#you just have to understand that it’s not coming from a place of self importance it’s meant as an attempt to validate your own experience

[brujahinaskirt]

I will never shut up about how Kingdom Come: Deliverance is the most tenderly written game served to the most loutish horde of jackasses. I think it is possibly one of the greatest pieces of popular fiction made about feudalism in recent history, even if it's not always the most historically accurate.

And that's because the whole damn thing is about the profound, authority-enforced inhumanity that self-propels feudal order... but this time, it's written from the perspective of, for lack of better word, "humanity undermines, and humanity wins."

Love wins, if you want to be cheeky.

This was originally meant to be a reply to @feelinungry's excellent post on the subject, but it outgrew itself and got super bloated, so I'm plopping it in its own post to not be obnoxious...

KINGDOM COME: DELIVERANCE MAJOR SPOILERS BELOW

And the reason all this about humanity and love is so important to the core of the story, to the very backbone of the narrative (even beyond the plot), is that it exists in opposition and to the impairment of the feudal system. Kingdom Come: Deliverance means to teach us, by way of deeply dramatic plots following individuals, how feudalism works and why it worked the way it did. And why and how that system fails.

The vehicle by which the game does this is by showing us, over and over, how the stratification of feudal class is eroded and sometimes outright dissolved (either in general, as with Henry and Hans, or when it matters most, as with Radzig and Henry) by plain and simple love.

Feudalism, like most class-stratified systems, relies upon 1. dehumanization of those beneath one's appointed status; 2. fealty (mock-love) to those above one's status, their title-appointer class; and 3. the maintenance of a deep separation between these artificially bestowed statuses, as enforced by church (as in word of clergy, not word of god) & state (legal rules and law). Those words and laws existed to propel the system by divide-and-maintain (of the workforce populace, placing it firmly below the next class in line, etc.) in the service of unify-and-profit (for the ruling class).

Sigismund & his invading army are wholly separated and adherent to the feudal theory, even if they have flouted codes of warfare & inheritance; they are presented to us as the main dehumanizing force of the story world, a wave of Order that indiscriminately burns opposition flat rather than an individual leading a royal coup, a cyclical destruction that paves the way for the next flavor of rule to continue the feudal system ad infinitum. They're thoroughly separated from the story even when they are burning down a village in front of our eyes and generally move as one, with Markvart occasionally stepping out of that mass of Feudalism and its antihuman nature to give it a face. They're more a force of nature than an individual as far as the narrative goes.

And we are meant to understand that in sharp contrast to the "close" story, the cast we get to know and watch as they attempt to answer this force of nature. And the second we see these characters get close enough to each other, by raw proximity, to poke a pin into the wineskin of feudal order as dictated to them by authority, it bleeds--everywhere. Not in the sense of ruination but in the sense that a tiny wedge of empathy cracks open the dam and leads, yep, to rehumanization--and love, the most human driving force there is.

And that changes everything, for everyone. Not just internally, as with a character's personal development arc (i.e., Hans learning why his duties, which he resented and viewed as an impingement on his freedom when dictated to him by authority, are incredibly important for real people who experience pain) but externally as well (as @feelinungry so elegantly points out in the original post).

Over and over, at every stage of the story, it's the rehumanization of and by these decision-makers (at a family level, at a community level, at a regional level, at a national level) that cracks the feudal cycle, even if in very small ways. Hans really brings this back home in a petri dish in late game, after the siege, when he complains to Henry about the noble's code (letting Istvan go) potentially leading to pain and disaster for the common people Istvan's machinations are likely to harm in the future. He chafes--and we chafe, and so does Radzig, and so does Divish--against feudal stratification because he has learned a general empathy through loving an individual, and that has in turn reshaped the way he sees the world.

And that's exactly why and when feudalism begins to fail, and why it thrashed itself the way it did, from the enforcement of sexual mores (though this wasn't exactly like it is in movies) and gender law to terror upon its own populations.

And it's the crucial understanding I think we begin to forget after being exposed to so much Hollywoodification of history, where the oppression always exists for cruelty's sake alone rather than in active and deliberate service to a political construct.

And I think it's why we've "lost the plot" so horribly when it comes to understanding that people in history were still people, not monolithic one-mind entities (as the feudal system demanded they be). And why we somehow forgot that such people fall in love, in all kinds of love, in a way that has never given a damn about authority. And that this in turn undermines supposedly supreme authority, even divine authority, and will always continue to do so, as long as people are people.

This is what it always comes back to. Always. From Henry's parents and their mysterious bond with Radzig informing the protagonist's journey from "the past"--to Henry & Hans falling into stupidly fierce soulmatehood with each other in the present--from Istvan & Erik's destructive fuck-the-world romantic love on the "enemy" side--to Divish's humbling, humanizing realization that he loves Stephanie in some way, he really does, despite the chasm of age/gender enforced upon them by their adherence to feudal order that doomed their romantic love to failure.

People will always love each other, even when the world orders them not to, even when faced with death and worse. People will always, given proximity and shared experiences, learn to see each other as human again. KCD reminds us of that. It's why the "slow" storyline exists and why it works.

And that is why this game is so fucking fantastic, and why the genpop fandom has utterly failed it.

#kingdom come deliverance #kcd #kcd2 #henry of skalitz #hans capon #radzig kobyla #divish of talmberg #stephanie of talmberg #redmeta

[queencvbra]

Random but it feels important to say but I just watched this tiktok and this guy said that someone empathizing with another person by telling them a story about how they experienced the same thing is a red flag and, I quote, “love how you’re making things about yourself”, and I just really need y’all to understand that there is a difference between someone deflecting from what you’re going through and trying to put attention on themselves and a neurodivergent person trying to prove to you that yes they can personally relate to you and empathize with what you’re going through because of a similar experience. That’s not trying to “make things about themselves”, that’s genuinely trying to make you feel seen and like you have someone who is there and understands at least to some degree besties.

#[ooc] #it’s particularly a big thing with adhd I know and personally I do this a lot #I also purposefully write Tory as doing this a lot because it is such a prevalent adhd trait #neurodivergent people have different ways of relating to other people than neurotypicals do and it’s not a bad thing or a red flag #you just have to understand that it’s not coming from a place of self importance it’s meant as an attempt to validate your own experience #sometimes it’s easier for neurodivergent people to relate via tangible experiences #especially when we don’t feel like our own abstract thoughts and how we relate to our own emotions make sense to anyone else #yes there are people that do try to make everything about themselves but again there is a big difference #and you can usually tell because those people will keep continuously derailing and trying to stop you talking about yourself #when usually when it's someone trying to relate to you their own addition is meant to be just that: an addition #the intention at least in my experience is to give you space to talk and also make you feel seen and validate you #instead of just going 'sucks for you' 80% of the time bc that feels ???? can't explain it. it feels unproductive at least to my brain. #and yeah sometimes things can come across as awkward or it can be easy to take it the wrong way because again #it's not the 'normal' social convention #so just understand that if you're interacting with someone that's neurodivergent and they do this #9/10 times it's with the best intentions only and it's someone with a different brain chemistry trying to be a good listener/friend #because talking about real experiences is often more feasible than relating our emotions to *your* emotions without some connecting thread #okay now back to your regularly schedule chaotic karate content that tiktok just set me off a little bit lmao

[thevegetablewhichnoonedaresname]

.

#okay so #i was kinda waiting for them to announce dub casting for mob season 3 because of chris niosi #only know broad details about all that mess but it seems to be well documented that he's kind of a self absorbed jerk #and I would've found it totally understandable if he was let go #(although selfishly I still have the same feelings I would if I knew nothing about any of the actors-) #(-I enjoyed reigen's dub voice acting. it's iconic and I won't lie and say I wouldn't be a little sad to lose it) #but kyle mccarley??? #never in a million years did I see that coming #and they let him go over something so stupid too #i hate it when voice actors get replaced #i do not think these idiot dubbing companies understand just how important their actors are #no. i know they don't. or the actors would be paid fairly in the first place and not need unions. #or even more likely they know but just don't care #kyle mccarley is your LEAD. he voices the PROTAGONIST. he is a GOOD VOICE ACTOR. #switch him out and chances are high you end up with a mob that sounds like he's doing an impression of kyle mccarley as mob #he has the range. the way he plays the transition from regular more timid mob to 100% mob? chills #you cannot let him go without losing something really important #there are lots of other actors out there and lots of them will do a good job I'm sure #but none of them are going to do it the same way and that sucks. because mob already has an english voice. #we already know what he sounds like. and it's kyle mccarley who's been doing this for two seasons already #pickle pontificates #immeasurably disappointed nothing but hate for crunchyroll allowed here

[creatingblackcharacters]

“That One Hairstyle? RETIRE IT!” Black Hair is an Art (pt.1)

(This is part one of two lessons, with this one focusing on how our hair itself! The next lesson will encompass how to incorporate its existence into your writing. It'd be a massively long post otherwise.)

So! Black hair. Black hair is a CENTRAL, ESSENTIAL part of our culture and identity. Writing and drawing it means understanding the vulnerability and trust that comes with access to it, and yes, it is racist to suggest that ‘it’s just hair’ when our hair serves such an important role in our history and art. I already wrote a mini-lesson and ask on the topic, but being aware of what our hair looks like, and what means to us, will help you to understand why we care that you put in the effort to get it right.

Hair Textures

We are not a genetic monolith! However, for the sake of this series, we are focusing on 3C-4C, because 1) it's most likely to be seen in life and 2) least likely to be seen in popular art! When you are creating your characters, consider the style and care for THESE textures. I will get more into this next lesson.

Let's get into SOME of the hairstyles!

Afros (36 Afro Hairstyles)

“So, what’s the phenomenon behind the Afro? Well, it’s our hair in its most natural form, but that’s only part of the phenomenon. It’s a way to fight the status quo without saying a word.”

-Ebony Magazine, The History of the Afro

When nonBlack society hears ‘afro’, they think completely picked out, Black power imagery, political statement. And it was, and is! But in actuality, afros are just the natural hair growing out of a Black person's head. The same way your hair grows out of your head. Our texture. Even my hair is not allowed to be ‘hair’, it has to ‘assign’ my Blackness; my distance from whiteness. Imagine, the hair growing out of your head being automatically associated with how you should be perceived. Just by existing, it is making a statement in a Eurocentric society.

Braids (31 Braid Styles)

There are SO MANY TYPES of braids and ways to wear them. If you can imagine a design, I bet there's a Black braider that can do it!

CORNROWS ARE NOT AUTOMATICALLY BRAIDS! Internalize this! They may be used in the same style, but they are NOT INTERCHANGEABLE TERMS!

Braids are considered a protective style; that is, a hairstyle designed to let our hair 'rest' and grow without having to manipulate it. If you have a Black character that's constantly on the go and/or doesn't have time to focus on their hair, and you want an accurate, more true-to-life experience for them, braids can be a crucial part of character design.

Locs

(Yes, while that link has plenty of examples, it was also self-indulgent. Locs are gorgeous, Black men with locs are gorgeous!)

"Locs vs Dreads": As someone in the loc community, there’s been a push to refer to the style as ‘locs’, rather than ‘dreadlocks’. Some people with the style will not care, but others take it very seriously, so it’s something to keep in mind. There’s a societal stigma behind having locs, that they’re ‘dirty’ or ‘unkempt’ or ‘lazy’ and that is NOT true. Locs are beautiful, and they take far more effort than people seem to want to believe lmao.

Locs, though there is currently a positive revival, are still highly discriminated against. Kids have been expelled from school and even have had their hair forcibly cut off to be allowed to participate in sports. Many places won't hire you if they think your hair is 'unprofessional' or 'dirty', especially if you're a Black woman. To consider yet another example of the hair that grows out of my head 'dirty' is extremely racist.

LOCS ARE NOT BRAIDS!!!!

Locs are also a protective style, albeit a much more permanent one, and one that comes with a long history and culture behind it. Many Black people consider the biblical story of Samson to be a man with locs, and that our locs hold power within them. That not just anyone should be allowed to touch your locs. So, if you're interested in mythology and powers, that might be an intriguing way to go, that would be possible if you had a Black character with locs!

In Professional Media

The lack of awareness and concern about our hair isn't just a fan or amateur creator experience. It is ubiquitous in the professional media world. Black actors, actresses, and models have discussed having to do their own hair when working, because no one would properly care for it on set if it wasn't familiarly white. It’s admittedly grown better- however! After decades of not having options other than ‘stereotypical afro’, ‘box cut’, and ‘white people hair’, it is LONG PAST TIME to stop settling for the bare minimum in Black character design. We can tell when "one of us" (with some sense, at least) wasn't in the room to make decisions in popular media.

If you were curious about the lesson title, here's a current example of what I'm talking about in video games. Tell me if you see a pattern:

This style? The Killmonger? We seent it!!!! It has become the “hairstyle to show I understand the exaggerated swagger of a young Black teen” option, the "I know the Black people!" go-to, and frankly, we are all tired of it. Okay it was cute on Ekko. The Black Delegation DEMANDS the professional video game industry pick something else! We have SO MANY DIFFERENT HAIRSTYLES!

I'll give you an example on the other end (not trying at all; refer to Lesson 1) from one of my favorite games, Hades:

This is my blorbo. My favoritest guy. I’ll fight for Patroclus being Black til the day I die. While I begrudgingly settled in my excitement, I can tell you no one Black with any voting power was in the room at Supergiant when they approved this design. Why? His texture! Locs were such an easy option if they wanted long hair! Locs existed BEFORE Ancient Greece! The man did not have a flat iron while fighting in a war! A good Black designer would have considered that!

To give him a more accurate design, some artists (myself included) lean into giving him locs (one of my favorites is @karshmallow 's Pat; a phenomenal example in caring about your Black characters). It’s something Black fans find themselves doing- redesigning Black characters. That's not something we should have to do at all, especially in media we pay for!

But if you REALLY want your Black character to have straight hair, that leads into the last style of this lesson:

Straight Hair

We do have straight hair. But it’s not straight because it grew out that way! It will still look and be thicker! It might be a wig or a sew-in (human or synthetic), it might be flat-ironed (while relaxed? While natural?) It takes effort to get and maintain straight hair.

'I think it looks better good this way!'

If you catch yourself thinking this, this is a racist statement. Whether you’re aware of it our not, there is a bias towards Eurocentric/white features in our society, and that includes in our media. When you think “I only drew [this Eurocentric hair texture and style] because I think it looks good on them!” I want you to PAUSE and think about the WHY. WHY do you think that this Black person’s natural features are unattractive in comparison to the white hair texture you gave them? And how hurt might a Black peer of yours would feel hearing that you find their natural features not worth drawing because they’re “not attractive”. It requires approaching your own internal biases, recognizing them, and then working to unlearn them. And that means practice! Using references to draw our hair and styles, and growing used to using OUR features on US!

Doing it in Art

Me personally, I think if you think drawing thinner hair textures is easy, thicker hair textures should be a BREEZE. I was curious, so I challenged myself and-

(it took me about thirteen minutes total to do ol boy's hair and it's still not right. I'm sick fr y'all don't even know 🤢)

@ackee has a really good art lesson on the how-tos of drawing Black hairstyles. I highly recommend checking it out, as well as following and supporting a fellow Black artist (who is far better than I!)

Hair Brushes

Finally, an option you can use for painting is downloading Black hair brushes! Vegalia has an amazing array of brushes with different types of curls, locs, and braids at her Etsy store! You can also follow her on social media to see how she applies them, and support yet another amazing Black creative!

I know this was a long one, but you made it! Just keep going. Remember, it's the thought that counts, but the action that delivers!

#creatingblackcharacters #black art #black characters #character design #black hair #black history #black culture

[whore-ibly-hot]

"A Servant and His King."

Yandere!Fae-King x Fae!servant x. Fem! Reader

18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: Dub-con, perverted thoughts, obsession, coercion, fae related hijinks, basically monster fucking, oral (fem receiving), loss of virginity, clit play, p-in-v sex, power dynamics.

(A/N): Part two to a non-smutnfic about Puck, based off of puck from 'Midsummer Nights Dream'. Can be read with or standalone.

Part one (not required to understand)

A brief gust of wind and leaves rattles the shutters of your small cottages window, not sounding out of place when mixed with the usual sounds of the forest. However, the gust turns softer as it gently brushes against the shutters, causing them to open slowly with a creak.

A pair of feet land nimbly upon the wooden dresser across the room from your bed, a shadowy figure squatting down with a grin. The figure hops down, making its way to your bed, where you sleeping form lies blissfully unaware of the intruder.

Groaning, you are soon roused from your slumber by a light pressure on your wrist, and your eyes flutter open. You gasp, seeing the being before you and trying to pull away. "

"W-who are you! Stay awa-" a finger is pressed softly to your lips, the figures face coming into view as the lean forward. Forest green eyes and a set of familiar pearly whites greet you.

"Shh! No need to fear, only Puck is here." He coos, kissing your wrist once more, pressing the soft flesh to his lips. "Sorry to frighten you, little mortal. I would never mean to upset you, but I couldn't very waltz in through the entrance to your humble abode, especially given your mother's feelings about my kind." He lays his lithe body across yours, head on your chest as he looks at you with glee.

"Why are you here, Puck? It's late, I must rest." You say, though you don't resist the fae boys touching. "Sleep is important for humans."

He scoffs. "I know, but I have something more important than your human need for sleep. My king, Oberon, leader of the seelie court wishes to meet you." He pulls you up by your shoulders, a hand fixing your nightgown which begins to slip from your shoulder.

"T-the king?" You're just a human woman, a peasant. You've never even met a human noble, much less a faery king. "Why? Puck, I'm not, I can't! Now? I'm not dressed properly, I'm a human, I-"

Once again, a finger is placed against your lips. Invading your space as per usual, Pucks forehead is pressed against your forehead, nose to nose. "Shush, little mortal. Please, the king loves me. I am his jester-servant, his beloved Puck! We've shared many a-" he chuckles. "Amourous night together. He knows if your good enough for me, then your good enough to meet him. Don't discredit yourself, you are so much more than some mortal maid I take in the woods for a night of passion." He makes her sit up, and tries to slip her out of the bed. "He'll love you, my sweet. It's only proper I introduce my new beloved friend to my closest companion, ruler, and my king." You allow him to pull you out of your bed, and into his lanky form.

"Mmph, Puck. I can walk." You groan, trying to wriggle from his grasp. He tsks with his tongue, and shakes his head.

"No, no, no. Don't whine, don't go away. Be good. It's a long stroll all the way to the spring we're going to, just relax." He cackles. "You humans are so indecisive. Just a moment ago you were whining, 'Puck, no. It's too late, I'm a human, I need my sleep.', now you won't let me carry your frail, tired self to see the king. Make up your mind."

You roll your eyes, but suppose he has a point, and allow yourself to melt into his warm embrace, shoulders flush against his pecs.

As he slips back through the window and dances through the glen, weaving through trees and brush like a gust of cool night air, he soon arrives upon a clearing. Smooth rock reflect moonlight, as the water resting atop them comes from the babbling freshwater spring that rests at the edge of the rocks. A figure, imposing and much more muscular than Puck's is sat on one of the rocks, admiring the water.

Puck gently sets you down with nimble hands, kissing your ear lightly. This causes you to squeak and push him off.

"Stop it, Puck! I-im about to meet a king and your acting like we're lovers! Like your an enamored schoolboy!" You exclaim, and his hands only wrap around your waist from behind, playing with the cloth there.

"And here I thought we were lovers..." He feigns a sad face and a pout, before jolting forward and taking you with him by the waist. "My king!" He yells.

The imposing figure looks over, causing you to freeze, mind not really in synch with body as Puck drags you forward. The king is truly a thing of beauty, rugged and piercing as if he were carved, not from stone, but from the wood that made up the forest which he called his domain. He wears a fur pelt around his waist, covering his only upper thigh and not leaving much to the imagination. His is decidedly hairy, and though beautiful is as rugged as a human man of the woods is expected to be. He has dark curls of hair not unsimilar to Puck's, but not as long. His eyes are a deep brown.

"Ah, Puck, my fair servant friend. I was almost afraid you had planned to trick me, having not shown yet." The king muses, legs spread casually and a hand resting against his chin.

Puck gasps, hand to his chest as if hurt. "Never, my liege. Well, at least not to you." Puck coos, sitting on the rock and curling up to the man's calve. The king runs his hands through the curls of the fae man, and you are taken aback by the sensuality of their interaction.

