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snowy-equinox · 10 months ago

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Revisiting Rahdue's Wheel

Rahdue’s Wheel is a much-larger-than-average tarot spread that originated from Eileen Connolly’s 1987 book, Tarot: The Handbook for the Journeyman. It’s difficult to find detailed information outside of the book, as its size makes it unpopular among most tarot readers. Hell, Connolly herself needs 28 pages to explain it all. Rahdue’s Wheel shows up occasionally on Tumblr or Reddit, but its reputation has mostly become a kind of “Eat the Pig Trough and Get Your Picture on the Wall” for diviners.

It’s when you get past the size that you start to realize the spread itself has some problems.

Tackling the ‘Size’ Premise

Let’s get the premise out of the way: Rahdue’s Wheel does not use all 78 cards. When you look at the spread in detail, it’s broken down into 7 sections:

Inner Wheel - Present

Center Wheel - Future

Outer Wheel - Past

Dagim Block - Past life

Taleh Pillar (right side) - Past life relationships

Shor Pillar (left side) - Past life memories/experiences

Malkuth Block - Answers the 9 questions you are supposed to have asked before the reading

The last section, the Malkuth Block, is optional. Even if you choose to use it, you may not pull the rest of your deck. Connolly says “Any cards that have not been used are left face down and are not to be read. They do not pertain to the reading and leaving them face down retains the original energy of the spread. If you turn them over, you break the esoteric structure of the entire spread.” At most, this spread requires 69 cards, not 78.

The Popular Criticisms

While its gimmick is an exaggeration, it is still a behemoth of a spread. Many believe it is unwieldy and bogged down with too much information. This is a common criticism of larger spreads; the more information you pull, the easier it is to get lost. The continual energy drain of pulling, followed by the mental drain of interpreting, can leave you with inaccurate results.

However, this is assuming that you have to do your tarot readings in one sitting. I don’t hold with that idea. You can take on the Wheel in parts, doing a section a day for a week. Or, you can pull all the cards one day, write down what you got, and then do the interpreting the next day. Personally, I think if you have the time, dedication, and skill to parse through all the information, you should be able to get good information out of a large reading.

The Information

In my opinion, Rahdue’s Wheel’s failure is not due to its size, but the quality of information it gives you.

While I approached this spread with the assumption that most people will read it for themselves, Connolly goes back and forth on the role of her readers. In most of the section dedicated to Rahdue’s Wheel, she talks exclusively about “the client”, implying she is writing for a professional tarot reader and the reading is meant to be between two people (reader & querent). However, at one point, she advises the reader to do the Rahdue’s Wheel for themself four times a year, and there are a couple of “for yourself or the client”’s sprinkled throughout the section.

I bring this up because this spread is not very good if you’re reading for yourself. The three wheels are the exact same questions; the only thing that changes is the tense. I know what my current health concerns are, and likely I know what my past ones were. The entire past wheel is redundant, as you’re just reliving everything without added context or commentary. Pulling a Three of Swords for past relationships tells me a break-up really hurt me, but it doesn’t tell me how that’s still affecting me. There’s no new information given to the querent beyond “this is how your life and philosophies have changed”.

The redundancy cuts both ways in the reader/querent question. If you read for yourself, you’re wasting time and energy on things you already know. On the other hand, if you’re reading for someone else, you’re not giving the querent new information that can solve their problems. If anything, it’s spiritual junk food; the reader gets to come off as intuitive and knowledgeable (assuming the cards are all accurate), while not giving any real advice. The querent will leave feeling fulfilled from their amazing connection with the reader without any new ideas on how to fix their situation.

The Past Life Issue

The other issue that becomes apparent right away is the focus on past lives. The wheels total 39 cards, while the past life sections total 30. This makes the past lives sections nearly half of the spread. Connolly believes that our actions and mindsets are influenced by the hidden memories and traumas of our past lives. She rationalizes that knowing about these lives is a good way to look deeper into the querent’s psychology. This gives us context for the previous problem: The reason we’re looking at every aspect of a person’s life is to find patterns stemming from the past lives. If we find your past life was betrayed by a lover, we know the root cause of your commitment issues. The wheels and the past lives sections work together to illuminate the overarching themes of the querent’s karmic life.

