#its like… I can understand enough that the labels confuse me

[wttcsms]

these eyes were made for lookin’ at you (only you) ; simon “ghost” riley.

pairing simon “ghost” riley x f!reader word count 5.6k synopsis simon riley didn’t ask to be a hero, but he finds himself wanting to be yours. content contains hints to human traff/icking (not explicit), breeding kink, belly bulge, size difference, pet names/terms of endearment (pretty girl, baby, love, darling, sweetheart), soft!ghost, obsessive!ghost, domesticity, mutual pining, praise kink, probably ooc!ghost but the man is absolutely whipped for you, clothed sex (his uniform is on), minor depictions of violence

He doesn’t quite consider himself a hero, you know.

He’s got a foul mouth, a sense of humor that borders between too dry or too dark, and so much blood on his hands that he’s surprised to see they’re not red when he pulls off his gloves and runs them under scalding hot water.

There will be no parades in his honor. No little boys running up to him on the streets, proclaiming that they want to be just like him. No statues to be sculpted to remember him by whenever he meets his inevitable end, six feet under. He probably won’t even be a memory after death.

And he’s come to terms with all of this, of course. It’s not like he cares — he didn’t sign up to do this shit for the glory or because he wanted to be considered a hero. He did it because someone out there had to be the person willing to do anything for the betterment of everyone.

Perhaps that makes him heroic in some sense; again, he doesn’t particularly care.

Until you.

Until one mission sends you into his direct orbit, knocking everything he’s ever known out of its place. It’s disorienting, confusing—

—exhilarating.

He doesn’t get scared anymore, but there’s something inherently frightening about wanting to share parts of yourself — of your very being, of your soul — to someone. He’s not quite able to label any of the emotions he feels for you the first time he sees you, but he feels enough to know that if he wants to save himself, he should put as much distance between the two of you as he possibly can.

(It turns out that this lieutenant doesn’t have as great of a sense of self-preservation as he proclaims.)

You cling to his arm, ignoring the way your palm digs and presses into the hard armor and tactical gear he sports. You think he might shake you off or forcefully pull you off of him, but he does neither. The soldier freezes, just for a second, and then he turns to face you.

If this is what the Grim Reaper looks like, perhaps death isn’t such an unfavorable ending. You can’t make out any physical features of your savior’s face, save for the pair of dark eyes staring right at you.

The skull mask does its job of securing his identity, but he should consider wearing goggles, you think. You’re not certain, but you think his eyes must be his most incriminating feature. You think if he gave you a proper minute to look at him, the image of his eyes would be ingrained in your memory. You’d be able to recognize him by them alone.

“Do you understand me?”

The gruff voice must be coming from him, if the subtle movements underneath his mask are any indication. He’s staring straight ahead now, watching as the rest of his team begins to usher the other girls who were stolen alongside you into large trucks. Maybe they’re tanks. You’re not quite sure.

“You must not then, yeah?” When he speaks, every word seems to be just the slightest bit rough around the edges. His accent is oddly nice; from the way he delivers his comments, though, you’re left wondering if he is, too.

He must be — nice, that is. A nice man would let you continue to grip his arm for support, even though you’re capable of standing on your own. A nice man would save you from the hell you’ve been subjected to for… Months? Has it been months? Shorter, maybe? Or longer? Time passes differently when all you want to do is die.

“I understand,” you finally answer him. You think your words must come out a little rough, too. The air in this area seems hard to breathe in, and you’re not sure when was the last time you even drank anything. You say it so quietly, you’re afraid that you’ll have to force yourself to speak up, but he nods.

“You’ll be safe now.”

Looking back, those might have just been words meant to comfort you, but you trust this masked man. You don’t know him (not yet), but the way he says it sounds like he means it.

(He means it.)

He goes by Ghost.

He doesn’t tell you why, and you don’t unnecessarily pry yourself into his business.

He doesn’t even tell you the name himself; you hear it from the mouths of the other officers, the other men who helped in rescuing you and the others.

The man who took you — the one in charge of shipping and selling the girls — won’t be giving you any more problems, now. He won’t hurt you again, isn’t even capable of touching you ever again. This is what Ghost reassures you with, and you nod, believing him.

After all, you witnessed him slice the asshole’s neck. You watched the blood spill out of his body. You were being ushered away at the time, but you still found the strength to turn around to watch him die.

You still haven’t found yourself able to detach yourself from him, and he hasn’t found the strength to shake you off just yet. Your fingers look dainty compared to the bulk of his arm, and the uniform he’s wearing only serves to add to his overall mass. You should want to put some distance between you and him; you know what men are like. You know it doesn’t take much for them to snap and change their demeanors in an instant. With the strength you’ve already witnessed and the sheer size of him, you know fighting him off wouldn’t even be realistic. But you still find yourself refusing to leave him alone, as if the evil he just destroyed will come back to life and hunt you down the very moment your savior leaves you.

It’s why you’re in a separate vehicle from the rest of the rescued girls. It’s just the two of you in the back, and the only noise you can hear is the loud huffs from the engine and the sound of tires speeding on rough terrain.

“When we return, there will be people who will come collect you and the others. They’ll clean you up and help you get back on your feet. You’ll be able to start a new life.”

A new life?

The thought excites you.

You don’t know what awaits you outside. When you were a little girl, you were still allowed to bask in the outdoors. The warmth of the sun, the feel of a soft breeze brushing against your skin — sometimes, when you were chained and in your cell, cowering in the dark, you wished that you hadn’t taken advantage of those little luxuries.

“In this life… I will feel the sun?” He hears the innocence in your voice, your question filled with longing and maybe even excitement. It was just past dusk when they rescued you; it’s now nighttime, and he feels himself wishing he had the power to bring the sun down from the sky and present it to you.

“In this life, you’ll be able to do anything you want.”

He’ll personally see to it if he has to.

You had fallen asleep by the time you reached your destination. With one mission successfully completed, Ghost finds himself with another almost immediately after, and with the peaceful expression on your face and the fact that this facility is one of the most secure buildings in the world, he leaves you—

—only to return back to the facility in a little over two weeks.

It’s not as if there’s someone waiting for him in the empty residence he calls home. Besides, it’s only natural — human, even — for him to be curious as to how you’re doing. While he trusts that you’re safe, he finds himself, in between lulls on missions, wondering how you’re adjusting.

(And in the rare moments where he finds himself fighting off exhaustion — the only telltale sign that he’s still flesh and blood and not the phantom his enemies think he is — he finds himself wondering if you’re thinking about him too.)

What did you see when you stared at him that day? He had killed a man — killed many men, actually — without mercy, without hesitation. He’s done it so many times throughout his life that wielding a weapon has become second nature to him.

Sometimes he even feels like he’s the weapon.

And again, he doesn’t care about whether or not he’s deemed a good person or a hero, but he doesn’t want to be a nightmare to you. He can still feel the ghost of your touch lingering on his left arm, the arm that you had clutched the day he rescued you. If not for the employees confirming your presence and guiding him to your room, he would be almost convinced that you’re a dream he thought up himself.

“Poor girl,” the woman leading way is telling him. “She’s been having the worst time out of all the others. I’m not surprised, hearing what they must have had to endure all that time, but the sweetheart can’t even sleep without us sedating her.”

“What?”

The low timbre of his voice makes the word sound more like a growl.

Seemingly shocked at his reaction, the woman almost pauses in her steps before continuing. “Yes, she’s been having nightmares. Thrashing wildly in her sleep, screaming the first few nights, even.” And then, almost as if she’s trying to make him feel better, she adds, “But she’s much better now. Save for a few sobs every now and then.”

He doesn’t know what to make of that. If it had been someone physically tormenting you, he would have no issue in getting rid of the source of your pain. Demons who only appear in nightmares, though — that’s something not even he can fight off for you.

When they make it to your door, the woman knocks gently, calling out your name softly, almost as if she does anything too harshly, you’ll break down.

“I brought someone here who wants to see you, hon. I’m going to come in now, okay?”

The woman eyes him almost warily as if she’s just now taking him in. He didn’t bother changing out of his usual uniform, telling the helicopter pilot that picked him up after his most recent mission to take him directly here instead. In his defense, he hadn’t even anticipated you still being here.

But you are.

He’s well aware that he probably doesn’t look the nicest, his mask serving its purpose and obscuring his whole entire face, making him entirely unreadable. If you’re as skittish as the woman claims you are, perhaps it’ll be for the best if he leaves now.

But it’s too late. She’s opening the door and never one to hesitate, he’s stepping in. The woman doesn’t follow; instead, she shuts the door, most likely ready to call for backup if anything were to happen to you.

You look at him, and then a second later, recognition gleams in your eyes.

Now that it’s not as dark, he’s able to take in every single feature of your face, from the color of your eyes down to the slope of your nose and the shape of your pretty lips. He commits your visage to memory.

“It’s you,” you breathe out, sitting up straighter on your bed. “The man who saved me.”

And if the near reverent way you greet him isn’t enough to have him reeling, the next words you say have his heart freefalling:

“You’re my hero.”

You speak to him so sweetly, in a tone so soft that the words you say wrap around him like a warm blanket. No one has ever said that to him. No one has ever spoken to him the way you do.

He swallows hard, and for the first time in his life, he’s unsure of what to do.

“Have you been alright?” He asks, and your expression falls almost immediately.

You answer him after a few seconds of silence.

“Yes.”

You little liar.

“I’m very comfortable here, but I’ve seen many of the others getting ready to travel elsewhere. The people here are kind, and they tell me they have many houses I can choose from. They’ll help me find work and…” Your voice trails off, and he watches the way your hands curl around the bedsheets. “I’ll be normal. Find a husband, make a family, forget all about this.”

“Is that what you want?”

“Yeah.”

You’ll learn soon enough that he doesn’t like lying.

He moves quicker than someone his size should be able to; stealthy, too. You don’t catch his movements, but you blink, and suddenly he’s right in front of you, crouched down so he’s able to look you in the eyes.

You were right. You are able to recognize him by his eyes alone.

“You don’t have to lie to me, you know.” When he speaks, you can’t help but hang on to every word. You find yourself nodding. “You’ll answer me honestly then?”

You nod again, this time a bit quicker.

“Good girl.” You hear the approval in his deep tone of voice, and you almost wish you hadn’t. You didn’t know what it’s like to be fed such praise, and you’re stuck starving for it now. “How have you been?”

“Alright. I’m happy to be here, but I—” Your voice cracks, and so does something inside of him. You look down, suddenly more interested in your sock-covered feet rather than his eyes. “Everyone else is able to move on so quickly, or they have someone waiting for them. I have no one. No one is looking for me. No one is expecting me.”

The realization of your reality finally settles in for you with your confession. You were born into that fate; the other girls who used to occupy the cells next to you were stolen. By all means, you were assigned to die there. There isn’t a future for you because you’re certain the universe did not anticipate you ending up like this.

No one is expecting me.

He understands what that’s like. It’s the reason why he’s here, because for once in what feels like forever, he finally has someone he’d like to see after a mission.

“You could find someone out there.”

“What if I leave here, and no one wants me?” The words come out a bit wobbly, and you look at him with glossy eyes and wet lashes.

You’re even prettier than he remembers.

He swallows hard, trying to find the right words to say.

(Soap claims he has a bad habit of saying the most awful things at the worst time possible.)

“That won’t happen.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Because after meeting you for the first time, he — the man with no regard to his own personal well-being and the utmost self-control — finds himself longing to be in your presence. He had to see you again; can’t you already see how you’re taking root inside his very being?

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Will you come back then?” When you look at him like that, all wide-eyed with your pretty lips forming a subtle pout, he thinks he might do something stupid, like—

“Whenever you want me to.”

—make a promise he might not be able to keep.

He gives you a burner phone. It’s supposedly untraceable (he doesn’t let you know about the tiny personal tracker he attaches to it; don’t worry, he’s the only one able to access your locational information), and while he doesn’t give you any explicit instructions, the only number programmed into the contacts list is his.

(That’s fine with you. It’s not as if you have anyone else to talk to.)

You know that he must be a busy person. You wonder if he’s considered a savior to many other people like you. Then innocent thoughts like that spiral into something jealous. Does he normally visit the people he saves? Are there other girls who have been gifted a phone like this?

He doesn’t message you, and you’re too scared of bothering him to reach out.

Every night since he sent you this phone, you’ve laid in bed, thumbs hovering over the keypad, debating what to say if you ever get the courage to text him. Every night, you never hit send on a single draft, and you fall into an uneasy slumber usually after your tenth attempt at a text message.

Sleeping is the worst.

Your nightmares can’t reach you when you’re in the safety of the waking world, but the moment your eyes are closed, it’s like every dark memory you’ve suppressed comes out of the shadows and begins its long-awaited torment.

The feeling of the cuffs on your ankles digging into your flesh feels too raw and real to be a mere memory. The men walking by your cell, sometimes staring at you uncomfortably long, taunting you and calling you cruel names. They’re always so explicit about what they have planned for you, but your seller will never give you up. Not until he finds someone willing to pay the high price he has hanging over your head.

You’re an untouched, undamaged good is what he reminds you. You’ll make him so much money.

But then you feel the cold, clammy grip of his on your arm and his breath on your neck, and you scream and scream and scream.

There must be cameras in the room you’re in because after the first week of nightmares, the kind workers here stop rushing to your room. If you don’t quiet in a few minutes, a male nurse will come in with a syringe and a pitying look before injecting a sedative into your veins. Artificial sleep is the only uninterrupted rest you get these days.

You wake up with your throat raw from your yells, and your skin sweaty. It takes several minutes for your heartbeat to go back to its regular pace, yet the images of your most recent nightmare are still flashing in your mind. You grab the cell phone you keep tucked under your pillow. It must be because of your panicked state of mind, but you find yourself clicking his contact.

The dial tone grounds you into reality, but before you can truly come to your senses and hang up, he answers the call.

“Hello?” Hearing his voice calms you down even more so despite the slight crackle that comes with hearing him through the speakers of the phone.

“Ghost?” You’re whispering, even though you’re certain that the walls are thick enough for you to speak normally without bothering anyone. Besides, anyone with ears probably already suffered through your fit.

“[Name].”

You don’t remember telling him your name, but it makes sense for him to know it. After all, he’s the one who visited you several days ago.

The thought that he would have to make an effort to seek you out and learn more about you is far more comforting than you think it should be.

“S-sorry for bothering you. It’s probably late—”

“Are you alright?”

“Am I… Alright?”

“Yes.” After contemplating a bit, he adds, “And don’t try to lie to me, either.”

“Are you busy?”

He’s in a safe house ten minutes away from the facility; say the word, and he can get there in three.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“You didn’t answer mine.”

“No, I’m not busy. Now your turn: how are you feeling?”

“Scared.” It’s easier to admit things when you’re unable to see him. Staring at him makes you nervous because you think he’ll be able to read everything on your own face. Vulnerability is never easy.