The king looks up. "And you, little mortal, must be my Pucks new favorite thing, hmm?" He asks, head tilted. You nod nervously as the man waves you closer. You bow, and he grins. "Good, good. I assume she knows who I am then? I am King Oberon, of this enchanted woods and over all of the seelie court. Though, my servant here told me you knew little to nothing of our people when asked you about us, so I doubt you'd know what the seelie court is."

You shake your head. "No, sir. All I know-" you glance at Puck, who is practically purring at his kings touch. "All I know is what Puck has told me. That you are powerful, and to be respected."

Oberon grins at this. "That is all you need know. Come here, allow a king to gaze upon you." His hands begin to wander, cupping your face. His large fingers prod your plump lips, your cheeks, and tilts your chin downwards to look at him from where he is sat. Then, the hand is on your shoulder, playing with the straps of your upper garment, then at your chest. This sudden touch in such an intimate place causes you to jolt back. Oberon raises a brow.

"I'm sorry, sir. That is, that is just a very intimate place for humans. It's for sensual matters, when between two adults." You try to explain. Puck sighs, leaning his head on Oberons knee while the king chuckles.

"I am aware. It is intimate and sensual for fae too. That is why you were being touched there." He says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. Now, you are only more confused.

"Well, intimacy of those matters between humans happens between a-a married couple, and even then, it should not be openly discussed. A woman like myself couldn't, shouldn't ever bee with a stranger like that, not even a suitor before marriage!"

"I have heard humans are... less indulgent in the passions of life than fae. All those awful, boring rules. And yet you kill your leaders and revolt because your miserable? Perhaps. Eing unable to express those urges is why." He laughs, and Puck joins in. He sense your confusion and continues. "Fae do not believing in brief enjoyment and indulgence. We live life to the fullest. Our liquor is stronger yet we drink more, our food is richer, yet we all eat like kings. And most of all, we indulge in the passions of the flesh with each other more than your little mind could take. I think if you had the opportunity, you'd see it was the best way to live." He muses.

To your suprise, he suddenly moves Puck up from his calve to his lap, holding the thin man by the waist as Puck grins wickedly. "You see, me and my servant here are close, emotionally and physically. We have enjoyed many a night of passion, without the watchful eye of my queen, of course." There is some bitterness in Oberon's tone at the mention of his queen.

"You... you indulge in passion with those, of the same gender as you, o-often?" You ask. It is not wrong, you are just so suprised and curious. You are not even supposed to think about a man pleasing a woman, let alone a man and another man. It is such a foreign idea.

"Mhmm. Being a king is hard for his majesty, and Puck... I, am happy to help him with his desires. My king cares for me, and I care for him." Puck says, before gasping and cutting off. You blush, seeing Oberons hand has slipped below Pucks leafy loincloth, hand stroking Puck manhood. He focuses only on the tip for now.

"I am suprised seeing as you are so shocked by how touchy and sensual fae are, seeing as you bedded my dear servant." Oberon says, and you immediately shake your head.

"No! I've never, me and Puck did nothing together. We drank a little, but he took me home." You exclaim, and look st Ouck for answers. He's too busy letting out soft whimpers and moans as Oberon moves his hand the full length of Pucks cock, paying attention to his bulbous tip.

"Is this true, Puck? I find it hard to believe, my servant can't keep his hands to himself. I suppose this makes you seem even more special to me, that my Puck would wish to see you again so desperately, and rave about you to me even if he had not bedded you yet. That begs the question though..." He leans in to Puck's ear. "Why did you lie to your king?"

Puck groans, brows furrowing. "M' sorry, your majesty! I knew you were so busy, and if I told you I had found a mortal capable of giving such incredible pleasure, you'd be more likely to come and see what a treasure I had found." He stammers. The king shakes his head, slowing his movements on Puck's cock.

"You know better than to lie to a king with a temper, Puck."

Puck cries out, bucking his hips and trying to chase that friction against his kings rough hands. "N-no sir! Trust me, I know if she'd just indulge, the mortal would be wonderful! She... she could be our mortal, not just mine! Please sir, I'll be good, she'll be good, don't stop." He begs.

Oberon sighs, still frowning in Pucks direction but intrigued nonetheless. "Alright, mortal girl. I yell you, if you would only let go, indulge just a bit in the pleasures of the fae, you would live a better life overall. And, should you please a king of the woods, perhaps your... what is it your mother does? Herbs? Perhaps they would see a better yield. An enchantment perhaps?" He offers.

You gulp, body hot with both arousal at the sight before you and anxiety. "I couldn't. What would the people in town think, I-I would be outcast!"

"Who would know? Even if someone were to find out, no one would believe a quiet gardeners daughter slept with a wicked spirit." The king teases, tongue poking out from between his lips slightly. He pulls you to him, and you offer no resistance. "For an untouched maiden, I assure you there is no one better to introduce you to a world of pleasure than the king, and his most loyal servant."

As he says this, the moaning Puck latches his lips onto your neck, continuing to moan as he sucks the soft flesh. You gasp.

"Oh, oh, gods." You squeak, the sensitive skin of your nape never having been touched, much less kissed in such a way.

"No gods, here, mortal. No angels or demons, only fae. Only the spirits of nature." He leans into your ear, kissing the shell. "Only your king."

Soon, a rough hand gets your skirt pooled around your knees, kneading the fat of your thigh and preparing to spread your legs and allow the fae king and his srmervant a view of the untouched treasure that lies there. You shiver as the cold air brushes across your stomach, you've never felt so exposed.

"See, highness? I told you, she's the perfect, pretty little mortal. Tease her, please? For me? I want to see her face as she experiences pleasure for the first time." Puck begs.

Oberon raises a brow and the request. "Such demands from a liar who has already been granted mercy, and is still being pleasure bu the hands of a king." He pulls his hand from Ouck's cock, causing tears to well in the edged faes eyes, having been denied his release.

"Majesty-"

"Enough. I will allow you to tease and prep the maiden, so she may except you king. Before you say anything, be grateful I don't only allow you to watch, or send you home." Puck whines, but grins a little inside. He knows the king enjoys his presence to much to remove him from this sensual scene.

Oberons large hands keep your shoulders flat against the warm stones of the spring, while Puck, still hard beneath his tented loincloth, crawls unceremoniously up between your thighs.

"What are you doing, Puck?" You whisper out softly, looking into his dazzling green eyes. He smiles warmly, pressing his cheek to one of your thighs.

"I assure you, maiden, my wicked tongue is not only good for japes and jabs." He coos. You are still confused at what he could mean, until the two thin fingers parting your folds are replaced with a hot, wet muscle. Puck licks a stripe teasingly up your center, savoring the flavour but eyes never leaving your face.

Oberon smiles down as he watches your face contort and wrinkle at the new sensation.

"Puck, y-your majesty, what is- oh, what is he doing?" You ask, trying to form a coherent sentence at the odd feeling of pressure and friction against both your clit and your entrance as Puck explores your folds.

"It's called cunnilingus, maiden. Fae have many ways to pleasure each other, but many enjoys the feel of one's mouth on their most intimate areas." He chuckles as he watches Puck tasting you curiously. "Sometimes, I find filling his mouth is the only way to quiet him." Puck giggles, and the vibrations make your legs quake.

Soon, the muscle invades your entrance, as Puck is now groaning almost as much as you. It's a gentle stretch, but both Ouck and Oberon know it will be necessary for what the king is to do later. Your aroused and needy clit is not forgotten by the fae pleasuring you, as a free hand comes to tweak it gently. The feeling is overwhelming, and soon, that knot inside you snaps, and you feel a high you've never known. It feels as though currents, waves run through your body as your maidenhood spasms around Pucks tongue.

He removes it, but continues to lap at your spent clit, tasting the juices of your climax. Oberon smiles.

"Was he good, maiden? Did you first touch by a man satisfy?" He asks. You can only weakly nod. "Ah, answer, maiden. Your being addressed by a royal."

"It was... it was very good, m-majesty." You gasp out. You look away at the sheer lewdness of the sight and Oberon crashes his lips to Pucks so that he may taste you on his servants lips.

"She was a divine nectar, my liege." Puck groans, pulling away from the kiss and now trading spots with his king. Now Puck lays by your shoulders, playing with your locks and kissing your neck and jawline while Oberon moves into place.

His chisled body places itself atop you, his sheer size dwarfing you and removing the moonlight from your body, casting a large shadow. You gulp.

"I... I've never done-" he chuckles, cutting you off.

"I'm aware, mortal. All that talk of purity led me to that conclusion. But, you won't be that innocent for long. I will be gentle, but it will hurt at first when you accept me into your sweet cunt. It's all part of the process."

You tense a little at the feeling of something hard, much more rigid than Pucks limp tongue, prodding at your entrance and folds.

"M' scared." You admit. This seems to soften the sensual yet cold king, and he sighs. Even Puck gives him a sad, wide eyes look. He leans down.

"Don't worry, mortal. I will be as gentle as any man has been with a woman. My Puck was never one to be nervous, but I have had lovers in the past who were. I will take care of you." He says.

Puck holds your hand and nuzzles his cheek to yours to provide a semblance of comfort. "It's true. The king is a fair and gentle lover when he wants to be. Don't worry, my friend." He assures.

Oberon strokes your thighs to relax soon, and soon the tip enters your weeping slit. You whine, the intrusion burns a little, especially as he adds a few inches every so often. But, he is slow, and talks you through it.

"Shh, it's alright. Your taking me so well, especially since I am endowed with more than some. Such a good mortal girl, it will feel good once you've stretched to accommodate a fae's cock." He coos.

As he begins to gently thrust, the slightly pain gives way to a burning pleasure. You whimper, his thrusts rocking your ads back against the stone of the spring. His large, curved tip is hitting the right spots, cervix getting pounded by the large man of the forest.

"O-oh, shit! Oberon, please- please, m-more! I need all, all of you in me!" You cry, and he chuckles.

"That's your womb speaking. This is your first time, you couldn't possibly accommodate all of me. But I will give you what I think, ugh, what I think you can take." He thursts become rhythmic, rolling in and out of your stretched tunnel, as Puck holds you steady and plays gently with your chest.

Oberon humps against you a few more times, moaning at Pucks encouragement. "She is so close, sire. I can tell, she's all tense and red, come on! Give it to her, let her take you. Please." It's clear Puck is still needy from not having gotten his release earlier. Still, he seems satisfied watching the king fuck his newest treasure.

"Mortal, mortal. You squeeze like a vice, such a warm, needy cunt. You needed this, to feel such pleasure, didn't you? Needed a cock to fill this cunt?" He moans. "It was fate, wasn't it, Puck? Finding this maiden, all alone. It was fate for you to be brought to us." Puck nods as his master continues.

"Your majesty, I'm gonna- its happening again." You cry, and his pace doesn't slow.

"I know, I know. I'm, fuck-" one last thrust sends the king over the edge. He groans, feeling your tunnel convulse around him as his thick white cum fills you. Puck plants quick, overwhelming kisses across your face as you climax, secretly wondering what you would look like if you bore the king's child.

Soon, Oberon pulls out, and you lay there, trembling and on the verge of sleep. Puck leans down and plants a final kiss upon your lips. He smiles.

"Sleep, little mortal. It's okay, you are safe with me and my king. I'll return you to your bed, pretty one." He strokes your hair softly, until your tired eyes close and stay closes. He sighs, and looks at the king. It's clear he could go for a fee more rounds.

"Majesty, our poor mortal needed this so badly, her body was on fire for it. We can't... we can't well let her go back to her little cottage, all alone in the dangerous wood with no one to please her. She's trusting, and she broke all the rules of interacting with fae so quickly, what if a worse one came along and-"

"Puck!" Oberon exclaims, making the imp jolt and go silent. Oberon sighs. "I am not a fool. I know how much this unique mortal has captivated the two of us. You need not convince me to take her back to my palace. As fair as Titania will be concerned, she is a plaything for you, correct? I will not have her cursing this treasure." Oberons muscular arms cradle your slumbering form.

"Majesty, I know of your endurance. Perhaps when we get back to the palace, while our maiden rests, I may please you." Puck asks, eyes wide and innocent.

Oberon scoffs. "All this acting because I didn't allow you to finish, Puck?" Oberon says, seeing through Pucks facade of goodwill and selflessness. Puck pouts.

"Isn't it tempting, though?"

"Perhaps."

#yandere #yandere oc #tw.yandere #yandere fanfiction #yandere content #tw.dark content #x reader #yandere boy #yandere fae #yandere king #oc Puck #oc Oberon #tw.dubcon #yandere smut #yandere x reader #yandere oc x reader #oc x reader

[sundrop-writes]

Careful - Chapter Two

(Dad)Spencer Reid x (Mom)Fem!Reader

Chapter Two: Liar

Why should I deny what's all at once, so crystal clear?

Summary:

Spencer is eager to talk to you - to find out if your son is actually his. But there are more important matters at hand, like the fact that you might be the next target of a serial killer who is actively stalking single mothers.

The two of you get locked in a battle of wills when you stubbornly refuse his protection and Spencer remains determined to keep you safe.

Dad!Spencer Reid x Mom!Fem!Reader. Exes to Lovers. Angst and Smut.

Word Count: 8,900

Criminal Minds Masterlist | AO3 Link | Series Masterlist

Detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: again, general warnings for a Criminal Minds episode - mentions of killing/murder, mentions of the reader being a target for a killer; mentions of the reader buying and using a vibrator (does not take place during the fic, more so mentioned as the reality of the ‘sex life’ of a single mom); the reader and Spencer parted on very bad terms (but the details of the situation are not yet revealed); the reader is very angry towards Spencer; the reader and Spencer argue; the reader is in denial that she is the target of a killer; there is some mention of Sebastian having similar hair to Spencer - but I don’t want that to describe or exclude the reader’s race because in the next chapter, there is a mention of Sebastian having the reader’s skin tone; mention of the reader ‘shoving’ Spencer out of anger (not hard enough to cause harm); mention of the reader owning a gun (registered with gun training) as a form of self defense; mention of the reader character celebrating a birthday - but there is no mentions of specific dates or months when the fic is set, so you can easily imagine that this takes place around your birthday (aside from mentions of holidays or seasonal weather); mentions of JJ x Will; JJ talks about her trauma regarding dogs after being attacked in 2x15; this ends in another flashback, this time including flashback sex (smut); Spencer cuts off foreplay to give the reader a birthday present - mentions of heated kissing and some groping; Spencer calls the reader ‘Princess’ (not during sex - in the context of ‘I am here to serve you like royalty’); the smut basically consists of Spencer eating the reader out. And I think that’s it for this chapter. 

A/N: Okay so something I did not intend to happen - a lot of this chapter is from JJ's perspective. It just naturally started happening while I was writing it, and it was really interesting to me to write about Spencer and the reader's relationship through her eyes (especially to keep the conflict between them vague to the audience, because JJ doesn't know the details of what happened), and it's not something I did intentionally, but I really loved how it shaped the chapter, so I kept it in. Also, I really wanted to include a lot of JJ x Spencer friendship and comfort moments in the fic because (as a lot of people in the fandom have discussed) - the writers love to have the characters say that JJ and Spencer are best friends, but they don't often show it. They just show a lot of conflict between them. So I wanted to show the potential of their friendship. And I had a lot of fun exploring that. So - I hope you guys enjoy the second chapter, and definitely hope to see you come back for chapter three!!!

...

When you heard someone knock on your door, you thought it was a delivery. 

You had ordered Sebastian some new educational coloring books, and some new CDs with Mozart concertos to fall asleep to, because he was getting bored of his current ones. You often felt like you couldn’t keep up with him - Sebastian was so damn smart, and you always tried to provide him with the best resources to learn. Even if he was getting to a point where he was asking for high school level chemistry text books and actually seemed to understand the material in them and you were confused about how he could comprehend any of it. 

The package also could have been the new vibrator you had ordered. You weren’t sure if that package was small enough to be left in the mailbox or not. You had to roll your eyes when you thought about how pathetic your sex life had been since having Sebastian. But you couldn’t risk bringing random men through the house just for sex when you had Seb around. So battery power and smut novels, it was.

“Sorry!” 

You called out, hoping the delivery person would wait, as you raced to get to the door. You hoped they wouldn’t just slip one of those ‘failed to deliver’ notes into your door handle and force you to run an extra errand with a kid under your arm. You tripped over a toy truck and cursed yourself for procrastinating cleaning up (again). 

“Sorry, I almost didn’t hear you. I was-” 

‘I was in my office, in the back of the house.’ 

The sentence died off on your tongue when you finally fumbled the door open - your mouth going numb from shock when you saw him. 

Spencer Reid. 

The father of your child, the man you had once loved. 

Your heart raced inside your chest, your body so overwhelmed so quickly that you couldn’t even decide on an emotion. 

Happiness. Joy. Lust. Longing. Sadness. Relief. 

Shock. 

You lingered on shock for a while as you stared at him, your eyes locked on the sight of him - wondering what the hell he was doing standing on your porch. How did he know where you lived? Why was he here? 

Was he here because of Sebastian? Was he angry? He had to be angry that you hadn’t told him about Sebastian for all of these years. He had to be angry that you had given birth to his child and not told him about it. 

You flickered back to lust for a moment as your eyes traced over him. 

He looked good.

Somehow, he had grown up so much in just four years. He had gone from a gangly, boyish man to a full blown man. But he was somehow still so much the same. His hair had grown out a lot since you had last seen him - instead of the neatly combed, short cut you had last seen him with, it was downright wild. The chocolate brown locks were sprawling out into the thick curls that you had come to see sprouting from your own son’s head. It wasn’t a look that you were used to on Spencer, but it looked damn good on him. 

He was wearing his usual leather messenger bag - probably the exact same one from years ago. And he clearly had the same dress sense, but these clothes in particular made you want to jump his bones. A lavender cardigan that complimented his skin tone so well - and his usual button up shirt and tie, along with his usual gray slacks. 

You desperately wanted to blame the sting of attraction that you felt for him on the recent lack of male suitors in your life; the fact that you hadn’t gotten laid in a long time. But you knew it was something else, too. Your previous attraction to him - the fact that because you had slept with Spencer before, you could still feel the ghost of his hands and tongue on your body. 

How did he look so good? 

He made you feel like a slob in your casual ‘work from home on a random Tuesday’ Mom clothes. If it had been your choice, he definitely wouldn’t be seeing you for the first time in years while you were wearing jeans and a sweatshirt that you were sure had raspberry juice stained on it somewhere, and eyeliner that you had slopped in between traffic lights in the car that morning. 

(You hated it.) 

“Y/N,” 

He finally broke the silence, speaking your name in that honey-sweet way. 

Unfortunately, it brought you rocketing back to that night all those years ago. Your stomach dropped, and you felt like you were standing in that apartment all over again, tears in your eyes as you faced down the crashing reality that the best relationship you ever had in your life was over. 

This chased out that tiny splash of lust and brought on a whole new wave of confusing emotions. 

Anger. Rage. Sadness. Bitterness. More longing. Regret. 

Like your brain was a spin wheel, it whirled around for a few hectic moments, and then - you landed somewhere between anger and pure rage. 

And that was when you finally spoke. 

“Spencer Reid.” You hissed out his name like it was pure venom, your neck aching as the blood pumped hard through your aorta. 

Immediately, Spencer’s features fell from looking at you with nostalgic fondness, and fear took over his face. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” You asked fiercely, this question rocketing back to the forefront of your mind. 

Spencer opened his mouth, seemingly to answer this question, and the rage pumped harder in your system. You found that suddenly, you didn’t want to hear whatever it was that he had to say. 

You stepped through the door, easily stepping into his personal space as you came onto the porch. Without even thinking, you gave him a hard shove in the middle of his chest as you spoke your next words - much louder than you intended. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” You screeched. 

You let your emotions carry your actions before any sense of logic or common decency could kick in. It was resentment and heartache that you had locked away four years ago - and apparently, it had been aging like wine, only becoming more potent with time. 

“You think that you can just magically show up in my life again after I specifically told you not to contact me?” You screamed. “Do you think that order has a fucking expiration date on it?” 

You gave him another hard shove. Perhaps expecting to prompt an answer out of him, or wanting to shove him off the porch entirely and get him out of your life once again. Which of those it was, even you weren’t sure. 

