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#it was the root cause of so many things in my childhood

rabbitrah · 1 year

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A continuation on my post about unloved foods, specifically this is my in-depth defense of root beer.

Root Beer isn't inherently gross, it's just one of those weird local flavors that's off-putting to people who didn't grow up with it. We all like different things and also we all tend to like flavors that are similar to what we grew up with. That's okay! But honestly root beer is pretty unique and, in my opinion, delicious.

One of the main complaints against root beer is that it tastes like medicine. Funnily enough, it was originally marketed as medicinal! This is true for most OG sodas actually. Pretty much as soon as carbonated water was invented, people were drinking it to soothe various ailments. A lot of the original soft drinks were actually invented by pharmacists. I just think that root beer is especially cool because the main flavor came from the root bark of sassafras, a common North American shrub. Because it's so widespread and aromatic, all parts of the sassafras plant have been used in food and medicine by many different Native American tribes throughout history and was subsequently picked up and used by European colonists. In the 1960s, some studies indicated that that safrole oil, which is produced by the plant, can cause liver damage. Whether or not this would actually remain true after it had been boiled and added to root beer is unclear, but it was really easy to replicate the flavor, so the sassafras in commercial root beer these days is artificial. Another fun fact about safrole is that it's a precursor in the synthesis of MDMA. None of this information has stopped my childhood habit of eating sassfras leaves right off the shrub whenever I walk past it on a hike. I'm like 85% sure it's safe and also mmmm yummy leafs go crunch.

Another root beer complaint is that it tastes like toothpaste. I think this is probably because another key flavor in most root beer recipes is wintergreen. I'm assuming that the people who think this are the same people who think mint chocolate chip ice cream tastes like toothpaste. I can understand and even respect that some people don't like mint and associate it only with brushing their teeth, but like. Mint is a pretty common flavor. I mean I think it's safe to say that humans have been eating mint flavored stuff for longer than toothpaste has existed... anyway!

Other common flavors in root beer (real or artificial) are caramel, vanilla, black cherry bark, sarsaparilla root, ginger, and many more! There's not one official recipe, and root beer enthusiasts often have strong opinions about different brands. Some root beer is sharper, with more strong aromatic flavors, and others are mild and creamier.

Another thing I think is cool about root beer is that it's foamier than most sodas. This was originally because sassafras is a natural surfactant (and why sassafras is also a common thickening agent in Louisiana Creole cooking.) These days, other plant starches or similar ingredients are added to keep the distinctive foam. Root beer foam > all other soft drink foams. That's why root beer floats kick more ass than like, coke floats.

If you've never had root beer before, imagine if a sweetened herbal tea was turned into a soda, because that's basically what it is. If your first response to that is a cringe, fair enough. That's why lots of people don't like it. If your first response to that is "interesting... I might actually like it, though" then I encourage you to track down a can of root beer today, hard as that might be outside the US and Canada. Next time you see an "ew, root beer tastes like medicine/tooth paste" take, know that there's a reason for that, but also the same could be said for literally any herbal or minty food/drink.

My final take on root beer is that it would be the soda of choice for gnomes. Thank you and good night.

#txt #food #1k

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cometkenji · 5 days

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killshot, baby

Pairing: Aaron Hotch x Doctor!Fem!reader Cw: Fluff (for real this time), LONGING (this is literally 9k words of pure yearning idek how I did that), mentions of blood, Hotch gets shot, Jack being adorable, Jack gets injured too :(, no explicit age gap, this is just rlly cute idk it's sweet I love Hotch so much I need him Summary: When you get hired as the BAU's stand-by medic, the team leader ends up being the hardest part of your job. Disclaimer: Reader is chubby! She's always fat coded, but like usual she's not described here. Just know a chubby person was imagined when writing this <3 WC: 9k (Hotch is the love of my life I could go on about him forever) This is definitely not medically accurate, please just enjoy for the sake of the story. I LOVE HOTCH I WANNA SMOOCH HIM

As weird as it was, band aids were the thing you remembered most from your childhood. You grew up as a canvas for any sort of scrape, cut, or bruise. Any wound that made your parents feel mildly worried to utterly terrified were ones that decorated your body frequently. You never tried to assign any meaning to why you became a doctor, simply crediting it as your call to the profession - to people. If you had to, though, your consistently bruised adolescent body is the best root cause you could think of. It seemed only right that the kid who couldn’t keep her skin in tact would grow to love helping others. You liked to think that’s how you kept your head an average size. Your bosses and co-workers had raved about your abilities no matter the job you took, and after a while you had to start prioritizing keeping your humility. You had started as just a kid with bruises.

You tended to ground yourself with those same memories in times like this. For as long as you’d worked in the hospital, you held some disdain for agents. You saw many federal ones, being so close to the HQ for divisions like Behavioral Analysis, but some locals swung by too. You’d had far too many experiences of them being snappy, demanding, and usually inconsiderate to the team of people trying to save someone. You understood the individuals you were committed to helping often got there by doing monstrous things, but demanding to talk to someone when they were bleeding out and half-conscious always forced your tongue between your teeth in an effort to stay respectful. Especially now, pushing a stretcher with 3 other workers while trying to shake off the feds trailing after him. You recognized them, Agents Rossi and Hotchner, if you remembered correctly.

“We’ll need to talk to him immediately.” The man - Rossi, you assumed, seeing as he was going gray and had less of a charge fueling his steps - spoke quickly as the two men followed your team.

“Be here when he’s out of surgery.” You didn’t bother to look back, trying to convey your annoyance and praying they got the hint.

“He’s killed three women and has another one hostage. We don’t have time.” The other one piped up, easily keeping pace with you.

Abandoning your previous strategy, you let your team push the man into the operating room, shutting the door behind them and whipping around to face the duo. “I understand that, sir, believe me.” You were more elevated than you would have liked, years of unease unfortunately slipping through your efforts to withhold them. “But whatever happened when you found him left him barely breathing. You can’t speak to a corpse. You’ll have your time when he’s stable. Go do your job and let me do mine.” You tensed your calves planning to turn around, but quickly felt the guilt catch up to you. “I’ll call you if he wakes up.”

“If?”

You sighed. You hated profilers. “I’ll call you.”

“Call the headquarters.” He was scribbling down a number on the back of a hospital business card. “Ask for Agent Hotch. We’ll be waiting.” You nodded your head once, taking the card from his hands. He started walking away as he thanked you. “We appreciate it.” Sure.

–

The surgery to save the man had been a trip and half. One of the bullets had internally ricocheted, and the other two were lodged next to crucial arteries. You praised your mother for giving you steady hands as you inched them out of him. It took you and your team six hours and fifteen minutes to get his heartbeat steady, you estimated he’d be knocked out all night. You should call, you thought. You had no idea how late these people worked but they were more than likely expecting to talk tonight and you didn’t know if that’d be possible. You fished the card out of your pocket, his handwriting was impressively neat for how fast he’d written the number. You heard the line ring twice before someone picked up.

“This is Penelope Garcia with the Behavioral Analysis Unit, who am I speaking to?”

“Uh- I’m Dr. L/n down at Quantico Med. I’m looking for Agent Hotch?” Your words tilted up at the end of your sentence. The casual nature of his shortened name left a weird feeling in your mouth after you said it. “I have an update on a patient he was asking after.”

“Is this about an unsub?”

“A what?” She lacked professionalism. You wondered briefly if he had just given you the phone number of an employee.

“I’m sorry-” she laughed slightly. “Is this about a suspect? Hotch told me someone might be calling.”

“Um - yeah it’s about a suspect. He was brought in earlier. Is Agent Hotch there? I’m sorry ma’am but I've been in an operating room for the past 6 hours and I want to go home.” You hoped she’d respect your honesty, you really didn’t have the patience to explain yourself to someone new.

She chuckled. “I got you honey, I’ll page you over.” The line went dead for a second before the ringing resumed. Please be quick, you prayed, get me out of this fucking hospital.

“Hotchner.” His voice was rougher over the phone. You guessed the long hours started to weigh on him by this time of night. You always felt it the most around this time, too.

“Hi, sir. This is Dr. L/n from the hospital. We managed to stabilize your guy, but it’s unlikely he’ll be up before tomorrow. I know it was assumed he’d be awake tonight but it took longer to operate than expected.” Your guys put 3 bullets in him, so sorry for the inconvenience. “I’ll be here all day tomorrow. You can come by at any time and I’ll let you in.”

“Are you positive we can’t talk to him tonight? I understand the situation is difficult but this case is extremely time sensitive. I’m sure that’s not lost on you.” You cursed the man for not being more condescending in his delivery. Thinking of the poor person either trapped or dead right now due to the guy you just saved made you sick.

“I know.” Fucking hell. “I can wake him up.” A quarter dose of adrenaline works wonders. “Be here in fifteen minutes. You won’t have much time to talk to him.”

“Thank you.” He hung up. You put your head in your hands. Just a little kid with bruises.

–

The layout of the BAU made you envious of the workers here. You’re sure they’d dealt with atrocities beyond what the average person could stomach, but you also worked within the belly of the beast and man were those hospital hallways claustrophobic. The daylight shone beautifully through the large windows, and you asked yourself if you’d be able to cope with all the paperwork in exchange for a feel like this. There weren’t any front desks, nowhere to sign in, so you sat in one of the chairs by the door and waited to see if something would happen. You had been specifically requested to visit the building , a note signed ‘Strauss’ being left with the hospital secretary. You didn’t like being called on by a stranger, it made you nervous beyond belief. You’re sure anyone walking by assumed you were being charged with something. Sweating like a sinner in church.

“Dr. L/n?” A woman was standing near you, having completely avoided your eyesight until now. “I’m the board supervisor, Erin Strauss. Thank you for coming.” The woman was nice enough, but she seemed rigid, clearly confident in her authority. She led you to her office and gestured to the chair facing her desk.

“I’ll cut right to the chase.” She smoothed her pencil skirt as she sat down. “The BAU is seeking a stand-by medic and I’d like to offer you the position. You’re revered highly by your previous places of employment and your current boss has only good things to say. Along with a personal reference by an employee of mine, you’re certainly a person of interest. You’d be working interchangeably with three other individuals, however you would be the first one called when needed.”

That is definitely not what you were expecting. You were almost immediately ready to turn down the offer. You didn’t work well with cops. You worked well in a hospital, going into the field to patch the wounds of both good and evil was a less than appealing deal to you.

“You’d be on call while you worked your current position at Quantico Medical, when you’re at home you can remain there, but you’ll be flying with the rest of the team when they leave. You will be entered into a federal database, and employed as a stand-in for hospitals near you when working abroad.” She went on to explain you’d be paid salary, and when you heard just how much you could add to your monthly income by doing this, you took it. You were doing fine, you definitely didn’t need the financial boost, but you had family that could use it. Your niece had been close to turning down college because of the cost, so some extra money could really set her up.

“Excellent. You’ll start your field training next Monday.” She was shuffling papers into a hefty stack as she talked. “Come back when you’ve finished this and I’ll arrange a team meeting.” The stack was even heavier than you expected when you picked it up. It was far too early to be regretting your decision.

–

The first day of training had been easy enough. You weren’t an agent, so you avoided having to learn weapons or combat. It generally consisted of learning efficiency, along with how to work properly with agents and the expected etiquette when dealing with an unsub. You had met the team only once by now. Everyone had been nice - Garcia especially - but aside from her nobody had been particularly welcoming. The conditions of your job were a bit strange, basically capitalizing on the what ifs that came with the FBI title, and that created a bit of distance between you and the rest of the team. They questioned the necessity of you, they’d survived this long without a stand-by medic with them, why did they need one now?

Above any disregard for those in law enforcement sat your stubbornness. You knew they were on the fence about you, the most logical thing for you to do now would be attend every session required of you and prove yourself through pure accomplishment. Easy in theory, much harder to execute when Aaron Hotch is the one you’re learning from. He was a good teacher - you’d give him that - he had a confidence to him that easily dominated a room, attracted eyes in a way other men couldn’t manage. You’d ignored the initial stir in your stomach when meeting him in favor of attempting to scold him and his partner. Now, it was much harder to quell the slight pound in your head or the sweat on your palms. He was just standing up front, lecturing on the importance of a team, but his attire was the only thing able to break through the haze in your mind. Every time he’d shown up at the hospital, he’d donned a suit, a slightly baggy blazer worked incredibly well as a shield to your curiosity. That had clearly changed, as he shed the overcoat when talking to the class, having just a white button up adorn his torso. You took notice of the rolled up sleeves, clearing your throat quietly to snap yourself back into focus. You had the intention of snuffing out this little thing of yours but were a living contradiction at this point, setting on the goal of avoidance while barely ignoring the sight of the veins on his arms. You pondered the thought of sleeping with some man at a bar just to get this out of your system, but remembered how little projecting attraction onto someone else helps a situation. In other words, you were probably fucked.

–

The first mission you worked with the team had you flying to a tiny Georgia town to investigate a string of bodies being found in ransacked homes. It seemed to be a simple motive, robbery turned to murder, but the team was called down to help once the kill count hit five. You had been expecting a long commercial flight, figuring you’d need to invest in a good neck pillow and some aspirin. Nobody had bothered to inform you the Bureau utilized private air travel, or that you’d be flying in one with people you’d known for two weeks. You’re sure you looked a little out of place, looking around the plane without being obvious you were doing it and adjusting to the sight of couches on planes. The others, having had this privilege for years now, took their respective seats. You had been nervous about that, unfortunately. The unsure feeling of where to sit reminding you painfully of high school cafeterias and inferior reputations. The only open seat happened to be right next to the man you’d been ducking away from the past two weeks. Lovely. He took a moment to look at you when you sat. You were prepared to talk to him, but for now you busied yourself with rummaging through your bag looking for nothing and pretending not to see him in your peripherals.

“Do you get sick on planes?” He seemed to have a deeper motive when he asked, like you saying yes would solve a puzzle in his head.