“Did you have a nightmare?” Maybe it’s the exhaustion messing with your mind, but you think his voice might have just softened, just the slightest.

“Yeah.”

He’s silent, but you think you hear some slight movement on his end.

“Ghost?”

“Yes?”

“What’re you doing?”

“I’m going to visit you. Do you not want me to?”

You’re scared to answer, too frightened that your tired state will cause you to let the raw truth slip out.

You think you’re always going to want him.

He can only visit you when he’s in between missions.

(Unfortunately for you, breaks for him are a rarity.)

He comes back to you, sometimes a little bruised, sometimes a bit more broken than when he had left, but he always keeps his promise.

Whenever you want him to be with you, he’s there.

The nightmares gradually get better with time, but you always sleep the best when he’s with you. At first, he would just sit in a corner of your room, almost impossible to view unless you focus hard on him (if you didn’t know he was there, you probably never would have noticed him at all). He eventually began to sit closer to you, somewhere near the edge of your bed. On the rougher nights, you would find yourself reaching out for his hand.

When his presence alone can’t keep the nightmares at bay, and you wake up from another bad dream, he doesn’t force you to tell him what you see. Instead, he talks. Despite his rough voice, the sound of him telling you about the mundane aspects of his day is the most comforting thing in the world. It’s like your own personal lullaby.

He tells you about his life before this. You tell him about yours, too. His gloved hand brushes against your cheek as he tucks back a strand of your hair. You lay your own hand atop his, feeling the warmth of him even through the thick leather. You tell him about your nightmares, all the darker details that make you loathe your very being. He tells you his name.

You whisper it back to him.

Simon. Simon Riley.

You say it several times, sometimes slowly. Testing out how the syllables rest on the tip of your tongue.

He likes his name best when you’re the one saying it.

The facility starts to fill up with other saved victims from missions more recent than yours. You’re free to stay here as long as you like, but one day, Simon presses a key into the palm of your hands. You don’t need him to say anything; the imploring look in his eyes, your favorite feature in the whole world, ask the question for him.

Now the two of you share a bed. His toothbrush stands right next to yours, and the former empty residence that Simon used to spend his off-time avoiding is a home. He cares about what will happen to him because every time he leaves for a mission, you send him off with a soft see you soon!.

He knows that keeping his heart cold would ensure that he would go to great lengths to see to the success of his missions, but running towards death is such a silly thing. Why would he be okay with chasing after that when he knows he can return to his safehouse hidden in the woods and find you in the kitchen humming? If anything, he completes his missions even faster now. You told him that you’ll be expecting to see him soon, and he’s not one to disappoint you.

Simon Riley knows he’s got it bad. He can’t sleep well unless his sheets smell like you. He asks if he can bathe you just to run soap over the smooth skin of your body because he’s entirely obsessed with you, every scar and beauty mark. He knows it’s dangerous, but he keeps a Polaroid of you tucked safely away in one of his inner pockets in his uniform.

One morning, nearly a year since he rescued you, you tell him you love him.

He lets you take his mask off.

You’re smiling at him, eyes shining as you take in every minute detail. You can’t believe this is a face he would want to hide from the world. Selfishly, you’re a bit pleased with knowing you’re one of the few to see him like this, completely bare. To make the moment even better, he says it back.

He loves you.

“I know.” You tell him; it’s obvious. His mask is resting in your hands, after all.

Simon rushes home after every mission to see you, his first love, his only love. He loves coming back to you when you’re barefoot in the kitchen or washing your face in the bathroom, but he loves it the most when you guide him to your shared bedroom, the prolonged distance between the two of you making your longing for him all the more intense.

He loves you all the time, especially when you’re lying beneath him completely bare, with your hands (so much smaller compared to his own) eagerly touching every inch of him you can reach. He just got back; his uniform is partially off, all the weapons left hanging by the doorstep. He’s got nothing but the protective armor and the thick fabric on him, and with the way your body is practically calling for him, he doesn’t think you’ll give him enough time to strip himself of his clothes.

“Simon — missed you so much,” is what you whine out. He knows. You don’t have to whimper it out to him because your actions (and body’s reactions) leave nothing to assumption. You’re struggling to lift yourself up to pepper kisses all over his unmasked face, dainty hands tugging at his sleeves. Your cheeks are flushed, and you attempt to rut against him, trying to get some type of friction to satiate yourself.

You’re already so wet for him that he can feel it through his uniform.

“I know, baby. I’ve got you.” That’s your Simon. Always reassuring, always there when you need him. And right now, you need him so desperately that you’re soaking the bedsheets beneath you.

True to his word, you feel a gloved hand teasing your slick folds, smearing your arousal everywhere.

“Fuck.” He breathes out, admiring your glistening folds for just a second with a sort of sick fascination. He can spend hours with his head in between your thighs and your hands clutching at his hair. He won’t be leaving you so soon, though. He’ll have all the time he wants to bring you to the height of pleasure with just his tongue; tonight, he wants to give you exactly what you need.

The feeling of two of his thick fingers working in and out of your tiny hole has you moaning and writhing beneath him. You’re always beautiful in his eyes, but there’s something about you with wild hair and eyes shut from pleasure that makes you practically irresistible to him.

Everything about Simon is larger than life, and the feeling of being so small in comparison to his hulking figure should be frightening. But when he’s above you, his large fingers toying with your pussy in the way he knows you just love, you feel protected. Like he’s your shield from the harsh world outside. Inside your shared bedroom, only you two exist.

Your back arches, forcing his fingers to reach even deeper. The texture of his gloves only adds to your pleasure and in an attempt to prepare you for his cock, Simon adds another finger to stretch out your tight cunt.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Be a good girl and cum for me, yeah?” His words come out through gritted teeth, as if it’s taking everything in him not to replace his fingers for his cock. His tolerance is hanging on by a mere thread, but he refuses to fuck you properly ‘til he’s certain you’re ready to take him. Only when your cum is coating the leather of his gloves will he know.

You nod, occasionally jerking your hips in tandem with his thrusts, chasing after your high. You’re beginning to feel hotter, your pussy becoming even wetter, and neither of you can make out the words you’re mewling out. Perhaps your whines are pleas for more, maybe even mercy.

You can’t last any longer, and as his fingers curl against your sensitive walls, you find yourself nearly screaming his name as you gush around his fingers. He grins at the result of his hard work, withdrawing his fingers just to hold them up to you. His gloved hand glistens in the moonlight, and you can only watch as he raises his fingers to his mouth before sucking your essence off of them, effectively cleaning it up.

He never breaks eye contact with you once.

“Should I try it straight from the source?” His grin is teasing, the gleam in his eyes nothing short of wicked.

You weakly shake your head, already too fucked out to properly respond.

“No? I’ve been starving for your taste all those weeks I was gone, love. You don’t want to be a sweet girl and let me have my fill?” You know he’s just teasing you, but you still find yourself upset at the prospect of displeasing him.

“Not yet.” You pout, spreading your legs for him. “I wanna feel your cock.”

His grin only grows wider.

“Looks like my perfect girl’s been starving too, huh?” He leans down to give you a kiss, and you can taste a hint of your arousal lingering on his tongue. “Don’t worry, darling. I’ll give you everything you want and more.”

Everything about Simon is larger than life.

The first time he ever fucked you, you had cried from the stretch of his massive girth invading your previously untouched cunt. The sensation of being filled to the brim was a foreign one, but a feeling you’re certain only he could provide. No matter how many times he’s had you, it always feels like it’s your first time taking him.

He’s whispering words of reassurance as he guides himself into your leaking entrance. Despite him working you to your peak, three fingers doesn’t begin to compare to his dick, and you find yourself whimpering over his words of praise.

“You’re doing so well for me, love. Such a good girl, my good girl.” He kisses your forehead, forcing every inch of himself inside until the tip of his cock is kissing your cervix. The pleasure of being so full outweighs the pain of the stretch your cunt has to make to accommodate his sheer size.

You stare down at where the two of you are connected, taking a sharp breath as the unmistakable bulge in your belly serves as undeniable evidence of just how deep Simon is capable of reaching. It’s always a wonder on how your tiny pussy is always able to take him, and Simon merely chuckles as he notices where you’re staring.

Using the same hand he used to coax your first orgasm with, he gently guides your hand to rest on top of the bulge. He’s smiling as he tells you, “Keep your eyes right there, darling. I want you to watch me as I fuck you.”

His thrusts are always powerful, a true sign of his strength. You’re not even sure where all his stamina comes from because no matter how exhausting his missions may appear to be, he always finds the energy to fuck you well throughout the night.

Your body’s natural instinct is to tighten around him, and the pressure has him growling as he works harder to piston his cock in and out of you. The lewd squelching noises, the smacking of skin against skin — everything is just so downright pornographic.

Your free hand finds purchase on his clothed back, nails digging through the fabric as he continues to work to bring the two of you to an explosive finish.

“Fuck, I missed you so much, darling.” He hisses, relishing in the tightness of your cunt and how your body takes him so well every time. “I don’t ever want to leave you alone again.”

You whine out for him, needing him closer even though he’s already as close as he can get. With his unyielding, powerful thrusts and your heightened sensitivity, neither of you is going to last much longer. He looks down to admire the imprint of his cock in your belly. He loves you and finds every little thing about your body perfect, but he can imagine your belly expanding to make room for his child and your tits swelling with milk. Fuck.

“Want to put a baby in you, love. Will you let me? You’ll never be alone again, not when we make the perfect lil’ family.” He grunts, and you nod, overjoyed at the idea of him wanting something so intimate. A family. Your family. He’ll give you a baby.

“Yes!” You scream out, feeling the coil in your stomach about to snap, every thrust bringing you closer and closer to breaking. “Wanna have your baby, wanna be with you forever.” The words come out sounding like sobs as you feel the tension inside of you snap.

“Fuck, you’re so perfect. Going to fill this cunt with my cum, darling.” His thrusts are becoming more erratic as he gets closer to losing control. Both of his hands grip your hips, his hold on you tight as he releases into you with a deep grunt. His cum is thick and warm, filling you up so much to the point where it’s already leaking out despite him staying inside of you all in an attempt to make sure it takes.

Breathless, wild-eyed, red cheeks — the both of you are an absolute mess.

You take a shaky hand to run through his hair that’s damp with sweat, and he leans into your gentle touch. You stare at him with a reverence he feels he doesn’t deserve.

“My hero.”

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #mw2 #smut #lemon #one shot #drabble

[ohtobeleah]

California Fornication //

One — ‘That was Jake’

Summary: When the man you’d been seeing turned out to have a wife, your world came crashing down around you. While you tried your best to move onwards and upwards, the very reason for all your recent relationship problems comes strolling into the bar.

Warnings: Mentions of cheating. Love Triangle x2. Bradley Bradshaw x F!reader. Jake Seresin xF!reader. Question ing Morality. Angst.

Word Count: 1.9k

Author Note: Based off the first scene Mark Sloan is in. Greys Anatomy.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

It always plays on repeat in your mind like a slow motion picture, like a scene in one of those old timey movies where everyone and everything slows down so that the main protagonist can understand the situation unfolding around them. 

That moment where your boyfriend of only a few months— Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw, told you that he was technically married, haunted you day in and day out. Married to the woman who’d come up to the pair of you in the locker room on base after she’d been transferred to North Island. She’d come waltzing over with a confident smile and a pretty face. She knew she was about to turn your life on its axis. 

For better or worse. 

“Y/n.” It wasn’t often people actually said your name, majority of the same it was your callsign—but the way the colour drained from Bradleys face as he turned to you with a gut wrenching look smeared across his usually perfect face, had your stomach churning. “I’m so sorry—“ 

“Hi, I’m Katie Bradshaw—“ The woman, who mind you, was stunning to say the very least, stuck her hand out to shake yours. You took it gracefully, with enough conviction in your grip to not have it show you were completely blindsided by that all too familiar last name. 

“Bradshaw?” You smiled softly as you sent Rooster a confusing look. He’d never mentioned a sister or a cousin before in the few months you’d been seeing and sleeping together. 

“I’m Rooster's wife—“ Those three words would forever haunt you. “And you must be the woman who’s been screwing my husband?” 

“Hey! Siren!” It was Phoenix’s voice that broke you out of the trance you’d fallen into as you showed. Her fist slamming against the shower door three quick and consecutive times made you jump a little as the warm water encapsulated you entirely. “You coming to the Hard Deck?” 

“Yeah yeah, just give me a few minutes!” You replied as you washed your face. “I’ll meet you guys over there.” It had only been three weeks since you called it quits with the mustache having aviator who had stolen your heart. The entire situation made you feel dirty. Even if you weren’t the one in the wrong. No amount of showering could wash away the dirty feeling you’d been left with. 

What could be worse than being branded the dirty mistress? That no one told you about the cheating scandal that had rocked the Bradshaws' happy marriage about a year ago. That was worse. 

Bradley swore black and blue he was going to tell you. He’d sworn the rest of the squad to secrecy about the details too. He wanted to be the one to tell you. To tell you that you were the first woman he’d been with since he’d walked in on his wife, Katie, and his best friend, Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin, in bed together. 

Still, the ultimatum was given. You’d asked Bradley to pick you, choose you, love you. But when the time came to decide he chose his wife. His reasonings were none of your business nor concern. 

And so you walked away. Labelled the mistress and the interim love affair. Even against the Chester you didn’t compare—and that crushed you completely. 

“You’ve been doing that an awful lot lately.” Pennys voice broke through the haze you’d fallen into at the bar. The drink you’d ordered, Gin Sour, sat in front of you on a Hard Deck coaster. “What’s on your mind daydreamer?” 

“More like a never ending nightmare Pen.” You sighed before reaching for your drink. “This whole situation makes me feel like I need a lobotomy.” 

“Rooster still trying to force a friendship?” In truth Bradley thought he owed his marriage just one more shot. But right after you walked away he immediately started to regret his decision to choose his wife. He couldn’t stop thinking about you and all that was you. He’d made the wrong decision, but was too proud to admit it. Especially to his wife. 

He stood across the Hard Deck with a beer in his hand and his arm slung around her hip, looking at you like a puppy you’d left out in the rain. He missed you, oh so much. And that fact you hardly spoke to him these days made his heart hurt inside his chest. 

“Yeah—and I don’t think I can handle it anymore.” You admitted before taking a sip of your drink. “I’ve asked for a transfer, just to make it easier. I can’t focus, can’t sleep, because he’s just—always around.” 

“Sounds to me like you’re just running away from your problems.” Penny held her tongue as she watched the tall sandy blonde appear next to you at the bar. “That, or you know that you’re still in love with the guy and no matter what you do he’ll still manage to wiggle his way in because you’ll always allow him to.” It took you a few moments to register what the stranger beside you said as you eyed him up and down. 

