparable, leaving him a lonely god on his own plane of existence. 

That’s why he needs you: sweet and soft and demanding. Everyone else had it all wrong. 

The Gojo clan spoiled their young head rotten. Knowing that he would bear the burden of the world from the moment he was born and those blue eyes opened, his mother demanded her child grow up in peace. Nothing was asked of him, no demands, no pleas for help. 

The outside world relied on Gojo as their saviour, but within the Gojo compound, he was just a spoiled little boy whose mother adored him. 

The way he acts within the walls of the Gojo stronghold is a carefully kept secret. He’s as soft as a newborn kitten, hair carefully washed by his childhood nurses and left out to sun in a patch of light. He’s sleepy and warm and mellow, hardly the strongest anymore. Without knowing any of this, you somehow bring that back out in him years later. 

An auxiliary manager in training, you first met him when you were tagging along with Ijichi on one of Gojo’s missions. Ijichi was flustered, even more so than usual, at the thought of having to care for a mentee when he could hardly take care of himself.

It only made matters worse that your first mission would be with Gojo. His heart sank into the pit of his stomach, despairing at how he would inevitably fail to shield you from his barbed comments and wicked teasing. 

In the end, he needn’t have worried. The two of you turn the tables on him. 

Poor Ijichi. 

It started off as a way to bully him more, because Gojo could be such a little tyrant. 

“Come on, Ijichi. Let her tag along, what’s the harm!” 

“You heard him,” you had announced self-importantly, and thrown yourself promptly into the passenger seat. 

That was usually Gojo’s seat, but he was willing to give it up for some amusement. 

You hadn’t been given permission to go on this mission, but you had insisted. First you wheedled, then you whined, finally you outright demanded. You wanted see the powerful Satoru Gojo in action. 

He leans forward, arms draped over the back of your seat. He pokes your cheek playfully as he says, “Oh, are you a fan?” 

“As if!” You scoff. “I don’t care about you, I care about your cursed technique.” 

Gojo takes your bluntness in stride. Maybe it’s the way your eyes sparkle when you talk about his technique (he caught you demanding details on Hollow Purple from Ijichi once) or maybe it’s the way your cheeks puff out when you pout. He knows you’re lying. Part of your assignment to Ijichi is because you begged Masamichi to be placed where you could watch Gojo work. 

It’s easy work for him. The curse is vaporized in seconds. He makes it look so weak you wonder why they even bothered with it at all until you remember that this curse had been failed to be exorcised by a first grade sorcerer who had come back licking his wounds. It’s not that it’s weak, it’s that he’s too strong. 

“Anyone up for lunch? My treat,” Gojo says, still immaculate as ever. 

Ijichi, who had been standing so close he got covered in some strange muck, not even from the curse but from Hollow Purple cutting through the mud, looks at him suspiciously. Gojo is never this nice. 

You have no such reservations. Ijichi yelps and protests when Gojo brings you to a luxurious restaurant in the heart of Tokyo without a reservation, relying on the strength of his name alone. He doesn’t even eat much, content to watch you order whatever you like on his dime. It amuses him, the way you’re so confident about it, as if you know he won’t refuse you. 

He won’t. 

By the time you order dessert - for you and Gojo, telling him he’ll like whatever you choose for him - he can’t bear the burning question that’s been lurking in the back of his mind anymore. 

“Smoke break!” He demands cheerfully. 

“You don’t even smoke!” Ijichi says, terrified, as if Gojo is some high school bully dragging him out under another pretense to shake him down for cash. He might, just for fun. 

You smile and wave them off. You wouldn’t let Gojo do that seriously, but Ijichi is just so fun to tease. You’ll come rescue him later if it looks like he’s really miserable. 

“Alright, spill the beans,” Gojo says, leaning against the doorframe and blockading Ijichi from going back inside. “What’s her deal?” 

Ijichi just stares at him slack jawed, open mouthed, terrified, clearly still waiting for some kind of attack. 

“Oh, come on! I’m not that mean to you, am I?” Even Gojo can’t resist a twitchy smile at what he’s saying. “Who is she? Where’s she from?” 

Ijichi blinks. “She’s just some girl. Masamichi hired her.” 

“She’s a right little princess,” Gojo murmured. “What, is she the daughter of a clan head or something? Maybe even the Three Clans?” 

Ijichi sighs. “You would think so with that attitude, but she just comes from a normal non-sorcerer family.” 

“Her?” Gojo asks disbelievingly. “A girl like that? Impossible.” 

“It’s true,” Ijichi says. “I don’t even know where Masamichi picked her up.” 

Gojo returns to his seat with a overly sweet parfait waiting for him. You’re right, he does like it. Or maybe he likes it because you’re finally giving him your full attention, waiting with rapt delight to see if he’ll give it full stars. 

He thinks he might take you out to dinner more, if it gets you to look at him like that. You might not be a clan princess yet, but he can’t wait to make you one.

#sera writes #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojou x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #gojo fluff #gojou fluff

[bitbrumal]

                                                                   QUESTION               @galactia​​​    ↤    accepting    ::    ¥ RATINGS    ↩ ¥ - Zhongli would like to be rated by Kaeya

Put ¥ in my ask and my muse will rate your muse on:

Looks: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 Personality: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 Attraction: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 Would they date them: YES LMFAO WTF | No. How dare. Definitely not. Who are you & why have you broken into his house-

Favorite thing about them:  Buried in his forearms, Kaeya frees one to gesture faintly ... at all of Zhongli. Least favorite thing about them:  Frustration in this littlest of growls / forehead ground into forearms---this next gesture is sharper. “Shut up.”

My Boyfriend Is A God & I’m His Heathen - The Struggles Of A Medieval Millennial. Should I Be This Happy, IDK.

#kaeya ✦ galactia #with: galactia #rp ✦ kaeya #galactia #the worst thing about zhongli is he makes kaeya feel everything he's ever wanted in every way he's needed & he'd give up just about everythi #ng....if it meant a life with zhongli. and he's feeling some types of ways abt that #he's still loyal to diluc but unless there's a seriously good development there he wants to just. up & leave to liyue. & he's worked too har #d for his current life to be okay with wanting to just /ditch literlaly all of it/. #doesn't make it less true he's just having a hard time accepting it D;LFKJA;SLDKFSDFJ #kaeya: pls god send me ur kindest angel #god: nah i'll do. c: ain't nobody better for the job #kaeya: #kaeya: oh g o d #KAEYA 'I OWE DILUC NOTHING BUT I STILL WISH HE KNEW HOW LOYAL I AM / WAS TO THE LIFE HE GAVE ME' ALBERICH #KAEYA 'I'D SELL U TO SATAN FOR A CORN CHIP & A LIFE IN THE CHINESE METROPOLIS' ALBERICH #the duality of man. #KAEYA 'HOW DO I TELL EVERYONE I KNOW I'M DITCHING THEM WITHOUT SMILING ANGELICALLY IN MY HAPPINESS AT THE FACT' ALBERICH #KAEYA 'YES MY LIYUEN BF OUTSTRIPS ALL OF YOU MFUCKERS & I KNOW IT'S MY FAULT BUT STILL LMAO I'M OUTTIE' ALBERICH #cain 'i'm letting this bit go now' bitbrumal

[queen-breha-organa]

so you’re telling me that I watched Andor (2022) and I heard quotes like “one way out” , “Tell him I love him more than anything he could ever do wrong.” , “The pace of repression outstrips out ability to understand it.” , “The Empire is a disease that thrives in darkness, it is never more alive than when we sleep.” , “You think they care what we say? Nobody's listening. Nobody.” , “Everyone has their own rebellion.” , and “I burn my life to make a sunrise I know I'll never see.” and now I’m just supposed to watch other Star Wars as if the course of my life wasn’t fundamentally changed-

#Star wars

[papasmoke]

The projected number of Palestinians living in State of Palestine at the end of 2015 is 4.75 million: around 2.90 million reside in the West Bank and 1.85 million in Gaza Strip

The population growth rate stands high at 2.8% and it is expected to remain stable due to decline in mortality rates while fertility rate remains one of the highest in the Arab region standing at 4.06, with high disparity between Gaza and West Bank, 4.5 and 3.6 respectively.

