#THE YOU HERE IS RHETORICAL i am not mad at you we are agreeing

[froshele]

also being that we are talking about age gap ship wars as they relate to thought around the rights of queer people, there is no refuge in the concept of those at all either

theres a popular argument that we should crack down on age gaps in (both real instances and artistic depictions of) any and all relationships because of the reactionary talking point that visible legal gay age gaps are indicative of invisible, illegal, deviant "tastes" on the part of the older partner, which is looking more and more dangerous the more weird shit happens

in general you should seriously consider the provenance of your views about whats a healthy age gap, when a person can actually have an adult mutual relationship, and at what point someone capable of freely consenting becomes a trophy wife or a kept man and ceases to count as an agent in the relationship

also at what point any of this is abuse, and when it's your business

at what point is this person becoming not an agent but a patient and victim? at what point should you help? if mutuality is the standard then are all teenagers, who don't know how to love romantically yet by definition and traumatize each other such that they remember their first rejection on their deathbed, abusing one another?

I don't believe people love in mature and equal ways until they've finished adolescence and lived as adults at all, but there's a difference between condemning the abuse of children by predators and clutching your pearls about how anyone under 30, 25, 21, 18 or over about 60 is incapable of sexual or even romantic agency, even when it's exercised in a normal and compatible conventional way, among agemates

most of most people's relationships are anyhow inadvisable and bad for both parties because most people have a few before they find who to settle down with, and in our day and age that tends to entail moving in together just like they would if they were married a century ago, which, paper or not, is still a huge commitment

there is an enormous gulf between abuse vs tension and incompatibility, between predation vs just being not the same age, and i do not know how to explain it except in personal terms

so here we go: my parents are like 8-10 years apart, i was born when my mother was 31 - /and/ she's the older, /and/ she was divorced more than once before that, /and/ her first marriage was around 16, which legally and culturally was considered adult in the place at the time

that one was an elopement they covered up, so mutually consensual, and ended over a fur coat, so, normal for a young hasidic woman in the 80s-90s - cringe, definitely dysfunctional, but not outside the range of plausibility for her age and maturity level at the time

some people break up over Facebook likes at that age

very obviously, like, very very obviously, she had much less in common with her third or fourth yeshiva twink husband (whichever my father was) than she was told she would, so that went badly for them

she was my father's first wife, and the marriage was his mother's totally well intentioned, naive, provincial idea - who was exploiting whom? this is a rhetorical question obviously, almost nobody on tumblr dot edu is equipped to talk about either specifics or generalities here and you will simply have to take their word via me that no one was exploiting anybody and it just turned out badly for reasons not directly related

the fact remains that they were in fact married and that it was in fact on track to be a functioning if strange marital partnership before The Incident, Which Is Not Relevant and Nobody's Business

I have family on both sides that loves me and I exist both because of and despite these two people's choices, and so it's irksome you know, having people always assume that because I grew up religious that must mean that my father was older and the match was entirely and unilaterally his decision as supported by some powerful system that wants little girls to suffer

he may have been a deadbeat and a drunk but he was also passively filial his whole life long and abused substances to cope with familial and social forces that if he was your blorbo you would agree put him in A Position that is Worthy of Sympathy

that aforementioned suffering is the real and tragic experience of those children who lived it but your sympathy should go to them when they tell you it happens in America in your own communities where you can help, or at least to other Hasidic kids who actually are child marriage victims, and not to me in whose /adult parents'/ case you believe something untoward may have possibly occurred /a quarter century ago/

is that an evidence board with little red strings? are you trying to pin my parents' divorce on a dynamic you made up about them to sell more "your viewpoint comes from a compromised place and i need not consider it"? probably not! i have been known to hallucinate! but if you are doing that you have allowed the point to sail directly over your head, boomerang back the other way and bean you right where your hair whorl starts!

in the tumblr spirit i need everyone now to hold hands and look me in the eyes and say with me what me telling you all this means, are we ready

it means that sometimes real people have real experiences that include whatever it is in the world that bothers you and irks you and confuses you, maybe even recalls your earliest terrors and agonies, and often those experiences and the way people choose to live with them are the opposite of yours, and no one is hurt thereby

if your parents' arranged age gap marriage ruined your life and you hate that it's popular as a trope, you are so welcome to write ventfic about the teenage mutant ninja turtles centering and healing this, and I am so fine with whatever you choose to say about this experience which I do not share, because that is your experience and your processing of it

/i/ am capable of finding large but reasonable gaps in either direction palatable due solely to the vagaries of Fate and Time, and if yours is not mine then that is just fine

but /i/ was psychosexually shaped by the dynamics between multiple merged nuclear families within a set of related clans, and /my/ coolest most formative neighbours were the cowives of some guy who was always out of town, and /I/ am going to write about people who are by necessity very like them, because however I may try I cannot simply unhave my childhood due to the emotional needs of people on the internet and neither can anyone on either side of this pointless argument over whether it's morally okay for what is sometimes trauma to be a topic of public art at all

I am going to tag my garbage such that you will never ever need to see and remember what harmed you but it will exist, for me and for everyone else who might see themself in things written by me about the things bothering you

very similarly: your buyer's regret or hesitancy about a personal medical decision, and desire to protect others from your experience, does not justify withholding the right to choose and access care (or create art) from somebody whose need happens to be the polar opposite of yours. just because you don't need testosterone or surgery doesn't mean local drag king jimmy johnson, who has been a man in the soul all his adulthood long, does or doesn't need testosterone or surgery.

the mentality behind these two discourses really is quite entwined (you - op - are right and should say it) and people being unable to leave well enough alone is at the point irl where it is causing problems in people's actual day to day physical existences, and /that/ is an actual human rights issue, whereas much of the focus of anti-trans pearl clutching exists either in potentia, or totally legally in the open but unaddressed by the parties concerned because they are not in fact as concerned as they claim

as we see skyrocketing amounts of legislation targeting trans youth in particular I’m begging people to stop parroting “your brain matures at 25”. this article by the director of harvard’s neuroscience lab is a good read. like I’m no neuroscientist myself but Brain Complicated. at best “your brain matures at 25” is an incomplete and inadequate summary of a single idea in a relatively new field wherein broad generalizations are almost impossible. *some* aspects of brain development *tend* to *plateau* *somewhere* in your 20s, *we think*; but “brain maturity” is poorly defined, and the data is still highly incomplete. plenty of aspects of the brain demonstrably continue developing well past 30, or for your entire life; on the other hand, plenty of studies have simply failed to include participants over 30, or 25, or even younger. attempting to define maturity, let alone make RULES about it, based on particular neuroscientific metrics, is extremely dicey

and this popsci notion is now actively being used to justify taking away people’s rights so pls stop perpetuating it for the sake of your age gap ship wars or whatever

[prismatica-the-strange]

All I Am Belongs to You | As Long As I Know Who I Am

Warnings: 18+, show typical violence, attempted sexual assault, mentions of sex but no details

A covert mission in London goes awry when Amélia is recognized by a ghost from her past. The boys fight amongst themselves for who gets to play her husband.

Pairing: Aramis x Amélia with anAthos x Amélia subplot

Word Count: 6.4k

I'm Still Here by Colm R. McGuinness (Amélia) | Follow On by Celtic Woman (Aramis) | Slow by Chris Mann (Athos) | Dividers by @steddiecameraroll-graphics | Reblog banner by @cafekitsune

"Dear Amélia, you look gorgeous."

"Is Her Majesty sure it's not too much?"

She feels ridiculous and refuses to see herself in the mirror. She'd run to Paris to get away from this, but here she is at her final fitting for a dress she surely can't afford.

"The whole point of this little ruse is for you to take the room's attention," Anne explains, " I don't think you'll have any trouble in that area, no matter which Musketeer is on your arm."

She dares a small glance at her reflection and her eyes go soft as she reminisces the life she gave up.

She hadn't exactly volunteered to help with this ploy, but Constance's husband forbade her from taking part, and Amélia is the only other woman the musketeers trust for their mission. She had a choice, but she couldn't bring herself to say no when they sent D'Artagnan to plead their case with those soft brown eyes of his after she'd laughed in Aramis's face.

"Whichever draws the shortest straw, you mean?" The question is meant to be rhetorical, but the queen scoffs, adjusting her skirt.

"I'm sure they're each begging Captain Treville to pick them to play your beloved as we speak."

Athos rolls his eyes at his friends, "This is ridiculous, you are aware of that, yes?"

"Treville told us to work it out amongst ourselves," Porthos grins, "That's all we're doing."

"Unless you'd both like to bow out like dear D'Artagnan, and let me enjoy the lady for a night or two?," Aramis suggests, flourishing his rapier when neither move to do so, "No? Alright then, draw your swords."

"I won't maim you just to play pretend for a night," Athos sighs.

"I will," Porthos pushes past him, sword in hand, "You always whisk Amélia away when she visits, and anyway, I'm sure she'd prefer to be on the arm of a real man."

"Perhaps," D'Artagnan cuts in, gripping the shoulder of each of his friends, "We should wait and let her choose who she prefers. She is the one who will be in the most danger, after all. Shouldn't she be with whoever she's most comfortable with?"

"I agree."

"Well, that just means Aramis gets to be the duke!" Porthos argues, "Where's the fun in that?"

Unfortunately for both Porthos and Aramis, Amélia chooses Athos to be her escort for the mission, and he fails to hide his small, snarky smile when she does.

The ride to England is long and incredibly dull, longer still since the Queen insisted she take a carriage instead of riding.

"Would one of you please ride in here with me? I'm unbelievably bored," She laments through the open window of the coach, "Or let me ride with one of you? Please? Just for a short while at least?"

"I'm not sure that's the best idea," Athos says, but she won't take no for an answer.

"Aramis, my love?" She pouts over at him and Porthos laughs when his friend goes all doe-eyed at her words.

The others chuckle when he stops the group to help her up onto his horse, beaming proudly at the feeling of his arms around her.

"Stop that," She reaches back to swat his cheek, "You puff up your chest much more and I'll fall off the horse."

"I'd never let that happen, my dear."

"Perhaps I should ride with Porthos instead," She teases.

"Perhaps we should continue on?" Athos suggests, cutting off any possible response from Porthos.

"What possible reason could you have to play house with Athos over you dear love Aramis?" He whispers in her ear.

"Is driving you mad with jealousy not enough of a reason?"

"Even you aren't that cruel, my love."

She sighs and rests her head on his shoulder, admiring her intimate view of him, "I was afraid I'd become distracted on your arm. That didn't seem wise given the high priority of this mission and all."

"Ah, and no risk of that with Athos?" He snickers.

"Of course not," She giggles, "He's too much of a stick in the mud."

Their laughter stifles when Athos rides up beside them with a glare having obviously heard them.

"Sorry," She bites her bottom lip but it does little to hide her smile, and the two of them burst out laughing when he rides ahead in annoyance.

They make camp a few hours later, just as the sun begins to dip below the horizon.

"Come on, love," Porthos urges, tugging at her hand when she stands to stretch, "Sing something for us."

"Mm, it's been quite some time since we've heard your lovely voice," D'Artagnan agrees from across the campfire.

"You boys are insufferable," She rolls her eyes with a smile, "What would you like to hear?"

"Something fun!" Porthos requests.

"Something quiet," Athos hisses, "God knows who could be out there in the dark, and I don't wish to attract their attention."

"Something... romantic," Aramis grins, pulling her down onto his lap, and the others groan.

"Romantic, Monsieur?"

"Please, no," Porthos begs, "Unless you plan on sitting on my lap as you do."

She starts to hum a melody before soft words begin to seemingly float in the air around them, wrapping her companions in the sweet sound of her voice.

Even Athos finds himself momentarily soothed by the sound, eyes closing as he listens.

But no one more so than Aramis. He hums along like a hymn on his lips, his eyes and soul awash with adoration.

He brushes her hair aside and presses his forehead against her shoulder and neck, as though at prayer at her altar of song, mouthing silent 'I love you's against her skin. He slowly kisses his way up her jaw and she's near breathless by the end of the song.

"Stop," She sighs, but she doesn't move to get away, "Aramis..."

"My apologies," He murmurs, pulling away, "I seemed to have been entranced and lost myself."

She finds herself drifting closer, capturing his lips in a soft kiss.

"If you two are going to fuck, could you at least not do it in front of us?" Porthos snorts.

"You make it sound so indelicate," Aramis argues, fingers brushing across her now-flushed cheeks.

The next morning she wakes with her head on his chest and his cape around her shoulders.

She's careful not to wake him as she sits slightly, leaning over to press a gentle kiss to his sleeping lips.

She jumps when his hand cups the back of her neck, keeping her there to kiss her harder.

"You were awake," She laughs.

"And yet you kissed me when you thought otherwise, you truly are a romantic, dear Amélia."

"Get up, both of you," Athos orders, readying his horse, "We're leaving."

The two share a small smile and he quickly pecks the tip of her nose before she rises to her feet.

When Aramis moves to help her on his horse, Athos stops him and reaches his hand out to her, "You're riding with me today."

She looks confused, but pulls herself up with his arm, "Any particular reason, Athos?"

He settles his arms around her and she continues before he can answer, "Or were you just envious of Aramis?"

She can all but hear his eyes roll when he sighs and she smiles back at him.

All things considered, she actually quite enjoys being the center of their attention.

"My thought was that if we are to play married, perhaps we should know more about each other," He explains, "To make it more believable."

"Your logic is sound. What would you like to know?"

Aramis is flaming, his glare burning holes in the back of Aramis's head. The way he's holding her, their shared whispers and soft looks ravage his mind with jealousy.

He grits his teeth when she laughs and a plot to reclaim her affections begins to form.

He quickly averts his gaze when her eyes lock with his and she shakes her head with a chuckle.

"Why is it you find such pleasure in toying with us?"

"I grew up with three brothers," She says, "The lot of you bring out that mischievous nature they instilled in me."

She's quiet for a moment, smiling to herself as she thinks of her siblings, "I'm fortunate to have you all."

He smiles softly and leans forward to kiss her temple.

By the time they arrive at the manor, both she and Athos have changed into nicer clothes and are riding in the coach.

She takes a deep breath to calm her nerves and he takes her hand in his, trying to soothe her.

"I won't let anything happen to you," He promises, kissing the back of her hand comfortingly.