This creates multiple barriers in order to make this spread work:

You must believe in past lives as a concept

You must believe you personally have at least one past life

You must believe that issues from your past life can affect your current life

If you have all three beliefs, then this spread can do amazing things for you! But many people don’t have all three. I can’t get past the third one myself; I think it’s possible to connect with and learn from your past lives, but I don’t think their traumas become ours. For many, they don’t have the necessary beliefs to bridge the gap between the two halves of the spread.

Even if you do believe past lives can affect our current lives, this spread still runs into the problem we discussed earlier: there is no advice given. At best, the reader will probably say to do “past life work” before sending you on your way. Knowing where your issues stem from can be helpful, but the knowledge itself won’t change anything. Ultimately, to see change you need a direction to go in. This spread will not give that to you.

Finally Answering the Questions

Let’s revisit the Malkuth Block, the tarot reading within the tarot reading. Once the diviner has exhausted themselves sorting through every facet of your lives (present and past), it’s time to actually answer those questions you had that brought you to a reader in the first place. Connolly leaves it up to the reader to determine how many cards should be pulled per question. As I mentioned earlier, she says not every card will be flipped over and read, but then she goes on to say that if the querent only has one question, you must read all 9 cards in the Block. She does not give an explanation for this; I assume something to do with the “esoteric structure” but who knows.

At this point, you’re doing a basic tarot reading. Surprisingly, many tarot readers are able to do “here’s the answer to your question” readings without knowing every single thing about you. If you’re just trying to get questions answered, the majority of this spread is unnecessary. It’s also incredibly damaging; by putting the questions at the end of the marathon spread, you get to the important part of the reading when the diviner is exhausted.

Conclusion

Rahdue’s Wheel works well for very specific situations, like when you want to do past life work and don’t know what to focus on. But for the average reader this spread is too bloated. Not only is the size too large for most people to read accurately in one sitting, but the information it gives you is useless. You’re better off finding a smaller spread.

While some use Rahdue’s Wheel as practice, I think most people bookmark it purely as a challenge spread to do “some day”. But this spread does work if you use it within the beliefs and framework Connolly created it for. I would bet there are a lot of people out there looking for just this kind of spread to help them with their past lives. They’ve probably heard the name before, but pass over it because no one talks about it as a past life spread or a karmic spread. They only talk about it as “The Ultimate Spread”. It’s become clickbait, in tarot form.

#rahdue's wheel #tarot #tarot readings #tarot spread #divination

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morganski-19 · 4 months ago

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I'm talking about that scene with Chris' birthday party because I just have to.

Eddie is trying so damn much. He sets up a whole party for a facetime call because he can't be there in person. Brings people to celebrate with him and surprise Chris. Since Chris probably hasn't spoken to or seen Buck since he left. He thought that maybe if he brought him, there might be a reaction. There might be something.

I understand why Chris is mad. He has every right to be. Eddie fucked up, there's no excusing that. We just know the full context, so we can give him sympathy. Chris hasn't given him a chance to explain, and even then, who knows what he would believe or accept. For a moment, he thought his mom had come back, just to have the reality that she isn't here, that she left again, brought back up. It doesn't matter how old he is, that pain will live with him for a long time.

If Eddie had the chance to explain it to Chris, I would like to believe that he would understand. They have the mutual experience of believing that Shannon had come back, even for a moment. That's the whole reason Eddie entertained the idea of going out with Kim in the first place.

A part of me wishes that Chris would have said something other than "uh huh." I wish that, even just for that day, he could have said something else. No matter what, it was his birthday and his dad wasn't there. Again. Chris would probably still have the pain of Eddie not being there for the first few years of his life, all those birthdays he missed. Even if it's just from hearing stories about how Eddie wasn't there, it would hurt.

So I wonder if that is hurting Chris again now. No matter how mad he is at Eddie, he is still his dad. There is still that love Chris has for him hiding beneath the anger. A part of him was probably missing his dad, even if he refused to acknowledge it.