Spencer just looked at you with wide-eyed shock. Clearly, for once in his life, at a loss for words. 

“You better have a good fucking reason for showing up here!” You screeched, your voice becoming so loud that it wore out your throat. 

“Look, Y/N, I-” He stuttered out. 

“Don’t say my name.” You hissed, cutting him off. “Don’t say my name like we’re friends.” 

You glared at him, crossing your arms over your chest, and Spencer shoved his hands into his pockets, now finding himself utterly speechless. 

He definitely was not expecting this kind of reception. 

The two of you became locked in an icy staring contest, neither of you speaking. Spencer found his throat too dry, and for once, his head far too empty. You were simply too angry and too stubborn to speak in those moments. 

This stalemate was only broken up when JJ walked around the corner. 

“Spence, Hotch just told me that the first woman doesn’t even match the-” 

“JJ!” You cried out her name happily, your entire demeanor changing when you saw her. 

She grinned, completely forgetting whatever news she had to report to Reid as you practically flew off the porch and ran to meet her. JJ eagerly opened her arms to hug you, and you squeezed her with all the warmth and kindness of an old friend. 

Spencer felt a pang of jealousy that he wasn’t being greeted with as much affection. He knew that the last argument between the two of you had been bad, but he didn’t know it had left such a distinct impression on you. He didn’t know it had been enough to make you hate him. 

When you pulled away from JJ, you looked between her and Spencer, and then it suddenly struck you. 

If Spencer wasn’t here alone, that meant this wasn’t personal. He wasn’t just here to see you over some lost love, or - maybe he didn’t know about Sebastian at all. You felt a pang of guilt twist your gut because of that. 

“What - what are you guys doing here?” You asked, now entirely confused, directing the question toward JJ. 

JJ looked toward Spencer, and according to his ill-concealed frown, his reunion with you had not gone well. She doubted that you would take the news that you were possibly being hunted by a killer well on top of that. 

“Is it alright if we come inside?” JJ asked, her voice tentative and soft. It was the same voice she usually used with victims and their families. 

“Yeah.” You said, knowing there must be something big that you were missing, and hoping that you would be filled in soon enough. “I’ll put some coffee on.” 

You walked back up the few steps of the porch and breezed right past Reid. You didn’t even spare a glance in his direction as you went back in through the open front door, leaving it open for the two of them with the expectation that they would close it behind themselves. 

“So - I take it things didn’t go well?” JJ whispered to Spencer as she moved up onto the porch. 

“Not quite.” Spencer mumbled in return before moving into the house, waiting for her to follow. 

This made JJ even more curious about what had gone down between you and Spencer all those years ago. 

What could have possibly made you so cold and distant toward him? 

But she couldn’t just come out and ask. They had a job to do. They were there to ensure your safety against a man who had already killed five women and orphaned five children. 

JJ walked into the house and closed the door behind her. She wasn’t surprised that she nearly tripped over a plastic toy truck in the entryway. Even though your son didn’t seem to be here (it was far too quiet for a small boy to be around), this was definitely a house where a child lived. 

The first space that was visible to her eye - the living room, was clearly a space that belonged to a young child. There was a large, colorful play mat underneath the coffee table, and a few toys scattered over across the floor, showing that he clearly liked to have hands on play. In the corner, there was a child-sized desk with a small chair, which seemed to be surrounded by art supplies, and advanced textbooks? Some of them opened and were dotted with bright, colorful stickers. One glance told JJ that the reading material very advanced for his age clearly belonged to him. 

So he very likely was Spencer’s son. 

She wasn’t sure why, but that did bring a cluster of joy through her. Likely because she knew he would be so excited to have a child of his own. 

JJ couldn’t help but to notice that many of the toys were Paw Patrol themed - it was a favorite show of Henry’s, too. In the back of her mind, she wondered if your son and Henry might be friends. 

“Ugh, I’m so sorry.” You huffed, rushing around with your arms half full of toys now - distracted from getting the coffee, as you had mentioned. You were clearly rushing to pick up some of the mess now that you had realized how it appeared in the eyes of your ‘guests’. “All the - stuff.” 

You hesitated to say ‘toys’. Clearly, you didn’t want to bring up the subject of your son, even though the evidence of him was so visible all around. You didn’t want to give Spencer the smallest opening to start asking questions about him. It was something you wanted to avoid speaking about for as long as possible. 

Spencer looked at you with a mournful look on his face as you dodged around him, purposefully avoiding eye contact while you picked up a coloring book and a handful of crayons off the couch. You still refused to look his way at all as you rushed off to stash the items away somewhere. 

Clearly, he wanted to ask you more about your son, and simply ask that penultimate question: was he the father? 

But now wasn’t the right time. 

“It’s alright.” JJ assured you. “You can just come sit down. We really need to talk to you.” 

You heaved out a sigh, defeated in your effort to clean up, and then came back from one of the other rooms. (JJ could only assume you had stashed the toys in a playroom or a closet, because much like her own home, all areas had become a domain for toys and playtime). You motioned for them to sit on the couch, and you scooted over a rocking chair from the other side of the room to sit in front of them, blocking the shut-off TV on the other side. 

“So, what is it?” You asked, clearly eager and curious to know what they were doing in your home - why they had contacted you now after so many years apart. 

JJ and Spencer exchanged a look, and with a gentle nod from him, JJ took the lead. 

“Well, um… there’s no easy way to say this, but we believe that you might be in danger.” She told you, introducing the topic gently, while wanting to be honest and direct. “Perhaps you’ve seen it on the news? But if you haven’t… several single mothers have been killed in the area recently, and we have reason to believe that you might be the killer’s next target.” 

You looked at her, entirely observant, quietly taking in her words. Your face was still and expressionless, and JJ was unsure if you were going to take this calmly and logically - if you were going to panic after you had fully absorbed the news, if you were going to cry. 

After a moment of silence - you burst out laughing. Your laughter was harsh and nervous, a sound that cut through the air like the rip of a chainsaw. Clearly, it was the stark opposite of someone taking the news with tears. 

“Oh my god.” You sighed, taking a breath from the non-humorous laughter. “You know that you didn’t have to make up some excuse just to come and see me, right?” 

Spencer’s face curled into a deep frown. He was upset that you weren’t taking this seriously. JJ found herself in shock. Usually when people found out they were potentially on the radar of a killer, they were paranoid, afraid, questioning why. 

But it was very rare to see denial. 

She did take notice of the fact that you didn’t immediately ask about what kind of evidence or reasoning they had to believe that you were the killer’s next target. Perhaps if your brain let you assess that reasoning for yourself and found it to be valid, then fear would take over. And you couldn’t let that happen. So this laughter, this posturing and not taking things seriously - it was an unconscious way to protect yourself from that fear. 

But JJ could only theorize about that. 

“I did miss you, JJ.” You said, very pointedly looking at her while you said it. “But you could have just sent me an email or something.” 

You continued avoiding Spencer’s harsh gaze as he bored holes into the side of your face with his intense, intrusive eyes. 

“Look, this is serious-” Spencer began, and you cut him off. 

“Okay.” You shrugged. “Let’s say for argument’s sake that there is someone trying to kill me,” 

You spoke of this lightly, the words entirely condescending on your lips, as though Spencer’s theory was entirely wild and imaginative to begin with. 

JJ saw the movement in his jaw as he grinded his teeth out of the corner of her eye, and she was surprised that he let you continue. 

“I have an alarm system that I set every night before I go to bed.” You informed them. “I am a proud gun owner. I have a registered revolver that I keep in a lock box beside my bed and I renew my gun training every single spring.” You told them, not seeming the least bit worried at the idea of a killer hunting you down. “If someone wants to kill me, let them try. I’m sure you guys have much better ways to spend your time than sitting around here, chatting with me when there are people out there, actually in danger. People who probably need your help.” 

You said this, trying to dismiss them. And then you moved to get up from your seat, looking to escape the conversation entirely. But once again, Spencer stopped you. 

“That’s it?” He fired back, entirely indignant, standing from his place on the couch. 

This caused you to roll your eyes and let out a hiss, your lungs deflating like an annoyed balloon as you paused in the middle of the room. 

“Yes, that’s it.” You groaned back. “Look, I know it’s your job to see problems everywhere, but-” 

“It’s my job to protect people.” Spencer replied, cutting you off. “And-” 

“Funny!” You scoffed, your voice escalating in volume. It had turned into a full-blown argument now - you were entirely uncaring that JJ was there to witness it; Spencer was locked in your sight like the crosshairs of a scope, and you were ready to fire. “You give a shit about ‘protecting’ me now, but what the fuck happened four years ago?”

You glared harshly at Spencer, and he locked his jaw, staring right back. It turned into a poisonous silence as neither of you spoke - he didn’t have a good answer for this question. And it made JJ all the more horribly curious about what had happened between the two of you. But she didn’t need to be a psychic to sense that the two of you needed some privacy. 

“Do… do you mind if I go get myself a glass of water?” She asked, tentatively standing up from her place on the couch. 

“I’ll get it.” You huffed out, moving to leave the room. 

“It’s okay.” JJ told you. “I can get it for myself. Just point me in the right direction.” 

You motioned toward the kitchen and JJ left, and she heard Spencer hiss out something about you being stubborn, which turned into another cluster of voices. The argument turned even more personal and sour now that the both of you didn’t have a witness. 

When JJ made her way into the kitchen, she was happy to see that your backyard was full of toys. A pair of sliding glass doors let her peek out to see a colorful swing set and a large playhouse, and a scattering of other toys meant that your son obviously spent a lot of time outside. She smiled to herself, trying to ignore the rising, angered sound of voices from the other room as she found a glass in one of the cabinets. When she moved to the refrigerator’s water dispenser, something along the way caught her eye. 

A vase of fresh flowers was sitting on the counter. 

White carnations. 

It made her stomach churn ominously. It felt too perfect to be a coincidence. 

She abandoned her half-full glass and grabbed the vase, walking back to the living room with it. 

“You just can’t accept help from anybody, can you? How can you not understand that your life is in danger here? This man is not going to stop until-” Spencer ranted on. 

He was still trying to convince you to take the threat seriously - but you were still boiling with rage over the past, blind to anything else. 

“I can’t accept anyone’s help?” You scoffed, crowding into his personal space to hiss the words closer to him. “That is so rich coming from someone who-” 

JJ cleared her throat loudly, cutting you off. 

“Spence.” She got his attention from the intense gaze he was keeping on you - anger hot in his eyes even though he was staring heavily at your lips. 

When Spencer looked over and saw the vase in JJ’s hands, his entire face shifted in a blink. His expression went from tight-knit anger and annoyance to ‘shit-your-pants’ worry. The danger went from being theoretical to being very real in that moment. 

“Where did these flowers come from?” Spencer asked. 

“What?” You gaped, so entirely confused. 

“Where did you get the flowers?” He asked, rephrasing the question, his tone more urgent and demanding now. 

“Why does that matter?” You replied, exasperated. You didn’t see how it was at all relevant. 

“All of the women who were killed received these exact same kind of flowers within days of their death.” JJ told you. “Do you have any idea who sent them?” 

“I thought my mother did.” You shrugged. “There was no name on the card. It just said ‘Happy Birthday’. She didn’t get to see me in person for my birthday, she’s traveling right now. She’s one of the only people who would send me flowers for my birthday.” 

“Yes, but your mother knows that your favorite flowers are lavender and baby’s breath. Why would she send these?” Spencer replied. 

Naturally, he remembered your favorite flowers. 

You couldn’t get stuck on that, though. Instead, you pondered the question he posed. 

Why would your mother send you white carnations without even signing the card? 

It wasn’t something you had thought about. At the time, you had just thought it was considerate, and sweet. When you had called her to thank her for the flowers, you had gotten her voicemail. You had left her a message thanking her. She was away on a singles cruise with shoddy reception and she hadn’t gotten back to you yet. 

“They’re just flowers.” You said, letting out another nervous chuckle - but your voice broke over this one. 

Obviously the reality of things was truly starting to set in with you. 

“We need to set up protective custody for you.” Spencer said, taking out his phone in order to get this done. 

“No!” You snapped. “I am not having some random cops follow me around because you think I might be in danger.” You hissed angrily. 

Spencer paused and stared you down, debating if he was going to go against your wishes or not, his phone still in hand. 

JJ hated the look in Spencer’s eyes. That deep, bitter fear. Whatever had happened between the two of you, there was still enough care lingering there that he would fight for you no matter what. He was terrified for you. He wasn’t going to let you meet the same fate as the other victims. She knew he wasn’t going to let this go. 

JJ put the vase down on the coffee table, and turned to you. 

“It doesn’t have to be random cops. We can stay with you, in order to-” She started to explain, only to be disrupted by the digital ringtone of your home phone echoing through the house. 

You rushed to grab the phone, and JJ heard some of the quiet conversation from you on one end. 

“Yeah, okay. Yeah, I’ll be there soon. It’s no problem. Thank you so much. Yeah, twenty minutes. Bye.” 

You hung up and then rushed back into the living room - and before either of them could speak further on the matter, you rushed past them. You went to the entryway, taking off your slippers to exchange them for sneakers. 

“Look, guys, I would love to stay and hang out, but I have somewhere important to be.” You huffed out. 

“Seriously?” Spencer replied, entirely frustrated with you. “This isn’t some tea party. We aren’t just hanging around here for fun. Call whoever that was and tell them that you’re gonna be late. Or call and cancel, or-” 

“No!” You yelled back, entirely frustrated with him. “Dammit, Spencer! People have responsibilities, you know! I have responsibilities. I am an adult, I’m not some child you can talk down to. Now get the fuck out of my house so I can lock up, and get to the important things that I have to do. Things that don’t involve wasting my time talking to you.” 

You said the last part so snidely, resenting that Spencer’s unexpected visit had been part of your day. 

He opened his mouth to argue against this, but JJ put a gentle hand on his shoulder, nudging him toward the door. He sighed and flexed to this movement. He angrily stormed past you to leave through the front door, which he left wide open like a toddler having a tantrum. 

You grabbed your keys and your purse from a side table near the door and JJ moved to leave as well. On her way along, she put a gentle hand on your shoulder, capturing your attention. 

“We’ll check back in with you later, okay?” She said, using her most gentle, non-confrontational voice. 

“Sure.” You easily agreed, unable to be angry with her. “But just call, or something. There’s no need to bang down my door over some stupid flowers. It’s nothing.” 

She stepped through the door and you followed. As you used your keys to lock up, you added on: 

“I would give you my number, but I’m sure Penelope can find it for you in five minutes flat.” 

JJ chuckled at this. 

“More like two and a half, I’d say.” She replied - it was a joking tone, but she did truly think this highly of Penelope’s skills. 

You smiled over your shoulder at her and she nodded before she began to walk back to the car, where Spencer was already sitting in the passenger’s seat, stewing in his anger. 

When she got in beside him, they watched you pull out of the driveway and drive off before either of them spoke. 

“What the hell happened between the two of you?” JJ asked, the question finally unleashing from her lips. 

“It’s complicated.” Spencer huffed out in reply, tired. 

In order to distract himself from all of it, he was staring down at some files in his lap - some of the case files of the other murders that he had pulled out of his bag. He needed something to do to keep his mind from churning more on the fact that you seemed to hate him. He wanted to find a way to protect you now, instead of focusing on the past. 

But JJ seemed hellbent on walking backward - getting him to look back on what happened between the two of you. 

“I can do complicated.” She said. “We’ve got plenty of time. We should just sit here and wait for her to come back.” 

“You should go check in with Hotch.” Spencer told her, dodging around the question once again. “I’ll come back after.” 

“After what?” JJ questioned, finding this wording particularly strange. 

JJ started the car and pulled away, hoping that you would be safe during the time they didn’t have eyes on you. The UnSub had a particular routine - he liked to stalk his victims for a few weeks before he broke into their homes and killed them. So she hoped that he wasn’t ready to make contact with you yet. She hoped that if he did, your gun and your alarm system would be enough to deter him. 

“I - I wanted to get her something nice.” He answered, sounding rather shy about this proclamation. “Like she mentioned, her birthday just passed. And, according to the preschool forms, her son’s birthday was a week ago. I want to get something for him too.” 

“They have the same birthday?” JJ asked. 

“Not exactly the same, but their birthdays are only five days apart.” Spencer replied. “I missed his birth.” He added on, a quiet sigh, entirely melancholic. “I missed the whole pregnancy. I - I missed everything.” 

“You still didn’t answer my question.” JJ reminded him. “What happened?” 

Spencer knew she was asking as a friend. He knew that of all people - she was the one to talk to about this. 

“It - it was right after Hankel.” He admitted quietly. “That was when Y/N and I broke up.” 

“Oh.” JJ said quietly. 

The air in the car became thick as the heaviness truly overtook her. 

So, it was complicated. 

But she definitely couldn’t understand your rage toward Spencer. 

“When I came back from Atlanta, she knew I wasn’t the same. And things - we - we fell apart.” He admitted this barely above a whisper, hesitant to even voice the words as a reality. “You knew what kind of person I was back then. I wasn’t good to her. I wasn’t good to anybody.” 

Spencer let out a harsh chuckle - a defense to all the hurt he was feeling about it. 

JJ spotted a sign for a shopping center, and pulled into the parking lot. She knew that Spencer likely had a good idea about buying into your good graces with a late birthday gift. Even if it wouldn’t instantly make up for everything that had happened all those years ago. 

“Yeah, but you’re sober now.” She reminded him. 

“She doesn’t know that.” Spencer replied. 

JJ ruminated in thought for a moment. 

“You know, I met Will afterwards, right?” She said. 

Out of the corner of her eye, Spencer nodded. 

“It was only a few weeks after everything happened, when we were working that case in New Orleans.” She explained. “And he looked at me like I was a hero. Because I helped him finish what his father couldn’t. He didn’t look at me like I was fragile or broken. He didn’t tip-toe around me. He didn’t see me as some ghost. And that is part of the reason why I fell for him. He always saw me as this goddess. Like Superwoman.” 

Spencer smiled at this. 

He wanted to be that person for you. He wanted to be your Superman. (But he feared that he couldn’t live up to that. That he would fail you when the time came.) 

JJ found a parking spot, and parked, but Spencer lingered - sensing there was more to the conversation. 

“You know… Henry wants a puppy.” JJ’s voice shook, her throat clenching up around these words. 

Spencer’s stomach shook. 

He hadn’t been there, but he had seen the scars on JJ’s arms. He had seen the footage of the other poor woman being torn apart by those dogs. 

“And I had to tell Will everything. How I was chased down, how I had to shoot two innocent animals - the stupid fact that I still feel guilty about it, even though they would have killed me if I hadn’t done it.” She said, her throat becoming more closed off with each word. She cleared it before she spoke again. “How I lost you, how it was all my fault.” 

“What happened to me wasn’t your fault.” Spencer felt the need to say this aloud, reaching over and putting a gentle hand on her knee. She nodded at him before she continued. 

“Just - it was all so overwhelming. The idea of having a dog in our house. But… I told him that I wanted to try, at least. For Henry.” JJ explained. “But when we went to the animal shelter - the sound of dogs barking… I couldn’t stop myself from flinching. And next thing I know, I’m sitting on the curb outside with my head between my knees and Will is putting a bottle of water to my lips.” 

“Henry seems more like a cat person anyway.” Spencer replied, hoping this slightly humorous comment would offer some comfort to his friend. 

JJ let out a tired laugh. 

“He’s three and a half, I think we’re still in the stage where a goldfish is more than enough for him.” She added on. 

“I - I never told Y/N.” Spencer said, suddenly shifting the conversation. JJ raised her brow, prompting further explanation of this. “I never told her what happened to me. What happened with Hankel.” 

JJ gave him a sad look. 

“Why not?” 

“I - I didn’t want her to view me as weak. I couldn’t fight him off. I accepted the drugs. At certain points, I…. I even pitied him.” Spencer replied. “I didn’t want things to change between us. Even though they did anyway.” 

“Do you still wanna be with her?” JJ asked. 

“What?” Spencer gaped, not expecting the question. 

“If the kid is yours, obviously you wanna be in his life. But co-parenting as separate, single people is one thing.” JJ explained herself. “Do you still want to be with Y/N? Do you still love her?” 

“Yes.” Spencer replied shyly. 