“Not really.” You’d only been on a plane a handful of times. “Turbulence can make me nervous, but I think that’s fairly normal.” You thought momentarily that perhaps he would blame your obvious anxiety on that instead of his proximity to you. He was a profiler, you’re sure he picked up on tells for nerves you weren’t even aware you had, but maybe he’d write it off. “Why do you ask?”

“You seem…” He trailed off for a moment, looking over your face to try and categorize your expression. “I don’t know, lost?” He smiled, light and easy, and you realized he was trying to reach out to you. The comfortability in the gesture made your head spin. It was like a shot of morphine, enveloping your body in a dull elation - an escape. You wanted that comfortability, wanted him to feel weightless around you. There had been a certain tension between the two of you since you started. He was warmer than the rest, but also more awkward. Your first real interaction had been an outburst, and it left you hesitant to talk to him.

You chuckled at his remark. “No I -” You shook your head as you spoke, as if shaking off his accusation. “Nobody told me about the jet. You’d think exclusive aircraft would be in the job predecessor.”

He nodded in agreement, holding a slight upturn on his lips. “Yes, you would.” He glances away to check the time, looking back to you quickly like you were his homebase. “Strauss has a habit of getting ahead of herself. Plus, we’re all pretty used to it by now. I have to remind her sometimes that normal provisions don’t have a TI.”

“I’m sure.” It was clear she’d worked with the unit for a while. “Even if they did, though, they’d never find another Garcia.” You thought of the woman, bright and sparkly and incredibly good at her job. “You guys are lucky to have her.”

He stared at you, losing a hint of the lightheartedness and letting a wave of genuinity intertwine with it. “You have her too, Y/n.” His eyes were like a trap, rich pools of honey just begging to tug you down in. “You’re a member of this team. Don’t think your newness makes you inferior to anyone else on it. We’re lucky to have you too.”

Fuck, you were whipped. “I really appreciate that, sir.”

He smiled, shaking his head and waving you off. “Don’t with the sir, please. It’s bad enough when Garcia does it. You can call me Aaron.” Not even the other team members called him that, a thought that seemed to strike you both simultaneously. “Or Hotch, whatever you prefer.”

You just looked at him, letting a smile rouse your lips and trying your hardest not to let the effect he had on you reach your face. “Ok.”

–

The first case had been good training wheels, simply tending to a vic who needed stitches and getting a feel for the life of a field agent. You’d been adjusting nicely to it, quickly getting used to working random hospitals and waiting to be needed on an active crime scene. The others had warmed up to you tremendously after getting back, opening their circle for one more, and you couldn’t be more grateful. A team like this was something you’d wanted for a while, growing more and more unsatisfied with the callous ER workspace by the day. Ironically, there was much more life in jobs dealing with murder. He had also been warming up to you. The two of you hit the status of work-place friends nearly instantly. The endearing encounter on the plane simmered inside you for a while. The memory of it prompting you to keep talking to him, always searching for a fix of the painkiller you’d felt that day.

You weren’t a profiler, but you were unfathomably infatuated, leading you to never miss his tone getting softer with you, or any one of his touches that lingered for just a second too long. It just barely bypassed the line of friendship, but you never lost sight of that linear barrier, so it was incredibly prevalent to you when he breached it. You scoffed at the idea of any reciprocity, brushing off every remark made by a coworker or the one horrific time you heard JJ refer to the two of you as ‘mom and dad.’ This wasn’t a plausible thing. This was a stupid workplace crush that was more of a hindrance than anything. The growing closeness between you and him would have it’s effects properly restrained to the confines of your head, only permitted to express themselves once you were away from the man. It was an odd dynamic, but Aaron wasn’t an obvious guy, so trying to define the edges of you two would only draw attention to the fact you had been looking at all. No thank you.

“Shit.” The team was sitting around the table going over their files. You were mainly there for support, as you were never a part of the lead up to the catch, the chase. You heard Hotch mumble the exclamation under his breath and looked over to see the trouble. He was looking down at his phone, jaw resting between his thumb and pointer finger. You got up and moved to sit next to him, the motion virtually ignored by everyone else as they continued searching for connections.

“Everything ok?” You mumbled to him, trying not to disturb your friends who were nearly nose-deep in their files.

“Yeah.” He sighed. “Jack’s sitter canceled. I wanted to stay here to go over the latest crime scene but I guess I’ll have to raincheck.” The killings of your latest unsub had been increasing. You knew the collective stress that was starting to boil within the team. Him going home would only slow them down, a horrible addition to a killer that was speeding up.

You volunteered your night away before you even got a chance to think about it.

“I can watch him.”

Surprise was apparent in the raise of his eyebrows. “I appreciate it, but I couldn’t ask that of you.

You’re fairly certain you would do anything he asked of you, but the nobility of the man in this case almost made you roll your eyes. “No, please. I offered and I would love to. I’m not helping anyone just sitting here, and you leaving would slow them down. You know what to look for here, I don’t. I don’t want another girl going missing just cause your sitter flaked. I can do it.”

He seemed mildly speechless. “I -” He paused, trying to find the wording he wanted. “I suppose you’re right. I’ll send you the address, if you’re sure.” He looked at you with more adoration than you’d ever had directed at you, so intense your eyes instinctively ducked down. “Thank you, Y/n.” He was so touched by the action it made you slightly sad to think about. Had no one ever helped him? Maybe you were raised weird, this seemed hardly beyond common decency to you.

“What are friends for?” He exhaled a slight laugh in gratuitous agreement, but you saw the glimmer of his eyes dull slightly. The notion surely reflected in your own eyes as the words burned your tongue. Friends.

–

Jack was a delight. A well mannered, clearly well raised kid. Parts of his dad shined so vibrantly in him that you’re sure you’d be able to pick him out of a crowd based on mannerisms alone. Hotch had called Jack’s daycare, verifying your identity and giving you the ok to go pick him up. He seemed quiet on the way home, but rushed to give you a tour of the house, and excitedly led you to his line up of toy trains once you’d entered the place. There was a shift between you and Hotch that happened when you gave the offer. A shift that was now only just settling in you. This was his house. His space, his stuff, his place of security. He’d invited you into it, gave you permission to enter it, to exist within it, and it was strangely intoxicating. He was intoxicating, and you realized quickly how much you ached for the permanence of it. You’d made Jack dinner, played for a bit, went out for ice cream per his pleading, and wished him a peaceful goodnight when his bedtime rolled around. He’d dubbed you his ‘best babysitter ever’ and you knew as soon as the words hit your ears that you’d be watching him again. You’re sure situations like today popped up frequently for Hotch, you could be a valuable asset to him when you had free time. He would be saving money too. No need to pay a sitter when you were being paid by the Bureau every second you were there. Aaron had gotten home a few minutes past one, utterly exhausted and uncharacteristically apologetic. He was sorry for being gone so long, making you stay so late, everything and anything the man could apologize for was pouring out of his mouth. He’d welcomed you to stay, but his hair was messy from messing with it all night, and he’d ditched the suit jacket for a gray long sleeve. You’d wanted to take the opportunity, wanted to bask in the safety of him for as long as he’d allow it, but those restrained thoughts were clawing the walls of your skull with a vigor unlike anything you’d felt before. It would be abhorrent to dream about the man while in the confines of his home. You couldn’t do that - you wouldn’t. You brushed off any apology he could conjure and let him escort you out the door. His hand was on your lower back, and his voice was low from the siphoning nature of the day.

“Thank you, again.” He looked at you. “You’re a lifesaver.” You’d expected to hear some humor in his voice. The start of banter between friends, a casual appreciation for a job well done, but there wasn’t any. He sounded rough, slightly beat down, his eyes filled with a sincerity all aimed at you. A blend of pure adoration and a deeper level of dedication. Was this a commitment? What kind?

Heat bubbled in your stomach as you made eye contact. “Please.” You shook your head slightly. “Jack’s an angel. You’re clearly as good at this as you are profiling.” You nodded in the vague direction of Jack’s bedroom as you referenced the kid. “It was my pleasure. I’d love to do it again, if you’ll let me.”

He sighed out a small laugh and broke your gaze for a moment, looking back to you as he spoke. “I’d like that.”

–

You’d seen Jack a multitude of times after that. Aaron was never particularly fond of asking you, claiming that he appreciated the gesture but it was mainly Jack’s begging that made him cave. That, and your persistence. You liked Jack a lot, and more selfishly, you liked being around Aaron’s stuff. It was a little creepy, yes, but you felt better acquainted with him after being around his things. An energetic type of understanding, the type that deepened a connection without words. He was needed late tonight, and as much as you hated denying an offer to see Jack, you had priorities at the hospital. The previous sitter wasn’t able to watch him, so she gave a personal recommendation, and Jack got stuck with a stranger. You thought about him while working, probing and patching people half-focused with the desire to be elsewhere. You’d felt mildly guilty about it, but it’s not like it altered your work, so you figured it was harmless.

You wondered slightly if you manifested the event you were watching play out. You watched in pure disbelief as a sobbing Jack was being carried into the ER by a flustered blonde woman. There was blood staining the right sleeve of his shirt, pouring out of his skin in a surplus and completely soaking through the material. A jagged piece of glass was standing at attention in his wrist, having sliced through the fabric like butter. He was marked ‘urgent,’ who knows if the shard had hit an artery or where the glass had come from.

Most other doctors were busy, either operating or tending to patients. You’d walked to the front desk, remaining as calm as your racing heart would let you, and told the secretary to assign the case to you. “I know this one. Let me take him.” She just nodded, marking your name down as the primary doctor and allowing you to take him back.

Walking up to the blonde woman, you assumed this had been the new babysitter. She was a wreck, trying to explain what happened through her own hysteria while simultaneously having her words drowned out by the crying child. “It’s ok, ma’am.” You’d reassured her, obviously she hadn’t intended the injury. “Let me take him, I’m a friend of his father.” You saw the calmness dilate her eyes, making itself apparent in the relaxation of her tense shoulders. You removed the bleeding boy from her arms, holding him against you and cooing at him the way you would a baby. You took him to a stretcher a few feet away and laid him down, ensuring his wounded arm stayed flat in an attempt to slow the blood. He was on the brink of passing out, his body not having nearly enough energy for the sobbing on top of losing vital fluid. “Jack.” You addressed him directly, two more doctors aiding your transfer to an examination room. “I need you to stay with me, buddy. Just a little longer, I promise. You’re gonna be just fine.” You pushed with one hand, caressing his non-injured arm to emphasize your affection. “Just a little longer.” You looked at him in between looking forward to keep the stretcher straight, seeing that same adoration from his father’s eyes mirrored in his. You felt protective, realizing you cared for the Hotchners much more than you let yourself believe. Little kid with bruises, you skimmed through your origins in your mind in an attempt to center your focus. Just a little kid with bruises.

Two hours later, Jack was stitched up and sleeping soundly. You knew his sitter had called Hotch, probably as soon as something happened, and were not surprised to find him idle in a waiting room chair. He was leaned forward, head in his hands and knee bouncing violently. He heard footsteps getting closer, a feeling within him recognizing them as yours, and he looked up. His eyes were teary, tired. The look of a concerned father.

“How is he?” You’d never witnessed this type of worry in him, heard the amount of desperation in his voice.

You smiled lightly as a predecessor to Jack’s wellbeing. “He’s fine. Glass missed his arteries. We had him patched up in around an hour and a half. Gave him a lollipop and a light sedative to get him to rest. He should be all set to go in the morning.”

He sighed, and the amount of stress that audibly left his body made you feel a little lighter from where you stood. “Thank God.”

“Hey man, give us a little credit.” You joked, relieved when you heard the slight laugh come from his downturned head. Pity laugh, probably, but it was a cherished sound nonetheless.

“You have full credit, Y/n.” He shook his head, raising it to look at you. “Quite the hero.”

You almost physically recoiled from the term, rushing to correct him while maintaining the lighthearted nature. “Definitely not.” You rejected the praise. “Just doing my job. I’m glad I could help him.”

He leaned back in his chair, relaxing for a second before he planned to stand up. “Noble.” He chuckled. “But you helped my son. That’s about as heroic as it gets to me, doc.”

Blood rushed to your ears at your professional title being used so affectionately. “Go check on your kid, Hotch.” You waved back towards the direction of Jack, knowing that even though he was asleep, he’d want to see him anyway. You also hoped the slight distraction would draw his attention away from your increasingly flustered state. “You’ll have plenty of time to praise me.” You weren’t entirely sure you’d wanted the sentence to exit your mouth, but it was too late to bite your tongue.

He raised his eyebrows so slightly that you scolded yourself for having noticed. Such a minuscule action that seemed to move mountains within your brain. “Oh?”

“Shut up.” You rolled your eyes at your own remark. “I’m walking away. You know what I meant.”

“Mhm.” He smiled, nodding his head dramatically and rising from his seat. “Just name a time and place, doc. I’ll do good on that promise.”

You went momentarily braindead, hoping your eyes weren’t giving away the less than work appropriate feeling pumping through your veins. You stared baffled at him for what was definitely a millisecond too long before giving a half-shocked, half-flattered laugh and gesturing him away. “Say that when you’re not obviously sleep deprived and delirious and maybe we can arrange it.” The last thing you heard was him, laughing the way you do when you’re very serious but desperately trying to pass it off as a joke. You knew it well, having done it almost every time you were around him since you started. Comfortable, witty retorts between friends. “Have a good night, Aaron.”

Aaron, he thought. He’d remember that.

–

That had been the second shift between the two of you. Felt immediately by both parties and tossing you both into the deep end of whatever you’d been building with him. He’d been much more touchy, seemingly subconscious on his part but noticed by every part of your body, mind, and soul. You thought about what it could mean, then sunk even further into your incoherent mind when realizing just how subconscious the actions really were. He was just drawn to you. You had viscerally fought that conclusion as it came to you but it genuinely could not be anything else. He was touching you more because - whether on the surface or deeper down - he just wanted to, and that fact was wrecking you. You were so fucking into him that it hurt. Hurt to look at him or be in his home watching Jack or have his knee pressed against yours in the back of car during a team outing. It all hurt because he wasn’t yours. He seemed into you, too. Of course, you didn’t know to what extent. You worried maybe he hadn’t said anything yet because he simply didn’t like you enough, and that hurt more than any other factor. It was a foolish notion - one you would have abandoned instantly had you peeked inside his head - but alas, no such luck.