The average age of population is increasing; the proportion of children below 15 declined to 39%, while the working age population is increasing reaching 57% in 2014.

https://palestine.unfpa.org/en/population-matters-0

https://www.pcbs.gov.ps/portals/_pcbs/PressRelease/Press_En_InterPopDay2022E.pdf

The second link is the government of palestine. It shows no mass population decline, the sort of small drop in average family size as people become more well off and stable, and a decrease in illiteracy and childhood problems.

Literally the opposite of a genocide. There is no jewish run genocide you're just a jew hater, mad at your parents or society in general, projecting and spewing terrorist propaganda

White supremacist obsession with non white birthrates being used as pretext for genocide denial. "Look how many kids theyre having! We can't be killing and displacing them." Nazi rhetoric. Southern white slaver rhetoric. Half of Gaza's population is children, everyone knows this, fears about Palestinain birthrate outstripping Israei birthrates is one of the central neuroses fueling modern Zionism and you repeat it like it's exhonerating. You type this out while Israeli military and government officials explicitly state their intention to depopulate Gaza, while racist right wing extremist settler militias commit pogroms across the west Bank with the backing of the IDF and with the tacit approval of Europe and the United States.

[anghraine]

A few days ago, I briefly mentioned Wickham's take on Lady Catherine, and it's stuck in my mind. At least, this specific part of the description has:

She [Lady Catherine] has the reputation of being remarkably sensible and clever; but I [Wickham] rather believe she derives part of her abilities from her rank and fortune, part from her authoritative manner, and the rest from the pride of her nephew, who chooses that everyone connected with him should have an understanding of the first class.

I mean, in fairness to ... Wickham (ugh), it's evidently true that Lady Catherine is not actually clever and her power and force of personality do a lot of the work of giving her a reputation for it. But I do think the way he manages to link this to Darcy is interesting.

Wickham seems to assume that Darcy can just choose that everyone connected with him has a reputation for high intelligence, which I think is pretty debatable. On top of that, Wickham assumes that Darcy would choose to do that, because of pride. He's set up an odd framework in which Darcy cares deeply about everyone around him being perceived as clever (but only for nasty pride reasons, of course!), and in fact cares so deeply that he'd bring his influence to bear in maintaining Lady Catherine's reputation for it.

I don't think Lady Catherine's reputation for cleverness rests on Darcy just wanting his family to be seen as clever or requires that explanation at all. But I find it intriguing that Wickham thinks so, or at least says he does, given the Ch 4 description of Darcy:

In understanding, Darcy was the superior. Bingley was by no means deficient; but Darcy was clever.

So I suspect this may be part of Wickham's attempt to acknowledge Darcy's good reputation and qualities enough to cover his ass later, while tying everything good about him to his pride. Wickham doesn't quite admit that Darcy's (alleged) desire for those around him to be seen as clever derives from Darcy being clever himself and valuing the quality, but I think it's kind of implied, and at the very least, he could suggest that he'd said something to that effect.

It's a bit how he describes Darcy's careful guardianship of Georgiana (which Wickham certainly has reason to know about!). He mostly attributes it to Darcy's reputation for being a good brother, finds a way to make it somehow about pride, and barely wedges in a grudging admission that Darcy actually has some real affection for Georgiana. I suspect he only does the last because it's so incredibly obvious that it'd be suspicious if Wickham suggested otherwise.

I do wonder, though, if part of the reason that Wickham associates Lady Catherine's reputation for cleverness with Darcy's supposed desire for his family/connections to be seen as clever is Wickham's own fixation on Darcy. Wickham knows Darcy is seen as clever and likely that Darcy values intelligence. Darcy and Wickham were brought up together as companions in the same household. And tbh I don't think Wickham himself is, or has ever been, particularly clever in the way that Darcy and Elizabeth are.

Wickham suggests that Darcy was insecure and jealous from childhood (and some readers have really wanted to believe him!). But my headcanon is that, growing up with Darcy, Wickham was the more insecure one. He was the one who was supposed to go to school and Cambridge and become a clergyman; he was supposed to be quick-thinking and good at his books and morally restrained. Darcy was the heir; he could be anything he wanted to be. Yet I would guess that young Wickham was continually outstripped by Darcy in those terms, that he came to resent Darcy's freedom and what he did with it, and that it's very easy for his mind to link Lady Catherine's supposed cleverness to Darcy's.

In Wickham's head, the connection must somehow be causal. But he can't bring himself to quite admit to anyone that Darcy's cleverness is real any more than he can admit that Darcy's generosity or moral rectitude are real. It's got to be about pride, reputation, family, fortune. And I suspect Wickham can't admit the truth to himself, either.

#i feel like wickham really blurs the lines between what qualities ly c and darcy actually have and what they have the reputation for having #because he's so much about the appearance of things and doesn't engage with the reality of them #oh and i also have headcanons about how darcy himself relates to this but that's a post for another day #anghraine babbles #long post #austen blogging #lady anne blogging #george wickham #fitzwilliam darcy #lady catherine de bourgh #anghraine's headcanons #pride and prejudice #jane austen #austen fanwank

[txttletale]

nothing about ai art is new

[we’re sitting in a taco bell drive through and ive abused my control over the aux cord to make you listen to indie rock classic apollo 18 by they might be giants for hours on end]

so there’s been a lot of yammering on about stable diffusion and how it will revolutionize/destroy/democratize/annihilate the world of art, depending on which impassioned twitter thread you read. what they all have in common though is (incorrectly) treating this as some radical new shift, an unprecedented leap forward caused by cutting-edge technology. this is wrong: nihil sub sole novum.

this post is not about:

ip law

whether ip law is a good thing (no)

whether ai art is Real Art (what is this girls 1917?)

how AI art actually works (as far as i can tell, like this)

this post is about

karl marx babeyyy

so in a sexy little number called wage labour and capital, carlos marx lays out some of the foundations of marxist theory. these include the labour theory of value (that the value of a thing, whether expressed in the use of something or in its exchange for other things, is only created or increased when a human being performs labour. e.g. fabric + hours of human life = clothing, which is both more useful and more valuable in exchange terms than the fabric) and the division of labour

to make a long and well-written argument short and poorly formulated (seriously, read the original, it’s like 25 pages), the price of a commodity* rises and falls around a base price that’s based on the cost of production. ‘wages’ are simply the term for the price of the commodity of ‘labour-power’, or hours of human labour**--and therefore, they rise and fall around the cost of producing human labour.

now, how much does that cost? pretty simple. first there’s the basic costs of the labourer continuing to survive day to day. then there’s the costs of them having children who can grow up to be labourers and keeping them alive too. finally, there are the costs of the labourer’s training, and these can far outstrip the first two. it’s expensive for a capitalist to hire a digital artist because the cost of producing digital artists (the survival of a human being + years and years of practice) is high--so the commodity of their labour power is priced highly.

however, marx also succintly explains supply and demand--concepts everyone’s probably semi-familiar with. when there are many sellers of a commodity, they compete for buyers by offering their commodities at lower and lower prices.

bearing in mind that ‘wages’ are just the price of the commodity of human labour-power--this means that technological development in production has a twofold depressive effect on wages: not only are less people employed (if a capitalist can produce twice as much of a commodity, they’re not guaranteed twice as much of a market--so they will instead tend towards producing the same amount at half the cost), but more people are capable of doing the work. so for the same process of production, there are more people capable of doing it, and less people needed to do it. as marx puts it:

“The greater division of labour enables one labourer to accomplish the work of five, 10, or 20 labourers; it therefore increases competition among the labourers fivefold, tenfold, or twentyfold. The labourers compete not only by selling themselves one cheaper than the other, but also by one doing the work of five, 10, or 20; and they are forced to compete in this manner by the division of labour, which is introduced and steadily improved by capital. Furthermore, to the same degree in which the division of labour increases, is the labour simplified.