“Then you have to tell her everything.” JJ said firmly. “Being with someone for the long term isn’t about creating some fantasy. I fell in love with Will because he looked at me like I was Superwoman, but I stayed in love because he takes care of me when I’m powerless. You have to be weak in front of her and let her take care of you, so that you can be strong everywhere else.” 

Spencer sighed - letting this wisdom fully penetrate him. 

He knew that being a genius sometimes meant that he wasn’t the smartest person in the room. Apparently, this was one of those times. 

“You’re right.” 

Then, he reached for the car door’s handle, feeling like JJ had taught him a lot with that conversation and he needed some time to think alone. 

“You want me to come with you?” JJ asked. “You might need a woman’s opinion on what to get,” 

“No thanks, I know Y/N pretty well.” He replied. “At least I hope I still do.” He opened the door fully and stepped out. “And I wanted some alone time, to… think all of this over. To think about what I’m gonna say to Y/N. I’m gonna walk back afterwards, the house is only a few blocks away.” 

JJ nodded. 

“I should check back in with Hotch.” She noted. “See if they found anything with the other women on the list. Otherwise, all we’ve got is the flowers.” 

Just as he moved to close the door again, JJ spoke up one last time. 

“Rubble.” She said suddenly - which sounded very strange with no context. 

“What?” Spencer asked, ducking his head down to see inside the car to potentially hear her words better. 

“Rubble - it’s a character from the kids’ TV show, Paw Patrol.” She explained. “There was about five action figures of him sitting on the living room floor back there. So I would assume that he’s your son’s favorite character.” 

Spencer’s chest jumped at the way she said ‘your son’ - so casually. 

He could really have a child in his life. This could really be his future. 

If he played his cards right, this could be his future with you. 

“Thank you, JJ.” Spencer grinned at her. 

She smiled back and he stood up to his full height and closed the car door, walking off into the shopping center by himself. 

And of course, his thoughts drifted back to you. 

He thought back to the last time he had spent your birthday with you. Before Hankel, before all the madness. Before everything good in his life slipped through his fingers and he was left feeling so alone. 

… 

For someone with basically no serious relationships under his belt before you came along, Spencer was excellent when it came to romance. 

Perhaps it was because he spent his time reading the classics - he could recite Elizabethan poetry off by heart, he could whisper epic romantic ballads in your ear before kissing you with such intense passion that it left your head spinning. He had such a perfect picture of what romance should be, and it meant that he knew how to plan a date that left you feeling like a queen. 

Every single time he took you out, he made you feel like you were the only woman on earth - like he would move the seas and the sky just to show you how much he cared. 

And because he insisted that your birthday should be a day all about you - a day dedicated to celebrating you - then this was certainly no different. 

The night had been a whirlwind of perfection. 

After dinner at a gorgeous fine dining restaurant downtown, Spencer then drove the two of you to an art gallery to stroll around. He cited that he wanted you to have some down time for your food to settle before he gave you your present. From the spark in his eye, you had a feeling that you knew exactly what that present would be. The whole evening was so utterly beautiful and peaceful. And like everything with Spencer - it was a pleasant enrichment of the mind, looking at art while he told you things about the artists or the origins of the paintings. 

Before you got halfway through the gallery, he checked his watch and told you that it was ‘just about time’ for your present, and then he drove you back to his apartment. 

The two of you barely made it through the door before you had him pinned against it, your mouth enveloping his in a hot, desperate kiss. You were so utterly grateful to have such a romantic, thoughtful man in your life. 

The entire evening had been nothing but a reminder of that - the way he looked at you with love so pure in his eyes. Him opening doors for you, keeping his hand on your lower back to usher you gently around, speaking lowly to you as though his words were precious and only meant to be yours. 

You needed him. You needed to show him how much you appreciated all of it. You needed him to know how much of a treasure he was in your life. 

You reached for his belt and Spencer let out a choked off moan into your mouth. 

You were surprised when he reached for your wrist, gently pulling your touch back - stopping you from unfastening the belt as he pulled his now slightly swollen lips away from your kiss. 

“As - as much as I want to,” He huffed out against your mouth. “I - I still have to give you your present.” He noted, flashing you a smile. 

“I thought this was my present.” You replied, reaching down to grope Spencer’s half hard cock through his pants. 

He let out a groan; but then he reached for your wrist again, pulling your touch back. 

“I - I promise - later - afterwards? Later tonight.” He stuttered out, hard pressed to focus as more blood rushed to his cock. 

Spencer puzzled you. You had never known any other man to interrupt foreplay for something other than sex, unless it was life or death. But it made you very curious about what your present was and why he was so desperate to give it to you. 

And sex was still on the table, so that panging need between your legs would be taken care of eventually. 

You hummed in ascent and stepped back, releasing Spencer from where you had him pressed against the door. He gulped in a large breath of air before he moved across the room. 

You were surprised when he didn’t move to turn on any lights in the apartment, leaving the two of you settled in comfortable darkness. The only lights being the light from the bathroom that he had left on before leaving, shining down the hall, and the dim lighting coming in the windows - some street lights and the occasional passing car’s headlights. 

Spencer shrugged off his blazer and tossed it over the back of the couch on his way toward the window. He yanked up the blinds in front of the space where he had set up a very expensive, advanced, gorgeous telescope - one that had been there the last few times you had visited. Astronomy was one of his many hobbies, and he often invited you to view different stars or passing comets. It was just one of the many things you learned from him - knowledge you absorbed from being around him that made you feel infinitely smarter. 

You always indulged in the joy of feeling smarter just from being in his presence. You loved that Spencer was someone so gifted who loved to share his knowledge, rather than gatekeeping it or being snide toward others who weren’t as privileged as him. It was just another thing to love about him - the fact that he was so kind in sharing his big brain with others. 

You watched him with intrigue while you took your wrap off your shoulders and tossed your purse onto the couch. Enjoying the quiet and the peaceful darkness and watching him work, you moved to sit on the arm of the couch to begin unstrapping your heels. 

He checked his watch again, and then looked to a small side table he had near the telescope. He flipped open a notebook that he had there, and you supposed that the minimal light coming in through the window was enough for him to see whatever it was that he had written there. He adjusted the telescope slightly, then looked at the notebook again, then adjusted the telescope again. 

Then he said ‘aha, there you are’ under his breath, grinning widely to himself. 

The entire thing made your insides glow with curiosity. 

Spencer then turned back to you, still grinning widely. When he noticed your shoe half-hanging off your foot, he stepped over to you and softly grabbed your ankle, sliding your shoe off the entire way before gently rubbing the sole of your foot. 

“Let me help you with that, Princess.” He said quietly, before moving to take the shoe off your other foot. 

Again, your insides tingled as he made you feel like you were the most important woman on earth. 

“Thank you.” You replied, almost speechless at the action. 

“If you’ll step right this way, I can show you your present.” He said, motioning toward the telescope with a dramatic flare. 

You let out a giggle as you stepped over your abandoned shoes and moved to look into the telescope. 

You wondered if he had written some poem and taped it onto the other end of the lens or something like that (it was Spencer, it must have been something epically romantic). But as you bent down and closed one eye to get a good look, it was entirely ordinary. 

The telescope was focused on a single, tiny star. 

It was beautiful, but it was very… plain. And more than anything, it was confusing. 

Your present was… a star? 

“Spencer, I don’t really get it?” You sighed, standing up to your full height once again. 

“I got you a star.” He said proudly, grinning even wider now. 

When you stared at him with more intense confusion, Spencer reached over to the notebook and pulled something out. After he handed it to you, you leaned into the light of the window and studied it carefully. 

It was a certificate stating that Spencer had paid to name the star after you. 

He had literally changed the night sky for you. 

“Oh my god.” You gasped quietly. 

You felt so overwhelmed. 

If he had made you feel like the most important woman in the world before, then now - you felt like the most important woman in the galaxy. 

“Spencer, this is - this is too much.” You said, your throat clenching up slightly due to the intensity of the emotions. 

“No, it’s not.” He said firmly, reaching out and putting a hand on your jaw, tilting your face up from looking at the certificate to look at him. 

There it was again, all of it spelled out in his eyes - the adoration, the pure, overwhelming affection that he felt for you. It bloomed nothing but those same feelings in return from you. It was almost so overwhelming that you felt like you could have exploded from how much love you felt for this man, all of it swelling inside of you so quickly that you felt like your body couldn’t contain it. Like it was a sickness that was going to overrun your body if you weren’t careful. 

“Spencer.” 

His name swelled in your throat like that throbbing love, and you couldn’t help yourself from reaching out and grabbing him by the front of his shirt, pulling him into another kiss. Because of course, words weren’t enough. You smothered him with your mouth, trying desperately to communicate every ounce of passion and gratefulness you were feeling with the heat of that kiss. 

Spencer held you, engulfing both your cheeks with his large, warm hands, kissing you back with just as much intensity. 

Both of you lingered there for a few moments, savoring each other’s lips, mingling in each other’s breath. 

You were disappointed when Spencer pulled away. 

“There is something else.” He told you, a bit of glee edging on his voice. 

“What?” You gaped, shocked by this. 

“There’s something else I have to give you. Another part of your present.” He clarified, pulling back completely - likely in order to fetch this thing. 

You let out a breath. You weren’t sure how this magnificent man could possibly do more. 

You placed the certificate for the star down on the table where Spencer had kept it. Later, you would take it home and have it framed, wanting to display it proudly. You could imagine yourself putting it up in the front of your home when you eventually moved in with Spencer. You could put it next to your marriage certificate; eventually, put next to wedding photos when the two of you eventually got married. (And sometime later, it would be hanging alongside photos of you and Spencer with your kids. You tingled, realizing that this was the first time you had ever thought of having kids with him, but it fit so well. It seemed right.) 

The thought made you tingle. 

You could truly imagine yourself having a life with Spencer. Standing proudly because this was just the beginning of it. He truly felt like ‘the one’ you had always been waiting for. 

“Here.” 

Spencer’s voice pulled you from your plethora of dreamy thoughts, and you turned to see him holding a velvet box. Your heart skipped a beat at the passing thought that it might be the box - but no. Now wasn’t the time. The two of you had only been dating for a year and a half. And while you were so deeply in love, you knew that it was a bit haste to assume that he was ready for marriage when you were his first serious girlfriend. You were still both so young. 

He opened the lid and you let out a small gasp when you saw it. 

It was a simple, elegant silver necklace. The pendant was a four pointed star, with a small, dainty stone in the middle. You easily recognized it as your birthstone, meant to represent the fact that he had given it to you on your birthday. And obviously the star pendant as a whole represented that he had also gifted you a literal star in the sky on that same day. 

“Spencer, it’s so beautiful.” You said, utterly breathless. 

“Traditionally, the four pointed star is believed to represent the designation of a goal. It marks one’s great endeavors, because it seems to point to the four cardinal directions. This star is meant to guide someone, like a map - the way that sailors used the stars to guide their path.” 

Spencer explained, knowledgeable as he always was. 

“I - I chose this for you because… well, because when I met you, I felt as though I had accomplished great things in all areas of my life, except for one. Academically, I was satisfied. In my career, I was happy. But when it came to matters of the heart… I was utterly clueless. And when I found you… it felt like you were my guiding star. Like you were the person I had been waiting for to finally show me - show me the meaning of love.” 

“Oh, Spencer.” Your voice cracked around these words, barely able to form them. “Oh, honey. I love you so much. Thank you.” 

It was all your mind could gather at the moment. It wasn’t the first time you had said it to him, but it was certainly one of the most intense. 

“I love you too.” He replied. Through the dimness, you could almost see tears forming in his eyes. “You truly make me so happy.” 

Spencer then cleared his throat harshly, wanting to clear away his intensely emotional tears. 

“Can - can I put it on you?” He asked shyly, motioning with the necklace in its box. 

“Of course.” You grinned. “I’d love that.” 

You turned around and Spencer took it out of the box, fiddling with the dainty clasp for a moment before he put it around your neck and then did it up for you. It felt so right around your neck. It felt like his love was being carried with you. You had a feeling that you wouldn’t want to take it off anytime soon. You could easily imagine yourself feeling so proud to answer whenever random strangers or your co-workers asked where it was from. 

When it was secured around your neck, Spencer leaned in and laid a gentle, open-mouthed kiss against the chain. This simple act reminded you of that needy throb between your thighs; of what you had been wanting so badly the moment you had come in the door. 

“So…” He whispered against your neck. “What else does the birthday girl want?” 

“I can think of a few things.” 

That was how you ended up with your back pressed against the softness of the couch - too impatient to even make it to the bed - with your dress pushed up around your waist, your panties tossed somewhere in the middle of the living room rug. Spencer’s glasses were pressed up onto his forehead while his knees dug into that same rug, his fingers splayed across your thighs, holding you open to makeway for his tongue. 

He ate you out with all of the intensity and passion that he had kissed you with - moaning into your pussy as though he was singing directly to the gods. 

“Fuck, Spence.” You moaned, raking your hands through his hair, holding him close - not that he would want to pull away for even a second. 

He loved your taste more than anything in the world, and he savored every second that he got the privilege of being on his knees for you. He moaned into your pussy, loudly, almost pathetically - hot echoes coming from his lungs as though he was the one being pleasured. He laved his tongue across you with an open jaw, drinking in as much of you as possible while your thighs quaked around his head. Your nails dug into his scalp and he only moaned harder, loving the sound of your needy whines and your gasping breaths as your clit throbbed under his tongue. 

Spencer hummed in delight while he bounced your clit on his tongue, loving the feeling of that sweet little bead throbbing against him; loving your taste, loving your echoing moans. Loving how much he could bring you pleasure. 

“Fuck, Spence, so close!” 

He put his lips around you and sucked then, holding you gently against him by the hips. He couldn’t help but to enjoy the feeling of your body quaking against his face while your orgasm overtook you. It was overwhelming and beautiful and warmed your whole body - just like the love you felt for him. 

He pulled away after a moment, when he was sure that he had seen you through to the satisfying end, and he grinned against the mound of your pussy. 

“Happy birthday, pretty girl.” 

… 

After the break-up, Spencer often looked up to the sky and thought about you. 

On the nights when your star was in place overhead, he felt a particular pang in his chest. He wondered where you were and what you were doing. He wondered if you were safe. He spent many nights staring out his telescope, wondering if you were happy, blanketed under that inky sky. 

You thought about the star sometimes, too. 

You thought it was a lot like your relationship with Spencer. Placing all of your hopes and dreams onto something already dead - something where the light had died out long ago.

...

Continue reading: Chapter Three - Turn It Off

#sundrop writes #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #dad!spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you

[loveemagicpeace]

🐚Creativity and Focus💿

🌙5th house & 12th house are considered houses of creativity. Only for the 5th house, it shows itself through hobbies, visibility, activity, impulsiveness, fun, joy, passion, and the 12th house through the deeper art with which we show our emotions and our imagination.

🦋Pluto in the 5th might confer the gift of writing a good detective novel; being creative in other ways, can be an all-consuming and transformative experience, giving rise to a deep and unassailable power within yourself. 🌱Uranus here might suggest that creative ideas fall like heavenly sparks, trying to find a place to land and take root. You have potential for genuine creative originality, although your challenge might be to allow it to land and take form, because each idea is rapidly superseded by the next. You can create something very unique and different. These people usually have very interesting and unique talents.

🪐Saturn in 5th house-maybe you find creativity through the lessons of life (everything you've learned). Real creativity can come later in life and so can the inspiration you find. Saturn in the 5th house brings a strong desire for fame, recognition, and success but may result in delays and disappointments in love life and artistic creations. Your chosen pastime might be chess or something equally strategic. Creative work can become a honed skill, from event planning to sculpture or pottery.

🧜🏼‍♀️💫Neptune in 5th house- your creativity shows through your imagination, which is limitless. Many times people do not understand the creativity and hobbies that these people have - because it can be something completely different, mystical. They have a vivid imagination and often surprise others with it. You find a lot of your inspiration or creativity by the sea or places that are more emotional. Music or poetry might appeal to you, and you may find it easy to lose yourself in artistic activities. These can bring a sense of emotional and spiritual fulfilment.

❤️‍🔥Jupiter in 5th house- traveling is your passion and you can also do something that involves traveling. You can find hobbies everywhere. These people are many times famous abroad. You might opt to have a large family or just enjoy indulging in holidays and recreation. Taking time out to play can be rejuvenating.

⚡️Mars in 5th house-For you, sexual potency might well be a form of self-expression. Games are competitive and having children could bring your fighting spirit to life. You can show your creativity through sports, especially more dangerous sports or sports that require a lot of energy. You like things that give you an adrenaline rush.

🩷Venus in 5th house-Romance needs to be at the heart of a relationship for you, a sense that your worth and attractiveness are admired. Creative skills might involve design or fashion. You can also show creativity through the love or feelings you have for someone.

🎄Mercury in 5th house- Your creative impulse might involve words and communication - inventive writing or storytelling. You seek praise for this, since this is a side of you that can shine. You can have many mental abilities. People may see you as a person who can solve a lot or a person who can compete well in words.

🌙Moon in 5th house- Attuned to the playful world of children, you have an easy creativity and fun-loving side. You might also want your personal needs to be placed centre stage. You feed your mind through different learnings and attaining knowledge. You are likely to have a strong desire for creative self-expression.

☀️Sun in 5th house- You can be a natural performer or creative artist, happy to take a place in the spotlight or put your heart into your creative work. You seek attention and praise. You need to give yourself permission to be who you really are. You are gifted with the ability to remind others about the importance of creativity and fun. You can have a very beautiful childlike energy.

🎞️Chiron in 5th house- Perhaps adoption or surrogate children are part of your experience. Any form of play can help to nurture the wounded child within, both in yourself and in others. It suggests that you are a creative and unique person but sharing your gifts with others is not always easy for you. You remind people how important it is to be you and express yourself.

🌟12th house energy. This is a place where you can conjure images and connect to non-ordinary worlds.

🥑Mercury here you might be interested in myths and fairy tales, or be attracted to symbolic languages (such as astrology!). You might be curious about the spiritual or intangible dimensions of life, including myths and symbols. Imaginative story telling allows your voice to be heard Or with Venus here, perhaps art or photography appeal to you, or losing yourself in a romantic novel (or writing one). The perfect lover probably does not exist - but hold the image in your head and you might then recognize it as a projection of your own beauty or gifts. Even Saturn enters into the spirit in this house - Saturn here might serve you well if you are a designer, a composer, or the manager of an art gallery, giving form and substance to imaginative conceptions. Remembering you are not responsible for the world's suffering can help you to focus your dedication around truly worthy causes. You have a gift for bringing order to chaos.

🩵Mars in 12th house- On your own you might feel as though your efforts do not hit home - yet you can fight effectively and courageously on behalf of those who are weaker or less fortunate. You find your creativity through passion, energy, actions - you can have many hobbies and you are very good at many things. You have many hidden talents. You can also express art through anger. When you're angry and you doing things you do things better. Mars here suggests that you can solve problems in a unique and creative way. You can use your planet here for making art, writing, or in any creative way. The 12th house is the house of fantasies, illusions, music, acting―with placements here, you can easily tap into the ocean of the unconscious and turn into something unique and beautiful.

🌛Moon in 12th house- Care work might appeal. Focusing your compassionate efforts in this way can be more fruitful than trying to care for the whole world. You find yourself emotionally connected to people and understand their emotions on a subconscious level.

🌞Sun in 12th house- many times you show your art through things that others cannot see. You want to show what people can't see.To go into the unknown and unconscious. With your artistic expression, you often inspire other people and people can find you as someone who helped them a lot through (music, writing, dance...) whatever you do, you do it to inspire others. You can talk a lot about mental health or how to find the light. Your identity and purpose can emerge from a life dedicated to service. You may shine as a performer or actor, easily shifting into character.

🔥Jupiter in 12th house- Bliss might be the perfect trip abroad or time spent celebrating in jovial company. For as much as you give generously, you might also feel blessings magically arrive. You can bring happiness to the people around you. You can do a lot of things that are fun, optimistic and inspire a lot of people with your work.

🫧Neptune in 12th house- Perhaps you give everything to the cause, leaving nothing for yourself - but you can be a beacon of compassion in a troubled world. These people express their art through the most spititually imaginative things. They have their own imagination. They live in their own fantasy world and many people find their work very interesting.

🪁Uranus in 12th house- Perhaps you hide your unconventionality so as to fit in - reclaiming this can heip set you free. Your radar for collective trends can put you ahead of your time. You often have a unique and unconventional personality. People with this placement usually try to avoid being in the spotlight.

