#and most women just settled by their own admission

[hadesoftheladies]

let me be so fr y'all. i will NEVER shame a woman for having a man that treats her right. okay? that's always going to be a win, why would i complain about that? i just think that most of y'all that say you found him are fckn lying.

like i've watched women in dv situations lie through their teeth. they'll lie to their besties who know them freckle to freckle about their bruises. it doesn't even have to be abuse. i know how much women lie to keep up appearances with other women and i'm just saying i'm not buying it with most of y'all. that's my truth. and i start having issues when you start lying about that reality to younger women who will most likely just end up in the same shitty relationship bc of the false hope women in mid-to-shitty relationships with men espouse. and i can tell they're lying even MORE when they start trying to talk about how "women aren't necessarily better" whether that's about celibate or same-sex-partnered women. they'll drag their own female friends in order to convince everyone else that their man is truly the real deal as a status symbol. they'll shit on what their friends do for them in order to justify their veneration of this mid-ass moid. i've just seen it happen too many times, and that's why i think it's justified that radfems draw parallels between het-partnered feminists and liberal women who cling to femininity. y'all talk the exact same most of the time and even have the same arguments.

anyways.

[celestialprincesse]

𝐒𝐚𝐲 𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐧 𝐆𝐨 - 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫

I'm so so sorry this took so long to get out! It's here now!

as usual, slight nsfw 💕 mdni please

Your dinner date comes in the form of a candlelit booth in the darkest corner of one of the nicest restaurants in town. Even in all your giddy, feet swinging, cheek hurting beaming, you can't miss the way Nikto's hands shake as he withdraws a pair of thick framed glasses from the inner pocket of his jacket before turning away from you to remove the black material of his mask.

"I'm not going to judge you." The sound of your soft admission has his shoulders bunching with a deep breath to slow the thundering of his heart. "I do not wish to frighten you." He murmurs lowly, sliding his glasses over his nose before turning back in his seat to face you.

There's a split second where you just stare, clenching your teeth until they creak in protest as you attempt not to gape over at him. You want to reach out and touch him - to run your fingers over the dipping craters and lines of raised, pale skin, to trace over the constellations of suffering etched into the face of the man sitting so self consciously before you. You don't, but god you want to. Art should comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable. You've never felt so safe.

Instead of saying anything, you simply reach for his hand across the clean white tablecloth, an encouraging squeeze given before you return to peering at the menu you've set out before you. "I've never had lobster bisque before." You hum, absently chewing at the pink paint of your nails, realising how very out of your depths you are when most of the items on the menu don't spark any sort of recognition in the depths of your mind. What the fuck is a fregotto?

"Do you like shellfish?" Nikto clearly sees your suffering, your wide eyed gaze as you stare down at the menu, and manages to pull himself from his thoughts in order to rescue you from your own. "I guess." You shrug, chewing on your glossy bottom lip nervously.

You've always subconsciously known that the man next door has money - not that he's the ostentatious type - but the neighbourhood is expensive, and the car in his garage, from what you can tell at least, is new and shiny. The watch around his wrist, though functional at first glance, is clearly expensive too. The only reason you live next door is because you'd inherited your little house from some aunt you'd barely remembered. You're not exactly struggling, but you don't fit in all too well either.

"The wagyu here is excellent." He continues, noticing the way you bounce your leg and fiddle with your pretty little hoop earrings, eyes darting across the off-white card of the menu pages. Your attempt at nonchalance is obvious as you rest your cheek in the crook of your palm, looking over at your date. "I can order for you, if you would like." Nikto shoots you a look he hopes comes off as considerate, practically praying that his actions are helpful, as opposed to controlling. He's never been too god with women. "Yes. Please." You sigh, the weight on your shoulders suddenly disappearing as your eyes flit to the drinks menu, relief evident when you gaze down to the 'house' cocktail menu, immediately settling on the fruitiest thing there.

After the waitress has come and taken the order of the odd pair in the corner, you and Nikto sit in a strangely comforting - albeit awkward - silence. "You look beautiful tonight." His voice is the first to carry through the quiet, drawing you back to him as your eyes glaze over, coming out in a way he's seen you do countless times before. "Thank you." The candlelight does little to hide the way you blush under his obvious, piercing admiration of you.

In your panicked browsing of the menu, you'd not even noticed the lack of pricing. The last time you'd been somewhere as fancy as this had been to celebrate your graduation, where you and your family had shared appetisers and some artistically crafted dessert, before promptly heading to the nearest gas station to stock up on chips and sodas which you'd sat eating in front of the TV. What Nikto knows, and you don't, is that places like this tend to provide the priced menus to the men, and he'd ordered you just about the most expensive thing on there. To him, you're nothing short of a princess, and it's only right that he should treat you as such.

He knows he's made the right decision when you take the first bite of your meal, which leaves your lashes fluttering and your eyes rolling back with a hum of appreciation. He hopes that one day maybe he'll see the same sight under him as he fucks you. "You like it?" He inquires, not even bothering to hide his obvious admiration for you and your animated reactions. "I don't even know what it is. But it's delicious." You breathe, taking another bite, savouring the way every flavour melts on your palate.

Dessert comes and goes, and you feel so blissfully full and happy by the time the waitress comes with a small leather folio, containing the bill. "Oh!" You chirp, rooting around in your inconveniently tiny purse to try and find your card. "Sorry, two seconds." Again, you're blushing with obvious embarrassment as you empty tubes of lipgloss and bubble gum packets out onto the table, your card nowhere to be found. "We are not splitting the bill." Nikto states firmly, removing a card from his wallet, before handing the folio back to the waitress, who promptly disappears to scan his card. "But-" "No. I invited you for dinner. I do not expect you to pay."

Nikto even walks you home, stands there on your porch as you fumble with your purse again, trying to find your keys. "Would you - uh - would you like to come in?" The hope in your eyes makes his gut wrench, but he holds firm. "Maybe another time."

You feel like a fool, some kind of a slut inviting him upstairs after the first date. He probably thinks you're some overzealous little girl as you stand there gawking. The kiss he gives you, tilting your chin up to capture your lips with his, soon fixes this perception. You melt into him just as he pulls away, using his thumb to wipe away some errant gloss on your chin. "When I fuck you, princess, I will do it properly. Yes?" You nod, utterly gormless at his words, at his reciprocation of your feelings made clear. "Goodnight, princess. Sleep well."

You don't sleep well that night. Not in the slightest. You toss and turn under the white silk of your sheets, pyjamas tossed to the floor as you desperately fuck your fingers to the thought of him. He does the same.

Finally here !!! I'm sorry for the wait!!!! I hope you enjoyed !!! Mwah!!!!!!!! Also, tell me you like my new badge🤭

[notalkingbusiness]

Kitchen Nightmares - Part II

I did a post a while back about how Carol has been relegated to the kitchen for a lot of Season 11.  And it got me thinking about how TWD showrunners tackled kitchen scenes/domestic duties.

To be clear, kitchen/laundry scenes are fine – provided that the writers are thinking carefully about why a certain scene has to take place in a kitchen or why it’s important to show domestic chores on screen. If you’re just putting your female characters into the kitchen because you’re not sure what to do with them, that’s where we have a problem.

With this in mind, I’m going to do a quick run through of some notable scenes with each showrunner.  

Quick disclaimers: (1) This list isn’t exhaustive. (2) Most (but not all) of these scenes are Carol focused for obvious reasons. (3) All of this is just like, my opinion, man.  

Darabont Era – Season 1

Two scenes stand out to me and they’re both in Tell it to the Frogs.

1.      Our first Carol/Rick interaction comprises of Carol doing Rick’s laundry.

2.      Carol, Andrea, Amy, and Jacqui wash clothes together at the quarry.

Both scenes get a thumbs up from me because they end up subverting expectations.  There’s actually a lot going on when you stop and think about it.

Carol might look unassuming as she irons Rick’s laundry but looks can be deceiving.  We’re seeing code-switching in action as she consciously self-presents as a harmless housewife rather than as a woman who would swipe a grenade from your clothes.  

The sexist division of labor is highlighted in the clothes washing scene.  But the thing that really elevates the scene for me is Carol’s cheeky admission about missing her vibrator.  It’s the first obvious indication that there’s more to Carol than meets the eye.

I’m not claiming Darabont as a feminist icon, but I think he employed his domestic duty scenes carefully.  I feel like there’s always something deeper going on and they provide insight into characters like Carol.

Mazzara Era – Seasons 2 & 3

I liked Mazzara, but I don’t think he did anything particularly interesting with Carol’s kitchen scenes in Season 2.  We see Carol serving Daryl food and Carol proposes cooking a big meal for everyone in the Greene family kitchen.  Just felt a little surface level to me.

So, not so good on the Carol front BUT I loved the exchange between Lori and Andrea in the Greene family kitchen.

Andrea: I contribute.  I help keep this place safe.

Lori: The men can handle this on their own.  They don’t need your help.

Andrea: I’m sorry – what would you have me do?  

Lori: Oh, there’s plenty of work to go round.

Andrea: Are you serious?  Everything falls apart, you’re in my face over skipping laundry?

Lori: Puts the burden on the rest of us.  On me and Carol and Patricia and Maggie.  Cooking and cleaning and caring for Beth – you . . . You don’t care about anyone but yourself, you said it up there on that RV, working on a tan with a shotgun in your lap.

Andrea: I am on watch against walkers - that’s what matters.  Not fresh mint leaves in the lemonade!

Lori: We are providing stability.  We’re trying to create a life worth living.

I really like this exchange.  On the one hand, Lori is enforcing traditionally feminine roles, but on the on the other hand, Andrea is devaluing the work of the other women – she wants to be one of the boys.  Is Lori being regressive or is she looking for solidarity from Andrea?  Does fresh mint in the lemonade matter – should you make the most of these things before it’s too late?  How should the division of labor be settled?  There aren’t any answers to be had in Season 2, but the main thing is that these tensions are addressed.  

Gender boundaries are being drawn and redrawn in the brave new world.  It’s not lost on any of the characters that women risk slipping back into regressive roles in the apocalypse.  

Gimple Era – Seasons 4-8

I’ve talked about Gimple’s approach to kitchen scenes before, so I’ll just keep this to a few lowlights/highlights.

30 Days Without an Accident

Carol’s already a badass by the time Season 4 rolls around – she was established as an excellent shot and a survivor against the odds in Season 3.  So, before watching the Season 4 premiere, you might have expected to see Carol taking out walkers or practicing her surgical skills in the opening minutes of Season 4.

But the first time we see her in Season 4 . . .

She’s cooking.

Feels like a giant step backwards, doesn’t it?

Don’t get me wrong, I like the exchange between Daryl and Carol, but this conversation didn’t have to take place with Carol serving Daryl food.  Patrick could have been serving.  Carol and Daryl could have had the “I liked you first” exchange while they both wait in line for their food.

The Grove

The Grove is rightly hailed as one of the best episodes . . . but the kitchen scenes don’t really do anything for me.

Maybe I’d feel differently if the writers had done more to explore Carol’s relationship with her grandma in the kitchen scene.

The Birth of Kitchen!Carol! (Seasons 5-8)

I don’t have the heart to go through all of Carol’s kitchen scenes from Seasons 5-8, but we all know that she was in the kitchen an awful lot.

And I know it’s meant to be about Carol being in deep cover and how she’s secretly playing all the Alexandrians.  IDK, it felt like it got to a point where it wasn’t being done ironically anymore.  They just put Carol in the kitchen because they didn’t know what else to do with her – they’d rather relegate her to the kitchen and focus on the very important manly men instead.

Like the whole beetroot cookie thing was meant to show how she’s resourceful and innovative and caring . . . But is this really the best way to showcase these qualities?  Do you think the writers would do this for any of the male characters?

And I feel as if someone like Mazzara could have teased out the complexities of post-apocalyptic food culture.  E.g., the conversation between Olivia and Carol about the boar leg could have been great.  Olivia asks if Carol can bring back a boar leg so that she can make prosciutto and Carol makes a face.  It’s clear by the way that this scene is set up that we’re meant to side with Carol – we’re supposed to see Olivia as unbearably cosseted and out of touch.  Is she though?  You’d think that salting and curing meats would be a smart thing to do and that Olivia’s knowledge would be really useful in a world where refrigeration capacity is severely restricted.  We could have had another interesting “mint leaves in the lemonade” style discussion.

Anyway, I’m not saying that all the kitchen scenes should have gone on the chopping block.  There are bright spots – take New Best Friends.  It’s an emotionally charged moment between Carol and Daryl that ties into all the little and large ways that they take care of each other. Carol might not be able to do what Daryl needs right now, but she can still provide for him.  Daryl might not be able to stay with Carol right now, but he’ll take a break from his hellbent mission to spend quality time with her.

Kang Era 9-10

I’ve already talked about Kang’s approach to kitchen scenes, so I’ll keep it brief!  Kang’s kitchen scenes are emotionally driven, and they never feel like just a kitchen scene.  Like with Darabont, there’s always something deeper going on with these scenes.  And we’ve had a few instances of Daryl cooking for Carol which was refreshing.

If you can’t stand the heat

Personal ranking for the best use of kitchen scenes/domestic duty scenes are as followed:

1.      Kang

2.      Darabont

3.      Mazzara

4.      Gimple

It goes without saying that the more women you have in your creative team, the more likely it is that sexist assumptions will be questioned.  As the TWDU expands, the writing team should be more diverse than ever, not more homogenous than ever before.

[pyrettawychwiggin]

The Rantings of a Chairside Tooth Fairy - A Prologue, Part 2/2

Note from the author: Being a dental assistant is... a mixed bag. It differs from assistant to assistant based on where they studied (if they studied), what country/state/province they work in, what office or specialty they work in, etc.

For the sake of this series - I am a registered dental assistant in western Canada, and as of the time of this entry, I've been assisting for about four years.

These rantings are my own, and don't necessarily speak for all dental assistants out there. Our job can be incredibly unfair and rip-your-hair-out-frustrating sometimes, and I've found that sometimes, screaming into the void is a good way to cope.

That's what this series will be. Just one itty-bitty tooth fairy who needs to blow off a little steam.

Consider this a prologue to my rantings. This post will just kind of tell you a bit about myself, how I got into assisting, and the posts to come will be all the juicy stuff that other people who work in the dental office may be able to relate to on a pretty personal level.

In this series, I'll be going by the name of Fae Rhee - for no particular reason aside from it makes me giggle.

Alright, let's get into it...

This is harder than I thought...

I stared at the list of courses offered by the college I'd sent my admissions application to, and found myself a little stuck.

I've narrowed it down to about four options, but I really ought to go in there with a solid plan...

I sighed and pulled out a piece of paper and a pen. I always had an easier time making a decision when I had a visual aid to help me weigh the pros and cons. I started scribbling out the four possibilities at the top of the page.

Administrative assistant...

I briefly imagined myself behind a desk, firing off emails, juggling phone calls and fashioning spreadsheets.

Massage therapist...

I imagined myself on my feet, in spa-like settings, easing away knots my clients never even knew they had.

Veterinary assistant...

I imagined myself working with animals of all shapes and sizes, and from all walks of life from birth to end-of-life. I scribbled down the fourth and final option.