He’d been more relaxed, too. The two of you reaching a point in your relationship you hadn’t ever let yourself dream about. He was funny, achieving that lightness around you that you’d wanted from the start. He’d gotten riskier, amping up the dial on his remarks a bit. Starting with those like the hospital, ending with ones that made you have to take a breather in the room where they kept the coffee. It hadn’t gone unnoticed, per say, but the others were certainly ignorant to the true depth of the change. You simply couldn’t measure it by witnessing, you had to feel it. And fuck were you feeling it.

A week or so after Jack’s ER visit, you’d asked after him. You didn’t know if the regret was immediate, but it flooded through you quickly. Aaron got nervous, shifty, like you’d touched a live wire of his and he now had to patch it up before it blew. You got concerned, asking if something happened with his stitches or if Jack was now showing some sort of trauma response to the event. Was that even plausible? You weren’t sure, PTSD wasn’t exactly your strong suit. However, he quickly stated that wasn’t the case, noting that Jack was actually in perfect health and had been relentless about wanting you over for dinner.

“He’s grateful.” Hotch was smiling with paternal reluctance, proud of his son for having such good morals but also uncomfortable with the possibility of rejection he was facing. “He wants to see you, say thank you for “saving his life.” He emphasized the last bit in a sarcastic tone, both of you knowing his life hadn’t been in danger but also knowing that fact wouldn’t deter the boy from considering you some type of guardian angel. “Would you be up for it?” If you hadn’t been so focused on snuffing out the heat rushing to your face, you would have seen that same heat reflected in a slight pink across his cheeks.

“Definitely.” You smiled at the thought of the boy bugging his dad about getting you to the house. “When were you thinking?”

“Saturday night?” Both of you were scheduled to be off that day, and you found yourself begging whatever merciful being would listen to not have some lead to chase that day. “He’ll want the day to prepare.” He chuckled.

“Oh no.” You joked. Prepare? You couldn’t even begin to imagine what that meant. “Well, I am extremely curious to find out what an eight year old boy has to prepare for. How about seven? Would that be good?”

Aaron felt his palms start to sweat. He’d never actually been around his house when you’d been there, only seeing you on your way out. “That’s perfect.”

“Great.” You smiled, checking the time and realizing you needed to get going to the hospital. “I’m looking forward to it.” You nodded slightly as one last confirmation and headed out, suppressing a giddy smile while trying to force yourself into a headspace you could work in.

In the meantime, Aaron watched you walk off from where he’d been perched on your desk, entirely oblivious to the man watching the scene.

“As I live and breathe.” Rossi had crept up on him, not spooking him but rather suspending him in a state of immeasurable embarrassment. “Aaron Hotcher has a crush.” The man held his shoulder, patting him there like a father witnessing his son get his first girlfriend. “She’s a good one. Quite the eye you got, Aaron.” Then he was gone, walking away with Aaron’s dignity clasped in his hands. Closing his eyes in pure mortification, Hotch simply thanked God that nobody else was around for that and walked away with the intention of fusing to his office chair to avoid ever looking at Rossi again. At least you’d said yes, he thought. He didn’t know how he’d cope with his friend watching him swing and miss.

–

The daylight seemed to be anticipating this more than you were, hours passing by like minutes until eventually the sun woke you up on Saturday morning. It was blazing through the cracks in your blinds, settling in slim lines across your floor, as light and gentle as snow. You’d been rehearsing your poker face in preparation for tonight. Writing safety manuals for any ungodly situation that could happen, everything from a fire to Aaron gaining the ability to read your mind and unearthing what you really thought about him. You were so happy that Jack held you in such high esteem, but your hands were shaking at the thought of sitting down with him and his father and acting like it wasn’t the dynamic you fucking dreamt about. You knew it was a good sign of compatibility if someone’s cat liked you - did their child liking you mean the same thing? You hoped Jack’s seemingly innate approval of you gave you at least a couple brownie points. Aaron had called you a hero. Swiftly ignoring the memory of what he’d said after he called you a hero, you pulled out your phone. You and him didn’t really speak outside of work and babysitting schedules, but you were pacing around your room and needed something to give you a semblance of structure, a reassurance - even if it was just for the time. You texted, asking if you were still on for tonight, then went to go make breakfast and inevitably pace some more. He’d gotten back to you about twenty minutes later, confirming the time and giving details of how excited Jack was about it. You smiled at that, praying tonight would be as smooth as humanly possible and you could walk away with an ounce of emotional control. You set an intention, this wouldn’t deepen your feelings for Aaron. Was it a pointless goal? Yes. Was it also highly unlikely to prove true? Yes. But the loose plan you worked around the resolution almost completely extinguished the anxiety that had been blazing for hours now. It would be fine, you thought. Completely and utterly fine.

The same words were looping through your thoughts when you got to his front door. Casual - but still minorly more dressed up than he’d seen you. You’d put a little extra effort into your appearance, mainly to pass the time if you were honest, and you walked in with mild confidence fueling your steps. You did your best not to ogle him, he was in an attire that was already threatening to unravel the safety net of the goal you set. You were used to the suits hidden beneath blazers you cursed the existence of, maybe a snippet of his forearms when he rolled up his sleeves late at night. Now, though, he sported a simple black tee, more comfortable than you’d ever seen him. Domesticity was practically oozing from the entire situation. You felt the pieces slip into place as Jack ran up behind him, and you almost cried with how badly you wanted this feeling to be your normal.

“Hey, buddy.” You laughed as he hugged you, reciprocating the act as well as you could from the multiple feet you had on his height. “How’s the arm?”

He raised up his wrist, now gauze free and proudly showed off the scar there. You played up the genuine admiration you felt for him. “That’s a pretty gnarly scar.” He nodded in response, probably feeling cool for the evidence he handled such an injury. “I don’t want to see you back in my operating room, you hear me? Scared the life out of us.” The scolding was playful, and he giggled at your words.

Aaron huffed in agreement, cocking his head to the side slightly. “You can say that again.” Jack looked between you two, smiling and seemingly thinking something neither of you could decipher. To break the moment of silence, Aaron patted his shoulder. “Why don’t you tell her what’s on the menu, buddy?”

He told you, and you hummed along to his words, commenting that it sounded delicious and actually meaning it. He ran away a second later - presumably back to whatever he’d been doing before you got there - and left you and Aaron alone. Venturing into the kitchen, you saw multiple pans and pots sitting neatly on the stove, table set and ready to be utilized. Everything was being kept warm, and you finally gained an appetite after having wrestled with nerves all day.

“Do you want a drink?” He asked it while entering the kitchen, pausing to look at you.

“Please.” You were desperate to calm yourself, eager to subdue the shaking of your hands. “Do you have any wine?” You weren’t the biggest fan, but you couldn’t think of a drink more fitting for the evening.

He nodded slightly. “Red or white?”

“White.”

He chuckled. “Thought so.” It was quiet, more to himself than you as he was already walking away from you when he said it. He’d thought about what kind of wine you liked, you thought. He’d thought about you. He pulled two wine glasses down from the cupboard, then walked over to the fridge. He reached above it, barely having to stretch, and pulled an uncorked bottle from the storage up there. You felt your legs tense looking at how tall he was, how sure he was of his actions. Jesus. It’s been five minutes and you were crumbling. You watched his hands as he uncorked the bottle, reading the label and realizing the brand.

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Seems a little fancy for a dinner.”

He laughed under his breath as he finished pouring the glasses, walking back over to sit next to you on the island stools. “You’re a guest of honor.” He placed yours in front of you. “I thought it was fitting.”

You searched, but couldn’t find the humor in his tone. You raised your eyebrows slightly. “Am I?” It was sarcastic, you needed to stop the heat in your stomach from spreading. “I didn’t know doing your job earned such a title.”

He was drinking as you spoke, finishing his sip before joking back. “You’re a doctor.” He said. “I thought you knew that better than anyone.”

You sucked air through your teeth as if wounded by his words. “Touche.” You took a sip of your drink, relishing the taste. Damn, he didn’t come to play. He laughed, and you set your glass back down. “Ok, I have to know.” He drew his attention to you. “What the hell did Jack need the day to prepare for?” The question had been on your mind since he asked you.

He took a drink, chuckling with a mouthful then swallowing so he could reply. “He actually helped cook most of this.” He nodded towards the stove full of different dishes. “That was what he needed the day for. Time for trial and error.”

You grinned at the thought of Jack and Aaron spending the day in aprons, making sure everything turned out perfect. “That is the cutest thing I’ve ever heard.”

He looked back towards Jack, coloring in the living room, close enough to see but far enough to miss your discussions. “He gets nervous around you.”

That surprised you. “Why on Earth would he be nervous around me?” You took your turn looking at the boy, an idea hitting you and making you feel sick. “Wait, I didn’t do something did I?”

He looked back at you, smiling. “No, no. Nothing like that. He gets nervous because he likes you. He knows who you are to me, too, so he wants to make a good impression.”

Your mind latched onto that sentence and played it like a broken record, bouncing between your ears over and over. “Oh?” Your lips were curling up at the corners, eyebrows furrowing as you got ready to hold him to that statement. “And who might I be to you, Aaron?”

Fuck. He’d let that slip past his lips without even thinking about it. So used to being in the confidential company of his son. Good thing he used to be a lawyer and could lie his ass off. “Most of his sitters aren’t also my coworkers.” He delivered it the smoothest way he could, smiling and drinking to hopefully exude a false comfortability that he certainly wasn’t feeling.

“Mhm.” You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to look sarcastic but in truth downplaying the sting you felt. What if this had been one-sided all along? You hadn’t prepped a safety guide for that.

Luckily, Jack came sprinting into the kitchen a second later, pleading with his father to eat now. Clinging to his leg and declaring how hunger was killing him by the second, dramatically threatening to wither away before your very eyes. You both shared a look, agreeing silently to put the kid out of his misery. The instinctual nature of the act hit you like a bolt of lightning. Both of you so in tune it was comical. The dinner had been lovely, and you reminded yourself to encourage Jack to keep up his cooking hobby. Maybe you could foster a professional chef. You’d talked with them both, light and the happiest you’d felt in a while. There it was, you realized. That weightless feeling you wanted to give him. You felt it in yourself too, and you could only pray it was because he felt it first. When dinner concluded, you’d help clean up while Jack resumed his coloring. His bedtime was soon, and you didn’t want him to spend his last hour washing pans. He was nearly delirious by the time 9:00 graced the clock, tired from the preparation of the day and needing to get to sleep. He’d given you a hug goodnight, thanked you for coming like the gentleman he was, and that was the last you saw of him. The rest of your time there was spent on the couch with Aaron, you both held a second glass of wine, and you noticed it manifest in the blush on his face. He was gorgeous, and you were staring. You know your eyes went to his lips a couple times as he spoke, low and rougher as the time ushered more light out of the sky. You saw his eyes slip down a few times too, this sort of unspoken, agonizing rule of look don’t touch. He’d walked you to the door, thanked you for your attendance, and then you were leaving. Sitting in your car, warm on the inside from both his presence and the anger you felt at yourself for not just kissing him. You were so incredibly needy for this - for him, and that fact just sat with you, like a raincloud constantly in a state of downpour, never letting you forget the pure fucking craving you had for him.

–

You think the start of your blackout was Morgan’s panicked voice over the speaker. You’d been stationed in your typical hut, equipped with medical gear and waiting on someone to need you. It was almost never your team in need of service, typically you were tending to an injured hostage or sometimes the unsub themselves, but never your friends. Your breath had been baited since you’d heard the gun go off. You knew the case was dealing with an aggressive attacker, you’d been expecting a fight, but nothing is ever more excruciating than waiting to hear who the shot was meant for. Derek crying out your name followed by a “get in here. Hotch is down, we need you in here.” had you ready to run the soles of your shoes down to dust just to make it in time. In time. God, in time for what? You’d ran past Emily and Rossi hauling out the unsub, anger evident in their treatment of him. How bad was it? How bad had he got him to have them acting like that?

The scene was bloody. Your brain switching off and forcing you into autopilot as you registered the pool of Hotch’s blood that Morgan was kneeling in. He was putting pressure on the wound, an attempt to stop the bleeding but it was flowing like a river. He wouldn’t make it to the hospital like this, you realized. He wouldn’t make it to the fucking hospital. You were holding his life in between your hands right now, the slightest tremor could sever that chord and you were feeling the pressure hard. Aaron was leaned against the wall, slumping down slightly which was only making the bleeding increase under the internal pressure.

You looked at Morgan, putting on the bravest face you could muster and effectively seizing control of the situation. “Morgan.” You got his attention quickly. “On three I need you to lift him away from the wall. I need to check for an exit wound.” He just nodded, doing exactly as you’d told him when you reached three. You checked the area, finding an exit wound in nearly the same spot. It’d been a straight line. You sighed in relief. Thank fucking God. “Ok, Morgan, I need you to put pressure on the wound on his back. I’m going to stitch the front to give us the time we need for the hospital drive but I need you to hold it. You got me?”

He nodded once. “I got it.” He moved his hand from the front to the back, Aaron wincing at the switch.

You took out the numbing cream from your pack, knowing it wouldn’t do much for a gushing bullet wound but hoping it would at least quell the sting of a needle. You took out the needle, threading it with hands frighteningly stagnant as the adrenaline gave you tunnel vision. You had to save him. “Aaron.” You looked at him as you prepped his skin for the procedure. “I’m gonna need to double stitch this, and it’s gonna hurt like hell. I need you to stay with me.”

The man just nodded, exhaling in exhaustion. “Do it.”

