#exert a sense of superiority

[avichor]

many thoughts about vampires and how consuming their media with a strict, humanistic moral lens defeats the purpose

[reidsworld]

Disobeyed Orders

Summary: Being married to your boss has its complications, especially when you have a habit of ignoring orders. Based on this request.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

Category: Fluff, Angst

Content Warnings: Mild violence, injury, arguing

Word Count: 1.1k

Mars speaks… Thank you so much for the request, I’m sorry that it took so long but I finally found some time to write, I hope I did your request justice!!

Masterlist

The mission had been intense from the start. You knew Aaron — Hotch, here in the field — had ordered you to stay back and cover the rear, but you saw an opening, a chance to catch the unsub off guard. You’d hesitated for a split second, hearing his voice in your earpiece, a mix of command and concern, but the adrenaline took over. You went for it.

Moments later, everything was a blur. The unsub had turned, a knife flashing in his hand, and you’d barely managed to dodge the attack. By the time the team swarmed in, you were grappling on the ground, the unsub subdued but not without a few bruises in the process.

As soon as the cuffs were on, you felt Hotch’s hand on your arm, his grip firm. He pulled you aside, his face unreadable, but his eyes were burning with a quiet fury. “What the hell were you thinking?” he growled under his breath, keeping his voice low so the others wouldn’t hear.

“I saw an opportunity,” you argued, your chest heaving from exertion. “I took it.”

“That’s not your call to make,” he snapped, his hand tightening on your arm. “I gave you an order, and you directly disobeyed it.”

You felt a surge of frustration, tugging your arm free. “I’m not a child, Aaron. I made a decision based on the situation.”

“An incredibly reckless decision,” he countered, his jaw set tight. “You could have been seriously hurt. Or worse.”

You crossed your arms, bristling at the way he was speaking to you like you were just another agent. “I knew what I was doing. I had it under control.”

“Under control?” He almost laughed, but there was no humour in it. “You were pinned down by an armed suspect. That’s not under control, Y/N.”

Your heart pounded, anger simmering beneath the surface. “I’ve been doing this job long enough to know what risks I can handle, Hotch. You don’t get to—”

He cut you off, his voice lowering but still fierce. “Don’t you Hotch me. Not when you just put yourself in danger like that. Not when you’re my—” He stopped himself, glancing around at the team.

You knew what he wanted to say. Not when you’re my wife. But he couldn’t say that here, not in front of everyone. The silence between you was thick with tension, his jaw clenched, and you could see the storm brewing in his eyes.

“Fine,” you muttered, feeling the sting of his words. “Let’s talk about this later.”

He nodded curtly, his expression hard. “Yes. We will.”

Back at the BAU, the air was thick with unspoken tension as you both debriefed with the team. You could feel Hotch’s eyes on you, a steady, burning gaze that only made your irritation grow. You knew the others sensed it too, the way they exchanged glances but said nothing. They all knew you were married to your boss, and while most of the time it didn’t interfere, today was different.

As soon as the debrief was over, Hotch gestured for you to follow him to his office. You walked in, arms crossed, ready for another round. He shut the door behind you, locking it before turning to face you.

“We need to talk,” he began, his voice still low but more controlled now.

“Talk?” you scoffed. “Or are you just going to keep reprimanding me like I’m one of your agents and not your wife?”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Y/N, you are one of my agents. And on the field, I am your superior. You need to follow my orders.”

“I understand that,” you shot back, your frustration boiling over. “But you can’t expect me to stand by when I see an opportunity to take down a threat.”

Hotch’s expression softened, just a bit. “It’s not about the threat, Y/N. It’s about you. Do you know what it does to me, to see you put yourself in harm’s way like that? To think I could lose you because you wouldn’t listen?”

You blinked, the raw emotion in his voice catching you off guard. “Aaron…”

He stepped closer, his hands reaching out to grip your shoulders, his thumb brushing against your collarbone. “You’re not just another agent to me,” he murmured, his voice strained. “You’re my wife. My everything. And I need you to understand that when I give an order, it’s not just to keep the team safe — it’s to keep you safe.”

You felt a pang of guilt at the fear in his eyes, the way his hands tightened on you like he was afraid to let go. “I know,” you whispered. “But I can’t just stand back and do nothing, Aaron. It’s not who I am.”

He sighed, his forehead resting against yours. “I don’t want you to change who you are. I just… I need you to trust me. To trust that I’ll always have your back, that I’ll always protect you.

You swallowed hard, the intensity of his gaze making your heart ache. “I do trust you,” you replied softly. “But you have to understand that I’m not going to just sit by and let you carry all the weight. I’m your partner — in life and on the field.”

His eyes softened, his thumb tracing circles on your shoulder. “I know,” he murmured. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way. Just… promise me you’ll be more careful. I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you.”

You nodded, feeling the tension slowly dissolve between you. “I promise,” you whispered.

He leaned in, capturing your lips in a slow, tender kiss that melted the last of your resistance. You sighed against him, your hands moving to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palms.

When you finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “You drive me crazy, you know that?” he muttered, a small smile tugging at his lips.

You chuckled softly, your fingers tangling in his tie. “It’s part of my charm.”

He laughed, a deep, genuine sound that made your heart flutter. “I suppose it is.”

He kissed you again, deeper this time, and you felt all the frustration and fear of the day melt away, leaving only the warmth of his love and the steady reassurance of his presence.

“I love you,” he whispered against your lips, his voice rough with emotion.

“I love you too,” you replied, your hand cupping his cheek. “And I promise… I’ll try to follow orders. Sometimes.”

He chuckled, pulling you closer. “I’ll take that.”

And in that moment, you knew that no matter how many arguments or tense moments lay ahead, you’d always find your way back to each

Mars speaks… (again) Thank you for reading! Any and all feedback is always appreciated🫶

[deputyrook]

No spoilers please because I’ve just started the sequel, but: the Hans/Henry fight at the start of KCD2 is so fucking good, it’s such a believable fight. Like despite the fact that they’ve just saved each other’s lives and we’ve just been shown how they really care about each other, once they’re out of immediate danger, they start getting on each other’s nerves and lashing out at one another. It’s so real.

When their lives are in danger, Hans carries a half-dead Henry to safety while Henry is having PTSD flashbacks- and fights off a bandit, nearly getting killed in the process. That’s incredibly brave, dedicated, and selfless of him. But after he gets literal shit thrown on him, and is repeatedly disrespected and mocked, it’s incredibly in-character for Hans to grasp for a remaining sense of status by refusing to help Henry with any work and by flexing his superiority in the tavern. He’s trying to retain some semblance of pride and nobility after probably some of the worst days of his life, and is exerting it over Henry to do so.

But it also makes sense that this would piss Henry off! He’s had to work his whole life, and it’s such a reminder of who Hans was when they first met- someone who looked down on him, who treated him poorly, and who called him a coward. In Henry’s view, they’re both in a bad situation and Hans is refusing to help him deal with it, even though he’s been nothing but loyal to Hans and has done everything Hans asks of him every step of the way. On top of that, they’re both frustrated at each other over the deaths of their comrades- Henry at Hans for not taking everything more seriously to start, and Hans at Henry for drawing attention to them (which I also wonder might have something to do with a perception that Henry placed the safety of a stranger over his?)

The way it culminates in the stockades with them insulting each other- depending on your choices, it’s so brutal. I think Hans calling Henry a coward and mentioning him running away would be a particularly harsh blow, but the things you can say to Hans about no one being proud of him clearly really hit him hard, as well. You can really understand how they both got to this point, and why they’d be driven to say such terrible hurtful things to each other, despite still really caring about one another.

This is why I love this series. Believable characters with depth, that act in understandable, sympathetic ways that make sense for who they are.

[lenaellsi]

if you take "I can make a difference" at face value you simply must also consider "you're the bad guys.” like they are both vital aspects of aziraphale's decision. the problem is not just aziraphale's attempt to lead a corrupt system, it is also his continued belief in the superiority of heaven and angels over hell and demons. that's why crowley was so hurt. it's not just a miscommunication, or a disagreement on the practicalities of changing hearts and minds in heaven--it is a fundamental misunderstanding of morality and of crowley as a person. if crowley had asked aziraphale to come to hell to help fix it and protect the earth, he would not have gone. he says so. it’s not just about safety, or reform. it is about being Good.

and all of this happens because aziraphale is not just motivated by fear and love: he is also motivated by shame. he is insecure in his identity as an angel and a Good Guy, and both his alienation from heaven and his relationship with crowley have always aggravated this insecurity. it’s why shax’s mockery hit him so hard, and why he’s so susceptible to manipulation from the metatron. he desperately wants to be taken seriously and treated with respect and to have power and be an uncomplicated Good Guy, and that is just as much of a motivating factor in his decision as his desire to protect humanity and crowley.

and re: “appoint you to be an angel”: I know people want to insist that aziraphale has never wanted to change anything about crowley, but I’m sorry, I just don’t think that’s true. over and over in season 2 aziraphale demonstrates a desire to sand the rough edges off people and things for the sake of the Greater Good, without consideration for the free will or complex emotions of others. obviously this tendency culminates in the ball, where he exerts control over all of the humans to make everything perfect for maggie and nina, and in doing so, infringes on their autonomy and nina’s (crowley’s narrative mirror!) capacity to feel her own anger and sadness. and he has never liked that crowley is a demon. in his mind, the problem has always been that crowley was put in the wrong category, not that the entire system of dividing people and angels into Good and Bad is ridiculous. that’s the exact lesson he needs to learn.

and yes, his intentions are good, absolutely. I don’t think aziraphale ever acts out of malice, and I do think he genuinely wants the best for the people around him, particularly crowley. after all, if crowley is accepted as an angel again, as aziraphale has always secretly considered him to be, their relationship can (in his mind) finally stop being so fraught with danger and conflict. (the other side of that, of course, is that aziraphale can also stop being so ashamed for loving someone who is supposed to be Bad, and everything in his life will make sense again, the way it hasn’t since he met that star maker who got so upset about god’s plan.)

but that’s not who crowley is, and it never has been. even before he fell, crowley’s recklessness and relentless questions made aziraphale uncomfortable. their relationship has never been safe or easy, and in wanting to make it so, aziraphale is demonstrating a desire to change the parts of crowley that led to his fall, whether he intends to or not.

I’m rambling, but the point is: the insistence on reframing this moment as a purely selfless, calculated, self-sacrificing decision by aziraphale to protect crowley and the world ignores the uglier parts of the things he said in order to make their eventual reconciliation less complicated, and it’s really frustrating to me. crowley is in fact right to be upset by what he said, and it’s not just a misunderstanding that can be fixed with aziraphale saying “I was only trying to protect you!” and another kiss. it’s a culmination of all of the double think aziraphale has been doing in order to preserve his vision of heaven as The Source Of Truth And Light And Good since before the beginning of time, and it’s time for him to finally unpack it.