“Sensitivity—“ You rolled your eyes. “I like that in a stranger.” The alcohol coursed through your body like a mild painkiller. “Are you new in town?” The civvies were an excellent camouflage against the sea of tans that flooded the Hard Deck—and Penny wasn’t about to be the one who told you the stranger you were talking to was the reason for your current situation. 

“Just visiting—“ He made sure to lie, a little white lie never hurt anyone. Or so they said. But the man beside you with the perfect smile and emerald green eyes definitely wanted to see how far he could get this conversation. “I’m confounded by all the patches and it’s only my first day in town.” He sighed softly as he sat beside you. “Budweiser please Barkeep.” Penny nodded without another word. 

“You get used to it, North Island is a Naval Base after all.” It felt like a needed explanation. The stranger beside you nodded softly as he fished his wallet out of his back pocket. 

“So I’ve heard.” A comfortable silence fell between you and the handsome stranger as he waited for his beer. “Kinda wish I’d stayed in bed, if I had known this place would be crawling with Naval Officers I wouldn’t have bothered.” Oh he knew, he knew all right. 

He knew that the Hard Deck would be packed to the rafters with the Dagger Squad and he certainly knew North Island was a Naval Base. Why? Because he was a part of that designated team. You’d just been the one who replaced him while he was tasked to special ops. Now? He was back to cause chaos. 

“Hey Rooster—“ Fanboy grabbed Bradley’s attention away from Bob. “You see who’s at the bar with Siren?” As Bradley turned his attention back to where he’d known you to be sitting for the better half of the evening, he immediately saw red. A jealousy that rivaled nothing he’d ever felt before consumed him fully, even if his wife was tucked in at his side. 

“We just met and already you’re talking about bed.” You chuckled softly as you took another sip of your drink. Penny had since passed Jake his Budweiser and before you knew it, he was laughing softly beside you. “Not very subtle.” 

“Being subtle was never really my strong suit.” The man beside you replied with a look of all knowing. He knew something you didn’t. If you didn’t know any better you would have asked what that may have been. But you chose to take another sip of your gin. Settletting once again into the comfortable silence that surrounded you and the stranger to your right. 

“So, you ever go out with co-workers?” It stunned you for a second, the forwardness of such a question, but then again—you still didn’t know this guy's name and he was making the heat in your cheeks reach new uncharted heights. 

“I um—“ You tucked some of your hair behind your ear and turned to give the golden skinned, white T wearing man beside you your full attention. Crossing your legs as you did so, so that his knees were on either side of yours. “I make it a rule not to.” His answer sent a shiver down your spin. A good shiver. A shiver that made your core flutter. 

“Then I am so glad that I don’t work here.” Maybe it was the gin talking or maybe it was your recent breakup, but this guy was the very definition of a piece of art. He was gorgeous, an Adonis that surely would have come straight out of accent metrology. 

“Are you hitting on me?” You tried to hide the keen grin that threatened to creep across your slightly heated face, but the sudden attention was giving you an ego boost you desperately needed after being rejected in favour of the cheating wife. 

“Would that be so wrong?” Oh this guy was good. Too good. His infectious smile captivated you in every way it could have. His eyes held a story that was dying to be told. His confidence made you want to lean in and taste it, like hard candy it probably tastes just as sweet as his scent smelled. With notes of Vanilla and warm Bourbon lingering from his neck. 

So you stuck your hand out for him to accept ever so politely. His eyes never left your as you smiled and bit your bottom lip bashfully. 

“I’m Y/n—“ “Lieutenant Y/n Siren Y/l/n.”  “And you are?” Nothing could have prepared you for what happened next. Remember that slow motion we were talking about earlier? Well, the seconds it took Bradley Bradshaw's fist to collide against your handsome mystery man’s cheek, it felt like a century as it played out in painfully slow motion before you. 

His head hit the bar with a thud as beer spilled into your lap. 

“Rooster! Jesus—!” You gasped as you stood and pushed against Bradley’s chest to back him up and away from the man you’d just been talking to. “Fuck! what the hell was that!?” 

Bradley didn’t answer right away as you turned to watch the blond stand with blood dripping down and out of his nose. The two stood there in silence, eyeing each other off as Penny fished out the bar's basic first aid kit. 

“That—“ Bradley huffed as he shook his throbbing hand. His jaw had never been so clenched before. He was furious and full of a rage that burned so deep it could have raised his core temperature by a few degrees. 

His wife stood off to the side looking all kinds of guilty. As did the rest of the Daggers. They knew this was about to get messy. They knew if he was back and already had his target set on you then there was going to be an all out war between the two men who stood ready to run at each other like angry bulls. 

And you, well—you were more concerned about the blood gushing from the nose of your stranger than you were about your ex’s possibly broken hand. But Bradley turned back to you, for a mere second to explain. 

And when he did—you forgot what morals were.

“That was Jake.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~*

#rooster bradshaw imagine #hangman seresin imagine #top gun fic #top gun x reader #bradley bradshaw top gun #jake seresin top gun #bradley bradshaw x reader #jake seresin x reader #bradley bradshaw x female reader #jake seresin x female!reader

[laurenairay]

I'm still haunted by the memories - S. Crosby

Summary: Maeva thought five years was long enough to get over Sidney breaking her heart. Apparently not.

Words: 5.5k

This is my fic for @senditcolton​’s birthday bingo! I chose the bingo squares ‘wedding season’, ‘It was always you’, ‘free space – argument scene’, ‘second chance romance’, and ‘interrupted kiss’. I haven’t written a full fic for Sid in ages, so I really hope you like this!

Warnings: angst, past break up scene, exes to (potential) lovers

Title: Little do you know, by Alex & Sierra

~

“What am I to you?”

“What?” Sidney asked, confused.

“What am I to you? What do I mean to you?”

“What’s going on, Maeva?” he asked, frowning.

“Can you just answer my question please?”

Sidney frowned even more at the sharpness of her voice. “You’re my girlfriend. I love you. What’s going on?”

“You love me?”

“Yes! Mae, seriously…”

She could tell he was getting frustrated now, but that didn’t settle the gnawing feeling in her stomach.

“We’ve been together five years now. I love you more than I thought could’ve ever loved anyone. Five years of cheering you on no matter what. Five years of supporting you and the team and all the better halves as they’ve come and gone. Five years of always coming second but putting on a smile because I know hockey is your whole world. But I thought I would’ve at least had a part of it?”

“I don’t understand what you mean. Of course you’re part of my world,” Sidney said, confused.

Was he really going to be that cruel, to pretend he didn’t know what she meant?

“At the team get together this weekend, when we celebrated the latest Pens rookie getting engaged, someone joked to you about when you were going to put a ring on my finger too. But you just snorted and changed the subject…”

She trailed off, watching Sidney’s face pale a little bit, his reaction sinking like a stone in her stomach.

“I don’t…where did you hear that?”

“I was right behind you, Sid. I was right there and Kris & Cath saw me but you didn’t. They sent me pitying smiles and I hated it, Sid. Why don’t you want a life with me?” Maeva asked, her voice finally cracking as tears threatened to spill.

“We already have a life together. Why do we need to complicate it?”

“Complicate it? You think marriage is just a complication?” she shot back.

“I just don’t see why we need to put a label on things. We’ve got a good thing going,” Sidney huffed.

“Labels? Are you kidding me? I’m nearly 30, Sid, and all I have to show for the thing I’ve poured my heart into for five years is a couple of photos on your cup days? You won’t take me out in public, you don’t talk about me to anyone outside of your team and your immediate family, you can clearly drop me at any moment…are you ashamed of our relationship? Have I been wasting my time?”

“Damn it Mae, I’m not ashamed! I thought you understood that I like my privacy!”

That’s all he took out of it?

“I know you value it, Sid, but I didn’t think it would get to this point. I didn’t think you would go this far. I’m tired of being an afterthought to you!”

“And I’m tired of you being so insecure!”

Her breath hitched in her throat as a pang of hurt rang through her chest, and she could see a flash of regret immediately pass over Sidney’s face.

“Maeva…”

“I’m done. I can’t do this anymore, Sid. There is nothing wrong with wanting to feel appreciated and there is nothing wrong with wanting to know that I have a future to look forward to. Because apparently I don’t. Who knew that Sidney Crosby was such a commitment-phobe?”

~

Maeva glanced out of the airplane window, hazy memories passing through her mind as the plane started its decent into Halifax airport. It didn’t seem like it had been five years since her life with Sidney had fallen apart, almost as long as their just-over-five-years relationship. But the memories of that awful night still burned her heart like a hot poker. She may have left him that night, may have returned to Canada, but she hadn’t been able to move back to Nova Scotia. She’d tried, sure, but she’d only lasted a few months before the memories of their time there together was too much to bear too. It had felt right to flee to the other side of Canada, all the way to Vancouver where she was able to secure an apartment and a job where no-one knew who she was. Maeva had only visited her parents a few times in the five years since – and only when she knew he absolutely wouldn’t be there.

Everything had just hurt too much. It still did.

But now, for the first time in as long as she could remember, she was heading back to Cole Harbour in the summer. Her cousin Natasha was getting married, and her aunt had begged Maeva to come home to join her parents in attending. If it wasn’t for the fact that she and Natasha had grown up as close as sisters, Maeva would’ve found an excuse somehow – but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. All she had to do was survive the long weekend. It was late Thursday evening that she’d flown over, leaving Friday for wedding errands, Saturday for the pre-wedding celebrations, and Sunday for the wedding day itself - both ceremony and reception. She’d managed to book a flight home at midday on Monday, but she knew that this weekend was going to be a test of her strength.

Maeva had done so well to protect her heart for so long, and she didn’t want a few days back in Cole Harbour to ruin it.

It didn’t take long for her to pick up her suitcase and head to the arrivals area, a small smile crossing her lips at the sight of her dad waiting for her. Maeva could happily admit that she was a daddy’s girl, through and through, the two of them having the only blonde hair in the family, his quiet calm aura always making her feel happy and secure. That was one of the only things she regretted about not toughing it out in Cole Harbour – she didn’t get to spend the time with her dad that he deserved.

She made a mental note not to take that for granted this weekend.

“My little Maeva,” he said gruffly, warmth seeping into every word as he hugged her tightly.

“It’s good to see you. I’m…I’m sorry it’s been so long,” she murmured when they eventually separated.

“Oh don’t you worry about that. I’m just glad you’re home for the wedding. Lord knows I need a little more sanity in the house.”

Maeva just snickered, looping her arm through her dad’s as they started to walk out to the parking lot. “Mom’s succumbed to wedding fever then?”

“Happily skipped into crazy town, more like it,” he grinned, “I don’t think I can survive another day of folding bits of paper into little birds to decorate the tables.”

Maeva just grimaced, making her dad laugh. That sounded like her idea of nightmare chaos. “Any chance we can avoid most of the wedding prep tomorrow?”

Her dad just smiled indulgently. “Oh I’m sure I can figure something out.”

She really had missed him.

~

Just as her dad had promised, he managed to get the two of them out of the intense wedding preparations that the family were taking part in on Friday. The two of them went out for a long breakfast in the morning, before her mom could bundle her into the car and over to her aunt’s, and after a slow walk by the waterside, telling him all about her life in Vancouver and her small circle of friends and her low-key retail managerial career, they eventually made their way back to the house. Her mom was annoyed with them both, Maeva knew that much, but she couldn’t stay mad at Maeva for long, not really when she knew exactly why her only daughter never came home – and Maeva made up for it by ironing her dad’s shirt for the wedding and steaming his suit, her mom’s dress, and her own dress, while her father shined his shoes to her mom’s satisfaction.

There would be enough time to apologise to her cousin on Saturday during the welcome lunch up at Hatfield Farm, where 30 close family and friends would be staying overnight ahead of the wedding on Sunday (with the same 30 staying on the Sunday night). Thankfully the venue was only a 40 minute drive from her family home in Cole Harbour, so she would have plenty of time to make her flight back to Vancouver on the Monday.

She just had to get through the weekend first. One step at a time.

Saturday morning was as chaotic as Maeva thought it would be. Her mom had the three of them loading up her dad’s car like a military operation, checklist on clipboard included, to make sure that nothing was left behind, especially as their part of the family was in charge of the table centrepieces and fairy lights for decorating the reception hall. Once all of that, and their wedding outfits (and shoes and accessories) were ready, along with their overnight bags, it was coming close to midday, and with a picnic basket full of snacks and drinks for the little cabin that the three of them would be staying in, they hit the road.

Despite everything, it made Maeva smile as she recognised the other cars on their journey, all of them making their way to Hatfield Farm like a miniature invasion. The curse of a small town.

It didn’t take long to sort out the accommodation keys, and once Maeva had hung up her dress for the wedding (at her mom’s request to reduce wrinkles), she sprayed a little perfume and fluffed up her blonde hair before rejoining her parents.

“Ready to face the circus?” her dad grinned.

“Honestly,” her mom tutted, elbowing him.

But even she gave Maeva a worried glance.

“I’ll be fine. Cole Harbour may be a small town, but it’s not like Sidney can pop up everywhere,” Maeva said, trying to convince herself as much as them. “It’ll be good to celebrate Natasha’s happy day.”

“Atta girl,” her dad said gruffly.

Her mom just nodded, threading her fingers through her dad’s to silently lead them across the grounds to the main reception hall, where the welcome lunch was being held. They weren’t the last people there, not by any means, but they definitely weren’t the first. Maeva could see her cousin walking towards them with a big smile on her face, dressed in a gorgeous peach dress and looking radiant with happiness, and that joy was infectious.

Until Maeva glanced across the other side of the room, that is.

The sound of her breath catching in her throat was enough to make her parents look in the same direction, and her unflappable dad scowled in a way she’d never seen before.

“What is he doing here?” her dad asked lowly, lips pursing as he turned back to look at her cousin.

Natasha glanced over and cursed under her breath. “Sid wasn’t meant to be arriving until later. I was meant to have enough time to give you a warning, Maeva. Carl invited him but wasn’t sure if he could make it – they’ve been friends since they were kids.”

“Curse of a small town,” she murmured, her smile shaky.

She glanced back at him, thankful that he hadn’t noticed her looking yet, her heart racing in a way that made her feel sick as she took him in. Sidney looked good, of course he did. Broad shoulders, giant ass, and thick thighs filling out his suit so perfectly, hair dusted with grey in a way that only made him look distinguished. He was standing sideways, talking with Nate (of course Nate was here too) and a couple of other guys from their hometown, and as he laughed, head thrown back, the sound of his ridiculous honking giggle made her want to cry.

She wasn’t ready. How could she think she was ready?

Her mom subtly took her hand in hers, squeezing gently to reassure her, only making her dad curse under his breath again.

“Hey, you’re my cousin. If him being here is going to ruin your weekend, I can kick him out. I don’t care if his name is on the town sign – you are family,” Natasha said firmly, voice still quiet.