Dental assistant...

I tapped my pen to my lips and started writing out any pros and cons I could think of.

As an administrative assistant, I could be fairly certain it would be a safe option, but I couldn't help but feel that I would find it quite boring.

As a massage therapist, I imagined the setting and atmosphere of most locations would be nice, but I'd heard so many horror stories - especially from women in the industry.

Veterinary assisting would be the most interesting as far as I was concerned, but knowing how difficult it must be to be present for the euthanasation of so many animals, or seeing them in pain would surely wear on me over time.

But dental assisting...

I would spend some time up and on my feet, but some time chairside. I'd be in a field that I may find a little more interesting. My hours would be worlds better than the majority of the jobs I could work without further credentials. The benefits would likely be better than anything else I had available to me.

I guess that settles it, then.

I took a moment to stretch and ready myself for bed.

The next morning, I would be sitting in front of the admissions counselor, signing the paperwork to get started on my new career.

Three months flew by faster than I thought it would. It was mid-December, and I was on my way to the college's orientation event.

I settled into a random desk at the back of the room and made small talk with the other two students-to-be on either side of me; one who would go on to become a lasting friend, but the other would drop out of the course within the first week, leaving the remaining number of students at a solid twenty-three.

The first month or so of the course was all about the theory of dentistry; learning the different tooth numbering systems, the structure and development of the tooth, the anatomy of the human head from the neck up, the various methods of sterilization and infection control, and so on.

By the end of the brunt of the theory portion of the course, a couple more students had dropped out of the course. As March came about, there were muttering of the first few cases of Covid-19 surfacing in the area, but we still had no idea what was to come, so this was largely ignored.

That is, until we had finally started the process of honing our in-clinic skills. We had only just started to learn how to process instruments and set up for simple procedures when the lockdowns hit.

Just like that, everything was put on pause.

We found ourselves in our homes, twiddling our thumbs 'until further notice.'

By the time we'd resumed theory content online, another couple of students had dropped out. We were unable to train in-clinic, but our instructors focused on prepping us for the entrance exams.

It would be months before we had the chance to resume our clinic training, but the college was insistent on attempting to stay as close to the original graduation date as possible, throwing the lessons into a jumbled mess that few of us were able to follow. After a few more drop-outs, we were left with a class size of fourteen.

By the time we'd approached gradation, very few of our remaining class felt ready in any capacity to enter the work force, having felt rushed for the sake of the convenience of the college's scheduling of the subsequent classes.

Still, we made a go of it. A small handful of those that graduated never bothered finishing their practicum, opting to chase other options away from dental assisting; the rest of us took on our first official positions at our respective clinics.

At this point, Covid-19 restrictions were still present, leading the college to opt for an online graduation ceremony, scheduled in the middle of a Tuesday afternoon, which meant basically none of us could 'attend' as we would be busy during shifts at our practicum offices. We had to admit this lack of consideration left a bad taste in our mouths.

Fast forward to present day - over three years later - and only four of us from the original graduating class would remain in the industry; the other ten had gone on to try something else for varying reasons.

As for those reasons, well - I'll likely be expanding on a great many of them throughout this series.

To be continued...

As of today, August 26th 2024, I have worked in six different clinics, and for nine different dentists. I have seen nearly a thousand patients from all walks of life, and each time I think to myself, 'okay, now I've seen it all,' another curve ball is just around the corner.

So let's get into it, shall we?

[ortizselene]

'I think it’s a weird way of them trying to prepare us for the ‘real world,’ or something,'

Selene thinks on it.

Unfortunately, Kieran's answer rings true.

Perhaps this was their way of showing love— perhaps it was just a form of love so gnarled and harsh that it was unrecognizable to everyone else.

A painful love, a strict love that made them feel more chastened than cared for.

Selene's lips purse in thought, watching as Kieran's lovely hands curl around the glass of his beer.

Too quick. Too slow. Learn the ropes my way, learn on your own, actually, and don't expect anything from me.

'I don’t know. It’s like he wants me to be a better version of himself, but I’m also constantly in competition with this idea he has of me.'

The pads of Selene's fingers press hard into her own glass, throat tightening at the idea of Kieran never being unable to outpace his competition, because the only one at his neck was some imaginary version of himself.

How was that fucking fair?

How could he win against someone who was entirely imaginary? Not for the first time, and certainly not for the last, Selene feels hot indignation spark in her lungs on Kieran's behalf.

And then—

'At my age, he was already married with kids. And I’m not. But if I date, it’s a distraction. If I don’t, I’m just wasting time.'

Marriage. Kids. Dating, not dating.

Any of those words, in any combination with Kieran, always tends to make her heart thrash and panic and hope; it beats in some strange guilty fashion, as if he might suddenly look over at her face and see her emotions written clearly across her forehead. Don't waste your time with other women!

As it were, Kieran's face disappears into the expanse of his hands.

'Like, what the fuck am I supposed to do?'

Emotions, hot and wet press at Selene's eyes.

Well, she thinks. You could always allow your family to guilt you into a loveless engagement while you pine for your fiance's sibling.

Or conversely— you could kiss me and we can just disappoint our parents together, but we can be happy.

But Selene doesn't want to be delusional. Even if Kieran returns her feelings— and god, with their smiles today, with all that golden warmth between them, Selene is beginning to really hope that its true— she can't expect Kieran would just throw everything away to be with her.

Not after things have already been so difficult for him with his family.

Her lips twist, and in a move that is both perhaps treacherous and brave, Selene reaches across the table to curl her hand around Kieran's wrist.

For a moment, she says nothing. Words and comforts and admissions pass through her brain and eyes like projector slides, switching and switching, unable to settle on what is best and what her heart wants most. Are they the same?

"I want to tell you have to separate your personal and professional life, and it's ... fucking unfair that either are being graded by someone's unwinnable metric."

But, but, but.

But I know that's complicated. But I know about sacrificing your own happiness on the alter of parental approval. But I know all about it, because I'm in a fucking sham of an engagement and my dad still acts like it's not enough.

"I feel like normal people advice is so unhelpful for us, though."

A beat.

Selene presses her thumb against the bone of his wrist, a pulsating bit of psychical contact that was more than they'd had in years. They weren't normal, really. Their families were so far removed from normal it was difficult to explain to anyone else— Selene didn't know how to express that absent, demanding father with high expectations was such a shallow, woefully inadequate explanation of how their family dynamics move.

Ironically, Kieran would probably be the only person to understand if she started talking about how the engagement was all but a political and economic move; everyone else would look at her as if she'd just started talking about court alliances and medieval betrothals.

How ironic indeed.

Selene feels the warm thrill of his pulse beneath her hand. Was touching like this allowed?

"But. I hope you find out, despite it all— what's gonna make you happy."

I think I know what mine is, and I don't think I can have it.

Selene smiles anyway, allows the pad of her thumb to enjoy the warmth of him for one more second before her hand retracts and returns to her beer, even as her gaze lingers on his hand, the way connects so perfectly with his wrist.

Admitting all of this to Selene felt so freeing, in a way. She was perfect, in his eyes. He still thought that, but … that was a little more difficult to admit. It felt easy referring to themselves in the past tense, reminiscing about days gone by. There was some sort of protective film around those memories that made it easier to admit that, at one point, she’d been the most important person in his life.

When she mentioned that she was jealous, too, Kieran simply shook his head, because it didn’t make sense. There was nothing to be jealous of. Sometimes, Kieran felt painfully average. No matter how hard he studied, or how much he rehearsed a pitch, his father never seemed impressed.

"I suppose its nice to know our parent's treatment of us isn't because of a lack of talent."

Kieran pondered on this for a moment. Sometimes, it felt like he was being punished for being the smartest person in the room, the most aggressive. Others, it was for being too quiet, for letting others steal the spotlight. There was no middle ground, nothing that made his father happy, it seemed.

“I think it’s a weird way of them trying to prepare us for the ‘real world,’ or something,” Kieran said with a shrug. He leaned back, resting his spine against the cushioned seat. He reached for his beer. “My dad, at least. It’s like he wants me to know what real business is like, and what it’ll be like when he’s gone… but he doesn’t wanna give me any of his secrets. He wants me to earn them, but if I earn them too quickly, or too slowly, he doesn’t like it. I don’t know. It’s like he wants me to be a better version of himself, but I’m also constantly in competition with this idea he has of me.”

Kieran sighed. He brought the bottle to his lips, tilted his head back to swallow the last few sips of his beer. Kieran shook his head, unsure if the words were even making sense.

“Like, he looks at where he was at twenty-eight or twenty-nine, and if I’m not there, or if I’ve superseded it somehow, I get punished for it.”

Kieran looked at Selene.

“At my age, he was already married with kids. And I’m not. But if I date, it’s a distraction. If I don’t, I’m just wasting time.”

Kieran laughed incredulously. He buried his face in his hands, stifled a frustrated groan, leaning over the table to look at Selene.

“Like, what the fuck am I supposed to do?”

[plus-size-reader]

Finally

Hvitserk Ragnarsson x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 2070 words

Warnings: FLUFF

Summary: Hvitserk has always seen the reader as a warrior, but sometimes he forgets that she’s a woman too.  

—————————————————————————————————

You weren’t surprised to come upon both Ivar and Hvitserk sitting together, talking between themselves.

They did it often, more so now than ever.

What did surprise you though was when you heard Hvitserk mention how saddened he was that he’d yet to have children.

Of all the things he could have been thinking about in the eve of a great battle, you wouldn’t have guessed it was that but still, you didn’t question it.

In a lot of ways, you could understand where he was coming from.

So, after Ivar moved from his place, you took it over, the same topic of conversation now flooding your mind.

“I think I would like to have them too” you shrugged, allowing yourself to have a seat where his brother had just been, not bothering to rehash the conversation you’d overheard between the two men.

Everyone thought about having children.

It was just how you’d been raised, and how the Gods intended it to be.

It was how your society progressed and how your family's lines kept going. You would have been a fool to pretend that wasn’t the natural order of things, and that it wasn’t what you wanted.

Every woman wanted children.

Your mother had had them, and so had her mother, for as far back as your family had been and of all things, the last you wanted was to put an end to that cycle.

Still, it would have been a lie to say that your admission didn’t shock Hvitserk, at least a little.

In all the time that you’d known one another, he’d never thought about you wanting to have children, or even caring about something like that. Though, clearly, he’d been wrong.

“You’ll catch flies like that” you scoffed, gesturing to your friend's mouth, hanging slightly agape as he considered what you were telling him.

It was odd.

Not that he meant for his reaction to be offensive to you in any way. He just didn't have much control over what his face did when you said things like that.

“Sorry” he shrugged, the word leaving his lips quickly, like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t have been, and in a way, he had.

It was unavoidable.

“Do you really want to have them?” he repeated your words back to you, almost in awe of the answer he knew was coming before it could.

It just didn’t make sense.

If you wanted children all this time, why wouldn’t you have said something  before now? Why wouldn’t you have settled down and done it by now?

Most women your age had already married and had a few children by this point, and there was nothing stopping you from doing the same if it was what you really wanted.

“Is that so hard to believe?” you countered, not connecting the dots as to why this was so hard for him to understand.

As he knew well, it was just a part of your lives.

People had children and there was no reason you would be any different.

“I guess not. I just never thought about you as a mother” Hvitserk decided, trying not to offend you with every word he spoke.

You certainly could have been, and anyone would be lucky to have you as a wife, it just didn’t seem like what you wanted before today.

You had always been a great warrior.

You had a warrior’s spirit, and more heart than anyone Hvitserk had ever met.

That skill was something that had defined you as you grew older, and by this point, it seemed as though it was what you were meant to do with your life.

It didn’t surprise him to learn that you were quite skilled on the battlefield, when he finally found himself there, by your side all those years ago.

What did surprise him was the number of times you managed to catch him off guard.

This moment included.

Your desire to start a family genuinely wasn’t something he’d seen coming.

“And you see yourself as a father?” you teased, kicking your foot out just enough to bump his boot with your own, finding the whole thing quite humorous.

Your mother had always said you had the body of a mother, and a wife more than a warrior, but the truth was, neither you nor Hvitserk had ever perfectly fit either mold.

You simply moved in the direction the God’s pointed you without a second thought.

It had always worked for you before.

“Perhaps. There are quite a few things I could teach a child, wouldn't you agree?” Hvitserk doubled down, surely signing himself up for even more ridicule from you but doing it anyway.

If anything, he’d earned some of your good spirited torment.

“Of course, someone has to teach them how to eat half a bore in one sitting” you laughed, recalling just how sick he’d made himself on that evening, doing so out of spite and gluttony alone.

Hvitserk couldn’t help but laugh as well, considering the point you made happily.

You had a point.

As far as teaching impressionable children about life skills and survival, neither of you would thrive.

However, that didn’t mean the male in front of you had any doubts about how good of parents you’d be, regardless.

Your heart was made of gold, a gift from the Gods to Kattegat, and there was no possible way you couldn’t pass that on to whatever offspring you may have.

“It is a gift” he chuckled, feigning humility, unable to avoid the obvious truth to your statement. You could both teach children quite a few things, even more if you were together than apart.

It wasn’t until he realized that that he had an idea.

“We could have some” Hvitserk hummed, his words coming out of nowhere, so impulsive and ridiculous that you weren't even sure you’d heard them in the first place.

Surely he didn’t mean that.

He couldn't have meant that.

“I’m sure there is a much more fitting bride in store for you, Hvitserk” you allowed, waving off his comment as an ill received joke. It wasn’t the first he’d told, and it surely wouldn't be the last either.

It was true.

You were sure of it.

There was a beautiful woman out there somewhere, waiting to marry the esteemed Son of Ragnar and bear him as many children as he’d like.

There was no reason for him to fret about it now.

You certainly couldn’t imagine this day to be his last, battle or not, and after this, he had more reason than ever to start the family he so desperately wanted.

“I’m serious. Why shouldn’t we have a few little babes of our own, you and me?” he continued, shocking you with his commitment to the subject.

Most of the time, Hvitserk would have chuckled a bit and moved on to something else entirely but not this time.

For some reason, in the time since you’d sat down, he’d gotten it in his head that the two of you could have children with one another.

Out of nowhere.

“Because Hvitserk, we aren’t married and even if we were, who would raise them? You and I hardly have the time now” you asked, gesturing around you.

A hundred feet to your left, there was a man getting his arm crudely removed with an ax, and to your right was a pit of bodies, scattered about.

It was hardly the place for a child.

Let alone ‘a few’ children.

“We could get married. My feelings for you have never been a secret, and we deserve a family just as much as anyone else, perhaps even more” he kept going, his determination filling you with a familiar pride.

He had always been so passionate about the things he cared about, and you loved that about him.

Above everything else, you had never questioned his heart and whether it was in the right place or not.

Hvitserk was a good person, and the Gods had given you a gift when they brought him into your life.

“You really want to do that? To marry me? To have children together?” you recounted, a small smile blooming on your face as you took your turn considering what it would be like.

As you thought about what kind of father Hvitserk would be, and how you could take a break from all the fighting to raise children of your very own, warriors like their parents.

It was a welcome sight, you had to admit that.

He was right, about all of it.