You worked as quickly as possible, gaining hope as you listened to the ambulance approach. “There you go.” You said under your breath, at this point you couldn’t tell if you were reassuring him or yourself. You looked to Morgan, who was still sealing the other injury. “Help me get him up. Keep your hand on there. These stitches are gonna give us twenty minutes tops. Hold his shoulders straight and walk quickly.” You counted again, both of you rising when you hit three, taking the man with you. The walk to the ambulance was the longest of your life. Aaron was clinging to his consciousness but you knew he was losing grip. Finally getting him to the stretcher and slamming the doors was a relief like nothing else. There was no time to debate anyone else going, you rushed him in and sat right down beside him, taking off almost immediately after. The bleeding had slowed, and your hand took the place of Morgan’s on his back. Since he was laying down, his full weight was on it, and you felt the circulation lessen more and more as it remained there. You couldn’t care less, you’d let the blood drain from your entire arm if it meant Aaron’s survival. He hadn’t passed out, which you thought was miraculous, simply walked the line of decently delirious. Groaning under his breath at every slight bump in the road.

“Why am I always having to save you Hotchner men?” You knew now wasn’t the time to be humorous, but you would have done anything to deviate from the tears in your eyes, the ball in your throat. You finally understood why it was frowned upon to date coworkers - it should be illegal to care this much.

“I don’t know, honey.” The pet name was the kicker, allowing a tear to break the dam and roll down your cheek as he chuckled. “You seem to be pretty damn good at it, though.” You laughed too, fighting the devastation you felt at the sight of him with the fact that he was clearly well enough to still be joking. “I should have kissed you when you came for dinner.”

Fuck. “Aaron, now is not the time.” You chuckled slightly as more tears fell. This is absurd.

“I know but-” He flinched as the ambulance hit another bump. Almost there. “I might as well say it now.” You wondered if there was genuinely something wrong with him. “You’ve been all I can think about since the moment-'' He paused to breathe slightly in exertion, you giving a disapproving look as his confession took it’s toll. “since the moment you started, you know that?”

“You are dying! Please, for the love of God, Aaron. Use this energy to prevent that from happening.” Your scolding was dramatic, but your actual concern shone brightly through your ruse of sarcasm.

“Exactly.” He was being equally as sarcastic. How on Earth did he manage this with a rapidly declining life force. “Give a dying man a chance. How unfortunate would it be if the last thing I hear before I go out is the woman of my dreams rejecting me?”

“Jesus Christ.” You shook your head in pure amazement. This was by far the most goal oriented man you’d ever met. “I’ll let you take me out if you shut the hell up and save your energy.” He smiled, letting his head hit the reclined back of the stretcher. “After you get better.” You added, reminding him that his recovery took priority. “Deal?”

“Deal.” This was probably the most insufferable man you’d ever met. “Such a good motivator.”

Scratch that. Most insufferable man ever.

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doumadono · 4 months

Note

Emergency Request! Could you possibly do headcanons for Dabi and/or Gojo going with reader to a family dinner and how they would react to reader’s mother just tearing her down at every opportunity? I’ve spent the past few days being eviscerated (with extremely brutal words) and the thought of one of these characters standing up for me is so comforting. Thank you.

Dabi & s/o with mother tearing her down

A/N: I'm truly sorry to hear that you've been going through such a difficult time. Words can be incredibly powerful, and it's understandable that you're seeking comfort. I hope these headcanons will bring you some comfort.

EMERGENCY REQS MASTERLIST

Dabi reluctantly consents to join you for a family dinner, setting aside his typical disdain for such gatherings. His aversion is rooted in the tumultuous relationships within his own family, having witnessed too many dramas unfold over his own childhood dinner table.

He's dressed in his usual dark attire with an uninterested expression.

You introduce Dabi to your family, who eyes him with skepticism and disapproval.

The atmosphere is tense as you arrive at your home, where a seemingly normal family dinner awaits.

Dabi remains reserved, observing the dynamics at play while subtly noting the tension in the air.

Your mother initially appears polite but quickly reveals a passive-aggressive demeanor.

As the evening progresses, Dabi picks up on the subtle jabs and undermining comments directed at you by your mother.

His irritation simmers beneath the surface, and he becomes increasingly protective of you.

Your discomfort is palpable, conveyed through subtle glances and nervous fidgeting.

Dabi, attuned to your emotions, senses your distress and begins formulating a plan.

When the mother's comments escalate, Dabi decides he's had enough. He doesn't raise his voice but delivers sharp retorts, exposing the flaws in the mother's arguments while maintaining his composed demeanor. "You talk a lot for someone who doesn't know a damn thing, lady."

Your mother scoffs, "You know, dear, you could have done so much better. Why are you with someone like... him?"

Dabi cooed, "Funny, I was thinking the same thing. Your definition of 'better' needs a reality check. You really think insulting your own blood at the dinner table is the height of sophistication? Must be a charming family tradition, tearing each other down over mashed potatoes."

You, initially shocked by Dabi's boldness, finds solace in his defense.

As the evening concludes, Dabi, having made his point, chooses to leave without causing further disruption.

He wraps an arm around your shoulders, offering a last piece of advice, "Don't let anyone belittle you. You're worth more than this. If you ever want a real family dinner, one without the passive-aggressive drama, my place has a better ambiance." He then kisses your forehead.

#emergency request #dabi boku no hero academia #bnha dabi #dabi fluff #dabi x reader fluff #dabi x y/n #dabi x reader #touya todoroki #dabi is touya #dabi my hero academia #mha fluff #bnha fluff #my hero academia dabi #mha dabi #mha x reader #mha x you #dabi headcanons

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devildomwriter · 4 months

Text

OMSWD ep.1: Vore?

You’re all watching a movie when someone gets eaten by a giant beast and that changes things.

Asmodeus and Mammon: *shrieking*

MC: “That’s hot.”

Satan: “Excuse me?”

Everyone is suddenly staring at you, very quietly as if they aren’t sure they heard you correctly.

MC: “What? Beel, you agree with me right?”

Beelzebub: *eating popcorn*

Beelzebub: Hm?

MC: “Joel got eaten.”

Beelzebub: “Oh…yeah…”

Belphegor: “MC thinks it’s hot.”

Beelzebub: “…”

Beelzebub: “…I don’t know what to do with that information….”

Mammon: “Yeah, neither do we. The fuck ya mean it’s hot?”

Asmodeus: “Yeah, MC, cause I’m into a lot of stuff and I’m not really sure that scene got me going?”

Raphael: “May I add, I’m mildly concerned?”

Mammon: “Ah shit, I forgot the angels were still here.”

Simeon: “Not Luke thankfully…”

Mephistopheles: “Never expected MC to be the one to bring up such topics.”

Diavolo: “Hahahaha, MC you say the wildest things sometimes. Hahaha.”

Satan: “It might not be wild, we don’t even know what they mean.”

MC: “I mean my loins get hot when I see someone get eaten alive.”

Belphegor: “Oh, it really was that simple.”

Beelzebub: *starts sweating*

Beelzebub: “Is…that not the normal feeling?”

Belphegor: “No, Beel…”

Raphael: *sigh*

Barbatos: *chuckling*

Mammon: “Um? No! It’s not normal what do you mean?!”

Lucifer: “Calm down Mammon, MC is just joking…I think.”

MC: “No, not at all. Like when I was little I always got this funny feeling when it was implied the villain ate someone, like I thought it was cool. Now I realize it’s been an issue since childhood.”

Raphael: “Yes, I think ‘issue’ is the right word.”

Asmodeus: “Okay…maybe I get it? Is it like a power thing? Like you’re turned on they could eat you….or something?”

MC: “No. I like seeing them eaten…alive…remember that one scene in the movie NOPE?”

Asmodeus: “Eek! Ew, no don’t even remind me of it!”

Mammon: “Still get chills thinking about that scene…wasn’t it enough that we heard everyone screamin’?”

MC: “Or that one scene from The Final Prayer—“

Simeon: “Don’t remind me.”

Diavolo: *looking pale* “Is this…your method of choosing what horror movie we watch….by chance?”

Mephistopheles: “Dear Diavolo, that’s why I’ve had to watch so many people get eaten in horror movies? That’s how you find them?”

Thirteen: “Hahaha! MC you’re hilarious.”

Barbatos: “Solomon do you have nothing to say about your own apprentice?”

Solomon: “Well, I was trying to watch the movie but I suppose I’ll join in the conversation.”

Satan: “Solomon, that’s not a normal human thing right?”

Solomon: “Ah…we’ll, I can’t say I run into often…not unless you include cannibals but it’s been a while since I’ve been held hostage by any of them.”

Mammon: “Excuse me?”

MC: “I’m not a cannibal, just clarifying.”

Beelzebub: *looks like a lost puppy*

Beelzebub: “Is it not normal….”

Belphegor: “No, Beel…”

Lucifer: *deep sigh*

Mephistopheles: “Levi, is this one of your weird anime things? What did you expose MC to?”

Leviathan: “Please just leave me out of this.”

Satan: “No, it’s your fault!”

Leviathan: “It’s not my fault!”

Solomon: “The only anime I can think of is maybe Attack on Titan…or Tokyo Ghoul…there was that one eccentric character who liked to eat people—“

MC: “That arena scene was the best wasn’t it?”

Solomon: *sigh*

Lucifer: “So it is your fault.”

Leviathan: “They’d already seen the shows?! That’s one of the ways we bonded! Not my fault!”

MC: “You did tell me about—“

Leviathan: “Shh—shut up! Don’t blame me for your deep-rooted issues!?”

Simeon: “Levi may be right. This must be something psychological—“

MC: “I think Asmo fantasizing about his brothers should be discussed well before my Vore preference.”

Beelzebub: “…Vore.”

Belphegor: “Yes, Beel…”

Raphael: “Asmodeus do you really still fetishize your brothers?”

Asmodeus: “Ooooh, um…maybe? Hehe.”

Mammon: “Don’t ‘hehe’ me, ya nasty little freak!”

Asmodeus: “You’re just jealous!”

Mammon: “Of fuckin’ what?”

Solomon: “I just wanted to watch the movie…”

Thirteen: “Things are just getting good though, shut up!”

Diavolo: “Ahahahahaha!”

Barbatos: *sigh*

MC: “Why are you all so surprised? It’s normal!”

Satan: “It’s definitely not.”

Beelzebub: “…it’s not…really…?”

Belphegor: “No, Beel…”

Mammon: “Dammit MC, your explanation is crap! And did ya really say loins? Are ya an old man?”

Thirteen: “No, but Solomon is, and even he doesn’t say that.”

Solomon: “Now hang on a sec—“

Mephistopheles: “Oh look the credits are playing….”

Diavolo: “Ahahahaha.”

Asmodeus: “Okay, the movie is done distracting us! MC, spill! Where’d your weird fetish come from!?”

MC: “It’s not a fetish!”

Asmodeus: “Oh yes it—“

Mammon: “Raphael, not the spear!”

Belphegor: “Asmo watch out—“

Lucifer: “No you don’t!”

Raphael: “Guh!”

Mammon: “Oh! Nice one!”

Asmodeus and Thirteen: “Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!”

Barbatos: “All right, settle down now.”

Simeon: “Yes, that’s quite enough everyone.”

Asmodeus: *sobbing* “I just wanna hear a fetish origin story…”

Mammon: “I just wanna know what the fuck Vore means!”

Beelzebub: “I don’t get it…”

Belphegor: “We know Beel.”

Mephistopheles: “Well, I should probably go…I suppose I can look forward to another fetish-themed movie next time too?”

MC: “It’s not a fetish? What’s a person gotta do to theoretically enjoy a fellow human being eaten alive and/or whole for their own satisfaction and have no one judge them?”

Mephistopheles: “I don’t think any deal you make with me could be strong enough to reverse a psychological normality.”

MC: “…aww…”

MC: “I didn’t ask any of you anyway, I asked Beel! Beel you understand me right?”

Beelzebub: *nods vigorously*

Solomon: “Oh dear.”

Lucifer: “I’m not sure that’s a good combination…”

Diavolo: “Ahahaha!”

Belphegor: “Of all the things to have in common….”

Thirteen: “Oh I get it! That’s perfect! If someone tries to kill you, you sic Beel on them and get a free show, right?”

You and Beel lock eyes and the room is silent

Barbatos: “…I believe they’ve reached an arrangement.”

MC: “Not if they’re alive though…”

Beelzebub: “Mhmm.”

Raphael: “What am I witnessing?”

Simeon: “It’s best not to question it.”

MC: “Do you grow in size? Like can you swallow someone whole…”

Beelzebub: “I’ve never tried…”

Belphegor: “He can unhinge his jaw like a snake.”

Asmodeus: “No don’t remind me!”

Mammon: “I mean…he has eaten demons before. Does it need to be a human or?”

Lucifer: “Mammon, don’t join in on this!”

Everyone watches for a few minutes as you and Beelzebub get into more specific details of a theoretical situation until it becomes awkward standing there.

Solomon: “So…same time next week?”

Barbatos: “Yes, I’ll prepare the snacks next time.”

Diavolo: “We can watch the next movie at my place.”

Thirteen: “Neat! I’m going home now, those monsters inspired a cool trap idea!”

Raphael: “We should do something about them shouldn’t we…”

Simeon: “Just leave them to their fantasies, MC won’t really hurt anyone and neither will Beel. Isn’t that right Lucifer?”

Lucifer: “Why do I have to deal with this?”

Simeon: “You chose your brothers, and MC, this is entirely on you.”

Lucifer: “Dammit.”

#funny obey me #obey me skit #obey me shall we date #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me solomon #obey me simeon #obey me raphael #obey me thirteen #obey me mephistopheles #obey me barbatos #obey me diavolo

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sailor-aviator · 7 months

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Don't Hang'em Til Noon: Prologue

Don’t Hang'em Til Noon: Prologue

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x reader

Summary: Jake “Hangman” Seresin is a notorious leader within the Dagger posse of the old western territories of the United States. You, a recently orphaned socialite from the eastern seaboard, find yourself swept off to live with your older brother who has set down roots in said western territory. Determined to to make the best of your situation, what will you do when said outlaw sets his sights on you?

Warnings: Mentions of parent deaths, swearing, no Dagger members yet, but they’re mentioned, use of y/n. I think that might be it?

Word Count: 1k

A/N: Feedback is always appreciated! Let me know what you all think! Should I continue? 18+ ONLY!! This work is also being published on AO3 under the username sailor_aviator.