Tears stung at her eyes slightly at her cousin’s care, but she shook her head. No, no she had to face being in Cole Harbour at the same time as him at some point. She wasn’t going to let him ruin things, not this time. “It’s been five years. I’ll survive.”

Natasha just frowned, taking Maeva’s free hand in her own.

“You just say the word and he’s gone, okay? I haven’t had a chance to be bridezilla yet,” she said, grinning sharply.

Maeva laughed a little wetly, shaking her head again, squeezing Natasha’s hand and her mom’s to say thank you silently.

“Everything will be fine. There will be enough people here that you can just avoid him!” her mom said, smiling.

Maeva didn’t need to look at her dad as he huffed to know that just wouldn’t happen. But still, she had to believe it was possible or she wasn’t even going to make it through today. She could avoid him as much as possible – there was only so much her heart could handle.

“Drinks?” Natasha suggested.

“Hell yes,” Maeva sighed.

Drinks, then setting up the reception hall with the fairy lights, and bringing in all of the table centrepieces ready for the venue staff to set up in the morning. Then maybe some more drinks. She could handle that.

When she eventually went to sleep close to midnight, her heart was aching in the worst way – Maeva hadn’t expected to actually be able to avoid Sidney, but she also hadn’t expected to feel his eyes trailing her around the room for the entire day.

And she was dreading tomorrow even more, now that she knew he would be there.

~

Breakfast in the morning was a communal affair. The wedding ceremony wasn’t until 2pm, and the staff at Hatfield Farm were putting on a breakfast spread for all the guests from 7-9am, so Maeva was making good use of it, knowing she wouldn’t eat for hours after this. Her dress was a flowy one thankfully, so she didn’t have to worry about carb bloating – it was one of the reasons she’d chosen it, along with the fact at it was light and airy enough for the warm weather and a gorgeous shimmery gold colour that complimented her wonderfully. And it didn’t conflict with the beautiful lilac and cream wedding colours either, which was a bonus.

Her parents had already eaten and headed back to the accommodation, leaving Maeva to finish her orange juice in peace. Still, being back in Cole Harbour after all this time, surrounded by people that she’d left behind in her efforts to leave him behind…it was almost too much, and she found herself stepping outside for some air to clear her head.

One more day.

She could make it one more day.

But the moment that she heard footsteps walking over to her, she knew her luck had run out.

“I wasn’t sure if I was going to be able to get you alone.”

Hello to you too, Sidney.

“Why would you even want to?” Maeva said, voice cold and polite as she turned to face him.

Sidney just winced. “Mae, come on, you know why.”

Oh screw him. Shortening her name like he used to, playing with her emotions like that? No.

“No, Sidney, I don’t know why,” she said shortly, “We broke up five years ago, almost as long ago as the whole length of our relationship was – so what could you possibly have to say to me?”

“Please don’t be like this. I’m trying to apologise,” he said, frowning.

“Apologise for what, exactly?” she asked, folding her arms over her chest.

Sidney just huffed out a frustrated breath, putting his coffee mug down on a nearby table.

“Maeva, I’m serious. I’m trying to be the bigger person here and-”

“Are you kidding me? The bigger person? Our relationship ended because you couldn’t commit, Sidney, and you’re talking about being the bigger person like I’ve done something wrong?” she said angrily,

The nerve. What the hell.

“If you would just listen to me…”

“Listen to what? What could you possibly have to say to me?” she spat, cutting him off again.

“If you’d stop interrupting me then I could actually say it!” he shot back, shades away from shouting.

“Uh, guys?”

Maeva looked sharply to the left, seeing Nate standing there awkwardly looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“What, Nate?” Sidney said shortly, cheeks flushed.

“Uh, your mom is looking for you, Maeva,” he explained, grimacing.

“Thanks. We were done here anyway,” Maeva said coldly.

“No we…”

But she just stormed away, not letting Sidney finish, ignoring the hissed conversation between the two men, trying desperately to keep her composure until she was alone. Just as Nate said, her mom was glancing around, and the moment that she spotted her, her face fell.

“Let’s get back to the rooms to get ready, yes?” her mom said, pasting a smile on her face.

It was all Maeva could do to nod, letting her mom usher her along, the fire in her chest from their building argument fizzling away into an all-consuming black hole of sadness. Why would he confront her like that? Why would he want to unsettle her like that after all these years? She would never have thought of him as cruel, but this…this was the last thing she needed. Those few minutes were everything she’d been trying to avoid, and the wedding hadn’t even officially start yet – how was she going to make it through the rest of the day?

The moment that their cabin door was shut behind them, her mom whirled around to face her.

“Maeva, sweetie, what happened?”

She opened her mouth to explain, but all that she managed to do was start crying, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her mom let out an uncharacteristic curse, cradling her in her arms, only making Maeva sob harder. This is why she never came home. This is exactly why.

She didn’t know how long it took for her to calm down, for her sobbing and tears to fade to sniffles, and she was just glad that her mom hadn’t changed into her wedding outfit yet.

“Give me the word and I will get laxatives put in his drinks. I know people,” her mom said seriously.

Maeva choked out a laugh, smiling shakily at her mom’s attempt to cheer her up, but shook her head.

“It was stupid. Just stupid. I wish he wasn’t here but I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of leaving,” Maeva said sadly.

“You’re a braver woman than I am,” her mom said, huffing out a laugh.

“Nah, I get it from you, eh?”

Her mom just smiled shakily, giving her another quick hug before pulling back to rest her hands on her shoulders.

“Let’s get ready for this wedding. Have a shower and then I’ll help you with your hair,” her mom said firmly.

Maeva just smiled, nodding her head, heading towards her room as she heard the shower stopping. By the time she’d gathered her towels and underwear, her dad was back in the room he shared with her mom, leaving her to shower quickly. Leaving her with her swirling thoughts.

Even though minutes ago her blood was boiling with his audacity, her heart still ached for him. Up close the grey in his hair looked even better than she’d thought, the slight laughter lines around his eyes only adding to his appeal. His voice was a smooth as she remembered, his figure just as broad and overwhelming compared to her slight frame as it always had been. Even his intensity, his emotion, was exactly as she remembered, sending shivers down her spine.

She missed him.

And she hated it as much as she loved it.

She loved him. Even as much as she wished she didn’t.

It didn’t take her long to do her make up and put on her dress, and she blow-dried her hair to the point where it was manageable by the time her mom knocked on her bedroom door.

“Oh sweetie, you look beautiful,” her mom said, voice earnest and sweet.

Maeva just grinned back at her, twirling on the spot to watch her golden dress flare in the mirror.

Her mom laughed, rolling her eyes fondly as she guided Maeva to sit down on the end of the bed. She expertly twisted half of her hair up into an elegant bun, fixing it in place with a couple of bobby pins and a ribbon that matched the gold of her dress, leaving the rest of her hair to flow down her back in blonde waves. It was simple but refined, and she felt pretty the moment she looked in the mirror.

“Thanks mom. Let’s do this thing.”

“That’s my girl.”

~

The wedding was beautiful. Maeva didn’t know what else she expected though, if she was being honest. Natasha looked ethereal as she glided down the aisle, her fiancé crying a little when he saw her, and the two of them didn’t stop smiling at each other the whole ceremony. Maeva kept her eyes on them the whole time, even though she could feel eyes on her throughout the hour – she knew exactly who they belonged to, but she just couldn’t. She couldn’t, not at a wedding she knew she would never have.

All the guests moved into the reception hall, sitting at their assigned tables, Maeva sitting between her parents with each of them holding one of her hands like they didn’t want her to disappear. She could only imagine what her mom her told her dad about her breakdown this morning, but that was the last thing she wanted to think about right now. All through the wedding speeches Maeva sipped on her champagne, laughing at the appropriate moments, tearing up at her uncle’s heartfelt words, cheering the toasts to the new bride and groom. She could barely remember what she ate when the food came and went, but she dutifully ate under the watchful eye of her mom, making small talk with the other members of their table, answering politely to questions about her life in Vancouver, 6000km feeling even further away than ever before.

By the time the additional guests joined them all for the evening reception, Maeva was well on her way to being overwhelmed, but she joined the circle of people on the dancefloor to watch Natasha and her new husband in their first dance.

Just as the music started, a familiar figure stepped up next to her. Maeva froze, desperately trying to think of how to make a subtle exit, but Sidney gently pressed a flute of champagne into her hand.

“This is an apology drink,” he murmured. “I should never have lost my temper with you this morning.”

Not here. Not now.

She didn’t know what her face was showing as she glanced up at him but Sidney’s face just looked sad.

“Can we talk after their first dance finishes? Please?” he begged softly.

There was something in his voice that made her façade crack.

“Fine.”

She didn’t dare take her eyes off of Natasha and her husband for the rest of the dance, sipping the champagne flute, waiting until people started joining them on the dancefloor to slip away, Sidney subtly following her. Just off the side of the venue was a small courtyard, separated from the rest of the outside space by a trellis of flowers, just enough to give them a semblance of privacy.

Maeva put down the glass as Sidney joined her, wrapping her arms around herself partly as a guard, partly as comfort, her ex-boyfriend standing in front of her looking just as overwhelming as he always had.

“Thank you for agreeing to talk to me,” he started, smiling a little.

“What did you want to talk about, Sid?” she sighed.

“I messed up all those years ago,” he murmured.

No, no she couldn’t do this.

“Sidney I can’t,” she interrupted, shaking her head.

“Please, please just let me finish,” he begged.

She just bit her bottom lip, glancing away from him briefly to steel herself, before nodding.

“I have spent five years trying to think about what I would say if I ever got the chance to see you again. Five years playing the conversation over and over again in my head, going through every scenario, and right now in this moment, none of it is coming to my head,” he said softly.

That was so typically Sid.

“Forget what’s in your head. What’s in your heart?” she found herself saying.

He huffed out a laugh, nodding his head.

“I love you, Maeva,” he said, tears glistening in his eyes.

Oh.

Oh.

Oh god this was the last thing she’d been expecting.

He still loved her?

“Do you love me too? Is there any chance that you still love me?” he asked desperately.

He still loved her?

Running on pure instinct, Maeva choked out a sob as she leaned up and kissed him, hands clutching at his shirt.

Of course she still loved him.

Sidney didn’t hesitate as he kissed her slowly back, cradling her face with both hands, pouring everything into the embrace. Maeva’s head swirled as her blood surged and her heart raced…and then a couple of wedding guests stumbled outside too, clearly drunk. They were mostly giggling and falling into themselves, so they didn’t notice Sidney and Maeva springing apart, and as they stumbled around the corner Sidney quickly took one of Maeva’s hands in his, breaking her out of her frozen state of shock.

“You still love me?” Sidney asked hopefully.

“That was so stupid. I shouldn’t have…we shouldn’t have…”

His face fell.

“Please don’t run away. Please don’t leave me, not again,” Sidney begged, interrupting her rambling words.

She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t do this.

“We can’t just go back to how things were, Sid,” Maeva said sadly, “We’re different people now, we’ve both changed.”

“Then let me get to know you again. And you can get to know me,” Sidney said desperately, “We still love each other – isn’t that enough?”

Maeva’s face must’ve looked as incredulous as she felt, because he squeezed her hand a little tighter, eyes burning with intensity. She remembered that look. It still had the same effect on her, knowing that Sidney was leading up to something heart achingly earnest.

“You are right, I’ve changed – I’m not the same man I was before. I made the biggest mistake of my life taking you for granted, letting you go when I should’ve fought for us, and I regretted it the moment I realised you’d truly left. My stupid pride kept me from reaching out to you in the first few weeks, and when I got over myself, it was too late.”

“Sidney…” she murmured.

“No-one would tell me where you went. Your parents wouldn’t talk to me, or to my mom. Your friends blocked my number. All Taylor could find out was that you were in Cole Harbor for a few months before you left for good and that you’ve barely been back since. I searched for you, for any sign of you, wherever I went and it still wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough.”

“Sidney,” she repeated, tears stinging her eyes.

“I am so sorry, Mae. I love you. I always have – it was always you. It was always going to be you, and I’ve spent five years regretting every single moment of that stupid fight and everything I did leading up to it. As selfish as it is, I can only hope that no-one else has your heart. Can you ever forgive me?”

Maeva swallowed heavily, letting go of his hand to run shaky fingers through her hair in an effort to compose herself. This was everything she’d ever dreamed of hearing from him and it was also everything she’d dreaded. She’d spent so long in therapy building up her walls, repairing her heart, learning how to heal herself and protect herself from falling into this kind of heartbreak again.

But she loved him.

She loved him so deeply that she didn’t know how she could ever stop. Sidney Crosby was so intrinsically part of her that she knew that, being honest with herself, she didn’t know what a life without him looked like. It was one of the main things she still talked about with her therapist, her inability to accept anyone new into her heart, and she knew deep down that no-one would ever replace him, not truly.

But was she ready to just fall back into his arms.

“I don’t know if I can,” she said softly, and wow wasn’t the devastated look on his face heartbreaking? “I want to, Sid, but I have spent years trying to move on from you and I don’t think I can handle going through what we did again.”

Sidney let out a shaky breath, smiling sadly as his eyes shined with tears. “The last thing I want is to hurt you. I just…I want to show you that I’ve changed. I want to show you all of the love that I should’ve shown you five years ago. You deserve that much. You should have someone love you in every single way that you absolutely deserve.”

“Sidney…” was all she could murmur again.

Maybe it was her lack of refusal, or the softness in her voice, but Sidney took one of her hands again, squeezing it gently.

“I know that we have separate lives now. I know that you have created something wonderful for yourself without me. But all I’m asking for is a chance to start over,” he said softly.

“But how would that work with you in Pittsburgh and me in Vancouver?”

“You’re a Canucks fan now?” he grimaced.

Of course that was his priority. Still, she found herself choking out a laugh, shaking her head as Sidney flushed a little with shame. “I haven’t watched hockey since I left Pittsburgh. Vancouver was just the furthest I could get away and still be in Canada.”

The look that passed over his face was a curious mix of sadness, regret, and frustration, before it settled into the determination she’d known for years.

“Can I call you?”

“What?” she asked, frowning.

“Can I call you?” he repeated. “I’m still not on social media, other than whatever the team makes us do. I’m getting better at texting. Emails are so-so. But I would love to talk to you, to hear your voice. I miss you, so much.”

How did he know exactly what to say to make her heart cry out?

“Sidney, come on,” she pleaded, trying to ignore the lump rising in her throat.

But he didn’t back down.

“Tell me no, Maeva. Tell me no, and I will walk away. You know I’m not that guy – no means no, and if you mean it then I will never bother you again,” he said seriously.

“You know I can’t,” she murmured.

Sidney just let out a shaky breath, squeezing her hand again as a smile hopeful smile crept across his lips.