And Helena. Oh my god, Helena. That jumpscare of her being there when the screen froze what awful. Her jumping in and immediately going on a spiel of how happy Chris is there. How he has new friends and a new hobby that Eddie isn't there to experience. How they're thinking of putting in a pool, just for Chris. Because she doesn't see him ever leaving. Ever going back to Eddie.

All while Eddie's entertaining a smile while his heart just breaks. Knowing he's missing everything again, and this time there's only him to blame. No job, no need for money, just him and everything that's broken.

It makes me wonder what Helena is saying to Chris every day. How much she dotes on him with the snide comments of "your dad never did this for you did he?" Pushing the idea that living with her is so much better than with Eddie.

People like Helena are sweet in their words but sour in their meaning. I know many people who act the same in real life. Most of the time, not realizing what they what they were really saying until many years later. Still, as an adult, I look back on situations and realize how naive I was to not see what they really meant.

Chris is still a kid, he's only fourteen. I can't imagine how much he believes what Helena says about Eddie. How his anger agrees with her judgements, and lets it spread.

I truly don't know how their going to continue with this storyline. I don't think we're going to get any real movement in it until episode four, since the plot will mainly focus on the opening emergency now that it's in full force.

All I can hope is that Eddie works on himself the way the articles imply he will. That he will take a deep look inside himself, and no matter what he sees, tries to be better. For himself, and more importantly, for his son.

#911 abc #911 spoilers #911 season 8 #911 8x01 #911 speculation #911 season 8 speculation #eddie diaz #christopher diaz #helena diaz #911 on abc

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maxwellssilverbeatles · 6 months ago

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if ABO existed in the real world, what flavor of omega would each of the beatles be?

i am here to answer this question that no but me has ever asked! IF YOU DON'T LIKE ABO OR MENTIONS OF IT, DON'T INTERACT WITH THIS POST.

first off, i fully believe that all the beatles would be omegas, maybe george as a token beta, but absolutely no alphas in the band. thinking logistically, this is the 1960s we're talking about, and ABO is basically just a second gender aka a second set of gender norms assigned to people from birth. omega = more feminine traits, alpha = more masculine traits and beta = neutral, we all know this already. but because of this we can assume that omegas experience discrimination in much the same way as women do, a form of sexism based in the fact that omegas are supposed to be subservient to betas and particularly alphas, who are meant to act as protectors of weak, defenseless omegas. in the 1960s, such sexism would be much more normalized in society, and therefore the idea of separation between the different sexes in any context other than courting would be stronger. just as the idea of boy/girl platonic friendship wasn't normalized (even to this day), the idea of casual omega/alpha friendship wouldn't be normalized either. because of that, i believe all four of the beatles would most likely be the same second gender, because of their comfortability and intimacy around one another and the way that most people's closest friends are of the same gender as it's an easily shared and relatable experience.

now, why do i believe they are all specifically omegas? they could just as easily all be alphas or betas? this is where more of my opinion comes in. ABO and the omegaverse was created as a specific way of fetishizing queer male relationships and viewing them through the lenses of staunchly heterosexual, patriarchal relationships. a way to take a homosexual relationship and distill it down to inherently harmful stereotypes of queer people, that there's always a more feminine/masculine presenting person and that whether you decide to top or bottom determines your amount of "gayness" and therefore your masculinity. the creation behind the omegaverse was just a kinky way of being able to view male/male relationships as essentially just a straight relationship in which both partners just so happen to have dicks. alphas are portrayed as big, strong, aggressive protectors with huge cocks to knot their mates with. omegas are seen as overall gentle and demure, who go through periods of heat in which their sexuality is inherently tied to wanting to be fucked and impregnated by their mates aka seen as submissive. betas rarely have any emphasis in omegaverse stories, due to them just being regular people who don't have raging horomones in them telling them to give in to their most basic, sexual, animalistic urges, but they are often portrayed as mediators between the bs of alphas and omegas.