They step out and are greeted by their hosts.

"Sir and Madam LeBlanc," Lord Smith smiles at them, "It's so nice that you came all this way to join us."

"It is an honor Lord Smi-"

"Actually!" Aramis interrupts and Athos freezes mid-bow, "I'm Lord LeBlanc."

He ignores Athos's glare as he steps forward with a polite bow.

"You see, I travel dressed as one of my guards so my darling love has a guard right on her arm should anything happen on the road," She watches with wide eyes when he takes her hand with the most devout look in his eye, "I would never forgive myself if something ever happened to her."

She nearly swoons when he lifts her hand to his lips and kisses her knuckles.

"Thank you, you may join the others," He barely glances at Athos who fights the urge to roll his eyes as he bows and moves to stand with Porthos and D'Artagnan.

"What an inspired idea!" Smith muses, motioning them to follow him, "Come! Once you've settled in your rooms, I'll show you the grounds."

Aramis offers her his arm and she takes it, whispering through her smile as they follow their host, "Athos is going to kill you."

"I'd like to see him try."

"I'm going to kill you!" Athos snaps as soon as they're left to their own in their rooms, slamming his friend against the wall, "Is your ego so important that you would put this whole mission, including Amélia, in jeopardy?"

"Athos-"

"I would never allow her to get hurt!" Aramis hisses back, "She's safer at my side!"

"Boys-"

"You pompous, self-important, ass!"

"Stop it! Both of you!" She shouts, shoving her way between them.

"He was reckless and-"

"We all agree what Aramis did was stupid and ill-conceived," She huffs, glaring at both of them, "But what's done is done. Making a fuss now won't change the situation."

"Amélia's right," Porthos says, "We need to focus on the mission. And besides, we can kick his ass when we get back to Paris."

He and Athos go to change into more appropriate clothes for men of their respective stations and when Athos returns first, he moves to stand by her.

"Please tell me you won't instantly forgive him for this?"

"He's lucky you got to him first."

He can't help but smile to himself at her response.

"There we are," Aramis comes out dressed in finery, spinning to give them a good view, "How do I look?"

Amélia steps up to him and slaps him, "If you ever disrespect my choices again, I'll gut you myself, got that?"

She takes his arm and hooks it with hers, "Now, come on. We have a mission to do."

"I-" He stumbles when she tugs him toward the door, "Absolutely!"

He soon forgets his recent transgression as they walk through the halls with her head resting on his shoulder.

"Oh look, my love," She pulls away, stepping toward an open window, "What a darling creature!"

"Yes, you're beautiful," She coos, when the white long-haired cat nuzzles into her hand, "I had a cat just like you when I was a girl."

He comes up behind her and reaches out to tuck a stray curl behind her ear. Her smile is genuine when she looks back at him and he falls in love with her all over again.

By the time they part with their hosts and make it back to their room, he's aching to tear her dress off and bring her to ecstasy.

"Dear Amélia," He breathes against her lips as he presses her against the door. He begs, "Let me take you tonight, my love."

"Aramis," She sighs, her chest heaving. She tugs his hair and he starts kissing down her jaw, "Aramis, we can't."

As if on cue, the door jerks behind her, and Porthos bangs on the surface, "You two better not be doing what I think you're doing in there!"

The next morning is slower than the last and, despite Athos's annoyance, she and Aramis lock the bedroom door and laze in the plush bed together.

He holds himself over her, lavishing her skin with slow, loving kisses.

"Sweet... beautiful... darling, Amélia," He murmurs as she runs her hands through his hair, "What must I do to earn your forgiveness?"

She laughs as though he hasn't won her back her favor ten times over with the passion between them throughout the morning.

She scratches at his beard as she pretends to think and his eyes flutter shut.

"Draw me a bath?"

He kneels beside her on the bed and brings her hands to his lips, "Of course-"

She pulls him back down on top of her, kissing him as if the world had stopped outside their door and was simply waiting for them to finish.

Once the bath is filled and the room smells of rose oil, he rouses her from the bed.

"Heaven awaits," He motions toward the bath with a small bow. He leads her over by the hand, kissing her shoulder when he helps her slip her robe off.

The moan she lets out as she lowers herself into the hot water is absolutely whorish. It's the first truly nice bath she's had in ages. And why not take advantage of the situation? She deserves to be pampered, just a little, right.

"I thought only I could get you to make that sound?" He pouts, crouching beside the tub.

His finger dip just below the surface of the water, making ripples.

"Aramis."

"Yes, my love-" He laughs when she pulls him by the shirt to fall against her lips and water splashes around them, soaking the fabric, "If you wanted me to join you, you could have just asked."

"How silly of me," She smiles into the kiss.

"Come," He encourages her to sit up. One hand wanders her back while the other motions to her hair, "May I?"

She nods and he helps her wet her hair. Her eyes flutter at the feel of his fingers running through her hair and massaging her scalp, washing away the long ride.

She moans his name, head lolling to side, into his touch. She leans her arms on the side of the tub, resting her chin atop them.

"Don't stop," She murmurs, her eyes falling shut.

"I wouldn't dream of it."

The moment is cut short when the door slams open but a moment later. He jumps to his feet, dashing for his sword next to the bed, but stops when he realizes it's their companions.

"Don't you know how to knock?"

"What do you think this is, a vacation?" Porthos asks.

"How did you... that door was locked!"

"The other guests have begun to arrive," Athos says as D'Artagnan flashes the key they got from one of the housekeepers, "You should start getting ready yourselves."

"Aramis!" She whines, not bothering to move beyond the arm reaching out for him, "Come back, my love."

"Aramis," Athos warns when he steps back toward her.

"Dammit, Athos," She groans. Water sloshes over the sides of the tub when she stands, her body on full display for the four men in front of her, "You're absolutely no fun, you know that?"

She looks at each of them when they stand frozen.

She raises her brows expectantly but they don't move, "Are you all going to just stand there staring, or is someone going to hand me my robe?"

They all move as one, but Aramis gets the robe first, stepping around the tub and holding it up for her.

"Shame on you three," He tuts over his shoulder, "Degenerates, all of you."

"I don't know if I can do this," She says, adjusting her gown. She looks herself over in the mirror, still hiding behind the partition, "I look ridiculous."

She looks beautiful, just like she did before she left home, and that alone terrifies her. The Queen was right, the dress suits her wonderfully, and the jewels adorning her wrists and neck only enhance her image. They're glass, of course, the royals would never let some peasant girl ride off to England with their diamonds and sapphires.

"Surely it can't be that bad," D'Artagnan insists. He steps around the partition and his mouth falls open.

"Well, come on then," Aramis adjusts his cuff as he moves in front of the door, with the other two, "Let's see."

"Fine, just..." She sighs, "No jokes, alright?"

She gathers her skirts and steps past the youngest Musketeer, eyes cast toward the floor as they take her in.

"You look..." Aramis trails off and Athos finishes in his stead.

"Stunning."

"You can say that again," Porthos agrees.

She looks up at her companions with a shy smile.

Aramis moves to stand in front of her, offering his hand with a bow, "My lady."

She takes his arm and looks to her friends, "Is everything in place?"

"Don't you worry about that," Porthos assures her, "Just go out there and steal the show, yeah?"

That fear comes back as they walk toward the ballroom and she hesitates.

What if someone recognizes her?

Aramis pauses when he feels her stop, "What's wrong?"

She can't back down now, she knows that, but her chest tightens with anxiety.

"You have nothing to fear, dear heart," He promises, "There's nothing I couldn't protect you from."

She takes a deep breath and nods before they continue.

They round a corner with their guard in tow, coming to a stop as they enter the ballroom.

Extravagant ballgowns twirl as couples dance together in the center of the room.

"I'll take the left, Porthos the right," Athos says quietly, "You two know your parts, D'Artagnan will keep watch if he tries to run."

With that, the group parts ways and their plan is in motion.

Aramis begins showing her off, boasting her many virtues to whoever will listen as the other two search for the target.

She casts him a wary look when the lady of the house pulls her aside.

"Madam Lablanc, you look- well lovely doesn't seem to cover it," She compliments, "There is someone I wish you to meet!"

She's led to the buffet where various men and women stand and talk amongst themselves.

"This is my niece, Isabel, she's been ever so keen on going to Paris and I was hoping you could tell her what you could?"

"Oh," She glances past the girl to see Athos keeping a close eye on her. He then nods to a tall man by the punch bowl and she sees who they've come to arrest, Monsieur Desiré, "I don't know what I could tell you that you don't already know. I try to avoid the city as much as I can."

"Why is that?"

"Personal preference," She says, "I much prefer the serenity of the country to the noise of crowded streets."

They continue on for a few minutes more, but when Desiré begins to leave, she's quick to end the chatter.

She moves to step past him, purposely tripping over his feet and she's caught by a pair of rough hands.

"Watch it!"

"P-pardon me, monsieur," She stammers, "I get so disoriented in these large parties."

His eyes rake down her body, lingering on her cleavage before sneering at her. She has a feeling that each of her protectors is fighting the urge to swoop in and beat him.

"No," He bows, taking her hand, "The fault is mine, Mademoiselle...?"

"LeBlanc," She forces a smile to her face when he echoes her and kisses her hand.

"Would you perhaps honor me with a dance?" He asks.

"Perhaps," She teases, "My first dance of the night is promised to my husband, but perhaps after Monsieur..."

"Desiré. Husband?"

She winks at him, biting her lip with a grin.

She can feel him ogling her as she walks away and she wants to puke.

The whole meeting distracts her so much that she runs right into the back of another guest.

"Pardon me, Monsie-" Her eyes go wide when he turns and she quickly ducks out of sight behind another group of ladies before he can see her.

She carefully weaves her way through the crowd back to Aramis.

Cäraus. Of course. Of all the people in the world to be at this party, it had to be her younger brother.

"Aramis!" She hisses, latching onto his arm.

"There you are," He places his hand atop hers on his arm, "Where did you run off to?"

"I... ran into Desiré," She explains, "He seems to have an interest."

"Good."

"Then something else happened."

She's much more on edge than before, clinging to him and glancing nervously over her shoulder into the crowd. In fact, he doesn't think he's ever seen her this scared. He squeezes her hand comfortingly, and, while his lax smile doesn't change, his posture does. He seems to stand taller and hold her more protectively, "Tell me."

"Someone- Aramis, I am so sorry, this could ruin everything!" She whimpers, "If I had known there was even a chance, I wouldn't have come."

"It's alright," He cups the back of her neck and gently pulls her close to kiss the top of her head, "Now who is it?"

"My Broth- A friend," She catches herself, "A lover from before I came to Paris."

She doesn't think she's convincing, but it works well enough on Aramis who grits his teeth.

"He's why you came to Paris," It's not a question. He knows she had fled a bad situation and, based on her reaction, this man was the situation she was running from, "Show me him and I'll take care of it."

"What? No, Aramis," She gently touches his cheek, soothing the murder swimming in his eyes, "I came to Paris because of my mother. Dear Cäraus had nothing to do with that."

"Then why-"

"If he identifies me in front of all these people, not only will it ruin the plan, but she'll surely find me again."

And things will never be the same.

He just nods, but that is all confirmation he needs to know for sure, she is nobility. They've all suspected for a while, she never really held herself like a lowborn, as much as she may have tried. Perhaps that suspicion is what made the soldiers feel somewhat responsible for her, at least at the start. There's no question now of their collective fondness for her, and they couldn't imagine a world without her.

"What do you want me to do?"

"I don't know," She admits, "He just can't see me."

He signals to their companions and escorts her just outside the ballroom.

"What is it?" Athos asks.

"A complication," Aramis sighs, "There's a man in there, by name of Cäraus, who knows Amélia's face. If he names her."

The three men share a look and Porthos shakes his head, "I'll take care of it. Show me."

He and Amélia peer around the doorway at the guests.

"That one, with the mid-length black hair tied back with the gold cord and the reddish-brown jacket," She whispers.

"Violent?"

"Goodness no! Cäraus has always been a sweetheart."

"Alright, give me four minutes."

"Porthos!" She catches his hand as he steps away, her eyes pleading with him, "Be gentle? I'd hate to see him truly injured."

"I'll do my best," He smiles, kissing the back of her hand.

She finds herself sighing as she drops her head on Aramis's shoulder, "And here I thought the worst danger I would be in was getting stabbed."

"And if he does name you?" Athos asks.

She turns just enough to smile hopelessly at him, forehead still pressed against her lover's shoulder, "I get dragged back to a life I spent the last three years running from."

"I'd never let that happen," Aramis argues, hugging her tightly.

"Neither would I," Athos assures her, placing his hand on her back.

A warm feeling blossoms in her chest at their affection. She loves her musketeers dearly. She knows she could never deny them should they come looking for her help. They're the family she'd always wanted but never thought she could have. She would fight to her last breath for them without hesitation.

"What did Desiré say?" Athos asks and she straightens.

"Not much, but he seems... enticed," She grimaces, "He expects me to dance with him."

"Like hell you are." Aramis scoffs, strengthening his hold.

"Aramis-"

"No, Athos. I won't let that... that monster lay his hands on her!"

"I can handle Desiré," She assures them, "But first you have to dance with me."

"Dance?"

"Well the idea was to entice him with a bored wife at a party full of strangers, but someone," She grips his chin, "Decided to play the overly affectionate, doting husband. I didn't think he would believe it if I didn't dance with my adoring husband at least once."

"Well then," He offers his hand and leads her to the dancefloor when she takes it.

Athos rolls his eyes. He's almost offended she thinks he wouldn't fit the role of affectionate husband, but he knows he wouldn't have held a candle to Aramis's performance.

Porthos quickly finds the man in the crowd.

"Pardon me, Monsieur, but there seems to be-" He freezes for a moment when the man turns to face him. Those eyes, pale and silver as the moon. He would know those eyes anywhere. They're Amélia's eyes.

"Yes?"

Porthos shakes off his surprise, "There seems to be a problem with your horses. If you would come with me."

"You do know how to dance, don't you?" Aramis asks as he takes her waist, "It would be horribly embarrassing if our mission failed because you have two left feet."

She smacks the back of his head, making him laugh, "Sorry, I'm sure you dance beautifully."