“So let me call you. We can start with baby steps. I know you have a life in Vancouver now…but I just want to be part of it. I wasted five years of my life without you because I was an idiot who didn’t appreciate the incredible woman I had – all I want is another chance. Do you love me?”

He really was devastating, wasn’t he?

“Do you love me?” he repeated, running his thumb over her knuckles.

“I do love you. I don’t think I know how to stop,” she said, feeling like an idiot but smiling anyway.

Sidney just smiled like he couldn’t believe his luck, and slowly lifted her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles gently, keeping his gaze locked on hers.

“I love you, Maeva,” he murmured.

He kissed her hand again before gently lowering it back down to their sides, so much emotion in his face that Maeva didn’t know what else she could possibly do.

“You can call me. I’m making no promises, but you can call me,” she said softly.

The smile that spread across his face made her heart soar for the first time in years.

~

Little do you know how I'm breaking while you fall asleep? Little do you know I'm still haunted by the memories? Little do you know I'm trying to pick myself up piece by piece? Little do you know I need a little more time?

Oh wait, just wait, I love you like I've never felt the pain, Just wait, I love you like I've never been afraid, Just wait, our love is here, is here to stay, So lay your head on me.

#my writing #nicole's b-day bingo #sidney crosby fic #exes to lovers #sidney crosby fanfic #sidney crosby imagine #hockey writing #hockey fic #hockey fanfic #nhl writing #nhl fic #nhl fanfic

[olenvasynyt]

In ACOWAR during the meeting with Kier when he asks for his people to be free of the mountain, Feyre says “You have every comfort, and it’s still not enough?”

She had every comfort at Tamlin’s manor, and it still wasn’t enough for her…

#freethecourtofnightmares2024

One thing that really pisses me off about the Court of Nightmares is how SJM writes it so black and white. The entire court, not just Keir, is evil and conniving. There was a part in ACOWAR where he says he is going to let the CoN go to Velaris but he told all of the vendors and business owners to refuse service to not just Keir, but all of the CoN. And this paints the entire court in this black and white lense.

Not a single person in that court is a dreamer like Mor? She was the only fucking one?

I think there can be a little bit of nuance to the situation where a significant portion of the court is just bad because they have been festering in the dark for so long, but guess who's fault is that?? It's the leader's fault, the one who keeps the court up and running, aka the High Lord, aka Rhys.

Rhys says he wants change. That he wants to show the world that he's good. But he continues to keep the Court of Nightmares up and running, he keeps Keir as herald.

"Oh this court is so awful and sadistic," Feyre thinks as she sits on the throne with a crown on her head and with Rhys holding her hand.

And Rhys says "the Court of Nightmares just rules itself" and sure, I guess that's true, but as High Lord, you have the ability to put a stop to that and pull out the bad weeds. But instead, you keep it running to further your agenda and to keep your evil mask on.

Getting mad at Keir for slutshaming your lover and breaking his arm is not enough. Restricting access to Velaris is not enough. Even telling the Court "you guys are bad >:C " is not fucking enough.

Rhys the most powerful High Lord who killed all of the Illyrian war bands who sided with Amarantha after UTM, yet he can't do the same to the CoN?

Rhys and Feyre and the IC label the entire CoN as evil without trying to find the forgotten dreamers, and they continue to keep the court up and running and making the excuse that "it's too hard" despite their power and influence. It means they don't care. Or that Rhys maybe fucking enjoys it.

It also means that SJM (so far) has no idea what she's doing and can't understand the situation she wrote in her own series.

And this brings me to comparing Nesta being locked up, the CoN and its dreamers being locked up, and Feyre being locked up. Is SJM intending this irony and hypocrisy of the IC? I sure hope so because I swear it's the most obvious comparision ever, but it confuses me because a large majority of the ACOTAR fanbase doesn't get it. "Oh well the CoN is evil! They have to keep them contained and Rhys can't do a whole lot as High Lord because the Court rules itself." And the most frustrating argument: "Nesta was addicted to sex and alcohol, she needed to be rehabilitated! It's for her own good!"

They don't see the irony of how the IC treats Nesta because Tamlin also did what he did for Feyre's own good. It was to protect her, keep her safe. Not saying it was 100% good and right, but why are we not understanding that what the IC did to Nesta was not 100% good and right either?

#anti inner circle #anti rhysand #sjm critical #anti ic #anti sjm #please stop treating the IC as if they're saints #pro nesta #pro tamlin

[decolonize-the-left]

Hi I know you're probably getting a lot of asks right now and I swear Im asking this in good faith, I watched both days of proceedings and there were some things that confused me and I don't how where to get answers

In SAs argument they assert that hamas is not a state and not party to the genocide convention because it is labelled a terrorist organization and therefore its crimes dont fall under the courts jurisdiction because there are other courts for that, which is why they were focusing on israels crimes against the Palestinian people

But it seemed like the majority of Israels argument was specifically about the oct 7 massacre and that it was in a war with hamas and they were referring to it as a terrorist state. But from what I understand hamas was elected in 2006 (causing the split between gaza and the west bank) and there haven't been elections since then

Israel said it was at war with terrorists and also refuses to acknowledge hamas as a legitimate government, but then also said it couldnt stop its military operations because it would give hamas free reign to continue attacks on israel and that therefore the provisional measures werent justified.

Im really confused by Israels statements because they both seemed to refuse to acknowledge hamas as a legitimate government (stating it a terrorist organization) and yet they opposed south africas assertion that because hamas was a terrorist organization this isn't the right court to try them making only israel accountable to this particular court and said south africa refused to acknowledge hamas's crimes being committed

I just dont get how they can plead that both hamas is a terrorist organization not a government and that south africa should have mentioned what hamas was doing since oct. 7, despite the fact that both parties seem to agree that hamas is not a governent

If this court only has jurisdiction over governments, how can israel be angry that south africa didn't talk enough about hamas when they both agree it isnt a government?

Also how can israel argue that they aren't permanently displacing civilians and that they are only ordering civilians to move for their own safety temporarily if there is nowhere for them to return to? Are they saying that the bombing and complete destruction of palestinian homes im this war somehow isn't permanent displacement of a people?

Israel also mentioned their own court and how well respected it is, does this mean Palestinians are able to go and lay charges in their court system? If so does that mean they are civilians of Israel as well? And if thats the case then doesn't that mean theyre bombing and murdering people who are supposed to be under their protection or at the very least their leadership? How is that not genocide then?

Sorry if this was worded poorly i was having a hard time articulating myself. I just don't know if im misunderstanding something or if israel is actively contradicting itself in big places

No that was worded great

I'm as confused as you are, anon

#asked #answered #icj #free Palestine #free Gaza #Palestine #gaza #Israel

[aro-comics]

Platonic

Platonic, 1/1 - The Original Arospec struggle 😭 … okay, I'm (half) joking, but quite genuinely this has been a big challenge for me navigating this world as an Aro! I know platonic affection is something people struggle with, aro or not, but I personally believe the aro flavour has its own unique layer of anxieties.

I've touched on this before, but a lot of this stems from my experiences growing up. When I was a kid, I really wanted and tried to express affection in a way that feels … authentic? And genuine? To how I relate to/experience platonic feelings for others. I don't know if my struggles with social skills affected this, but trying to show affection didn't end well most of the time. People thought I was being weird, or misread my intentions and would give (extremely unwanted) romantic advances. I know it's not the end of the world, but … this impacted my relationship with friendship as a whole. It hurts to feel like your feelings aren't reciprocated! And after a while this led me to reconsider how I communicate and express myself, if at all.

😅 … and yeah, I realize that was a bit of a downer. If it's of any comfort or positivity, like I mentioned in the comic I am working past what I now know is the effect of amatonormativity on me. I've been reflecting a lot on this topic so I've got a lot of (still forming) thoughts, but the gist of it is this: I know now I don't need to feel bad for being confused and conflicted about how I relate to and express my feelings for others - and even though I don't know what I really want when showing affection, being aware of why I feel this conflict is a much healtheir place to start from. I think my next steps are going to be more honest about my feelings with myself, since I learned to ignore a lot of them with amatonormative pressures. I hope it will eventually lead me to communicating these feelings more openly in my relationships in the future too 💚💚

As usual, I want to emphasize not every aro goes through the same things. If this doesn't apply to you, that's totally okay! Actually I'm really glad if you haven't had to experience this flavour of inner turmoil haha 😂 Either way, I'm always interested to hear about your perspective on all of this. Is this a part of your experience as an aro too?

[Image Description:

Slide 1: Celia sits in front of some plants, holding a blue watering can. "Something I've struggled with my whole life - and still am now, to a lesser extent - is showing affection platonically in a way that's authentic to how I'm actually feeling."

Slide 2: She continues "Even for people I'm not necessarily platonically attracted to, just people I genuinely enjoy being around and want to express my apprecation for -"

Slide 3: She stares down at an illustrated board of her thought process. "I'm always second guessing how I should behave"

On one side, Figure A shows her being very excited to see her friend. She has a whole puppy dog eye thing going on, and in the background she thinks: "should I be as excited as I actually am to see them?? What if I seem toooooo friendly? OH NO what if they think I'm flirting? What should I do? Help -"

On the other side, Figure B shows her standing with a much calmer if somewhat blank expression. An arrow labelled "A very platonically appropriate distance" is between them. She thinks "Or I can try toning it down … but WAIT what if I don't seem happy enough when I see them? Will they think I'm too reserved? WHAT IF THEY THINK I'M BORING AND THEY DON'T WANT TO HANG OUT AND-"

Slide 4: "As you can see … it's a dilemma" She says while making the stereotypically anime-esque streaming tears face.

Slide 5: She shrugs now, "But in all seriousness, I'm not going to pretend I have any good answer for this - because I don't, I'm still figuring things out. At least now I understand it's the amatonormativity getting to me."

Slide 6: "And moving forwards, I think as long as I'm being respectful of other people's boundaries, and communicating how I'm feeling … I'll work it out eventually." She waters her plants.]

#RegularComic #Platonic

[windvexer]

What would a different form of magic be that isn't witchcraft? I know this is probably a dumb question but I'm honestly just trying to learn 😅

This is what bums me out about people insisting that it's okay and not harmful to call literally everything witchcraft!

It's erased an entire world of magic!

People! Literally! Don't! Know! Other! Stuff! Exists!

So let me tell you from the bottom of my heart, Anon: this is NOT a dumb question. This is a really important question, and not enough people ask it, and that's how we get to people tagging literally anything nonwhite and/or nonchristian as #baby witch #witch tips #witchblr #witchcraft 101.

Witchcraft has, until very recently, been a term to denote bad, harmful, or malicious magic. This is in contrast to good, helpful, or benevolent magic.

In a community, you can have a cunning person who practices good community-oriented magic, and you can have a witch who practices stealing delicious milk from the teats of cows.

This implies that it is more than likely the good cunning person and the bad witch were more or less practicing the same variety of bioregional folk magic, just to different ends.

In this context, witchcraft is any application of magic which is culturally subversive or harmful.

But there's so much more to the story!

In the mid 20th century, there was a witchcraft revival movement in England. Long story short, small groups of people worked to create a cohesive religious practice which they claimed was authentic British witchcraft. These practices are called Wicca and Traditional Witchcraft (2 separate things).

These practices were mostly ceremonial, involving elaborate rituals, magic wands, four elements, circle casting/compass laying, and so on.

These magical practices fueled and were fueled by an exploding culture shift in the western world and became so popular that they dominated perceptions of, and understandings of, what magic was.

Witch stopped being a person who used magic in bad ways, and started being a word for any person who uses magic.

Unfortunately, this is a problem, because now we have one word being used too many ways:

On one hand, witch is still a word that to many people denotes an evil or bad person who uses magic in evil or bad ways.

And, on the other hand, witch is now a word that refers to practitioners of a modern British magical tradition and its offshoots and variations, regardless of that person's maliciousness.

And, on the third hand, because Wicca had become so danged popular, witch has become a word that is applied to any person who practices magic, whether or not their practice is British and whether or not it is malicious.

The topic is further confused because witchcraft is so personal that one witch's witchcraft may look nothing like another witch's witchcraft.

What witchcraft is exists, and must be understood, contextually. In modern usage, a person claiming they practice witchcraft may mean any of the following (not a cohesive list):

"I am Wiccan."

"I practice magic derived from the British witchcraft revival period, but I am not specifically a Wiccan or follow any particular system."

"I practice magic which isn't derived from that British stuff, but I believe the title 'witch' best fits my practice."

"I practice magic that isn't witchcraft, but I call myself a witch as a term of convenience."

"I practice magic and I thought the word for that is 'witch', but if I put some thought into it I might realize I don't think that label suits me."

"I do not practice magic or Wicca but I enjoy nature and I pray to the moon."

With a word stretched so thin, outlining exactly what is and is not witchcraft can be a bit of a chore. However there are things which we can pretty safely say are just down right not witchcraft.

Before we go on, it's vital to mention that witchcraft is a term people get to choose, or reject, for themselves. So if someone from the following traditions is like, "nope, it's witchcraft to me," you should listen to them.

Anyway, here are some things that are not witchcraft:

Jewish mysticism (I've even seen posts about straight up Judaism, not even mysticism, just like, Judaism, being tagged as witchcraft)

Voodoo

Pow-wow

Folk magic

Chaos Magick

Santeria

Palo

Ancestor veneration

Praying to saints, angels, Mary, etc.

Faith healing (for example, as seen in Evangelicalism)

New Age

Spirit keeping

Worship of any nonchristian god or goddess

Heka

#answered #tbl

[chalkodareal]

About Furry-Homestar's callout post

if you saw this post and then it was like, deleted, it was bc it wa community labeled as mature by mistake. it means i cant see it and i THINK its harder for others to see it too?????? so this is a reupload

i cant give a very in-depth like, "THIS PERSON IS WRONG BECAUSE OF SCREENSHOTS" thing bc i dont think i have screenshots or access ot the dms. but i can tell you what i do know

1. The "chalko is a proshipper " claims.

i really cant remember what i said in that conversation so i cant tell you if i said "i think proshipping is fine if its in private", although it certainly doesnt sound like the way id phrase it. i probably said that i dont think that stuff is harming people if its in private, which truth be told i did believe at the time. my views on that have changed over time but i will admit i probably said that i didn tthink it was a big deal or somehting liek that. i am not a proshipper

2. scijohn porn

this is another thing where yeah, i did do it. you can see it clearly through my handwriting and style. im not going to try to tell you i didnt. what i will say is that it was late april-early may last year. which like, yeah. not an excuse for drawing that. but i didnt think that would get out because i sent it to you in a private folder. i would not do this now. i do not think it is ok.

3. the fnf porn

yeah those are adults. 19 in the games canon, pico is 20 maybe? semantics. but i dont blame you for being confused. im realizing most of this post is just admitting i was wrong because no i did not draw those two looking old enough no. i thinkt hat one was drawn when i was 13. it was jsut kind of how i drew them but absolutley no yoreu right they look like kids.

if there were other claims, i didnt see them, at least specifically about my images.