Hvitserk had always cared very deeply for you, and never tried to keep that a secret. This wasn’t even the first time he’d proposed to you in all the years that you’d known one another, but it was the most serious.

In fact, this was the most serious you’d ever seen him in his life.

The man in front of you took a moment to answer, looking between you and his clasped hands before letting out a sigh of decision.

Of course he wanted that. By this point, he was convinced it was the only thing he wanted, above everything else.

“More than anything”

Again, that finality found its way into his voice, bringing you a peace you never thought possible without even meaning too.

All your life, Hvitserk had been the last one to take himself too seriously, to act as the most mature, prepared between the two of you but now, it was he who was trying to get you to settle down.

It almost felt as if the Gods were teasing you.

Not that you minded.

If Loki himself thought this a proper jest, you would have to thank him every day of the rest of your life.

“Alright, Hvitserk, but you must promise me one thing” you began, setting your sword down completely on the grass, and offering a hand to him which he took without hesitation, bringing him that much closer to you.

Almost too naturally, the male found himself kneeling in front of your seated frame, his hands clasping your own, resting in your lap.

In this moment, you could have asked anything of him and he would have done it happily.

Though, that wasn’t all that different from every other moment you two had shared together. Hvitserk was almost always prepared to pluck the sun from the sky if you asked.

Where you were concerned, he’d always find a way, so whatever it was you wanted from him now, it was yours.

No matter what it was.

“Promise me you aren’t doing this because we may die tomorrow” you prompted, freeing one of your hands to gingerly brush your thumb mindlessly over the bone as you looked into his eyes.

You knew he must have been feeling the pressure this war had brought on, just as you were, but that didn’t mean you wanted to make empty promises to one another.

Love was the most powerful thing in the world but it was also the most dangerous if wrongly placed.

You didn’t want him to promise his heart to you again if he didn’t intend to give it to you fully.

“When have I ever made such rash decisions?” Hvitserk teased this time, finding the fact that you two were having this conversation at all too good to be true.

He never would have thought he’d be here, in the middle of a warzone with the woman of his dreams, discussing children and weddings on the night before he could meet his gruesome end.

Thankfully, if there was one thing Hvitserk was especially good at, it was dealing with things as they arose, rather than having a plan ahead of time.

It was one of the reasons you two worked out so well as a team.

“I’m serious, Hvitserk '' you tutted back, your gentle stroking of his jaw coming to an abrupt stop as you urged the man in front of you to be serious for once, like he’d been before this moment.

You needed to know this was really what he wanted, every day, not just on days when you may get yourselves killed.

“Alright, alright. I promise” he hummed, the biggest grin you’d ever seen evident on his face when he finally realized just what you two had agreed to.

He was getting married.

To you.

Finally.

[kathaniiisharma]

Hi! Maybe 22.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.” + Kanthony + modern

Idk man. I tried.

—-

He sits on the back steps of Aubrey Hall, staring up at the night sky as the commotion inside starts to die down. His brother is getting married tomorrow, out in the garden of their family’s estate to the one woman who seems to understand him as he is.

He’s happy for Ben and Sophie. Really, he is.

It’s just watching his siblings start to marry makes his own loneliness intensify. It doesn’t help that he’s been in love with his brother’s best friend since he was fifteen. Kate had made this wedding what it is, acting as maid of honor to his best man.

He thought his long-held infatuation with her had ended but the moment he saw her at the engagement party after two years, he realized he may never be.

He hears footsteps and assumes it’s one of his siblings but then a gentle breeze blows past him and he smells lilies.

“Do you mind if I join you?” Kate asks despite already settling beside him.

“Not at all.”

They sit in silence, shoulders almost touching and he wishes she’d lean against him. He’d always been afraid to make the first move.

“You know, it’s funny I used to think it’d be you marrying Ben.” He admits when he can’t stand the silence anymore.

“Oh god! Take that back. That’d be like marrying my brother or at least a cousin.”

Anthony chuckles at her scrunched-up face. “I assumed he was into you. That’s why you guys hung out so much.”

“Men and women can be friends, you know?”

“I know that but you were- you are… it’s pretty fair to assume he had a crush on you.” He mumbles, trying to say what he feels without using the words.

“What? Why?”

Anthony rolls his eyes, looking at her with a smirk. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know you’re beautiful.”

She looks startled by his admission. “Oh. I’ve, um, seen the way you look… at me sometimes... when you think I don’t notice but I thought- never mind.”

“Thought what?” 

She picks at the hem of her dress. “I thought- sometimes I thought you didn’t like me.”

“Oh.” 

“We’d be getting along fine, having fun and you’d look at me like... like you are right now.” She says breathlessly. “Then you’d scowl and stomp off. I never knew what to make of it.” She hides her face in her hands before peeking up at him. “I had such a crush on you when we were younger.”

“Y-you… really?” He stares at her in complete disbelief.

“I thought I was so obvious. That summer here at Aubrey Hall after Ben and I graduated… I think I hoped you'd finally see me as more than your little brother's friend.”

“So all those little skirts and tiny swimsuits-“ 

“Me absolutely trying to get your attention.” Her admission has him reeling. That summer had been torture with all her glowing skin on display and to find out it was him makes him feel dizzy.

“You already had it.” He finally confesses.

“What?”

“My attention. Kate, I was head over heels for you the moment Ben first brought you home.”

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“I thought Ben liked you. You were… you are… still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. And funny and so stubborn. Perfect.”

“I’m not.”

“To me you are. But I would never do that to ben. It wasn’t until I caught him making out Kenny Miller that I realized he might not be into you.”

“You still never said anything.”

“I was scared. And you were dating Tom by then.”

“I’m not dating Tom anymore.”

“I’m not seeing Siena anymore.”

Kate rests her head on his shoulder, linking her arm with his. “We could start seeing each other.” Suggests Kate.

“I’d like that.” He kisses the top of her head, before looking up at the stars as the scent of lilies surrounds him.

Send me a number and I’ll write you a Drabble

[rivetgoth]

Sorry for being a little bitchy but I’m gonna come back to this real quick to say like. I generally consider myself in a place of pretty material privilege most of the time but it’s a bit harrowing to consider that realistically literally every single thing I really care about has either been illegal in my lifetime, is currently illegal now, is still illegal in massive parts of the world, and/or faces massive amounts of systemic backlash and frequent pushes towards criminalization. This is everything from my hobbies to my relationships to my sexuality to my transition to the fact that I am alive and live where I do today on account of my family being war refugees from the Middle East. Sexuality, kink, medically & socially & legally transitioning to male, body modification, drugs, clubbing, nonmonogamy, writing novels with explicit controversial content, being mixed and Arab, so many of my friends being various types of queer, not straight, trans men and women, kinky, polyamorous, nonwhite, drug users, alternative artists, and/or immigrants, living my life for pleasure and for love and for magic…

Again, I don’t say this to suggest that I’m in any frequent or immediate material danger, I’m not. I’m very lucky that I am able to live how I do and be who I am happily and comfortably. But I say this to highlight the fact that as I’ve grown up I feel I’ve only become increasingly thoughtful of the genuine absurd inequities in society and how easy it is to slip into complacency as other people just living their lives are facing incredible subjugation and violence and marginalization just for existing. And I’m not like saying I’m some enlightened individual who is ideologically perfect (of course not), but more that it’s a real exercise in humility to consider how much of who I am and what matters to me is shaped by things that could get me or people like me killed and I really try to be cognizant of that.

And if I’m going to be a little mean I don’t know how many people on this website can say the same… I know there are all the kinda nasty jokes about how nobody on here goes outside or has sex or whatever and I don’t need to take cheap shots but I do think it’s saying the obvious that a lot of the people on this site by their own admission self-identify as like. Introverted individuals who don’t enjoy going out much, who are very nervous or anxious about doing anything wrong or stepping on toes, who are white, who either are not in a relationship or having sex or who are primarily having vanilla sex in monogamous relationships, those doing drugs and those who aren’t white and those who come from poverty and those going out and living explicitly queer or kinky or non normative lifestyles are a minority and I feel that it shows more and more as the user base I’ve been apart of for a decade+ age and settle into whatever path adulthood has in store for them. I actually specifically have been kind of in shock recently at the amount of generational wealth the user base of this website collectively seems to have—That poll where like 70% of respondents said their parents paid their college tuition. Or the one that asked how much people’s parents made and the winning results were 6 digits. or one I just saw where 90% (!!!!!) of respondents said they didn’t live in a neighborhood with any gang activity.

I kinda feel that for a lot of people, as teenagers they liked the aesthetics of revolution because it made them *feel* radical which was kind of just code for feeling like they were sticking it to their conservative parents. To be mean it made them feel like Hunger Games protagonists or something you know. And to be fair! These were people who were outcasts, they were weird introverts who probably were bullied or excluded at school, they felt powerless and angry, and LBR, just being a teenager sucks and denies you incredible amounts of freedom that adults are afforded so of course this image of rebellion is appealing. But I think a lot of these same people didn’t bring that energy into adulthood in earnest because it wasn’t a super earnest activity to begin with. It was like, online thought experiment, but as is the case with many teenage dreams it wasn’t really grounded in a material reality or ideology. And they still SEE themselves as rebellious revolutionaries because they’ve held onto the aesthetics of their youth; most of them aren’t explicitly becoming conservative. But it’s still just aesthetics. “How can I be conservative?” they ask, “I use they/them pronouns! I believe in equality! I believe oppression is wrong! I hate conservatives! I’m a tumblr user!”

“…But kids these days and the things they like are just more annoying then I ever was. But I keep accidentally reblogging from fascists, conservative religious fundamentalists, and TERFs. But when I walk down the street I am scared of strangers who look different than me. But I do have a gut reaction if someone tells me they have a lifestyle that isn’t the same as my own. But I do feel like there’s value in tradition and that modernity is less pure. But I do feel uncomfortable when I see a black person get angry. When I see a trans woman get mean. When I see a Palestinian person ask for money. When I see someone on drugs-” And it just goes unchecked and keeps getting worse. Idk.

I think it’s a more societal thing and this is just one microcosm but I do think the userbase of this site really has broadly become increasingly reactionary and socially conservative in its school of thought over the last ~4 years and it’s pretty bizarre to see. Especially because I’m not talking about there being some influx of new politically conservative users who migrated from 4chan or something, I mean the same cannibal horror sex fag punk blood crowd who have been populating this site are adopting unchecked reactionary tendencies as they age and now posts about like basic feminist theory can’t be made without a bunch of devils advocates in the comments who would’ve been right at home in like, the 2011 version of the internet where just the word “feminist” itself was a widely accepted insult. It’s really wild to see honestly. I do think some people have grown out of their teenage radicalism and now that they’ve settled into comfortable adulthood are no longer interested in disturbing (or really even, questioning) the status quo.

[lancermylove]

Forced Assassin (HC)

Fandom: Magi

Pairing: Sinbad x fem!Reader

Warning: Mention of blood in prologue, suggestive, hint of angst in the end

Prompt: You are sent as an assassin to kill Sinbad but not by choice.   

———————————————

Prologue:

“Why?” You screamed as the man pressed the sharp blade deeper against your neck, drawing a little blood.

“Look around ya, idiot. If ya don’t do what we want, then we’ll kill these worthless pieces of trash,” he (laughed). “So, what’ll ya do?”

You slowly scanned the area and studied the terrified looks on the faces of the men, women, and children. Were you going to let these people die? The people who had watched over you since you were a kid? The same people who fed you and cared for you when you stumbled into their village, hungry, tired, and on the verge of death? No, you couldn’t, but was it right to take someone’s life in exchange to save them? That too, the King of Sindria? If their king dies, what will happen to the people? Moreover, what will happen to you if you are caught?

Drawing air into your lungs, you locked your gaze with the pair of dark eyes staring down at you. “I will do it. I will kill King Sinbad.”

———————————————

Everything was smooth, your voyage to the island kingdom, your admission into the city, and even your entry into the palace as a maid. Even though you should have been thankful, something didn’t feel right. Was it really that easy to enter a palace under the pretense of a worker? You weren’t sure if you were just lucky or if this was the beginning of the end for you.

As you were settling into your new room, you found a note in your luggage - a note that made your blood run cold. ‘I forgot to tell ya one thing. No matter where ya go, someone’ll always watch your every move. Don’t think you’ll get away with doing anythin' heroic or stupid. If you do, I’ll start killing, the youngins will be first.’

Even after being there for three weeks, you had yet to catch a glimpse of the famous king. They only gave you a time limit of two months - two months, and the people of your village would be slaughtered. Just as you were trying to rake your brain for ideas, you overheard a few maids talking about King Sinbad flirting with them.

Flirting? That was it! The king was known for being a notorious flirt, so if you could get his attention, then you could get close enough to him. Easy, right? You thought so, but little did you know that you would fall for the king.

He was a flirt, a cunning man with a manipulative side, a man too smart for his own good, and a king so powerful that he was feared. But…he took care of his citizens, wanted everyone to be happy, treated his people as treasure rather than trash, loved to spread smiles, had a good heart, and most of all helped anyone who needed it. Helped anyone who needed it? Then would he…

Within a short time, Sinbad grew fond of you, and as expected, he took every opportunity to flirt with you. Even hinted at wanting to get intimate with you, and at first, you were bothered by his advances, but then it hit you. This was the chance you were looking for.

During one of the Maharajans, you appeared in front of the king wearing a rather revealing dress and quietly beckoned him to follow you. After finding a nice corner away from prying eyes, you began seducing Sinbad. It didn’t take long for the king to pull you in his arms and lock his lips with yours.

As he lifted you off the ground, you tied your legs around his hips and buried your face in his neck. At the sound of the fireworks, you took a deep breath and whispered, “Your majesty, please continue what you are doing and don’t react in any way to what I am about to tell you.”

Sinbad’s muscles tightened momentarily, but he continued kissing your neck and shoulder. Forcing your mind to ignore his alluring touch, you continue your explanation.

“Please help me. A group of men have taken over my village and are threatening to kill everyone, women and children included. They sent me here to assassinate you, and if I fail, they will slaughter the people who took me in as their own. I couldn’t tell you this earlier because they said someone in this palace is keeping an eye on me at all times.” Your voice cracked, but you fought to hold back your tears. “I am not an assassin. I have never killed anyone, and I don’t want to kill anyone, especially you. Please save the people of my village.”

Sinbad lifted his head and looked at you with a hint of sympathy in his honey-colored eyes. Pressing your lips on his, you mumbled, “I will accept any punishment but please-“

The king deepened the kiss, cutting you off, before carrying you to the safest place in the palace - his bedroom. There you explained everything in detail, and he patiently listened. 

Within one week, everything was resolved, and everyone in your village was safe. If only you had approached Sinbad sooner but better later than never. The king had pardoned all charges against you as your record was clean, and you were looking out for your village. After which you returned to your home.

Was coming back home really the right decision? You loved your village and all the people in it, but your heart was elsewhere. Your mind said it was foolish to think a king would like a simpleton, but your heart wanted to try to gain his affection. What were you supposed to do? Listen to your heart or your mind? 