And she does. As soon as the music starts she falls into step as though it were second nature. They glide across the floor effortlessly, her skirts elegantly fanning around her with every turn and twirl.

Her fingers twist in the hair at the back of his neck, looking at him with stars in her eyes.

"I've never seen someone more gorgeous," He murmurs, lifting her off her feet, "To hold you is to hold the heavens themselves in my arms."

"Aramis," She giggles at his flattery as he spins them. She pulls him into a kiss when she finds the ground again.

"You're being watched, my love," She feels his hand tighten on her hip. Another turn and she sees Desiré's gaze locked on her form. Aramis can see the disgust in her eyes and lifts her hand to his lips, "I Hate this plan."

"You're not the one who has to play nice with him," She scoffs, "God help me."

He presses his forehead to hers, "Call my name and I'll come running."

"I know you will," She sighs, eyes falling closed for a moment.

They part when the song comes to an end, but when she goes to seek her mark out, he's nowhere to be found.

"Desiré stepped out onto the terrace," She jumps when Athos speaks behind her.

"Aramis laid it on too thick," She huffs.

"You think? No one in this room thinks you'd ever go off alone with another man."

She thinks for a moment and suddenly takes his hand, "I have a plan, come with me."

She brings him over to the windows, ushering him behind the curtains, out of sight to anyone except whoever may be out on the terrace.

She joins him, their chests pressed together and he looks at her confused.

"What are you doing?"

"Can he see us?"

He glances outside and sees Desiré watching them curiously, "Yes?"

She reaches up to touch his cheek, the other holding the leather lapel of his jacket, "Athos, I need you to kiss me."

"What?"

"Kiss me as though you love me, please."

He searches her face for a moment before he gently takes it in his hands and leans in.

The kiss is soft at first, slow and hesitant, as if he's scared they'd both break from it. But then he presses harder, their lips moving together perfectly. One hand moves to cup the back of her head, his tongue sweeping across her bottom lip.

He's surprised when she lets him in, but he doesn't squander the opportunity. He takes his time exploring her, tasting the sweet wine that was served lingering her tongue, drinking in her little moans like they were all that could sustain him.

His other hand pulls her closer by the waist and he feels the hand on his chest grip the back of his neck.

"Athos," She sighs, tugging him close again when he pulls back, and he obliges, kissing her as though he'll never get the chance again.

For a moment he forgets everything. The mission, his own broken past, everything. For one blissful moment, all he knows is her lips against his, the smell of her skin, and the heaving of her chest.

"Athos."

He kisses her again and he feels her smile against his lips.

"Athos."

"Mm! Yes?" He hums, pulling away just enough to lean his forehead on hers, their noses bumping as he stares down at her with a loving gaze.

"Is he still looking?"

"Who, darling?" He pets her hair, cupping her cheek and smiling softly at her. It's as though her kiss has turned him drunk.

It's so rare to see him so content, and she wishes she didn't have to break whatever spell has been cast, but she sees no other choice, "Desiré. Is he still watching?"

Her heart breaks when his affectionate smile disappears and he pulls away, glancing over her shoulder again.

"Yes," His eyebrows furrow as he desperately tries to come up with a new plan that doesn't involve her being alone with him.

"Amélia wait!" He catches her arm when she turns to leave and pulls her back against his lips, catching them both by surprise. She looks at him in shock when they break, "Be safe."

She nods and ducks out onto the terrace, face surely flushed as she fans herself with her hand.

"Oh! Pardon me, Monsieur," She curtsies slightly, pretending to be surprised, "I didn't know anyone was out here."

"Needed some air?"

"Indeed."

"Have you ever been to the estate before, Madam LaBlanc?" He asks after a moment.

"I haven't."

"The gardens here are stunning by moonlight," He continues, sidling up to her and offering his arm, "It would be my pleasure to show you."

She smiles coyly as she takes his arm, "That sounds wonderful."

He leads her through the gardens, her stomach twisting with the path, but she reminds herself Athos and Aramis won't be far behind.

"You're quite an attractive woman," His words pull her from her head.

"Monsieur?"

"It's a shame your musketeer friend won't be able to save you now."

"What-" He slaps her before gripping her cheeks.

"You think we wouldn't notice him sneaking around in the dark?" He spits, "My men took care of him just as the party started."

D'Artagnan.

"And the one you sent off with the prince?" He sneers, squeezing her tighter, "He never saw them coming. Just one left. Your little lover back at the party with your idiot husband."

"I don't-"

"Does he know you're fucking your guard?" He asks, "Do you want him to know?"

She struggles against him when he forces his lips on hers, "Be a good thing for me and stay quiet and I'll keep your dirty little secret."

She gasps when he tears at the front of her dress, glass gems scattering across the ground when he yanks her necklace from her neck.

"You're the second one I've spirited away here and fucked, I think I'm developing a taste for it."

"Not if I can help it," A voice says behind them and she sighs in relief.

Desiré spins around to see Aramis pointing his pistol at him and scoffs at the sight.

"Let the lady go, there's a good man."

He shoves her to the ground behind him and grabs at the barrel of the gun, twisting it out of the musketeer's hand before hitting him with the grip, knocking him unconscious.

"Aramis!" She scrambles past her assailant, falling to her knees beside him, "Aramis please- No!"

Desiré grabs her skirt and drags her back toward him, the sound of ripping fabric filling the air.

"Athos!" She screams, struggling to get away, "Atho-"

His large hand grips her throat, tugging her back awkwardly, "Shut your whore mouth!"

He flips her onto her back and pins her down as he starts to push up her skirts.

"No! Ah- Athos!" She cries again, earning another hard slap.

"That's enough!"

She angles her neck back to see him standing just up the path, pistol in hand, "Athos."

Desiré tenses when a blade appears across his throat, held by Porthos, a second held by D'Artagnan pressing into his back, "Get off the lady."

He lifts himself enough for her Athos to take her hand and pull her to her feet. She clings to him, trembling against his chest.

"You're safe now," He whispers, stroking her hair and kissing her head, "I have you."

"Porthos, arrest him. D'Artagnan, check on Aramis," He orders, "We're leaving in the morning."

He holsters his pistol and lifts her in his arms, murmuring soft reassurances as he carries her back to their rooms.

She holds tight to his arm when he sets her on the bed and he kneels in front of her, keeping himself close if that's what she wants.

"What happened?" She sniffles.

"Aramis went after you and I went to find Porthos," He explains, running his thumb across her knuckles before holding the back of her hand to his lips, "I shouldn't have left his side, I'm so sorry."

When Aramis wakes he does so with a start and goes straight into fight mode as he jumps to his feet.

"Where is she?!" He snaps, swaying with a sudden head rush.

"Athos brought her inside," D'Artagnan is quick to steady his friend, "I'll bring you."

Aramis lets himself lean D'Artagnan as the make their way toward their quarters, "Is she hurt?"

"Maybe a little scraped up," He admits, "But mostly just scared."

"I should have shot him."

They eventually make it to the bedroom to find Athos knelt at her feet as though in prayer as he clutches her hands.

"Aramis!"

Athos lets her pull away, lost without her touch when she runs to him.

He stumbles from D'Artagnan's hold, collapsing against her. He takes her face in his hands, "Your cheek."

A bruise has begun to darken where she had been hit, but her main concern is him.

"You're bleeding," She says, "Sit down."

"I'll kill him," He growls, turning back toward the door."

"No!" She holds him tighter, "Sit down, Aramis."

He does as she says, pulling her into his lap when he sits on the side of the bed.

"I can't do much, confined to your lap," She retorts, but he isn't listening.

His hand hovers just over her cheek, half scared she'll crumble to nothing at his touch, shoulders relaxing when she leans into it, "Just... let me hold you."

"Here," Athos avoids her eyes as he hands her a bowl of water and cloth.

He abruptly leaves with their younger companion as soon as she takes it, leaving the lovers alone.

The sunrise comes faster than any of them expect.

The star finds Amélia and Aramis wrapped in each others arms, both of them still awake and shaken from the previous night's events.

The group readies and reassembles in near silence, each of them yearning to get back to Paris and put this whole debacle behind them.

Desiré had been handed over to the local authorities and would be transported to Paris under full guard later in the week.

She's too tired to ride and it takes little convincing to get her to ride in the coach. Athos opens the door but just as she moves to get in a voice sounds behind them, "Émila?"

She turns to see her brother who looks overjoyed, "It is you!"

He freezes mid-hug when Athos starts to draw his sword, still on edge.

She places her hand on his with a reassuring smile, "It's alright."

The siblings step away and she throws herself into his arms.

"Dear Cäraus," She kisses his cheek, "I've missed you so much!"

"We thought you were dead."

"Please keep it that way," She begs, pulling away from him, "I'm happy here and we both know what will happen if she knows where I am.:

He nods solemnly and she touches his cheek.

"Know that I am happy and well. But please pretend you haven't seen me."

"I love you, dear sister," He murmurs against her hands, "But if you wish to stay with these men, whoever they are, then I am not the one to stop you."

They part with one last lingering hug, knowing they likely will never see each other again.

"Keep the younger ones safe," She whispers as she pulls away, smiling as she rejoins her companions.

"Happy reunion?" Aramis asks, watching him walk away.

"Nothing to get jealous over," She grins up at him as Athos helps her into the coach, "I doubt we'll ever meet again."

"And besides," She leans out the open window to smirk at him, "I have my eyes on someone else."

He rides up beside the coach, beaming as he leans down to cup her cheek.

Athos grits his teeth at the scene in front of him and grips the reins of his horse, before ordering his men to move out.

[findingoblivion]

I am so fucking mad.

Full mask off. "I'm not showing you love and support"

What a fucking joke. Trans women are being systematically destroyed and deleted and it's more important to you to come onto a random popular trans girls post and spout All Lives Matter bullshit rhetoric.

Trans women have been abandoned by their brethren. You all never gave a shit in the first place but you clearly don't now.

Trans women will keep leaving this site in droves. We aren't welcome here. You talk about solidarity and how we shouldn't be fighting each other. And I agree! But to do that you need to stand up and speak out about what's happening specifically to trans women. I've seen exactly four people who aren't trans women talk about it. That's pathetic.

Do better. We're not even at the bare minimum level right now. It's not enough.

Stop actively making our lives worse. Stop making it about you. Stop buying in to terf rhetoric.

Support us. Love us. Be friends with us.

[rapidreptile]

I see this sentiment going around that it's ableist to say landlords suck because they don't work/don't contribute to society. and, while I agree that you shouldn't have to work or "contribute to society" to deserve a fair and enjoyable life, the fact that landlords provide no real work or benefit is a problem.

yes, I am mad that landlords don't actually contribute to society in any way. it's bad because they take from the people who do work. and this sounds dangerously close to anti welfare rhetoric, I know. but the amount any of us pays in taxes for other people's welfare, their ability to just survive, is laughably small, and for a good cause anyways. landlords on the other hand take your ENTIRE living, and that of a thousand others, to live in complete luxury. and all they "provide" is rental on properties they shouldn't have in the first place, that they stole from the public market. that money that landlords don't work for could be used to prevent so many from going into poverty, to help uplift those who actually can't or shouldn't have to work for whatever reason. there's a distinction to be made here. the context is entirely different.

so yes, I think you can be mad at landlords for not working. and I think you can call them societal leaches. we all know what we mean when we say that.

(personally, I'm autistic. I'm physically disabled. I have to work still, even though it destroys me and every job is downright hostile towards my existence. I shouldn't have to work. I barely can. I know well enough that I and others who have it worse shouldn't need to work to still be worthy of a good life)

[radykalny-feminizm]

I think I just lost a friend because of my views on feminism. Apparently she doesn't feel safe in this relationship anymore because "she feels uncomfortable with how my second-wave feminism rhetoric paints all men as the agressors" and "she doesn't want to be in a relationship with person with transphobic views". She was the first person I had enough courage to talk to about radical feminism after I peaked roughly a year ago. I know there is no use trying to salvage this relationship. I am crying, but I feel numb at the same time. All the cases of radical feminists being ostracised, cancelled and attacked, sometimes by their close friends, that I read about suddenly feel as tangible as these tears. I know there is no use trying to explain my values to her again, since she would only regard them as an attack on her values again (she admitted that during our discussions she felt that I was, in fact, attacking her views, which was me simply showing her the differences between hers and mine). I know she is not willing to consider a different perspective. But in my breast there is still this visceral desperation to try to make her understand.

She has been hiding this all from me for 7 months. Says it has come to a climax. I don't know what to do. I feel so alone.

I wrote about this to you, because you are Polish, too. I couldn't bring myself to use Polish in this ask, because it would make all of this more unbearable. I see more and more girls and women in Poland endorsing gender ideology or even transitioning. I cannot express how relieved I was to find that there is at least one other compatriot who understands, how it is to be a radfem.

I am terribly sorry that this happened to you. I can't imagine how betrayed and disappointed you must feel. You trusted her, and she betrayed that trust. This person was not your true friend if she rejected you because of your views that don't harm anyone.

I agree that there's no point in trying to explain things to her anymore, since you likely discussed it many times over the course of 7 months and she still didn't understand. If someone steadfastly sticks to their position and is not willing to compromise, despite being shown facts that undermine that position, then that person is simply brainwashed. Woke people are very similar in this regard to religious people. They close their minds to all uncomfortable facts and arguments because they have their set of views that they accepted without reflection and find it comfortable to hold onto. They don't have to think independently and that's convenient. She felt "attacked" because she couldn't intellectually and emotionally handle the possibility that what she and the majority of people from her environment consider to be the truth, might not actually be true.

Your story makes me angry. For fuck's sake, people are becoming radical nationalists, racists, homophobes, misogynists or religious fanatics, and they don't face the same ostracism as radical feminists, especially when they're men. It's sick. I just can't wrap my head around the fact that for some people, the worst thing you can do is simply care about women without regard for men's feelings. It shocks me that people just accept every ideology that becomes popular on the internet and are willing to destroy friendships and lives even, in its name. I know that woke cancer is becoming increasingly common in Poland, and I hate it.

But you know what? There are many of us, more than it may seem, because through situations like yours, we often have to hide. You are not alone. There are many women who don't even know what radical feminism is, but they share most of our views because they simply make sense at a logical level, based on observing reality.