(and because every post on the final fifteen needs a disclaimer: aziraphale is trying his best and has an incredible amount of love in his heart and wants so badly to do good and ALSO the things he says, does, and believes can be incredibly hurtful and destructive. all of these things can be true.)

[fluffy-bluffy]

Positive and Negative Traits of Your Future Spouse

Hello everybody 🧁 This is the first pick a card I will be doing here on Tumblr. I hope you all will enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed doing it for you guys.

Just a warning that this is a general reading and it is only for entertainment purposes. So take what resonates and leave the rest for others.

Let's get started 💪🏻

Pile 1 ---- Pile 2 ---- Pile 3

Pile 4 ---- Pile 5 ---- Pile 6

Pile 1 🪷

Cards :- Four of wands , the strength , Three of pentacles and ten of wands

Hello pile 1, how are you guys doing? I hope you are all well and let's begin with your reading.

Positive Traits 

Pile one I see your person is full of joy and exuberance. They can have a cheerful demeanor. They could be the kind of person who would like to keep everyone together and always in touch. Someone who would go an extra mile to keep their family together. Very much your family oriented person I am seeing here. They just in general want to enjoy their life and be there for their loved ones no matter what.

This person could also be someone who is very courageous, compassionate, confident about themselves and people around them. It feels like they are made by the people around them and the positive vibe that excludes from their surroundings and loved ones. Family plays a very significant role in this person's life.

Negative Traits

As your future spouse always thinks about other people's happiness before their own this might make your future spouse prone to hiding feelings of anger or sadness. Your person could also be manipulative and would know how to get their work done from others. I don't see them using it as negatively as possible but they might have the capability of doing so. Your person might hate confrontation and would try to be away from it as much as possible. I am also getting the might be a little towards perfectionism because of which they might overdo at times which might affect the people around them professionally. The might be prone to self punishment and over exertion. Also I see it again that this person will almost always choose to put other people's needs before their own.

Pile 2 🪷

Cards :- Queen of cups , Ace of wands , Four of wands , the world

Hello pile 2, how are you guys doing? I hope you are all well and let's begin with your reading.

Positive Traits

Your person could be someone who is a mature gentle loving and supportive person and they are the kind of person who will be there for you whenever you need them no matter what. I am literally hearing they could be the biggest fan of yours. They will always root for you no matter what. They will be a good listener and it is possible that they might be a little more shy then it is good for them. They might as well be very creative. The might be very enthusiastic and always on the go. They would love being spontaneous.

Negative Traits

They might be a very head strong person. The kind who thing that there opinion are superior of all. It is like they listen to you but if you are giving them advice and it is not aligning with what they are thinking they most probably choose whatever was going on in their mind so they might be very stubborn. I am also saying that maybe they are very much into fatalism so much so that many a times they would just leave everything on the universe not even try to achieve. For example team leaders are to be selected and the evaluation will be made on a personality basis so they would leave this thing entirely on the universe instead of sharpening their skills or practicing to get better.

Pile 3 🪷

Cards :- The moon , nine of swords , seven of cups , seven of swords

Hello pile 3, how are you guys doing? I hope you are all well and let's begin with your reading.

Positive Traits

Your person will have a strong sense of understanding of both the present and future. They believe that they should always stay in the present as the past cannot be changed and the future cannot be seen. They believe that you should just do what you are supposed to do and the result of it will come to you eventually. Your person might be a daydreamer. They might always have their head in clouds.

They might have faced alot of hard times in their life pile 3 but that does not define them and it is very much possible that they escape to their lala land just to get away from the sorrows of their life. I am getting energy for a person who is very optimistic by heart but weighted down by the circumstances.

Negative Traits

They might treat themselves as the option it is like they are not a priority to themselves. They might carry unrealistic expectations in life and obviously when these expectations are not met they do not know how to deal with the consequences. It is possible that there are or there were many abusive people in your person's life and they are unable to effectively defend themselves due to which they become a victim of bullying.

Your person is closed off to the world and they are just sneaky looking someone who people might not like to interact with. And this is not their fault honestly it is just how life has been with them. They have faced alot. And alot of healing is required on this person's end.

Still I see them being optimistic about life at heart maybe they do not express it or maybe they think that they are not optimistic about life but subconsciously they are waiting for their happy ending.

Pile 4 🪷

Cards :- Justice , the hierophant , King of wands , the world , death

Hello pile 4, how are you guys doing? I hope you are all well and let's begin with your reading.

Positive Traits

Right off the bat I'm getting that your person would be someone who is very impartial and unbiased about the situations that surround them and even in day to day life they try to be as impartial as possible which is one of their best quality. And as people around them also notice this trait of there's so people trust them very easily. Your person would be good with words and often place a high value on education they could be someone who is practical and cautious but also someone who is a romantic. There is this Chinese drama which I watched a few weeks back it was perfect and casual the name was perfect and casual I am getting glimpses of that drama while I do your reading so if you haven't watched it you might watch a few clips if you want. Your person will always be ready to support and you can call them for specific advice or help with some important personal matter their intelligence and intrinsic empathy puts them in a position to provide tremendous support.

Negative Traits

I see your person might be stubborn and as they are a natural burn leaders themight at times be overconfident which could be harmful for them and can be counted as a negative trait. Honestly I see your person would be very easy going and I do not find a lot of negative traits about this person because I get very mature energy from them but we all have flaws. And they might too. Some people might as well find your person boring which doesn't affect them at all. Your person might be a control freak. It is very important for them to have control over think and to know what is happening exactly point to point. So they should learn to let go of the stuff which they cannot control.

Pile 5 🪷

Cards :- Ace of wands, queen of wands , nine of cups and Ace of wands

Hello pile 5, how are you guys doing? I hope you are all well and let's begin with your reading.

Positive Traits

Your person's personality is initial and they are driven towards the successful and constantly question forward with new ideas.

Your person is passionate and ambitious they are quite an extrovert with a radiant and friendly quality about them. They might as well be a social creature with a natural tendency to spread happiness and joy. They have a high sense of self worth and do not let others belittle them. they aspire to be a success on a professional level and almost always attain it.

Negative Traits

I also see that your person might have a superiority complex. I think it is important for them to be grounded and in touch with their spirituality because it is very much possible that once they have achieved something they might become arrogant. They want to accomplish their dreams and they will sacrifice anything and everything that they can for the same.

I am seeing that they are so driven they might as well remove the obstacles if there are any in between them and their dreams. Highly driven person for their dreams.

Pile 6 🪷

Cards :- Page of cups , Ace of cups , Page of wands and nine of pentacles

Hello pile 6, how are you guys doing? I hope you are all well and let's begin with your reading.

Positive Traits

Your person could have high water influence in their chart. They are someone who is highly intuitive and sensitive to the entire world and various dimensions around them they are a loving , gentle and warm personality and have a strong desire to be around people who help them to feel needed and special. Highly creative and emotional.

This person would love very deeply their intuition instincts and creativity guide them to make right decisions in their life. They could be wise beyond their years and in tune with their inner voice. They have the ability to love wholeheartedly.

Negative Traits

They might stay silent at times to avoid unnecessary conflict. They do not like drama. But still they should understand that standing up for themselves is very important. It is quite possible that this person won't stay at one place and they would always want to travel. They might be a free thinker and willing to take risks. They could be overly optimistic and cheerful and someone who forgives other people's shortcomings easily. And they tend to ignore red flags in dangerous situations. Basically they are too innocent for this word and they love open heartedly they don't try to control themselves and this could be their biggest negative trait as this might bring them a lot of pain and sorrow. People will come into their life use them and leave but they still decide to be the same.

Thank you  Thank you Thank you everyone for reading. Hope to see you in the next one. And please answer the poll above as it literally decides the next series of pacs.

[nightunite]

In your baron konig au, do you ever see reader noticing his language insecurity and trying to learn his native tongue from his other workers?

Thank you so much for this ask, it gives me a chance to write fluff! It's definitely one of the ways I see them getting closer, because it shows her not just wanting to understand him, but those around her. Most of Konig's staff are from home, either coming over originally with him or when he makes one of his few trips back home.

Fair warning, this is going to contain some Google translate as well as future pieces most likely, native speakers please correct me on what I get wrong!

“Oh, good morning, my lord!” She bends slightly at the waist, a light bow to Konig as she met him where the staircase joined to the upper left wing of the barony. Standing upright at his nod of acknowledgement, her head turns as he swiftly strode down the hall and took in his frazzled state. In one arm he clasped several stacks of documents to his chest, paper developing light creases where his large fingers exerted too much pressure even through the thick paper. In the other he awkwardly gripped some quills, an inkpot, and the stamp bearing his familial crest. Having to go in the same direction, she saw as he almost dropped a quill then bent it with the force of him stopping it falling to the ground. It beat the alternative of him having to stoop all the way to the ground to recover it, she supposes. “Um, my lord?” She calls to him. His feet came to a stop, head turning slightly, eyes as cool as the outside air locking on her, a faint blue like ice water making her breath hitch at how it locks onto her. “May I be of assistance in carrying something for you?” After a few moments of silent staring she almost took back the suggestion out of embarrassment, a massive man of his stature surely does not need help from a maid- “Federn.” She blinks, unsure if she heard correctly. He clears his throat before repeating himself. “Carry quills. And ink.” He held out his hand and she quickly makes up the distance between them (curse his long strides), taking the objects in her hands, fighting the urge to shiver when their fingers brush. Just like the previous times, his hands were so warm and firm.

They walk in silence down the halls, stopping at the front of the library, intricately carved oak doors barring entry. As he turns the handle she swallows, mind flashing back for a moment to her last time in the library in the duchy. With any luck, the memory would continue to fade the longer she worked here, each time she cleaned the room wiping away the bitterness with the dust and incense ash. Though, she thinks, I can’t forget everything that occurred in that place. Just a fortnight prior it had been confirmed that yes, she was indeed carrying a Duke’s child, not that he would ever know. Her saving grace had been that she was not yet showing, the reduction of stress and ability to hold down food courtesy of Annika helping her regain some of the lost weight, no longer wan and sunken inwards. She hadn’t anticipated telling the head maid of her condition, at least not yet, but she hadn’t a choice when she was caught leaning against a wall fighting off a dizzy spell at the end of the day. Good fortune then that much like her employer, her superior was of a better cut, keeping the news tucked to her chest with little more than a chastisement of letting her know of any changes to her condition and an order to have a quick, light meal of gently seasoned soup from the cooks before heading to bed.