The special skill of the labourer becomes worthless. He becomes transformed into a simple monotonous force of production, with neither physical nor mental elasticity. His work becomes accessible to all; therefore competitors press upon him from all sides. Moreover, it must be remembered that the more simple, the more easily learned the work is, so much the less is its cost to production, the expense of its acquisition, and so much the lower must the wages sink – for, like the price of any other commodity, they are determined by the cost of production. Therefore, in the same manner in which labour becomes more unsatisfactory, more repulsive, do competition increase and wages decrease”

when marx wrote this, he was talking about artisan craftsmen who made goods by hand in small workshop. since then we’ve seen this exact process sweep across every industry, devouring the manufacturing sector, now creeping second by second into the white-collar service economy. now, we are seeing this on the horizon for artists--there’s far more skill in creating AI artwork than some people give credit for, but it is ultimately in terms of time and accessibility easier and broader to do--it will have these effects if it is able to produce output on par, or even just slightly worse than, professional photographers and artists, for a fraction of the cost of labour-power.

so, like, why have i just written all this? to point out that the phenomenon people are scared of wrt AI art driving already precarious working artists into poverty is not some new and endemic technological horror. it is a social process that’s been ongoing for centuries--and the productive forces are not going to roll back, because capitalism demands ever-rising profits which demand ini turn ever-lower costs of production, including (especially) lower costs of production of skilled labour. if you are trying to stop stable diffusion AI tech from being used then you are trying to stop the horse by pulling on the reins of the cart. 

if you are scared that AI art is going to make your passion and profession economically worthless, the tools themselves are not your enemy--it is the system that decides how these tools will be used, that art becoming easier to make is a vector by which to divide and precaritize working artists instead of to broaden access to the joy of creation--in the same way that industrial production has been used to create the system of wage-slavery instead of providing for all, in the same way that will repeat over and over again until the system that allocates resources and labour to maximize profit instead of human welfare is toppled and replaced

[the drive thru employee politely clears their throat. i turn to them and say ‘oh i didnt want anything i just like the smell out here’ and drive away directly into a lake]

*in marxist terms, a commodity is anything that: 1. has use value, as in, someone wants to have it and use it--eat it, wear it, play with it, watch it-- 2. has exchange value, as in, it can be exchanged for other commodities (price is a reflection of this exchange value through money), 3. has value through the application of labour power (someone has worked to produce it. even raw materials count--coal power plants don’t buy coal that’s still in the ground)

**engels explains the distinction between labour-power and labour in the introduction to the 1891 edition:

 “What the economists had considered as the cost of production of “labour” was really the cost of production, not of “labour,” but of the living labourer himself. And what this labourer sold to the capitalist was not his labour.

 At the most, he could sell his future labour – i.e., assume the obligation of executing a certain piece of work in a certain time. But, in this way, he does not sell labour (which would first have to be performed), but not for a stipulated payment he places his labour-power at the disposal of the capitalist for a certain time (in case of time-wages), or for the performance of a certain task (in case of piece-wages). He hires out or sells his labour-power.”

#ai art #aiart #stable diffusion #communism #long post

[the-music-maniac]

Yeah, something about Misaki crying and saying sorry for leaving Miri alone when Miri was telling her how much she loved Papa Rei and Papa Kazuki rubbed me the wrong way.

It's like she wasn't actually listening to a word Miri was saying. Her response to Miri telling her that Rei and Kazuki ARE her papas, and that she loved them was "I'm sorry I made you feel so lonely. But don't worry, I'm going to change."

Nowhere in her rambling did Miri say she was lonely. Nowhere did she imply it either.

It's as if Misaki thinks Miri only cared for Rei and Kazuki because she was lonely due to the fact that Misaki wasn't there. As if Rei and Kazuki were just placeholders for an "actual" family. A placeholder for Miri's "actual" parents. And it's implied by Misaki that it's her. Why? Cause she's related to Miri by blood, and Kazuki and Rei are not, of course. Those two aren't your real papas, she says, even though they raised you for an entire year, took responsibility when I tossed you away.

It did make me mad, I'm not going to lie. Beyond the fact that this is such a common fucking thing for unconventional families to hear - oh you're not real family, you don't share genetics, or a real family needs a mother and father, etc. Etc.-

Kazuki and Rei acted more caring then Misaki had for a majority of the show. And she just. Doesn't seem to see past her own little world to realize that parenthood is not about just blood, nor realize that Miri doesn't want two separate families, she wants everyone she loves together.

I appreciated that she was trying to change for Miri. It shows that she's human, and I'm very glad PA works didn't demonize her. She's an interesting and nuanced character. But this episode didn't make me like her any more. I didn't hate her, even from the beginning I didn't hate her. But I don't like her either.

She still had a long way to go before she could count herself as a good parent. I know people are pissed that they killed her off, but it made sense to me. Because the amount of development she still needs to undergo far outstrips the limited amount of episodes this show has. And the thing is, the show isn't about her. It's about the buddy daddies. The alternative is Miri watching her die of cancer. What were y'all expecting.

#buddy daddies #unasaka misaki #kurusu kazuki #suwa rei #unasaka miri #buddy daddies episode 11 spoilers

[inexplicifics]

If you're still open for the heart prompts, here's a lil curveball- 💚 or 🖤 for milena/aiden(/lambert). Or 💘, if those are too tricky.

I want you to know that this was quite a challenge!

Aiden flings himself between Milena and the sorcerer without a second thought. Witchers are sturdier than humans - and Lambert would never forgive him if she died while under Aiden’s protection. Hell, Aiden would never forgive himself.

The spell hits like a charging bullvore, and Aiden goes arse-over-teakettle, landing heavily at Milena’s feet. It feels like his bones have been filled with hot lead and his muscles turned to stinging nettles. He wants to scream and can’t quite find the breath.

“Well, that takes care of that,” the mage sneers, and comes mincing towards them. “Now then, your family misses you very badly, girl. Or at least they’re willing to spend quite a lot of money to get you back.”

“I will not be returning to them,” Milena says firmly. “What have you done to him?”

The sorcerer snickers. “Nothing that can be undone,” he gloats. “He’ll die slowly unless his true love kisses him, and everyone knows witchers can’t love. Now come along, girl.”

He reaches over Aiden to grab Milena’s arm, and two things happen at once:

Aiden finds the strength, somewhere, to lift his arm just enough to drive his sword into the bastard’s leg, high up where the blood runs near the surface -

And Milena produces a dainty little silver dagger from somewhere and puts it neatly and precisely through the sorcerer’s throat.

The sorcerer topples backwards, thank fuck, instead of onto Aiden; he’s probably dead before he hits the ground.

Milena drops to her knees at Aiden’s side, dark eyes wide and frantic. “Aiden - my gods -”

“Worth it,” Aiden rasps. Fuck, he hadn’t realized the pain could get worse. It’s not as bad as the Grasses, not quite, but if it keeps increasing at this pace it will probably outstrip even that particular high-water mark of agony fairly soon. Fucking mages.

But better him than Milena.

“No,” Milena says, shaking her head desperately. “No, you can’t - you can’t die -”

But Lambert’s not close enough; he’s a good three days’ travel away at best, and Aiden is fairly sure he won’t survive that long. Especially given that he doesn’t think he can stand. That blow to the sorcerer’s leg used up most of his strength.

“‘S alright,” he says, finding a crooked smile somewhere. “‘S worth it.”

“No, it isn’t,” Milena says fiercely. “And - and what I feel for you is no less than what I feel for Lambert, and you are willing to give your life for me, so this ought to work -”

And she cups her slender hands around his face and leans down and kisses him fervently.

The shock of the pain ending is enough to startle a gasp out of Aiden, and Milena pulls back, wide-eyed, to stare down at him in desperate hope.

Aiden gapes up at her for a long, stunned moment. Finally he finds his wits enough to croak, “No less than what you feel for Lambert?”

Milena blushes, which is answer enough.

“Marvelous great-hearted girl,” Aiden murmurs, and reaches up to cup her head ever so gently in his hands and guide her down into a second, softer kiss. “I would die for you,” he adds quietly, as their lips part. “Even as I would for Lambert.”