Another matter is that everything comes to Poland with a delay. Here, gender madness is still a novelty accepted uncritically, while in the West this was the case a few years ago. Now, the West is slowly waking up, and more and more people are starting to see the illogicality and harm of this ideology. It will take some time for this to start in Poland as well, but it will start. Then, many people will understand that they were wrong, maybe your friend too. At this moment, the fact that you are right probably doesn't comfort you, but that's how it is. I strongly believe that although we are now being cancelled, judged, and rejected, someday at least some of the people doing this will realize their mistake. Many people who are now radical feminists were previously trans activists and male apologists, including me. Change is coming. We have to persevere and do our part.

I hope you will feel better soon. This person didn't deserve to be your friend. I hope you'll be able to find another friend who will have an open mind and heart. If you'd like, feel free to reach out to me privately. It's important for us to stick together. I am thinking of you and sending you lots of strength.

[mystargirl-interlude]

heyyyyyyyyy, thx for following me I was wondering if you could do a request where Xavier meets the reader as Wednesday’s sister and they date behind her back before she finds out and Enid has to convince her to be okay with it.

hiii thank you so much for your request I hope this if fulfills your expectations!!

I was listening to thunder while writing this so if you want the full experience listen to thunder

Requested: yes

Warning: none I don’t think?

Pairing: Xavier Thorpe x fem!reader

Word count: 941

Proofread: no

Thunder

completely moving schools because your twin decided it would be fun to try and kill a group of jocks isn't all that fun.

I was completely fine staying at the school we were at but when Wednesday got expelled I got expelled with her for not doing anything to stop her.

We ended up getting thrown in the same school mother and father went to Nevermore boarding .

Me and Wednesday are fraternal twins hence why we look nothing alike despite us not looking anything alike doesn't mean we are complete opposites I just tend to show more emotions which is why switching to Nevermore had such an impact on me.

Once we pulled into the driveway to the castle like school my I could feel my stomach twist with nerves while my parents looked ecstatic about us living the life they once lived

After zoning out most of the car ride I finally came back to my senses

"This looks like a hell hole" were the first words to come out of my mouth

"I would have to agree sister" says Wednesday with a deathly look in her eyes

"Come on girls you can continue on the Addams name" mother says

"And live in your shadow?" Me and Wednesday say in sync as a rhetorical question

I tend to disassociate quite often and didn't start paying attention until we were with some blonde girl named Enid

"That over there is Bianca the closest thing nevermore has to royalty, but lately her crowns been slipping, she used to date Nevermore's tortured artist Xavier Thorpe" she says pointing over to his direction

I see a long haired male painting what it looks like crows I can't seem to look away as he turn around as we make eye contact and unfortunately as Enid continues her tour I have to be the first to break it.

That leads us to where we are now

*two months later*

“Do you think if Wednesday caught us she would be mad?”

“It’s unpredictable when it comes to Wednesday”

ੈ✩‧₊˚

Me and Xavier entered the weathervane making our presence known with the little bell above the door

“Go sit down I’ll order” he says

This was a weekly ritual for us, since we can’t be public about our relationship yet this was the only way we had alone time

I look up to see Xavier come my way

“Okay here’s your drink”

“Thank you” I smile

“Do you ever wish that we didn’t have to sneak off every time we want to be together?” He asks

“Yeah.. all the time, but I don’t know what would happen if we didn’t. Like I know the world won’t blow up, but I just don’t want my sister to hate me.”

“Let’s talk about something else”

I replied

“Did you hear that Eugene has a crush on Enid???”

I say

“No fucking way”

I nod

“That’s actually hilarious, isn’t he like 13?”

He says

“Yeah! I kinda feel bad but it’s too funny”

He chuckled as he reached over to softly kiss me.

We stay like that for a while paying no mind to the bell ring announcing someone walking in

“Does someone want to explain what is going on or am I going to have to bring out my ropes”

I hear a familiar voice say

“WEDNESDAY”

Xavier says breaking apart from my lips clearly shocked

I look over to see Wednesday standing in front of our table tense with her eye twitching next to a very confused enid

“Uhm Wednesday I promise I can explain-“

“Can you?” She cuts me off

“I’ll wait”

“Wednesday maybe we should just leave them be they looked like they were happy” Enid says trying to grab Wednesday

“Touch me again and I will make sure your hand never gets to touch anything again”

Wednesday say

“Mm” Enid squeals

“Wednesday I know you don’t like this school or anyone in it but I do, I really do and I enjoy hanging out with everyone and I enjoy the classes and I enjoy the people and quite frankly I really like Xavier.”

You say

“I am going to go back to the dorms. I do not want to see either one of you.” Wednesday says as she walks out

“Im so sorry, I’ll talk to her” Enid cringes as she quickly catches us to Wednesday

“Oh god oh god” I rub my hands over my face

“Hey shes your sister she’s not going to be mad forever” Xavier says

“ you clearly don’t know Wednesday, she holds grudges for forever” I sigh

A few hours later

We were all in Wednesday and Enid shared dorm room

“ Wednesday whether you like it or not your sister is going to find someone she loves and someone who loves her back and even if you don’t want that to happen it’s going to be the same for you” Enid says

Wednesday slowly looks up and this is the most emotion I’ve seen her have other than when her scorpion died but it quickly goes away as her face hardens and she quickly walks towards Xavier

She gets really close to him as she quietly says

“If you ever hurt her I will tie you up and make sure you have a slow excruciating death” she says just loud enough for Xavier to hear.

Xavier quickly nods as Wednesday gives him a side eye and nods towards me.

I smile as I see her walk out

“Well, personally I think that went well” I said as Enid nods in agreement

“Uh yeah sure” Xavier says, scratching the back of his head.

[olderthannetfic]

https://www.tumblr.com/olderthannetfic/728233881369739264/the-aroace-anon-makes-me-sad-and-shows-how-fucked?source=share

I apologize in advance but this ask ticked me off, so to vent I'm going to rant about it in your ask box (I think you get a lot of that lol)

I have no idea what post OP is responding to but from context I assume that a person of the aroace persuasion doesn't feel welcome in their own identity because how vocal sex positive aces are. That must really suck and I think they need to talk to ace people in real life because I'm willing to bet the only thing that are seeing is internet wank.

I really feel for them but the unfortunate reality is that when an ace person explains that they have had sex, or is having sex, had sex once enjoyed it or is in a relationship that has sex in it, allosexual (people who experience sexual attraction) immediately go and invalidate our identity. They go "Oh you've had sex so obviously you're not ace you're het or you're gay etc." That invalidation makes the sex positive portion of the ace spectrum mad. Because we are actively being told we don't fit in our label (Which ironically, is exactly what OP is doing by saying that the label wasn't made for us)

I like sex but I have no desire to have it. People don't rev my engine (I don't even do what the hell this means lol, can you tell I'm ace?) This means so I don't feel sexual attraction which is the exactly definition that OP is using for asexuality. My having to explain this and the frequency in which I have to explain this that means that I am louder than the asexuals who don't have to explain. And presto, by the nature of the internet, it means that I'm what you find when you go look for asexual representation on the internet.

I also take issue with the definition this OP has for sex repulsion. If enjoying sex as an ace person is one side of the spectrum. Not wanting and/or enjoying sex is the middle of the spectrum.

If your sex repulsed you are at the other end of the spectrum. Implying that sex repulsed people are traumatized and need therapy is a misrepresentation at best. It's just another micro label ace people use to get across their experiences. All that label implies is that you have a strong aversion to sex. That could be due to you finding sex objectively disgusting or due to past trauma. There could be a million other reason to identify as sex repulsed.

What sex repulsion does not imply is that there is something wrong with you for not wanting sex and you need to go to therapy to fix it.

It's like getting into a car crash and never wanting to drive again. There may be some impact on your lifestyle but it's not the end of the world. Having some sort of sexual trauma happen to you and never wanting sex again is a valid reaction and never getting over that is okay. It absolutely doesn't invalidate identifying as asexual.

Point in fact asexuality has always been an identity that people want to wish away with medical intervention. We say we don't feel any sexual attraction and they say you should see a doctor about that, you must be depressed. Of course there is something wrong with you if you don't want sex, everyone likes sex.

You're sex repulsed?? You should have therapy about that. This kind of medical rhetoric happens all the time because our society puts emphasis sex in relationships. A healthy sex life equals a healthy relationships which is absolutely not how it works. Thus you are defective if you don't want sex but especially if there is a reason you don't want sex.

Sex repulsed is a label real asexual people actually use to identify themselves. And OP should not judge other people for what labels they use because OP doesn't like "implications" of the word repulsed. I realise that OP is coming from a position of sympathy here and that aro/ace person absolutely should not have to use a label that they don't identity with but the reasons that OP states aren't valid.

I absolutely agree some people don't have any experience with sex and when they get it they will realise that they weren't ace after all. That doesn't invalidate thinking they were ace at the time. Sometimes a label doesn't work out long term. The amount of stories I've heard from people that used to be ace but figured out that they actually just don't like guys or girls. Or they like sex fine they just don't like the romantic part. Asexuality is frequently a stopping block for people until they find an identity that better suits them. That's just part of ace culture too.

So in summary get off my lawn OP you don't know what your talking about. Sympathizing isn't enough. Try looking up ace Mirco labels and see how many different ways there are to be ace in either direction.

--

Scroll back.

[ireneksstuff]

Rant below

I'm sorry the fuck did WE do???

Like I think this whole thing started mainly with crows being mad ab the fucking eyeball lore rp, and some of them literally overstepping tubbos boundaries, being borderline ableist, and then accusing him of spreading homophobic rhetoric (and I'm not just referring to that ONE person, that post had like 15 reblogs with people agreeing with them and a lot more likes)

And when we rightfully called them out, they all doubled down until their OWN streamer called them out (bc tubbo addressing it did nothing)

And then sunny happened. Sunny had been expecting good things from phil and tallulah and chayanne bc tubbo spoke very highly of them. And even if it wasn't for tallulah s distrust, which I can write a thesis about tbh(since I think it's unfair to expect sunny to be ok with people disliking her for where she was from) Phil's language was insensitive towards a very traumatized kid that he had not build a stable relationship with. That's a fact. He didn't talk to empanada like that, so why did he towards sunny?

Yes, he did not mean to do that. But the Tubblings used it as an opportunity to have an angst moment. And crows fucking LOST IT. Like no we do not hate Phil guys.We love that old man. We can still make angsty theories with his interactions with sunny.

ALSO, when it was PHILS turn to take lore srsl, he acted the same way he did always due to not realising the gravity of tubbos' death. And that is not a bad thing. But when the Tubblings, instead of getting upset ab him not participating seriously in the lore,we chose to add it into the story, crows were all over it with meta reasons for why we shouldn't do that.

Like do you want serious lore or not? Pick one

I'm not here to pick a fight. Many tubblings have also gone to crows blogs and have sent hate and death threats which are NOT acceptable no matter what.

I'm just trying to point out that the pure hypocrisy that some crows have shown has made tubblings be fed up with this bs. Cause we expect the hate now.

Again we love phil. I was a crow first and i know thats the same for many of us.

However, EVERY time that he interacts with tubbo or when bolas are mentioned, I just feel the exhaustion of preparing for the disaster that my feed will be, due to like 3 crows starting shit, and then tubblings defending themselves.

I'm not kidding. Every tubbling was ready for war on twt when they did the prank, and we were relieved that at least we had the doozers with, so we wouldn't face this shit again on our own.

I am tired of this shit. I love hanging around in Phil's chat when he's playing qsmp. But when I read chat messages like these, I'm just angry? Disappointed that this is still happening? Like you can claim that we are toxic all you want, but so far, every time our communities have been at each others throats its been the crows picking the fights(and no making angsty hc ab the possible perception of a characters behavior does not count, it's normal fandom behavior)

Even while writing this, I had to check my language like 10 times to make sure I didn't piss people off for no reason.

Whether you like it or not, the toxicity didn't start with us

[magical-glimpse]

Hexing, evil eye and everything harms

So, I recently got hexed and talked about it, and I think this is a great time for me to talk about what hexes are and how to protect yourself from them, as a continuation of my two protection posts.

First, what is baneful magic ?

In the dictionary :

Baneful : Causing harm, ruin, or death; harmful. Portending harm; ominous. Having poisonous qualities; deadly; destructive; injurious; noxious; pernicious.

Usually, what people call baneful is actually super relative to culture, religions and individual practice. it can includes : hexes/curses/jinxes, love spells, domination spells, blood magic, binding, banishing etc. There is a lot of rhetoric from different people that try to keep people away from these spells. For example the rule of Three, which states that everything you put out comes back three times, is a Wiccan religious belief that is in no way applicable to all witches. Some people's views of "karma" or other "universal justice" ideas. I am personally of the opinion that, if your guide and your moral compass agree, there is nothing wrong with giving universal justice a little boost with a bit of a reasonably measured hex. But as a general thing, it should take place in an informed, cultivated practice and not just a "i'm mad at my ex so i'm gonna pick this random tiktok spell i saw and write his name on it". No. That is the best way to get yourself in trouble.

What is a hex ?

A hex is, at its core, someone sending negative or unwanted energy your way. We can commonly see a few types of hexes:

The Evil Eye, the most common, easiest one, that everyone probably got at one point in their life. At its core, the Evil Eye is about people wishing ill intent on you from seeing you succeed. As an example, I made eye contact with someone that was jealous of me while i was on stage and i almost tripped on a floor that had no reason to make me trip. It is usually considered to be easy solved by not showing your achievements you know are jealous, basic cleansing, throwing salt over your shoulder, using a talisman etc. I'm pretty sure most if every culture has a concept of evil eye so look into what you resonate with best (in the limits of what is open to you).

The Jinx: it's almost the cute version of an hex ? It's like causing a bit of a bad luck, like missing the bus, breaking your phone screen, missing an appointment etc. it tends to not last very long, a few hours or so.

The hex: it is both a general term and what people tend to do. It's the " can't keep one up with a new gf", "have constant bad breath", "flat tire", "might lose your job" one. it can wildly vary in intensity depending on your current protection, how close the target and practionner are and the nature of the spell. The Curse: This is when shit goes DOWN DOWN. Generational trauma typa shit, illnesses might pop up typa shit, divorce typa shit. To this day, I have never seen anyone being truly cursed. Usually the energy ends up being transformed into lessons for the descendants or the target after a while, and its goal it to point out specific toxic behaviors or issues rather than just cause chaos.