4. the "ghoting you for 2 months"

again yeah. im not going to deny i did that. i think something about our relationship confused me and i handled it extremely immaturely. i didnt know how to talk to you but probably i felt weird or bad after sending you all that, which is no fault of yours.

most of this post is admitting i was wrong and you were technically right bout what you said about me. but god man, i want you to listen to me for a second. i was 14 and stupid and i didnt think doing that meant anything. i know it was a mistake that i did it but i sent it to you in a folder where i thought it would be ok to share those things. i think we may have been talking about it? i assumed it was ok at the time based on your reaction. its not your fault that you didnt express discomfort at the time, im not blaming you. i understand its hard, but i couldnt read you. i would not have done somehting like that today. i dont really know what to say about all of this so this is really all i can say at the time. if theres any more specific claims, ive only seen the post through screenshots so. i dont think i can see them in full.

#i think wer stopped talking like. 10 months ago. maybe 9 #i didnt expect this to come up but i suppose i really shoudlt hae acted the way i did if i didnt want that sort of thing being brought back #you sent me stuff too so i thought it was ok but it wasnt anything that could look like or be proshipping to be fair #i really wish i could remember our convos better so i could say more but. im really blanking on a lot of it #ask to tag as other stuff

[hopefull-mindset]

Labeling it as Abuse Doesn’t Make Sense, Sorry

(Had to unfortunately repost because Tumblr was broken)

In my huge overview of the abuse in BSD, I went over the relationships between the director and Atsushi in both Beast and the main story, as well as Dazai and Akutagawa. Then I went over the Port Mafia’s environment and Kyouka’s abuse being more than just Akutagawa’s doing, fundamentally being structural abuse within a community that condones abuse as a way to teach their subordinates. I went into that frustrated and fed up with how people view abuse, trying my best to go over things people misunderstood the most about how the narrative handled them.

There was one outlier in this discussion, one I was absolutely prepared to have more to speak about, but went out of it confused and underwhelmed because it ended up not being an abusive dynamic. You noticed, right? I didn't mention Mori and Dazai because there was barely anything there to say it was abusive. I still, of course, went over it in my post because still, the point was to go over the misunderstandings. Looking back at that section though, I think I did a poor job really explaining why abuse as a label here doesn't work.

I kept saying that I “didn’t understand why people thought this” and that it “didn't make logical sense for Mori to do certain things” because I thought it was incredibly obvious as someone who has went back and read their scenes together again. I thought that my explanation was enough after all my points I made before that section, but maybe I've underestimated how much this fandom conflated how much evidence they have to say this after reading posts about it.

Do not conflate me saying “its not abusive” to “it didn't have any psychological effect on Dazai”. You can have a messed up relationship with an adult and is not fit to be labeled abusive. I don't regret how I talked about it, I regret not going over how fanon this actually is and expressing my confusion deeper. It's been eating at me and I don't want to overuse the talking point of abuse, but I felt like it. I needed a break from the Oda Sakunosuke research exhaustion.

I don’t want to be a pity party, but as a victim myself, I’m a little aggravated at how loosely “abuse” has been used. I already went over what abuse is in the original post, and I just don’t get what people are seeing when they claim Mori abused him. I'm curious as to why fans are so quick to the take. Is it because they want some unconscious reason as to why Dazai chose to abuse Akutagawa? Is it because since they see the narrative parallels between them and Kyouka, then that must mean Mori had abused Dazai? Strange.

It's popular to compare Yosano’s past circumstances to Dazai’s, and you can see why at a glance. Both are brought into circumstances that are not ideal for a child by Mori, the opposite Demon/Angel motif, have some similarities to Mori himself, and… that's kind of it? Because Mori doesn't treat them the same way and that changes way more than you think it really does about how you label this. Circumstantially, she has more in common with Kyouka and Chuuya, back when he was in the clutches of N.

Yosano was drafted by Mori to utilize her ability in the great war. He dehumanizes her by reducing her to a tool and disregards her feelings for the greater cause he's trying to contribute to. Mori forces her to keep using her ability by shooting Tachihara’s brother and intimidating her to keep doing her job. He installs fear into what could happen if she doesn't heal them, but is further damaged by what happens when she does. While we don't see a lot of what happened during then, we can assume this kept happening until the war ended.

You can pinpoint what makes this situation abusive quite easily:

Disregarding the autonomy of the victim

Uses fear and intimidation tactics

Psychological power dynamic that weighs on the victim

(Assuming so) is repeatedly forced to keep repeating something that causes psychological harm

Though I can absolutely say Yosano is just as much of a victim to the structural abuse of Ability users being targets of the country, like Chuuya, there is primarily one person we can pin her abuse on: Mori, because he was in charge of her and was his primary target. Mori resorts to using abuse because Yosano had too much of a will of her own and was not doing what he needed of her.

That’s Yosano’s situation, now what about Dazai?

As recounted in the Fifteen LN, they met by chance. Someone brought Dazai in after a suicide attempt into his clinic and, for an unknown reason since we don’t actually know anything about the plan itself, Mori asked him to be apart of his new plan to assassinate the old boss that took about maybe a year or so. He was a witness and accomplice to his death, a death that was necessary to the safety of Yokohama. He hadn’t became an official member until he had teamed up with Chuuya and was convinced that maybe he could find a reason to live by joining because of this experience.

As Dazai is pretty much a blank slate with potential in Mori’s eyes, Mori had decided to teach him tactical theory to put his mind to use and had him team up with Chuuya to develop him further with a good influence as Fukuzawa was to him (“A diamond can only polish a diamond”). Mori sees himself in Dazai and wants him to become someone who will be a great right-hand man, but ultimately lets him loose in Dark Era because of his irrational human fears of Dazai killing him one day like he did to the old boss. There could be more reasons to why he did it (Dazai not being a good potential future leader or maybe having to do with the revelation that he did care about Dazai in Beast), but this is what canon has offered us currently.

Already, do you see how differently I summarize their dynamic with Mori? Not because I have any bias views, but because he treats them differently. If I can’t apply even one of the points I brought up that made Yosano’s situation abusive, then I can’t call it that. I’m already struggling to think of a way as to how it could be abusive because that’s all the information we have. It’s not great that Mori taught a child to think like he does, but he’s never conditioned him in a way I’d call abusive like he did to Yosano.

There was no way for him to use fear and intimidation on Dazai without being seen through. It’s not like Dazai had anything he gave worth except Oda and Ango, and he’s never used them as a threat on Dazai. He does not treat Dazai like a tool or ignore his feelings consistently, Dazai has no feelings to any terrible actions he does. He’s Amoral and could care less. He has no psychological control on Dazai, on the contrary, he’s treated as an equal and has not made any attempt to exact any power on him except a professional role as his boss.

Again, listen to me when I say this is not me saying that Dazai isn’t effected by his time in the PM or that Mori treated him like an equal suddenly means that being treated like an adult for the majority of your teenage years is not that bad. It’s incredibly fucked up, but you can’t use abuse to describe it. I didn’t add manipulation or “brought into an endangering environment” to the list because they are points emphasized way too often in the conversation of Dazai being abused. That’s not because I don’t think abuser can’t also do that, but they are tactics that can be used in various situations that aren’t abuse.

Don’t you think it’d be silly for me to say that Dazai is abusing the ADA because he manipulates them into playing their roles or that Kenji is being abused because he’s a kid in an agency that deals with murders and government jobs? Or even apply that logic to most other animes. That’s why I don’t take it seriously when all of a sudden, people are saying Kouyou and Chuuya are victims of Mori. They are absolutely victims of abuse, but Mori?? Just because he’s casually manipulative while also being someone who will use abuse if he thinks it’s necessary? Way to ignore he has genuine bonds with his 2 executives.

The point of what makes what he did to Yosano abusive is that it installed distress into her repetitively. Individually the actions he took weren't abusive by itself, it was the accumulation of what it made her feel. That's why Mori killing the boss in front of Dazai wasn't abusive, it's just fucked. If you were to claim that maybe Mori did something off-screen, then I would have to ask why because the only reason Mori resorted to using abuse was because he needed to snuff out her will and make her into a good tool.

That's the thing, Dazai has no will and is not the way he is because he dislikes the mafia or that Mori tore him down, he's always been that way before meeting him. Unfortunately, he's perfect for the mafia and Mori didn’t need to do crap in this situation. That’s why I genuinely could not say Mori was abusing Chuuya either in my last post.

And before it’s said, It is not a gotcha to say “well he’s a child in a violent environment, so by proxy he’s being abused”. I hope you realize that’s a totally different statement from mori abusing him and claims he’s also a victim of structural abuse Iike Kyouka was, because again, he was like this before the mafia and there would be no need to take action.

Anyway, I just needed to get this off of my chest. Anything I didn’t say was in the original overview. This was not that short, but I felt like ranting a bit. I just really had nothing to talk about regarding any potential abuse happening to Dazai by Mori and I hope this expresses this better? I think their relationship is pretty interesting if you don’t only focus on fan inflated angst that doesn’t exist. The next time I post, I hope it to be an actual analysis and not me ranting in disguise of an analytical breakdown.

There are much more interesting things people can say about the clear development Mori has went through in where he used Yosano like this to how he treats people in the Mafia, and that’s absolutely because of the partnership he had with Fukuzawa. Just, read my original overview okay? I like it better than this one.

#bsd #Bungou stray dogs #mori ougai #osamu dazai #yosano akiko #bsd meta #(?) kind of #it’s just me ranting #okay next post is not an the analysis #I actually felt like doing a one shot! #I think you’re all very silly when you say things about Mori abusing people #when all that’s happening is you taking Mori’s intentions with his manipulation and saying that’s abusive itself #what’s next? Is Beast Dazai abusing everyone??? #I have my thoughts about his relationship with Atsushi #but that’s just silly

[skylerorionx]

Asexual Awareness Week (for some reason it’s “asexual” and not “asexuality”) is 22-28 October. So near the end of the week, here’s the first of two posts for a not-quick introduction to what asexuality is, and also what it isn’t. Next post here.

Also, if I am wrong, add it in the comments.

Image text below:

(1) 

It’s asexual awareness week, so it’s time for a crash course into asexuality. Part one of two cause I have a lot to say. 

—

(2) 

Asexuality means a lack of sexual attraction. 

A- is a prefix meaning “not” or “without,” so the definition of asexual is quite literally “not sexual.” 

It does not mean a lack of willingness to have sex, a lack of romantic attraction, or an inability to love. It is also not synonymous with celibacy, and, like many things queer, exists on a spectrum. 

Asexual is often shortened to “ace.” 

— 

(3)

To understand asexuality, first I’m gonna need you to unlearn some presumptions you might have about attraction in general. 

1. There are multiple types of attraction: sexual, romantic, sensual, platonic, aesthetic, and queerplatonic, among others. We tend to bundle sexual and romantic together but we shouldn’t because… 

2. Some people experience some types of attraction but not others. 

3. Some people experience one type of attraction more or less intensely than another type, or just compared to how someone else experiences that same type of attraction. 

It’s rather simple once you wrap your mind around it. 

—

(4)

Also… Not everyone is sexually attracted to the same gender(s) of people as they are romantically attracted to. That is called “varioriented.” The term “split attraction model” can also be used here or for the other points. There’s also a term “sensualarian” meaning the lines between types of attraction are blurred. …I’m not really gonna talk about these things cause I’ve probably confused the allos enough so if you wanna know more, just google it or ask me.

— 

(5) 

Sexuality exists on a spectrum. Yes, there is a spectrum from hetero to homo — it’s called the Kinsey Scale — but there’s also a spectrum for the intensity of attraction, a scale from asexual to its opposite, zedsexual / allosexual (someone who does experience sexual attraction). It’s called the “asexual spectrum,” “ace spectrum,” or “a-spectrum”. It’s often used as the Y axis alongside the X axis Kinsey Scale. 

[asexual — zedsexual]

Someone can exist at a specific point or fluctuate within an area. (In addition to being a specific point on this spectrum, the word “asexuality” can also be a general term for anyone who exists on the left side of this spectrum. Also you — yes, you, the person reading this — also exist on this spectrum whether you’re ace or zed.)

—

(6)

Side note about the word “zedsexual”: Like a lot of things, “asexual” (the word) was invented to describe a group of people who are different from the norm, but referring to the “normal people” as such would imply asexual people are abnormal, which they aren’t, so someone invented the word “allosexual” to mean someone who does experience sexual attraction. The problem with the prefix “allo-“ is that it technically means “attraction to others” and its opposite is “auto-,” meaning “attraction to the self,” which is not what asexuality is. Because we often think of things as opposites, someone else thought to replace the word allosexual with “zedsexual” because “zed” (the non-American pronunciation of the letter “z”) is at the opposite end of the alphabet. Still, most people say allosexual. They usually know it technically has a weird origin but it’s the word that stuck, and they’re not being mean, it’s just the more common word. I use both zed- and allo-.

—

(7) 

Here are some common labels for people within the ace-spectrum but not fully at the asexual end: 

Cupiosexual: someone who does not experience sexual attraction but still desires a sexual relationship.

Demisexual: someone who does not experience sexual attraction until a deep emotional connection is made. example, not feeling sexual attraction until falling in love. 

Freysexual: someone who feels sexual attraction towards people with whom they are not deeply connected, and loses the feeling as connection happens; sometimes called “reverse demi-”. 

Greysexual: someone who experiences sexual attraction infrequently, rarely, or weakly. 

—

(8) 

Lithosexual / Akiosexual: someone who experiences sexual attraction but does not want it reciprocated

Quoisexual: someone who does not know if their feelings are sexual, romantic, platonic, something else, or nothing at all; someone who feels as if the concept of romantic/sexual/whatever attraction is inapplicable or nonsensical to them.

Aegosexual / autochorissexual is another common label, that’s more of a bonus label and less of a spot on the spectrum. It means someone who experiences a disconnection between attraction and arousal, which is the fancy way of saying an asexual who wanks. 

Why does someone experience these kinds of sexual attraction? Well, this is a two-part post so read the next post! 

—

(9)

More on the next post. Got questions? Just ask me, I have all the answers. 