She places the writing set down on the table he had chosen to work at before commencing her own tasks of dusting the books and wiping down the wooden furniture, eyes briefly glancing at the papers as he set about placing the stacks in some order that made sense to him. They were written in that foreign language she saw scrawled across the spines of the novels, most of the letters making sense to her but combined in a way that was confusing, lengthy words packed with consonants and vowels, dots pocked sparingly in some places. She wishes she could read them, understand the different stories that came with the Baron from his homeland.

As she works her way along the shelves, she can’t help but take a few peeks at him, immersed in his tasks while hunched over his work in a way that makes her back ache. The air is mostly silent apart from the scratch of a quill and the gentle squeaking of a damp cloth. Shortly after though, a faint humming permeates the study, a tune she had grown familiar with in the month since her arrival. Konig was fond of this tune, singing the melody like he had no clue he was doing it, part of his routine when tackling paperwork. He had told her the name of the tune, accent making quick work of it, though she struggled to repeat it to herself.

Eye Popeeyah, she vaguely recalled, certain it was something like that. Gently wetting a spot on a plush chair, she waits for the tea stain to lift herself as she chances another look at the baron. He never notices when her eyes stray from the upholstery and she wonders if he even feels her eyes on him. He’s a shy man, she’s come to learn, content to keep himself tucked away from others. Perhaps he feels people’s gaze on him even when there is no one to stare, and so he doesn’t register her. Perhaps she is so beneath him that he doesn’t register her presence at all. Certainly not in the same manner as Duke MacTavish, she chews the inside of her cheek as she wrings out the washcloth and wipes the stain away, hands working at the spot even when gone as she unknowingly rests her eyes on him.

No, the Baron is not that kind of man. “Hirsch?” She jumps, jolted from her thoughts, Konig staring seemingly down to the core of her. Her blood pools in her cheeks and she feels her face become hot. She could die of embarrassment at being caught staring, much less at her employer! She can’t even tell what his expression is with his shroud in place, leaving her further off-kilter. “Apologies, my lord! My thoughts ran from me, I’ll get back to work now.” With a ducked head she averts her eyes from both Konig and the large damp patch her mindless scrubbing caused the poor chair. Unfortunately, the next shelf to clean is the one directly behind him, so she grabs her duster and rags and makes her way over. He hunches in further, trying to scoot in to give her room but ultimately there is nowhere for him to go, shoulders pulled up to his ears to make himself smaller. His grip on his quill is tight, and the papers crinkle under his free hand as he writes, more akin to forcing the ink in than letting the quill do the work, and the humming has stopped, replaced with heavy silence only interspersed with more scratching and the occasional grumble. She feels guilt over it, how her presence in his home forces him into these uncomfortable positions. It’s doubtful he wore the hood even at home before she came, and now here he is forced to curl up to avoid them touching.

 Even still, as she makes her way along the shelves, the heat radiating off him permeates her dress, a welcome sensation compared to the bitter winter outside, the frost outside sharp enough to stop the maids from cleaning the windows lest the water freeze on the panes. Not that he or Annika would let any of them go cold, providing them extra bedding and thicker clothes as the cold crept along the floorboards. The rumors from other maids had been correct, that while the Baron might come across as strange and off-putting to some, he took good care of those who worked for him. It makes the guilt inside her grow.

This man has been so kind to her already, and here she is making him feel like an outsider. Forcing him to repeat himself in stilted English for her sake because it’s the only language she knows. He has always held himself in a stern and awkward manner whenever they cross paths, but she sees his discomfort grow when trying to string together conversation with the few visitors to the barony. She wishes she could speak freely with him and ease that stress a little, make him and the other maids not view her as something to be wary of. Just the other day she had come across two of the maids giggling and speaking in hushed whispers, the conversation so quick she couldn’t make out much more than the occasional exclamations and snickers. Once they realized she was there though, they had startled in much the same way as the baron did, standing stiff with wide eyes before carrying on with their tasks. She tried to reassure herself they hadn’t been gossiping about her, there was always a rumor of some drama occurring in town, but it was hard. It reminded her that she had no one she was close to here, no one to confide in about anything she saw that would set tongues wagging and eyes gawking. “What language is this?” She was behind him again, this time gently removing the dust from the tops of the books that hadn’t seen much attention. Konig jumps, spooked by the sudden voice behind him, chair making a sound of protest as his upper back gently bumps into hers. Taking a moment to calm himself, he sets aside the letter with a harsh line of ink over the surface and frowns down at how it continued onto the table. “Was?” He asks, turning to look over his shoulder. She keeps her face turned to the bookshelf, hands fiddling with her rag once more. “The language you all speak. It’s the one from your homeland, yes?” An answering grunt is all she receives. “I wanted to know which one it was. There are so many books here in the library not in English, and I would like to read them once my work is finished. And-and I would like to be able to speak with the other maids, to greet them as they greet one another, or not require you to have to repeat yourself when giving instruction. I don’t want to impose on them or on you, I’ve seen the frustration with having to translate conversations when out in town.” She can’t help herself, having turned around and now locked in a staring match with him, feeling like a mouse surveilled by a wolf, the words tumbling free of her mouth. Her ears feel like they’re burning, hands, twisting the rag around her fingers. “I would ask Felix or Annika, but they’ve so many responsibilities and I would hate to take up their free time. I would use the novels themselves, but I don’t know all of the letters, they look similar but then there are these dots-“ “Umlaut.” He cuts her off, eyes giving a slow blink. “What is it?” “The dots. They are called umlaut.” He explains. “Umlaut.” She tries testing the word in her mouth. When he nods, she can’t help her smile, pleased at getting it right. “Off days?” He asks in his typical manner, and she works to figure out what he’s asking. “Annika has me scheduled off on Wednesdays and Thursdays, my lord.” He nods again, mulling something over. “Come to my office then. I will teach you.” She hears the drag on the “You’re so busy though my lord, I wouldn’t want to interrupt your work-“ A gloved hand gently reaches up, thumb and middle finger pressing lightly on her cheeks to stop her from rambling a second time. “Wednesday and Thursday” He repeats, accent showing on the 'and',  “and the days you clean the office.”

He releases her when she nods, finishing his final document and reorganizing them while she blinks. She would take great care to follow his lessons, she just hopes he will be patient with her. As she prepares to start on the final task of restocking the fireplace and taking cups to the kitchen, she pauses. “My lord?” He stops stacking papers, watching her from the side. “Thank you for this. If I may though, could you teach me one phrase before you go?” She fights the urge to beam when he taps the seat in front of him. (The next morning, she gives in to the urge when she greets the other early morning maids at breakfast with a nervous and stilted “Guten Morgen, wie geht’s?” and is met with excitement and smiles.) Translations: Federn - Quill Hirscht - Deer Guten Morgen, wie geht's - good morning, how are you

[bevy-obeyme]

Character Study - Lucifer, The epitome of pride and how family makes you risk everything. {{Part 1}}

— Spoiler Warning for Lessons in Original Obey Me —

Art by https://x.com/pyunrim/status/1687472597787897856 on twitter/x

As we are all aware, Lucifer was once a greatly admired Seraphim who was also God’s favourite. An ethereal angel with three pairs of wings and yet he disgraced himself - why?

First things first, we all know that even during Lucifer’s period of stay in the Celestial Realm, you’d be surprised to see he still retains most of his qualities during his 'angelic years’.

For example, during Lesson 52-3 when Satan (''Sully’’) and MC go back into the past during a dream, we meet the Seraph as shown above.

It is evident Lucifer still held a sense of pride and superiority, not afraid to exert his authority and influence to get MC and Satan to help with his bidding, as well as portraying himself to be mockingly condescending at first.

However, even Lucifer himself wasn’t opposed to breaking the rules as during Lesson 52-5 he directly goes against the rules in the library to satisfy Satan’s curiosity in books.

This conveys that Lucifer ( even with his high ranking position ) cared not for petty rules and as such wasn’t afraid to dismiss them or rule them out when it came to a favour.

Later on in the same lesson we see that same lesson that Lucifer is still quite cunning, actively playing along to the disguises Satan and MC have brought up and tricking Satan into opening a blank book that acted as a restraint.

Whilst it does not differ from what Lucifer would’ve done in the present, his goal is noticeably much more genuine and appears to be more honest of what he wanted to ascertain which was to find out if Satan was a demon and therefore if he was a danger to the Celestial Realm. In addition, we see that Seraph Lucifer is able to let go of his pride without as much struggle as he apologises to Satan without hesitation or spite. This implies that back then, pride wasn’t as powerful to Lucifer. Even if he did carry more than the average angel, it was balanced out by his honesty and genuine intent.

So we have assured that Lucifer is not much different to what he was like in the Celestial Realm, so why did he fall?

The answer is rather simple; Love. Or rather, his strong dedication to family.

The brothers were very much mischievous as they are now - Mammon was originally a troublemaker under Michael’s care who was then subdued when Lucifer took him in. Belphegor snuck off to the human world often as he was fascinated and ended up dragging Lilith along with him.

Despite the annoyance this caused, Lucifer referred to them as '’small’’ problems which Raphael was actually quick to quip at according to Lucifer. However, he confirms that he never minded and it is evident the eldest even covered for his siblings during their mishaps. Until.

Lilith met a human. We learn during Lesson 15 the history of Belphegor’s hatred for humanity and Lilith’s perish - which was linked to humans.

Falling in love with a human as an angel was heavily against the rules as celestial beings are only meant to guide humans and offer their utmost devotion to the Father (God). Having a lover would surely meddle with duties and especially that of Lilith’s choice being a human - a race both demons and angels alike deem weak and inapt.

Despite this, we see that Lucifer does not hold a bias towards his sisters’ choice as many would have and actively supported her.

He did at first put on a caring and what may have appeared stern face when he went to check on his sisters’ lover, but ultimately, it is understandable. Lucifer was the eldest and Lilith was their only sister and the youngest at that - he wouldn’t want danger to come to her if she had chosen a dangerous man to fall in love with that she could potentially become victim to which explains his protective tendencies - much like that strict father that insists to meet your boyfriend and asses him.

[sunni-stuff]

Silent pining

Part 1

What does he do now?

Ghost can't seem to get you out of his mind. The events from that day replay like a record in hia head. Oh, what a head-strong woman you are, with such a soft touch too.

Lying in his bed, Ghost found the constant wailing snores from Soap doing nothing to quell his thoughts. He'd been thinking about you for days now. Normally, he was good at stifling feelings, stuffing them into a bag to be opened later, but oh... when you fixed up his arm, he felt a new sensation coursing through his veins.

The memory of your gentle hands on his skin haunted him like a phantom, keeping him awake at night.

Ghost sat up in his bed, the dim light from a nearby lamp casting shadows on the walls. He glanced over at Soap, who was blissfully asleep despite his own noisy snoring. With a sigh, Ghost swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, quietly padding to the window.