———————————————

➣ Magi Masterlist

➣ Buy me a Ko-fi? ➣ Commission: Open || Requests: Closed

[septembersghost]

"Last week, Taylor Swift unveiled the music video for “Anti-Hero”, one of the songs on her new album Midnights. She said in an Instagram post that the video, which she wrote and directed, involves her “nightmare scenarios and intrusive thoughts [playing] out in real time.” In that sense, it matches the song’s personal, self-reflective lyrics, which include lines such as “Midnights become my afternoons/When my depression works the graveyard shift”, and of course the ear-wormy chorus “It’s me/Hi/I’m the problem, it’s me.”

About two minutes into the video, Swift is seen stepping on a scale. The camera switches to focus on the display, where a needle settles not on a number, but on the word “fat”. Swift is then seen in full length again, turning to the mean alter-ego who has been after her since the beginning of the video and is now shaking her head.

The sequence is a clear reference to Swift’s past struggles with an eating disorder. She first discussed it in the 2020 Netflix documentary Miss Americana, explaining she had sometimes been driven to “just starve a little bit – just stop eating” after seeing photos of herself in which she deemed her body to be inadequate. She elaborated in an interview with Variety, in which she linked her eating disorder to the intense scrutiny she has been subjected to from a young age.

“I remember how, when I was 18, that was the first time I was on the cover of a magazine,” she told the publication. “And the headline was like ‘Pregnant at 18?’ And it was because I had worn something that made my lower stomach look not flat. So I just registered that as a punishment.”

In the same interview, Swift said that on the other hand, when she received praise for fitting into sample sizes during fittings before photo shoots, she took that as “a pat on the head”. “You register that enough times, and you just start to accommodate everything towards praise and punishment, including your own body,” she said.

But the scale sequence in Swift’s “Anti-Hero” video has led to some backlash, including allegations of fatphobia. Some see the part of the video where Swift looks down and sees “fat” written on the scale as a reinforcement of the stigma faced by fat people. Indeed, the Taylor Swift on the scale is clearly distressed when the word appears. I understand that this might not the best look – a thin, white woman looking at the word “fat” like it’s the worst judgment she might ever face. But context matters here.

“Anti-Hero”, by Swift’s own admission, is about her mental health struggles. With this sequence, she’s clearly illustrating the warped workings of her brain back when she was in the throes of an eating disorder. She’s calling out the thoughts she held in that moment, when weight gain felt like the most dangerous outcome and she wanted to avoid it at all costs, even if it involved “[starving] – just a little bit.” Or, as Twitter user @mrbeardofficial put it: “The message Taylor is very clearly promoting is that society teaches girls and women to fear being fat, and that this is something that has been very harmful to her mental health, and it’s also harmful to the fat people who are stigmatized in the process.”

There is real violence, and real trauma, at the core of an eating disorder. If you did to someone else what a person with anorexia does to themselves, you might end up in a courtroom – or at least subject to an HR investigation. Swift has made it clear that her eating disorder was at least in part the result of other people’s comments on her body, an experience that will likely sound familiar to thousands of her fans. Online, listeners have welcomed her increasing openness about disordered eating and mental health issues.

I have tried to think of other imagery Swift could have used to symbolize her eating disorder. She could have used a different word. She could have ditched the scale altogether. But doing so would have been emotionally dishonest when conveying her own experience — and also less accurate in terms of a depiction of the world as it is. Thankfully, she did avoid a significant misstep in not featuring a specific number, which would have been infinitely more harmful, and triggering for a lot of people.

Anti-fat bias harms people in a myriad of ways (including in potentially life-changing settings, such as in healthcare). But what Swift is doing in the video for “Anti-Hero” is quite obviously not an example of fatphobia. It is an expression of something that is both painful and personal to her, and relatable to millions of people around the world. If we are generous enough to receive her work in good faith, that much should be evident."

[just-here-for-the-moment]

Congrats on the followers my friend!! You deserve all of them and many more!

I'd like to request a little something with Javier Peña, with the prompt "I can't stop thinking about you" (from dialogue prompts to make readers swoon). I'll let you decide how sweet or spicy it is, just however it strikes you. 😘

Thank you, and congrats again!!

Oh my gosh, JEN!!!! I love you so much! I hope you enjoy this slow-burn, sprinkling-of-angst-with a happy ending!

Here is a sweet "confessional" story for Javier x female DEA agent under the cut!!

The bar was half-empty, or half-full, you weren’t quite sure. And maybe it didn’t matter anyway, since you only had eyes for the man with the mustache across the table from you. He stubbed out his 5th (or was it 6th?) cigarette of the night into the amber glass ashtray on the table. You watched him purse those perfect lips and blow the stream of smoke up and away from the booth. His coffee-brown eyes came back to yours, the depths of them muted in the blue neon lights. You stared just a beat too long, and then blinked.

You shifted your attention to the table and stirred the last of your drink with your straw, watching the half-melted ice swirl in a lazy circle. Maybe tonight you would tell him how you felt. You lifted your eyes just in time to see Javier turn his head away from you to watch a very attractive woman walk by. He followed her with his eyes until she was out the front door.

Maybe not.

Javier turned back to you and waved over your head at the waitress for another round.

“You really want to stay?” You couldn’t hide the little bladed edge of irritation in your voice. Whether you stayed at the bar or not, you didn’t want to be around Javier any longer than you had to. You saw enough of him at work, and you weren’t interested in being his ‘pity date’ on a Friday night just because Steve couldn’t make it out for drinks.

Javier frowned at you, “I thought we were supposed to be celebrating tonight, amiga. Big win with the arrest warrant this week, remember? Why are you so cranky?”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, and then rubbed your tired eyes. “It’s been a long week, and I just don’t feel very festive tonight. Okay?”

The waitress brought your drinks and Javier tossed a few bills on her tray. You picked up your third drink (fourth?) and watched Javier watch the waitress walk away. You downed your drink in record time and stood. “Right, I’m going home.”

“Already? We just got here.”

You snapped, “No, you just got here, I’ve been here all night, watching you watch other women. Not as much fun for me as it was for you. I’m done.”

You made for the ladies room and peed, then sat there for an extra two minutes, hoping that Javi would be gone by the time you got back out. You only got up when another woman needed the stall. You washed your hands as slowly as you dared, then dried them carefully and reapplied your lip balm at a snail’s pace. The face in the mirror looking back at you was your own, just sadder and more tired than you had seen her in a while.

When you finally emerged, Javier was right there waiting for you. He was leaning back against the wall opposite the ladies room, arms crossed over his chest, legs crossed at the ankle. Anyone who didn’t know him well would have thought he looked casual. You knew he was pissed off. The moment you swung the ladies room door open and stepped out, his dark eyes were on yours. It took your breath away, just for a moment, but that was long enough for him to unfold himself and take your upper arm in his strong grip.

“I’ll make sure you get home safe. I can’t let you travel home this late by yourself, Agent.” Agent. Fuck, he really was pissed.

You didn’t argue, partly because you knew he was in that mood, and partly because of the sensation of his hand, large and warm, wrapped firmly around your arm just above your elbow. It wasn’t painful, but something about feeling how strong his hands were, how he gripped you sent your mind running to the same places it had been running to for months.

Javier propelled you out of the bar to his car, opening the front passenger side door and standing like a sentry until you were tucked in and belted, then he closed the door with a pop. Neither one of you spoke until he parked the car on the ground floor of the garage at the DEA apartment block. Your apartment was just down the hall from Steve and Connie, two floors up from Javier. It was cozy, mostly. Nice to have neighbors who you already knew. Not nice when someone had a crush on someone else and couldn’t avoid them.

Javier turned the engine off and broke the silence first, “I’ll walk you to your door.”

You bit your lips together and nodded, sucking in a deep breath through your nose. Bad idea. The smell of Javier settled deep in your sinuses and stayed there: his cologne and cigarettes and the breath mint he was chewing, and something uniquely him, all of them mixing and intensified in the still air of the car. You blew the long breath out through your mouth and it took most of your hurt feelings with it.

You turned to him but you both spoke at the same time and chaos reigned for a moment.

“Why didn’t you want me looking at-”

“I’m sorry, Javi, I shouldn’t have-”

“No, you go first-”

“No, you can- Wait, what?”

Normally you would have laughed together and cleared the air, one of you deferring to the other to speak first. This time there was something tense. You had been on the verge of apologizing for snapping at him, a means of smoothing things over while sweeping your own discomfort under the rug. You’d hoped that if you could apologize for being sharp, you could get back to ‘normal’ and just be work partners. Like how it was before your heart got in the way. You thought maybe if you just did that enough, buried everything deeply enough, Javier would never guess how you felt.

And if Javier had been any other man, that might have worked. But he wasn’t the type to feign shyness to help ease your own shyness. Another man might have chuckled and looked away from you, played with his hands on the steering wheel to pass a few awkward seconds. Javier used those deep brown eyes to pierce your defenses and asked you the direct question you had been dreading since your outburst at the bar.

“Why didn’t you want me to look at other women?”

You paused, keeping your breathing even. You blinked a few times but you didn’t look away.

“I don’t care. Look at whoever you want. It’s none of my business.” A lie. And he knew it. And worse yet, you knew that he knew it.

“No amiga, you do care. Or at least you did half an hour ago.” You hated how intense he could be, so calm on the outside while he drew secrets out of panicked people via interrogation. “What is it that you don’t want me to know? What are you not telling me?”

“Nothing.” You put a hard backing to your next words. “Drop it.”

You turned and opened your door, not waiting for Javier to follow as you speed-walked from his car across the parking garage. You slammed through the door to the lobby and took the stairs two at a time to your floor, telling yourself it was necessary exercise, part of staying in shape for foot chases… not avoidance, not the fear of facing Javier and telling him your embarrassing truth. You heard his footsteps land a moment behind yours, and you didn’t bother holding the stairwell door for him. He caught it on the backswing and was just a step behind you as you approached your door.

“I can get inside from here just fine. Good night.” You spoke your words to the keys in your hand, to your doormat, anywhere but to him.

He reached a hand out to hold your wrist, and it was the most gentle touch he had ever laid on you. It matched his low murmur of, “Hey. Wait…”

You turned to face him, and you opened your mouth to repeat the lies, the denials, to try to say something that would brush over tonight’s embarrassment with a clean sweep and let you face yourself and him in the morning. But the look on his face, the way his eyes were soft instead of probing, the whisper of his touch on your wrist when normally he was rough with his high fives and his handshakes… suddenly your voice didn’t work.

Javier looked at you the way that you had hoped for months that he would look at you, but it wasn’t how you wanted this to go. This painful reveal of innermost secrets and feelings. You wanted him to want you, to be bowled over by you, not to pity you or treat you like an idiot. But still, that look on his face, it struck something deep within you and you decided that you would take that look however you could get it.

You opened your mouth to speak and so did Javier, but this time instead of speaking at cross purposes, instead of a jumble of words tumbling into each other, you both said the exact same thing...

“I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Heat rose in your face at your own admission, at your absolute sureness that he would peel away from you, be upset at you for feeling too much, but the minute you realized his own words had matched yours, you felt the heat in your face ebb away, and before you could process it, before you could think, Javier mumbled a quick, “Fuck it,” and then his hand was on your waist and you were being pulled into his arms and you just went limp and let him kiss you.

The instant his second kiss landed, your brain came back to life and you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him as deeply as you could, not breaking off even when your next-door neighbor’s apartment door opened, not when it closed again with a soft bang, and not until you felt Javier’s erection grazing your hip.

You finally broke the kiss, breathing out a high-pitched, “Inside?”

Javier grabbed you firmly around the waist and pulled you tighter. “Inside.” His voice was nearly a growl, and you felt your panties get hot and wet.

You took Javier inside your apartment, slamming the door behind you. And you finally confessed everything, with your lips and your body and your legs wrapped around him until the small hours of the morning.

[galaxyedging]

When the West Was Wild

Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9

Silva x OFC (no description, a last name is given in later chapters)

Word count: 3.5k

Story summary: A women making her own way in the lawless West has her quiet night interrupted by a stranger in need. While helping him she finds a few unmet needs of her own.

Chapter Summary: When things come to a head, decisions are made that will change both of their lives.

Warnings: Violence, mild swearing, injury, talk of homophobia, angst, smut.

Early winter was surprisingly mild. Snow fell in light dustings. The cabin was sturdy enough to keep the howling wind from cutting through her. Thanks to Thomas and Silva there was more than enough wood to keep the fire going. Thanks to Silva, she never felt a chill. Even when the snow suddenly fell in thick blankets around them. His heat cocooned her for most of the day, he was always close by, continuing his learning at her writing desk, with her perched on his lap or simply pressed into her while she did the most mundane things.

At night she drift off with him wrapped around her. The room still warm from the efforts of their lovemaking. As with all things Silva was a quick study. He spent hours mapping her body. Learning what made her moan or sigh for him.

Since Silva had mentioned his first love, she hadn't been bold enough to ask about any others, too afraid of any pain it could bring her. As she lay in his arms, after he had pleasured her with his mouth, she felt invincible.

"Silva?" She asked into his chest. He hummed in response. "How many woman have you...? Before me."

"Two."

"Two?"

"One in my youth, before I knew there were other options."

"The other one?"

"A lady I took a liking to about 10 years ago, I paid for her company for the weekend." His cheeks tinged pink at the admission. She didn't flinch, at least his transaction was honest. Unlike the men who bought women in more subtle ways.

"How did you come to know about your other options?" The questions just rolled off her tongue now.

"I was working as a ranch hand. There was a man, well, he wasn't much more than a boy, only a year older than me. When I was around him, there was just something in the air between us. I tried to ignore it until he kissed me in the barn one night. I knew it was wrong but it just felt right."

"Hey, who says it wrong? Those God-fearing folk who think they are qualified to speak for the Lord? Listen to them long enough and they'd have you thinking everything was a sin. I don't see how love or anything that comes before or with it could be a sin." She couldn't see the look of adoration that settled on his face. Silva haven't felt this at ease since he was with Jake. His cast his mind back to being with him, to being seen and understood for the first time. To the time he gave his heart fully and openly before he knew how badly it could be damaged if you weren't careful with it. For twenty five years he'd carried the scars of the love that was permanently etched into his heart. Now that there was a new love there, he expected the scars to be covered over. Instead the love settled into the unmarred parts of his heart and emphasised the scars. Her loving gestures echoed Jake's. Her love didn't service to dull the memory of Jake's love, it refreshed it. No matter how much he sort to bury himself in her love, in her warm wet heat, the ache of what once was and what could have been was always present just under the surface. It took practically the whole winter for him to buried those feelings deeper and lay them to rest. It was a odd time for him. He felt as if he were betraying both of them by loving them as the same time.

Spring rolled in surprisingly quickly. The weather practically became mild over night. The snow thawed so suddenly that the ground became sodden. The high ground of the hills behind them took the heaviest of the snowfall leading to a landslide. Thankfully, it stopped at the edge of Thomas's land. The ground piled up saving any damage. The water however did not halt, it ran through his land like a river. Taking the forgot remnants of the deposed of body with it. It tumbled down the slope at the end of Thomas's land right down behind the cabin Silva was currently calling home. Even as far as the trail next to it. To be spotted by a terrified Jack after Annabelle had made a fuss about passing by. The boy had ridden full speed back to town straight to the Sheriff's office.