🏹Pluto in 12th house- If you do not accept your own power (or feelings of powerlessness) you can undermine your efforts. You have the capacity to probe the psychology of the collective mind. You can leave a mark with your work. Many powerful people hold this position. ( Steve Jobs, Marilyn Monroe, Kurt Cobain, Jennifer Lopez, Katy Perry, Lana Del Rey, Tom Hanks..)

🛼Chiron in 12th house- This suggests a desire to heal the collective and show compassion to all. Perhaps you have had to conceal your own suffering, making you sensitive to others' hidden pain. You have the potential to become a remarkable psychologist for others. By overcoming your fear of self-exploration, you can understand the mechanisms of healing and utilize them to heal others with subconscious wounds.

✨Ig-bekylibra✨

🎸For personal readings u can sign up here: https://snipfeed.co/bekylibra 🎸

-Rebekah🫧💿🦋

#astrology #energy #zodiac signs #planets #astrological houses #creativity #12th house #5th house #imagine #chiron #pluto in houses #5th house jupiter

[theliterarywolf]

Man i really hope that nothing bad happens to AO3.

I know that it is silly to be attached to a fucking fanfiction website, but seeing all the bullshit happening to other places this year (twitter being twitter, Threads and instagram being a mess, Tumblr threatening to become worse just to appease people that don't even use it) it makes me worry for a nonprofit place with a actually good tagging system.

Also, the only other fanfic site i really go to besides it and reaallyy old sites for older fandoms i'm into is Fanfiction.net, and it is annoying as fuck to use it nowdays, especially on mobile (you have to do captcha sooo many times, and you can't really download a fic nor read it all in one page...)

That's what a lot of people either don't understand or refuse to acknowledge when it comes to AO3.

From its ground up, its core purpose is an Archive for transformative works. It's not some Hypnosis Engine to convince people that preying on children is okay; it's not some sort of propaganda machine. It's an Archive for fanfic (and, to an extension, fanart).

But also in its core purpose is the element of self-agency. 'Our Own'. AO3 has one of the best, most comprehensive filtering systems on the internet. That is a fact that can't be denied. And the reason for this filtering system is, of course, for people to be able to see what they want and avoid what they don't.

So, yes, it is just a silly fanfiction site at the end of the day, but the fact that it's one of the few sites on the internet that has stuck to its initial mission statement come hell or high water is why it's so important in the current internet scape. It's also why, whenever the donation drive rolls around, it's so fucking exhausting to see Jimmy and Sally Don'tknowshit making posts about 'oh, why don't people donate to real causes' or 'AO3 really makes a living scamming people'.

[spicymancer]

So just wanted you to know, "yellow" is a common slur against Asian Americans and so Huang Feng, being a Bruce Lee (whos an Asian man) clone and all could raise some eyebrows to your intentions. And before i get accused of white knighting, i am Asian

Thanks for reaching out! This is honestly something that might be important to discuss and I appreciate your attempt at broaching the subject delicately. More after the jump.

So to start. I am also Asian. Specifically Chinese American.

As an American born Chinese, I have a weird relationship with my Asian heritage. I have a bad accent when I speak Chinese and most of my upbringing and cultural understanding is very American and western-centric. So I have certain biases at play here that I fully acknowledge. My experience is not universal. But these characters are drawn from that experience.

Huang Feng is a reference to Bruce Lee's performance as Kato in the Green Hornet. Dà Huángfēng being a Chinese term for a hornet.

The character is also narratively implied to be a secret moonlighting identity for the Yellow Ranger in my made-up sentai team. (Who, due to my own decision to always refer to the characters by their Ranger color, is literally just called Yellow by the other members of the cast.)

This is also a reference. Specifically to one of my greatest inspirations, Thuy Trang (Rest in Peace), who played the original Mighty Morphin Yellow Ranger. She was one of the first "Cool Asian Characters" that I encountered in media targeted at me as a child, problematic color choice aside. I sincerely adored her and her giant robot Saber-Toothed Tiger.

To be honest I have a complicated relationship with "Asian Themed" characters in media. So often saddled with cliché stereotypes: Martial Arts, dumplings, nunchucks, etc etc.

But the thing is, even as I roll my eyes whenever I see the Fighting Game character that is The Chinese One who wears a rice hat and a qipao. Or when one is literally just Bruce Lee. I do also immediately main that character. It's a bit of a guilty pleasure. Taking what representation I can get with mixed feelings. Similar to my enjoyment of sexy anime girl art even though it's all rooted in pretty uncomfortable sexist and objectifying aesthetics. A lot of my work comes from a place of exploring my own sexuality/identity. These characters are, partly, my own attempt to explore Asian themes and ideas for myself.

I would love to say that I'm trying to "reclaim" the term or something but I'm just some internet artist drawing cute anime girls and monster smut. For me, playing with these clichés is just another way of being self-indulgent.

Not really defending these creative choices so much as explaining my perspective on them. I totally understand if all this turns folks off! I fully respect those who don't vibe with my work and wish them all the best. It's a big internet and I'm sure they can find something super great to enjoy elsewhere!

Anyway, sorry for the long rambly post. Despite the fact that I'm posting this on Tumblr, I am not super mentally equipped to engage in Discourse, so forgive me if I don't respond to the tags on this.

So I'll just leave y'all with a neat article by Kat Chow discussing the history and usage of the color Yellow in regards to Asian Identity.

#oc questions #discourse cw #I love and appreciate all of you

[netherfeildren]

Pink : Part I : Humanist Seeking Person in Love

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Humanism: an outlook or system of thought attaching prime importance to human rather than divine or supernatural matters. Humanist beliefs stress the potential value and goodness of human beings, emphasize common human needs, and seek solely rational ways of solving human problems.

The story of a son who won’t love you, and his father, who will.

-OR-

the father-in-law AU

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: No outbreak AU; Fix-it-fic but the thing that needs fixing is a person; Daddy issues; Daddy kink; Divorce; Welcome to the father-in-law suck and fuck extravaganza; Possessive behavior; Jealousy; Slow burn but like not really; DD/lg dynamics; Older man/Younger woman; Self esteem issues; Discussions of emotional and mental abuse; Unhealthy coping mechanisms

A/N: Check the tags on the masterlist, as well!

Word Count: 7.4K

Read on AO3

Ko-fi

1. Humanist Seeking Person in Love

The video you’d watched had said that the differences between a jamb nut and a coupling nut should have been obvious. A jamb nut, which was what you were currently looking for, was typically half as tall as a standard nut, or a coupling nut, and would be of a small, stouter shape compared to the other options. As you stare at the wall of overwhelming stock, the incomprehensible mess of steel, PVC, aluminum and plastic hardware you feel, a little bit, like you’d like to start screaming as loud as you possibly can, for as long as you possibly can. Just a rip roaring and rageful, top of your lungs, screech. Maybe it’d scare the leering men around you. Maybe they’d desist from the ogling of your ass in the tight confines of your ratty leggings, or the mildly pitying glances as your frustration and confusion becomes more and more obvious.

You try and take a deep breath, glancing down at your phone again and the screenshots you’d taken of the parts you need to fix your leaky kitchen sink. Zooming in, you hold the picture up next to the pipeware currently gripped in your sweaty hand and wonder again if what you’ve chosen is the right piece. You don’t understand why the hardware store, a local business, isn’t as neatly and efficiently organized as the larger chains, and why they make it so damn hard for someone without experience to come in and shop. You don’t want to buy the wrong thing and waste the money you already don’t have, you don’t want to have to make the trek back to this God awful fucking place. You hate the hardware store, you hate the way it smells, dusty and wooden, the cavernous hollow echo of it, the leering gazes of the men shopping, looking at you as if you’re some helpless child, something soft and easy to snap up and eat. You hate the memory of following your father around on many a Sunday morning after he’d forced you to come with him in some false attempt at bonding, at spending time together when really all it was, was another instance of you cowering behind him, trying to make yourself as silent and small as possible so as to avoid his anger and irritation. 

You look back down at the piece of PVC in your clutch, at the picture of what you’re supposed to be buying again, back at the other option, a copper bolt you think might look right but can’t really tell the difference, and you feel the backs of your eyes pinch and go hot and achy. A sharp, throbbing pain starting up behind your left eye and spiraling out like a stain to cover your forehead. You want to go home. You want your kitchen sink to stop leaking. You want the past year to never have happened. For your marriage to not have so irrevocably unraveled that the husband you’d so desperately fought to keep had left you out in the cold, divorced, very nearly penniless in a new apartment that you couldn’t make feel like home no matter how many fall scented candles and throw pillows you stuffed into every nook and cranny. You want to not have to make decisions like these and take care of things like this. You want very, very badly for someone else to come and take care of you, help you, make the choices that seem very hard in the moment but that, in the grand scheme of things, aren’t really so difficult, but that still sometimes call for a second opinion, wiser, more experienced hands. 

And in that next blink, in a soft, deep voice that should not be as easily recognizable in your mind as it is given the handful of times you’ve actually heard it, your name, being murmured from behind you. The lilt of a question, the gruff of shock coating the syllables as it pushes against your bare nape. Soft as a sledgehammer, like ice water down your naked back, your shoulders hitch up to your ears, going tense and frightened, a hot flush of shame spilling through you, the keenest desire to run away from that soft voice as fast as your stupidly October flip flopped feet’ll take you. You hiccup the half sound of his name, not turning around, lashes fluttering quickly to prevent the dry heat of your eyes from spilling over, nerveless fingers going listless around the plastic nut. You don’t want to turn around. This is a cursed place, this hardware store, and you should never have come, and you really do hate it here. Deep breath, deep breath. Be polite, be succinct. You don’t need to talk to him. You don’t need to think about the past. Fuck the sink, fuck the pipes. You’ll just move apartments. You let a long stream of air out of your mouth, and then turn on the ball of your foot to face him. 

“Mr. Miller,” you breathe with a limp smile you know isn’t going to fool anyone. 

He frowns, the line of his mouth wavering as he tries to contain his displeasure. “We really back to that?” You shake your head, looking away from him as the last shopper in the aisle you’re inhabiting walks away, leaving the two of you alone. The store suddenly seems to exist in a vacuum echo, all other patrons seeming to disappear, all sound going out. You even feel the imitation of a hollow pop in your ear drums. When you look back at him, he’s really scowling now. His strong brow pulled down over those too pretty, thickly lashed hazel eyes that you know so well on another man, a younger version of him. 

It was the first thing you’d noticed about him, the first time Sam had introduced you to his father, they have the same eyes. The same but different. There was a coldness to Sam’s gaze that you hadn’t recognized until it was too late for you, but you recognized it now, with a painful sort of awareness, recognized the lack thereof in his father’s eyes, how different they were even in their similarity. 

He raises his brows at you, a pressing gesture, “Joel.” His name feels like salt on an open sore in your mouth. “What are you doing here?” And he looks at you, just a little bit, like you’re an idiot, or maybe that’s only you, for his voice is gentle when he says, “Pickin’ up supplies with some of the boys on my crew. What’re you doin’ here, sweetheart? Sam with you?” Your heart beats like that of a small and hunted creature, pounding painfully against the confines of your ribs while a hot, humiliated flush washes through your entire body, heat suffusing your face so intensely there’s probably steam rising off the surface of your skin. You shake your head quickly, a barely there jerk. You’re suddenly trembling so hard your throat aches as if it’s been pierced by a lancet straight through. Another sharp jerk, and he steps forward a concerned look marring his face. 

“You haven’t spoken to him.” It isn’t a question. 

“He’s been feildin’ my calls for months. Assumed I’d done something– something else, last time to piss him off again. What’s wrong? Everything okay?” He pauses, head tilting, and you can’t look him in the face as you say it, gaze falling to your fingers twisted around the nut. 

“We’re not together anymore. He– he left me. We got divorced six months ago.”

Shocked into silence he takes another step towards you, the toe of his heavy boot coming into your eye line. The ends are thick and rounded, and you wonder if there’s a casing of steel within, how much a kick in the ribs would hurt delivered by a boot like that, and the violent thought startles you, your eyes going wide, shooting up to his face as if worried he could read your thoughts. Ashamed that something like that in reference to him would even cross your mind, for looking at him, the gentleness in his gaze, the utter concern, a man like this would never hurt a creature softer than him, you know that. 

It’s funny, or strange, or a phenomena not easily understandable or explainable unless you’d had a certain type of experience with a certain type of man, but there was a sort of sixth sense instilled in a person who’d dealt with cruel men that made it easy to recognize when one had the capacity to hurt you and when he didn’t. There were, of course, those who were good at masking it, but there was always something, a way they held themselves or moved around others, the cadence of their voices, clues that spoke of the sort of man he was. And from the first moment you’d met him, you’d thought Joel had something that spoke only of gentleness. Despite his size and seemingly rough aspect, there was something about his voice, and the way he carried himself, the way he moved around those who were smaller or weaker or less, less alive, less potent than him, that was always careful and always aware. 

“What?” He moves as if he’s going to reach for you, and you flinch back, the curve of your spine bumping into the framing of the shelves behind you, face turning away quickly. He goes tense, forcing himself into stillness, the white of his teeth flashing in a grimace, but he puts his palms up in a staying gesture, it’s alright, easy, he murmurs, I won’t touch you, hands lowering to fist in the pockets of his jeans into tight balls of false restraint. As if he’s afraid of what they might do of their own volition otherwise. “What do you mean he left you? What happened? He–”

“I don’t want to discuss this with you. Call him again or– or I don’t know. It’s not my business anymore. He was never happy with me,” you stupidly add, finally braving a look back at his eyes again, a bitter laugh scratching up your throat, “You know this. Call your son, Joel.”

You move to leave, to get away from him, but he shifts, blocking your escape, sending your heart up into your throat. “Honey, wait–” but you’re spinning on your heel the other way, stumbling in your flip flops, and you think he says something about the wrong way, but you’re rushing, blindly trying to get away from him down the aisle as fast as you can. You’re going to cry, you can feel it, any second now. You weren’t expecting to see him, the reminder of everything that had happened, your marriage and its failure and the part Joel had played in it. A painful and jarring shock to your nervous system that you’d not been prepared to receive. You blindly scramble through the aisles of the hardware store, losing yourself to the gloom of the dimly lit back rows where plywood and carpeting are stocked, that detested dusty hollow smell intensifying. You take another blind turn, another, until the sounds of the store have gone faint and then a frightening pressurized silence. Bracing your palms against one of the eye level shelves you let your head fall between your shoulders, your bag sliding down your arm to hang and sway at the bend of your elbow. You watch the slow back and forth pendulous movement, eyes wide and blurred. If you don’t blink, you won’t cry, and you’re so fucking tired of crying over this. 

“If you were tryn’a get away from me, exit was in the opposite direction,” comes his voice again. Your eyes flutter shut, a single tear drips from the line of your lashes onto the dusty concrete floor. 

“Please, go away,” you croak.

“Tell me what happened.”

“What do you think happened? Don’t ask stupid questions.”

“He– he’s a fuckin’ idiot, sweetheart–”

Your stomach lurches, “Don’t call me that.”

But he doesn’t listen, continues on unheeded. “There’s gotta be something we can do. I’ll– I’ll talk to him. I’ll make him see that–” You let your head fall back the opposite way now, looking up at the high, cavernous ceiling of the store, another bitter laugh. It’s the only kind left to you now. 

“I don’t want him back, Joel. Be serious.”

“He needs you–” And oh, that makes you angry. 

“Fuck you.” You spin around to spit the words at him, rushing forward to shove at his rock solid chest. He doesn’t budge even half an inch. You shove again, again, a humiliating sob making its way up your chest. You blink then, you can’t help it, the tears fall unrestrained. It’s a specific type of humiliating, facing the estranged father of the man who you’d been married to, who’d been unable to love you, who’d abandoned you. 

Sam and Joel had been unaware of each other’s existence for almost twenty eight years, but two years ago, Sam’s mother had finally told him about his father, his name, where he lived, how they’d gotten together when they were too young, and how she’d split, scared and vulnerable, without telling him a thing. The two of you’d gone looking for the man, and you’d both been varying degrees of shocked at what you’d found. Sam, faced with a man so unlike himself he’d immediately resented him more than he already had for the fact of his absence his entire life. You, as well, faced with a man so unlike your husband that it had made you resent your marriage even more. Immediately welcoming, loving, patient, gracious and generous and forgiving of the fact that a son had been kept from him for almost three decades. Despite the severity of his character, his serious reservedness, he’d done everything in his power to open himself to this long lost son. Not once had the news been met with cruel anger or outrage. Joel had accepted his son immediately and without question, listening to his mother’s reasoning, accepting the fact that a mistake had been made, forgiving, willing to move on and embrace Sam in all the ways he’d been denied for so long. Sam hadn’t been able to fathom it. He’d been mistrustful, hostile, angry, all the things he always was but compounded and heightened to a terrible degree he eventually started taking out on you. 

And it was funny because the fraught, or lack thereof, relationships with your fathers had been the thing that had initially bonded the two of you. Too young and alone and without direction, you’d met him in your last year of college. The relationship had immediately developed without boundaries or reason, you’d been obsessed, a little desperate, unquestioning, and then married a few short months later. Two too young, too lost people, burdened with daddy issues. A terribly sad cliche. You’d never had a chance. You never should have been. And there’s a part of you now, looking up at this man, your ex-husband’s father, that wants to feel angry at him, that wants to spit in his face and say this is all your fault, everything that happened to me, everything that was done to me was in your name, and I blame you for all of it, but you know it’s without reason or countenance. And worst of all, anger, blame, resentment, it’s not anything near to the things you feel when you look at him. The memory of a small, dark restroom flashes in your mind’s eye, his eyes gleaming above your face, the thick slope of his shoulder, the patterned wallpaper behind him, sickening comfort. 

You go still and frozen, fingers twisting in the front of his shirt, jerking with a painful shiver from the top of your head, down the length of your vertebrae, to the tips of your toes that cramp and spasm. Looking up at his face, you can feel a pulse throbbing in the muscle beneath your right eye, and the way he looks down at you, as if he’s never felt as sorry for any other creature in his entire life as he does for you in this moment, so embarrassing. You let your head fall forward again, landing with a soft thump against his chest, an uncontrollable tremble moving like fire through your frame. “Fuck you,” you say again, whispered, soft and weak and without any sort of force behind it. “How dare you say that to me,” another tear. “He’s always needed you. It was never me he wanted, never me he needed. It was always you.” You watch as one hand withdraws from its pocket cage, lifting to push a soft tendril of hair back behind your ear. And there’s fire left in the wake of the brush of his skin at the hollow there. Another shiver of a worse kind, one of desire, one of lust, moves through you. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it – I’m sorry, honey.” Stupid southern charm and their stupid pet names. You clutch at his shirtfront more tightly, press your forehead harder into his sternum, and he brings his hand to your shoulder, tucking you into himself more securely. He’s huge and warm and smells faintly of salt and sweat and laundry detergent. Something clean and fresh and masculine. He smells alive. His other hand comes up to the back of your head, moving through your hair. Fucking, Sam, he murmurs above you, and you’re sure he’s shaking his head in that disappointed fatherly way. “Tell me what you were looking for. What had you lookin’ so confused and irritated in the plumbing aisle?” You’d laugh if you could, a non bitter sort, but you don’t have the ability anymore, and that makes you so angry. Angry and irrational.

“My sink’s leaking, and I can’t afford a plumber because your son divorced me and left me with no money and no house and nothing for myself, and I hate this stupid place. I hate the way it smells, and I hate that nothing’s labeled clearly, and I hate the way you men,” you shove at his chest a little bit again, “look at me like I’m some dumb little girl who doesn’t know left from right.” Even if that’s what you kind of feel like, a dumb little girl who doesn’t know left from right anymore. Slightly out of breath, you go limp and exhausted against him. His palm flattens at the center of your spine, supporting you, and it’s so fucking inappropriate. You should move away. You don’t know him well enough for this, he’s your ex-father-in-law, you shouldn't let him touch you, but should and should not and right and wrong and inappropriate or not has never really mattered to you where Joel Miller is concerned. “This is the worst place in the whole world,” you mumble, voice muffled from where your face is squished against the annoyingly hard and delicious muscles of his chest. You feel, keenly, like you’re being a little bit ridiculous, a little bit embarrassing, but his big hand is slowly moving up and down the length of your spine, soothing and comforting, and you can’t bring yourself to care. He’d been kind from the first second you’d met him, and then, at the worst moment, he’d been understanding, and you’d never really stood a chance against him either. 