He stared out into the night, the moonlight reflecting off the base in waves. His mind wandered back to you, to that moment when your hands had carefully tended to his shoulder. He could almost feel the warmth of your touch, the tenderness that had taken him by surprise.

Unable to shake the thought of you, Ghost decided to take a walk to clear his mind. He grabbed his jacket and slipped out of the room, moving silently through the base. The cool night air hit him as he stepped outside, offering a brief respite from the turmoil in his mind.

He made his way to the training grounds, hoping that some physical exertion might help him regain control over his thoughts. But as he began his routine, his movements were distracted, his mind constantly drifting back to you. Every punch, every kick, felt like a futile attempt to expel the image of your face, the sound of your voice.

Finally, he stopped, breathing heavily and leaning against the punching bag. His eyes closed, he allowed himself to remember you fully, to acknowledge the feelings that had been simmering beneath the surface.

The sound of laughter reaches his ears—your laugh.

Simon's eyes shoot open as he looks around for you until he sees it—the light on in your office, your silhouette hidden behind the blinds, leaning against your desk as you cheerfully laugh at something another figure in the room has said. His heart tightens.

Who?

Who is that?

A sharp pang of jealousy pierces through him, and before he knows it, Simon's feet are rushing forward. He sprints back inside, his pulse pounding in his ears. The empty halls blur around him as he races towards your office, his mind a whirlwind of emotions.

Reaching your office door, he hesitates for a split second, hand hovering above the handle. His breath is heavy, his thoughts a chaotic swirl. The need to see you overwhelms every other instinct. The sound of movement inside brings him back to his senses. He hangs back, deciding to hide around the corner and wait.

Soon, you step outside your office, your doctor's coat missing, allowing him to see the woman underneath. Your figure is eye-catching—a shame it has to be hidden, and an even bigger shame that the bloody moron inside your office stops Simon from admiring the view.

“Thanks for letting me come in and talk, Doc.”

Simon recognizes that voice, and it already has him grinding his teeth as he watches Sergeant Rodney Collins walk out. The man is a notorious man-whore, trying to fuck any woman who walks.

Don't you know that? Someone like you shouldn't be anywhere near trash like Collins.

Simon watches you smile, and his heart nearly tears in two.

Don't. Don't smile at him like that. Don't purse those pretty lips at Collins. He doesn't deserve it.

“Anytime, Collins. My door's always open, but next time, come at more reasonable hours. If any of your superiors saw you out here, they'd have your head,” you respond kindly.

How right you were.

After that night, Ghost ensures every single soldier is in bed by curfew. No late-night sneaking out and absolutely no bothering the doctor. It’s after-hours, meaning you're off the clock.

But that's not all he does.

Ghost changes his entire schedule just to hang around the medical ward, scaring off anyone lingering around. He makes it known that unless a soldier is critically injured, they should not be visiting you at all. He doesn't care that some lackey cadet needs a band-aid or another has a headache. "Go walk it off. You'll live."

The thing is, Simon is a fucking hypocrite.

Deep down, he knows it too. He can't stop thinking about you. Every chance he gets, he finds himself in your office with some excuse. A "random" check-up, a minor bruise, even a paper cut. Anything to feel your gentle hands on his skin again. He'd walk in with his usual stoic demeanor, but the moment you touched him to treat his so-called injuries, he'd feel that same surge of warmth. Your hands, your soothing voice—it was addictive.

His mates notice the change in his behavior—how he’s become more protective, more possessive over your time. Soap, knowing Simon all too well, raises an eyebrow when Ghost rearranges his patrols to coincide with your rounds.

"Seriously, man," Soap comments one day as they walk through the base, "you’re acting like you’ve got a crush on the doc."

Ghost scoffs, trying to play it cool, but the subtle twitch of his fingers give him away. "It’s just protocol, Soap. Someone’s gotta make sure she’s not being bothered."

Soap chuckles knowingly. "Uh-huh, sure. Just don’t forget to practice what you preach, Lieutenant. Hypocrisy doesn’t look good on anyone.”

Ghost’s jaw tightens, knowing Soap is right. He spends his days enforcing rules he himself can’t seem to follow. Every time he catches himself lingering, he reminds himself of his duty—but as soon as he sees that smile on your face, all his resolve crumbles like sand between his fingers.

Your office feels strangely quiet, devoid of the usual bustle of soldiers seeking medical attention. Sherry, your colleague, seems to have a growing list of patients, some of whom used to come to you. It's left you with an unusual amount of free time, enough to rearrange your office multiple times out of sheer boredom.

Every now and then, he catches a glimpse of you through the window of your office. You're always so focused, so dedicated. It's mesmerizing to watch you work, even from afar. Simon needs to get a grip and let Ghost do his job. He's a lieutenant, not some boy with a crush. But when he hears your laugh echo down the hallway, his heart skips a beat, and he can't help but wonder who's there with you, making you laugh like that.

When the door finally creaks open, it's him again.

Lieutenant Riley.

His presence is becoming a regular occurrence, and his excuses for visiting are increasingly flimsy—a minor papercut, a bruised knuckle that he insists needs a bandage. You've told him countless times that he doesn't need medical attention for such minor issues, but he always finds a reason to linger near the medical supplies just to exchange a few words with you.

Could he be the reason why your patient visits have dwindled?

During lunch, you sit beside Sherry, who exudes enthusiasm about her growing patient list. She chats animatedly about how the soldiers have been seeking her help more frequently lately.

“It's strange, though, isn't it?” you interject, stirring your soup thoughtfully. “Everyone in the ward seems to be busy except for me. Have you noticed anything?”

Sherry pauses, her brow furrowing slightly. “Come to think of it, when I walked by the training grounds today, I heard a recruit sayin' his arm was hurting him but Lieutenant Riley told him unless he was bleeding he couldn't come to you."

The next time Ghost entered your office, you decided to break from your usual routine. Instead of standing up to tend to him, you remained seated behind your desk, observing him with a raised eyebrow as he walked in with his usual "injury"—a minor scratch on his arm that barely broke the skin.

"Another 'injury,' Lieutenant?" you asked, your tone tinged with curiosity and a hint of amusement.

Ghost nodded silently, his eyes piercing through the holes of his balaclava, fixed on you with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. He sat down across from you, expecting your usual care without a word spoken.

You leaned forward, hands clasped together, a sweet smile spreading across your lips. "Lieutenant, unless you're bleeding, I can't tend to you. Go walk it off."

His eyes widened slightly, caught off guard by your change in demeanor. For a moment, he seemed dumbfounded, perhaps slightly embarrassed, but his determination remained palpable. With a quick nod and a muttered "Okay," he left your office.

Ghost's return catches you off guard. His presence, intense as ever, fills the room with an unspoken tension. He doesn't say a word as he sits back down, the scratch on his arm now a more serious wound, oozing blood.

You meet his piercing gaze with a mix of concern and curiosity. "Lieutenant, what happened?" Your tone softens, genuine worry creeping into your voice despite your attempt to maintain professionalism.

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, avoiding your eyes. "Accident," he mutters, his voice barely audible.

You sigh inwardly, realizing he's not here for idle conversation or a Band-Aid. There's something more beneath the surface, something he's not willing to disclose. Ghost's silence is palpable, his unyielding demeanor a stark contrast to the vulnerability seeping through his actions.

Without another word, you retrieve the necessary supplies and begin cleaning and dressing his wound. The atmosphere hangs heavy with unspoken questions, each touch and movement laden with unspoken tension.

As you work, Ghost remains unusually still, his gaze fixed on a distant point. The silence between you stretches, filled only by the soft rustling of medical supplies and the rhythmic hum of the air conditioning.

Finally, when the last bandage is secured, Ghost speaks, his voice low and gravelly. "Thank you."

You nod in acknowledgment, sensing there's more he wants to say but isn't ready to voice. The encounter leaves you unsettled, your thoughts swirling with unanswered questions about Ghost and his enigmatic presence in your life.

Why was he acting this way?

You reach out, delicately taking his gloved hands in yours. "If I take you out to dinner, will you stop scaring off the soldiers from my office?" the question was both a playful challenge and a genuine inquiry into his motives. It was a way to confront his behavior while also acknowledging the unspoken tension between you.

Ghost blinked, caught off guard by your directness. His gloved hands tensed slightly in yours, a mixture of surprise and uncertainty flickering in his eyes visible through the balaclava. He hesitated for a moment, as if weighing his response carefully. Dinner.

Dinner with you.

He was a lucky man; his love was such a keen birdie.

Finally, he let out a faint, almost imperceptible chuckle, his voice low and gravelly. "You think dinner will make me stop?"

There was a hint of amusement in his tone, a rare glimpse of a lighter side beneath his usual seriousness. He looked down at your intertwined hands, his fingers subtly adjusting to hold yours more comfortably.

"I can't promise that," he admitted quietly, his gaze lifting to meet yours. "But I'd love to have dinner with you."

You shake your head in disbelief, chuckling at his words. What kind of man was he? Why did he scare everyone off and most importantly why did he want your attention so badly? "Fine. We'll have dinner, but can you at least stop injuring yourself to come see me?"

Ghost's expression softened slightly at your playful response, a hint of relief flickering in his eyes behind the balaclava. He nodded slowly, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Deal," he replied, his voice a touch lighter than usual. "No more injuries just to visit you." There was a warmth in his voice, a subtle reassurance that he understood your concern and was willing to make an effort to change his approach.

Ghost withdrew his hands from yours, the gloved fingers brushing against your palms briefly before he straightened up in his seat. His demeanor remained composed, yet there was a newfound ease in his presence, as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

♡! It's been ten days, my beauties! I'm sorry for my constant disappearing act. The new Final Fantasy expansion recently came out, and I've been playing nonstop, but I have other fics dropping this week, along with request!!

"This weekend?" he asked, his tone now tinged with a hint of curiosity and a touch of anticipation.

P.S not proofread; I wrote this at 3 am 💞

[maxdibert]

Don’t you think James was a bit obsessed with Severus? It seems like in all of their interactions, James is the one who keeps instigating it, while Severus just wants to be left alone. James also kept harassing Severus in seventh year, even after he got together with Lily and there was no perceived rivalry. And he lied to her about it. It seems like he just couldn’t let Severus go. What was the reason, I wonder. Was he that insecure?

Bullies tend to obsessively focus on their main victims because, in many cases, that person represents an easy and consistent target over whom they can exert power and control. By fixating on someone they perceive as vulnerable or different, they reinforce their sense of superiority and gain constant gratification from humiliating or intimidating that person. Moreover, this fixation often stems from their own insecurities and the need to project their frustrations. Concentrating their attacks on a single victim allows them to maintain a stable power dynamic, where the victim becomes the perfect scapegoat, and their behavior is reinforced by consistently targeting the same person.