How to cast a hex ?

I am pretty sure i answered a ask about this once, my goal here is not exactly to give a recipe for all hexes but at least guidelines so you know how to start and where to look. Hexes, just like all spells, are about creating an energy and sending it. In this particular case, it is about creating "mud" and throwing it at someone. Here is the thing: you cannot throw mud without getting your hands dirty. How dirty your hands get depend on what you are throwing, if you are taking precautions and how much you are cleaning after. I know it gets told time and time again, but don't do a hex as your first spell if you dont have a good handle yet on protection and cleansing spells. The reason why they are recommended for beginners is because they are easy, don't typically explode in your face easily, and they are diverse, therefore allowing you to test out what you vibe with and don't. Also, they teach you necessary skills. Otherwise, it works as any other spell. If you do it with leeway for the universe (and you take precautions and cleanse) the cost for you will probably be energy, headache etc. If your goal is to specifically make a certain situation happen for someone, it will require a sacrifice on your part, that you may not have control over. I am currently being coached and taught about spellwork, so in a few months I might revisit this post and explain things differently and add more info.

How to know you have been hexed ?

If bad shit starts happening out of nowhere, it might be worth asking the question.

Here is a list of things I have experienced or have seen people experience from being hexed:

nightmares

sleep paralysis

bad luck

fire alarms going of at specific hours

people being unusually mean or intolerant to you

getting weird or scary visions (VISIONS, not hallucinations, if you are not intuitive this does not apply, if this is not already in your belief system this does not apply)

stuff falling, breaking, not working, getting lost etc

having difficulty reading, channeling

feeling blockages

getting sick, nauseous, getting a migraine, getting a crisis of an already existing illness

getting into arguments

protections and wards acting weird

pets acting weird

The thing is, any number of those things can happen for a hundred reasons that are not even remotely spiritual. If there is another possible explanation, check it first. I promise you it is a lot more likely than someone hexing you.

Okay, so now i know i got hexed what do i do ?

Congrats you got hexed.

Start by not panicking.

Even though it sounds scary, it is probably a lot easier to get rid of it than you think. You can start by checking my protection 101 and protection 102. Cleanse deeply yourself, your room and your spirit and add some protections. Once it is done, if you still feel negative energy around, you can try cleansing one more time, or it may mean your guides are inviting you to look into yourself and heal some parts of yourself that the hex brought out.

After you got hexed

This is the official point where you can start throwing hands with the person that sent you the spell. No, i'm kidding. Okay, maybe not. But yeah, it is a point where you restore your protections and can pat yourself on the back for succeeding at getting rid of an hex. Good job!

[delta-queerdrant]

how do you solve a problem like Chakotay? (Tattoo, s2 e9)

I have been away from this space for a number of boring reasons (including, to be transparent, cheating on Janeway with my space cop boyfriend Odo. Why do the good girls go for the lawful neutral boys?)

But also, Tattoo! Yikes on bikes! When I first realized I’d be reviewing this episode, I felt a powerful impulse to back away slowly, as if from wasps. My aversion came from a place of contempt for this episode, probably the low point of the imaginative failure that is Chakotay. At the same time, I was not sure what to do with my anger. It’s easy for white people to become a little too enamored with our own hot takes; I am ill-equipped to speak to the impact of a narrative that’s racist, anti-Indigenous storytelling all the way down.

I imagined I’d compile a reading list by Indigenous writers who could talk with authority about “Tattoo.” The reading list has become a comfortable rhetorical move for white cultural critics, a stay in our lane impulse. A reading list attempts to re-center marginalized voices, though it’s rarely a call to action (unless that action is read books). In this case, the reading list was elusive. I couldn’t find much non-paywalled content discussing this episode at length, with the exception of this illuminating review by comics artist Rob Schmidt. 

What does it mean to do low stakes cultural criticism on Tumblr dot com? If this is a quiet space for playful self-reflection about my Television Feelings, then I think we can agree that nobody particularly needs my thoughts on the impact of “Tattoo,” or the Kazon, or any of the other ill-conceived ways that Star Trek has handled race. I will continue to get mad about these artistic choices, but my anger is not load-bearing. You can’t build anything with it.

The best I can probably do here, and throughout these reviews, is to excavate the contours of my own relationship with science fiction. I think white people have quite a lot we need to say about whiteness, and our penchant for racist science fiction, and how we could perhaps redirect our creative impulses elsewhere. 

To summarize the episode - Chakotay visits a Delta Quadrant moon and recognizes a symbol that reminds him of a childhood visit to his people’s ancestral home on Earth. As a young man, nonconformist Chakotay wasn’t much interested in his ancestors’ traditional lifeways, and even now, he’s agnostic about some of their religious beliefs. Nearby, a planet has flora and fauna similar to the Earth rainforest Chakotay remembers visiting. When he’s separated from the away team, he encounters aliens who can “control the elements of nature” and seem to share his tribe’s culture.

In a block of decidedly clunky exposition, we learn that these aliens visited hunter-gatherers on Earth millennia ago. The early humans are described as having “no spoken language, no culture, except the use of fire and stone weapons.” Okay then! The aliens gave them “an inheritance, a genetic bonding so they might thrive and protect your world.” The genes motivated the hunter gatherers to travel to the Americas, where they passed down memories of the aliens, who became key figures in Chakotay’s people’s religion. Chakotay now understands himself, his father, and the aliens as people called to “honor the land” and defend it.

(Meanwhile, the Doctor programs himself to experience a respiratory illness and proceeds to have what I believe is known in the vernacular as a “man-flu.” It’s very silly.)

If “Tattoo” was well received, I think it was because of the emotional heft of this episode, which figures Chakotay as the diaspora kid who rediscovers his roots and connects with his father’s memory. I would have liked an episode that fully explored what it means to be Indigenous and diasporic, and how Chakotay’s identity informed his decision to join the Maquis.

This is not really the episode we got. Instead “Tattoo,” in the vein of white supremacist conspiracy theory tome Chariot of the Gods, imagines that Indigenous people are magical space boys whose religion and culture are gifts from aliens. Now, Captain Planet-like, they have been tasked to protect their homelands, conveniently letting the rest of us off the hook. 

“Tattoo” erases the truth and specificity of Indigenous cultures and origins—of people who were and are energized by their own intelligence and agency, and who have actively maintained specific and rooted ways of being in the world despite 500 years of material and cultural genocide. It doesn’t help that the prehistory depicted in the episode is utterly confused. The ancestors described in this episode are apparently early humans, long before the migration into the Americas, but the timeline is so muddled that the episode resolves into a narrative of “Indigenous people require alien intervention in order to have a culture.”

I think “Tattoo” is really a white fantasy, because white people would like nothing better than to be magical racialized space boys. To be chosen, to be connected at once to a homeland and a cosmic other, satisfies a hunger born of our collective imaginations. White people don’t really care who built our sacred sites, if our culture heroes are exploded in favor of New Age nonsense, because our legitimacy as people with a history and a destiny is nevertheless secure. (Though there are probably limits to our popular embrace of the New Age - I can’t imagine a Star Trek where Jesus is the one receiving genetic messages from aliens.)

To complicate my analysis, I'll note that a white Jewish author wrote the teleplay for “Tattoo,” and in the episode’s Wikipedia page, Robert Beltran says “Tattoo” resonated with his experience of feeling disconnected from his Latino heritage. There is a story about diaspora here, however clumsily executed. As a person of Jewish ancestry, I’m not surprised that creators from diaspora communities turn to speculative fiction to recreate lost pasts for marginalized characters. It’s easy to lose your history, and this loss is compounded in a world where whiteness swallows difference.

Star Trek has always had a race problem. In my twenties, I began to learn about the antecedents of the science fiction and fantasy genres - adventure fiction and Westerns, genres steeped in ideologies of Rule Britannia and manifest destiny. If Star Trek was originally pitched as “Wagon Train to the Stars,” then perhaps the aliens have always been “Indians.” But Star Trek also has a progressive streak that has lent itself to diverse casting. What does it mean when the same universe contains allegories for minorities and real-world minorities?

I have to admit I'm a sucker for a good science fiction allegory. As a kid from a mixed-faith background, I loved watching Worf negotiate his Klingon ancestry and human upbringing. (I only realized as an adult that the Rozhenkos are Jewish coded!) I'm not saying that Worf is great or perfect representation of multicultural identity, but there is something about allegory that can powerfully voice our lived experiences. (The trans allegory in the recent Nimona film adaptation is an exceptional example of this.)

As best as I can tell, the trick to writing fictional "races" and real racialized characters is one and the same - handling the cultures you're depicting with care, eschewing biased stereotypes in favor of nuanced, complex, informed worldbuilding. The showrunners of Voyager did not exercise care.

I want a Star Trek in which the characters feel rooted in real cultures, whether they’re alien or human. I want Harry Kim to have a cultural identity, and I want Chakotay to belong to a real-world Indigenous community. If science fiction is about curiosity, then I want white writers and showrunners who are genuinely curious about the stories they don’t have the expertise to tell—and who are willing to give space to those who do.

1/5 prize Vulcan orchids.

[dandelionterminal]

Invisible String Part 8 - Chapter 4: His Mate, Fickle: Part One

link to next part (coming soon)

Notes:

I thought it best to split this one into two parts because they feel like separate major incidents in the arc. This one covers the Undertaker and the next one will cover Viscount Druitt. I took some creative liberties with Madam Red's censored gossip.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter 4 - His Mate, Fickle: Part One

A horse-drawn carriage pulled into the front of a stately estate as Ciel, Sebastian, and Adelaide arrived at the Phantomhive manor house in London. 

“I hate this,” Adelaide said. “There are far too many people in London.” 

“I agree,” Ciel said. “They migrate en masse during the season like birds.” 

“Respectfully, my lord, why was I required to accompany you?” Adelaide asked. “I am your governess, I will be no help on this case.” 

“You are here to assist Sebastian,” Ciel said. “Both of you are connected to the supernatural. You both may be required if there is a supernatural element to this case.”

“Think of it this way,” Sebastian said with a faux smile on his face. “It will be a nice change of pace. It will give us some peace and quiet.” 

“Peace and quiet do sound nice,” Ciel said as he ascended the stairs. 

As Sebastian opened the office door, a ghastly scene was revealed. The office was overturned, books stacked everywhere, linens and cups pulled out of cupboards, toys littering the furniture. At the center of it all was Lau, staring into a vase. Madam Red was in a cupboard, rummaging and talking about tea. 

The trio at the door stood dumbfounded and annoyed. “So much for peace and quiet,” Adelaide stated. “You’ll be lucky if you are not assaulted again by the madam,” she whispered to the demon. 

“Oh, that is what is on your mind?” Sebastian whispered back with a grin. “Feeling jealous, are we?” 

Adelaide scoffed, crossing her arms. “Not in the slightest. I’m worried for her health is all.” Truth be told, she did not know why Madam Red’s fascination with Sebastian bothered her so much. She sighed as she watched Ciel shout at the opium lord, his aunt, and the inept butler named Grell. 

“If you are here in London it can only mean one thing, my lord,” Lau stated. 

Madam Red smiled darkly. “The Queen’s Guard Dog must have a new scent to follow.”

-

Sebastian set the nobles up for tea as Adelaide busied herself with cleaning up the mess the madam and Lau had made. 

“He struck again,” Ciel said, sipping tea. “Another prostitute was found murdered in Whitechapel. The level of violence in these killings is far from normal.” 

“The most recent victim was a woman named Mary Ann Nichols. A special blade seems to have been used on her. She was torn up beyond recognition,” Sebastian stated grimly. 

“His distinctive style of killing has earned him the nickname Jack the Ripper,” Ciel stated sternly.

“A frightening name, isn’t it?” Lau asked rhetorically.

“The grotesque nature is why I am here earlier than expected. I hurried into the city to look into the cases myself,” the young earl responded. 

Lau set his teacup down with a smirk. “But are you sure you will be brave enough to stomach the crime scene? And it most certainly isn’t a place for a lady such as your governess.”

Ciel frowned. “What do you mean by that?”

Lau continued. “The sight of the dismembered body is probably more than enough to drive some men mad. The stench and sight will certainly be horrific as well,” Lau stood fluidly and made his way over to Ciel. “Are you and your governess prepared for such a thing? You are just a young boy and the governess is a lady,” he cupped the boy’s cheek tenderly. 

“I am the head of the Phantomhives. My service is to her majesty. By proxy, my staff’s service is as well. We are more than prepared. Do not ask such foolish questions,” Ciel said firmly with a glare. 

-

In the crowded streets of London, Ciel and his posse is found approaching the crime scene of the latest Jack the Ripper victim. Ciel, Sebastian, and Adelaide approach the alleyway from the crowd, drawing the eyes of one of the Scotland Yard members. He was younger, with red hair and a friendly smile. He leaned down to speak to Ciel. “Sorry, my boy. I’m afraid a crime scene is no place for a child. You should run along home now,” he said. 

Ciel stared up at him and bluntly said “I’m here to see the victim’s body.”

This shocked and angered the ginger man. “The body?! Surely you’re playing a joke!”

From the shadows came a voice calling to the ginger man. “Abberline!” The holder of the voice came forward, revealing a top hat and wrinkled face adorned with a stern mustache a sideburns. “Well if it isn’t the Lord of Phantomhive… what are you doing here?” 

The red-headed man, Abberline, turned to the mustached man, “You know this kid, sir?”

Ciel smirked deviously. “We’ve come to help, Sir Arthur. It seems your investigation is dragging a bit.” He held up the letter he received from the queen proudly. “You know who sent me, of course.” 

Both men stared at him in shock. Ciel took the opportunity to snatch the papers Abberline was holding from his hands. Adelaide looked at the papers over his shoulder. “It looks as though they have found no clues yet, my lord,” she said. 

Sir Arthur took the papers back from the boy and declared that Scotland Yard was fully capable of solving the case on their own. With that they left, heading to an associate who may have more information. 

-

As the group traveled in their carriage, Sebastian and Adelaide steered the horses. Sebastian, eyes still on the road ahead, asked his mate a question. 

“Are you wearing the pendant I gave you?” he asked. 

“Yes,” she responded, her tone laced with slight disgust. 