Oblivious to this, Silva sat in the barn finishing up some woodwork he had been doing. He hoped, once they could travel, to sell his wares, to help earn his keep around the house. Their home. It was still strange to him. Having a home. With a woman no less.

All his life he'd been more attracted to men. Sure, he had been attracted to the odd woman, he found pleasure in their form but he never thought when he fell in love again it would be with a woman. It wasn't as if it wasn't a possibility, his heart was so closed, the chances of him falling for any gender were the same, slim. He just didn't see it coming, life was strange, he supposed. Thinking of her tugged at his heart, he felt the pull of her. Tidying his tools away, he crossed to the cabin, stopping when a patch of newly bloomed flowers caught his eye. There were only a few, beautiful and thriving in a harsh environment, just like his love. Gathering them, he heading inside, she sat near the fire.

"Look what I found." He held blooms out to her. "They persisted in growing into something beautiful in the harshest of times and places. Just like you, My Wildflower." He pressed a kiss to her head.

"Flattery will get you everywhere." She tilled her lips up to meet his. She still melted into him, every time. Cradling her head he brought her closed until she stood to meet him. The kiss quickly grew, passion licking at them like the flames of the fire behind them. Silva couldn't wait to take her to their bed. Gathering her skirts in his hands he held them about her waist. To his delight, she was bare underneath.

"I was waiting for you." She whispered into the shell of his ear. Her words and the ghost of her breath in his ear made his cock twitch. He didn't think at his age that he would spend some much time dealing with a throbbing erection. It had him feeling like a young man again. Like the times he and Jake would find somewhere to hold up for the day, taking their pleasure from each other, spilling over one another, only to be hard again in no time.

Holding her up against the wall, he kissed her neck, his knees almost buckled as she clenched around him as he sank his cock into her. As her mouth opened in a moan he sealed his over it, capturing every sound he drew from her. Mine. Mine. Mine. His hips rhythmically pounded her into the wooden wall. No words were needed, he knew exactly how to bring her to her climax. After she curled into him in ecstasy, he let her drop down to the ground, continuing further, she drop down to her knees. Eagerly, she took his length in her mouth, tasting the salt of him beneath the tang of her release. Before Silva she had never taken a man in her mouth. Fortunately, he was a good teacher, being on both the giving and receiving end. With his tutelage she had become at ease with taking an impressive amount of his even more impressive length in her mouth. Her hand stroked what her mouth couldn't take until he until he came down her throat. Sated her pulled her into his side on the couch. The two of them indulged in an afternoon nap, blissfully wrapped up in each other's arms and company, completely unaware of what was going on in the town a short ride away.

Sheriff Rockwood had already sent out word to several nearby towns and even the city to see if anyone knew anything about their town's newest resident. No word had come back from New York on Raymond Becker, if there even was such a man. That didn't mean anything, New York was a big city. He considered reaching out to the Ahlborn family, deciding it better not to upset the powerful media boss and be drawn into big city drama. No, he could deal with this man on his own. He just need one slip up, one reason to take him into custody, he'd find out everything he needed to know. He was a patient man, it wore a little thin when he heard of a man possibly matching his mysterious Mr Becker's description. A deviant that killed at least two men in his escape, Silva Lezana. The day Jack came crashing into his office, ranting about remains, remains found on the land of the man in question, Sheriff Rockwood was left in no doubt that the the two men were on and the same.

"Silva Lezana! Come out. I see any weapons on you, I'll shoot you were you stand." Sheriff Rockwood hollered while slamming his fist against their cabin door.

Panic struck them at the mention of Silva's real name. Silva ushered her from the couch to the hiding place where he had hid last time.

"No." She brushed him off. Holding her shotgun behind the door, she opened it a crack to address the Sheriff. "Sheriff Rockwood what's going on? Who are you looking for?"

"I believe you know exactly who I'm looking for. The man you've been harbouring here." The Sheriff shoved his way in, raising his gun in Silva's direction as soon as he lay eyes on him. Silva didn't have a weapon on him. His were in the bedroom, next the one she kept in her apron. Being in their peaceful like bubble had made him soft. The only gun in the room, besides the Sheriff's, was held behind her back. It was ready in her hand if she needed it. Silva wondered if she would actually use it if the time came. As fierce and tough as she was, she was still a good woman. When it came down to it that deep seated goodness might give her pause in ending a man's life when even the briefest of pauses could cost him his.

"Harbouring? I don't understand." Feigning ignorance she stepped between the two men.

"You mean to tell me you don't know that this man is wanted?" Rockwood scoffed edging closer.

"This is Raymond. My husband told me tales about him. He worked for his family for decades. He arrived the day after my husband left, he told me my husband sent him."

Rockwood glanced at her momentarily before returning his gaze over her shoulder at Silva. "HE told you? Mrs Ahlborn, have you ever met this Raymond before the day he turned up here?"

'That's it, put the pieces together.' She thought. "Well, no." She laughed incredulously. "Are you trying to tell me this man is lying? That he isn't Raymond?!"

Stepping towards the older man she looked at Silva skeptically.

"For your safety you should stand behind me." The law man guided her behind him, right where she wanted to be. Pressing the shotgun to the base of his skull she spoke calmly and carefully. "Put the gun down. Slowly. I won't hesitate to pull the trigger if I had to."

"Easy. Do you really want to get yourself in trouble with the law for this miscreant?" Rockwood asked through gritted teeth.

"Lower the gun." She nudged him with her own gun for emphasis.

Slowly, he brought the gun out to the side. Bending forward slight her lowered his arm down. Just as he was about to place it on the counter top he snatched it back up again, squeezing off a shot that hit Silva in the shoulder. As Silva stumbled back, she instinctively moved toward him, allowing the Sheriff to step to the side before grabbing her arm and pulling her into his arms. He knocked the shot gun out of her hands as he tried to restrain her. Kicking her feet wildly, she landed a blow to his weak knee, sending him to his knees.

"You bitch!" He snarled.

She got in a few good punches until he pulled out a knife from his boot. Pain ripped up her arm when he slashed her forearm with it. Squealing in pain she moved out of his reach. Unsteadily the injured Sheriff tried to stand, only to be knocked back by a strong kick to his chest delivered by Silva. Taking advantage of the man being down Silva advanced on him, only to be stopped by a shot gun pressed against his chest. Rockwood had retrieved it, when he had been knocked sprawling on the floor. Silva's eyes widened as the man growled at him. The trigger was pulled and...nothing.

"Goddamn it." The Sheriff tossed the gun to the ground before launching himself at Silva. He dug his thumb into Silva's wound, the pain giving him the upper hand. As Silva recoiled Rockwood began to choke him. Silva struggled against him until his vision darkened around the edge. A single shot rang out and Silva gulped down lungfulls of air. His head was foggy as he slid down the wall at his back. Looking up he saw his Wildflower standing in front of him holding the shotgun. Confusion crossed his face.

"I only load one barrel. The first one is for threatenin'. The second one is for shootin'." She explained.

"Wait, so that was loaded when you pulled it on me?" He croaked out.

"Yeah. I guess we both lied that day."

With that they were both laughing. Silva had nearly been killed. There was a dead body on the floor. She was a murderer but they were laughing. It spilled out uncontrollably, until it didn't then the room was filled with a heavy silence.

"We can't cover this up." Her hands began to shake. "We need to run."

"No. I need to run. They have no reason to chase you."

"But I..." her lips moved but she couldn't voice what she did.

"No. I killed him. You did nothing. I lied to you. Seduced you. Convinced you to harbour me. This was all me. You have no reason to run."

"I have one. You." The kiss she gave him was desperate. As if she could pour all her frustration at the situation into it to make him feel it too. To make him feel everything she felt for him, that life on the run would be preferable to a life without him in it.

"Gather your things, quickly. His deputies might be on their way." Changing quickly, she moved on to packing her essentials, which really wasn't much, the only thing she needed was Silva. She didn't need to pack any trinkets to remind her of loved ones, no photographs. She packet some clothes and all the cash she had. Silva was just as quick getting ready. For a moment, they stood in silence. Hands held and foreheads pressed together, their breathing slowed together. A last moment together in the place they fell in love, cut short by the sound of hoovers approaching.

"Quick. Out the back." Silva flung open the window. "Run for the horse. I'll be right behind you. I'll try and slow them down." He checked his ammo.

"What?! No, we're going together."

"We need to buy time."

Huffing in annoyance at him, she grabbed an oil lamp from her desk and hurled it at the front door. It exploded on impacted raining fire across the floor. "Let's go!" She hissed.

"Yes Ma'am." He nodded before slipping out of the window behind her. Startled shouts let them know where the men were as the ran to the horses. Thankfully the horses were calmed and accustomed to them enough that they were able to saddle them quickly. Even with the only illumination coming from the moon. The house was in darkness with Thomas and Mary being away with family. Her heart broke at the thought of not seeing them again. No, she would, she would make sure of it.

Taking off into the night the horse ran at full speed. They managed to gain a good lead before their pursuers came after them. The horses continued flat out until they protested. Seeking covered in a patch of thick trees, they allowed their mounts to rest while they planned their next move. Adrenaline courses through her, she paced until Silva held her face in his hands. "You have to go to New York. You'll be safe there."

"You mean we have to go."

"I can't go with you. It's not safe. People will ask questions."

"Then we'll think of something else."

"If you don't go it will be suspicious. They're expecting you."

"I don't care. We'll just keep running."

"No, I won't let you do that for me. You go, we'll give it some time. If we don't hear anything, I'll come to you."

"They have plans for me for the next year. I will go alone on one condition." She looked him in the eyes as he stared back expectantly. "You go find Jake."

Silva's jaw dropped.

"I know you still love him." Silva began to protest. She hushed him. "That's okay. Just...go see him. If we are still meant to be, we meet in New York in exactly one year. If not just...just send word that you are safe."

Silva was dumb struck by her request. The sound of hoovers approaching spoke for him. After helping her back on her mount, Silva climbed onto his. "Grand Central Depot. A year from today. Go. Be safe." She urged him.

"Wildflower." He muttered, tears ran down his cheeks as he leaned over to kiss her deeply.

The sound of galloping drew closer.

"Go. Now." Her voice broke with as sob as they jerked the reins in opposite directions, fleeing as fast as their horses would carry them.

A year to the day she stood at spot where they arranged to meet, so many days and so many adventures ago. Fear gripped at her heart, with each passing face that wasn't his, it crawled up her throat, threatening to choke her. Too lost in searching the crowd she didn't even notice the small boy, the Shoeshine she passed on the way in, until he stood right in front of her.

"I have to give you this." He handed her an envelope before disappearing into the crowd.

The writing on the envelope was unmistakable, she had helped shape it, Silva's. Tears stung her eyes as her heart slowly broke, the fear in her chest giving way to grief. With shaking hands she pulled out the letter.

My Dearest Wildflower,

I know you said to send word but I feel like this is the cowards way out. Maybe it's for the best, I don't think I could stand to say goodbye.

When I said I loved you I meant it. You are the best woman I have ever know. My choosing Jake has nothing to do me not loving you. I can't put it into words, that is more your skill. I know you'll understand it more than I do.

You saved my life, gave me a new lease on it. I owe you everything. I wish you all the happiness life can hold for you.

Jake helped me with some of the spellings. He wants to thank you for sending me to him. It was a great gift to both of us. I read your articles so I know you are doing well but I hope that you are cared for.

If you ever need anything we would both be there for you.

Love, now and always, Silva.

Tags @kirsteng42 @babydarkstar @prolix-yuy @thegreenkid @hquinzelle @fangirl-316 @gracie7209 @jedifarmerr @doommommy @scorpio-marionette @sturkillerbase @harriedandharassed @aynsleywalker @mswarriorbabe80 @quica-quica-quica @rise-my-angel @adancedivasmom

Her knees felt like they might buckle, as she read the words. Tears began to well in her eyes. Looking around, she checked to see if anyone had noticed. That's when she saw him. Silva, stood on the other platform. His jeans and plaid shirt traded in for a black trousers, a white dress shirt, a deep red velvet waist coat and a black tailed coat. A black bowler hat completed his outfit. He looked dashing. Even from this far and with tears in her eyes she could see the anguished look on his face. Straightening her back, she put on her brightest smile, she hugged the letter to her chest before giving him a simple nod. Gripping the rim of his hat her returned it, before walking out of her life.

Epilogue

[samanthadalton]

Star Crossed Lovers (part 14)

Do my eyes deceive me???? part 14???? we did it. im so sorry its taken forever, i will try my best to be more consistent with my writing. love yall for being patient with me it means the most. thank you, thank you. 

warnings: throughout this fic there will be mentions of substance abuse, homophobia, sexual abuse, violence, NSFW, mentions of abandonment, depression and death including suicide

reader discretion is advised

warnings: angst, swearing (lots of it) 

taglist: @drmmyrs @cloud9in @somewillwin @save-me-the-last-dance @baexpoppy @stanzoeywade @ognenniyvolk @thepotatobleh @crazzyplays @fall3ngods @helpconfusedpersonhere @clowneryme @dopeyouth @boys-girls-i-cant-help-it-baby @vonda-b-real @uselesslesbianfr @veenast @cloakanddaggerthings @somethindarker (sorry again if ive missed anyone, if you wanna be added on this taglist or my general one just let me know 😊) 

word count: 4k (i feel like its short considering how long it took me to write but i still hope you guys enjoy) (also i didnt check for grammatical errors properly so sorry if you find any) 

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9 part 10 part 11 part 12 part 13

The first steps to moving on 

“Bea please,” Poppy whispers, a repentant look creeping up to her face as she looks away from her girlfriend. “It can’t wait.” 

Bea sighs, her shoulders slumping as the last remains of her anger disseminates from her body. “Okay fine, lead the way babe.” 

Poppy stiffens that the pet name but she doesn’t let her awkwardness slip as she leads Bea to a secluded classroom, far away from prying eyes. Both her and Bea turn to look at each other, and both simultaneously open their mouths to talk. 

“I know you wanted to tell-” 

“We need to talk-” 

Both clamp their lips shut, a mutual smile playing on their lips as they look at one another. 

“You go first,” Poppy gestures towards Bea, as she moves to sit on the edge of a desk. 

Bea inhales softly, her tongue darts out licking her lips as she looks down at the ground, her face calculating. “Why does Chloe hate me?” She looks up to Poppy, her eyes boring into the strawberry blonde’s, sadness swimming inside of them, “I just don’t get what I’ve done for her to hate me.” 

Poppy sighs heavily, her eyes awkwardly darting away from Bea’s. “It’s complicated Bea.” 

“Complicated?” Bea lets out a humourless laugh, “I almost just went off on Chloe after she gave her condolences for my mom dying because I just felt she wasn’t genuine and you wanna tell me it's complicated?” 

Poppy sharply inhales, contemplating for a few moments before saying, “it’s because of your mom.” 

Bea scrunches her brows up in confusion, “my mom? What the hell does she have to do with this?” 

Poppy ineptly plays with her hands, not being able to look Bea in her eyes, “at first it was just a classist thing. When you first came to Belvoire, she just wanted to make herself feel superior over you, but in the last year you’ve noticed her getting more mean right?” 

“Right.” Bea stares at Poppy, her expression emotionless. 