Series Masterlist || DPU Masterlist || Jake "Hangman" Seresin Tag List

The carriage did very little to quell the seemingly never ending heat of the western territories. In fact, you were fairly sure it was making it worse. You had long given up on attempting to read the many books you had packed - the heat coupled with the constant jostling from the dirt path causing you to nearly lose the contents of your stomach on multiple occasions. Why your brother thought he would try his hand at settling the expansive west, you’d never understand.

Your brother, Benjamin, wasn’t an impulsive, reckless man. No, quite the opposite actually. He had done well for himself back home in Maryland at your father’s law firm. One of the best law firms in the state, perhaps even the entire eastern seaboard. Your great-grandfather had founded the firm, and it was your brother who inherited the family’s legacy when your father had passed only a year prior.

You let out a long sigh, still trying in vain to cool yourself down with your prized folded fan. It had been a gift from your mother on your sixteenth birthday, and it was one of the few things you had left of her now. Your father had been thrown into the depths of despair when she died - the doctor’s had said it was consumption. It was a miracle, really, that none of you had contracted it. Your father had withdrawn after her death, and your brother had been left to pick up the slack as a result. Thankfully, he had already been regarded as a respectable lawyer at the time. So it had thrown you for a loop when he announced one night at dinner that he was moving his practice out west.

You had had been completely against the idea, of course. Why wouldn’t you be? Your whole life was spent amongst polite society in Baltimore. Your friends were there. You had interests there. Your parents were buried there.

“We’ll make happier memories, y/n,” Benjamin had said with a soft smile. “We’ll have a fresh start there. What do you say, Scout?”

Of course, when he called you by your childhood nickname, it was hard to ignore the pull on your heart. You had earned that nickname before you had even hit double digits. Your father was an avid hunter, and despite the constant protesting from your mother, he insisted on bringing you along.

“It’s not proper for a young lady,” she had scowled at him, earning a micheivous smile from your father.

“And so is scowling, my darling. Yet, here we are.”

You chuckled at the memory. Your mother had grown red in the face and practically stomped her way out of the parlor. She had refused to speak to your father until he came home the next afternoon with a small bouquet of wildflowers. They had sat proudly on the table by the front door until they withered weeks later. And you had, indeed, gone on the hunting trip, picking up the art of tracking fairly quickly much to your father’s approval.

“She’s a natural! A regular scout, she is!” he had exclaimed excitedly to your mother when you had returned from the trip. Despite herself, your mother had smiled warmly at his enthusiasm.

Your heart clenched again at the happy memories from long ago. Your mother had died nearly five years ago now, and with your father’s death still so fresh, it was hard to allow yourself to dwell too long on those memories. Perhaps Benjamin was right. What you both needed was a fresh start.

The carriage lurched to a halt on the side of the road, and you heard the driver climb down from his perch. Gathering your skirts, you opened the door and stepped out into the blazing sun. No, the sun was much worse than the stifling heat of the carriage. Shielding your eyes from the dazzling light, you looked over to where the driver tended to the horses.

“Why have we stopped, sir?” you asked, moving to the front of the carriage. The older man looked up at you with a friendly smile, but you could see the tension that laced his shoulders.

“Just giving the horses a quick break, miss. We’ll be movin’ on shortly. I reckoned you’d want to stretch your legs for a bit, anyway.”

“Yes, thank you,” you smiled, looking around at the seemingly endless wasteland before you. Oh, how you longed for the gardens of Baltimore.

“How much farther until we reach Maverick?” you inquired. The newly founded town of Maverick was named after it’s founder - Peter “Maverick” Mitchell. A prominent businessman who had decided to try his luck at helping settle the west, much like your brother.

“Only a couple more miles now, miss,” the driver answered politely, eyes darting around the terrain.

“Are you quite alright?” you asked, nerves starting to eat their way up your spine.

“Just making sure we aren’t ambushed while we ain’t paying attention, is all.”

“Ambushed?” Your eyebrows shot up in alarm. The driver nodded.

“Yes’m. These parts are the Dagger posse’s territory.”

“The Dagger posse?” you murmured, inching closer to the carriage.

The driver scratched the back of his head and let out a sigh. “Some o’ the meanest sons of bitches in the west. Gang is led by Hangman and Rooster, and no one wants to get on their bad side.”

You didn’t respond. Of course you had heard rumors of outlaws here in the west, but you didn’t even think to entertain the possibility of them being anywhere near you. A mistake you now regretted. The driver must have seen your thoughts on your face because he offered you a reassuring smile.

“I reckon we’ll be fine, miss. Don’t you worry now.”

“Yes, thank you,” you answered politely, turning to make your way back towards the carriage. It was only a few moments later when you heard the driver climb back up onto his perch. The carriage lurched again as it began to move once again down the empty road.

Oh, what had you gotten yourself into?

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somewhereinneptune · 1 year

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ASTROLOGY OBSERVATIONS

Heeey! It's been agesss and I haven't done something in a while. I thought it's about time I give astrology observations a try since I've been into astrology for years yet I never posted about it or about what I've gathered so there goes!

Disclaimer: these are simply personal observations.They're things I observed around me from people and their charts to things regarding my own charts and self that I've analyzed so it may not resonate. With that put aside, hope you enjoy!

🎐If someone's sun falls in your 4th house, this can cause a lot of triggers since the 4th house is the house of roots, childhood and family so wounds in regards to these themes could resurface. These people might feel close like family too or like home, yet trigger many suppressed issues within . Ex : My mom and I have our sun signs in each other's 4th house and we have this up and down relationship where we sometimes feel so close and like we understand each other deeply, yet we get triggered by each other through the simplest of interactions and disagreements

🎐Neptune in 7th natal or transit as well as in the solar return chart can bring out themes such as rose -colored glasses in relationships and close connections, lacking boundaries or having a hard time understanding the concept of boundaries. Neptune in 5th might deal with similar themes too but with emphasis on Romantic connections

🎐 I'll need to clarify with more people but there's something about Scorpio risings and being left handed 😐 I'm a Scorpio rising and left handed myself as well as my dad and two more people and I don't know the connection behind it yet

🎐Chiron in 12th and the blur over pain : D this might manifest into the individual feeling triggered by things without being able to sense the root of the reason and it's because the 12th house blurs everything from the conscious eye . Its like this metaphorical apparition that keeps following you without making itself clear. Another reason could be that the trauma comes not from this lifetime but a past one. Many deep wounds I had to heal from in my healing journey turned out to root from previous life times

🎐 If someone's natal Saturn is at 0 , it either means they have reset karma by breaking a major karmic cycle in their recent past life or that this is their first incarnation on earth

🎐Another clue in my opinion for if this is someone's first or one of the first incarnations on earth is if their chart has an emphasis on the deeper and spiritual aspect . Ex : North Node in Ninth, Sagittarius placements and degrees, Saturn in Ninth, Sun at 0° degree, Saturn at 0° and the reason for that is that it signifies a soul that is just starting to learn and experience their way through life

On the contrary, Sun and Saturn at 29° might signify the ending of a long karmic cycle as well as maturity and having gone through several trials and lessons in life / past lives

🎐 One of the themes of Chiron in Scorpio can be fear of lies and dishonesty, fear of being manipulated and of hidden truth since Scorpio rules mystery and the hidden, and as Chiron rules wounds and trauma, the native usually does go through themes of lies and manipulation in their life

🎐 I've read before that having an empty house can mean you've mastered this house and that you can access it easily, yet I've noticed its usually the house or themes we tend to overlook, be unaware of or even bury or take for granted due to the focus being solely on the houses with the most placements and aspects

🎐Leo MC and Aquarius IC and the paradox between desiring to be seen and out there and getting triggered when you're under the spot light or seen in any way. The contrast between desiring attention as well as social groups vs needing so much space and alone time or to 'hide'

🎐Saturn in Aquarius natal could make someone prone to people - pleasing tendencies; since their karmic lesson is to learn to exist unapologetically and daringly in the world, the native would be prone to fear of existing authentically first or having a presence which would lead to trying to fit in with what the crowd wants to see regardless of whether it feels good to them or not

🎐personally, for those into spirituality : An indication of a spiritual awakening in a solar return chart could indicate Pisces and\ or Scorpio rising, Chiron in first, Pluto in 7th or 11th, as well as placements in the 8th and 12th like sun and north node in 12th or Uranus in 8th

🎐 to add to the previous note, sun in 8th transit and solar return is such an ego death placement. You're forced to face shadow aspects within you that you might have resisted or turned a blind eye to for some time

#astrology observations #astrology #astrology notes #astrological posts #Scorpio #chiron #Neptune #aquarius #12th house #incarnation #Saturn #karma #Leo #Sagittarius #uranus #somewhereinneptune

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imakemywings · 6 months

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So Maeglin apparently was handsome af, popular, charismatic, and a close confidant of Turgon during his time in Gondolin. In fact, he was a lord and was close to Turgon's ear so he was heard more than Idril. I just wanna know why the fandom loves to portray him as this kid who was hated by everyone (he was not), whom Turgon hated (didn't Turgon love that kid so much?), and whose love for Idril was seen in a good light (when in fact, he was willing to kill earendil just to get Idril). I was honestly shocked when it was such a popular narrative that he was being abused and hated pretty much by everyone in Gondolin and he didn't mean to cause the fall of Gondolin because he was a poor mew mew when the real poor mew mew was Turgon for listening to him in the first place. Lmao I was just genuinely shocked when it was the other way around. I like his character, he's interesting and complex but it kinda takes away the complexity of his character when he is being woobify but that's just me. What do you think?

Anon, idk if you looked at my blog and could tell I would be receptive to these takes, or if you just happen to keep landing on things I agree with XD

But yeah, I have thoughts on Maeglin's reception by the fandom and it's mostly in agreement with what you said.

With Maeglin, he is sympathetic in a lot of ways, which makes you want to root for him. He did have a difficult childhood--Eol was a shithead spouse so it's not hard to imagine he was not a great father either. Maeglin grew up almost totally isolated from anyone but his mom and dad, who did not have a good relationship, thanks to his dad's abuse. When he and Aredhel make a run for it, we want them to succeed! We want good things for them (we've been rooting for Aredhel since the beginning of the chapter)! When Maeglin witnesses his father kill his mother in an effort to kill him, we want him to find peace and security in Gondolin.

The thing is--Maeglin grows well past his difficult childhood. As you noted, Maeglin does very well for himself in Gondolin. At the end of the chapter Of Maeglin, it is described how he "grew great among the Gondolindrim" and there are various indications he was generally trusted and well-liked.

"Thus all seemed well with the fortunes of Maeglin, who had risen to be mighty among the princes of the Noldor..." ("Of Maeglin," The Silmarillion)

At this point, this is we want for him! We like the idea that he's shrugged off his past, that he's doing well, and that he's not like his creepy bride-abducting father.

We don't get much in Silm about what Maeglin's relationship with Turgon is like, but I talked here about why I can't buy that Turgon neglected or abused Maeglin.

"Then the King listened with wonder to all that Aredhel had to tell; and he looked with liking upon Maeglin his sister-son, seeing in him one worthy to be accounted among the princes of the Noldor. 'I rejoice indeed that Ar-Feiniel has returned to Gondolin,' he said, 'and now more fair again shall my city seem than in the days when I deemed her lost. And Maeglin shall have the highest honor in my realm.'" ("Of Maeglin," The Silmarillion)

The only fly in that pudding is that he and Idril get off to a bad start which never improves. He's into her, she's not into him, but he can't let it go. He lets it fester and generate anger, jealousy, and hatred, and in this way, he's like so many creepy guys who can't take rejection.

"But as the years passed, still Maeglin watched Idril, and waited, and his love turned to darkness in his heart. And he sought the more to have his will in other matters, shirking no toil or burden, if he might thereby have power." ("Of Maeglin," The Silmarillion)

But even so, Maeglin is trusted by Turgon! He's popular! He has his own craft and people who admire and follow his ideas! In almost every way, Maeglin should be happy. But he cannot stop obsessing over Idril, and he lets that spoil everything else that he's achieved, to the point where he's wiling to betray the entire city to possess her.

I think there's also a disconnect between those who've read The Fall of Gondolin and those who haven't, because TFOG expands on a lot of things only really hinted at in Silm proper. For instance, the attempted murder of Earendil (who, it should be noted, is seven years old during the sack of Gondolin). In Silm, we get this:

"Tuor sought to rescue Idril from the sack of the city, but Maeglin had laid hands on her, and on Earendil; and Tuor fought with Maeglin on the walls, and cast him far out..." ("Of Tuor and the Fall of Gondolin," The Silmarillion)

In The Fall of Gondolin, we get a much more detailed account:

"Messengers by great stealth he had dispatched to Melko[r] to set a guard about the outer issue of that Way when the assault was made; but he himself thought now to take Earendil and cast him into the fire beneath the walls, and seizing Idril he would constrain her to guide him to the secrets of the passage, that he might win out of this terror of fire and slaughter and drag her withal along with him to the lands of Melko[r]... Now then M[a]eglin had Idril by the hair and sought to drag her to the battlements out of cruelty of heart, that she might see the fall of Earendil to the flames...When M[a]eglin saw [Tuor] he would stab Earendil with a short knife he had...the mail of the small coat turned the blade aside; and thereupon Tuor was upon him and his wrath was terrible to see." ("The Original Tale," The Fall of Gondolin)

In TFOG, Maeglin's malice is even more apparent as we get a blow-by-blow account of his effort to force Idril to watch him kill her child and then drag her to Angband, but even looking exclusively at canon Silm, Maeglin clearly swings into the villain path. I don't like to criticize him too much for caving under Melkor's threats, because being threatened with torture by Melkor would be fucking terrifying and I don't think any of us can say for certain how we would respond in that kind of situation. Tolkien even tells us Maeglin wasn't a coward, but Melkor is Melkor. Not everyone can be Hurin "Noted Badass and Snarkmaster" Thalion. What I am happy to criticize him relentlessly on is that he allows Melkor's plan to move forward.