This obsession is also fueled by the social environment, as repeated bullying can solidify the bully’s position within a group, creating a vicious cycle in which the victim remains the preferred target to demonstrate the social control the bully holds. Additionally, by focusing on a single victim, the bully indirectly makes it easier for the harassment to continue over time, as isolating and ostracizing the victim from the rest of the group reduces social consequences and makes it even easier to attack them. James’ behavior was no different from that of any average bully, to be honest.

[parlerenfleurs]

In the notes of the previous post I've reblogged I saw a discussion about why Ringo isn't considered (by the fandom) as a romantic interest for Mizu despite treating her better than all the other men in her life, and how this is tied to fatphobia. Also the fact that the fat character is often the comic-relief and the fact that if he is indeed intended as platonic why make him the only fat (="unattractive") man among the three (others being Taigen and Mikio) that can or have been considered love interests for her?

And that's really interesting because indeed, I never considered Ringo a potential love-interest for Mizu... And so I have to wonder if it's because he's fat. But I also never saw him as a comic-relief character, and I want to expand on why first.

He is indeed funny, and brings levity. But it's not "comic-relief", it's "positivity-relief", in my eyes. I don't feel like we're supposed to take him unseriously at all. Characters take him unseriously, sure, because of his social class, his disability, his seemingly naïve and weak character (never his size, in any case).

But the story shows, and Mizu comes to know, that he's anything but weak and naïve. We know right from the start that he's endured a terrible childhood and life up until meeting Mizu. He doesn't have hands, his father is abusive both physically and psychologically. The way the flesh-trader mistreats him in the first episode isn't anything unusual to Ringo. Everyone despises him and feels free to exert force against him. Taigen in his arrogance, deigns offer him a menial job in his household with the condescension reserved for a nobody who is also a child, or mentally a child.

Ringo was forged at this cruel relentless fire and what came out is a formidable strength. It doesn't manifest itself as obviously as Mizu's but it's, in my opinion, superior, and also extremely great and loveable. Ringo is neither naïve nor stupid. He knows when he's being beaten and condescended to. He's like that because, in spite of everything, he wants to see beauty in everything, and enjoy the good things in life, and he chooses to be kind. He CHOOSES to be kind. With an unbreakable, fluid, infinitely bending strength.

I am not well-versed enough in Japanese culture to make a meaningful comment about this, probably, but my personal reading of Ringo is that he might be a Buddha figure. East of India, the Buddha is fat. The Buddha smiles serenely, even in adversity, because he's reached a state of zen. His ego isn't touched by insults and beatings. Of course Ringo prefers to be treated well, like anyone else! That's why he follows Mizu around! She's an outcast and "deformed" like him, but she's also able to hold her own against physical violence, against the tyrants of the world, and that obviously appeals to him.

He kills, he has sex, he likes good food, he's obviously not detached from the world at all. But still, like a Buddha, his sense of self cannot be shaken by outside mockery or hostility. He's incredibly persistent once he has a goal, but he doesn't bother affirming himself to others for the sake of ego. He's the polar opposite of Taigen in that respect. Taigen's background has made him desperate for outside sources of strength - admiration, prestige, money, social standing...

On the other hand Ringo is really similar to Mizu, a thing he sees immediately but she does not. Hers is an inner unbreakable strength, too. The same fluid, adaptable, water-like strength. Can't break water. It will shape itself around you and your obstacles without ever losing its nature.

But contrary to Ringo, Mizu feels all the pain, the slights, the shame, the self-hatred. Ringo is pure love, or water, not poisoned by betrayal. Perhaps, or even probably, he has been betrayed but he hasn't let it poison his love, his water nature.

Even when Mizu betrays his love (respect, admiration, regard), he's no pushover, he lets her know that he won't stand for it, but still he rescues her because... despite everything his love is still pure. His love is the agape kind. He loves life, he obviously loves himself. There is no shame or shrinking of the self in him. No shame of his body, among other things. He's the only one in the main cast who doesn't wear a mask. What you see is what you get, and it's only people's own preconceptions that blind them to his depth and merit.

On the subject of fatness, I'm not sure he's even really... considered fat, in-universe? Or not negatively so, in any case. When Akemi has to serve her first client, HE is called fat by the characters. Fat enough to crush someone, and to hinder his own libido - the fatness of being extremely rich and eating too much rich food while being extremely idle. This one has the prostitutes reluctant, and his fatness is viewed in a negative light. Ringo has a very pleasant and cordial interaction with the two prostitutes who service him, and sure we're not privy to their thoughts on the matter, but I bet they found him cute, polite, not troublesome at all to service, and I feel like his size wasn't even a question that was posed. We see him naked, running around, carrying things, and being extremely active. His is a common build, sturdy, not a hindrance to his libido, his health, his self-image, or anything. What I mean is, he's not presented to us in a negative way on account of his fatness, and isn't viewed negatively for it in-universe.

All of this to say, I might indeed be blind to his potential as a love interest to Mizu, but I'm not sure it just has to do with the fact he's fat? It might be! I don't know. The first thing I think about on why I don't ship them is they show no romantic or sexual interest in each other that I see. Except, perhaps, that it might be significant that she's the one to arrange his first sexual experience and that it's the framework he has when seeing her naked. But as his attitude remains strictly the same and he shows no change in the kind of interest he has for her, it didn't feel significant to me. I might be wrong, I don't know. But again, Taigen is the opposite: he might be bi, but let's say he isn't, or at least isn't aware of it (I would be sad if he's not but it would better serve the parallel if he's straight) - the guy shows unmistakable chemistry with, and attraction to Mizu without even knowing she's got peaches underneath it all. (I love that he feels attraction to her at the precise moment where she's her playful self again: wrestling, battling and winning, while laughing and having fun... everything that Mikio couldn't handle is the very thing Taigen feels attracted to, aaah so good.)

When I think about it, the loyal, protective role Ringo has, where he saves her physically and emotionally, cares for her, protects her secret, admires her for who she is as a whole, his place as the person who sees the most of her without rejecting a single part of it, should indeed make me feral....

But if he's the opposite to Taigen in so many ways, he might be in this too, in that he has no attraction to Mizu, and they've no such chemistry between them. It's also so lovely as a platonic relationship! For once it is! He's her apprentice, after all, and she takes on the Swordfather role for him as Swordfather did for her (she even used the same persistent-as-hell-I-will-stay-look-I'm-useful method as Ringo did on her - when I say they're so similar...). She used to make noise to signal things to Swordfather and she makes Ringo make noise so that she can keep track of him, too. It's very cute! He uses her kitchen knives and she makes him start to fight with that just like she started to forge by forging them. To me, they're firmly in this master-apprentice dynamic. And friends.

I've said repeatedly that he's not naïve but actually in some ways he is, and that's what Mizu needs more of. She needs to reconnect with that younger, less hurt version of herself. And Ringo helps her with it, because she does ask for his help, does recognise she needs it (healing!) when she asks him to write on her back. He literally has her back. He's his own character, his own person, but they mirror each other a lot, and in some ways he's her master too. A master in gentleness.

Oh. I've said that Ringo's love/water is pure, but that it HAS been touched by the poison that affects Mizu: he's a better sword, has a better strength because he let the impurity be a part of him, didn't push it away or let it consume and change him. No wonder she must learn from him/needs his help to forge her new sword.

IF the story started signaling attraction between them, I don't think it would occur to me that Ringo is fat or anything (or it wouldn't have before, now I'll pay attention to that). It didn't occur to me when he was with the prostitutes, I was only thinking about the fact he has no hands, but the prostitutes shrugged it off with grace, and it made me happy.

[eksvaized]

Part One [ Previous 〡 Next ]

“Stop. Moving.” Ghost commanded, his voice low, gruff, and demanding. Each syllable dripped with an authority that was hard to ignore.

“But I can’t get comfortable,” you protested, your voice softer, almost meek in comparison. You shifted again, trying to find a suitable position in his lap.

“I don’t care. Just stop,” Ghost continued, his voice maintaining that low, stern tone that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. His warm breath brushed against your sensitive skin, sending a cascade of shivers tumbling down your spine each time he exhaled. Despite his simple orders, you couldn’t stop sliding down his legs. Your dress kept creeping up your thighs, revealing the delicate flesh beneath with each involuntary move.

If you’d been facing Ghost, you’d have glimpsed the shadows of desire darkening his gaze, a silent thunderstorm brewing as his eyes traced the contours of your legs. You would have caught him in a stolen moment, picturing what it would be like to bury his face in between your thighs, to taste you, to feel you writhing beneath him. His fingers twitched, longing to touch you, to feel your skin beneath his. He wished he could make you squirm and hear your moans—he wished he could tease and torment you the way you teased him.

However, the only problem was that you were not doing it intentionally. At least, that’s what he assumed. After all, you were his friend. Nothing more, nothing less.

Yet, you were his guilty pleasure, a forbidden fruit he couldn’t taste. You were the last thought that crossed his mind before he surrendered to sleep and the first one that greeted him when he woke up. Of course, he would never admit these feelings aloud, as if their utterance would shatter the fragile facade he had constructed. And he would certainly never confess any of this to you. Chasing girls and being in a relationship were not his top priorities; he had other more important things to focus on. He didn’t want to be tied down by commitments. But it didn’t stop him from fantasising about what it would be like to have you for just one night. To see you with your hands bound above your head, laying in his bed, begging him to touch you.

After all, he was only a man. A man with primal desires and urges that demanded to be satisfied. But he was also your lieutenant, your superior. Plus, there was the fact that you were significantly younger than him. So, despite the magnetic pull that you unknowingly exerted, an unseen force that drew him towards you like a moth to a flame, he had made a solemn vow to himself. He would never lose control, he would never give in...

As the vehicle jolted around another sharp turn, a grunt of dissatisfaction escaped your lips. This was the umpteenth time you had to readjust your position: an inconvenience you honestly could do without. Especially since you were growing increasingly aware of the prickling tension. Carefully, you hoisted yourself up, tugging your dress back down, which had rebelliously hitched up, revealing more than intended.

Ghost, on the other hand, was locked in a silent battle of his own. His eyes clenched shut like a fortress under siege. He took in a deep, measured breath as if diving into an ocean of calm, striving to divert his attention from the growing heat in his body. The dangerously close proximity to you was playing a tantalizing game with his self-control.

“Stop moving, Y/N,” Ghost found himself repeating the same phrase he had been uttering for the past quarter of an hour. He had initially attempted to keep his hands to himself, but your constant movement and readjustments made that task increasingly difficult. Now, you could feel his palms subtly creeping up your sides until they found a resting spot at your waist. His fingers dug into your flesh, providing a sense of stability amid the chaotic drive.

“I can’t. I keep slipping,” you sighed in response, the frustration apparent in your tone. His hands, however, remained steadfast on your waist, anchoring you in his lap.