Sebastian smiled smugly. “Good, I’m glad to hear it.” While the pendant was for her protection, it also satisfied a need in the demon to have a claim on the human woman. She would now carry his aura with her at all times, signaling to all the other demons and entities that she was his. “It will help keep you safe. If you are ever in danger and cannot call for me, squeeze it and I will feel it.” 

“That’s creepy,” she said. “But I will keep a note of it, monsieur.” 

-

The group arrived at a morbidly decorated building. A large sign with the inscription of “undertaker” drew the eye to the skulls decorating the top of the shop. 

As everyone observed the building, Lau lifted his hands in confusion. “So… where are we?”

“It’s a funeral parlor run by an acquaintance of my lord’s,” Sebastian said, observing Adelaide out of the corner of his eye. The woman was standing halfway behind him, squinting at the door to the shop. She could feel something off about the building. It carried similar energy to Madam Red’s butler, but older and more intimidating. 

The group made their way into the shop, Ciel leading the charge. “If we are looking for answers this is the place to go.”

The shop was dark. The only light came from the open door and curtained windows. In the dim light, Adelaide could see the main area was lined with coffins and jars full of formaldehyde and body parts. An anatomical mannequin stood in a corner, watching the group enter. 

A menacing laugh came from the darkness. “Welcome. I thought I’d be seeing you before long,” a scratchy voice said. Lau, Grell, and Madam Red stood back to back, looking for the owner of the voice. Adelaide subconsciously gripped Sebastian’s sleeve, eyes wide and trying to see in the darkness. The demon internally purred at the gesture, his chest puffing a bit in pride.

Rattling like thunder came from the shadows as the voice continued to speak. A silver-haired man with long hair, black claw-like nails, and shining green eyes covered by bangs emerged from a coffin. “My lord it is so lovely to see you. Do I finally have the pleasure of fitting you for one of me coffins today?” the man, the Undertaker, asked as he revealed himself from the coffin. His long, black robes and hat were finally on display. Adelaide gripped Sebastian’s sleeve tighter as Lau, Madam Red, and Grell looked at the Undertaker in shock. 

“No that isn’t why I’m here,” Ciel began, bored. “I wanted to-” before he was cut off by the Undertaker with a hand on his cheek. 

“No need, I’m already fully aware,” the Undertaker said. He lifted his head slightly and took in the sight of Adelaide, who was half behind Sebastian and squinting at the Undertaker. The Undertaker’s already devious smile widened at the sight of her. “One of my recent customers was a bit unusual, shall we say? I helped make her beautiful again,” he said, smiling and moving his hands. 

“I would like the details, please,” Ciel said plainly. 

Lau piped up from his position. “I see. So the funeral parlor is just a cover business. So how much is it for information?” he asked, hands on his hips. 

The Undertaker bolted over to Lau and got into his face, making Lau bend backwards to keep space between them. “I have no need for the Queen’s coins!” he declared. “There is only one thing that I want from you!” he turned to Ciel, practically drooling. “Please my lord. Give it to me and I’ll tell you anything!” 

Adelaide looked on, eyes wide, ready to step in and help the boy. Sebastian held her back, however, and pointed out Ciel’s expression. The boy looked exasperated. He was not afraid of the man or uncomfortable at all. 

“Just give me the gift of true laughter!” the Undertaker proclaimed. “Just one joke and all me information is yours!” the man (being?) panted and writhed around in his place. 

“Cet homme est un fou…” Adelaide mumbled under her breath. 

Lau, with a completely serious face, spoke up again. “Leave it to me, my lord. Here is my joke,” he lifted his head. “It is a classic. On which side does a tiger have the most stripes? On the outside,” he smiled, proud of himself, and turned to the Undertaker. “Get it?”

When everyone stayed silent, Madam Red stepped forward with determination. “My turn,” she announced. “I live for gossip,” she began. “This story will make you laugh so hard you may die! So Alice’s beau gave her the most extraordinary dildo for her birthday,” she said with no shame. Adelaide blushed down to her neck and covered Ciel’s ears. Sebastian, smirking, covered Adelaide’s so she would not be uncomfortable. “It was sooo wide and thick with thick veins running down the side, all the way down the shaft-” she was cut off by Adelaide when she glared at the woman and pointedly looked at Ciel. 

“Now my lord it seems you’re the only one left… I gave you a discount last time but I will not be so generous this time,” the Undertaker said, making Ciel snarl in frustration. 

“It cannot be helped,” Sebastian said, stepping forward. “Everyone please wait outside. And do not try to listen in,” he glared at the people behind him. 

While the nobles and Grell put up no fight, Adelaide refused. The door shut and she glared at the demon. “I am not leaving,” she said firmly. Truthfully, she did not know why she was determined to stay. She didn’t want to hear the joke. She just didn’t feel comfortable leaving Sebastian in there. 

“Miss DuPont, this is not something you should hear,” Sebastian said, furrowing his brows at the woman. 

“I do not care,” she said. “I am staying right here.”

“Miss DuPont I insist that you-”

“I said no. I am not leaving,” she crossed her arms and tapped her foot. 

The Undertaker laughed, not loud enough for those outside to hear, but he laughed. 

“Has the butler found someone to go toe-to-toe with?” the Undertaker asked. 

Adelaide pointed at him. “You laughed. I don’t know what you are, but you are not human. You have to answer our lord’s questions now and let us leave.”

“I will answer your questions first,” the Undertaker said, grinning. “I can see that you have many.”

Adelaide paused in her stubbornness. “What?” 

“Just ask,” the Undertaker said. “And then let the butler tell his joke so I can answer the earl’s questions.”

Adelaide thought for a moment. This being was not human and he was offering answers. What if he knew what happened that night to her parents? What if he knew why she and Luca were spared? “What caused the fire that killed my parents?” she asked. 

“Can’t answer that, sorry!” the Underaker giggled, eating a bone biscuit while lounging on a coffin. 

“But-” she began but he cut her off. “I can see many things in people’s lives, but not in yours. Your soul is not of the human realm, I can’t see what is not human,” he explained. 

“What do you mean? I’m not human?” she asked. 

“Nope. You’re closer to the butler than to human,” he said. 

Adelaide stumbled backwards, causing Sebastian to steady her and set her on a coffin to sit. She stared at the ground, feeling ill. Her soul did not belong to the human realm. 

-

After Sebastian had made the Undertaker laugh and the nobles and Grell had come back in, the Undertaker began to tell Ciel what had been happening with his latest clientele. The nobles we sat drinking tea out of beakers, Sebastian stood guard over the stunned Adelaide. “I’ve been receiving clients who are incomplete, you see?” he stated. He walked over the Adelaide, who was still in a slight daze, and used her as a prop. He pointed to her abdomen. “The uterus is missing, which is quite odd,” he said. Sebastian gave him a glare, a warning, but the Undertaker just spun off with a smile. He grabbed his model, staring at it. “He always makes a big mess of the body, but the uterus is always cleanly cut out.”

“He does these killings on the road though,” Sebastian said. “Wouldn’t someone inexperienced have a hard time completing a difficult procedure quickly enough?” 

The Undertaker smiled wider and turned around. “You’re a clever butler,” he said. “That is what I was thinking.” He walked over to Adelaide again and put a hand on her shoulder. She stiffened and glanced up at him as Sebastian contained a growl that was building in his chest. “First he slits her throat with a sharp weapon,” he said,  drawing his finger across her neck. “Then he rips into them right here,” he put his finger on her lower abdomen. Sebastian’s eyes began to glow menacingly as he clenched his fists. “And he takes that precious womanly part,” he concluded while poking her cheek. Sebastian put his hands on her shoulders and glared at the silver-haired man. “There will be more slain, I am sure,” he said. “Killers like him don’t stop until someone makes them stop.”

Adelaide watched the man as he talked to Ciel with critical eyes before looking at Grell. Their energy was similar, she was certain of it. Why would creatures like them take on such mundane jobs? She felt as if there were ulterior motives to their presence in the case.

Notes:

Cet homme est un fou - that man is a lunatic/that man is crazy/this man is crazy

[breathing-in-the-world]

How To Blow Up A Pipeline

Christening this reflections blog with a youtube video, since that's part of the goal here: I want to write reflections about nearly everything I read or watch or listen to, regardless of how long those reflections are, or how important. I want this to function as a place I can return to those reflections, to adjust them, but also to force myself to slow down and actually think on everything I've just read or watched. A challenge to the attention economy which demands constant input. I want to have to take the time to slow down and remember things. Part of this is also making sure I'm engaging with things directly instead of purely taking in third-degree commentary on them.

To that point, what we've got today is "How To Blow Up A Pipeline | So Much For Pathos" by youtuber Videokind, which is a commentary on the 2022 film How To Blow Up A Pipeline, an action film about the 2021 book of the same name by Andreas Malm, which is itself a treatise on direct action. In looking this up, I am realizing I'd actually thought the book had been written much earlier. I'd been under the impression that How To Blow Up A Pipeline had been floating around as an unpublished but still influential text that was eventually picked up by Verso, but that is not the case.

I haven't seen the film. I want to see the film. It was showing here for approximately one week when it first came out and I wasn't able to then, and it dropped off my radar afterwards. I still do very badly want to see this film and will do so hopefully somewhat soon.

The question both the book and the film ask is, at what point do you say it's enough? Not rhetorically—what is the point at which you come to the conclusion that peaceful protest is not working? What will it take for people to be involved in direct action? Destructive action? What does it mean to accept those consequences? What does terrorism and sabotage mean?

These aren't questions that I am unfamiliar with, but it's always pleasant and refreshing to be reminded of them, even though that itself is a deeply unpleasant experience often. These questions are uncomfortable because they are reminders of our failure as moderates. This is not to say moderates in belief, but that at this moment in time I am quite aware of the fact that I am a moderate in action rather than a radical. I have not yet come to that point, and that is a shame to me.

I am hearing these questions in light of Levinas right now: at what point do we stop turning away from the face, the cry, of the other? In "The Name of the Dog", Levinas is asked about whether animals have Faces in the same way that people do; he says yes, but points out that it enters muddy territory, that a dog could largely be agreed to have a face, for example, but will people recognize a snake as having a face? It's been widely acknowledged that Levinas' ethics are profoundly anthropocentric; what would it look like to change that?

But what would it take to change that?

Levinas himself was a zionist. I don't say that as a pejorative. He was a holocaust survivor who was seeking hope in ethics, a program to end violence, and he vested those hopes in the creation of a new state, one that he believed would be built on these ethical principles. He was wrong, and I know that this sympathy is perhaps misplaced, but in many ways I cannot be mad at him for this optimism. It is naive, yes, and naivete is itself a profoundly political concept, particularly when it is wilful. How can we take seriously a man whose entire ethical foundation was based on decentering the self, to question who was being displaced as secondary to the self, when he then turned around and wholeheartedly, for many decades, endorsed a political project literally founded on the displacement of an entire population? How can we believe this?

But moreover, Levinas' ethics are extremely uncomfortable, because as much as they are an ethics of hope, it is also an ethics of failure. That's also not a pejorative. It is an ethics that is, at risk of using Heideggerean language, disclosed to itself (though it was not fully disclosed to Levinas' self, it seems) in its limitations and shortcomings. It is full of reminders of all of the times we turned away from the face of the other, the cry of the other. It is an ethics that is wrapped up in the priority we place on our own existence. It is an ethics that can never be fulfilled, literally, infinitely demanding. You will never be able to achieve the goals of this system of ethics, no matter how hard you try, not because you have failed but because you never can succeed; to succeed would be to remove oneself from the world! You cannot fulfill your always-already existing debts to the other, nor can they ever be paid in full to you.

Hospitality is good as a tool for this, then. Your job as host is never done, only left unattended; sometimes you are the guest and the other is host; sometimes you are called upon unexpectedly. Your owing to the other is akin to hospitality, to welcoming the other into my own being unconditionally when called upon. But nonetheless you are living with the expectation that your home is constantly able to be requested by another person at any time, someone you may not know well or at all, and that is ok! that's what it means to host, to welcome, to owe, to live with!

But that's a lot of work.

How To Blow Up A Pipeline strikes me as extending these questions to a posthuman politics. I am following in Critchley's uptake of Levinas' ethics as leading to a politics of anarchism. (You can argue about how he frames anarchism vs socialism but that's something I am not equipped for at the moment. Note to return to later.) If the question asked by Levinas is "What does it take for us to stop turning away from the face of the other for whom we are responsible?" and the question asked by Critchley is "what does it look like to build a politics of practice out of these ethics?" and the question asked by Butler is "can we establish a politics of nonviolence from this and recuperate these ethics from colonialism, or use these ethics against Israeli settler-colonialism?" then the question asked by How to Blow Up A Pipeline is "what will it take to stop turning away from the face of the earth, and what does it mean to do so?"

I don't know if Andreas Malm actually engages with Levinas. I haven't read the book, and I need to. This video essay has done a lovely job of tying together the ways in which political violence and terrorism are treated both in media and as a commitment of politics, including as a duty or responsibility or obligation. Videokind also brought up quite explicitly the connection between antiracist and anticolonial struggles, or liberatory struggles in general, and environmental battles; this has prompted me to wonder more about what a posthuman Levinasian ethics may look like in greater detail, including how it compares to a lot of Indigenous thought on ethics of environment/society/resistance/responsibility.

Good video essay, would recommend.

[festeringfae]

I don’t know about this. Or maybe I’m just lacking context for your post. But as an Aro-Ace person, one reason I don’t feel “queer enough” is because many LGBT people don’t consider Asexuality to be queer. It’s not just coming from internalized heteronormativity, it’s coming from external feedback from members of the queer community who don’t think we belong.

I’m not saying all the blame falls on the queer community. But it sounds to me like you’re saying the “not queer enough” feeling *only* comes from the idea of being more familiar with cishet society, and that doesn’t sit right with me either. Maybe for some people that can be true. But I understand why some direct their frustrations at the queer community instead. Because the queer community is supposed to be where you go to feel welcome when you don’t identify as cishet anymore, but some of us don’t feel welcome there either.

So the reason I specified "queer enough" rather than "recognized as a member of the queer community" is because I'm specifically discussing the phenomenon of individual people blaming queer people as a community for their former inability to recognize themselves as a queer individual, rather than blaming the cishet systems that made them assume love and sex and attraction could only exist for them, their individual self, within one very specific framework.