You’d never had a chance with the son, you’d never stood a chance against the father, there had never really been much choice or possibility for you as a whole where either of them were concerned.

I was such a little person. Tiny in my insignificance, naivety, hope. Desperate to be as good as I could be, and pathetic in my failure to make myself into what I thought the world wanted of me. 

“You can’t afford–” He breathes out roughly through his nose, stopping himself from continuing. “Do y’know what it is you’re looking for? What part?” And you nod your head, still buried against him, unable or unwilling to pull away. “Let me help you,” and he says it so, so gently that it makes you want to stomp your foot and cry and throw a fit at the unfairness of it all. 

“Don’t want your help,” you can’t help the muffled whine it comes out as. All you want is for someone to help you. 

“Of course you don’t, sweetheart,” he soothes. “But let me anyway. S’the least I can do for talkin’ out of my ass.” You finally pull back, looking up at him, and he brings his thumb up to catch the wetness at the fine skin beneath your eye. “Please, don’t cry,” he whispers like it hurts him. 

And even though he’s currently catching the salt of your eyes with his fingers, you lie obstinately, “I’m not,” whispered back just as quiet. 

After he helps you find the correct piece for your sink, finally, which ends up being neither of the options you’d been previously weighing, a fact that almost sends you over the deep end again, and paying for it at his aggravating and overbearing insistence, he walks you to your car. 

“Is he still in Austin?” He asks as he holds your door open for you, your shopping bag still clutched in his hand. One of the guys on his crew had come to find him while you were checking out, but he’d sent him away with a shake of his head, said he had something to take care of. 

“I don’t know, but he sold our house.”

“Fuck– Where’re you living?” The sound of his spit curse has a wet flutter moving through you, shame following bitterly in its wake. 

“I got an apartment in the East Side.”

“And he just left you to fend for yourself? Took your fucking house?” He’s getting angry, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him get angry. Something foreign like excitement jumps within you. 

“Well, that’s the point of divorce, Joel. You separate and are left to your own devices.” You reach for the little plastic bag, but he jerks it out of your reach. 

“He has a responsibility to you. He–”

“Again… the point of divorce.”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, that boy,” he mutters, shaking his head. And that’s the thing of it, you think, that’s always been the crux of the issue. Sam was always a boy, has always been just a boy… there had never been any chance. “Let me come help you with the sink. Let me fix it for you.” Something to take care of, that’s what he’d said, that’s what he’d called you, what he sees you as. 

You’re shaking your head before he can even finish getting the words out, full of regret, and a wish that it could have all been different from the very start. “You know that isn’t a good idea,” and he goes silent because he does, he does know, he’d known since the first time probably. It had been obvious in the way that a secret thing can only be between the two people involved in the unsaid. “I can do it myself. Don’t worry. I’ll find a way.”

“You still got the same number?” He asks.

“Please, don’t call me. Call Sam. He’s the one that needs you. He’s the one that–”

“And who’s taking care of you? Who’s gonna take care of you, sweetheart? You need someone too, we all do.”

A flash of that earlier anger again, and you reach forward to rip the bag out of his clutch now, angry because he’s right. Because he’d always seemed to have a grossly misplaced ability to read you exactly as you are. He’d read you for what you were from the first second he’d laid eyes on you, naive and hopeful and falsely in love with a son who’d never loved either of you in return. “Maybe,” you tell him, “But that can’t be you.” He looks away from you, gruff sound of irritation passing through his clenched teeth, and he drags a heavy palm down his bearded mouth. Fuck, again that provoking spit curse. The wallpaper in that dark restroom had been covered in little blue motifs, butter yellow details sparsed throughout. It had surprised you, the pretty and delicate design in the home of a, for all intents and purposes, bachelor. It spoke of intention and attention to detail, to his space, to care of his home. That dim moment was, strangely, sickly, the brightest memory of the entire two years of your marriage. 

“You still got my number?” He presses anyways. Unheeded or uncaring of you trying to push him away, and there’s something about that, that’s pleasurable, his inability to let a thing go where you’re concerned, his unwillingness to allow you to hold him at arms length. Like he doesnt care to be kept away from you, and so he won’t. You nod your head once, face burning, molars grinding to keep yourself still and in place. You’d felt, for two years, trapped, running in place, and now left limp and exhausted and colorless, and you hope that he can’t read that exhaustion in you. For some reason, that would be more embarrassing than everything else, for him to see just how defeated you’d been left. He gives you one of those looks, those direct, piercing, aggravating looks that you’ve seen from him before, aggravating in a way that is inciting, like a relentless tongue against a slick swollen cunt, God. Your hands are shaking, and he bends his head down to your level to look at your directly, “You promise me that if you need anything, anything at all, doesn’t matter what it is – that you’ll call me. No matter the hour, no matter what it is. Promise me.” Another sharp jerk of your chin, if you talk you’ll scream or make a sound not wholly belonging to the body of a girl, woman, whatever you are. Another nod, the mute shape of an okay passing through your lips. And his face is so concerned, his hand almost lifted in the imitation of what you have to tell yourself, as a form of self preservation, is an ill intentioned caress or hug, but that you know he’d mean as nothing more than genuine comfort. You deflate in relief when he doesn’t touch you, right here, out in the open for the whole world to bear witness to. Things like that, after all, are only meant for dark, wallpapered bathrooms. He’d already taught you this. 

-

The relationship had not been what either of them had expected, Sam and Joel, from the get go. There was a smallness to his son, a pettiness and a cruelty and a spoiled rotten vein through the core of him that was incongruous with who Joel was as a man, something that was glaringly obvious to all involved. And try as he might, in those early days, they could not overcome the disparity in their personalities. The attempts from Joel at closeness had been fraught with tension and unsaid resentments, and eventually Sam had given up, stopped answering his father’s calls, evading his attempts to connect. Your marriage had spiraled into dissolution shortly after that. As if the failure to find whatever it was he’d for so long hoped for in a relationship with his father had highlighted all of the things you yourself lacked, all the ways in which you were so specifically dissatisfying to him and always would be. 

The marriage had not ended up being what either of you had hoped for, the honeymoon phase quashed and dead early on, no brightly lit halcyon. Reality had set in quickly when confronted with the disjointedness of your pairing, a bone out of place, your specific inability to please him in the ways he’d thought you would when he’d first met you. There was something about you that had always been a little bit lacking, something ascetic and cold natured about your personality at times. Since you were a child, trying to appease an unappeasable father, to emulate a singular mother. Always impossible, always falling just short of utter failure. Not so terrible that you were outwardly obvious in your mediocrity, but never everything you could be. Painfully, succinctly average. Sam had come to realize this quickly. Perhaps, unaware prior to tying himself to you because the only thing you’d ever been not average at, was being a little bit of a liar, of being placatingly complacent when the moment necessitated, manipulative in a way that you found protecting. But you see, that’s what happened when you had a cruel father who always needed appeasing, something Sam, in his abject fatherlessness, couldn't understand. Funny, you’d said that to him once, near the end, called him abjectly fatherless, his weakness a consequence of his lack of a paternal role model, and oh, how he’d hated that. Endings could bring out such cruelty in people, you’d found. 

But the manipulation of a moment had become, in some ways, your only talent. The art of superficial gratification at a moment's notice as a way to keep the people around you falsely happy and calm. Like all small and frightened creatures, you’d learned your strengths well, but as all truths do, yours had eventually surfaced. The fact that you weren’t really so appeasing in the ways he desired, not so nice, not so perfect, not so subservient. That the persona was all just a way to keep him happy as a means of getting someone to love you, to stay because you didn’t know how else to be. 

Your mother always said you could’ve been nicer to him. She was a kind, soft, patient thing. Quiet and easy and always, always, above everything else, understanding. It was the worst thing about her. A detriment, a weakness, and she resented you for your resentment, for seeing her as such, but you could never help it. Always asking you why you couldn’t just be a nice girl, a good girl. 

You didn’t think you had not been nice, not been good. You had only been yourself.

Your father had always hated that about you, you being yourself. The man you’d chosen to marry didn’t seem to like it very much either. And she’d tried to instill her better qualities in you, your mother, so you weren’t all bad all the time. There could be a brightness and a lightness and a sweetness to you sometimes, it’s true. You weren’t always all bad. But there was – is still – also a bitterness and a resentment and an anger, a screaming that you could not quell no matter how hard you tried. And so you’d attepted to give him everything you could, your husband, everything you had at your disposal in all ways, to do and be all he could have ever asked of you during those two small years of marriage. Because truly, they had felt so very small, made you even smaller. 

Everything except for sex. You’d never been able to give him that the way he’d wanted. 

At first, it had been normal, sweet, soft missionary in the darkness, tepid insinuations of orgasms, always hushed, always exactly how he wanted it. But eventually, when the other parts of you began to fail, he got mean and callous and casually cruel. And as you pulled away physically, he called you frigid, a prude, boring, cold, bad in bed, didn't know how to make a man hard. And it had made you so agonizingly insecure, already a sensitive and anxious thing when it came to your physical form, he’d beaten you down, embarrassed you, belittled you.

With time, you’d realized the truth of it which had been nothing more than that you’d never really wanted him. He had never made you desperate, he had never made you wet. It was his character, his attitude, yes, but it was also him. He just wasn’t it for you, and it wasnt that you were a prude or frigid at all, only that you needed patience and understanding and care, gentleness. Things he possessed none of. 

You just needed a little time to warm up and someone who wanted to give you that time. 

The reality that your life had not been full of varied and foolish adventures, and that time had seemed to simply slip away like an echo in the brain from one moment to the next was duly painful. A handful of months of wan and false lust, two years of cold, bitter marriage, and now, six months of barren aloneness. Too many mistakes had been made, too many regrets, three big ones that could be held like stones scorched to burn by the sun in the palm of your hand so that even if you let them go eventually, their imprint would still be scarred into your flesh afterwards forever.

So, perhaps the divorce had been painful in the moment. Or not perhaps, there was nothing uncertain about it, you’d fought tooth and nail to make it work, to keep him with you. Prostrated and humiliated and debased yourself. But with time, it became obvious that it was a fantasy you decided you should finally cast aside, as all children do childish things at a certain age. And then, it had been the easiest thing in the world. After all, and let’s be honest now for a moment, the reckoning had come in the shape of his father. That is, at the end of it, the reason you’re really here. 

Sat now, before the open cabinet below your kitchen sink, leaky pipe drip, drip, dripping monotonously in front of your glazed over eyes, you think of him. He’s a large man, intimidating and dark and stoic. Taller and broader than his son. Lush, mahogany curls streaked with silver that speak of age and experience like the smile lines around his eyes. Deeply grooved when he laughs that beautiful laugh of his. He looks exactly like the opposite of whatever his son is, like he’d have the ability to make the opposite of you, to pull out of you whatever the antithesis is of what his son was able to. It had been immediate, the nature of your thoughts towards him. The desire, the desire, the desire, you had wanted like you’d never wanted before — like an illness, like dying. 

Your marriage had been circling the drain, and then you’d met him, and it should have been innocuous. He’d been kind and polite and welcoming, but also, aloof. Holding himself at a distance, something afraid that he carried within himself, like he didn't want to hope, like he was just a little bit scared of what it meant now to have a son, something to lose. You knew a little bit about that, the worst part of it all is never the cruelty, it’s the hopelessness. Everything had become so much worse after meeting him. An unbearable sort of awareness of something that your listless, frigid self recognized as man, man, man, something like hunger. Something slanted about the desire, wrong, sure, for he was your husband's father, and yet, you wanted him. You wanted to know what he smelled and tasted like, and what the weight of his cock on your tongue would feel like. If it was bigger than his sons, you were almost positive of that, if it would stretch the corners of your mouth to near splitting, the hinges of your jaw to aching. 

You’d met your husband's father, and had realized, painfully, with uncompromising clarity, all that your husband could be, all that he was not, all that he would never be. There was no comparison between the boy and the man, and it made you hurt. 

Your eyes flit back to the screen of your open laptop and the instructional video there, popping another fuzzy peach gummy onto the flat of your tongue, mouth full of sucking sugar. You’re going to fix this sink if it’s the last thing you do, and you’re not going to think about him again. But tomorrow, you’ll start not thinking about him tomorrow. The talent of a liar never really wanes.

The apartment is quiet, nothing but the cheerful crackling of your sweet pumpkin candle and the mocking splish splash of the drain pipe. You had, in recent weeks, come to think of your abandonment as something of an accomplishment. Perhaps, your loneliness is a good thing, you’ll tell yourself as a comfort, a sort of friend; you can’t be used against yourself again in this solitude, and oh, how you’d been used. That anemia in your character, the ascetic thread of your personality had been weaponized and wielded against you until you couldn’t tell up from down and left from right. You were certain there’d been cheating, even if you’d never had any proof to confirm it, merely grateful you’d never gotten sick as way of evidence. But you knew. And it could've been so much worse for you, of course, of course it could have. But he’d left your mind so off kilter, broken and confused and not yourself. Utterly damaged in a way that was humiliating and devastating when you thought of the way you’d been, such a little person. So often, not a woman, just a little girl. 

And then his father. Joel. Seeing him today – you had never felt the way you should have felt towards him. Like your eyes were open, awake for the first time in your entire life. A man like that – he was changing. And you wanted, needed very much to be changed. Seeing him today, being presented with that reminder of what he was, how he made you feel, how he’d always made you feel. There’s something ghoulish about you concerning him – about this desire. That ascetic or anemic or under-grown, illformed thing about you, exterminated in the thrum of how alive he is. How unlike his son. You’d never known what it specifically was, never been able to categorize it, and then there had been that moment, brought so low, six feet beneath the ground sort of debased, and he’d been there and you had been – unburdened from the weight of his own son, by him, and you’re not even sure he knew the extent of it. The power he’d wielded over you in that moment in the dark. And you can’t say it out loud, what it is you’d want from him, you can’t even say out loud what it is about him that changes you as it does – not a woman, just a little girl – but you think that if you could just see him, then you’d know, or maybe you could be brave. You don’t know what it is, but you’d know it then, with him in front of you, you’d have the answer to this question that’s plagued you for so long – how to be yourself in a way that is good.

You’re pushing yourself to your feet, fueled by the thought, fingers gripped over the ledge of the counter to pull yourself up, sink forgotten, stumbling to your front door, shoving your feet into your shoes and fumbling for your keys. How to be yourself in a way that is good. 

When you were seventeen, your father had been at his angriest. Angry in that way that all angry father’s are. Loud and brutish – an anger that is cowing, a sign of true weakness. Brute force in the shape of the man who gave you life. When you think of it now, even as a grown woman, you still feel that phantom limb of fear, and you know that it isn’t normal for a grown woman to be afraid of her father, and yet you are. And then to think that you’d gone from your parents home directly to the bed of the same sort of man, one even crueler, if possible. You’re forced to laugh your singular terrible, self deprecating laugh at the irony of it – even worse, if possible. For what’s worse than a person who constantly needs to be soothed into kindness and patience and calm? 

Once, in that terrible seventeenth year, funny and strange and unknowingly perfect, you’d been gifted the Farmer’s Almanac by your elderly neighbor. She’d said that she’d read it since she was a girl, liked the peace in knowing that the year had been predicted by experts and put down on paper. It made life seem more secure, more in control in a small way. You’d needed that during that turbulent time, locked in your teenage bedroom, lulled to sleep by the sound of your father’s anger and the year’s long-range weather predictions before your blurry eyes. It was so comforting to be able to read the future in text, catastrophe or sunshine, at least it was there. You still read it to this day. And there’s no congruity to the thought now, as you crawl into your car, a ghoul in the night, banging your knee on the hastily opened car door, sprouting gooseflesh in the cold; this desire, desire, desire that is the worst thing you’ve ever felt in your whole life, and yet, you can’t bring yourself to stop because there is something about control in this moment also. Control like knowing what the future will be like on paper, control like a man who is entirely grown into himself, who knows who he is and who he is not and is not uncertain, who will not yell, who will not hurt you. He has this – your husband’s father – you know he does. There is something about control, there is something about knowing how a thing will be, there is something about being yourself in a way that is good. 

-

You’d picked up the wrong wine on your way here. Rushing, trying to fix your makeup in the car, you’d gotten confused, chosen the one he didn’t want instead of the one he did. And it was nothing, or an accident, surely nothing to incite his ire, but he’s so fucking angry hovering in front of you. He looks at you, now sometimes, like he hates you, like you’re the worst thing that’s ever happened to him. He said you’d humiliated him in front of his father. That he was going to think he didn’t have good taste, couldn’t afford a decent bottle of wine. And you don’t know Joel very well, but he doesn’t seem like the type of man to care about such things. Calling you an idiot in that poisoned shrill tone he takes on when he’s delivering a set down, and you’re trying to tell him to please, please keep your voice down, Sam, your father is going to hear you. You’d heard someone say once that a truly powerful man never feels the need to raise his voice, it simply isn’t necessary for him, and you’re reminded, terribly, of your father, with the sight of your shrill and seething husband in front of you.  And then a low toned that’s enough, son from the mouth of the kitchen, and it’s so much worse, entirely catastrophic in a way, and you’re rushing away so humiliated, face on fire, tear caught over the trough of your lower lid, trying the doors in the hallway for the nearest restroom. You hear the murmur of voices, one struggling to maintain composure, the other, cool and steady, then the slam of the front door, and finally, the silent din of his house settling around the two of you as you find a restroom to hide in. Your heart beats so fast it makes you nauseous, knees strangely aching, listening to the heavy steps of Joel’s boots, as if he’s trying to warn you with those measured, weighted thuds that he’s coming, coming, coming for you. Turning to face the far corner of the restroom, you press your palm over your mouth, face slippery and burning and so stupid, the soft swoosh of the opening door, a paused breath as he takes in your form huddled into the wallpaper, and then the muted snick of the door closing behind him, shutting the two of you away together.

Part II

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

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#pink fic #Joel Miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller/reader #joel miller/you #Joel Miller smut #joel miller imagine #the last of us au

[lxkeee]

TWO SIDES OF THE SAME COIN

-PART SIX

Pairing: Lucifer Morningstar x Seraphim Angel! Fem! Reader

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Genre: Angst (for now)

Warnings: Depression, swearing and mentions of self h*rm.

Notes: shit is about to go down.

PART ONE | PART FIVE | PART SEVEN | NAVIGATION

“I don't understand Michael sometimes, I guess it runs in the blood.” The angel of death muttered underneath his breath, Azrael sighs, running his hand through his dark black locks, feeling the soft strands of his hair in-between his fingers. He is annoyed, annoyed at how Michael didn't leave any room for [Y/n] to say no. Sure, Michael did make a bargain that if she wins rock-paper-scissors against him, he'll change his decision but [Y/n] sucks at rock-paper-scissors so she didn't have any chance of winning in the first place. Well, he guessed that this is Michael's way of winning against [Y/n] as the man is absolute shit when it comes to Monopoly.

Azrael is confused, why does Michael want [Y/n] to see her good for nothing husband? Azrael asked him about it and the man just told him to trust him, as it is what their dear creator has told him. He is confused why Michael is really pushing [Y/n] to see his twin brother. Azrael asked the man about it and he just looked away with a sad smile. Azrael knew how much it affected Michael that his twin brother was casted out of heaven. Despite him being one of the angels who voted for him to be casted out. Azrael knew how much of a tough decision Michael made. But still,

Bullshit. Absolute bullshit.

Azrael trusts God on his decision but he doesn't know if the outcome of this will be good, Azrael has been by [Y/n]'s side ever since Lucifer was being a neglectful asshole and he heard that the fallen angel got married again when in hell. How is he going to accept that his dear friend is going to get hurt again? Azrael knows how much pain Lucifer caused [y/n], how much pain it brought to Xavier. Goodness! He saw the poor boy trying to stab his own face with his own angelic weapon, thankfully he was there to stop him.

Azrael's shoulders slumped, already feeling more stressed than usual. He is worried, so worried about [Y/n]'s mental state as he knows how fragile it is. He knows how much shit she's going through, she's constantly trying to help cleanse earth from the constantly growing evil while maintaining to be kind and to add more to her plate, she has a son to take care of and now... She's about to take care of whatever the fuck is happening on hell?