“Chloe’s parents have been fighting non stop recently, and it’s been affecting her a lot.” 

Bea’s brows furrow in confusion, “what does that have to do with me or my mom?” 

“Just let me explain first before you react, please.” Bea’s eyes bore into Poppy’s for a few seconds before she nods understandingly. “Her dad cheated on her mom. A lot of times actually. But he was blackmailed by one of the women he slept with.” Poppy pauses for a few seconds, “your mom.” 

Bea lets out a shaky breath, her eyes blinking in disbelief, “no, you’re lying.” 

Poppy nervously bites her bottom lip, “look Bea-” 

“How long have you known?”

Poppy’s face scrunches up in anger, “this isn’t my fault Bea. I only found out that day I went to talk to Chloe about us. Chloe made me promise not to say anything to you-” 

“Poppy! My mom OD and I don’t even know why. And now you’re telling me she was blackmailing the St James family and it doesn’t occur to you that might have had something to do with her death?” 

“They’re not the fucking mafia Bea, jesus. They were trying to settle it quietly by giving your mom some money and make her sign some stuff so she couldn't threaten them anymore.” 

The devastating ramification of Poppy’s admission hangs in the air as the two girls let the words settle into them. “Chloe really is sorry about your mom Bea, we all are.” 

Bea sighs, staring off into space, as a few tears begin to fill up in her eyes. “I just don’t know what to do.” Bea begins sniffling, but Poppy makes no movement to console her girlfriend. Bea notices and her expression sobers, “so, uh what did you wanna tell me?” Bea sniffs a few more times, before looking up at Poppy, giving her a small encouraging smile. 

Poppy looks away, guilt creeping up on her face, as she tries her damndest not to catch Bea’s small smile on her face. “Bea…”. Bea carefully assesses her girlfriend’s demeanour, noticing the similar body language during when they first asked to take a break, she thinks back to the last couple of days, she had barely heard from her girlfriend, and now she’s not affectionate, even after she almost had a mental breakdown in the middle of the hallway and her smile drops. “We have to break up,” Poppy says, her tone so monotone and dry as if she didn’t mean the words she was saying at all. 

“I don’t understand,” is all Bea can muster, evidently hurt by Poppy’s admission. Poppy winces slightly at Bea’s tone, finally breaking her robotic demeanour as she lets out a few sniffles. “So is that it? We have to break up,” Bea retorts mockingly, “is that all I get after all these years?” 

“Bea..” Poppy reaches out but Bea immediately takes a step back, tears flooding in her eyes. 

“No,” she holds her hands up, “I don’t get it, things are going good, or at least whatever twisted definition of good we’ve made up. Where the hell did this come from?” 

“Bea my dad-” 

“Of course! Hayden Min fucking Sinclair had something to do with this. Why do you still live under his shadow? You talk all this shit about breaking out of your father’s prison and wanting to achieve your own goals but he sucks you back in.” 

“That’s not fair Bea,” Poppy interjects, balling her hands up into fists in an attempt to subdue her trembling, “my dad has given me so much and he’s threatening to take it all away.” 

“Yeah, all you have to do is get rid of me. Me or the Min Sinclair name.” 

“Bea this is the life I have, okay I’m not like you, I’m not built like you.” 

“So what? I can grow up without a dad and now without a mom but it’s okay because I’m used to pain and disappointment?” 

“I didn’t mean it like that, you have a plan, things you can achieve, I need the Min Sinclair name, I’m nothing without it.” 

“Wow.” Bea shakes her head, “So I just meant nothing?” Bea wildy throws her arms in the air, anger bubbling under the surface of her demeanour. “We’ve practically been together since we were kids. And you’re just gonna fucking throw that away? And for what? Fuck you Poppy.” 

Poppy takes half a step back, dumbfounded by Bea’s outburst. She scrunches her brows, evidently hurt, “you don’t get it Bea. Even though your mom wasn’t the best, she still supported you, even if you didn’t know about it. My dad he- my mom what would she think?” 

“Your mom? Poppy what kind of shit is your dad brainwashing you with? Your mom is dead! You have no idea how she would react to having a gay daughter, but I know she’s probably disappointed in you.” 

“Fuck you Bea.”Poppy runs out of the classroom, tears streaming down her face, leaving Bea on her own. 

“Shit,” Bea whispers to herself before throwing a bunch of punches at the wall, each more cathartic than the last until she can’t physically hold herself up anymore. Bea defeatedly slides into a chair, cradling her head in between her hands, letting the tears free fall, as reality begins setting in that she lost the one thing in the world that was her everything. Poppy Min Sinclair was her rock, the girl who she gave her heart to, the love of her life and just in a matter of moments it was over. Maybe it was too good to be true. The beautiful, perky popular rich girl and the girl who had almost nothing, complete polar opposites, it never should’ve worked. But time and time again when faced against the world they persevered so why was this time different? Poppy had chosen her namesake over the love of her life. She chose the life of glitz and glamour over the girl who gave her her entire heart. Bea feels her entire world crashing down, how much more heartbreak could she take? Was her life always going to be so hard? So full of hurt? Full of pain? She winces at the thought, her head hammering as she comes to the realisation that she understood her mother’s pain more than she thought. 

…. 

Bea hops off her bike, parking it in front of her house, as she pulls her phone out to look at the time. ‘It’s lunch time,’ she thinks to herself. After the day she had today, school wasn’t the best option for her right now. She makes her way to her front door but stops in her tracks when she realises her front door is slightly ajar. Her survival instincts kick in as she effortlessly pulls out her pocket knife, carefully pushing the door fully open. As she steps into the living room, her eyes dart to the closed door of her mother’s room, but when she hears a creaking sound coming towards her bedroom, she cautiously moves towards the source of the noise, the grip on her knife tightening. As she creeps up, she sees the door of her room half opened, a hooded figure standing by her bed with their back facing her. 

Bea stealthily sneaks up to the figure placing the knife a few inches from their throat before lowering her voice to a threatening tone, “who are you and what the fuck are you doing?” The figure gasps, dropping a bag that’s in their hands with a deafening thud before raising their hands in a sign of surrender. 

“It’s me, it’s me,” the voice whimpers out. 

“AJ?” Bea raises her eyebrows, retracting the knife from his throat while pulling down his hood with her other hand. “What the fuck are you doing?” Bea takes a step back while AJ scrambles grabbing the bag he just dropped moments before. When he turns to face Bea, his eyes are wide, filled with fear as he clutches the bag closely to his chest. 

“I have to go,” he says as he attempts to run out of the room, but Bea pulls him back, her face crumpled in suspicion. 

“No we’re not doing this, give me the bag now,” Bea snatches the bag out of his hands before he can protest and opens the zipper to find it filled with cash. She grits her teeth, anger settling into her features as she whips her head up to AJ, “is this my fucking money?” 

“Bea, I- I can explain-” 

“What the fuck AJ!” Bea throws the bag onto the bed, the cash spilling out as she jabs an accusing finger at AJ’s chest. “You’re stealing from me now? I haven’t seen you in god knows how long, you don’t call, text nothing. Even after everything that’s been happening in the last few weeks but you have the audacity to fucking steal from me? Money that I’ve spent years saving? Money that I’ve bussed my fucking ass off for, are you serious right now?” Bea’s voice is filled with rage as she’s practically screaming, her voice now thundering. AJ winces, guiltily averting his gaze to the ground, unable to meet Bea’s eyes. 

“I’m sorry about your mom Bea, I wanted to visit-” AJ croaks out.

“But you didn’t,” Bea interjects, her voice lowered but filled with hurt. “And now you’re taking money- I mean what is so important you had to steal from me.” 

AJ paces towards the bed, hanging his head in shame, when he speaks his voice is quiet, full of fear, “I’m in some bad shit Bea. These guys aren’t playing around.” 

“I told you not to fall into the wrong crowd, I warned you this shit would happen.” 

“Bea please, I’ll pay you back I just need it.” 

“No! What the fuck, when will you pay me back huh? This is my college money, I’m not letting you give that away to your crackhead friends.” 

“Bea please,” AJ clasps his hands together, his tone pleading, “I don’t know what to do.” 

“AJ I have too much shit on my plate right now, I can’t deal with this. You need to find something else, I can’t help you.” 

AJ’s face pales but he stands up, and makes his way towards the door, before leaving he turns to look back at Bea, “I’m sorry about everything.” 

Bea keeps her eyes trained on her bed where the money is sprawled all over the mattress, “yeah me too,” she replies quietly. Bea hears the front door close and she collapses to the ground, letting the tears flow. 

……

A few days later, Bea sits in her dark living room, curtains shut and lights completely off as she wallows in her sadness, drinking from a bottle of cheap beer, as she stares absentmindedly at the ceiling, so drowned in her thoughts she doesn’t hear the resounding knocks on her door until she hears a voice call out, “Bea! Are you there?” 

Bea crumples her brows, forcing herself to stand as she makes her way to the door, she wearily makes her way to her front door only slightly opening the door before poking her head out. “Veronica?” Veronica gives the girl a wide smile before pushing the door more open, ushering the figure behind her into the house too, “Carter? What are you guys doing here?’ 

Veronica looks around the dark room, noticing the pile of empty beer bottles on the floor, “yikes, drinking on your own on a friday night Hughes? That’s really sad.” Carter stands near the edge of the living room, as if he’s an explorer, his eyes darting all over the living room as he assesses this new environment. 

Bea on the other hand scowls at Veronica, “what the hell do you want Veronica, I’m not in the mood.” 

Veronica frowns slightly, pouting her lips together, “we heard about you and Poppy.” 

Bea rolls her eyes, “yeah well I’m trying to forget about her.” Bea picks up her beer bottle from the ground and makes a show by exaggeratingly drinking from the bottle until it's empty. She discards the empty bottle along with the other ones before turning to look at Veronica and Carter, “so if you’ll excuse me.” 

Veronica steps towards Bea, wrapping her hand around the brunette’s arm, “we’re not here for Poppy stupid, we’re here for you.” 

Bea raises an eyebrow, “for me?” 

Veronica turns to look at Carter, beckoning him forward, Carter breaks out of reverie and clears his throat, “yeah uh, we wanted to take you to a party.” 

“A party?” Bea looks between them confused, “I’m not that interested guys.”

“Wait, wait, wait Bea,” Veronica pleads, pulling Bea closer to her, “you’ve never been to a Belvoire party and the year is almost over, we thought we should take you to at least.” 

“I don’t know guys,” Bea says skeptically, “a lot of people don’t like me.” 

“Who gives a shit? You just had your heart broken and you need to let loose.” 

Bea sighs, pulling away from Veronica, “I don’t think it’s a good idea.” 

“Come on, it beats drinking in the dark on your own.” 

Bea sighs, dropping her shoulders, “what about uh Poppy?” 

“Poppy?” Veronica arches a brow, “her and Chloe are staying in tonight, she said she needed to catch up on homework or something.” 

Bea purses her lips together in thought before sighing,  “fine.” Veronica cheers, “but,” Bea over enunciates, “only for a few hours and if I don’t like it I’m going home.” 

“Okay, deal,” Veronica squeals, wrapping Bea in a big hug. Carter chuckles as Veronica gestures for him to join the hug, he awkwardly wraps his arms around the two girls, before pulling away. 

“Okay, I’ll wait in the car while you girls get ready. Just uh don’t take too long.”

Veronica playfully rolls her eyes as she Bea towards her bedroom, yelling back “thanks Carter.” Giddy, she rushes to Bea’s closest, assessing her clothes until she finds a short red dress hidden in the back. “This!” 

“No, no, no,” Bea shakes her head, pulling the dress out of the ombre-haired girl’s hands. 

“Why not? It would look so hot on you,” Veronica’s eyes trail down Bea’s body, as she sharply inhales. “Bea, you’re single and sexy, stop holding yourself back okay?” 

“I’m not,” Bea pushes back defensively, “I just-” she sighs heavily, “no one at Belvoire has ever seen me dressed up, I’m just- I’m nervous I guess.” 

“Then we have to show them what they’ve been missing for the last three years,” Veronica gives Bea a devilish smile as she takes the dress from Bea’s hands, sliding the dress off the hanger before handing it over to Bea. 

“Uh you gonna stay in the room?” Bea nervously wrings her hands together. 

“Why, are you offering a show?” Veronica lifts a teasing brow, noticing Bea’s cheeks redden slightly, which prompts her to let out a small laugh, “I’m kidding, don’t worry I won’t look.” Veronica makes a show of raising her hands to cover her eyes. Bea laughs as she slips out of her clothes and into the dress, she awkwardly clears her throat, grabbing Veronica’s attention. 

“Hey, uh help a girl out with her zipper?” 

“Sure,” Veronica moves to stand behind Bea, her hands ghosting around Bea’s exposed back, her breath momentarily taken away. She sturdies herself and places one of her hands on the small of the brunette’s back while the other moves towards the zipper, zipping the girl up. Bea smooths the dress down with her hands appreciating herself in the mirror, “you look gorgeous,” Veronica whispers into the shell of her ear. 

Bea’s face completely flushes red and slightly jerks at Veronica’s admission, “uhh thanks.” 

Veronica notices the awkward shift in the atmosphere, and promptly changes the subject, “so where’s your sister?” 

Bea sits in front of her mirror, a comb in her hand as she brushes her long locks, “she’s staying at a friend’s tonight.” 

“Cool,” Veronica answers back but her tone falls flat. The girls bask in the awkward silence as Bea continues to get ready but when Veronica notices Bea struggling to do her winged eyeliner she breaks the silence. “Hey do you need help?” 

Bea smiles bashfully, “yeah.” She rubs the back of her head with her hand, “sorry Poppy used to help me with my makeup.” 

“Right,” Veronica’s face slightly falls but she quickly covers it up, ushering Bea to come and sit on the bed. “Come on, I don’t bite,” Veronica bites the bottom of her lip, “unless you want me too.” Bea laughs but obliges sitting on the edge of the bed. Veronica clambers onto her lap, her thighs settling on the sides of Bea’s legs, and in response, Bea’s eyes widen in surprise but she remains glued in her spot, too shocked to move. 

“V, what are you doing?” Bea whispers, her voice attempting to come across as reprimanding but it comes out as breathy. 

“Relax, I’m just doing your eyeliner.” Veronica plucks the wand from Bea’s hand and angles herself close to the brunette’s face, as she begins drawing on the wings on Bea’s eyelids. Bea steadies herself, as she feels the heat of Veronica’s body so close to hers and when Veronica is finished with putting the finishing touches on her eyelids, she hops off Bea’s lap, making her way towards the desk, scuffling through Bea’s makeup bag before taking up her place on Bea’s lap once again. “Now I think this colour would look good on you,” 

“You don’t think it’s too much red?” 

“Oh babe, red means power, dominance, you don’t wanna be thinking about Poppy the entire night, you wanna have all eyes on you Bea Hughes.” Veronica uncaps the lipstick, her eyes burning into Bea’s lips as she carefully applies the red colour to her lips. “Perfect.” 

Bea smacks her lips together, evenly spreading the red on her lips. “Thanks V.” 