In the example you provide, while debate over what ""counts" as queer identity exists, we can both agree that the queer community is not the reason or source of the default presumption in society that everyone experiences attraction the same way, correct? The origins of that are very clearly systems of power created by and for people who benefit from cisheterosexuality being the norm. So that means the source of any stigma or harm due to deviation from sexual or romantic norms is rooted in cisheterosecuality, not queerness-- regardless of how individual queer people try to gatekeep the label "queer" from others.

(As an aside, this is also why I think there's only harm and no benefit to discussions about who/what is "included" in the label "queer" or "LGBT." The former is meant to be a purposeful rejection of specificity, the latter is literally an acronym with a + or a * tacked on like w post it note that reads "if I didn't consider your existence, you can't get mad at me, because yes I did, I said 'et cetera!' The only purpose in grouping us all together is to refer to people whose existence demonstrates that society's default assumptions about gender, love, and sex are not innate facts, but narratives created by oppressive institutions to serve their own agendas.)

Also, "the queer community" as I use the term is not the same thing as "gatherings where queer people meet," although since I started my post referencing the concept of "at Pride," I see how that distinction might have gotten lost in the sauce. Here's an example:

As a woman, I feel very alienated by gatherings designated for queer people but are very clearly for men-- but I don't blame the queer community for misogyny existing, I blame patriarchy. That doesn't mean there isn't misogyny in the queer community, it just means the existence of the queer community isn't the reason why misogyny exists.

I used the woman example because I am one, and I'm uncomfortable using identities I don't have in rhetorical explanations, but there are plenty of other forms of bigotry within the queer community. Those are all still separate issues than individuals who assumed they had to be straight, thinking the reason they assumed that is because other queer people didn't do a good enough job of explaining queerness to them, and then resenting other queer people for it, because its easier to do that than resent every friend, movie, family member, job, tv show, school, acquaintance, church, doctor, poster, teacher, stranger, podcast, storybook that made them assume they were straight in the first place.

This reply feels a little all over the place, but I hope it helped clarify things for you, anon.

[st0nesnglitter]

The boss

This man, this fucking man, will be the death of me

Also it’s the gifs fault this has taken so long cause I’ve just been staring at him

Also thanks to @quindolyn who helped me write a part of this so I could get it out

Disclaimer: This is just a piece of fiction and the abuse of this power balance isn’t acceptable.

Smut lol

The constant tapping of keys could make you mad sometimes, a pattering melody that indicated that time was passing during your work days. The job was simple. Check emails, answer the phone and keep track of his schedule. During the months of working for Mr. Black you had also developed a habit of ordering his lunch. In his top drawer he always had some crappy candy to keep him going, sometimes walking down to the floor below to get himself a coffee, and nothing more. So you asked him if he wanted a sandwich when you got back from your lunch break and kept doing it ever since.

The sound of buzzing pulled you from your thoughts and you looked down to press the intercom button.

“What do you need, sir?” You asked politely and looked over at the calendar to make sure you haven’t forgotten anything.

“Will you please get in here?” Sirius responded before dropping the conversation, keeping pleasantries short.

You stood up and straightened out your skirt before walking around your desk. Even though didn’t need to you gave the door a small knock before opening the door to his office.

“What can I help you with?” You asked sweetly and closed the door behind you.

Sirius sat behind his pitch black desk wearing just a dress shirt and slacks, his jacket descarded over the stiff sofa by the window. His hair was pulled into a bun that sat at the bottom of his neck, a couple curls had sprung free and framed his face.

“Can you look over these forms for me and then get them down to HR?” He asked holding a folder up toward you and you stepped forward to take it.

“Sure, should I make copies and get them back here or are HR filing them?” You asked as you flipped through the papers to get an understanding of what they were about.

“Tell them to file them, don’t want to put any more work load on you, love” he said and looked up with a smile, before turning back to his screen, “that’s all”.

You took the folder and walked out to your desk again, a little more flushed in the face than when you walked in. Before you took the job you had heard how the boss was harsh and pretty mean when he wanted to, but Sirius seemed to have taken a liking to you. He had only spoken kind words to you and had never made you worked overtime. In the mornings he always greeted you, sometimes staying to have a chat about the day ahead, and if he didn’t stay to work late into the night he always bid you goodbye.

Your thoughts started to wander into a daydream as you tried to read the forms he had given you, slowly drifting to some rather inappropriate thoughts to have about your boss. But how could you not when he looked like that? Eyes shining like the moon with such a depth that could make anyone lose their breath, hair silky and shiny that fell over his shoulders perfectly and the most blinding smile. How you got to see him so dressed everyday always made your mind wander to how he looked under his clothes. And his hands, oh his hands, were the most glorious things you’ve seen. The rings he wears, the way the veins pop out when he grips a pen and how he gestures to make his point clear always made you drool and your knees buckle. It always ended up with you thinking about how his hands would feel on you.

You shook your head to rid the thoughts and took a deep breath. After lazily reading through you walked three offices over to give them over to HR. The secretary behind the desk was unfamiliar to you and you greeted him with a smile, making some small talk before walking back to your desk.

The rest of your work day was uneventful. Talking with other companies over the phone, planning meetings and updating Sirius’ schedule over the next month.

Two men walked in for an afternoon meeting and you decided to take a little break, going down to the nearest cafe.

When the two men came back out you met them with a smile and the blonde one walked up to your desk.

”He wants you to in there” he said before giving you a quick nod.

You finished up the email you were writing and went into the office. Sirius sat behind his desk with his jaw clenched, fingers tapping against the wood of the table.

“What’s wrong Sir?” It was clear that something was wrong with Sirius, tension radiated off of him, if the physical signs weren’t clear enough.

“Close the door please,” he commanded with a stern tone and a slight unpleasant feeling washed over you as his irritation was now directed toward you. For the whole time you had worked for him he had never been harsh against you.

Closing the door behind you, making sure it latched, you walked further into his office and thoughts were flashing in your head. Is he going go fire you? Did something happen to the deal? Was it your fault?

“Did those men bother you?” He asked, his eyes holding yours with what seemed like a kindness hidden behind layers of despise and

You furrowed your brow in confusion, had you missed something? The only words they had uttered to you was about him wanting you in his office.

“No sir, is something the matter?” He was silent, “Did they agree to your proposal? Should I begin the paperwork?”

He scoffed, leaning back further in his chair, “I won’t be doing business with them. I’m sorry if you wasted your time with beginning the paperwork.”

“It’s fine, I didn’t start it but may I ask why not? It seemed like a promising partnership.”

Sirius sighed as he massaged the bridge of his nose, seemingly very upset over something. When he didn’t answer right away you opened your mouth to say some rushed apology if you overstepped some boundaries, but then his cool grey eyes shot up at you.

“They said some very unprofessional things about you and I don’t wanna validate their statements by going into a partnership with them”.

You were slightly taken aback by his statement: both relieved that you were not the one who explicitly did something but also even more stressed since he blew off a big deal because of you.

“Mr. Black, if I’m in some way am standing in the way of this deal I can stand back, work behind the scen-“ you started but got cut off by him standing up abruptly.

“You did not do anything wrong. They’re just sexist pigs who obviously never been in the presence of a gorgeous woman” he muttered out, dropping the professionalism and the proper words, shifting the energy in the room.

He turned around to look at you, the line in between his eyebrows softening and he slowly tilted his head.

“M’ sorry, didn’t mean to put this in you” Sirius put his hands in his back pockets and pulled his lips into a thin line.

“I’m just confused why you aren’t more upset about the deal” you said honestly, feeling comfortable to share your thoughts in the more casual conversation you had, “I’ve been planning sub-meetings for weeks”.

“They disrespected you! Said some shit about you being a trophy” he sighed and leaned against the front of his desk, “can’t stand stuff like that”.

Your eyebrows knitted together tighter and let your head fall into a shake as you huffed slightly.

“Don’t understand why I go higher than a multi million dollar deal”.

Sirius looked back up to you again and sighed, but not as frustrated anymore.

“You really don’t get it, huh?” He asked, mostly rhetorically, but was encouraged to continue when he saw your little shake, “you are ethereal. You have this magnetism to you and I’ve tried to stay away but it’s so fucking hard!”

You gasped slightly at his word and in a haze from his compliments you took two small steps forward, getting closer to him.

“Why don’t you try not staying away from me?” You asked in a quiet voice, almost like you didn’t want him to hear.

But, oh, did he hear you and he closed the gap in between you, soft lips grazing yours. He stopped his movements right before it became an actual kiss, savoring the moment before crashing into you.

The kiss went from slow and reassuringly to heated in a matter of minutes and you started to grip onto him harder, pulling him as close as possible. But as his kiss went down your neck you realized where you were and who you were doing this with.

“We.. we maybe shouldn’t do it here, in your office” you whimpered out, but your grip on him to get him closer, “you’re my boss”.

His lips kept attacking your neck, sucking and biting, and he huffed at your comment.

”We can stop if you want, just say the words” he challenged and nipped extra hard at your neck.

You shook your head violently and let out a gasp at the feeling of his teeth grazing your skin, right by your pulsepoint.

“You’re a teenage wet dream” he pulled away to look at you, his lips a little swollen, “the sexy secretary”. He punctuated his words by grabbing a handful of your ass.

Sirius’ lips went back to your neck but slower this time. The passion was still their but it felt like he made an attempt to savor it, to take his time. His hands gripped onto your hips to push you closer to him.

“Do you know how many times I’ve wanted to bend you over my desk?” He growled as he pulled off his tie, snapping you out of your shock and your hand went to help him with the buttons of his white shirt.

His movements were harsh but you were always comfortable, he kept pulling away for eye-contact to make sure you weren’t regretting anything. And in your frenzy of pulling at the fabrics around his body your brushed against the package in his pants and his whole self tensed up. At first the placement of your movements and his reaction didn’t connect, but when it clicked you laughed breathlessly and started to palm his softly.

“Did that feel good, Mr. Black?” You asked as innocently as you could when you stood there with your skirt hiked up, red marks all over your neck and with your hand on your boss’ bulge.

“Oh you little minx” he growled before reaching for the buttons of your blouse.

Slowly the black fabric of your bra started showing and he let his forehead fall onto your shoulder, letting out a low groan, before taking in the view that was your chest. His eyes raked over your figure and a mix between a giddy smile and a mischievous smirk found its way onto his lips.

“You’re gorgeous, and all for me, huh?” He asked as his bottom lip got caught under his teeth.

You backed up so you could rest your butt against his desk, pushing his shirt off of his shoulders. Sirius’ hands found their way to the back of your skirt, fiddling with the zipper until he felt the nod of your head, pulling it down so you could step out of the garment.

When he got a glance of the black fabric of your panties that matched the bra he let his head fall back. You weren’t ashamed to admit that a chunk if your paycheck went to pretty underwear, one of your favorite ways of self-care.

He started undoing his pants as he watched you, eyes slightly glazed, and with his full attention on your body you felt a surge of confidence and your hands went behind your back to unclasp your bra. You let it fall to the ground, next to the rest of your clothes, and you smiled proudly at him.

“You’re gonna be the death of me” he muttered as he grabbed onto you again, kicking his pants of off him, “gotta be quick, love, and I promise to make it up to you”.

Sirius hooked two fingers under the waistband of your underwear and slid them down your legs, kissing his way back up. Somehow he had pulled down his boxers too and your eyes went down to see the most glorious dick you’ve ever seen. Instinctively you went down to grab it but he caught you.

“Can’t right now darling, gotta be inside you right now or I might combust” he grabbed onto your hips and placed you firmly on the desk.

With your legs spread he had easy access to slowly push into you, eyes trained on yours to detect any discomfort. Your breath hitched as you felt him stretch you out, dragging a hand through his raven hair.

“Fuckin’ hell, you feel so good” he let his head once again fall against your shoulder as he slowly brought his hips away from you, feeling every intricate detail of your inner walls.

The lazy pace didn’t last long though as his hips started to snap into yours, a rush flowing through his veins to make you feel as good as possible. You wrapped your legs around him and hooked your feet at small of your back.

“Harder Sirius, please” you whined, slightly embarrassed that he had made you so desperate so quickly, but the pleasure that resulted in your command let those thoughts fall out of your head quickly.

The sound in his office was downright filthy as you both moaned out loud, skin slapping against each other. Even though you were at a considerably public place that didn’t stop the noises that he pulled out of you.

“Fuck you’re so big, sir” you didn’t mean to utter the title in that moment, your need to be professional hardwired into you, and you felt Sirius slow down slightly.

“Say that again” he demanded.

“Yo-you’re so big... sir” you mewled out and his eyes scrunched together.

The speed that his hips were moving most have been close to speed of light, your body moving around like a ragdoll on the furniture. A pressure was forming in your lower stomach and an urgent need for release filled you. Your hand went down to rub at your clit but he swatted it away to do it himself.

“Are you getting close?” He breathed out, his thumb moving deliciously over your bundle of nerves.

The combination of stimulation got you so close that you couldn’t even utter the words before crashing over the edge. The way you squeezed him got him there too, filling you up with warm ropes of cum.

The two of you stood there for a while, foreheads pressed together, and basked in this new form of intimacy. Sirius slowly moved to pull out of you and let out a puff of laugh as he looked down at his clock.

“Seems like I might have kept you in the office after hours” Sirius smiled brightly at you and you shook your head with a giggle.

“Fine by me if that’s the work I do after hours.”

[sapphire-strikes]

<Previous -First- Next>

~

"Hey, buddy...," Kamal drew out his words, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. "Maybe we got a little carried away there? Sorry about that, but we're just here to talk. That's all this is really, a talk between friends. Right Boris?"

"Mmhmm!" Boris nodded with hum, moving in closer as well to pat you on the head "Just a talk!" He reaffirmed, poking you in the cheek.

Your eyes shifted between the two of them.

"I don't know if Parsley told you, but I said I was gonna start biting people if you don't tell me what's going on. Just a warning."

"Ha, okay." Kamal broke the friendly act for a second to laugh at your comment, and Boris was quick to lean over and elbow him in the side. "I mean...they'll be no need for that!"