Four days and quite a few miles later, Lambert looks from Aiden to Milena and back again with an expression of incredulous delight and says, “I am the luckiest fucking bastard in the world, holy shit.”

Milena blushes and giggles. Aiden grins. “Nah, I think that’s me,” he says cheerfully. “We can be joint-luckiest, though, if you like.”

“Sounds good,” Lambert agrees, and wraps his arms around them both, clinging tightly. Milena nestles against his chest, tucked safely between them, and Aiden kisses his lover - one of his lovers, because he is the luckiest bastard in the world - with all the joyful gratitude in his heart, because he’s alive to do it.

And then he kisses Milena again, just because he can.

(It's also here on AO3!)

#questions answered #ask meme #heart asks #m'laiden

[lakesbian]

taylor would use bugs to cheat at escape rooms.

brian would attempt to get everyone to follow his plan

alec would try to guess the end lock to immediately escape before solving any puzzles

i think taylor would try not to cheat on the escape room but accidentally do it anyway and 15 minutes in she would start listing information about a mechanism she absolutely should not have or something and everyone would be like Uhhh and she would be like 😐what. sorry. lisa's thing is she still needs to feel like the smartest person in the room even though she can't really play so she's Commentating, Condescendingly. brian is without doubt expecting everyone to follow his plan and he goes from ":D what a cool and practical girl we are solving this escape room so efficiently together" to being misogynistically insecure as taylor contributes to and then significantly outstrips his plan in terms of skill. he's coping by trying to micromanage rachel. i think rachel would not like any of the logic puzzles involving trivia or some other such thing she does not know but if you (by which i mean taylor) gave her a more physical puzzle or something to fiddle with she could sit down quietly and have a fine time with it. if alec is there pre-aisha joining the team i think he would try 2 participate by making a mediocre suggestion and then when he gets kind of ignored or steamrolled over hes like welp im bored let me know when we're out...and sits back and tries to take a nap. if alec is there after aisha has joined the team they sitting in the back of the room trying to hide from the camera with a passworded box that's already been opened and figuring out what the mechanism for setting the password is and then changing it to PENIS. and giggling. these are my inexpert opinions on what the undersiders would do at the escape room what do you all think they would do

#ask #wormblr #parahumans

[cerastes]

I know Chalter somehow is still a touchy subject in this game but I wanted to know something. So people are really gonna complain that much about her to end of days and yet just shit on new casters for being created because Eyja gets a pass? And haven't kept up but I think Eyja got a medic alt? So now she's there as well.

Mmm I think this is a case of A Pretty Widespread Opinion (Chung being disliked) vs prevalent opinions in different circles (Casters in a game with Eyja). And they have different flows to each other enough that I really don’t think — and have never before seen — they should be discussed in the same breath unless it’s to compare and contrast them. So let’s do that.

Long story short, Chung the Hung isn’t just a strong unit, she’s a strong unit that is also a one trick, one skill pony, that trick being Fucking Everything — DEF decrease, insane damage, true AoE, skill cycling & effective uptime, ease of use — you’d need to severely crush most maps or at least significantly reduce their difficulty. This unit is also a bikini-clad alternate version of a lore-heavy character armed with what basically amounts to a poluted water Super Soaker. On top of that, she completely outstrips the existing members of her type instead of being a stronger but not objectively superior alternative. Furthermore, her availability is limited. And finally, she very well set precedent that HG could start releasing lazy, gamebreaking limited units as much as they wanted. Chung isn’t just a case of “unit strong”, she carried with her implications. Opinions on her were mostly unified.

Eyja is a different case: She’s a powerhouse from launch, and while she does invalidate a lot of other Casters as the objectively superior option — worse of all Splash Casters, in conjunction with how undertuned Splashers were even without being compared to Eyja — it’s vastly different to look at a unit from launch be weirdly overtuned, likely not intentionally, than it is to look at a unit after more than a year into the game be weirdly overtuned and limited, definitely bloody intentionally. What’s more, Eyja is strong, for sure, but the opinions on her vary depending on who you ask: A Gamepress brainrotted zombie will probably parrot to you that she’s the best of the best forever, while other player groups will tell you, well, yeah, she’s strong, but Goldenglow and Ebenholz are probably more relevant nowadays. Ebenholz was called a garbage Caster for a while because he wasn’t as fire and forget as Eyja. Nowadays, anyone with the ability to rub braincells together will tell you that Eben is an insane boss killer and also helps a ton with general use with his S2.

Yeah, you’ll keep hearing “Eyja is better tho” forever, doesn’t mean it’s true, and it’s not really an opinion that is necessarily championed by everyone. Probably Gamepress zombies or y*utube grifters will parrot that and thus cast a wide web of influence, but, I mean, you can also look at high risk/max risk clears or runs of high waves IS3 or any sort of high end content, and you’ll find a lot of other units. Eyja included, of course, since she IS good, but not an untouchable — or untouched — god in the way some people might say she is, which is not everyone. “Eyja is the only good Caster forever” is something I personally hear from people that don’t play the game anymore but feel like bitching about it, personally.

Mind you, I like Ch’en a lot and don’t care for Eyja, so these aren’t biases, it’s simply what I’ve observed.

#arknights #ch’en #eyjafjalla

[kanansdume]

Anakin Skywalker was not, and never would have been, the Jedi’s brightest star.

Because unlike Anakin Skywalker, the Jedi did not measure value by raw power alone.

Even IF Anakin hadn’t fallen so fully and completely and betrayed the family who took him in and raised him and gave him everything with zero hesitation, he wouldn’t have been their brightest star.

Not by the Jedi’s own standards, anyway.

Anakin was one among many and he had certain skills. But so did others.

Sure, Anakin could do some shit with the Force others couldn’t, but so far as we can see, Anakin can’t heal, he can barely teach and certainly has no skill with particularly young people, he has exactly zero political skills, no diplomacy, he’s not all that great undercover. Anakin has a VERY select skill set and there are plenty of other Jedi who would’ve outstripped him in plenty of skills he either just doesn’t have or only barely manages.

Everyone has valuable skills they can contribute to society, Anakin was no better than anyone else in the Jedi Order who had skills Anakin just... doesn’t have. Are they any less of a bright star just because they happen not to have been born with Anakin’s raw power even though they’ve worked for decades to hone their particular skill set to a level that can’t actually be achieved via brute force?

The man can swing a laser sword and fly a plane, hoorah. Everything else he does that looks cool is just that raw power that isn’t actually a skill. Call me when he has more skills that DON’T get utilized to enact lots of violence and THEN try to tell me he was the Jedi’s brightest star. And you’d still be wrong.

#anti anakin #anti anakin skywalker

[blackjackkent]

Hey there! Hope you're well 💜🙂

I'd love to see this one from the cuddling prompt list for Astarion x Whoever you'd like if that's okay! No worries if not 💜

"The small inkling of panic that the other may leave when they shift positions and then the relief when that’s all it was."

(Cuddling prompt list)

Oooh. Interesting! I haven't done a ton of writing with Astarion. c: New challenge! (Full disclosure, I haven't finished his romance yet so this is a bit experimental. But I hope you like! :) )

Alexis is the Tav I have currently in progress for romancing him.

-----

Back in the Gate, in the gang hideout where Alexis spent most of her life, there were a number of stray cats that always seemed to be hanging around. Not surprising, Jax would always say. Place full of rats like us, ‘course the cats will show up. And everyone would laugh, because Jax was the sort of person who'd kick your teeth in if you didn't appreciate his humor. 

Mostly the cats kept to themselves, but there was one, a scraggly little calico, who sometimes came and hung around Alexis's bunk. He'd sometimes curl up next to her side, or sprawl over her legs, but on very rare occasions, he'd climb up on her chest and settle himself in with his paws under him and purr. 

It was cute as fuck and about the softest thing that ever tended to happen to her; the downside was it meant no more moving for the rest of the night. Once she stirred - to scratch her nose, to roll over, to take a piss - that cat was off like a shot, usually digging his claws in on the way out. 