Veronica’s eyes dart to Bea’s lips, her tongue slightly running along her bottom lips before she breaks out of her reverie flashing Bea a smirk, “don’t thank me yet, thank me when you’re having the time of your life at the party.” Veronica slides off Bea’s lap, holding her hand out, “come on let’s finish up because Carter’s been waiting for a while.” Bea smiles up at Veronica, taking her hand as she lets the ombre-haired girl pull her off the bed, as they continue getting ready. 

………

Once they arrive at the party, Carter drops the girls off at the front of the huge house before telling them he will park the car. Veronica’s gaze darts to Bea, who’s nervously toying with her hands, looking up at the intimidating house, the lights blaring and as the music echoes throughout, the bass thumping in their ears. Noticing the nerves settling into her, Veronica slips into Bea's, giving her a reassuring squeeze, “hey, it’s okay, it’s just a bunch of drunk, preppy uptight teenagers, nothing you don't usually face everyday.” 

Bea lets out a small laugh, “just in a big ass house,” she jests. 

“Yeah, just in a big ass house,” she gives Bea a light squeeze as she starts pulling Bea into the house with her. Automatically, they’re met with stares and whispers, as the students look astonished at Bea, some appraising her outfit, while others are confused about her presence. “Hey, just stay with me okay?” Veronica whispers over to Bea. Bea nods, her eyes roaming the room. “I’ll get us drinks.” The ombre-haired girl gives Bea a reassuring pat on her arm and leaves her side and Bea walks into the living room, observing the difference between the vibes of the party between the north and the south. Her thoughts then move to think about Poppy, how Poppy would love going to parties in the north but Bea couldn’t find the appeal in it. Poppy. Poppy, who broke up with her. She’s interrupted from her thoughts by a tap of her shoulder, and Bea turns around to see Veronica offering her a red solo cup, Bea takes a sip and winces. 

“What the hell is this crap?” 

“Yeah for a bunch of rich kids, their taste in beer isn’t the best,” Veronica jokes, slightly nudging Bea. 

“We have way better beer in the south side.” 

“That I can agree with.” Veronica looks over to Bea who looks lost in thought, “hey what are you thinking about?” 

Bea sighs heavily, “Poppy,” she mutters. 

Veronica nods once, “right, yeah.” 

“Poppy would’ve loved a party like this, big fancy house an-” 

“Bea,” Veronica says, her tone slightly agitated, “this,” she gestures around the room, “is a no Poppy zone. That means we don’t think about Poppy, only about fun.” 

Bea nods, “fun. I can do that.” Veronica lifts her cup in the air, “what are we cheering to?” 

Veronica gives Bea a smile, “here’s to the first steps in moving on.” The girls tap their cups together before downing their drinks. “Now if we wanna get drunk, we’re gonna need a lot more of these.” 

The party is still ongoing, and Bea sits in a circle with a few girls from the volleyball team and a few of the football team and other people she doesn’t recognise while Veronica sits beside her. 

“Bea you look so pretty,” one of her teammates says. 

“Yeah Bea your makeup is literally gorgeous,” another chimes in. 

“Who knew strip tease can clean up well,” Ford jests, but Bea slumps her shoulders a little, remembering that these people are not her friends. 

Carter enters the circle slapping Ford on the head as he goes, “shut up, Hughes is cool.” Bea gives Carter a nod of appreciation before looking down at the drink in her hands. Her thoughts move a million miles a minute, but there’s a constant one stuck in her brain, Poppy.

Veronica looks over at Bea, frowning. “Hey come with me.” She stands, excusing herself from the group and Bea follows her close behind. 

“Where are we going?” 

“We’re gonna play a private game of truth or drink.” 

[waterfallswords]

Tyler's brow furrows as he tries to make sense of Astra's words, her voice drifting through his mind. Every phrase feels like it's wrapped in layers he can't quite peel back, and yet he nods along, pretending he understands. "Don't...most people value things they can see and feel?" he asks, chuckling awkwardly, not sure if he's even made sense to himself. He wants to ask her directly what she means about protection not being something you see, but he suspects he'd just end up with another puzzle for an answer. His gaze shifts, following hers to where Jakob and Felix are, and he nods, a more genuine nod this time. At least that seems like a real answer.

It's an odd sensation, being under Astra's gaze, almost as if she's peeling back layers he didn't even know he had. Her questions aren't just questions. They seem to reach into him, urging him to go deeper, to consider things he usually wouldn't let himself think about. His mind lands on Lola, and why he feels so unsettled by her work, her independence. He's uneasy admitting it, even to himself, but he can't help the way his stomach tightens at the thought that maybe, just maybe, she doesn't really need him. The thought's a bitter one, a twist he's not prepared for, and his throat suddenly feels tight. He swallows, the sound audible and somehow embarrassing. "Yeah…that makes sense. You're right." he mutters, his voice barely above a whisper as he glances outside, catching a glimpse of Lola busying herself with her plants. "I…don't mean to." the admission slips out, surprising even him.

He blinks, the weight of his own words snapping him back to the present, and he rubs the back of his neck, chuckling awkwardly. "Do you normally give people homework?" he teases, trying to bring himself back to a comfortable distance, edging subtly toward the door like he might escape this strange kitchen conversation. "But… yeah. I'll think on it. Thanks… Astra." even though he had come here asking about Lola and now is leaving with questions about himself. He's not really sure how he can escape, but he settles on taking Astra's hand and kissing her knuckles. Confused the entire time he does it, clearly looking as if he's gone too far now to change his mind. "Uh...sorry. I don't have any tokens on me and...emotional labor, right? Women's most unpaid work." he shrugs, letting go of her hand. "Okay...um...bye." then he's gone before Astra can give him more deep-dives on his own mind.

END.

Astra watches Tyler, her gaze soft as she senses the weight of his thoughts. The way they flit behind his eyes, barely touching the surface before retreating again. She doesn't rush him. Instead, she takes another sip of her tea, indifferent to the fact that it's grown cold, and places the cup down gently on the counter. "Protection isn't always something you can see." she says, her voice calm, each word chosen with delicate care. "But...it sounds like you value what you can touch, what you can feel, what you can see." her head tilts slightly, studying him like she's reading the spaces between his words. "So you're worried about someone coming for Lolly. Physically. Is that it?" her lips curve, the softest chuckle escaping as she gestures toward Jakob and Felix. "In that case, she's more than safe."

But she knows there's more. Love is never that simple. Astra feels the undercurrent of Tyler's fear, that deeper pull, the fear of losing something he's desperate to keep. She knows the shape of a heart like his. It's in the way he tenses, the unspoken struggle to keep something that he thinks might slip through his fingers. She glances toward Felix without meaning to, feeling the mirror of that tension in her own life, then turns her attention back to Tyler, her tone softer, almost wistful. "Isn't it sweeter," she murmurs, taking a breath. "When something chooses to stay with you? When it lets you hold it?" her eyes drift momentarily toward the window, where Lolly works outside, lost in her own world, serene. "That's better than gripping so tight it has no choice, isn't it?" she lifts her hands, mimicking a gentle tug-of-war in the air, her fingers pulling and releasing in a silent dance. "Holding tighter only creates a pull."

Tyler is quiet, lost in his own reasoning, but Astra doesn't push. Instead, she watches him with an understanding smile, one that carries neither judgment nor impatience. There's sweetness in his worry, something almost pure about it, even if she knows the answer can't be rushed. Her gaze drifts again to the window, watching Lolly in her quiet joy, so blissfully unaware of the weight of the conversation unfolding inside.

"Well, she's not as small as you think, Tyler." Astra says after a beat, her voice carrying a quiet amusement as she slips down from the counter with a fluid grace. She gathers her empty cup. "But you should think on this. Maybe come back and talk to me when you have." she turns to the sink, the water sputtering to life, the pipes clattering with loud thumps. Her focus now is on rinsing away the remnants of her tea. "If you see a flower blooming, vibrant, alive…do you pick it? Keep it for yourself, knowing it'll fade in your hands? Or do you let it stay where it thrives, admiring it where it belongs?" she turns to him again, smiling as she shakes the cup dry, her bracelets chiming and clattering.

[kuramirocket]

The term "Aztec" refers to the seven indigenous tribes who share the common language of Nahuatl and who settled in the Valley of Mexico prior to the Spanish conquest. These tribes, which include the Xochimilca, Chalca, Tepaneca, Colhua, Tlahuica, Tlaxcalteca, and Mexica. According to legend, the Mexica established their homeland in 1325 on an island in Lake Texcoco where they found an eagle on top of a prickly pear cactus (as had been prophesied by one of their priests). They named their island city Tenochtitlan. As the Mexica consolidated their power, Tenochtitlan became the capital of the Aztec Empire.

Tenochtitlan formed a strategic alliance with the neighboring Aztec city-states of Texcoco and Tlacopan in 1428. This alliance was known as the Triple Alliance and was created to provide security for the region. Although Tenochtitlan was the political and military leader of the alliance, each member retained its own legal, economic, and religious systems. Moreover, the Aztecs usually did not impose their laws or customs on the people that they conquered. The Triple Alliance dissolved in 1515.

By the time of the Conquest, approximately 1 million people were living in the Valley of Mexico, with 250,000 in Tenochtitlan alone. The Spanish conquistadores who arrived in the region in 1519 were stunned by the advanced Aztec civilization and compared Tenochtitlan to the city of Venice. The Spaniards conquered the Aztecs in 1521, destroyed the great temples and vestiges of this civilization. However, the legacy of the original Aztec empire survives today through its archaeological treasures and the indigenous Nahua people, who are the modern descendants of the Aztecs.

Aztec Political Structure

The Aztec empire was made up of a series of city-states known as altepetl. Each altepetl was ruled by a supreme leader (tlatoani) and a supreme judge and administrator (cihuacoatl). The tlatoani of the capital city of Tenochtitlan served as the Emperor (Huey Tlatoani) of the Aztec empire. The tlatoani was the ultimate owner of all land in his city-state, oversaw markets and temples, led the military, and resolved judicial disputes. Once a tlatoani was selected, he served his city-state for life. The cihuacoatl was the second in command after the tlatoani, served as the supreme judge for the court system, appointed all lower court judges, and handled the financial affairs of the altepetl.

New emperors were usually chosen from among the brothers or sons of the deceased ruler. They were required to be over the age of 30, to have been educated at one of the elite calmecac schools, to be experienced warriors and military leaders, and to be just. Although the emperor had absolute power and was believed to be a representative of the gods, he governed with the assistance of four advisors and one senior advisor.

Aztec Social Structure

The noble class consisted of government and military leaders, high level priests, and lords (tecuhtli). Priests had their own internal class system and were expected to be celibate and to refrain from alcohol. Failure to do so would result in serious punishment or death. The tecuhtli included landowners, judges, and military commanders. Noble status was passed on through male and female lineages.

The commoner class consisted of farmers, artisans, merchants, and low-level priests. Artisans and traveling merchants enjoyed the greatest amount of wealth and prestige within this class, and had their own self-governing trade guilds. Commoners generally resided in calpulli (also referred to as calpolli), or neighborhood wards, which were led by a single nobleman and a council of commoner elders.

An individual could voluntarily sell himself or his children into slavery to pay back a debt (the latter required permission of the court). Slaves had the right to marry, to have children, to substitute another individual in their place, and to buy their freedom. Slaveowners were responsible for housing and feeding their slaves, and slaves generally could not be resold. They were usually freed when their owners died, and could also gain their freedom by marrying their owner. Aztecs were not born slaves and could not inherit this status from their parents.

There is evidence that women had administrative roles in the calpulli and markets, and also worked as midwives and priestesses.

Aztec Legal System and Sources of Law

The Aztec legal system was highly complex and was designed to maintain social order. Aztec laws were based on royal decrees and on customs that had been passed down from generation to generation. These laws were also interpreted and applied by Aztec judges in the various court systems. Aztec judges were not necessarily bound by existing law, and had some discretion to do what was just and reasonable under the circumstances. The concept of stare decisis did apply in certain situations, as punishments ordered in certain cases were typically applied to subsequent similar cases.

The major civil and criminal laws were written down in pictograph for use by judges, while other customary laws were passed down to younger generations through spoken hymns. At the time of the conquest, the Aztecs had just begun to codify their laws into a more formal written form. However, the Spanish missionaries deliberately destroyed the few written court and legal records that existed because they were considered to be heretical. Other legal manuscripts were burned by Spanish troops for fuel, or were allowed to rot from humidity and neglect. As a result, the limited information that is available about the Aztec legal system comes from Spanish chroniclers and troops who documented their observations during the two years before Tenochtitlan was conquered.

Many Spanish priests also studied the Aztecs during the years immediately following the Conquest, and wrote manuscripts known as codices. These codices discussed Aztec history, religion, natural history, warfare, political affairs, and the events following the Conquest. The best and most comprehensive work was the 12 volume General History of the Things of New Spain, which was also known as the Florentine Codex. Written by Fray Bernardino de Sahagún, this work was based on interviews with Aztec elders who survived the Conquest, and includes detailed information about Aztec daily life, merchant and artisan business practices, and the governance of the Aztec empire. Because this codex provides a relatively pro-Aztec viewpoint of the Conquest, it was suppressed for 300 years during the Spanish inquisition. The Codex Mendoza, which was commissioned in the 1540s by a Spanish viceroy, is also an important resource because it covers the history of Tenochtitlan, has detailed tribute records, and includes a discussion of Aztec law and punishments. The Libro de Oro Codex (the Codex Ixtlilxóchitl) was written by Fray Fernando de Alva Cortés Ixtlilxóchitl and contains a collection of 65 criminal laws that were supposedly copied from an original Aztec manuscript.

Aztec Judicial System

The Aztec judicial system was made up of multiple courts with differing levels of jurisdiction. These included the trial courts, appellate courts, and a supreme court. The trial courts were known as Teccalli courts, and heard civil and criminal cases involving commoners. Civil judgments by this court were considered final, but criminal sentences could be appealed. The appellate courts, known as Tlacxitlán, reviewed criminal appeals from the Teccalli courts and served as trial courts for cases involving nobles and warriors. The Aztec Supreme Court reviewed decisions from the Tlaxitlán. The Chief Justice, or Cihuacoatl, determined the final verdict and his decision could not be appealed to the Emperor or the other judges. If the Cihuacoatl decided that a case was too important for the Court to rule on alone, it was sent to the Emperor, who held court every 12 days and rendered final judgments with the assistance of four elder noblemen. The Emperor retained the ultimate right to intervene in cases or appeals that were of importance to him or to the empire.

The Aztecs had various special jurisdiction courts, including commercial courts (which handled marketplace and merchant disputes), family courts, fiscal affairs courts, a military court, and a religious court (which handled cases concerning priests, students, and religious matters). The Aztecs additionally had neighborhood courts that were similar to modern justices of the peace. Judges were elected by the neighborhood to hear minor criminal and civil cases, and reported their decisions to the Tecalli courts. These judges also had a police force to serve summons and arrest criminals.