His feet quickened its pace, speed walking the long hallways of the Seven Heavenly Virtues building, trying to reach [Y/n]'s floor and office, he would've immediately checked up on her after the meeting but he had some important matters to deal with and he prays that the poor girl didn't have a mental breakdown again. Which somehow, he feels like she already did. He hopes that he's wrong though.

His heels clicked against the gold marbled white tiles, rays of sunlight passing through the curtains giving the hallway an orange glow from the setting sun.

He finally reached her office, knocking against the wooden door. No answer. He sighs rather loudly. He knocks again. No answer.

“[Y/n]? It's me, Azrael. Are you alright?” He asked softly, pressing his ear against the door to listen if she answered him. None. He became worried.

Grabbing the spare key that he has—he has a key to everyone's room and office, don't ask how and why he has them. Anyways, inserting the key to the lock, twisting it and he finally heard the satisfying click.

He quickly pushed open the door, his worried and tensed shoulders relaxing once he finally saw her, asleep on her desk. Her head on the table, her body slouched uncomfortably.

He could see the tear stains on her cheeks, golden blood from her fingers. A rather bad habit of hers, she tends to pick the skin off the side of her nails when she's stressed and sometimes causes it to bleed.

Azrael smiled softly, allowing himself inside her office. He closed and locked the door behind him before he tiptoed across the room and finally beside her.

He kneeled down beside her so he's now face-to-face to her. Azrael admired her sleeping face, he loves it when she's at peace like this. He wants her to be happy. His eyes saddened, oh how he wished to give her the happiness she deserves. But it's truly unfortunate that she doesn't love him the same way he loves her.

Always the side character, never the romantic interest.

With a sigh, he gently lifted her up from her seat. Carrying her in his arms like a bride that he'll never have the chance to call as his.

[Y/n] groans when she felt that she was lifted off from her chair, she opened one to look at the person who woke her up. She saw Azrael looking down on her with an amused smirk.

“Come on, let's get you back to your room. You need some rest.” he says softly to her and she just groaned and he chuckled. A black and gold portal opened behind them and Azrael stepped inside with [Y/n] in his arms. The portal closed after they went in.

Azrael opened the portal back to her house and back to her room, he gently laid her on the bed. Making sure she didn't lie on her hair. Tucking her in comfortably.

“I don't know what I'll do without you, Azi... I wished that I could've loved you instead. I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry.” she whispered, her voice breaking. She really wished that she fell in love with Azrael, he treated her and Xavier far better than Lucifer does but her heart remained still with Lucifer. Why? Why? WHY?! Why can't she fall in love with a perfect man that is in front of her but continue to love a man that is far away from her and probably doesn't give two shits about her and their son?

Azrael's eyes softened, a forced smile on his face. He tucks away a strand of her hair that is falling in front of her face, tucking it behind her ear. I really wished that too, I can treat you far better than him, is what he thought but decided not to say, “Don't apologize sweetheart, you really can't force a heart to reciprocate someone's feelings, no? And I can understand that. How about you take some rest and clear your mind hmm?” he suggested softly with a small smile, wiping away the tear that runs down her cheek. [Y/n] nodded, hiccuping slightly before eventually closing her eyes.

She was fast asleep the moment she did.

Azrael smiled and sighed, turning around on his heel as he walked out of her room, closing the door behind him. Walking away from someone he's not meant to be with. He just hoped that whatever God is doing is right.

Time flew by so quickly that [Y/n] didn't even notice, she was far too busy dealing with both Heavenly and Mortal realm matters. The root of evil is constantly growing and getting even more powerful on earth and the Seven Heavenly Virtues are trying to contain it. All seven of them were exposed to such horrors and so much evil while on earth, slowly threatening to consume them or even corrupt them.

[Y/n] limped back to her office in heaven, golden blood flowing off her side. She just finished her work on earth, she was trying to cleanse a root of evil when it suddenly changed direction and changed its direction towards her in immense speed and causing it to pierce her side. She managed to cut it down but the negativity from the root seeped into her wound, causing her healing powers to slow down.

She winced as she finally slumped down into her seat, hovering her hand over her wound, a golden glow radiating from her palm. The wound slowly closed, but not fully but enough that she can bandage it up. But the healing took too much of her energy and she felt she was about to pass out.

She opened one of the drawers of her desk, pulling out a medical kit and began treating her wounds. She winced as she tried to clean it. After so much struggle, she finally cleaned her wound.

[Y/n] leaned against her chair, almost passing out when her eyes landed on to the calendar that is in her office. Her eyes widened, “Today is the extermination day?!” she shrieked and quickly stood up from her seat, she hissed as pain quickly shot from her waist all throughout her body. She gripped into the table, her nails scratching the wood.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck... I forgot about that.” she muttered, trying to stabilize herself, “I hope I can stop Adam and the exorcists..” she muttered, pain still evident in her voice. Running her hands through her hair. Gripping into her locks in frustration.

Ah crap, I hope I don't pass out. She thought as she weakly opens a portal to hell. Composing herself before finally stepping inside the portal.

The first thing she noticed is Adam spewing out shit from his mouth, the hotel she heard about now destroyed, exorcists killing sinners. Anger fills her veins, her six wings puffing behind her and along with multiple eyes opened on her wings. She's beyond pissed, the audacity these angels have to perform an act without notice from the higher ups. Without thinking she summoned her second angelic weapon, a bow and arrow. Aiming it just beside Adam—a warning shot. Successfully catching his and the other's attention.

“Adam, respectfully please shut your mouth!” She ordered, her voice booming, glaring down on the people on the ground, specifically at the first man. She's far too angry to keep her attention on the back of her husband or ex-husband. There's a limit to how much an angel of kindness and healing can take, and unfortunately for Adam, this is Angel Raphael's breaking point.

“Because if you don't, I will personally kill you myself.” She sneered, her hand clenching tightly on to her bow, her fingers itching to fire another arrow and just finish the man.

“No... You don't get to end this.” Adam growled in pain, weakly standing up from the rubble of where he crashed, “I'm fucking Adam! I'm the fucking man!” he yelled, turning to look at Lucifer in anger, “And you're just some fucking clown or something!” Adam growled and Lucifer just stared at the man with a deadpan expression, not really paying attention.

“I started everything on earth! All of mankind came from these fucking nuts!” Adam exclaimed. They just stared at the man who's clearly pissed at the fact he lost.

Suddenly, an arrow shot just beside Adam, barely missing the first man. The golden arrow embedded on to the ground. Silence, as people were filled with awestruck. Adam was filled with fear.

“Adam, respectfully please shut your mouth!” A female voice boomed, her powerful and authoritative voice echoing in to the air. Goosebumps danced across Lucifer's skin, he knows that voice. The very voice that he didn't hear for so many years, the voice that kept haunting him. The haunting and guilt worsened after Charlie told him he had a son in heaven.

They turned around and looked up at the sky to see a very furious seraphim glaring down on them—specifically on the first man, Adam.

Lucifer's eyes were glued on her, she's so close yet so far away.

He admired her angelic form, he can practically feel her authority and power from where he stood. Despite all of this, despite how absolutely terrifying she looked. Her beauty never really scared him. She looked as beautiful as the day he lost her when he fucked up.

“Because if you don't, I will personally kill you myself.” [Y/n] added, her eyes glaring down on Adam, her power and strength can be felt through the air and they can tell that she is absolutely furious.

“Oh shit.” Adam muttered underneath his breath. His boss' boss is here.

END NOTES: SURPRISE UPDATE 🤯🤯 ANYWAYS, AZRAEL STANS HOW ARE WE FEELING TONIGHT?

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[crishayle]

Astrology notes

Reminder. When reading, take into account your entire natal chart.Thank you for the feedback⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

People with the Moon conjunction/trine/sextile Jupiter are very friendly. I will not say that they immediately seem cute at first impression (you need to watch the ascendant for this), but in further communication with them you feel their charisma and friendliness.It's very cozy with them!

I often discuss with people their natal chart and their complaints, and I noticed that people with Mercury square/opposition ascendant have certain features in terms of mind. For example, memory problems, or good long-term, but poor short-term memory, it is difficult for them to concentrate on several things at once, or on the contrary, they lack perseverance, it is difficult for them to assimilate new information. Their mind is not weak, just different from the usual one.Or I observe problems with speech (stuttering, burr, lisp, unusual accent)

Selena in the 3rd house, Mercury conjunct Venus/Mars, Venus in the 3rd house have very pleasant voices. Their voices are velvety, most often modal (chest)

Have you noticed how during the scorpio season all astrologers wrote posts on the topic of sex? It's all scorpio's vibe𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑

I read on one forum that the combination of the ascendant in Leo and the Sun/Venus in the 1st house gives a bright and sexy appearance. I'm not sure about sexuality, but their appearance is really very beautiful and unusual!

People with Lilith in the 4th house are more likely than others to think about moving to another city/country, and just to another place. In a change of environment, they can feel out of their comfort zone and self-development. If Lilith is amazed, then the person will want to move because of personal beliefs (most often because of politics)

It seems to me that the most important and cardinal thoughts come to our minds when transit houses return to natal houses (for example, the Sun in the 3rd house in the natal chart and the transit Sun in the 3rd house).It's like a personal new year in my head.You sum up your results, plan, create different options for the future. Ideas may come up that you haven't thought about before. Physically, nothing new is happening, the usual routine (home and study/work), but in a person's head there are huge independent (!!!) changes

Guys, whose strongest planet in the natal chart is the Moon, do you also f*cking feel every full moon and new moon?

People with the Moon in the 1st house, the ascendant in Cancer, the Moon in Cancer/4th house, the Sun in the 4th house need personal space. They can be very sociable and energetic, but they need at least 15 minutes of silence to distract themselves and be alone

Retrograde natal planets can be compared to a splinter that is stuck deep under the skin and you can't see where it can be pulled out. It's difficult, but it's possible. Retrograde planets can also be made less problematic, but it will take a lot of effort

Some underestimate the influence of stellium, believing that the ascendant, the sun and the moon are enough to understand a person.As practice shows, most often this is not enough, especially when the stellium and the Big Three are different in temperament.Please consider your stelliums

Mars in Sagittarius can look athletic even if they don't do sports

If you see a person who reads the news about maniacs, murders and crime, then there is a 90% chance that he has placements in Scorpio/8th house

Most content makers have strong placements in Leo/Aquarius/5th house/11th house. I'm talking about people who have been blogging for a long time and professionally, as well as whose work is related to the media sphere

Mercury in Virgo/6th house has a lively mind in conversation. They argue well, they discuss well, they can turn your words against you.They may respond sharply, but in fact

Often we may be attracted to the creativity or personality of some famous person because of similar placements in the natal chart

On the astro-seek website, you can guess the Sun/Moon/ascendant of a person from a photo. According to statistics, people with Scorpio/Aquarius in the Big Three have the least guessed photos. Still, I agree that these are the most mysterious signs of the zodiac

According to Ceres in the natal chart, you can learn about the upbringing of a person (since this asteroid shows the connection between parents and a child).For example, Ceres in the 5th house indicates a creative child. He could come up with a lot of games, drew a lot, and behaved a little differently than other children. He could love to read or listen to fairy tales.Good imagination, but perceives visual information best

It seems to me that people with the Moon square/opposition Saturn/Uranus/Neptune/Pluto are more likely than other people to wind themselves up. These people perceive emotions, events, people deeply. They have high emotional intelligence, but it is often difficult for them to turn off their head and calm down from thoughts

#astrology #astrology community #zodiac #horoscope #astrology blog #astrology signs #tumblr fyp #astro community #natal chart #astro observations #natal astrology #ascendant #astrologer #astro notes #natal chart observations #fyp

[g1rld1ary]

you never disappointed me ; luke castellan x aphrodite!reader

part one part two part three part four

➻ synopsis: charles beckendorf wants to go out with silena beauregard more than anything. one problem: she's not allowed to date until her shrewish older sister does, so he and percy come up with a plan. (10 things I about you AU)

➻ word count: 2783

➻ warnings: swearing ooc/kind of loser!luke, ooc silena, she/her pronouns used for reader

➻ this'll be a few chapter so this is p1!!!

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

Charles Beckendorf arrived at Camp Half-Blood when he was fifteen years old. It was a wonder he’d lasted out in the mortal world so long with his significant stature, height enough to attract monsters, but Percy — his tour guide — guessed it was probably his more reserved nature which had kept him under the radar.

“Thank God it’s you showing me around,” Was one of the first things he’d said, “When you start things like this it’s usually all the kiss-asses that greet me.” With six schools under his belt, Percy knew what he meant all too well.

“Nah man, we’re chill. And if we get this done quick then you can meet my friends, we know how to have the real fun here.”

And so they embarked on their tour, Percy dutifully pointing out all the most important places around camp. First was the Dining Pavilion, where they met Grover as he chewed on some of the tin-can remains of lunch. Then came Thalia’s Tree, under which Annabeth was drawing out a map that Charles didn’t understand in the slightest but Percy explained was a strategy for capture the flag. After that they walked past the sword fighting arena, where they caught a glimpse of Luke in the middle of a fierce duel. They both passed quickly, and Charles got the distinct impression that you weren’t supposed to interrupt Luke when he was fighting.

As the two got to the lake, Percy explaining it was where most people hung out when they had the time, Charles faltered in his steps. Percy looked back to where he was frozen and followed his sightline to Silena Beauregard and rolled his eyes.

“Who is that?” He breathed.

“Don’t even bother, bro,” Percy replied. “She’s off limits. It’s a well known fact that the Beauregard sisters aren’t allowed to date — they’re only here over the summers and their dad is crazy strict about it for some reason.”

“But she’s so—”

“Self-centred? Shallow? Silena is all looks no substance, dude. You can do better.” Percy ushered him away but Charles was still daydreaming about the beautiful Aphrodite girl.

The tour was just finishing up by the Climbing Wall when they first saw you. You held the camp record for it, and so had been delegated the responsibility of teaching the younger kids. Today though you’d had to rescue a cocky bastard from getting obliterated by lava, singeing the fabric of your camp shirt all over your left shoulder, and you were not in a good mood.

Just wanting to get back to your cabin for a change of clothes and some ambrosia, you were certainly not in the state of mind to stop and chat with a new camper. So when Percy and Charles came along blocking the whole fucking path, you didn’t hesitate to yell “Move!” Pushing past them in a huff. You wouldn’t usually be so rude, but you were pretty sure your shirt was fusing into your skin which was so not what you needed. Plus, they were in the way. Beckendorf’s bicep was warm from where you’d shoulder-checked him with your injury.

“That’s your dream girl’s older sister,” Percy snorted, used to your disagreeable personality.

“That’s Silena’s sister?” Charles asked incredulously, “But she’s…”

“A shrew? Yeah. I’d watch out for her, and kiss your dreams of going out with Silena goodbye. Now c’mon, I’ll show you to your cabin.” Charles followed mindlessly, still thinking about the two Beauregard sisters.

When people thought of you, the consensus was pretty much this: Silena Beauregard’s older sister, and the most heinous bitch at Camp Half-Blood, a title you were extremely proud of. Whilst you really didn’t think you were that bad — in fact, you considered your actions quite reasonable — younger campers cowered away when you marched through camp and the older ones rolled their eyes when you spoke. Just the way you liked it. It wasn’t exactly unusual, camp had all sorts of kids living there, not everyone was going to get along, but it was pretty unexpected for you as a daughter of Aphrodite.

You didn’t get along with most of your siblings, despite all your efforts as one of the elder campers. You thought it was ridiculous that they wouldn’t participate in camp activities, regardless of the reason. What good was having all that beauty if it was wiped off the face of the earth by a monster? There were a hundred rumours flying about to explain you and your attitude, the most popular being that you were the secret lovechild of Aphrodite and Ares, which explained your affinity for fighting and permanent bitch face. You knew better. For one you shared too many of your dad’s traits not to be his child. Plus, Aphrodite had a long history of being associated with war in Ancient Greece which everyone at camp just conveniently forgot in favour of writing her children off as useless and vain. You hated it, and you refused to be who they wanted.

Even your favourite sibling was the polar opposite to you. Silena was a few years younger than you, and by all accounts was the model of a perfect Aphrodite child. Gorgeous, of course, and usually kind and patient. In your opinion, she was kind of annoying and self-absorbed, but you chose to believe she meant well so you could keep tolerating her. You didn’t know how the only two blood-related siblings in your cabin could be so different from one another, but it had been that way since you were fourteen and she was twelve.

You had made it back to your cabin, and your shoulder was all bandaged up after your shower. You were just flipping through The Bell Jar, your latest novel, when Silena came stomping into the cabin, waving a letter frantically through the air. You could assume what it was about.

“This is so unfair!” Silena whined, “Daddy doesn’t even know Ethan!” Ethan was the new boy Silena had been obsessed with recently, writing incessantly to your father in an attempt to get him to take back the no dating rule.

“What, can’t go swap spit with the vermin of the earth?” You exaggerated a pout. She sneered at you in the mirror.

“Worse. Now he’s saying I can’t date until you do, so now I’m going to die a stupid old virgin because of you!” You rolled your eyes and sighed.

“Have you ever considered there’s more to life than finding a boyfriend? Or, big shock I know, maybe I’m just not interested in the sweaty, uninspired pigs that are supplied here?”

“You suck!” She huffed, turning on a kitten heel and barging out of the cabin.

“You suck!” You mocked, turning back to your book. You knew Silena was really pissed at you for being so stubborn, but you hated the thought of changing your opinions over a man of all things.

Silena, in her frustration, was wandering around Camp Half-Blood to let off some steam. Charles, fresh from a kayaking lesson, spotted her across the beach and scrambled to catch up to her. Remembering what Percy told him about her not participating in many of the camp’s activities, he came up with the idea to offer his help to finish a project in the forges to get Chiron off her back. Silena seemed surprised but happy enough to agree, and Charles was ecstatic.

“She’s agreed to go to the forges with me!” He told Percy excitedly, and Percy raised an eyebrow.

“Do you even know how to weld?”

“Well, no, but I will!” As much as Percy liked the new kid, he was definitely a handful.

Charles’ first session with Silena didn’t go exactly as he’d hoped. She showed up already looking bored, and not keen to start off with a simple sword as he’d proposed. Soon he gave up with any welding, choosing instead to try and get her know better.

“If you’re not really into this we could try something else? I saw someone welding some metal flowers, you know, for like a date?” That caught her attention.

“Are you asking me on a date?” At his shy nod Silena couldn’t contain her slight laugh. “That is so cute! What’s your name again?” Charles told her quietly.

“Well, my Dad’s just changed our family rule — I can date when my sister does.”

“That’s great! So all you’ve gotta do is find someone who’ll date her!”

“One problem, Cameron-”

“Charles.”

“My sister is, like, totally antisocial?”

“Yeah, but people jump out of planes and stuff all the time! It could be, like, extreme dating!”

They both looked across the forge where you were working, fixing up your favourite sword after an Ares kid had done quite a number on it. You had on both your signature outfit and expression — long, practical jorts with your camp shirt tied in a knot and a dangerous bitch face.

“The oversized look is out, Beauregard, didn’t you read last month’s Vogue?” Ethan was hovering around you, trying his hardest to get a rise out of you in front of his friends.

“Run along, dickwad.” You refused to blow up at him, knowing it would only be used to make you look hysterical and unbalanced later. Plus, Ethan would get bored sooner or later and find someone else to taunt.

As Charles recounted this story to Percy later that night at the bonfire, all Percy could do was groan.

“Charles — Charlie — I really wanna like you, man, but this is probably the most stupid thing you could have done. I know they’re hot, but it’s not even worth getting involved with one Beauregard sister, and you’ve just gotten yourself tangled with both — and not in the way that most guys dream about.” Charles flushed at the innuendo.

“I think you’re wrong about Silena, I think she’s worth it. I just have to figure out how I can set her sister up with another guy.”

“Yeah, good luck with that,” Percy laughed, hitting Charles’ knee twice before turning away to talk to Annabeth. Charles spent the rest of the night trying to hatch a plan.

Early the next morning he got Percy on board, albeit very reluctantly. Percy brought Charles over to every single guy he could think of in your age range, begging them to take you out. The responses varied from a nervous shake of the head to Travis Stoll laughing in both boys’ faces.

“Why would I go looking for a kick in the balls?” He asked, still wheezing from his initial outburst.