Cuddling with Astarion feels sort of like that. 

“Comfortable?” she murmurs into his hair. 

She feels his body shake slightly in her arms as he laughs. “You ask me that here, darling?” His face is muffled against her neck. He likes leaving it there when they end up curled up like this, his lips just brushing over the scars he’s left under her jaw. She hasn’t asked him why, but she suspects it makes him feel a little more in control. A reminder that she doesn’t own him when she holds him like this; that he could roll over, sink his fangs in, if he needed to. 

But he never has. When he needs to pull away, she lets him go.

Sometimes she wants to pull away herself, really. This is all just as new to her. He’s not the only one testing out new freedom, “conveniently lost” and never going back, and there are nights when the love (might as well call it what it is, at least to herself) feels a little like panic. It’s the reason she always sleeps with her legs wrapped around one of his, one under and one over. Just like his mouth at her neck, it’s a combat move stripped of its intensity; if he tried to trap her, she could dig the lower boot into the ground for leverage, force him over onto his back, and run.

But she never has. When she needs to pull away, he lets her go, too.

She grins crookedly. “Yeah, I mean other than the, y’know, terrible shadowlands and the impending descent into some weird Sharran bullshit.”

“Ah, I see. Yes, the ambience definitely leaves something to be desired. The company, however…” He hesitates, his fingertips twitching slow circles along her hip. “The company is immaculate.”

“Flatterer.”

“No.” His tone is unusually serious. “I don’t have to do that anymore.”

She grunts. “Weird feeling?”

“Incomprehensibly.” He sighs. His breath is as cool as the rest of his body, a chill breeze over her pulse point. “Lying is easy, you know. You know,” he repeats with a dash of humor, acknowledging her own shadowy past. “It’s the saying things that are true that’s… disconcerting. But that’s what separates this from… all of it.”

She nods. “Keep telling me something true, then,” she says softly.

“Oh, no.” She can hear the smirk in his voice now. “I already told you you were immaculate. I believe it’s your turn.”

“Fuck you.” 

“Fair is fair, darling. Can’t let your ego outstrip mine, you know.”

She turns her head so her lips just brush his ear, and she’s gratified to feel a soft shiver go through him. “You were the only thing that kept me from bailing on this whole fucking group, right from the beginning. No one else seemed to get it, how getting scooped up by that ship was the best and the worst thing that had ever happened to me, all at the same time. But you got it. You get it.”

“Yes.” His fingertips dig into her side sharply, just for a moment, then release.

“And then I couldn’t just leave you to deal with these lunatics all by yourself.”

“Implying you, of course, happen to be particularly sane.”

She snorts. “Wouldn’t go that far.” A pause. “Your turn. Something true.”

He goes still. Then his weight shifts backwards and for a moment a burst of regret goes through her. Too much, Lex… it felt too easy, for a moment there, and you pushed too much… He’ll clam up now, roll over and go quiet like he does when he feels like he’s losing control of the moment, or of himself. She doesn’t blame him for it, but she doesn’t want him to go…

But to her surprise, this time he doesn’t pull away. He just draws his head back so he can look into her eyes. She can barely see him in the dimness, though she knows he can see her clearly; those deep red eyes see everything, every moment.

“I’m scared, I think,” he admits softly. 

“Yeah. Me too,” she answers.

A beat. His lips twitch. “We’re both, of course, talking about the Sharran temple. All that black marble. Terrifying.”

She grins. “Yeah. Of course we are.”

#bardic-inspo #ask meme #drabble #bg3 drabble #bg3 fic #astarion #bg3 astarion #alexis cartwright #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #bg3 fanfic #ty for the prompt!

[joeyscherryjubilee]

Like Calls to Like (I)

Pairing: Aemond x OC

Author's Note: First part! Keen to see what y'all think. There's a bit of mutual pining but won't be much slow burn. Keeping to the show, we're gonna have a few time jumps.

Warnings: Jealous!Aemond, time-jump six years from the prologue

Word Count: 3,420

Summary: Aemond and Laenyra have been in love for years, they just aren't willing to admit it yet. At Aegon's nameday celebrations, Laenyra looks for answers about her dragon and Aemond gets jealous.

Laenyra huffed, turning in the mirror, trying to see all angles of the dress. 

“I don’t know.” She muttered, twirling back and forth. 

Helaena giggled at her niece’s antics, the handmaidens standing against the wall giggled as the princess spun so quickly she almost fell over. 

“Wasn’t there a red and black one?” Laenyra asked, looking to Helaena with a hopeful smile. 

Her aunt nodded and looked to the maids. 

“Bring us that gown.” 

They rushed to fulfil the command and Helaena came forward, helping in undoing the strings binding the dress together. 

“Thank you.” Laenyra murmured, stepping out of the dress and discarding it on the bed.

Helaena stroked the slight bags under Laenyra’s eyes with a frown. 

“You haven’t been sleeping well?” Her aunt asked quietly. 

“No, it’s the dragondreams.” Laenyra shifted on the spot. “We’ve been flying south the past few weeks. Lately, as soon as I fall asleep I’m there.” 

Laenyra did not fear the strange dreams, but it was difficult to find rest when her mind was so far away and she often woke up exhausted. 

“South?” Helaena asked and threw an arm around her niece’s shoulders, wishing to provide comfort.

“Yes, I recognised Horn Hill a few nights past.” She yawned, resting her head on Helaena. 

“Well a Lord Tarly is visiting in honour of Aegon’s nameday, perhaps you can speak to him and ask about it, if your dragon has been there for a little while, he might of heard of it.”

Helaena’s idea was a good one and Laenyra felt hope bloom in her chest.

The servants presented the embellished gown of black and crimson and Laenyra’s heart soared and her smile lit the room. Helaena assisted her in getting it on, pulling the dress ti secure it properly before ushering her niece to the mirror once again. 

The gown was tight. Though it was clearly made it be, to accentuate the proportions of her body.

“You look so beautiful, like the red lacewing butterfly.” Helaena said dreamily.

“Thank you, Helaena.” Laenyra had no idea what a red lacewing butterfly looked like, but any comparison to a bug was a big compliment when coming from her aunt. “Do you think everyone will like it?”

“You mean Aemond?” She asked with a small smile. “Yes, I think he will.” 

“Shall we?” Laenyra did a playful bow, attempting to change the topic, and offered her arm as she stood. Helaena giggled and took it, slotting themselves together. 

The two princesses laughed as they ran down the halls, Helena outstripping Laenyra and giggling at how difficult it was for her niece to run in such a dress. They were hurrying in order to not miss the official entrance of the royal family. 

Laenyra grabbed at Helaena as she almost rounded the final corner and tugged her into an alcove. 

“Wait.” She whispered and fixed her aunt’s dress that had ridden up from running. 

“Thank you.” Helaena murmured and tucked Laenyra’s stray hair back into place. 

They rounded the corner as one, arms linked and smiling in such an innocent way that surely no one could accuse them of anything.  

“You’re late.” Ser Criston reprimanded as they came into view. 

“Princesses are never late, Ser Criston.” Viserys corrected and his smile brightened as he reached for his granddaughter. “Everyone else is simply early.” 

“You look so beautiful, my dear girl. Your mother must be so proud of you.” He manoeuvred with his cane and stepped forward, pressing a frail kiss to Laenyra’s cheek and a kind hand on Helena’s cheek. 

“Happy name-day, Prince Aegon.” Helaena and Laenyra spoke in unison as Queen Alicent ushered Aegon forward. He muttered a greeting at them, stumbling slightly. 

“You will escort your wife.” Alicent muttered sternly and the eldest son of Viserys huffed and begrudgingly offered Helaena his arm. The princess took it with a grimace and Laenyra smiled supportively as Helaena sent a sad look her way. 

“And Aemond will escort Laenyra!” Viserys said happily. Alicent looked as though she would rather have Vhagar escort Aemond to the ball, but could say nothing as her husband stepped aside and ushered their second son forward. 