Aztec judges were viewed with great respect and honor, and were expected to be impartial, ethical, and honest. The Emperor (or tlatoani) appointed the Cihuacoatl, who in turn appointed all of the lower court judges except for the neighborhood judges. Judges were appointed for life and could be removed only for misconduct. Judges received their training through an apprenticeship program that involved observing court proceedings. Future judges were then selected from among the apprentices. The judiciary was self-policing, and judicial misconduct was punished by reprimand for the first minor offense. After the third minor offense, a judge would be removed from office and have his head shaved, which was considered a great humiliation among the Aztecs. Major breaches of professional ethics, including bribery, accepting gifts, and colluding with a party to a case, were punishable by death.

Individuals who were accused of crimes or were involved in civil disputes were summoned to court and had the opportunity to defend themselves. Attorneys did not exist, and individuals usually represented themselves with the assistance of friends and relatives. Trials were public, all parties were required to testify under oath, and documents, testimony, circumstantial evidence, and confessions were admissible. No trial could last more than 80 days and verdicts were determined through a majority vote. Judges were assisted during proceedings by court personnel, including recorders or painters who documented the court proceedings, a crier who announced verdicts, and an executioner who carried out death sentences.

Aztec Criminal Law

Under the Aztec legal system, crimes were severely punished. While capital punishment was common, other punishments included restitution, loss of office, destruction of the offender’s home, prison sentences, slavery, and shaving the offender’s head.

The Aztecs had a prison system, which included the cuauhcalli (a "death row"), the teilpiloyan (a debtors’ prison), the petlacalli (a prison for individuals who were found guilty of minor crimes), and a fourth type of prison which involved a judge drawing lines or placing sticks on the ground and ordering the prisoner not to cross them.

Numerous offenses were punishable by death, including homicide, perjury, rape, highway robbery, destruction of crops, selling stolen property, official graft, pederasty and serious judicial misconduct. Capital punishment could be carried out through hanging, drowning, stoning, strangulation, beheading, beating, disembowelment, burning, quartering, and opening the chest to remove the perpetrator's heart. It was possible for victims or families of victims to intervene in the execution of a sentence. If they chose to forgive the perpetrator, his death sentence was removed and he would become a slave of the victim’s family.

Theft was considered a serious crime. Capital offenses included theft from merchants, theft from a temple, theft of arms or military insignia, and theft of more than 20 ears of corn. Petty theft was generally punished through restitution. If the perpetrator wasn’t able to pay for the stolen item, he became the victim's slave.

Children under the age of ten were considered to be legally incapable of committing criminal acts, but were still expected to respect and obey their parents.

Aztec Property Law

Aztecs had a complex and hierarchical land ownership system, and drew sophisticated boundary maps that were used to mark different types of land and settle disputes. The Emperor owned personal and royal property which was used as he saw fit. Owners of conquered lands were not necessarily displaced and were usually allowed to continue living on and working their lands.

Nobles could own land on a restricted and unrestricted basis. Nobles obtained land by purchasing it from other nobles or as a gift from the emperor for service to the Aztec empire. Purchased land could be sold or willed. Land grants from the emperor sometimes had conditions that required them to be returned to the emperor upon the death of the owner. Warriors had similar rights to purchase land or receive it from the emperor. Institutions such as the army, temples, and certain public offices (judgeships) could also own land which was received from the Emperor. These entities owned the rights to the profits from the land and used them to support the office holder. However, the individual office holder did not own the land.

Commoners could not own land on an individual basis. However, they had access to land through their calpulli. Although the calpulli were run by nobles, members of the calpulli were permitted to elect a neighborhood leader (calpullec) to manage the distribution of communally-owned calpulli land. This land was given to individual families, and generally stayed with the family unless it went uncultivated for two years or the family moved away. If this occurred, the unused land would then be redistributed to other families. Although the calpulli was responsible for dividing and reassigning the land, individual plots of land were often inherited by subsequent generations of the same family.

Aztec Commercial and Tax Law

A strong system of laws governed the economic operations of the Aztec Empire. One of the main sources of income for the empire was taxation. Aztec citizenry paid taxes (with the exception of priests, nobles, minors, orphans, invalids, and beggars). Merchants paid taxes on the goods that they sold, artisans paid taxes based on the value of their services, and barrios paid taxes through the crops that they produced.

As for tribute payments researchers have observed that tribute payments were generally reasonable.

Merchants were extremely important to the Aztec empire, especially traveling merchants known as pochtecah who ventured into neighboring regions. Pochtecah were organized into their own calpulli and could pass their profession and land down to their children. They had their own guilds, laws of conduct, and courts to enforce their laws. They ventured into foreign regions to establish trade and sometimes served as messengers and spies for the Aztecs. Merchants who were attacked while on the road were expected to defend themselves, and were sometimes assisted by warriors. War was justified if the safety of an Aztec merchant was threatened.

Local commerce was required to be carried out in large marketplaces known as tianquiztli. The various marketplaces were open once a week on rotating days, although the largest market in Tlatelolco was open on a daily basis. The marketplaces were patrolled by special commissioners who worked to prevent fraud and disturbances. Commercial disputes were settled in the marketplaces through special commercial courts that had the power to impose capital punishment if necessary. Sales were made on cash and credit. While there was no official currency, various goods functioned as money, including cacao grains, small squares of cotton cloth, small nuggets of gold, pieces of tin, and precious feathers.

The Aztecs used contracts to carry out their business activities. Contracts were formed verbally and became legal and binding when witnessed by four people. There is evidence to suggest that the Aztecs had sales, commission sales, lease, work, and loan contracts. Loan contracts used collateral in the form of property and goods.

Aztec Family Law

Aztec family law generally followed customary law. Marriage ceremonies had to follow certain rituals in order to be legally recognized.

Marriage was conditional in that the parties could decide to separate or stay together after they had their first son. Marriages could also be unconditional and last for an indefinite period of time. Polygamy and concubines were permitted, though this was more common in noble households and marriage rites were only observed with the first, or principal, wife. Aztec families could live in single family homes, though many opted to live in joint family households for economic reasons.

Aztec families were very close knit. Children were considered gifts from the gods, but were expected to be obedient to their parents and elders. Children who became orphaned lived with aunts and uncles or other family members. 

There was no divorce, but men and women could petition the courts for legal separation on the basis of incompatibility, misconduct by the wife, abuse by the husband, or financial debt.

Courts generally tried to encourage reconciliation where possible. Simple abandonment of a household by one party was also sufficient to establish a legal separation. Property registered at time of marriage was returned to the party who brought it to the marriage. If there was a guilty party in the marriage, the offender forfeited half of the community property to the other spouse. Divorced and widowed parties could get remarried. Widows had the option of marrying their husband's brother as well.

There is some conflicting information among researchers regarding inheritance rights. According to Avalos, a father could create a will as he saw fit, with property conceivably going to his wife or daughters. 

Aztec International and Military Law

The Aztec empire was strongly militaristic. War was justified when a territory closed its roads to commerce or when a merchant or ambassador was killed. A ritual was followed for declaring war. The Aztec Emperor would issue a declaration of war and envoys were sent to the enemy region. The enemy was given a gift of weapons and 20 days to respond to the declaration and submit to Aztec authority. If no agreement was reached, the enemy was brought another gift of weapons and given another 20 days to respond. If no agreement was reached after this second offering, a third and final warning was given with harsher terms. If no agreement was reached after the final warning, the Aztec army would attack within twenty days. Enemy kings suffered personal punishment by the Aztecs if they waited until the third warning to accept the Aztec empire's terms. During combat, captured warriors were enslaved and sacrificed. Captives had the option of fighting Aztec warriors in order to obtain their freedom.

Most sacrificial victims were warriors captured in battle. To be sacrificed was an honor because it was believed that this would guarantee life after death.

Texcocan Law

Texcoco was founded in the 12th century and grew to prominence within the Aztec Empire in the early 15th century through its leader, Nezahualcoyotl.

A separate discussion of Texcoco is warranted because the Texcocan legal system was highly sophisticated and had various important differences compared to the legal system in Tenochtitlan.

First, Nezahualcoyotl formally codified 80 laws for his empire that were divided into four parts. The enforcement of each part was left to four different supreme councils: the War Council, the Treasury Council, the Council of Music, Arts, and Sciences, and the Legal Council. The first three councils were made up of one representative from each of the 15 provinces in the empire. The War Council enforced laws concerning the military, including disputes over captives, battlefield conduct, and wartime treason. The Treasury Council enforced laws related to merchants and tribute collectors. The Council of Music, Arts and Sciences handled cases involving artisans and priests. This Council also regulated the schools and licensed teachers.

The Supreme Legal Council handled criminal, civil, and property matters. Decisions by local and provincial judges were appealed to this council, which was made up of six sets of two judges from the various geographic regions. These cases could in turn be appealed to two supreme judges, who issued sentences only with the approval of the Texcocan ruler. The Texcocan ruler turned to his divine tribunal for advice on serious cases and death sentences, had a separate ruler's tribunal to handle less critical matters, and was advised by 14 great lords on political and legal issues affecting the empire. As with the legal system in Tenochtitlan, cases had to be resolved within 80 days. There is some evidence that judges followed precedent, and also made decisions based on what was reasonable under the circumstances of the specific cases.

Although Texcocan laws were strictly enforced, Nezahualcoyotl was merciful. He had corn planted along public roads so that hungry individuals could eat and not be accused of theft. The Texcocan ruler gave food and clothing to the needy and to wounded soldiers.

Second, the Texcocan empire had highly complex property laws. Land was divided into diffetent categories. Tlatocamilli land was royal land that was farmed by calpulli members for the benefit of the ruler. Tecpantlalli lands were lands on which the royal palaces were located. Commoners worked these lands and were employed as palace servants. Calpulalli were calpulli lands designated for use by commoners. Pillalli lands belonged to minor lords. These lands could not be sold, but could be passed on to heirs or would otherwise revert back to the state. Tecpillalli lands belonged to minor lords related to ancient lords, and to merit-worthy warriors and other individuuals. These lands could be sold to other nobles. 

Finally, the Texcocans had complex inheritance and succession rules. Children had the legal right to inherit property from their fathers, and could only be disinherited for violence, cowardice, cruelty, or wastefulness. Among nobles, the first born son was usually the first in line to receive the inheritance. However, if he was deemed unsuitable, a different son was selected based on his merit and abilities. Commoners tended to divide their property equally among the offspring of the deceased, and there is some evidence to suggest that women inherited property.

Source

[more-than-a-princess]

Even for someone like her, whose life was all about having the right words to say at the right time in order to inspire and comfort as necessary, Sonia found herself tongue-tied at Mikan's admission. She smiled weakly instead: kindness should have been something that came easily to everyone. It cost nothing to be kind, and to act otherwise paid a heavy price to both the target and the aggressor eventually. Her friend so often found herself as a target it seemed that genuine kindness was a rarity. And while none of it was Mikan's fault, Sonia found herself in a place of sympathy. She would likely never know what it was like to be so bullied, at least in the way Mikan was. Sonia's family had an entire public relations staff to shield them from unkind comments from the public and the media, and craft the image needed to present to the world. This, she knew, was not the norm.

"I think you may not have met those wonderful and kind people yet," She finally settled on how to respond, nodding. Maybe high school wouldn't be a fond memory for Mikan, but Sonia would try to give her something warm and good to look back on one day. "Maybe they are not present here at Hope's Peak, but there are good people in the world, Mikan-san. And I feel certain your path and theirs shall cross one day. Besides, I believe that those who bully others do so out of poor examples, or trauma of their own. I hope that they shall learn to treat others better one day."

Maybe she shouldn't have shown her friend her views on sexual positivity. Instead of feeling confident and empowered, the Ultimate Nurse just looked ashamed of it all. But Sonia couldn't condemn her friend for her sexual experience: one, it was simply wrong to do so and two, she simply didn't see it as a negative in the first place. It was a choice that Mikan, and Sonia herself, had made for themselves: even if societal expectations demanded purity, they were young women in charge of their own minds and bodies. There was something innately powerful about that, in Sonia's opinion: if only Mikan could harness such thinking.

Except now, with her idea of defending herself, she might be taking things too far. "I am not sure if fists or a sword is the most appropriate way to diffuse the situation," She admitted: surely there was an in-between from being bullied and choosing violence. "Perhaps negotiating might be somewhere to start? If it is impossible to ignore the bullying, that is. People who are filled with hate absolutely dislike it when they are ignored and not given the reaction they desire. It is effective with media slander, at least."

"I think we will not know if the school will intervene unless we try," She told Mikan honestly, yet confidently. "It is doing nothing that is the enemy of progress, and that is no way to go through life. Let us bring our ideas to Nanami-san and perhaps she may find a way for us to speak to the Student Council directly! After we have convinced them this is an important need the school must face, we may rally our troops and bring our proposals for a kinder and safer school to the Board of Governors!" Leave it to Sonia to know the exact hierarchy of any institution she was in affiliation with. Even if, of course, they hadn't even drawn up proposals or a plan to present to Chiaki. Something succinct, she thought, would be best: her best friend tended to be distracted by whatever game had captured her interest, but if they pressed the need for change, even Chiaki wouldn't be able to ignore it.

That seemed to bring a bit of light to Mikan's day, at least: that, and they'd stopped at the women's washroom so she could clean up properly before they ventured to the cafeteria. "You are most welcome, Mikan-san," Sonia smiled, waiting against the wall nearby. "It is no trouble at all to assist you. That is what friends are for!"

"I w-wish more people w-were as kind as you are, Sonia," Mikan sighed softly. There were only a few people in their class that seemed to actually care about Mikan and Sonia was one of them. Despite that, Mikan didn't expect the Princess to come to her aide all the time. She had her own life to live and there wasn't any reason she should come to Mikan's every beck and call.

Mikan had definitely learned to stick up for herself a little more now that she had friends in her class, but there were still some insecurities that people could pick her apart for that had her whimpering and blubbering like a pathetic baby still. Her sexual experience was just one of those insecurities. It wasn't right for a woman to have had so many sexual partners at Mikan's age - according to those around her. Mikan would rather not discuss her body count and her ideals around sex were complicated at best, but rumours about her spread like wildfire all the time.

Mikan looked away ashamed. If she had slept with the boyfriend, it most definitely wasn't because she wanted to. Mikan felt another bout of tears coming on but quickly bit the inside of her cheek in an attempt to stop it. If anything, she was sure he'd tricked her somehow - another bullying tactic that she fell for every time. Boys liked to ask her out as a joke or take bets on who could get her to sleep with them faster. Her desperate need for attention only made it easier for them to fool her.

"I sh-should probably learn to stand up for myself more, huh?" She added, gathering her things so they could make the short walk to the washrooms. "M-Maybe I'll a-ask Oowari or P-Pekoyama to teach me some s-self defence..."

She stood still as Sonia gently wiped the rest of her tears away. "Do y-you think they'd actually c-crack down on the bullying? I know a f-few others who get bullied too. Koizumi's friend in the r-reserve course, Sato, she's been targeted a lot l-lately by her classmate... If w-we can convince Nanami to help us p-put a word in with administration then m-maybe we could help r-reduce the bullying around the school..."

It wasn't a bad idea at all. Sure, the bullying wouldn't go away entirely, but maybe a little extra effort from staff and classmates alike would help reduce it a little. Mikan made her way slowly toward the washrooms with Sonia, a little nervous but definitely feeling much better now. "I th-think it'd help to at least bring m-more awareness about the situation. Thanks again, Sonia. For h-helping me."