"But Morgoth sent him [Maeglin] back to Gondolin, lest any should suspect the betrayal, and so that Maeglin should aid the assault from within, when the hour came; and he abode in the halls of the King with smiling face and evil heart..." ("Of Tuor and the Fall of Gondolin," The Silmarillion)

He never warns the Gondolindrim of what's coming, and in fact he encourages Turgon to refuse Ulmo's advice and stay in the city (where Melkor expects them to be). In TFOG, when Melkor does invade, Maeglin and his house fight on Melkor's side.

Maeglin fucked up by selling the city out, no argument. But it's more than that--he could have tried to fix it. But he doesn't. Because? Because he doesn't want his treachery revealed, and because Melkor promised him possession of Idril if he helped.

"Great indeed was the joy of Morgoth, and to Maeglin he promised the lordship of Gondolin as his vassal, and the possession of Idril Celebrindal, when the city should be taken; and indeed desire for Idril and hatred for Tuor led Maeglin the easier to his treachery, most infamous in all the histories of the Elder Days." ( "Of Tuor and the Fall of Gondolin," The Silmarillion)

People resist the narrative of Maeglin the villain I think because they are still in phase 1 where we want good things for Maeglin and for him to overcome his past. And he does...but then he chooses his own shitty path and throws away all the things he gained because he can't be content without everything that he wants, which includes Idril. Making all Maeglin's bad choices someone else's fault--Idril's for rejecting his advances, Aredhel or Eol for parenting him wrong, Turgon for not understanding him, Tuor for who knows--means not having to acknowledge Maeglin chose to become the person who betrayed Gondolin and tried to murder his family.

"Then the heart of Idril was turned towards [Tuor], and his to hear; and Maeglin's secret hatred grew ever greater, for he desired above all things to possess her, the only heir to the King of Gondolin." ("Of Tuor and the Fall of Gondolin," The Silmarillion)

Maeglin's story is a tragedy of someone consumed with their own malcontent, someone who had so much opportunity to be happy but chose to perserverate on the things he couldn't have, who became so obsessed with his own desires that he was willing to hurt everyone around him to get what he wanted. Maeglin's story is of a man who could not handle rejection by a woman he wanted, so he decided to ruin her life and kill her family. Maeglin begins the story as someone we are meant to sympathize with--but he doesn't end it that way.

#asks #anonyous #maeglin #meta

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jjasen · 11 months

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more than the world itself

summary: just a collection of my personal rafe headcannons about his childhood ❀

warnings: Ward Cameron (ew); this is about Rafe’s childhood trauma, especially concerning his father and his mother’s death so please read with care!

word count: 2.2k

a/n: I envision Rafe’s mom to be half French, half Portuguese fyi! ❀

It’s a languorously lazy Sunday morning, the kind where sunlight has been streaming through the gauzy curtains for well over an hour and warming the fluffy comforter. You and Rafe have been stirring in a state somewhere in between slumber and wakefulness for the past half hour. He finally lets out a groan as he stretches and yawns, muscular forearms flexing alluringly. Reaching out to hold you tightly, he buries his face in the nape of your neck, your hair tickling his nose. The sweet scent of your shampoo fills his senses as he pulls you closer to him under the crisp cotton sheets.

His fingers lightly drum, absentmindedly, rhythmically against your sternum as he often does, tracing an invisible melody across your skin. You frequently wonder about the root of this subconscious habit of his, wanting to understand everything about him, what makes Rafe Rafe. Sometimes he sits at the bench of the glossy black piano at Tannyhill, fingers hovering above the gleaming keys, but you’ve never heard him play. Once you asked him about it, if he could play something for you, and the flat tone of his no articulated to you that this was just another topic that was off-limits, one of the many that caused Rafe to tense up, a furrow forming between his brows as he clenched his jaw and changed the subject with a sense of finality.

You are not the pushy type of partner, not wanting to press Rafe into sharing more than he is willing, wanting him to be able to confide to you in his own time, but you sometimes wish that he could talk to somebody, if not you, about his past, his thoughts, the things that he had done. Because somewhere inside of Rafe, there is a broken, angry boy, who hungers for more than you can possibly fathom, and sometimes you fear that he will always be there. That time will not heal Rafe’s wounds.

Turning around to loop your arms around his neck, you press a soft kiss to his mouth before you broach the subject that’s been on your mind since yesterday afternoon.

“Rafe, my love,” you say, skimming a hand over his broad shoulder, “I was thinking about something.”

He looks down at you under his golden lashes, his eyes still hooded with sleep, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Mhm?”

You capture his hand, the familiar weight of his palm soothing. “Well, I was shopping for stationary yesterday, and I saw this journal and thought of you.”

He looks at you questioningly, as if to say, is that it?

You continue, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. “I just thought that maybe you could use an outlet to, you know, express your feelings,” you shrug. “I know that you don’t necessarily want to see a therapist, and journaling can be a good way to process things.”

“I don’t know,” he says doubtfully, sitting up, abs flexing as he mussing his sandy blond hair.

You look up at him earnestly. “I think you should give it a try. It could be really good for you, just having the space to write down your feelings and thoughts.”

He nods and looks away, and you can tell he’s still disinclined to the idea. “I’ll think about it,” he says, kissing the top of your head and getting out of bed. “Crepes?” he asks, and you nod, lingering in bed for a few more moments before padding to the kitchen, where he’s slicing strawberries, to help him prepare breakfast.

About a week has passed since you mentioned journaling, and Rafe has just gotten off the phone with Ward, who is pressing him to be more assertive with clients, to be a better executive, to be an adequate son who is worthy of the Cameron name. Sighing, he runs his hand over his face and lifts his thumb to the corner of his mouth, biting down on the already ragged skin and wincing a little. An all-too-familiar pit of self doubt is settling in his stomach and he breathe the way you taught him to, inhaling and exhaling slowly to soothe the ache in his chest.

He glances at the corner of his desk, where the plain navy notebook you bought for him sits, blank and impassive. It practically taunts him, lying there, its pages clean and unblemished, and he’s almost afraid to touch it for fear of sullying your gift with his thoughts and words, the things he would like to say.

Shaking his head as though to clear his thoughts, he mutters a low, “Fuck it,” grabbing the journal and opening it to the first page, where he sees a post-it note with your handwriting.

Rafe, my love, if you’ve opened this you should know that I am so proud of you for using this as your own private space to express yourself. I know it can be hard to get started, so here are some ideas in case you want to write about something.

He scans down your list of prompts and questions until one in particular catches his eye.

What is it like being your father’s son?

Rafe chews the end of his pen absentmindedly, musing over the question posed to him. What is it like being Ward Cameron’s heir, his only son, the eldest out of all of his siblings? There are many things he could say: it is hard work, it is high expectations atop of unsteady shoulders, it is an ache in his chest that doesn’t ever quite leave.

It is being five years old, Rafe waiting excitedly for his father to come home so that he can show him the new prelude he has learned to play on the piano. It is Ward brushing him aside, snapping that no, he does not want to listen, he does not have time for him, he’s a busy man and can’t Rafe understand that? It’s his mother’s face as she runs a thin hand over her face, looking so profoundly tired as she whispers to him that his father will be more patient next time, that he is overworked, that she is sorry, baby, and won’t he go wash up for dinner?

It is dropping his glass of water, shards glimmering on the kitchen’s tile floor. It is his mother’s pale face as she claps a hand over her mouth and turns to look at his father, trembling. It is his father’s thunderous shouts, it is Rafe’s hands pressed over his ears, it is salty tears, it is his wrists bruised with purple for days after.

It is six years old and his family has had an unusually good day at the beach, where Sarah is building sand castles in her pink cotton bonnet and his father is helping Rafe find seashells. It is his parents’ hushed conversations late at night about money and his father’s job, and suddenly Ward is not so angry anymore, he does not come home raising his voice and his fists. He smiles more and brings Rafe to work, where he meets his father’s secretary, and Rafe feels special, important, enough.

It’s seven years old, on the school stage under bright spotlights, his palms sweaty and heart racing as he squints into the audience to find his parents, his fingers trembling as he sets them down on the ivory piano keys. It is after he lets out a shaky breath and gives a bow, seeing his mother’s bright face as she cheers for him, her smile radiant as she applauds, the seat next to her empty. It’s after his recital, when she pulls him into a tight embrace, praising his performance, and five-year-old Sarah gives him a bouquet of yellow roses; it is when she says Ward couldn’t make it, that he was in an important business meeting, that he was sorry, that he would be there next time, with a sorrowful expression that said she knew he wouldn’t.

It’s nine, when his mother first gets sick and he catches his father in his study, face in his hands as his blonde secretary, Rose, massages the tension from the broadness of his shoulders. It is Ward’s face snapping up when he sees Rafe, his expression hardening, blue gaze turning cold as ice, his secretary’s eyes widening with guilt. It’s curling up with Sarah, ears pressed to Ward’s oaken study door to hear murmured conversations between his father and Rose, catching snatches of illicit parleys.

It’s visiting his mother in the hospital with white tulips and a card that reads Get well soon, recalling his father’s whispered tête-à-têtes with Rose from the night before. It is a guilty ache throbbing in his chest as she greets Ward with a cheery embrace, clutches a baby Wheezie to her body, her disposition hopeful despite her hollow cheeks and thinning curls.

It’s ten years old clutching his mother’s hand in the hospital, trying not to be frightened by the beeping heart monitor or snaking tubes of intravenous fluids taped to her frail wrists as she whispers into his ear. I love you more than the world itself. Be strong for your sisters, everything will be okay. It’s walking down the hospital hallway, his shoulders shaking and vision blurred with tears as his father roars at the nurses to do something, to bring her back, the clatter of hospital equipment being thrown filling his senses.

It is coming home to a silent house which feels larger and quieter than ever and curling up in his mother’s closet, the faint scent of her perfume almost imperceptible. It is a silent, lonely Mother’s day spent avoiding his father, the absence of his mother unbearably suffocating. It is as if his family is drifting apart at sea, their anchor lost in the briny depths.

It is his eleventh birthday, his first without his mother; there is no cake, no celebration, not even an acknowledgement from his father. It’s his bottom lip quavering as he tries to hold back tears at the kitchen table, his father hunched over the uneaten pasta that Rose has made. It’s Rafe being unable to stomach a bite of his dinner, blurting out, “I wish Mom were here.” It’s Ward slowly turning his gaze towards Rafe, his cold stare glacial as he slowly says, “Do not ever talk about your mother again.” It’s Rafe nodding, a pit of dread gnawing in his stomach as he takes a bite of Rose’s pasta, tasting nothing but bitter shame. There are no birthday wishes except for his own futile hope that his mother will come back and hold him, stroke his hair and tell him that she loves him more than the world itself.

It’s fourteen and Rafe has long since discovered that playing the piano will turn his father into a hostile man. He has given up speaking French and Portuguese in fear that his Ward will turn to him, his eyes flashing, with anger in his voice and brutality in his fists. It is coming home from school and calling out for his mother for just a split second, until the realization that she is gone hits him like a punch to his stomach, his heart sinking and tears burning his throat. It is taking a shaky breath, remembering that his father does not like it when he cries, and shoving his grief into some unknown corner deep within his heart.

It is fifteen and sitting numbly in his navy suit watching Ward and Rose recite vows, holding each others hands. Somewhere deep inside of him, Rafe despises his mother for leaving him behind and breaking his family, and he hates himself even more for these treacherous thoughts.

It is seventeen and days will pass before he thinks of his mother, and he realizes that he has forgotten the exact shade of brown of her eyes, that he cannot remember the sound of her laughter bouncing around the bright kitchen anymore, and he is overwhelmed with guilt and fear. Sometimes he sits at the piano bench, his fingers itching to pour out the music inside of him, and it is in these moments that he is faintly able to recall the feeling of her hair brushing his shoulders as she sat next to him, the lilt in her voice when she called his name.

It is now and he is slowly unlearning what his father has taught him; he is able to differentiate between fear and respect, is able to sit with his feelings. When Rafe is with you, he is able to remember what love feels like. It is your gentle smile in the morning and quiet reassurances at night. It is feeling adequate, enough, sufficient. It is conquering his fear of facing his emotions, it is being able to cry properly for the first time in your arms as you stroke his hair. It is sobbing so hard that he cannot breathe, the ache in his chest dissipating as he sheds his sorrows, knowing that you will sit with him as long as he needs. It is learning to love himself as much as you love him, more than the moon and the stars, more than the world itself.

#rafe cameron #rafe fanfiction #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x reader #outer banks fanfiction #rafe cameron headcanons #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron blurb #rafe x y/n #rafe x you #obx #jjasewrites

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stonewall2023 · 3 months

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A Perspective on Noah Schnapp and Israel/Palestine from someone who studies the region

I don't really comment on this tag much. Over the last two years, it has just been a fun place for me to go because I've always seen so much of myself and my childhood in Will's character. It is a nice break from the stress that is my day job. However, it really hasn't been as much of a fun place to go in the last few months because of the posts on Noah Schnapp, the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. As someone who has spent half their life in the region, speaks Arabic, and studies Israel/Palestine, I thought I would throw my two cents in on Noah and this whole controversy. As a supporter of Palestinian rights, I do think that there was a lot of things wrong with Noah's initial statements that he posted a few months ago. I don't think he understands the root causes of why Hamas has engaged in violent behavior, the historical occupation of the West Bank/Gaza strip, land confiscations, settler violence, etc.. The conflict is not black and white obviously. However, I am as bothered by many of the responses to Noah Schnapp on this tag as I was with Noah's take on the conflict. There seems to be a complete lack of empathy for the Jewish plight or an understanding of where the Israeli state comes from. Zionism emerged in the late 19th century among Jewish intellectuals facing persecution in Europe who thought that the only way the Jewish community could survive was by establishing a state of their own, and not all of these intellectuals favored going to Palestine. It was the British at the end of WWI that conquered Palestine and started allowing Jewish emigration under the Belfour Declaration. Jews fled persecution and massacres from not only Europe but the Middle East and North Africa over the next two decades. Half of Noah's family fled persecution in Morocco and the other half from Eastern Europe. That is his family's experience and why he supports "zionism" and the existence of Israel. While Israel's far right interprets zionism as the right to conquer the entire holy land for religious reasons, Israel's center and left wing sees it merely as the right to exist as a state and a secular one at that. Palestinians, for their part, feel that their land was taken from them through colonization, but Israelis feel that they were driven from their homes throughout Europe and the greater Arab world due to persecution. At the end of the day, the United Nations established Israel and Palestine in 1947 by splitting the land for both peoples, and that is what I support as do millions of moderate Palestinians and Israelis. I don't support the tactics and rhetoric of the Likud Party and Israel's far right nor do I support Hamas and other far right Islamists--neither of these sides supports peace, democracy, multiculturalism, or the rights of the lgbtq community, issues that are all dear to me. Noah was right to criticize people justifying Hamas' use of violence against civilians just as the supporters of Palestine are right to condemn Israel's government for the indiscriminate violence. Based on Noah Schnapps previous statements, he seems to support a two state solution and isn't calling for people to be massacred, which quite frankly, makes him quite moderate. While I don't agree with everything he is said or how he has said it, he seems like a good kid who just needs to learn more about the conflict...and quite frankly, so do many of you as well...Anyway, that's my take.