Her heart beat fast as he stood before her, the top half of his hair pulled back but the rest cascading downwards in silken tresses. His tunic was fitted to perfection, an inky green that only enhanced the vividness of his eye. He had gotten a new eyepatch too, she noticed, a deep brown leather that he seemed to prefer to his old one. He smiled at her and her knees almost gave way.

His eye darkened as it roamed over her, his jaw clenched and unclenched twice before he managed to steady himself. 

“Princess Laenyra.” Aemond said and bowed to her with a charming grin.

Laenyra blushed at his antics.

“Prince Aemond.” She teased and took his outstretched hand, her heart leaping in her chest as he pressed a kiss to it before tucking it in the crook of his elbow.

Viserys chuckled as he watched them, his love of their relationship one of the few things that granted him true happiness in recent years. He was eagerly waiting for the day in which they acknowledged their feelings to each other, so he might arrange a match between them, if he could convince Alicent. 

“Right.” The queen said briskly, attempting to draw the attention off of the too familiar relationship. “Shall we?” 

Viserys nodded and they all fell into line, Aegon and Helaena behind the king and queen. Laenyra and Aemond behind them, her fingers slotting between his as Ser Criston announced their entry. 

“You are perfection, Laenyra.” Aemond whispered as the doors were pulled open. 

“You exaggerate, uncle.” She said with a soft smile, half-tempted to flee from his intense gaze, but she could never run from her Aemond. 

“On the contrary, niece.” He purred and led them forward into the hall. “Sometimes I look at you, and I can scarcely believe you are real.” 

“You are silly.” Laenyra mumbled and Aemond chuckled, parading them through the hall and to the head table, the two of them sitting next to Helaena and Aegon. 

The surrounding tables were lined with courtesans, those who lived at court, though that number had dwindled slowly with the king’s ailing health. 

“Did Aemond like your dress?” Her aunt asked as soon as they sat down, not bothering to lower her voice and Laenyra groaned internally as Aemond’s look became one of intense interest and he leaned closer to them. 

“Indeed, dear sister. I dare say our niece is a vision sent by the gods themselves.” He said with a grin, enjoying how Laenyra’s face flushed at his continued appraisal of her appearance 

“I told you he would like it!” Her aunt beamed at the two of them, often finding refuge from her own marriage in the building relationship between her brother and niece. 

“You were worried about my opinion?” Aemond asked, his voice lowering slightly as he frowned. 

Laenyra huffed. 

“I just wanted to look nice.” She muttered defensively. 

“You have succeeded so severely I believe that ‘nice’ would be an insult.”

“You’re making her uncomfortable, Aemond.” Helaena said softly, noticing how Laenyra shifted and mistaking it for discomfort. In reality Laenyra wished to pull him closer and press their lips together, the audience before them be damned. His words stirred such a heat in her belly, a fire that only ignited in his presence. 

Aemond took his sister’s words though and quieted himself, allowing Laenyra a slight reprieve from her yearning for him. 

Viserys stood and the room silenced. 

“It is wonderful to see you all.” He said in a soft voice, his health not allowing him to project across the banquet hall. “We are all here to celebrate my Aegon’s name day. He is a man grown, and I am rejoiced to be able to welcome you here.” 

He let out a small cough and went to continue, though he had to sit in order to collect himself as a spasm of pain went through him. Viserys sat at Alicent’s urging and everyone clapped politely, sharing looks of concern at their king’s depleting health. 

Aegon wasted no time in toasting the room before drinking very deeply from his cup. 

Alicent grimaced at her son’s choice but said nothing, Otto simply regarded Aegon calmly before his gaze flicked over to Laenyra and Aemond. She stared back resolutely, she would not be intimidated by such a man. 

Aemond caught her staring back at his grandsire and huffed, their feud something he could not prevent though it irritated him endlessly. He drew Laenyra’s attention back to him with a touch, glaring at Otto for disrupting her happiness. 

“He enjoys upsetting you, I think.” He said softly, placing a large cut of prime rib on her plate before serving himself. 

Laenyra growled under her breath, picking at the food while shooting daggers to Otto. Her anger was soon forgotten though as Helaena grimaced at Aegon’s loud belch. She attempted to ignore the rudeness of her uncle as she ate. Though soon she saw his gaze flicker over to a serving girl by the door and decided enough was enough. Laenyra leant over and rested her chin on Helaena’s shoulder with a comforting smile. 

“Would you like to dance?” She asked softly, nodding towards the already twirling couples, those eager to forget the heaviness of the atmosphere. 

Helaena adored dancing and she smiled eagerly, her anxieties momentarily forgotten. 

“Yes, I would like to dance.”

Laenyra turned to Aemond. 

“I going to dance with Helaena.” She said and squeezed his arm as she stood. 

“Would you like me to accompany you?” He asked, standing quickly to pull her char out for her. 

“I believe we will be okay.” Laenyra teased at his protective tone. “Though you are welcome to jump in if I need saving from a monster.” 

“Hmm.” He hummed, smirking amusedly at her jests.

Aemond watched them step down from the table together, his eye keenly sweeping over the crowd, determining there were no threats to the two people he cared most about. 

He saw nothing of import but kept a keen eye on them nonetheless. 

“You lead.” Laenyra encouraged her aunt eagerly. Helaena nodded determinedly and lead Laenyra in a dance, their own movements matching those of the surrounding partners. The princesses giggled at the disapproving looks from some the crowd, the fact neither one of them was escorted seemed to be displeasing to a few Lords and Ladies. 

They managed to dance three songs together before someone disrupted them, a lord from the Riverlands asking Helaena to dance, no doubt wanting the favour of the princess rumoured to be so kind. 

Laenyra met Aemond’s high from the high table and grinned as he raised a teasing eyebrow. She began weaving through the crowd, seeking to go and pull him into a dance. 

“Might I have this dance, Princess Laenyra?” She halted and saw Aemond frown as someone spoke from behind her. 

Laenyra spun on her heel to face an unfamiliar man. 

“Lord Alan Tarly of H-”

“Horn Hill!” Laenyra chirped, interrupting the lord in her excitement. “Apologies for interrupting you, my lord.” 

“There is nothing to apologise for, Princess.” He said politely, clearly happy that she knew of him.

“So you are enjoying the capital?” Laenyra asked, eager to converse with him, trying to figure out a way to guide the conversation.

Lord Tarly hummed as though in thought. 

“The trickery of the court is unfortunately lost on me, I have no patience for those who do not mean what they say. Or perhaps I am not quick enough to keep up.” He said it with a smile and Laenyra found herself warming to the Lord. 

“You are an honest man to admit such a shortcoming, though I must admit the necessity of cunning in court is a tiresome one.” She said with a graceful twirl as the music built. 

“And you, my princess, are the first to admit the extremity of cunning required in the capital. I do believe that means I can trust you.”

Laenyra gave the lord a smile, allowing him to lead her through the dance.

“I do believe only fools trust dragons.” She said with a teasing tone. 

“Call me a fool then.” Lord Tarly stated with a grin and Laenyra laughed. 

The dance came to an end and they clapped politely. 

“Might I be inappropriate and ask you for another dance?” 

“You may.” Laenyra grinned, she liked Alan Tarly and his honesty about the cruel games of the capital. She didn’t get many chances to meet new people any more, in the time of her mother living in the capital, visitors were common and easy to meet. But as Viserys’ state weakened, newcomers were far and few between. 

The music resumed and the couple began dancing once again. 

“So on Horn Hill, the surrounding forests are said to be full of game, is that true?” Laenyra asked, attempting an air of polite curiosity. 

“Yes! Hunting is a popular pastime, the stags are magnificent to hunt. If you ever visit the Reach, Princess, it would be an honour to host you and a hunt.” He said eagerly, clearly fond of Laenyra and his family’s famed hobby. 

“It is a lovely offer, My Lord.” She said with the politeness of a princess. “Are stags the only large animals in Horn Hill, do you have many predators?” 

If Lord Tarly noticed her focus in their conversation, he made no mention of it. 

“Yes.” He seemed keen to discuss his home and Laenyra was glad for it. “There are bears from the Crownlands and a few wolves even.”