The day had started off on a rather laid back note. With a day free from duty, your team had decided to make the most of it by heading out for some drinks. It was a welcome change, a chance to let loose before the seriousness of the next mission took over. The journey to the pub was divided between two cars. Soap and Gaz were entrusted to stay sober and ensure everyone made it back safely. But Gaz had broken that promise, leaving everyone to squeeze into one car on the way back to the base.

The lack of sufficient seating meant that you, being the smallest (though you vehemently argued that it was unjust criteria), ended up in Ghost’s lap. You hadn’t anticipated it to be a significant issue. But with his continuous complaints ringing in your ear, you couldn’t help but wish you had opted to walk back instead.

As the drive wore on, Ghost’s fingers, like a sculptor’s chisel on marble, etched deeper into your waist, creating a discomfort that was becoming difficult to ignore. To ease it, you placed your hands on his wrists and attempted to gently tug at them, hoping to soften his grip. Despite your attempts, though, he resisted, maintaining his firm hold on you.

With little option left, you slumped back, surrendering to the pull of gravity. Your body to nestled comfortably into Ghost’s chest. Your head rested on his broad shoulders, providing a sense of comfort as the vehicle continued to traverse the gravel roads. Approximately fifteen minutes remained before you would reach the base.

Ghost, seemingly perplexed by your actions, turned to face you. “What are you doing?” He asked, his voice echoing through the confined space. In response, you tilted your head slightly as well, allowing your eyes to meet his. However, your gaze soon drifted downwards, towards his mask, as you found yourself unable to maintain the eye contact.

“Getting comfortable,” you replied, your voice just a whisper. The tendrils of fatigue began to curl around you. Your eyelids fluttered closed, each blink growing heavier and heavier.

The car fell silent.

As you sat there, embraced by Ghost’s arms, you could feel his breath on your neck. The steady, rhythmic rise, and fall of his chest acted as a soothing lullaby, luring you towards the edge of sleep. You knew you should have fought to stay awake, but his body radiated warmth, providing a stark contrast to the exhaustion that had washed over you from the evening’s festivities of dancing and drinking. Before you knew it, you had drifted off, your nose nuzzled into the crook of Ghost’s neck.

Caught up in his own thoughts, he didn’t immediately realise that you had succumbed to sleep. It wasn’t until the car came to a gentle halt that he felt something moist against the side of his mask. You had drooled all over him. A groan of disbelief rumbled in his chest as he shook his head in disbelief.

“Y/N... Y/N.. wake up.” His voice was quiet, a softness that was uncharacteristic of him. He contemplated grabbing your shoulders and shaking you awake, but decided against it, knowing that you were not one to take kindly to abrupt awakenings. Instead, he allowed you to continue sleeping for a bit longer, listening as you muttered incoherently to yourself, your eyes tightly shut.

Emerging from the clutches of sleep was like wading through a sea of molasses, slow and laborious. But eventually, both of you managed to exit the car. By this time, the rest of the team had already scattered, leaving just the two of you.

You rubbed your face, coaxing the tiredness out of your muscles like wringing out a wet cloth, and yawned. Your weary eyes swept over the barren expanse of the parking lot.

“You drooled on me,” Ghost said, his gaze steady on you. Caught off guard, you raised your brows but chose to remain silent in a futile attempt to maintain your cool demeanor. However, your face betrayed you as it started to radiate heat and your cheeks blossomed with a rosy blush, turning a bright shade of pink. This unexpected display of embarrassment stood in stark contrast to your usual composed self.

In the midst of the awkward silence, Ghost reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette. With a swift motion, he lifted his balaclava, unveiling his lips, which soon held the cigarette with an ease born of habit. Despite being a non-smoker, you found yourself captivated by the sight of him lighting up his cigarette and drawing a deep inhale. Something about it sparked a desire within you, a curiosity you hadn’t felt before.

Feeling audacious, you stepped forward and asked, “Can I have one?” Your head tilted to the side. A hint of anticipation twinkled in your eyes. Ghost, however, shook his head in denial, causing a childish pout to adorn your face.

“You can’t. You don’t smoke.” Ghost’s words were matter-of-fact. A dash of amusement was evident in his tone. You responded with an exaggerated roll of your eyes, scoffing at his statement that merely reiterated the obvious.

You took a single, decisive step closer to him, deliberately narrowing the gap that had been lingering between you two. A flutter of hesitation clouded your actions for a moment, but the alluring, intoxicating scent of smoke wafting in the air coaxed you into action. You reached out, your fingers outstretched to snatch the still-burning cigarette from his grasp after he exhaled a stream of smoke into the night air. Ghost, for his part, didn’t utter a word. He simply stood there, his gaze on you. You mimicked his earlier actions, took a few measured drags from the cigarette before placing it back between his lips, all the while not moving an inch away and keeping your eyes fixed on him.

Ghost’s eyebrows arched in surprise, an obvious attempt to hide the smile that was slowly beginning to creep onto his face. He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head in a casual, almost dismissive manner. “First, you blatantly ignore me when I tell you to stop moving. Then you have the audacity to fall asleep and drool on me. And now, you dare to steal my cigarette,” he stated, the tone of his voice teetering between amusement and disbelief.

You shrugged, the corners of your mouth twitching upwards in a subtle hint of a sly smile. “Don’t act like you mind.”

And the truth was, he didn’t mind. In fact, he loved it, the way a parched wanderer would love a drop of water in the desert. Your unapologetic authenticity intrigued him. It challenged him, made him question the vows he had made to himself daily. Perhaps you were worth the risk, a gamble he was willing to play, a game he was willing to lose.

Buried deep within him, like a secret locked away in a forgotten chest, he knew without a shred of doubt that if you ever decided to see more than just a friend in him, he would have willingly surrendered to you. But now, despite the longing that gnawed at him, like a wolf tearing at its prey, he held back, resolved to protect you from himself, not daring to taint your innocence with his touch.

Ohhh... If only he had known that you harbored the same feelings deep within your heart - that you yearned for his touch, his eyes on you, that his presence was an unyielding constant in your thoughts, driving you to the brink of insanity - perhaps the night would have unfolded differently.

But neither of you had the courage to confess. Neither of you took that daunting first step, instead choosing to pretend that you were indifferent - each of you acting as if you desired nothing more in life than to remain friends... Friends that flirted, stole sneaky looks, and couldn’t get each other out of their minds.

Nothing more, nothing less. Just friends, like two stars in the night sky, forever close yet galaxies apart.

[impossiblepluto]

ooooh saw your tags about the poll (and I totally agree, fainting is superior imo) the build up is always so so fun to read, especially if there’s someone else to witness their faraway look and sudden stillness.

HOWEVER I do think the alternative is fun, like someone finding the whumpee passed out for who knows how long, all alone. So I raise you this: an unconscious Mac passed out somewhere (working late in the lab? Afterhours in the war room? Tinkering with something in his garage? endless possibilities) before being found and taken care of

Incessant knocking pervades the comfortable darkness embalming his brain. He raises a hand to brush aside… something… 

The noise?

That doesn’t make sense. 

His hand falls back into his lap. 

The knocking continues. Vibrating through his back and down into his limbs. Reverberating uncomfortably in his skull. 

Mac grunts.

“I don’t know! There was a thump and a crash and now he’s not answering-” Jack’s voice is muffled. 

Who’s not answering? Did something happen? That’s Jack’s voice though. Jack must be okay.

“Let me try!” There’s a dull rustle of movement, a thud and Jack’s murmuring complaint and then a new cadence of knocking.

Bozer. Bozer’s okay too. Relief while present is muted, much like the distant voices.

“Mac! Mac, open up! Answer us!”

Oh. 

They’re worried about him.

But he’s fine.

He’s just–

Mac pries open his eyes. The bright light of the bathroom lances across his vision. The lids slam shut against the onslaught.  he grunts.

“Wait! Did you hear that? Mac?” 

Cautiously, reluctantly, he opens his eyes again. That is enough to get him breathing hard from exertion.

He's in the bathroom. On the cold tile floor. Wedged up against the door.

Everything kind of aches. In a vague distant way like Jack's voice. 

“I knew this was going to happen.”

Jack might feel like he knows what happened but to Mac, his presence on the floor is a mysterious, disconcerting blank.

“Alright, that's it. I'm gonna bust that door down.”

“N’” Mac gurgles. 

The threat gets him moving. He reaches up behind himself, blindly pawing at the doorknob until it twists under his clumsy grasp. 

“Mac! You okay?” 

He can see a sliver of Jack’s face through the crack in the door. 

“Mm-hmm,” Mac groans. There is a scoff of disbelief. Mac tips forward, out of the arc of the door’s path allowing Jack entrance. He keeps falling, face pressed to the cold tile.

Through blurry eyes he watches Jack crouch beside him. Feels the pressure of Jack’s fingers against his face, but not the warmth. And then his brain goes dark again. 

[cabeswaterdrowned]

Something interesting is that Ronan doesn’t immediately connect the “Adam would hate this Gansey” to his description of the Gansey on fire he knows, the Gansey who contains every wild spark etc., just that it’s a Gansey who doesn’t tend to exist around Adam because Adam can be centering/soothing for Gansey as we see in TRB pre the ending (and wild and angry aren’t synonyms, so I think Ronan qualifies Gansey on fire as a different Gansey from the one brought out by fights with Adam too. then again a lot of Adansey’s most major fights are when no one else is around to witness so could also be some unreliability there..). It’s Gansey on this specific night and the way he is interacting with Kavinsky, that glacial laugh that is meant to portray superiority and not humor, the type that would unequivocally say he’s better than other people (not that Adam would have issue with saying Kavinsky is lesser than them he doesn’t give a fuck about Kavinsky. but he likes that normal Gansey thinks all human life has value later) is a side to Gansey that Ronan thinks Adam would hate: “But this was not Gansey as usual. This was Gansey with a lofty tilt to his chin, a condescending quirk to his mouth. A Gansey that was aware that no matter what went down here tonight, he would still go back to Monmouth Manufacturing and rule his particular corner of the world. This was a Gansey, Ronan realized, that Adam would hate. Gansey said, “And what is it my dog needs?” 

The Gansey that Adam would hate isn’t necessarily wild Gansey although there is definite overlap here / the wildness is what allows this Gansey to come forth, it’s arrogant to the point of being cruel Gansey. A Gansey who is simultaneously less in control / more destructive and actively is very comfortable having control over other people, in ruling, in being arrogant or superior, which it makes sense would bother Adam so much more than Ronan because of class dynamics and Adam’s control issues and fear of Gansey proving he shouldn’t care for / trust him by exerting control over him. This is a version of Gansey who could really easily hurt Adam (taking notes on this scene for my Gansey comes back wrong / no humanity Gansey fic idea).Also want to contrast this from how Adam reacts to a Gansey who is exuding confidence/power but is extremely controlled about it in the DC section, because there are things he really dislikes about that Gansey but he’s also quite enamored by him in a really unhealthy way, and it generally…. Is a Gansey that riles Adam up a lot in a few ways imo. But he definitely sees that Gansey sometimes and wishes for the control to break which is actually a bit similar to Ronan enjoying this less in control Gansey. So I do think Ronan is right that Adam’s reaction to this Gansey would include hate and he wouldn’t have the affinity for him Ronan does but I also think his reaction would be more complex than just negative.