#byler #noah schnapp

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pleaseeeimjustagirl · 4 months

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You’re Postponing Your Dream Life

Self-sabotage behavior is the reality that a lot of us live with and it's postponing our dream lives. This post is going to be personal because I’m not just posting this for you girlies but for myself as well<3.

What is self-sabotage?

Self-sabotage is behavioral patterns and thoughts that you engage in most of the time without even realizing it. This makes it harder for you to achieve your goals. Sometimes we see this as our brain fighting against us but our brain is trying to protect us. All of these protective mechanisms (self-sabotaging behavior) were created by your brain to keep you safe from any harm. What is familiar to us our brain sees as safe and what isn’t is seen as harmful. And when you decide you’re going to change your life by starting that business, becoming an influencer, losing weight, or whatever it is your brain goes into protective mode.

What causes self-sabotaging?

♡ Childhood trauma. In your childhood trusting relationships with your caregivers/parents were broken. You might have dealt with abuse, them talking down on you, or other traumatic events. Causing you to have trust issues, low confidence, and more.

♡ Fears. You don’t believe you can make it and you’re scared of the things that you’re going to have to give up. You’re scared of people laughing at you. Or you have a fear of failure.

♡ Negative self-talk. You don’t speak to yourself kindly and are always looking down on yourself causing you to have a lack of self-esteem.

There are so many different things that could cause you to have self-sabotaging behavior. Ask yourself questions to get to the root of the issue.

Signs you’re self-sabotaging

♡ Procrastination. You know what you have to but you keep putting off the task and saying you’ll get to it and you never do.

♡ Perfectionism. I struggle with this one a lot. You think everything has to be perfect for it to be worthwhile and if it isn’t you become frustrated and there is no point in finishing the task.

♡ Comparison. You always compare yourself to the next person and how they are successful and you are not or how they can make it and you can’t.

♡ Imposter syndrome. You don’t feel that you’re good enough to attain your dream life even though you do.

♡ Controlling. You always need to be in control of everything around you and the dream life you are chasing involves you giving up control and having to accept the unknown.

♡ Negative. You have a negative way of thinking and a scarcity mindset i’ll link my blog post on scarcity mindset read it if you deal with this.

How to overcome self-sabotage

♡ Reframe your mindset. Once you stop seeing self-sabotage as your brain fighting against you and start viewing it as trying to protect you. Then you will be able to be more compassionate and ask yourself what is going on and why you are afraid. What I do I will have a whole conversation with myself out loud asking myself what is wrong, and why I feel this way.

♡ Keeping a journal. Observe your patterns and write down all the things that keep happening and the emotions you feel. If you find yourself in the same situation ask yourself why. For example, if you are trying to lose weight but whenever you’re stressed you binge then you know high-stress situations cause you to want to binge eat now you start to find another outlet to release your emotions.

♡ Positive self-talk. Speak to yourself the way you would speak to the child version of you. Pour into that little person the way you wished others would have. Read/listen to affirmations. Focus on the things you can change and less on what you can't. Start to speak positively. In the beginning, it won’t feel real but the more you say it the more you will feel it.

♡ Start small. Don’t just jump right into everything take everything a step at a time. We can overwhelm ourselves when we do that and whatever we are doing will start to feel like a bother/chore.

♡ Be realistic. Set realistic goals based on where you’re at right now in life. Aiming to high can create a feeling of failure and self-doubt. Set achievable goals and break them down explaining the steps you need to take to get there.

Book recommendations

♡ The Mountain Is You by Brianna Wiest I 100% recommend reading this book the author goes deeper into self-sabotaging behavior and how to overcome it. I have this book and I have been reading it and she has awoken me to a lot of my issues I didn’t know I had like my perfectionist issues. She has so many other good books that she has written!

If you have any tips please share in the comments and I am open to any request or question love you girliesss<3

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mysisters-bike · 3 months

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did Eric have ocd

thanks for sending in an ask!! not likely imo, he obsessed over his own image but more in the way of insecurity than anything else. the difficult thing about eric is that we don't have as much information about his early childhood the way we do for dylan.

we do have an account from sue klebold from her book when dylan didn't perform to eric's standards during a soccer game and he allegedly yelled at dylan in front of everyone.

undoubtedly, eric had issues controlling his anger when things didn't go his way. in ocd, anger is not a general "outcome" of a compulsion not being fulfilled. ocd is rooted in the tree of anxiety and while, yes, anxiety can cause emotional outbursts, i don't think it would explain eric's issues. eric was raised in an environment where his emotions were not able to flourish and, generally, his caretakers suppressed his emotions. read more about the relationship between ocd and anger here.

"Eric began seeing a psychologist and was prescribed Zoloft, a selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor (SSRI), and later switched Luvox to help control his mood swings after the arrest. In April 1998, he wrote in his journal: My doctor wants to put me on medication to stop thinking about so many things and to stop getting angry.

He would reportedly increase or decrease the dosage on his own to see what would happen, emotionally. Certain SSRIs are notorious for increasing the likelihood of suicidality, of which Zoloft is guilty. During the program’s intake, the families filled out separate inventories detailing the psychological and behavioral state of the teenager. Eric completed a self-evaluation, noting that he had issues in the following categories: anger, anxiety, opposition to authority figures, depression, disorganized thoughts, homicidal thoughts, jealousy, loneliness, mood swings, obsessive thoughts, racing thoughts, stress, suspiciousness, and issues controlling temper.

In the same evaluation, Eric’s father Wayne noted Eric had issues with the following: anger, depression, and suicidal thoughts. His explanation: After this incident occurred, Eric expressed his feelings concerning the above items to a psychologist. The doctor recommended antidepressant medication which seems to have helped. His mood is more upbeat. Eric seems to suppress his anger, then “blow up” and hit something or verbally lash out. He hasn’t done this at home but has done it at school and work.

The discrepancy between Eric and Wayne’s evaluations is troubling. Wayne’s knowledge of these issues came from a third party – Eric’s therapist. This information was not given to Wayne by Eric himself. In Eric’s evaluation, he lists his mother as being “easier to talk to.” He expresses that conflict in the household primarily originates from his father and, sometimes, between him and his older brother Kevin. When asked how he knows conflict in the house is over, he writes: When my parents say so.

Regarding punishment, Wayne writes that they will discuss conflict then wait a few days to impose disciplinary action. In response to knowing when conflict is over, he wrote: The conflict is over when we discuss the incident or situation and agree on the facts or punishment. Then he has to accept responsibility for his actions and punishment.

This brief insight into Wayne and Kathy’s parenting style tells us one crucial detail: they have enacted an authoritative parenting style.

Authoritarian parents show their children a lack of trust, demand results without being receptive to the child, do not nurture the child, do not explain or accept explanations for punishments, disallow the child from making their own choices, will not negotiate, and are highly critical of their children’s behavior (Cherry, 2023).

Some behavioral outcomes that form as a result: The adolescent struggles with self-control and cannot make their own choices, act overly shy, find obedience synonymous with love, suffer with anxiety and depression, behave aggressively with others, are socially incompetent, have low self-esteem, and suffer with conduct issues (Cherry, 2023).

I’ll once again reference and break down Wayne’s philosophy on punishment: Wayne admits that, when it comes to confrontation or conflict, he has the final say. Conflict ends when he decides it’s over. There is no wiggle room for Eric to reason with or contest the conflict or punishment. Wayne explains that Eric has no choice but to accept the punishment and the conflict may not cease until the parents end it. This leaves little room for autonomy in Eric’s relationship with his parents."

something interesting to call out is eric's own verbiage: My doctor wants to put me on medication to stop thinking about so many things. one could argue those are obsessive thoughts. however, i don't think we have enough information to say it is so. i think eric had anxiety and suffered with dealing with those thoughts and emotions because, as demonstrated above, he just didn't know how.

references:

Cherry, K. (2023, March 1). 8 Characteristics of Authoritarian Parenting. VeryWell Mind. https://www.verywellmind.com/what-is-authoritarian-parenting-2794955

#eric harris #columbine #tcc #true crime #dylan klebold

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thebluestbluewords · 8 months

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pick a card, any card

"Pick a card," Celia Facilier demands. "Let my friends tell your future."

Mal, crammed in the backseat of the limo on Ben's other side, laughs. "Don't do it, Ben. She's just trying to scam you out of your money."

Celia's mouth drops open, theatrically scandalized at the accusation. "Moi? I would never, ever try to scam anyone, and I'm hurt you'd say such a thing."

She's so small. Her hands, on the cards she's fanning out in Ben's face, are bony. She's handling them well, but Ben remembers the feeling of cards too big and too stiff for his childhood hands to manage, and even though Celia is more comfortable with her cards than he's ever been, the strain shows in the way she tilts her hand to manage them all.

"Sure," Ben says, instead of listening to Mal. His beloved fiancee is wonderful and all, but sometimes she forget that he is, in fact, an adult who is more than capable of making his own decisions. He loves her so much, and so deeply that it scares him sometimes, but the blind spots that come from growing up on the Isle are weird, and the issues that Mal has with trusting people aren't one of her best qualities, and definitely aren't ones that Ben wants to fall victim to himself. "I'll take one reading of my future, please."

Celia laughs.

She's so young.

"Tell me what you want to know," the kid in front of him says, reshuffling her cards quicker than the naked eye can follow. "Love advice? Money? Fame and fortune? What's your poison, King of Auradon?"

"No poison. The drought of love should be sweet." Ben says firmly. "I want to hear about my future love life."

"Ah." The cards fan out again, and Celia giggles. She sounds like Freddie when she does it, which is weirdly sweet. Not many of the Isle kids will admit to having family, so it's sort of nice when sisters or brothers do something, and they reveal that they're not so different after all. "Sweet it might be, but love can go sour at any moment. Pull one card."

Ben smiles. "Any card?"

"Not that one!" Celia squawks, wobbling the cards like she's going to jerk her hand back. "Just kidding. You can pull any card you want, but you have to feel it. Let my friends guide you."

Ben stops. "Feel the cards," he repeats. "Okay. I feel….” He lets his hand hang still for a moment. The cards are worn, or possibly painted to look worn. They look stiff and solid, not like they’re soft and crumbling on the edges despite their worn backs. They don’t feel like much of anything to him, but he’s always been empty of magic. It’s the one thing that his father has always been proud of.

Magic feeling and the lack thereof thoroughly investigated, Ben wiggles his fingers. One of the cards on the left is sticking out of alignment a bit, so he moves toward that one, and then rests his finger on the card before it. Any changes always have a root cause, so it feels right to pick the card before the odd one out. “This one?”

Celia lets him pull the card.

The rest of her deck snaps back together like a fan, and Celia’s hand shoots out, palm up. “Now hand it over. And also, that'll be five dollars, no refunds or exchanges if you don't like my advice after."

"A wise business practice," Ben agrees, shifting so he can pull out his wallet. Five dollars might be a scam on the isle, but it won't get her far in Auradon, and for showmanship and card control alone, she deserves at least double that. "Here you are."

Celia takes the fifty-dollar note between two fingers, and there's a half-second of hesitation where Ben can see her eyes flickering over the number on the folded bill. They're supposed to be taking her off the isle because of her potential for goodness. Scamming the king out of fifty dollars isn't a very good thing to do, but Ben is remembering right, the isle kids are too proud to ask for money when they need it. And she will need it, because coming over with nothing but the clothes and personal items she can fit in her suitcase isn’t going to be enough. Giving money to the isle kids outright is awkward, and Ben still has a scar on his shoulder from where Mal pulled a knife on him after he tried to buy her a car, but making Celia feel like she’s cheating him for it might be too much of a risk in this case, with her so brand new and unsure of how to fit it.

So.

"I don't carry anything less than fifty," Ben lies, smiling. "You can give me another reading later, if you're up for it. Call it fair?"

#my fic #descendants #descendants fic #ben florian #celia facilier #mal is here but she’s not actually important in this #this is bonding time for ben and celia ONLY #this isn’t directly in the same universe as my other terrible babyfic but it’s partly the set up for that #the start of ben (and evie and jay) falling in love with the younger isle kids they’re bringing over #and thinking that MAYBE POSSIBLY they could have something like that. Someday. Maybe.

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myobmaya · 2 years

Note

MAYA NO MORE ANGST I CANT CRY ANYMORE I NEED FINANCIAL COMPENSATION AND A LIFETIME OF HAPPINESS TO COME BACK FROM THE DAMAGE YOU JUST CAUSED

keep yelling at me and tell me I made you sad it fuels me and keeps me alive hehe

anyways I can’t do financial compensation bc I’m broke but will some fluffy Eddie do? Enjoy! ❤️

——

“I’m gonna marry you someday.”

Eddie Munson had a way with words. He was quite the drama theatric and had a way of just saying whatever was on his mind. More times it was unwarranted and sometimes unnecessary but he never cared. It was one of the many things that drew him to you. The way he was unapologetically him.