“No number of predators to truly disrupt the balance of prey then?” She asked softly, feeling disappointed at his answer.

Alan Tarly frowned at her peculiar line of questioning but didn’t say anything. 

“There has been a few reports of animal parts, carcasses being found as of late. Only in the past few weeks though, before I journeyed to the capital. Also an oddity of deer coming far too close to the keep’s walls, almost as though a predator, most likely a bear, has wandered into their habitat.” He spoke as a true hunter, the logistics of the it all laid out in preparation for a future hunt, but the specifics confirmed what Laenyra suspected. 

She smiled gratefully at his answer, immediately falling deep in thought. Lord Tarly noticed her shift though and grinned sheepishly. 

“Apologies, Princess Laenyra.” He said with an awkward chuckle. “My family takes hunting as serious as war sometimes. I did not mean to speak on things I’m sure you have no interest in.” 

“No, it is no issue at all, I find it all quite interesting.” Laenyra insisted with a gracious smile. She couldn’t wait to tell Aemond, this was proof her dreams were true. 

Lord Alan led her in the remainder of the dance graciously, his demeanour a friendly one and she was glad to talk to him. 

The music swelled and the dance sped up, Laenyra and Lord Tarly breathless with joyful smiles as the song finally came to an end.

“Might I dare to lead you in a third dance?” His tone was teasing and she was eager to continue their conversation. 

“Of co-”

“I do believe two dances is more than enough.” Aemond’s voice cut through the jovial mood with the sternness of his tone and immediately Lord Alan ducked his head respectfully. “You would not want anyone to believe something improper is going on.” 

The clipped way he spoke told Laenyra he was jealous, and she turned to face him, her hand reaching to tuck into his elbow. 

“Of course not, my prince.” The lord bowed once again and turned to Laenyra. “It was a pleasure, Princess Laenyra. I hope to see more of you during my visit.” 

“Of course you do.” Aemond muttered with such hostility that she led him away and into a dance, the song slower now and perfect for conversing and not being overheard. 

He gripped her waist firmly, his fingers grasping at her as his other hand slotted perfectly over her own. His eagerness to have her in his grasp was quite endearing. 

“There was no need to interrupt.” She murmured calmly.

“You looked like you needed saving.” 

Laenyra grinned at his protective nature, though jealousy certainly played its part in Aemond’s actions. 

“I was asking Lord Tarly about his home, if you must know.” She said coolly and squeezed his hand to let Aemond know she was not upset. 

“Horn Hill, why?” He asked, an eyebrow arching at the oddness of her interest. “You’ve never mentioned an interest in the Reach before.” 

Laenyra took a brief, casual, glance around to ensure no one was focusing too much on the two of them. 

“I had another dream last night.” She said softly. 

Aemond frowned. 

“Why did you not come and wake me?” He asked, his hand on her waist drawing her closer as his voice lowered. They had slept separately the past few nights, an odd occurrence as the two of them could only sleep peacefully in the other’s company. 

Laenyra shrugged nonchalantly but Aemond saw through her immediately. 

“They’ve been bad again?” He asked, his look one of deep concern. 

“Not bad.” She insisted quickly. “Just intense. We’ve been hunting more and I think flying South. We flew over Bitterbridge in the night, I recognised the old stone bridge and the flat lands. Though we have been near Horn Hill for a little while.”

“Not ‘we’, Laenyra. I know you feel part of the beast but they are dreams, we have no proof the dragon even exists.” Aemond spoke kindly but she frowned at his words. 

“You know they are more than dreams, and no one would be able to spot such a dark dragon if he only flew at night. I saw the damage to the Stony Sept before we received word of it.” 

Aemond nodded to himself, he knew her dreams were more than imagination, especially when she faded away from him during the day, though those fits had become less common as they had gotten older. 

“Alright, what did your Lord Tarly say?” He asked, attempting to keep out the jealous tone and failing. 

“He said that there has been less game as of late, or the prey had taken to hiding from something. His maester had theorised that there must be an increase of predators or something has migrated south and disrupted the normal balance. Only a dragon could do such a thing, and the forests are so dense and unpopulated by people that no one would be able to see it.” 

Aemond could not argue with her sound logic, but the idea of his princess running off to Horn Hill in search of a wild dragon was unimaginably dangerous, and he would never allow her to go into such danger. 

“Allow me to take you if you must go.” He blurted it out desperately though they had discussed it multiple times. 

“Aemond, you know that you cannot. You are too protective and Vhagar will scare off any dragon, wild or eitherawise, and you will not allow me to get too close and you would be putting yourself in danger, there are countless reasons for you not to come.”

“None of them important enough to dismantle the one reason I should go.” 

Laenyra huffed, her exasperation at his stubborn defence of her beyond irritating. 

“Oh yes, what reason is that?”

“We are always meant to be together.” He said calmly but his eye was ablaze with passion.

Aemond’s gaze was intense and she ducked her head, attempting to conceal how flustered she was. He twirled her once more as the music swelled and then led her off the dance floor, his arm firm around her waist. 

“You will come to my room tonight.” He said softly, pressing a kiss full of care to her hand as he finally released her. “Then perhaps we can both sleep soundly.” 

Laenyra smiled softly and nodded, wishing to hug him tightly but people were glancing at their abrupt departure from the dance. 

“Alright.” She consented and pressed a daring kiss to his cheek before disappearing into the crowd, embarrassed at her own brazenness.

Aemond stared after her. The fire inside him roaring as he withheld from chasing after the woman he loved. 

___________________

Tags: @grungegrrrl, @daddysfavoritesexkitten, @neenieweenie

#aemond hotd #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #aemond fic #house of the dragon aemond #aemond x oc #prince aemond #aemond x alys #aemon the dragonknight #aemond x reader #aemond x y/n #aemond imagine #hotd aemond #house of the dragon #hotd x reader #hotd #aemond targaryen x female reader #aemond targaryen x targaryen!reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #Aemond Targaryen x Velayron!reader

[juvenillia]

~ Death of Peace of Mind ~ 10: time

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem!reader

photo credits go to very talented @ave661

a/n: hey there and welcome back, this is more of a cute filler chapter, just prepare yourself for the next one.. this is going to hit different

CW/TW: mentions of guilt, trauma, nightmares, suggestive content, but only the slightest in this one

wordcount: 2.3k

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Time is a funny construction. Thirty minutes for example. Being on the battlefields and waiting for the signal to strike can feel like seconds. Not even knowing if you're ready, but you have to be. Standing in the infirmary waiting for the nurse to explain the injuries your teammate has suffered feel like hours. Hours that ate you up. Your usual nights would contain about seven hours of sleep. Your routine dragging you to sleep at the same time and at the same time out of bed.

Seven hours awake, too afraid to give in to your dreams can feel like eternity. But seven hours of restful sleep without any disturbing incidents that could feel like heaven. The best time of the past year. You didn't remember when the last time was you slept without your mind playing some awful jokes on you. You just remembered that you woke up and finding yourself tugged neatly under the covers of your own bed. Your memory was literally wiped, but you didn't care. For once you felt rested and relaxed while heading for your morning rounds. Nothing on your mind till Beth run up to you. "Something you wanna tell me, Seargent?", she was a teasing little piece of shit. Still a good soul. You just looked confused at her. "About your visitors last night?", she wore a mischievous smile. "Dunno what ya mean.", you kept your pace steady. "Sergeant MacTavish and Lieutenant Riley.", you immediately stopped in your tracks and suddenly you remembered.

You fell asleep in the common room; they must have brought you back to your own room. How deep asleep were you not realizing that one of them carried you all the way back? This will spread like a bushfire. "Well, it's nothing like it looks like.", you started to explain but she cut you short. "Oh, c'mon Sergeant. Everyone sees how they look at you. It's so obvious.", she cooed while patting your shoulder. You couldn't help but shift away from her. This left you even more confused. How would they look at you? Her words didn't make any sense. "Don't look at me so shocked. It's rare that the men of the 141 show even an interest in the opposite gender. Especially the Lieutenant, and now you enter the team, and they cling to you. Don't tell me you don't see that?! You enter the room, and it is like a spotlight sits on you. Their eyes are always on you. Some rookies even heard them talk about you.", her words nearly outstripped themselves. "Do me a favor Private, mind your own business. These thoughts are more than inappropriate.", you stated calm while picking up your pace and leaving her behind. You mentally scolded her for her assumptions. Still, you were the one with utterly red cheeks heading to the gym to meet with Kyle. The idea of Ghost observing you gave you a tingling in your stomach, but what made your stomach spin was that Ghost was surely the person that carried you bridal style back to your room last night. You sighed at the realization. Cheeks burning hot as you even ran quicker than before.