Also, I know to actually sound like I know what I’m talking about, I need sources, so: 

Slightly uncreditable but first-person sources: 

Me

My existence on Tumblr for twelve years

AVEN and people’s stories there

“Proper” sources: 

“ACE: What Asexuality Reveals About Desire, Society, and the Meaning of Sex” by Angela Chan

“The ABCs of LGBT+” by Ash Hardell (published under their old first name and “maiden” name)

“Boston Marriages: Romantic but Asexual Relationships among Contemporary Lesbians” edited by Esther D. Rothblum and Kathleen A. Brehony

“The Invisible Orientation: An Introduction to Asexuality” by Julie Sondra Decker

#digital art #graphic design #art #asexual #asexuality #acespec #aspec #aroace #queer #queer artist #lgbtq #lgbtqia #pride #queer community #lgbtq community #asexual art #ace #ace week #asexuality week #asexual awareness week #asexuality awareness week #infographic #info #informative #education #learn #queer education

[polyamorouspunk]

Fully agree with you on the trans thing. It’s something I struggled with for a LONG time that I didnt *want* to be fully 100% trans. Like I fit in with trans people, I was transmasc, but I never felt *trans*. If that makes any sense??

People used to tell me all the time that I had to be trans if I checked xyz boxes. And I hated it. Now, years later, I’ve made it to a point that I just *am*. And it took me SO LONG to realize that was even an option. To just be myself without putting a label on it. I dont need to be fully cis or fully trans. Im just a little bit of everything and fully me.

It still confuses my queer friends. That I just *do not* care and dont put any importance on it. So its nice to see someone else with that opinion. Thank you

Yes!

Listen like I do not care if people reblog my posts and disagree with me. Like that’s you’re right as an individual. But what I don’t like is when I make a post talking about my identity and someone “corrects” me on it.

The problem with the push to be super inclusive, sometimes, is that people stop making it about who *wants* to be a part and who doesn’t.

I know people who are gay men who have 0 interest in being part of the LGBTQ+ community. Gay men who are like I’m not queer I’m not part of the community I’m just gay but I’m not identifying with the community in any way.

I know people who have described their “gender” to me almost verbatim the way that trans people have described to me their gender and have told me they do not consider themselves trans in any way, and it kind of sucks because I’m like… I know that if I were someone else they might put that label on that person even if that person doesn’t want it?

I’ve had people ON THIS BLOG send me asks telling me I am not trans and other people send me asks saying I’m not cis. Like lmao it’s so fucking funny pick one you guys. I gotta be one or the other- SIKE no I don’t. I’ve had people dump me over saying “I’m both cis and trans” which in hindsight seems kinda ableist because that was actually when I started IDing as plural so like. The idea you can’t be both is like. You know there are people with different experiences than you right. Like some common enough to be in textbooks. Not like some “out there” concepts like if you can grasp the concept of DID you can understand how perhaps to some degree a person can be different than their literal AGAB without being trans. Just for one example.

Sometimes I also fail to realize this but. When you reblog someone’s post, or comment on it, or send them an ask, etc… you are coming into THEIR space. I mean it very much went through my mind to be like “just ignore it” but I was like someone is coming onto MY post where I try and validate MY gender experiences and telling me people like ME are quite literally exactly what I’m talking about where I’m like actually I’m valid if I’m a little trans and outright saying “YOU AREN’T A LITTLE TRANS UWU” like. Hi it’s you you’re the problem you’re the people I’m validating myself to. Like I don’t care how politely and nicely you try and dress it up with inclusive language do not put me into a box I do not want to be put in because you think “that I have to be trans because I check xyz boxes” yeah literally. I know fully cis people who check “xyz boxes” and I ain’t out here telling them that actually they’re trans and valid for it. Like bro if you tell me you’re cis who am I to disagree.

In the near future you’ll never hear the words “I’m transgender” come out of my mouth directly. I might post it on here or say irl that I “dabble in transgenderism” but I do not outright say irl in person that I am transgender not because I’m “dealing with internalized transphobia” and “not ready to fully accept myself to be transgender in the real world instead of just offline” like no I just don’t ID as “transgender” period. Or you know what maybe I am but also who are you to say that’s what I am? How are you helping exactly? How is acting like I can’t “really accept myself for who I truly am” helping me any? Idk. Just because you have good intentions doesn’t make it better than the people who have bad intentions. Both are issues. Both are problematic.

Learn to go “actually it’s not my fucking business if someone is trans or cis or neither” and “they can call themselves whatever they want” and that includes NOT wanting to be included.

#bro like even Nimona says in the movie ‘I’m not a girl I’m just Nimona’ #like I’m not a transgender person I’m just me #punk gets mail #personal

[4dkellysworld]

When I try to just identify with self and stop concerning myself with the ego I get confused. Usually because I don't really understand Self, so it's confusing to me trying to identify with something I don't understand much of. I do understand that I am not the body/mind and I understand that I am self, but I don't fully understand what Self is so I don't know how to identify with it. When I think I'm self I just imagine a void or imagine self as the one that is aware of all this.

So basically my question is, can I know that I am the self that you guys talk about without really understanding what it is?

Yes you can. Because it's your true nature and whether you are thinking of it or not, you can't stop being what you are. It's like in this illusory world, there are many things that we don't understand on how they work but does that mean they're not there (in the illusion)?

Understanding Self comes from removing all identification/concepts/labels, not from switching ego identification for some new concept or adding new labels.

It comes on its own when you quiet the mind enough. All paths and methods aim to quiet the mind so that reality comes into your understanding on its own. There's no trying or doing, in fact its non-doing and non-effort that will get you there. All happens by itself when you give up effort. So do whatever you must to quiet the mind and let the realizations come on their own.

#asks

[emptymanuscript]

Have I mentioned that I love my physical therapist?

She showed me this today

She uses it herself diagnostically but she mentioned that I am the first client she ever showed it to. I love this thing. Which I said and she nodded and said she thought I would like it.

This, for me, is doing some of the things the pain scale is just failing me at.

She showed it to me because I was talking to her about having an issue with giving a pain scale number because it is “split” as best I could describe it. I can tell that different elements of my pain are giving me different levels of pain and this radar chart lets me talk about it.

What we tend to think of as the 0 or 1 to 10 pain scale is that furthest dot on the example radar chart: Nociceptive / Physiological. She describes it as stubbing your toe, your body notes that input and its severity and sends that message up the line, saying I hurt and I hurt X amount, so that the brain can decide how to respond.

But she showed it to me because I was trying to convey to her that I’m noticing a split in the pain scale I use

I’m somewhere in my normal 5ish if I’m just talking about this hurts X much. But I’m somewhere out in an 8 ish in terms of how much it is distressing me right now as I titrate off of my Trintelex. So it looks much more like this.

And she was very excited about my awareness of this split because a lot of where we’re focusing in on is the Central Nociplastic element, how my brain has wired itself to interpret the Nociceptive input.

My essential problem seems to be that our system is designed to downplay sudden brief pain (we don’t want to change our behavior much over a stubbed toe) and designed to play up long lasting continuous pain (we do want to change our behavior if we’re healing notable damage and need to protect ourselves while we heal). Inflammation hormones, what your body produces in response to a bad injury, or in my case, arthritis, that stick around for a long time increase the number of neural pathways from the problem site to the brain so the brain hears the signal louder. When you get too much of that growth, which I do have, that’s the Peripheral Neuropathic axis. But as the message gets louder, AND just keeps messaging, the Brain starts paying more and more attention to it in order to try and change the circumstances. It starts to favor the warning signal and over respond to it. And she thinks that’s what is happening / has happened to me. My brain has rewired itself to be ever more insistent that I hurt and our goal is not so much to work on the Nociceptive issue (I am having pain) and more on the Nociplastic issue (how my brain is interpreting that message of pain). My brain has become the helicopter mom hovering obnoxiously over every signal that my body sends her.

My Central Nociplastic issue seems to be getting bad enough that it is resulting in what is called smudging.

All of us carry around a symbolic representation of ourselves. When I was growing up, my father called it a Homunculus.

But this image is actually correspondent to real physical stuff in the brain, centers that are working with the signals from and to the rest of your body.

The thing is, these real physical parts of the brain are right next to each other. So as the brain turns helicopter mom, what the brain is actually doing is changing itself to devote more real physical stuff to that part. So as my hip hurts more  and more, my brain is literally growing that part we label hip. And if it grows too much, it starts to impinge on the spaces next to it, the trunk and the leg. And it’s like smudging the boundary line on a map, what was two separate places starts to become intermixed. So the brain starts getting a little confused and mixing up signals from places that should be separate. At least as far as I understand things.

So, essentially she and I are starting to move toward the sorts of treatments you would give for a phantom limb.

We’re trying to figure out how to teach my brain to stop smudging, to stop misinterpreting the data, or at least not misinterpret the data as much.

Because the brain is plastic (able to remold itself) you can teach it to stop helicoptering by teaching it that the messages are false.

And I gotta say, it’s really, really weird. But also very encouraging.

And after all of that, I also have to say, I really wish doctors wouldn’t keep this sort of stuff to themselves. It’s not just fascinating, it’s useful.

That radar chart let me express to her something true that I didn’t have the words to express to her before she showed it to me. And now that I have it, I can immediately implement it and use it to think about how I am functioning in a way that is even better than when I was just thinking it in my head. It deepened and complicated my understanding in what I feel is an extremely helpful way. And I’m really happy about that.

And I just wish... yeah, that people shared. Share your knowledge. Share the cool stuff. Let it help. And it’s just freaking cool.

#lords of pain #chronic pain #physical therapy #pain scale

[edengarden]

Word has it

Synopsis: Caesar’s odd behaviour around you has led you to believe he’s plotting something behind your back. And you want to know what it is.

Pairing: Caesar x gn!reader

Warnings: profanity, reader threatens caesar via holding a project hostage, Caesar still doesn’t have a concept of personal space.

Word count: 3425

Notes: LO AND BEHOLD!! A collab between me and @lairu ! I wrote this, she was kind enough to provide me with two pieces to post along with this :’) You can find the two images underneath their respective scenes in this fic!

This fic can also be read as a standalone or as a continuation of Personal space? Never heard of her.

You wish you could say that Caesar was a constant. You wish you could tell people that once you stick around for a certain amount of time, Caesar’s behavior becomes the new normal. There was even a point in your time spent on Punk Hazard that you yourself believed that. However, recently, it was proven that your wishful thinking was very far from the truth.

Granted, even at this point, you suppose that there was some sort of pattern in his new behavior. He’d gravitate towards you whenever he felt bored or underwhelmed, bother you until you gave in and entertained him, only to then flee halfway through a conversation. You couldn’t even tell what it was that set him off; there was no pattern to it. And you tried finding one, you really did. It was truly confusing, considering how he’d bend in half for your attention only to dismiss it a few minutes later. It reminded you a bit of a cat that would lose all interest in something seconds after receiving it. You started wondering when he’d start biting you out of nowhere as well.

Considering that you now had to put up with Caesar for only half the time you used to, you weren’t exactly going to complain. In fact, you even mentioned it to Monet in the log, wondering if perhaps she had the same luck as you did. That’s where things got… interesting, if you could put it that way.

When you came back from your three weeks off to Monet telling you that she doesn’t know what you were talking about, all kinds of alarms started ringing in your mind. You must have read Monet’s entire log three times in a row, trying your best to grasp a full understanding of it before you jumped to conclusions. But after each time, one thing seemed clear to you; Caesar wasn’t acting normally. Or, well, as ‘normal’ as someone like him can be. A part of you wanted to hit yourself for not labeling his hot-and-cold attitude towards you as a red flag from the get-go. However, now, you knew better. And you believed that now, you were a lot more attentive to details.

Caesar let out the most dramatic sigh you’ve ever heard as the door to the laboratory’s makeshift ‘living room’ slid close. You barely gave him a glance as he made his way through the room, but with the way he carried himself, one could believe that he was the most overworked man on earth. Which you knew was very far from the truth.

He let out another sigh, just as loud as the last one and slightly forced. You knew damn well that he was fishing for attention here and had you been as tired as you usually are, you would’ve ignored him, but you felt like you were in a particularly good mood today. It wouldn’t hurt to actually willingly participate in his antics if you were energized enough to do so, no? “Tough day in the lab?” You asked as you kept your eyes fixed on your own task, completely missing the way he lit up a bit. It wasn’t every day that you actually initiated the conversation.

“Oh, horrid.” Caesar replied as he crashed on the couch, seeing nothing wrong with taking its entirety and practically shoving his feet in your lap so that he could spread out a bit more. One of his arms draped itself over his eyes as he laid on his back. So much for your task. It was a bit hard to work when your notebook got practically shoved out of your lap. “But luckily enough, I worked it out. Thermodynamics is nothing to a genius like me!” Considering that Caesar’s devil fruit works on gas but not temperature fluctuations, you doubt that it went as smoothly as he claims. But you decided not to comment on that and trigger one of his World Famous Bitchfits, instead opting for a quiet hum.

“Now what have you been up to?” He questioned as soon as the silence stretched on for longer than he liked. Again with the personal questions. Ever since Monet’s message caught you off-guard, you’ve been noticing that Caesar asks a lot of questions regarding yourself nowadays. Which is weird, considering that it used to be all about him and even if you would have wanted to put some retroaction in, he would’ve cut you right off with another anecdote of his.

Which is why you’re suspecting that he might be planning something against you in particular. At first, you thought his odd behavior was a sign that he was going to go against Doflamingo himself, but that idea was quickly scratched because you understood that while Caesar isn’t exactly the most obedient of subordinates, he’s fully aware that Doflamingo is his shield against the World Government at the moment. And he’s smarter than fucking around and finding out what happens when you mess with Doflamingo.

“Not much,” you replied, casting him a side-glance. Though you were a little mistrustful of what he’d actually do, you were in a good enough mood to entertain him today. Without the usual insults that came with it. “Though I’m sure that with you around, it can be more bearable.” Caesar finally let his arm drop from his face and he tilted his chin at an odd angle towards you, squinting his eyes and pinching his lips together as if he was trying to figure out what your game plan is. You couldn’t blame him; if someone who was usually cold and distant suddenly engaged in a pleasant-sounding conversation with you, you’d do the same. You held his stare, confident that you had nothing to hide in the first place.

“Am I witnessing you finally coming out of your shell right now? I always thought you were genetically predisposed to being antisocial and rude!” He finally cried out with a slight twinge of sarcasm in his voice. All of a sudden, that good mood you were in was starting to dwindle… You wonder why.

Sucking your teeth in annoyance, you tear your eyes away from his gaze and bend over his bothersome legs to pick up your notebook. “If you’d asked Monet how I am with others, you would’ve found out that the problem doesn’t stem from me.” You shot back, earning a dramatic gasp from the man. You didn’t need to cast him a look to know that he was probably holding a hand to his chest as if he were an innocent person being accused of a moral transgression.

“As far as I’m concerned, I’ve never been anything but nice to you.” Caesar turned his head away and lifted his chin a little, crossing his arms over his chest. You’d never seen a fully grown man pout like a child like this before, and yet here you are. You could swear that the hissing of gas that usually accompanied him got a little louder and sharper. Did it fluctuate with his mood? You never noticed.

You patted his ankle, which still lay in your lap despite Caesar’s half-baked fit. “Now, now. I was saying things the objective way. I didn’t intend to hurt.” You said in a tone that dripped with half-hearted sarcasm. “Did I hurt your pride? Do you want me to kiss it better?” You added with a mean smile sent his way.