"You do not need to keep secrets from us, I promise you! Right, Kamal?" Boris asked, leaning in to rest his head on your shoulder and smile at you contently.

Kamal ruffled your hair once more, leaving his hand in your hair this time even after it was properly messed up. "This right, bud!"

They had both completely closed in on you but you just remained silent. 'I think I liked the bad cops better...' You thought, grimacing slightly.

Kamal then reached his other hand around to tap you on the bridge of the nose. "So how's about you-"

"Yeah, okay, no." You finally cut in, lunging forwards without a second thought.

*Crunch*

"GYAHAA! WHAT THE HELL?!!" The speed at which they both flinched away was incredible. Boris at least  Kamal pulled away but not far as you currently still had the side of his hand between your teeth and Boris' retreat was only for a moment before he was at Kamal's side fidgeting for something to do.

"Y/n! Let him go! Now! Off! Bad!" Boris went through the list of commands, almost reaching forward to try to pull his hand from your mouth himself until he saw the way you glared at him and immediately retracted. "выпуск!" You finally let go and Kamal literally fell backward onto the floor, huffing for a moment as he looked between his hand and you in shock.

"...You little hyena."

You hadn't bitten him that hard, but your teeth marks were clearly there and you gave him a smart-ass smile of your own as a way of saying 'I warned you."

"Ooookee," Boris gripped Kamal by the shoulders, pulling him to his feet and making him take a step back. "That was a...bad start." He said, patting Kamal on the shoulder as he looked away awkwardly. "Maybe you should 'take five' this time, Kamal?" Boris asked, putting up a nervous smile.

"Don't gotta tell me twice!" Kamal agreed, shaking his hand. "Got a hell of bite there, kid..." He remarked as he walked past you. Surprisingly, he didn't seem mad, just surprised and your glare faltered somewhat as your eyes followed him. "Guess I should have taken the warning, huh? Remind me not to mess with you when you're NOT tied up." He joked, taking a seat on the chair Parsley had discarded to the other side of the room earlier. "It's all you now, Boris!" He cheered and flashed him a thumbs up with his good hand.

You turned back to Boris, your glare still in place just not quite as strong and he tapped his fingers together nervously, probably thinking about how to continue. After a moment of this stare down, you scoffed under your breath and looked away.

"Oh.." He whispered to himself and stepped towards you, squatting down in front of your chair and waiting for you to look back at him. Giving in, you finally did, trying not to be surprised by the soft smile on his face. "Are you...going to bite me too?" He asked, but there was a bit of humor behind his voice. You stayed silent and he nodded. "Okee, I will take that as a no!" More silence. "I am...begining to sense that you may be angry?" He said that like a question but could tell he meant it rhetorically. You shrugged. You'd been friends with these goobers long enough that it would take a lot more than being inexplicably tied to a chair to make you turn your nose up at them. You weren't actually "mad", just a little exasperated and maybe getting hungry at this point, not that you'd been here for all that long. Biting Kamal still felt like the right call though as the smart alec in you was very satisfied.

"I see." Boris nodded, standing back up with a new determination. "Well we can not have that, now can we? It ees not a proper interrogation unless everyone is having fun!" You were almost positive that's not it worked and couldn't help but roll your eyes with a small smile. "Oh? You think that is funny?" And...he saw that. "I assure you it is true. Interrogation 101, really." He said in mock offense, placing his hands on his hips and leaning towards you, his face coming down right in front of your own. "Do you dare doubt my expertise?"

Despite the little act he was doing, the smile he wore told you exactly what he was doing. He was trying to cheer you up.

You stayed silent and he stood back up straight, turning his head away indignantly and puffing out his chest. After a second he winked one eye open, his smile cracking through once again. "Well, what if I told you, I am so good at interrogation, that I can get you to tell me exactly what I want to know, and with a smile on your face at that!"

And it was working...

You raised a brow at him and he beamed proudly. "Eet is true! Do you not believe me?"

Giving in just a little, you shook your head. Something told you you'd immediately regret that decision though because that smile he'd been suppressing this whole time grew in an instant to one much more mischievous. "I guess I have no choice but to demonstrate then! You have simply forced my hand!" He reached past your head, grabbing the back of your chair and twirling it around so you were facing the opposite direction. "You see," You did your best to look behind yourself to see what he was doing, only managing to catch that he had squatted down again. "I know someone who is very good at making people talk! I think you know him quite well actually." The color drained from your face when you realized what was going on.

"Your old friend..." You looked down to see two large green hands reaching up from around the spine of your chair, forming into claws and resting by your sides. "The tickle monster!"

"Boris, don't you dare!" You finally spoke up but it was too late and you took in a sharp intake of breath as those claws made contact. "You're playing dirty!" You yelled.

"Says who?" He asked, peaking his head up over your shoulder. All things considered, he was actually being super mellow, just barely squeezing your sides. "I think I am being quite fair. Just trying to lighten the mood!" He wasn't torturing you just yet, he was probably just trying to get you to smile but you were determined not to give him that satisfaction and just squirmed in your seat, trying to expel the ticklish energy.

"Stohohop!" That was harder said than done though and soon you started to break, quiet giggles beginning to slip out when he picked up the pace.

"Hmm, I do not think I will. I do not think you have been properly 'persuaded' yet. Do tell me when you've had enough though!" He smiled brightly, and you jolted your entire chair when he shoved his hands under your shirt, keeping up his gentle squeezes on the pudge of your sides. "Oops!" He raised one hand to catch you before you toppled over, but kept up his attack with the other, and instead of righting you, he held your chair in a dip, taking the opportunity to give your stomach a few pokes. "It's alright, I have got you!"

'Heh, you were right, big guy... You're way better at being a good cop." Kamal thought to himself with a fond smile, sitting criss-cross applesauce off in the corner. 'Probably should have just started with this, huh?"  He let out a small chuckle, resting his head in his hand as he watched Boris work.

You had devolved into a full giggly mess at the mercy of your interrogator, and Boris beamed proudly at the smile on your face. "Now, are you ready to surrender? Or shall I continue?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A: *Surrender*

B: *Ask Kamal for help*

C: *Spiteful silence* (Or as silent as you can be.)

D: ~Custom Response~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[darlingpetao3]

House of W (Multiple!Wells x Reader, Chapter 9)

Rating: T

Summary: After having to deal with the deaths of an infinite number of Harrison Wells in the Multiverse, you, a magic-wielding meta, have a breakdown and unwittingly create a happy, fictitious sitcom life with some of your favourite men. In a world of comedy and cameos, can Team Flash and an out-of-town magician break through your powers to save you? And what if you don’t want to be saved...?

A/N: Well folks, it’s the final chapter... I’m not sure it’s actually all that great, but here it is and I hope it’s well received, nonetheless! Thanks for coming on this crazy ride with me <3

Tag List: @fandomdancer​ @bluesclues-1234​ @crissymadlock @firstofficer-tilly​ @disneyoncerlover815​ @marvel-lady10 @thecaptainsgingersnap​ @noctvrnalmoth​ @alexxlynn @dontbedumb3​ @heyl0lwhatsup @ryou-cosmos​ @arianalilyblack​ @sonnensplitter​ @imagine-yourself-happy​ @stuckysdaughter​ @wintersire @i-dont-care-lol​ @booksandfandomsarelife1 @marvelhastakenovermybeing​ @marisughh​

PROLOGUE | CHAPTER 1 | CHAPTER 2 | CHAPTER 3 | CHAPTER 4 | CHAPTER 5 | CHAPTER 6 | CHAPTER 7 | CHAPTER 8

Eobard Thawne clutches his fist down beside him, surely feeling the surge of Speed Force energy running through his entire body once more. He looks like he’s just taken a hit of the most addictive drug—eyes flashing a dangerous crimson, his whole being vibrating at the speed of sound before everyone’s eyes.

The Reverse Flash turns to Libby and Belle—who both remain frozen in place out of sheer shock after realizing that this man isn’t who he claimed to be—and gives them one of his iconic shit-eating grins.

“Thank you, girls,” he says smugly. “I couldn’t have achieved any of this without you. The next time I have your real uncle under my boot, I’ll think of you wonderful girls.”

“What have we done…?” Belle whispers rhetorically to her sister. A speechless Liberty only shakes her head in reply.

Eobard locks eyes with Barry, who stands in the doorway to the kitchen. The villain smirks before he bolts off, running upward along the diminishing forcefield wall and out through one the holes forming in it. Barry watches on as he decides to let his adversary go. He’s learned by now it’s never the last time he’ll see Eobard Thawne. That bastard always seems to find a way back into everyone’s lives. He’s like a cockroach that won’t stay dead.

Yes… Barry will come face to face with the Reverse Flash again. He may not know when, but when he does, he’ll be ready.

Because right now, you need him.

Your world is falling apart.

Again.

The forcefield continues to fall slowly from above. Your time is limited. You know that in mere minutes, everything will disappear, including the people you love. 

“Mom, we’re so, so sorry,” Belle tells you desperately. “We thought he was just teaching us how to perfect our powers. It felt like a game!”

“My dear, sweet girls,” you look them straight in the eyes as you explain to them, “I assure you both, it’s not your fault. Okay? You had no idea who he really was or what he was capable of. It’s not your fault, do you understand me?” They nod through their tears. “You two may have grown up incredibly fast, far too fast for my liking, in fact, but I am so thrilled that you were- are mine. You will always be my little girls. No matter what.”

“Thank you for being our mom,” Liberty says to you in all seriousness.

“No one is cooler or stronger than you,” Belle adds with a smile very reminiscent of her fathers’. If these two aren’t careful, you’re going to completely lose it in front of them.

Off in the distance, you spot Barry watching this heartfelt scene play out. You wave him over to meet his nieces, so he can see what you’ve created for yourself up close and personal. Libby and Belle should meet their real uncle, a true hero, before they’re…

Barry places a hand each on the girls’ shoulders. See, Barry? They’re real. And I’ll lose them too. Do you feel my pain now? This is what I live through all the time.

Barry’s eyes begin to glisten until the tiny bulbs of tears hold still, unwilling to fall just yet.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you both,” he tells them. “You’re both such bright stars.” They give bittersweet smiles up at him in silence. You don’t think they fully understand what will come to pass in mere minutes, but you do. You can feel it in your bones.

Barry steps back from your family unit so that you all can have one more last moment together. You take this final opportunity to bring your girls in close for a tight hug, letting a sob escape you despite trying to keep it together for your family. You wave a hand over to your husbands as if to gesture for them to get in on this family group hug, and quickly. They do so promptly, all four of them enveloping you, Liberty, and Belle as if to form a loving hug shield.

“I love you,” you make sure to say these three precious words, making eye contact to each and every one of those you have magicked into being here with you today… before they disintegrate before your very eyes.

And soon enough, you can’t even feel them anymore. The forcefield has vanished within the Lab’s basement, along with the Wells and the twins.

You cry. You shake and your body wracks with the sort of sobs that hurt your throat. Barry makes sure he holds you tightly. Caitlin approaches carefully and ends up holding your hand. Then it’s Cisco who puts his own hand on your shoulder as everyone else in the room looks on at your despair.

***

After some much-needed rest in the Medbay, you awake to a spookily quiet Labs. You’re not sure of the time (or day, even), but regardless, you figure it’s best to head home. Goodness knows it’s probably still in shambles. That’ll need to be fixed.

You heave a sigh as you leave the Cortex.

“Come on, you can sigh louder than that.”

You turn around to find the unexpected voice belonging to Zatanna. You imagine she must have had to recoup as well from the amount of magic she would have used to break through to your world.

“Oh, hey,” you say tiredly. “I take it you’re on your way, then?”

“Yeah, I have a show in Coast City in two days, so I better head off.”

“Listen, I’m really sorry to have brought you into all this madness.”

“No, please. If anything, I should thank you as well as offer my condolences... Your magic is something I've never seen before. Honestly, I’m still intrigued by it.” Zatanna hesitates. “Would it be weird if I gave you my contact information? I don’t come across many others with true magic. I’d love to keep in touch. Maybe we could learn from each other?”

“Yes, of course,” you agree. “I think that’s a great idea.” She hands you her card—a glittery black business card with her name and number.

“So, hey,” she says, “You going to be okay?”

You take a few seconds to think her question over.

“I think, in time, I could be,” you answer truthfully.

“I know it may not be much,” Zatanna says, “but one of my powers involves granting wishes. Before I go, is there anything I can do for you? You’ve been through so much. I’ve seen it. And everybody has something they're hoping for. Something they wish they could change…” She pauses, waiting for your answer, but also seems distracted. You wonder what kind of life this woman has led. What has she done in her past that she regrets or wishes for from the bottom of her heart?

“I only wish for Harrison Wells to be in my life,” you answer honestly. Is that so much to ask for? It seems to be that way.

“Is that what your heart most desires?”

You sigh. “More than anything.”

There’s another pause.

“You know, sometimes you’ll find that our wishes come true on their own, even without magic,” the magician points out ominously.

“That’s code for “I just can’t make that wish come true,” isn’t it?” you joke, somewhat.

“The people that we love—they’re only gone when we stop carrying them with us. How you choose to carry Harrison Wells is up to you.”

You let that sink in and press a hand to your heart. He will always be here with you. Right here. You’ll make sure of it.

“I wish you all the luck and magic in the world, (Y/N),” Zatanna says kindly. “It was nice to meet you.”

You nod in thanks, unsure of how to respond to that. With her aged, thick book under her arm, Zatanna Zatara walks down the S.T.A.R. Labs corridor, but you swear her body vanishes before she rounds the corner…

Despite all the trouble you’ve put her through—everyone, really—with all of this, you can still take comfort in the act of making a new friend.

As you walk through the empty hallways of the Labs, you make it to where the elevator lies. You go to press the button to summon the machine when a ding sounds before your finger even touches the button. The doors slide open, and the face that greets you shocks you to your very core.

“Hello, there,” he says.

In fact, you are so stunned that you take a step back, but in doing so, you stumble and begin to topple over. Luckily, a certain someone’s quick arms catch you in time.

The face you know all too well, Harrison Wells, that is, glows with a calm happiness as he looks down at you in his arms. Behind immaculate see-through frames, his pretty blues eyes twinkle like the stars. He smiles like he knows you. You stare up in disbelief, in relief, and in love.

“Hello… Harrison.”