They found themselves once again at the bonfire, both disheartened. Percy at having wasted a day all for this new guy he barely knew, and Charles that he was no closer to getting a date with Silena. Finally, somewhat eager to get this distraction over with, Percy came up with an idea.

“What about you just pay someone to go out with her?” He asked, and Charles considered the idea for a minute, it wasn’t half bad.

“I have literally no money,” He settled on finally, and Percy rolled his eyes.

“So you get someone else to do it for you,” He suggested, and Annabeth joined the conversation with suspicious interest.

“Like a backer?” She asked, at Percy’s nod she bit her lip, “I don’t know if that’s a good idea, guys, it seems like it could really backfire on you. I mean, what if she finds out? I heard she once tied a camper to the lava wall just for looking at her wrong.”

“She won’t find out! I mean she only has to date so Silena can, it doesn’t have to be a long term thing. She goes on enough dates for it to qualify, then they break up while it’s still casual and I can go out with Silena!” Charles explained excitedly, but Annabeth still looked skeptical.

“Plus, if we have a backer, none of the blame will go to my man Charlie here,” Percy added helpfully, which swayed Annabeth a little.

“Okay, well be careful,” She said, leaving for the dining hall to be distanced from the plot.

Percy thought the answer to who the backer would be was pretty obvious. Whilst most of the boys at Camp Half-Blood wanted to sleep with Silena, Ethan White was both rich and desperate enough to agree to it. Plus when Percy Jackson was telling you you’d look great with a girl, you generally listened.

All that was left was to find someone to set you up with. The boys used the bonfire to scope out their options, but it wasn’t looking good. For one, you didn’t even show up to bonfires if you could help it, and it was anyone’s guess what you did instead. Rumours said blood sacrifices but Percy was almost completely sure that was a lie. Truthfully you were sitting up on the roof of the Aphrodite cabin, enjoying the peace and quiet of the camp when no one else was around.

They were about to give up, Percy trying to find the right words to let Beckendorf down easy, when they saw Luke. Luke, with his brooding eyes and his cigarette, sitting on his own at the bonfire with headphones connected to a mortal mp3 player. Luke, who had never quite been the same since he returned from his quest — rumours swirling about the horrors he’d faced that he refused to speak on.

“I think we’ve found our man.”

It was easy to convince Ethan to get on board, he was so overconfident in himself and his looks he would never suspect that Percy or Beckendorf had any ulterior motives. It was equally enjoyable to watch Ethan try and approach Luke to get the plan in motion. Percy and Beckendorf were sitting with Percy’s friends on the beach the very first time Ethan spoke to Luke. He was all macho confidence, still trying to play the tough guy. Luke looked up at him from his place sitting on a rock, barely moving his head to give him any attention. The moment of eye contact meant Ethan knew Luke had seen him speaking, and the abrupt walking away communicated his absolute lack of interest. It took a gargantuan effort from Percy not to burst out laughing then and there.

The second conversation went a bit smoother. Ethan had a metaphorical tail between his legs, temporarily giving up his ego to be the smaller person in the conversation. That got Luke’s attention, having known Ethan and his antics for years at that point. And then Ethan explained his plan. Luke couldn’t contain his laughter — a sound Camp Half-Blood was rarely graced with anymore.

“Yeah sure, Sparky,” He laughed, almost wheezing in an uncharacteristic show of emotion.

“Look,” Ethan stressed, “I can’t take out Silena until her sister starts dating — their Dad is super strict and has this rule—”

“Touching story, not my problem.” Luke moved to put his earbud back in when Ethan stopped him.

“Could it be your problem if I provided generous compensation?” Luke had forgotten Ethan’s mother was filthy rich. He looked him dead in the eye.

“You’re going to pay me to take out some chick? How much?” He asked, entirely disbelieving.

“Twenty bucks” They both looked down at you on the volleyball courts, spiking a ball into a girl’s stomach with so much force she keeled over on the ground. You had the decency to look mildly apologetic while the opposing team glared at you.

“Fine. Thirty.”

“Let’s see,” Luke smiled something devious. “If I’m taking her out it means leaving camp. That’s a lot of risk I’m pursuing for you, plus the costs of taking to her somewhere — the movies maybe. And you know inflation lately, let’s say seventy-five bucks.”

“This isn’t a negotiation, burnout.”

“Fifty bucks and we’ve got a deal, Fabio,” Luke countered, knowing he had the upper hand. He had nothing to lose. Reluctantly, Ethan forked out a fifty. All that was left was for Luke to get you to go out with him, how hard could that be?

#giasfics˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ #love #luke castellan #pjo tv show #percy jackon and the olympians #percy series #pjo series #percy jackson show #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x you #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan pjo #luke castellan fanfiction #luke castellan imagines #percy jackson #percy jackson tv show #pjo tv series

[inkskinned]

the thing that gets you sometimes is the frustration. for every time someone else sees you being late, losing something, forgetting something important: there are hours in your day dedicated to it.

you have strange, fae-like rituals. the keys have to go in their special bowl, because if you forget even once, they will be gone forever. you stack items on a stool in front of your door so that you can't leave without touching them. you can't take your wallet out of your bag, ever, it will simply fade away.

everything has to be written down. everything, everything. whatever you need to do, you need to do it now. you check and re-check the busmap only to still get lost on the same route you've always taken home. you start getting ready to go 3 hours early and still end up 15 minutes late, unsure even of where the time has gone. don't sit down, there's something strange about your bed or the couch or the floor - once you sit down, you'll get stuck.

you are very used to operating without instructions. people say you're good at winging it but really you've never really known where the rules are coming from. you have to live in constant strange anticipation - when your brain does fail you, how can you predict every horrible outcome. maybe today you will have a minor curse, and forget to brush your teeth. or maybe today you will wake up - and no matter what you do, your whole body begs to return you back to sleep. maybe today you will break a glass and then just stand there, surrounded by the shards, frozen in place - because you need to go to the bathroom, but you also need to sweep.

and everyone else seems to have gotten the memo, and it's easy for them, and it never, ever gets easy for you. make plans and keep them. they roll their eyes when you say sorry it's too messy we can't go over to my apartment. they ask why did you leave something so big until the last minute. on instagram, your friend makes a reel where she says if they cared, they would change. they literally do not care. someone says it's a symptom, and in the comments, all they get is then go to therapy! it can't control everything you do!

so you go to therapy. and you work out to calm down and you do your self-care and you try to be grateful for the small things. and you structure literally your entire life around it, around the ways you can't live right. you have failsafe over failsafe over red flag. you have shelves of organizational manuals. you have alarms for things like did you remember to eat that you still manage to figure out how to snooze. you have time-blocked sites and deleted apps you get lost in and you are constantly trying. because you also want a life where you are not stepping over laundry. juggling knives, you spend your whole life feeling like you're ice skating.

and still. she sighs at you. i mean, it's just. i don't understand how you constantly miss all the small stuff. i mean, this is the easy part. you're just not trying hard enough.

#i ran out of meds today. #and like. it was a bad day for that #and i called them in on friday so it could just be that they're not like. u know. #filled yet. but BOY :)

[csuitebitches]

Build yourself a sustainable routine for 2024

you don’t have to schedule all your habits for everyday. Some habits can be for twice a week or thrice a week. If you can’t read 10 pages everyday, don’t fret. Try to read 1 chapter a week. Then slowly progress to 2.

do not be intimidated by accounts like mine. I post a lot of tips but I follow only the ones I know work for me, even if those tips are great. I share a lot so that different people can make use of them. Just because tip A works better for me than tip B, doesn’t mean that tip B is useless. Someone else could find B more useful than A.

How do you know you’re building a sustainable routine?

here are some indicators:

⭐️ the habits are “portable” for the most part - you do not need to be in specific places to execute them (you can read anywhere, you can workout in any hotel, etc).

⭐️ you’re able to follow all your habits at least 80% of the time in a month. Which means out of 30 days, for 24 days you are able to follow your habits. ⭐️ they don’t stress you out. It doesn’t make sense to procrastinate over your habits. The point of the habits is to reduce procrastination and improve yourself. If you’re stressing over it, go back to square one and start small.

⭐️ you are able to see that you’re improving. Maybe you’re feeling more confident, self assured and resilient. Whatever your end goal, it is important to understand that you won’t go from being, for example, under confident to confident overnight. It will happen gradually. Noticing your progress and complimenting yourself for the gradual change is important because then you’re validating yourself for the healthy changes you make. When you validate yourself as opposed to someone else validating you, you are acknowledging the hard work you have put in- this increases your motivation to do even better and to stay disciplined.

⭐️ over time, the habits come to you naturally. Let’s say meditating. You become so used to meditating that not doing it is like not brushing your teeth in the morning. It becomes a part of you and you accept and embrace it instead of dreading it.

⭐️ yes, you will have tough days. You will have days where you want to give up. It is important to schedule at least 2 mental health days a month for yourself where you can choose to do absolutely nothing and just relax. You are human, not a machine. Sometimes you need to push through those tough days and get things done anyway. There is a balance between resting and working hard.

⭐️ you eventually do not feel guilt or shame for prioritising yourself and your routine first. This is the most important indicator. You do not put any boy, friend, anyone (unless it’s an emergency of course) above you. You know you are your most important person.

#c suite #powerful woman #ceo aesthetic #strong women #personal growth #that girl #productivity #getting your life together #balance #Routine #how to create a routine #Sustainable routine

[phoenixyfriend]

Why I think it's important to understand the geopolitical anxieties of Israelis

Oftentimes, it feels like even recognizing that those anxieties exist is viewed as siding with Israel in the current conflict.

And I think that it's... weird, to do that. Dismissing the anxieties wholesale makes it harder to resolve the situation. Addressing them directly is possibly the only way to resolve the situation, because America.

Let me explain.

This will have three parts:

Why the propaganda works

How it affects current policy

How we can pressure the (mostly US) government about Israel using what we know about propaganda

Why the propaganda works

A lot of it is just propaganda, yes, but a lot of it is based in history, and a lot is also sort of self-fulfilling at this point. They have had reason to believe that some of their neighbors want all Jews dead or gone for a long time (see: Syria, Lebanon, Yemen), so it's not that it comes from nowhere. When over half the population is either Mizrahi Jews who fled from nearby countries that were happy to have a place to kick their Jewish populations out to, or their descendants, it's not hard to see that 'if someone else is in charge, we'll have to flee again.'

You could tell the French in Algeria to go back to France, but are you going to tell Mizrahi Jews to go back to the ME countries that they left? Sure, some left willingly, but that kind of wholesale eradication doesn't happen unless there's some degree of systemic discrimination or threat of violence. You cannot send Yemeni Jews back to Yemen.

The threat is real. It is not as large as the propaganda claims. It does not in any way justify nearly 30,000 deaths, half of them children. But the threat is not just imagined.

The fact of the matter is this: the propaganda is fueled by actual violence and legitimate fears.

And unless those fears are recognized and accounted for, Israel cannot be talked down.

Being told that a threat does not exist when recent history clearly shows otherwise is not going to convince anyone. I cannot emphasize this enough: even if the far-right government is replaced tomorrow, those fears will persist.

Israel's current government is violently and militarily opposed to restructuring itself in a way that allows for either a secular democratic single state, or a truly free and independent Palestine in a two-state solution. Due to mandatory army service and large scale propaganda, many have been taught since early childhood that the only way for Jews to be safe is for Israel to exist and to be so incredibly overpowered for their size that other nations won't invade them. The fact that both distant history and more recent, across the world, is filled with antisemitic discrimination, feeds this paranoia. A lot of people are out to get them, and have been since well before Israel was established. The destruction of Judea, the Edict of Expulsion, the expulsion of Jews from Spain, pogroms, the Holocaust, the near-total eradication in Yemen, Jordan, and Syria, and so on... this shit keeps happening. Some of it long ago, some if it very recent.

But it does keep happening, and that is why the propaganda works. That is why the fearmongering has teeth. It has happened before, over and over and over again, and it is being loudly threatened again. The propaganda works in Israel, and it also works in Jewish communities, and non-Jewish people who just happen to hear it, based elsewhere in the world. Like America. (This is important.)

Before moving forward, I need to make this clear: There are Jewish Israeli activists, both within Israel and without, that are vocally against Israel's actions against Palestine. Some are organized, and some are individuals. Some stories even go viral: Israeli-born Natalie Portman's been criticizing Netanyahu for years and politicians have called for her citizenship to be stripped for it. Tumblr loves the story of the Swiftie Twitter that went to jail for refusing to join the IDF, and that's very common; plenty of young people get months-long prison sentences, sometimes multiple times. Right-wing mobs go after Jewish Israelis who speak in support of Palestine in any way, and these things get violent.

(In that same article, it also talks about how Israeli Palestinians are suffering much, much worse under the government's crackdown on free speech.)

How it affects current policy

The thing is, there are only really four ways for this to resolve:

Israel wins. They succeed in pushing Palestinians out of Gaza by killing anyone who doesn't comply, and take it over for themselves. (This is bad.)

Israel is cut off from any and all support from abroad, both 'here, you can help yourself with these guns' and 'here, we will fight your enemies for you,' and is very suddenly at risk of invasion, mass murder, and removal from the Palestinian Mandate by those groups they fearmonger about, the ones that include slogans like "death to Israel, a curse upon the Jews." (This is also bad.)

Israel is convinced to stop attacking Gaza, possibly through the threat of no more support, and settles in to figure out a solution with Palestine, whether two-state or secular single state or whatever, and normalizes relations with neighbors enough that they can start cutting back on their military. (This is the best option.)

A foreign power or coalition of powers invades and forces Israel to stop, and oversees a transition from military state to peaceful state while protecting from outside attack, like was done to Japan and Germany following WWII. (This one is... interventionism is bad, but also almost 30k people have died with no end in sight, so it's starting to look like a real possibility.)

We can all agree, I hope, that the first option is not an option. That is Bad.

I also hope we can agree that the second option is not an option. A number of Israelis may be settlers in the traditional sense of the word, but a lot of them are refugees from neighboring countries, survivors of the Holocaust, or descendants of such. "Just go back where you came from" doesn't work when many of them came from places that were also saying 'go back where you came from' because Israel now existed to expel them to. It's also been around for 75 years now, and some three-quarters of the population were born in Israel. Expelling them all, even the ones that were there before the early statehood aliyah? It's... I don't know. I understand in theory why some activists push for it, but I do think it is fundamentally different from any comparative colonization or settlement.

(Note: I do not include Israeli colonies in the Palestinian West Bank. Those do need to be returned to their owners. Give people their houses and land back.)

The third option is the one that most people, I think, would like to see happen. However, the Israeli government is clinging to the propaganda that they will be eradicated as a Jewish people if they do not forcibly take power where they can, and they are spreading it out among Israelis. Dissent by Israeli Jews may not be criminalized, but the society around them sure isn't receptive to it. The recent invasion of Gaza has also inflamed tensions across the region, which means that even countries which were slowly normalizing relations, or at least.

Netanyahu has not been convinced, and by all appearances cannot be convinced. The only thing that may force his hand is the threat of no more military aid, so he suddenly has to start conserving what missiles he does have in order to fend off a possible attack instead of continuing to hammer on Gaza.

Sounds great, right? This is why we are all (I hope) calling our senators or representatives or whatever your country has to tell them to stop supporting Israel monetarily or with military aid. This is why I keep giving suggested topics for Americans to call their senators about, even if I'm just one voice, and there are much louder ones saying the same thing, but better.

And yet, the Senate passed the aid bill. They snuck it into a Veteran Affairs thing as a last-minute amendment, but they passed it, and any failure in the House will have little to do with sympathy for Palestine and a lot to do with domestic border policy.

So... Americans are also pretty convinced of the whole 'if we stop supporting Israel, they will be invaded and killed off by the Iran-backed militias' thing. Many do feel sympathy for Palestinians, hence the 'Israel, you need to knock that shit off' comments, but they also are genuinely of a belief that the Israeli propaganda of 'we will be overrun by antisemitic Muslim extremist militias and exterminated like in the Holocaust' is true.

Like. Either they fear for Israelis due to the antagonistic forces in the region, or they belong to Christofascist ideologies about how supporting Israel is the way to avoid suffering in Armageddon.

You can't get to the latter on ethics or morality or whatever. You can only rely on ulterior motives (the border things) or telling them 'your reelection is in jeopardy, change your mind or you're going to be voted out.'

The former, though... you can. They believe the things that Israel claims and has been claiming since 1948, with regards to threats.

And if you acknowledge why the propaganda works, you can address it.

How we can pressure the government about Israel using what we know about propaganda

If you say that there is no threat to Israel from Yemen, Lebanon, Syria, Iran, or so on, you will be dismissed as an idealist who hasn't done any research. If you say that Israelis should be left to their own devices, you will be viewed as cruel, and if you say they should be removed and the land given back to Palestinians, you will be laughed away (silently, but it'll happen). You cannot convince the American government with these tactics.

What can you say?

Israel is making things worse for itself in regards to these exact threats. Pushing on Gaza is making neutral and nearly-normalized countries like Egypt and Saudi Arabia less inclined to get in the way of the 'death to Israel' militias. The campaign is creating a whole new generation of extremists who will join the militias out of a desire to prevent more of these deaths by Israeli hands, and that will only increase the threat to Israel.

Destroying Hamas isn't going to do shit if Hezbollah, Iraq, Iran, the Houthis, and so on, invade. Especially if twenty years down the line, all those orphans that Israel just created these past few months start a new Hamas for revenge because, hi, look how many orphans you just created.

Netanyahu is working against the interests of the Israeli people. He is trying to remain in power, and the Gaza war is a distraction from the charges being levied against him.

Netanyahu has a vested interest in seeing that Donald Trump is elected, as they are much closer than the at best strained relationship with Biden. This is very complicated but if your senator or rep is a Democrat, it is relevant.

Israel's continued offensive is leading to the risk of millions of Palestinian refugees entering Egypt and destabilizing them, which, in an already unstable country in an already wobbling region, is going to risk another war across the Middle East. The US still has not pulled out all troops from the last one.

The US cannot afford, monetarily or in terms of foreign relations, to aid in causing a new regional war.

If Israel slows, halts, and withdraws peacefully from Gaza, tensions will settle enough to avoid possible invasion by those hostile forces they're so worried about. The UN can, if necessary, deploy forces to maintain relative stability until peace treaties are worked out. We'd like to avoid option 4 if possible.

The only way I can see to convince the US government to stop supplying weapons to Israel is to push on the fact that continuing to do so will, due to Netanyahu and his party's actions, put Israel in more danger rather than less.

There are other things to say to your senators, and I'll be making a post about that soon (not today, but probably this weekend; stuff like Michigan, UNRWA, international reputation), but in regards to just the geopolitics surrounding the propaganda, this is it. This is why we have to understand it. Because the way we get the United States government to stop giving aid to Israel to defend itself is by telling them 'this is putting them in more danger due to their head of state's aggression.'

This was very long, but I've seen a lot of misinformation and a lot of generalization, and a lot of it is... not great. Well-meant, sometimes, but not great. I felt it necessary to be very clear and very specific. I'm anticipating a lot of comments to the effect of "you forgot about this" and "but that doesn't excuse their actions" and "well, not all activists believe--" and I know.

I know.

But I've had people say "Nobody is advocating for the removal of all Jewish Israelis" to my ask box hours after I was talking about Yemen, a country that enacted a removal of all Jews and largely under the control of a group that has a slogan about doing just that to the Jewish Israelis.

So let me be very clear that I have seen a lot on tumblr recently, a lot of it extremist, and I'm not pulling any of this out of my ass or making up a guy to be mad at. I may not know everything on this topic--I may not even know much at all, given that it covers centuries of conflict due to the Ottomans--but I've been listening to hours upon hours of news from a variety of sources (Al Jazeera, BBC, NPR, and more) every day just to make sure I understand.

Please trust that, even if I get some things wrong, even if I don't cite every detail or generalize just a bit here and there, that I mean well. Please trust that I am making this in good faith and am trusting you to respond to it in kind.

Call your reps. Write them an email. Donate to a Palestinian charity.

It's a slog, but we can make a difference.

#current events #palestine #israel #gaza #death tw #activism #united states #free palestine #politics #benjamin netanyahu #pro palestine #israeli propaganda #propaganda #phoenix politics #Not gonna include my ko-fi this time seems in bad taste