You had known him since childhood and now reaching your later years in high school you knew him like the back of your hand. Yet, he still always managed to leave you speechless with the things he said which brought you to now.

Eddie was quick to jump into action the moment you started choking on your root beer. Hitting your back and telling you to spit it out. You glaring at him telling him you had nothing to spit out and that you needed to catch your breath. Once you regained a regular breathing pattern you shoot daggers at the man.

Confusion crosses his face as he throws his hands up in surrender, “What! It’s not my fault you gulp like a fish!”

You glare at him and push his hands down opening up the van door. Eddie usually kept napkins from the fast food drive ins in the glove compartment so you were quick to grab a handful before slamming it shut. You stand outside and began to wipe yourself off. Eddie remains in the driver seat watching you trying not to laugh.

“Eddie Munson why would you even say such a thing?” You grumble furiously wiping at what would definitely be a stained shirt. You were supposed to wipe at stains, right? Or were you supposed to rub at them?

Eddie watches as your hands worke against your shirt loving the way your eyebrows furrow together in frustration. He decides he’s going to let you struggle for a few more moments. It’s when he sees particles of the napkin dance across your shirt with your fast movements he gives in. He opens his side of the door and grabs a cool water bottle from the console.

“Here,” Eddie takes the napkins from your hands and folds them over to find a dry area. He sticks the water bottle cap in between his teeth and effortlessly twist it off. He spits the cap off into the passenger seat floor and pours some water onto the napkins. You don’t say anything as he pulls your shirt up just enough from your chest and begins to work on the stain.

“You’re supposed to pat it. Not rub it.”

You quirk an eyebrow at him unaware of where this housekeeping knowledge had come from. Eddie’s eyes meet yours giving you a shy smile before they find his hands again. “Wayne gets stains in his shirts all the time. Can’t afford to go out and buy a new one every time it gets dirty,” Eddie answers your unspoken question.

You don’t realize you’re smiling at him until he looks at you again and rolls his eyes. Even still the smile doesn’t drop and you let him continue to help you. He continues his work for a few more minutes until he pulls his hands back with a giant grin on his face.

“There! Good as new! With a story to tell of why you should drink like a normal person and not a dog starved from the desert!” Eddie claps at his work. You look down. The stain is still present but the way Eddie gleams over his attempt makes you want to believe the mess is gone. Taking a page out of his book you go for the latter.

Settling back down in the van you give Eddie a suspicious glare. He gives you a toothy grin and pulls a pack of cigarettes from his leather jacket. He offers you one but you shake your head watching him settle the stick between his lips.

“Why would you want to marry me, Eddie Munson?”

The lighter is cupped around his hand as he brings them to his lips. He sets his cigarette and inhales a deep breath sending you a wink. He turns his head to the side as he blew out the smoke.

“It just makes sense,” he simply answers. You can’t help but roll your eyes at him. It must be easy living so carefree in this world. Eddie did what Eddie wanted to do and although you admired the way he took on the world you often wondered how it was living that way.

“Oh do tell,” you cross your arms challenging him. Eddie leans against the open door taking another drag out of the cigarette. He coughs and his taste buds turn sour. He decides he’s not in the mood for it anymore.

“Well to start,” he blows out the smoke and turned to you, “We’ve been friends forever. That’s just science 101 right there.” You shake your head already shooting down his logic. He kneels down and puts out the cigarette against some rocks.

“Number two, you’re the only person I trust to actually live with and not murder me. I play guitar to get you to sleep already so you’ll have a permanent sleeping pill in the form that is,” he takes a dramatic pause then bends half his body down. “Me,” he takes a bow with arms wide open.

You go to protest that statement but he closes the small distance and stands in between your legs.

“And number three, we’re probably gonna end up alone. We might as well bite the bullet and make our marriage pact now so when I propose to you in ten years it won’t be awkward.”

He leans forward and kisses your forehead. It wasn’t usual for you and Eddie to share platonic touches here and there. You’ve had the fair share of sleeping in the same bed after sneaking off with alcohol on nights you both needed a release. However, in the context of what he was telling you now causes your frozen reaction. You remain seated in shock and he laughs like he’s told you a funny joke. It’s not everyday your best friend casually makes a case of what your future holds with them.

“So, again. I’m gonna marry you someday.”

You quickly gather yourself and point a finger at him to which he grabs your hand and does a curtsy. Typical Eddie Munson behavior.

“Listen, it can be strictly platonic. But if you want it to be real you can confess your ever dying love for me right now and—“

You kick him away from you but he grabs onto your leg to pull you forward. Out of instinct you grab onto the sids of the door but he tugs you again. You’re both laughing at each other and when he finally stops you hop out of the van. You go to push him but he’s quick with his movements. He pulls you into his arms and turns you around resting your back against his chest. You feel his heavy breathing and laughter in your ear. His fingers meet your sides tickling you. You bend over and he keeps a steady grip on. Trying to get him to stop you elbow him in his stomach and it results in him taking you down with him.

He holds you against him for a moment then releases you as he falls back onto the ground looking up at the sky. You lay beside him and look at him as he wears that stupid grin on his face. Both of you take the moment to catch your breath and settle down.

“If we get married it’s going to be the real deal. So you better start working on wooing me.”

It’s Eddie’s turn to look at you. An eyebrow raises and he goes to say something but you cut him off once more.

“And get better at your stain removal skills. Our kids aren’t going to be the only ones getting messy, Munson,” you wink getting up. You brush off some dirt and walk back to the van. He remains on the ground as he watches you open up the passenger side of the door. You turn to him once more and blow him a kiss that ends with you sending him a middle finger.

Eddie wants to say a remark back but he can’t think of anything to say. He’s speechless. Instead he falls back to the ground and bums out a then of happiness. Yeah. He’s definitely going to marry you someday.

#eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #Eddie munson

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anaalnathrakhs · 10 months

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oh god ed reddit is having the “uwu anorexia isn’t rooted in fatphobia my mental illness is not abt you” talk again please god help me

fatphobia doesn’t mean “being a meanie to fat ppl” i’m begging you to use critical thinking skills for five seconds and apply what you know about literally any other form of oppression to this situation.

people’s point isn’t that you having anorexia makes them feel bad and therefore you’re a bad fatphobic person.

they’re pointing out how the deeply ingrained fatphobia our society upholds, from misconceptions about health to moralization of looks and weight, including yes being jerks to fat ppl’s faces bc they’re fat, is affecting what you think about your own looks, weight, health, body, clothes, eating habits, etc.

the logic isn’t “you became anorexic because you hate fat people so much you never wanted to be fat yourself (and that makes you a bad person)” it’s “fatphobia is a prism that transforms the root cause of your ed into disordered thoughts, behaviors, and patterns (and unlearning fatphobia will help you with recovery and harm-reduction)”

like. it’s not for no reason that anorexia is a disorder that disproportionatedly affects women. it’s not for no reason that there’s sky high comorbidity rates for eds and ocd. it’s not for no reason that people who need control in their lives so badly that they develop a mental disorder abt it get obssessed with being skinny and not with being a sumo. it’s not for no reason that ppl who feel the need to retract to childhood due to trauma envy things like being skinny light and frail, instead of being a tubby baby. it’s not for no reason that there is an incredibly common anorexic thought pattern (internal and self-directed, don’t make me say what i didn’t say) that associaties restriction and weight loss with moral goodness.

for each of these there IS a number of exceptions, but you can see case by case how the root cause (trauma, need for control, for self-destruction, growing up poor, whatever you think is “unrelated to fatphobia” basically) is processed through the prism of the fatphobic culture we’ve all been raised in. some people just, voluntarily or not, deal with those root causes in different way, which might or might not be healthy. but it’s a consequence of ambiant fatphobia that “i should starve and be skinny about it” is a statistically pretty common response to this distress.

the point isn’t “it’s fatphobic that you don’t deal with your neuroses in a body positive way uwu” the point is that no matter how cool you are with fat people on like, a personal level, you’ve been (like the rest of us) bombarded with fatphobic thought patterns your entire life basically, both directly fatphobic things and reactions to this fatphobia. maybe spoken to you directly, maybe not. maybe about you maybe about other people. you live in a society that places moral values into looks and health, and also pushes some deeply rooted falsehoods about how those things tie into each other. you have a disorder defined by obsessive behaviors. maybe, just maybe, deconstructing the logic that those obsessives behaviors are based upon will help you deal with this disorder. and recover or reduce harm.

basically, anorexia isn’t “getting skinny disorder” it’s “obsession disorder”, obsession with looking attractive, or pleasing your family, or going back to being a kid, or being healthy, or being fit, or being driven and capable, or being worth saving, or having your suffering known, or having control over something, or whatever. the fatphobia that is omnipresent (and i repeat, omnipresent, nobody is singling you out as a bad fatphobic meanie, or even talking about your behavior towards other people around you) in our society picks the direction in which many many people will express that disorder.

of course if you live in a society that tells you “being fat is morally bad” at every turn, when you start developping an obssessive pathological need to control things, without another factor weighting in, most people’s default reaction will be anorexia. food is a regular fixture of everybody’s life, everyone wants to be morally good, and even if we know/understand/believe to an extent the flaws of that “fat = bad” logic we know the world around us still believes it, and nobody wants to be treated like shit. we can think it’s stupid and fight against fatphobia and work to treat fat ppl better in our lives and support body positivity, but in any case, one always judges oneself on different metrics than they judge others, cuz we control our self-improvement. that’s natural. just it doesn’t mesh well with a pathologically obssessive need for control above self-preservation.

#ed tw #ana #notprojusttags #proana #ed #last year i got into an argument abt this that was so potent #it caused me to turn all my childhood attempts of having anorexia into actually having purging disorder #out of fucking spite #guess what you dicks from last year i have anorexia now i still think you're wrong #in an act of good faith i'll say i'm ready to admit that maybe it's just that my debating skills suck #maybe i'm just a shitty argumentative writer #maybe i didn't formulate things right and that's why people got the wrong idea #and that's not a maybe i was not considerate enough of causes of anorexia that aren't related to weight directly #like food insecurity as a child and whatnot #however #no matter how bad the delivery might've been #we're not working with a completely different dictionary here #i remember people actively arguing with things i literally said the opposite of #you can't chalk everyone and everything up to that but man some ppl were really not in a state to have this kind of discussion #come back after your omad #broadcasting my misery #discourse #vent #fatphobia #fatphobia tw

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imagineastrology · 11 months

Text

✨ Stellium series ✨ 4th House! What is your concept of 'home'?

*Disclaimer* do NOT steal or plagiarise my work. I regularly check through various Astrology tags on social media, so I will recognise when my work is stolen and message and report your account if I see it.

*Reminder* please take into account your planets, signs, houses & aspects, natally or transits. Take what resonates with you :)

In astrology, a stellium is a cluster of 3 or more planets in a house or a specific zodiac sign. There is obsessive, potent and more focused energy in that specific area of life that the astrological sign or house represents. Eg. 7th House = partnerships. 3rd House = communication. For now, I will be focusing on the house energy.

You are dealing with the extremes of that specific sign/house energy. With this series, I will help you in how you can use your stellium energy to your advantage - and how you can create more stability with this powerful energy!

4th House stellium:

Common themes that are reoccurring…

🍄Fascination with your home-life and childhood. Negative or positive, it depends on what planets are in the 4th house.

🍄Is a homebody and spends time designing/thinking about their immediate environment.

🍄 Natural inclination for helping and advising people.

🍄Has issues with trusting people.

🍄Spends much time thinking of how bad or good a parent was.

🍄Motivated to make their home life as comfortable as possible. If negatively affected, there could be a struggle with this.

🍄Can wear many masks.

🍄Privacy is their fulfilment.

🍄 May have trouble connecting with either one parent, or both.

🍄Ultra sensitive, they may compensate for this by appearing tough, or distant.

🍄 Listen to your heart or be aware of your breasts, there may be issues there as the 4th house rules the heart and titties.

🍄Feels things intensely.

🍄 Much time and emotions are spent on analysing their early life.

🍄 Listens to their intuition.

🍄 Consider a career in property or real estate and then come back to me and give me all your well-earned money from these lucrative 4th house career choices ;)

🍄 What is your concept of ‘home’?

🔮 I have recently read an article, written by Dr. Margaret Paul, and she wrote that ‘you should write down what you wanted emotionally from your parents when you were younger. For example, this could be wishing they would have hugged me more or accepting me for being different to them’. Then, afterwards, writing down what your inner child needs so,

E.g. What you wanted (accepting you for being different to your parents) changes into ‘I define my own worth, seeing my essence based on the truth coming through from my spiritual guidance. I value my differences’. In this way you are not abandoning your feelings and getting deep into the root cause of why you struggle to truly love and listen to yourself.

🔮

✨So what more can we do to improve this? In order to balance out this 4th house energy, astrology guides us to focus on the opposite house themes, which, in this case, is the 10th house. However, this doesn’t mean you ignore the 4th house themes, it’s just about knowing and applying both 10th and 4th house energy in order to have moderation in life and feel more balanced. You can then use your stellium energy to your advantage as you feel more energised and less drained from your stellium.✨

Begin to focus on 11th House themes such as…

✨ Be around your friends. They will bring a sense of normalcy. Or go out and meet new people that are on your level.

✨ Think about what your individual hopes are, not what your family says you should do. What do you really enjoy doing?

✨ Finding a cause to help will bring you out of the emotional pit that is the 4th house! You will start to focus on helping other people.

✨ Reminder: There are other people out there who think, feel and do what you do, don’t stop until you find your tribe.

✨ Start a business that makes you feel alive, the 11th house rules prosperity.

✨ Start or work with a charity.

✨ A little detachment can be healthy, learn to realise that the world does not revolve around how you feel. Sometimes it can be nice to jump out of your brain and focus your energy on helping other people. It will help you gain perspective.

THANK YOU for reading! Again, any thoughts/questions let me know! :) x

#astrology #4th house #11th house #4th house stellium #stellium series #fourth house #astrology reading #stellium #cancer stellium

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