His feet whipped out of your lap so quickly that you almost yelped at the sudden movement. The self-proclaimed mad scientist shot a disdainful look at you before rising up to his feet. You frowned at his less than necessary actions. “Did I really upset you?” You asked. It would be crazy if you had. You’d said worse things in the past that didn’t get this sort of violent reaction from him. And, maybe for that very reason, you felt a bit bad about it. “Come on, I really wasn’t serious.” You added and you could not believe that you were trying to accommodate him so that he’d stay. Usually you’d rejoice in his storming off like he was doing at the moment.

Yet, nothing you could say seemed to change his mind. Caesar stomped through the room and somehow managed to slam the sliding door shut behind him, causing you to flinch at the loud metallic noise. His sudden foul mood soured yours as well as you stared at the door in shock. Seriously, what was his deal? You couldn’t figure him out at all. And, considering that it seemed to be a personal thing, it didn’t sit well with you. Caesar’s short fuse could be a potential problem for you in the future and you’d rather be aware of how to deal with it efficiently before it blows up in your face.

It was now your turn to jump up from your spot on the couch. If this bastard was planning a coup against you, you were going to find out and you were going to find out now.

It wasn’t that hard to find him. You did it rather quickly, thus not giving enough time for yourself to cool down and think of a possible alternative to this situation that you were about to impose on him. But then again, Caesar has gotten on your nerves so often these past few weeks that you feel it’s only fair that you give him some emotional distress yourself. And it’s not like you were going to psychologically torture him; you simply needed to get him in a panicked state of mind. It was very easy to get him there, if you knew which buttons to push (which you had ample time to learn about since you were deployed here). The result was exactly what you felt was needed for him to confess about any undermining plots he may have.

You stepped into the laboratory without bothering to knock. And your patience for Caesar thinned even more when the man shot you a nasty glare for interrupting him. Though he didn’t seem to be doing much at the moment. So much so that you feared you weren’t going to be able to get what you needed from him. “Have you never learned how to knock?!” He screeched as he turned towards you, already shooing you with his hands. With the slight side step he took to do so, you finally spotted exactly what you were looking for. “Leave!”

Without awarding him with so much as a word in exchange, you crossed the laboratory with a neutral expression and stopped right on the other side of the table he was currently at. Seeing your impassive face, Caesar ended up more perplexed than anything. Some of his anger faded as he finally dropped his hand to his side and stared at you with slightly furrowed brows, yet again trying to figure out what may possibly be going through your head. Good. That gave you enough time to quickly snatch the oversized erlenmeyer sitting between the two of you filled with some heavy gaseous substance that he was most likely using at the moment. You held the glass container in one hand and took various steps back to create some space between the two of you before he could get it back from you. You were cautious enough to stay out of his range of power, as well.

“What are you– give that back!” Caesar shrieked. You shook your head, unable to hold back the vicious smile forming on your face as you held out the erlenmeyer to taunt him. He let out a scream. “Stop! Stop! Don’t move it! It’s not stable yet!” He cried out and you immediately stopped your shaking, though you were still ready to start it again and ruin whatever it was he was doing with this compound.

“Why have you been so weird lately?” You asked. Caesar’s eyes remained focused on the delicate substance in your hands, practically ignoring you. Possibly unintentionally so. “Caesar! I said, “ why have you been so weird lately?”!” You repeated a bit louder, finally getting his attention. He looked at you like a deer in headlights.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you call bullshit. So, instead, you gave the erlenmeyer a good shake and squinted your eyes at him, conveying that you weren’t buying it. He screeched and took a few steps forward to catch up with you but you held out a hand in warning.

“Ah! Come closer and I drop it.” You warned him.

“You wouldn’t dare.” He hissed back. You simply shrugged.

“Tell me why you’ve been acting so weirdly lately and nothing gets destroyed.” You repeated and the scientist let out an exasperated cry, throwing his arms up in the air.

“I don’t fucking know what you mean! I’ve been doing nothing!” He yelled.

“You have been doing something! Something’s going on in your head and I want to know what it is!” You screamed to match his volume. “And if you don’t..!” You started shaking the substance in circles and, though it technically looked like a gas in there, it seemed to sway with your movement.

“Stop it!” Caesar shrieked. You insisted that he tell you once more, still shaking the glassware. “There’s fucking nothing!” You still weren’t sold.

“No? Then you won’t mind if I…” And your grip on the neck of the erlenmeyer started slipping. You weren’t here to fuck around, after all.

As it dipped down a few inches, Caesar cried out with a gasp and he stretched out a hand, as if hoping he could catch it from all the way over there without taking a single step forward. Though he soon noticed that the bottle was still hanging from your hand and instead of slouching in relief, he remained tense as he stared at you with wide eyes and a still outstretched hand. “Don’t!”

“Tell me why you’ve been so weird lately!” You replied in the same, obnoxiously loud volume as him. You gave the substance an even harsher stir. You think you heard Caesar sob a little. “Tell me why–”

“Because you make me feel weird!” He roared louder than the two of you had been yelling for the past few moments. You abruptly stopped your tormenting and frowned at him while he seemed to cower on himself a little, appalled by what he had just said.

“I make you feel weird?” You replied calmly, grimacing in confusion. That could mean anything. Caesar remained obstinately silent, his hands clenched into fists at his sides and avoiding eye contact. “So you weren’t… planning to kill me or anything?” You added, just to be sure.

A part of you knew fully well that he wasn’t half bad at putting up an act. He could still be playing you right now, but the way that he seemed more uncomfortable than ever at the moment felt too genuine, even by Caesar’s usual standards.

“Kill you?” He repeated, staring at you equally as confused as you were, staring at him. “Why would I want to kill you?”

“You’re a complicated person, I wouldn’t fuckin’ know.” You said with a shrug that was cut halfway through when Caesar almost whimpered and you were reminded that you still held his oh, so important compound. You stilled for the sake of his impending heart attack. “The hell does ‘make me feel weird’ mean?” The man clicked his tongue in annoyance and looked away once more, pursing his lips in a frown. You tapped on the glass of the erlenmeyer to remind him of the hostage you’d taken and he was brought back into the present in no time.

“It means…” You’d never seen someone struggle with saying something so much in your life. It almost seemed like he was having physical pain from just trying to force out whatever it was he was trying to force out. You remained dead silent and careful not to agitate the compound, hoping that it would make Caesar finally spit out what he had to say. He groaned and pressed his fists to his forehead. A bit dramatic, if you were allowed to say it. Surely it wouldn’t cause his death, so why the hell is he so pressed over this?

With your patience wearing thin, you let the erlenmeyer slip from your grasp a bit more. Maybe if you put him under some stress again, he’ll open up. However, upon noticing it, Caesar grumbled something under his breath akin to ‘fuck it’ and walked around the table at a brisk pace.

“Ah! Keep your distance or I'll drop it!” You exclaimed, holding out a hand in front of you as he approached you faster than you’d like.

“It’s already ruined.” He muttered as he slapped your wrist away. You barely had time to react as he leaned down, grasped your cheeks in his gloved hands rather harshly and practically yanked your face towards his to kiss you.

You found it was within your right to have quite the reaction to this by flinching and dropping the flask dangling in your hand. The noise seemed to have taken Caesar by surprise because he pulled away and once there was more space separating the two of you, you finally felt able to breathe again.

Whatever was in the erlenmeyer turned out to be a volatile substance but before it could do more than slightly daze you (though that could have also been the result of being kissed when you were absolutely not expecting it), Caesar managed to take care of it with his Devil Fruit. You took that opportunity to grasp his wrists and lightly tug his hands away from your cheeks. “So, uh…” You started, hesitating when your lips still tingled a bit and your heart threatened to beat loudly enough to bruise you from the inside. “Message received. Loud and clear.” What else could you say right now?

Seeing as the momentary frustration Caesar felt had finally dissipated along with his ruined experiment, he fully pulled away from your grasp, looking down at the floor with slightly flushed cheeks as he kicked away the sharp shards of glass littered around the two of you. “Look at what you did. Made such a mess.” He muttered, though the mess should be the least of his worries at the moment. It surely was the least of yours. “Couldn’t you have just kept your nose out of my business?!”

“Unfortunately, your business concerns me.” You replied, pressing your lips together to try and at least diminish the sensation lingering on them. You’re sort of glad that you dropped the glassware when you did, because you’re afraid that you might have kissed him back if you hadn’t.

“Like hell it does,” he replied with a self-deprecating huff before crouching on the floor to pick up the bigger pieces of glass. Even at a little over a quarter of his height, he wasn’t that much smaller than you. You could tell that the way he felt about his… feelings wasn’t positive. And, now that you think about it, his behavior makes a lot of sense. Considering that you’re only here for a job, it could be completely uncalled for if he were to develop feelings for you. Borderline unprofessional, if you will. It totally makes sense now why he’d flee from you at the drop of a hat. Caesar has horrible emotional coping techniques.

You couldn’t help but ponder over it all. Sure, you think he’s a bit of a pain, and you find him utterly annoying, but it puzzles you that you actually enjoyed that kiss. Was this the result of being married to your job? “It’s your business until you tell Joker and get transferred and I’ll–” In any case, you decided that you could worry about the details later. You couldn’t stand Caesar finishing that whingeing sentence, so instead you decided to promptly shut him up by kissing him, seeing as how it was the only thing on your mind at the moment.

Thank goodness that you felt him sway a bit before he fell ass first into shards of glass and were able to stabilize him by holding onto his shoulder with your free hand. He let out a muffled grunt of surprise against your mouth before you parted. “Not a word to Joker about this.”

Caesar nodded, as dazed as you had been when he was the one who took you by surprise earlier. “Agreed.”

#one piece #one piece fanfiction #one piece fanart #one piece x reader #x reader #caesar clown #caesar clown x reader #one piece caesar clown

[password-door-lock]

Mystictober Day 13-- Leaves

“This is so exciting,” you gush, tearing the sticky label off of your brand-new rake. You take a moment to appreciate the sharpness and the straightness of the tines— they won't stay that way for long, if experience serves you. “Our first fall together! And we have our very own yard to rake!” It's a strange milestone, but as far as you're concerned, it's a milestone all the same.

Saeran grins at you, endeared. “I'm looking forward to it,”  he assures you. “Though it's going to be new for me.”

You shrug. “It's really not that difficult,” you announce, “At least, not from what I remember… I’m pretty rusty, too. I haven’t had to do this since high school.” You’ve been living in the middle of the city for a while, and though you’ve gotten very good at sweeping the balconies of various apartments, you haven’t had to seriously worry about leaves for quite some time now. “But I did learn to rake leaves in elementary school, so maybe it’s one of those skills that sticks with you, like riding a bike.”

“You were doing chores like this when you were that young?” Saeran asks, surveying the yard. It's not too bad— the big tree near the garden has just started to drop its first leaves, but you figure that if the two of you make a day of it, going out and collecting all the leaves every week or so, the task won't become too big.

“I mean, I was trying,” you shrug, “I wasn't very good at it, but I had a lot of fun raking them into little piles and jumping in— we could do that, too, if you want, but there might not be enough leaves yet, so we’d have to wait until the tree really gets going.” 

“That does sound like fun, darling,” Saeran admits, giving your hand a small squeeze before returning his attention to the yard. “How should we start?”

To be honest, with all of his gardening experience, you were surprised when Saeran first told you that he'd never raked leaves before, but the more you thought about it, the more sense it made— as Ray, he was allowed to tend the gardens at Magenta, but there were other believers officially assigned to the task, and the grounds there were so sprawling that Rika likely would have considered it counterintuitive to have him spend so much time away from his computer when someone with fewer responsibilities could easily have done it. Of course, even if you didn't understand, you wouldn't say anything about it to Saeran— your general philosophy is that he can tell you what he wants to when he wants to, and that can be that. It’s his decision what he wants to share with you or keep to himself about his time at Magenta, and you won’t press him for any more than that.

“Well, what I like to do is to rake one horizontal line— maybe up by the flower beds?— and then do vertical lines the length of the yard to finish it up. Then we'll have a long pile of leaves that we can just rake onto a tarp or into garbage bags to add to the compost heap— after we jump in them, of course.” You use hand gestures to aid your explanation, which would probably be a bit confusing without them.

Saeran nods; he seems to understand regardless of your erratic explanation style. “Of course, my love. Let's do that.” With the two of you working, it doesn't take too long to clear the yard of leaves at all. Perhaps your childhood memories of entire afternoons spent cleaning up leaves were slightly exaggerated in the depths of your mind—  or perhaps you've just grown a lot since then. Maybe it's the fact that you have help— regardless, you're happy that you can share this moment with Saeran. 

Once all the leaves are piled up, you take the liberty of flopping into them with a thud. “Okay, you know what, honey? That wasn’t as fun as I remember it being.” You’re laying on your back amid the leaf pile, which is really more of a leaf area— there aren’t quite enough leaves yet for a proper pile.

Saeran, who apparently has much more common sense than you do, lowers himself down into the leaves by your side at a much more controlled rate. Consequently, there is much less thudding involved. “I had fun,” he assures you, “Since I got to spend time with you.” 

“Spending time together is always nice,” you agree, staring up at the clouds. You don’t need Saeran to tell you that he’s also cloud gazing— you can just tell. “Even if we’re doing chores.” 

“Mhm,” he agrees. “No matter what we’re doing, I’m happy to be by your side.” 

You reach over to squeeze his hand, though your train of thought is quickly derailed by a passing cloud. “That one kind of looks like a mug, doesn’t it?” You point with your free hand. 

Saeran examines the cloud in question. “It’s more like an elephant,” he decides. 

“An elephant?” You can’t help but laugh. “No, there’s the cup part,” you trace the outline in the air, “And there’s the handle.” 

“That’s the trunk, my love,” Saeran argues good-naturedly, “It’s clearly an elephant.” 

“No, babe, it’s obviously a mug,” you retort, “It’s making me want hot chocolate.”

“Hm,” Saeran considers the cloud once more, “It still looks like an elephant, but I won’t complain about hot chocolate.” 

“We probably have to get up, then,” you groan, rising so that you’re propped up on your elbows. “Would you rather hold the tarp or rake the leaves onto it?” 

“I’m fine with either, darling,” he assures you, “I’ll be thinking about hot chocolate the whole time.” 

“Alright, whatever you say.” You grin. You’re probably going to be thinking about hot chocolate, too. 

#Fun fact in the original draft I referred to the tines as “the pokey bits at the end of the rake” #And tbh I almost left it like that because I didn't know they had a name #But when I was going through my normal editing process and looking up the definitions of common words that I use regularly #I thought why not look up “the pokey bits at the end of the rake” so here we are #mystic messenger #mystic messenger drabble #MM_mystictober2023