[gatheringbones]

[“Libbon (2007: 86–87) highlights that the verve of patriarchal science to prove sex role differentiation throughout the nineteenth century correlates with the increasing dissatisfaction and protest by women against such gender demarcations. As the century progresses, the “woman question” becomes a popular topic of debate across Europe and America, and the developing profession of psychiatry comes to play a more prominent role in reinforcing the morality of “appropriate” gender roles. For example, Darwinian psychiatry of the 1870s proclaimed women as less evolved than men due to their physiology; the dominance of the reproductive system meant that the female brain was largely incapacitated, thus women were theorised as “naturally” reliant and submissive to the superior male race (Showalter 1985: 121–125). Psychiatric scholars argued that there was a danger of insanity if women sought to exert additional pressure on the brain through seeking an education or considering political matters. Even the simple activities of writing or reading could be potentially disastrous to a woman’s health, as can be seen from the following advice given to prominent feminist writer Charlotte Perkins Gilman (cited in Ehrenreich and English 2005: 112) by her doctor in the latter part of the nineteenth century:

Live as domestic a life as possible. Have your child with you all the time … Lie down an hour after each meal. Have but two hours intellectual life a day. And never touch pen, brush or pencil as long as you live.

Feminists became a prime target for the psychological sciences; such women were theorised as degenerative, sexually deviant and a threat to the “natural order” of the species (Libbon 2007: 86–87). According to the famous sexologist Krafft-Ebing, the dangers for women of abandoning their prescribed sex role were becoming “too masculine” as well as sexually permissive, both of which could be considered as regressive and pathological—symptoms of underlying organic damage to the female body (Libbon 2007: 87). Under the patriarchal ideology of the experts of the mind, mental disorders such as nymphomania, hyperesthesia (a mental illness caused by “oversensitivity”), and hysteria became commonly associated with those women who dared to deviate from the strict confines of Victorian femininity and their ascribed domestic chores. Thus, the dominant discourse on the division of labour and gender roles in industrial society was legitimated and reinforced by the burgeoning psy-professions as normal, common sense, and healthy for society. “Mental breakdown,” remarks Showalter (1985: 123), “would come when the women defied their ‘nature,’ attempted to compete with men instead of serving them, or sought alternatives or even additions to their maternal functions.”

The increased labelling and confinement of women as “mad” by psychiatry served to legitimate the needs of capital and patriarchy for subservient and conforming women under the discourse of medical science.

Here, we see the development of what would become the hegemonic domination of female populations by psychiatry and its allies—professional groups that have sought to depoliticise the struggle against patriarchal power through medicalising women’s bodies and experiences as pathological. As Libbon (2007: 89) summates of psychiatry’s success in the nineteenth century,

Having labelled woman as intrinsically diseased and debauched, experts and laymen alike now took institutional measures to impede any further social or political disruption on her part. Under the guise of “curing” her of her ailments and moreover protecting society in the process, the unruly woman was now forced either into compulsory hospitalization, often with accompanying surgical mutilation, or incarceration. In both instances it was the woman who protested and rallied against male control and regulation of herself and her body who was locked away, sequestered from society, in an effort to compel her to return to … the silent, submissive role man had eked out for her.”]

bruce m.z. cohen, from psychiatric hegemony: a marxist theory of mental illness, 2016

[fandom-chic]

Please Please Please: Chapter 12

Summary: Y/N is only a child when she and Tommy Shelby meet. The two quickly become best friends as they grow up in Small Heath. As the years go by, Y/N and Tommy know there may be more to their friendship than they originally thought.

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Y/N

A/N: One more chapter after this. Apologize for the grammar, will go through with a fine tooth comb later.

Previous chapter

Her words got caught in her throat, and even if she wanted to say something, she knew she couldn't. The man before her left her speechless. It all brought her back to the night she confessed her love to him. This must've been what it felt like to be on the other side of that door, seeing someone who took up all your heart being completely exposed.

These thoughts swirled through her mind, not allowing Y/N to bring herself to shut the door. Her limbs were stiff, and her bones felt like they were fused together. All she could do was stare at her old lover as his frame took up the doorway.

“Can I come in?” He was calm, acting as if the events of last night had not happened. As if he did not follow her into her husband’s office, trying to use warm words to make her turn away from her life. The one she built without him.

Her grip tightened on the doorknob, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Her eyes narrowed as she refused to avert her gaze.

“Well,” Tommy ran a hand up and down the pine exterior of the door, assessing the strength, “I can imagine this door wasn’t very expensive. It could come down with a kick or two.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” she said behind a clenched jaw.

“Try me,” his eyebrows rose, accepting her challenge. Y/N knew another expense was not something her family could afford right now. She cracked the door open far enough for Tommy to slither in. Tommy tried to maintain his suave exterior, but it was hard for him when he had to wiggle through the now minuscule entryway. Once he was finally in the house, he smoothed down his front coat, “Now that wasn’t too hard, was it?” he grumbled.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Y/N said, a haughty twinge to her voice. She shut the door with a light push, letting the sound of it closing reverberate throughout the house. She refused to take her eyes off of this man. She crossed her arms, taking him in more holistically now. Last night, all she caught was glimpses of him as she avoided him at all costs. Now, she can truly examine this new version of Tommy. There seemed to be an air of wealth that wasn’t originally there. His gloves appeared to be made of leather and his jacket seemed to be made of superior cotton.

Tommy noticed Y/N’s eyes scrutinizing every detail of his exterior and began to remove his cap. There was a sophistication to him that was not there back in 1914.

“I can take your jacket if you would like, Mr. Shelby,” she said, a coolness set in her tone. Tommy let out an exasperated sigh as he slipped off his coat. Y/N took it in her arms and walked to a spare chair, tossing it on top. It was a simple act of defiance that gave her the smallest sense of superiority.

“I could have done that myself,” he noted, motioning toward the chair.

“Well,” Y/N dusted an invisible piece of lint from her skirt, “We wouldn’t want Tommy Shelby to have to exert himself now, would we?” The poison in her words made the air darken.

“Y/N, can we just-”

“Tea?” She asked, not wanting this part of the conversation to happen quite yet. Maybe if she pushed it off long enough, it may never happen. Tommy leaned against the wall, crossing his arms.

“Do you have anything stronger?” She couldn’t help but snort.

“I can leave the tea bag in for an extra minute if that’s what you’re looking for.” Her hands went to her hips as if she was scolding Tommy.

“Then I guess I’ll have tea.” His voice finally gave a bite to her, as if not having the option to have some kind of liquor impeded him. Something that the old Tommy could have lived without but this new one seemed to lean on.

The two wandered into the kitchen as Y/N set the kettle on the stove. Tommy took a seat, letting his elbows rest on the wooden table. She could not shake the feeling that Tommy’s eyes were analyzing every aspect of her home, creating a hypothesis about the kind of life that Y/N was living.

As if on cue, Tommy noted, “Small kitchen.” Y/N gripped the side of the counter, putting her anger into the pine.

“It’s good enough for me,” she said between gritted teeth. She heard Tommy scoff as she tried to keep all her attention on the water coming to a boil.

“I’m just saying I never expected to see you in a place like this,” there was a nonchalance to his voice that made her want to chuck something, anything, at it. “I always expected something-”

“Something like what, Tommy?” She interrupted, spinning toward him, making eye contact with the reposed man.

He throws his hands up, feigning losing the battle, “Just making observations.”

“Well,” The kettle began to sing, and Y/N began to pour little streams of water into the waiting mugs, “maybe you should keep these observations to yourself.” She picked up the two mugs and placed Tommy’s in front of him with a thud.

“What good will that do, Y/N?” He says, blowing on the piping hot drink.

“It will make me not want to kick you out of my house.” He chuckles at her response.

“Feisty tonight, aren’t we?” He noted, taking a sip of his tea. At this, the clatter of a teacup echoes throughout the kitchen, and shards litter the floor. Y/N’s face is a blotchy red as the anger rises from her stomach, through her throat and out her mouth.

“Why are you acting like this?” She screeched.

“Like what?” His aloof demeanor is beginning to slip.

“Like a childish asshole,” Y/N spat, wanting her words to stick to his expensive shirt. She couldn’t bear to sit anymore, letting her legs lift her from her spot at the table.

“Look who’s talking, at least I’m not throwing shit around the kitchen,” He stands to her level now. She runs a hand through her hair, wondering how to respond.

The words slip out, “Tommy, you broke up with me,” they were a whisper but they felt like a yell, “Why can’t you just let me be happy?” He immediately softened as he took a step toward Y/N.

“It’s not that simple.” This was the first time he couldn’t meet her gaze.

“It sure seemed simple when you told me I would never see you again,” she grumbled. This caused him to meet her eyes.

“Don’t say that.” His words were curt and cut like a knife.

“Tommy, you obviously were done with me because you know I would’ve waited for you forever.” She said that part before she could stop herself. A beat passed between the two before she felt a hand entwine with hers. She looked down to see Tommy closer than she had imagined he could ever be again.

He leaned in and rested his forehead upon hers. She knew she should run, tell this stranger to leave, but she knew she couldn’t. Her body was stuck in that spot as she stared into the blue eyes in front of her.

“Do you think I wanted to do that? Do you think I wanted to never see you again?” There was a quiver in his voice, but he continued, “I was stuck, Y/N. I loved a perfect woman and I just kept making her life shittier and shittier. I left because I loved you.” And there was her answer. The words she wanted to hear for so long.

“You don’t mean that-”

“I was damaged goods who would either die on the streets of Small Heath or honorably in France. I decided to do one kind thing I could do and…” He needed to catch his breath.

“And what, Tommy?” She stuttered.

He took a deep breath before saying, “I let you go. Gave you a fighting chance. You deserved better.” He pulled away from Y/N, keeping her hands in his as he took in her kitchen for a second time, “so maybe I am a little spiteful because I got exactly what I wanted.”

Exactly what he wanted. That’s what he said. He gave her what he wanted. A home. A kind husband. A beautiful child. Stability. Something he could never give her.

So, Y/N did the only thing she could think to do at that moment. That was when Tommy’s chest was pulled into Y/N’s. Their first embrace in four years. She felt his body stiffen as she brought it to her, but she didn’t care. She needed this. She needed to know why.