The next days were rather calm. You often went to the gym with Kyle. Had some sparring with Johnny and met with Ghost at the shooting range. You talked a lot about everything under the sun. Price and Laswell were up to an emergency plan how to turn the situation in the Camilo case. The base you frisked was indeed now heavy guarded, so it was a no go. But according to Price you would soon head out. So, every one of you stayed alerted.

The time flew by and soon you found yourself comfortable around the base, around the 141 and you knew that you never needed to set a foot back to Birmingham. The 141 became your new place to endure, survive and most importantly to live. Also, your period was over, but what wasn't over were the dreams that left you lonelier than before. To your surprise the scenario was nearly always the same and always the same smirk that left you longing for more. But to your fortune you were able to draw a line between the person you saw in your dreams and the Lieutenant that traded some good advice in handling different kind of weapons for the knowledge of your sparring skills. This dream Ghost and the still stoic Lieutenant were just so different, that it became easier to draw them apart. The more time you spend with each other the more you could see a difference between your fantasy and the man that became a friend to you. You didn't know if he felt the same, but you almost spend as much time together as you did with Johnny. Maybe even more than with the Scot.

He randomly found you at your morning runs adjusting his pace so you could keep up with him, he accidentally found himself in the kitchenette for an afternoon tea when you were already making yourself one and immediately pulling out another mug, and he like always showed up when you had your evening smoke. He was just there and of course everything was just random coincidences. What you didn't know was, that Simon did nothing of that accidentally. He knew your routine like he knew everything that happened at this base. He knew your time schedule and he couldn't bring himself to not showing up in the calm moments you could share. You always talked with him; he would gladly listen. You told him about Birmingham, the place you moved to as soon as you were legally allowed to move out. Not why though. He told you that he was from Manchester, and you shared some memories from that town. Memories that led you to a topic you never wanted to approach, and you didn't.

You told him more about Randy. You never wanted to talk about him, it felt like betrayal, but here in the late hours, clear night sky above you, a calming fag between your fingers and Ghost - no, Simon - seated by your side, you felt save. So, you told him about and God did it felt good. You told how the two of you met in a hospital, after one of the darkest days of your life. You didn't tell him what brought you there, but he had his assumption. Something that he wanted to never have to imaging. You even dared to mention your former team to him. Just the slightest anecdotes from operations. Their callsigns and that little box that was a gift of one of them, same as the lighter. You literally talked hours and Simon would sit there and listen. Listen carefully, that he never missed a thing you said, and he made sure he would forget nothing you told him. He appreciated the way you trusted him, and he loved the sound of your calm voice. Maybe one day he would be able to open to you as well, passing more share information of his story, of his past. He wanted to share with you, but there wasn't the right moment. He needed more time. For now, he just wanted to enjoy the peace he felt around you. You also never caught a glimpse of his face anymore. But you didn't push it. If he wanted to show himself, he would do it, sooner or later. In those moments everything felt at peace for both of you. And the talking helped to ease the pain in your chest. He was better than every therapist. You still had nightmares, but more rarely. You still found yourself clinging on the dog tag late at night and you still couldn't open your contacts and write that damn message. But it got better. You were glad that Simon was there with you, you were happy to have him by your side. Still giving you those God damn shivers, but you tried to ignore them. It felt too comforting around him. You didn't want to lose what you had just found.

Still, he was the one who wanted a bit more. He longed to make you smile, and even laugh like the others could. Especially Johnny. Anytime he stole a glimpse of both of you during dinner and sparring he always found you laughing. It seems like you had a way better bond with him than with Ghost, but who could blame you? Johnny was easy to get along, he was the person that slowly made Ghost warm up, so it was no wonder that he also was that person to you. Still, he had the desire to hear that melody from you because of him. He was eager to find out what could make you laugh.

It was now three weeks without an operation, three weeks just going after some chores around the base. Three weeks you found yourself enjoying the time with the boys more and more. The only thing that annoyed you were the words from Beth still echoing in your mind. Why did you always had to over think everything? She was a needy person that literally let anyone in her bed, like a barracks bunny gladly accepting every offer. Of course, she would see only those things, but it still bugged you. No one of them were flirting or obvious hinting something. You knew how people were around you when they had different intentions. You knew how men would treat you. You had seen the most different ways of it. But you saw nothing of it in Johnny and especially not in Simon. What did Beth think she saw? Nothing more than a fantasy she had...

It was late in the evening when you found yourself sitting on the patio together with Johnny. He told you a story from a festive in his hometown he went to when he was younger. Telling you all the pranks he pulled, and you listened and laughed with him. Fag in between your fingers, while enjoying the company. Moments like these told you, that the world wasn't such a bad place. Even if it were only a fracture of time before you got back to fight the worst things out there. That's when Ghost approached you and he didn't look so pleased. His tense body walking over where you were already seated. Johnny was sitting in Simon's usual spot next to you, during your evening smoke. He loved routines, and the spot on your right side became his. Johnny shouldn't be here at all; he should sit inside with Kyle before heading to bed. "Good evenin' Lt.", he exclaimed softly and you smiled at the tall figure that took a seat across from you instead. Instinctively pulling out your box with cigarettes and handed him the wooden box, he only shook his head. Usually, he would sit next to you, pulling his masked up, just enough to let the fag brush over his lips. You wouldn’t dare to look in his direction and would just keep talking. But he couldn't do it with you right in front of him. He wouldn't tell you that, and you wouldn't push his boundaries. You shrugged and put the box back next to you. "What were ya up to?", he asked shoving his hands in the pockets of his grey hoodie. Folding them into each other inside of the pocket. "Just talked about some childhood memories and that our Johnny was quite a troublemaker.", you laughed before bringing the cigarette back to your lips. Ghost nodded, his eyes following your hand to your lips and lingering there. Johnny noticed; he had taken notes quite some time ago. He bumped his shoulder playfully into yours, "See. When talking about stories from back home, there was something I wanted to ask yer." You only nodded as his permission to go on.

"Yer havin’ someone back home, bonnie?", but this sudden question made you choke on the smoke in your lungs. Simon didn't know why but his hands gripped each other tighter than before. His eyes narrowed and now stared at Soap before they found your figure again. "What ye told me yer from Birmingham but ye dinnea told me about the lads there.", he smiled while his eyes darted to Simon, who answered with a glare Johnny knew too well. You needed a moment to process the situation. Johnny never asked something so straightforward, especially not into this direction of topic. You took another long drag from the fag. It's not like the question was hard to answer, "Negative.", you simply stated. "But we already talked about that.", you glanced at him reminding him of the chat back in the safe house.

Johnny's eyes weren't on you, they were on Simon whose tension seemed to falter a bit. A grin on the Scots faces only grew, "Just wanted to make sure." - "Sure of what?", you leaned a bit further into the chair. "Och, ya know.", he stated teasingly while pushing himself up. "Gonna head to bed. G'night bonnie, g'night Lt.", he said while leaving both of your figures behind. Your eyes trailing after him, filled with confusion. Simon wasn't confused at all; he had an idea what Soap tried and he already hated him for that. You shrugged it off and closed your eyes, to just enjoy the comforting silence you now found yourself in. Simon wanted to break it, even if he hated Johnny for it, he was curious. He wanted to dig into your private life just once more. The life outside of the scent of smoke, dust, and gunpowder. His eyes trailed over your relaxed figure. An inaudible sigh. It wasn't the right time. There would be plenty of time for such things, but not now. Little did he know...

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