“Tommy, I loved you.” His body loosened, and she felt a hand graze her back. Y/N could barely hear the next words, but she knew she couldn’t ask him to repeat.

“I’ll always love you, Y/N.”

And in that moment, she knew she could play pretend. She knew she could pretend this home was bigger, cleaner, and fancier. She could pretend that Tommy was the one coming home to her every night and sharing her bed. She could pretend that they held each other close every night as they drifted off. She could pretend this was their life. So she gave in.

“Can I show you something?” She asked, pulling away from the broken man in front of her. He smiled in response as she motioned for him to follow her lead. She brought him to the living room where a phonograph was the centerpiece. Next to it, a pile of records lived.

“Quite the collection you have.” He noted, she smiled to herself at that.

“Thank you, but there is one I think you should see.” That was when she plucked an old dusty 45 out of the pile. She blew the dust from the cover before examining it. She took in the image of the singer and the way the words lived on the sleeve.

Tommy looked over her shoulder and smiled, “It’s our song.” She felt his hands touch her shoulders and she leaned in.

“I couldn’t get rid of it,” she said, turning toward Tommy, “how could I?” His hand goes to her cheek, caressing it.

“Why don’t you put it on?” And that’s what she did. As soon as the crackles turned into a melody, she faced Tommy, giving him a curtsy. She received a theatrical bow in response. No words were exchanged as Tommy held his hand out to Y/N. She floated into his arms and swayed as the crooner’s voice filled the room.

And there she was. 1914, telling Tommy to never leave and he listened. 1915, the wedding happened. 1916, they bought their first home. 1917, their first child was born. 1918, peace. And now, dancing in their living room like they were 15 and 16 again. Maybe they both were still those people.

“I’ve always loved you too, Tommy,” Y/N whispered at a volume no one could hear, but he did. She didn’t have to look up at him to know he was smiling. Maybe for the first time in a long time.

The song ended and the crackles filled the room again. Their eyes met and she didn’t have to question what happened next. His lips were just as soft as they were the last day she felt them. Warm, comforting and saying words he didn’t have the ability to speak. She couldn’t say them either, only her body could. And they were at peace.

At least they were until the dream was over.

A wail echoed throughout the home as Y/N pulled away from Tommy. She knew this couldn’t last forever.

“Excuse me,” she murmured before scurrying up the rickety old stairs. Standing in her crib banging on the bars like a prisoner stood Jane. Her face was red and blotchy as cries and screams too loud for her small body left her mouth.

“I’m here sweetheart,” she comforted, picking up the small child. Jane burrowed into her mother’s arms, immediately calming down. Y/N rocked the child, trying everything she could to calm her. A hum started to sound from her lips as the tune of the song she just danced too filled the room. It was only interrupted when a new presence made itself known.

“Who is this?” Tommy uttered, but he knew the answer.

“This is Jane,” Y/N voiced, “my daughter.” The baby finally noticed Tommy, looking at the man with the astonishingly blue eyes. Y/N could see the gears in her daughter’s brain moving as she took in this new man.

“Jane,” Tommy said, approaching the mother and child, “A beautiful name for a beautiful girl.” Y/N smiled as Tommy held out a hand to the baby. She took one of his fingers in her tiny hand and examined it. Tommy cannot help but mirror Jane’s curiosity, taking in every detail of the baby.

“She looks just like you,” he noted, moving his gaze to Y/N. “I always imagined our first child would be the spitting image of their mother.”

That’s when words she thought she would never utter exploded from her lips, “I cannot help but think if that would have happened with the baby, or if he would’ve looked like his father…”

A silence falls upon the room as the lovers gaze upon one another, imagining what could have been and what could still be. Because, deep down, she knew, she would follow him anywhere.

“Y/N,” she moved a step toward him, putting a hand on his cheek.

“Tommy,” she replied, he stiffened against her touch.

“I’m sure you know why I’m here today. I thought maybe I could convince you to run away with me. To finally leave this godforsaken place. Get married and live the life we deserve. But,” There it was, the but. She knew there was always a but, “I think someone else needs you a bit more than I do.” That was when Tommy’s hand moved from Jane’s to the baby’s face, taking the plump cheek in his hand.

“But, why?” She knew she sounded like a petulant child. With him here, that part of her truly seemed to shine. Tommy chuckled, pulling away from Jane.

“A child needs their father and mother, especially if that mother is you.” That was when it all became clear. Jane needed her mother but she also needed William. The stable and kind father any child deserved. Tommy was right, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t yearn.

“I just wish I could rewind the clock and run away from all of this with you.” At her words, his arms moved around her waist, pulling both mother and child into his embrace.

“Maybe in another life,” those words came out wistfully as his chin rested upon her head.

“Maybe,” she echoed, gazing past the room into the unknown. A beat passed before she turned toward Tommy, his chin leaving her head so he could get a good look at her. They both knew it might be the last.

“Can I ask something of you?” he questioned. She nodded, and he smiled. “One final kiss?” Before she could respond, her lips were pressed against his. She held it for as long as her lungs could bear. This was goodbye, and it had to count—or at least last forever, but she knew that was impossible. He pulled away sooner than she would’ve liked and rested his forehead against hers.

“In another life,” he whispered, placing a light peck on her forehead before leaving as quickly as he came.

His words repeated in her head, in another life. Little did she know, that life may not have been too far away.

Next chapter

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[yes-these-obsessions-are-healthy]

It itches my brain, fam, because I can *see* all the perspectives and philosophies. If he leaves well enough alone, he is forsaking the ancient elves and condemning their society to utter extinction. He has the ability to fix things (supposedly) and simply accepting things as they are is like getting away with murder with a “sorry”. But if he does try to change things, he is condemning an entire world to death. He is trying to wrench the past into the present, trying to resurrect an empire. Even though he hates imperialism and empires, that’s what he’s doing.. He is trying to replace those alive *now* with those whose existences are *potential*. He’s trying to bring back people who lived during a time of great splendor and eminence. In essence, Solas wants the ancient elves to *replace* those who are presently living. He doesn’t get into what this means for humans or qunari or dwarves (the latter existed during ancient elvhenan). Can we be sure that the ancient elves would resist exerting superiority/supremacy over the remaining living people? Can we?

As far as I understand. I still don’t understand what he means by bringing back the Ancient Elves. If he means that there are ancient elves in comas he wants to resurrect or souls stuck in the Fade he wants to give bodies? Or he means the few elves like Abelas that are still alive that he wants to return their pre-Veil powers to. IT’S REALLY UNCLEAR.

The reason WHY I am so furtive about the Veil is because so many important details are left unknown. In a conversation you have with him in DAI on the balcony, he tells you to your face you flout the categories he has created for the different races, and this is him as Wisdom-Pride given mortal form. I cannot shake the nagging worry that the Ancient Elves, if they were to return, wouldn’t reassume a collective sense of racial superiority over the surviving living races. If they truly get their resurrected empire off the ground, I can 100% see them marginalizing the modern elves, dwarves, humans, and qunari. Everyone would be “separate but equal”, and not even Solas with his good intentions and “philosopher king” pursuit of freedom would be able to prevent it. If the ancient elves were to get their shit together, some form of organization would need to be arranged, and like Elgar’nan, it could lead to a consolidation of power that recreates oppressive hierarchal structures. Solas would probably take up the mantle, reluctantly, but for all of his desire that rulers cede power when they are no longer needed, he would have to remain a ruler if only to prevent war lords and ambitious ancient elves from pulling another elgar’nan. He would either need to become the thing he detests, watch the ancient elves make the same mistake as before, or watch the ancient elves wither away and die before their society ever had a chance to see its true birth. Just because the ancient elves were slaves and freemen who suffered under the tyranny of the Evanuris doesn’t mean that their suffering will make them nobler or more insightful and more sensitive to the harm they could inflict on the survivors of the apocalypse. Because it would be an apocalypse.

But again I need details on how Solas’s plans allow the ancient elves to come back and exactly how many people will die if they were to go off without a hitch. We talking 25%? 50%? 75%? 80%?

I want to live in a world where it is possible for there to be a Legend of Korra style Harmonic Convergence where spirits and people can mish mash together with minimal death and bloodshed. Where the hell is that option. Yes it’s very neat and tidy and “happily ever after” but I don’t care, make it one of the most difficult and intricate world states that you need to do a fuckton of things to be able to trigger! Have your Inquisitor and Solas be the sacrifices needed to make that happen so that you still get that bittersweet tragedy, crib the “Shepard is Spacedust Spacetime God” for it, idk! Make a dozen different endings, if you want.

Veil comes down (Inquisitor dies)- Inquisitor dies in attempt to prevent it. Thus Solas wins, but it’s a pyrrhic victory because it is the final piece of his humanity he has sacrificed. He rules as a stone-hearted king. Romance version: Solas has once again lost a world he cherished. His heart.

Veil comes down (Solas dies)- Solas dies to ensure it does, believing the world is better without him in it. The final sacrifice. But without Solas to lead the ancient elves, his efforts are all but wasted. They cannot gather together to rebuild and meanwhile every other kingdom and empire is crumbling from the shock of the Veil torn down. The world is on fire and demons are everywhere and oh my God what the fuck. This is the worst ending.

Veil stays up - Inquisitor dies to keep it up and things end up in such a way that Solas is incapable of ever interfering with the Veil again. His punishment is to live in this world created by his actions, divested of power, neutered.

Veil stays up (Romance optional: Stop Solas) - Solas somehow, either voluntarily or involuntarily, sacrifices himself to keep it intact. Essentially the “Good” and “Trick” DATV endings.

Veil stays up (Romance optional: Stop/Save Solas) Solas abandons his desire to tear down the veil. He accepts that trying to change the world is not worth it because this world is also worthy of life. Solas is basically put in Inquisitor’s/Lavellan’s custody. One can choose whether to imprison Solas, Tranquilize him, kill him, or task him with helping make the world a better place.

Veil comes down (Romance-Save Solas) - By some means, Solas and Lavellan sacrifice themselves to bring the Veil down safely. LoK Harmonic Convergence. It is more difficult for the world to adjust. Solas is not there to lead the ancient elves, Lavellan is not there to help unite modern people. It’s a brave new world, for better or worse. Underlying theme: We have to believe and hope that people will strive to make the world better.

Veil comes down (Romance-Save Solas) - The rarest and most difficult achievement. Solas and Lavellan survive and the Veil comes down. They are there to lead their worlds toward integration and coexistence. They live happily ever after. I don’t know what big sacrifice needs to be made for this to work. Perhaps Solas completely loses his magic? Perhaps he also loses a limb. I don’t know, fam.

Anyone got any other ending ideas?

I’m just talking aloud and getting my thoughts down. Pay no mind to me. I have never claimed to be good at writing stories.