the beatles were never and have never been viewed as pillars of masculinity in the way that other rock stars at the time were viewed. that is just a simple fact, whether it be due to their overwhelmingly large female fan base from the beginning of their careers or the way they dressed and presented themselves. much like their rise to mega-stardom, i believe it was a mix of a lot of different elements of themselves and their brand that let them get this more "soft" label that they eventually tried to break out of. it wasn't just the female fans, as elvis also had a disproportionate number of female fans and he was always seen as a masculine rocker. it was also the matching suits and haircuts, their "silly love songs", their goofy demeanor in interviews and the fact that paul mccartney just has a really pretty face and voice. because of this, i highly doubt the alpha label fits any of them, not because they were particular feminine but because they didn't express their masculinity in a particularly obvious, stereotypical way. one could just say it was the styles of the decade, and i would agree with you, but also not every rock star has people debating on whether or not they were bisexual + having an extremely large community of people fully believing they were fucking/in love their best friend to this day quite like john lennon.

so, they're all omegas imo 🤷 now here's my cringe hcs (,,◕　⋏　◕,,)

paul is a sluttyyyy omega who pretends to be a beta. because of his extremely repressed nature due to his upbringing (*cough* jim mccartney *cough*), he would probably be ashamed about his second gender and try to bottle away his inner feelings on the issue through suppressant abuse (if we're in a universe in which those exist yet) and overall randy-ness (he's a horny boy! he fucks a lot!). his repression leads to a lot of frustration, the regular kind and also the sexual kind, which he expresses primarily through his stubbornness/unwillingness to compromise and his obsession with perfectionism (both represented through his overbearing presence in the studio).

john is a confusing case. he is undoubtably an omega, just like paul, and he also has a great deal of self directed shame as most male omegas do (they're supposed to be masculine as they're boys, but they're also able to get pregnant and go through heats so they're seen as lesser and gay- derogatory). but i also believe he uses his omega status to benefit himself in ways paul does not do (paul hides and represses while john makes self directed digs at himself and his gender and then bats his eyelids to get whatever he wants). he is also more open about his feelings than paul is, talking more freely about his struggles and is more willing to be vulnerable around others. if it weren't for the fact that he was married with a kid, he would've probably received a lot of hate and controversy due to his very un-omegalike and flamboyant personality.

ringo is just a confident omega man who settles down when he's ready to settle down. due to his shorter height, he was never really going to pass as a beta or alpha and he's resigned himself to that. he was also the most disregarded member of the band, which led to him having less of a focus on himself than his other group members, and therefore less pressure to become a family man despite his age. but such inattention leads to insecurity in himself, his looks and his musical abilities which he compensates for by acting as “the funny beatle” and being generally the most easygoing of the 4.

george is the youngest of the group and because of that he was always being overshadowed by an image of innocence and the overwhelming force of johnpaul. he obviously hated this image. he got girlfriends, slept around a lotttt, made sure to be more expressive and loud in interviews, and changed his style and his hair to suit the person he felt he was on the inside but that wouldn't stop the public from viewing him as "the quiet beatle" or the most ideal omega of the 4. it also didn't help that he wanted to experiment more with music and get more of his songs onto the LPs but repressed and stubborn paul mccartney kept treating him like a baby brother.

this is unbelievably long and stupid and probably unreadable as i wrote it in one sitting as a ramble and didn't look over it at all. hope this gets no attention and forces me to realize i need to get a life and a hobby outside of being parasocial about (dead) 80 year olds. holy shit

#the beatles #cringe asf don't read this #johnny #paulie #ringo #georgie #the buckles #john lennon #george harrison #ringo starr #paul mccartney #fab four

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gadriezmannsgirl · 2 years ago

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Can u do a pedri angst where him and reader finally make it official after months of him chasing after her but the next day the paparazzi find him getting cozy with a girl qnd its all over the media and she feels embarrassed but he doesnt think its a big deal so they get into a fight but make up in the end

I had this already done and then guess what...? I saw the same req but with Gavi🥴 Please, I don't really know how many times I've said it but don't request the exact same thing to other writers. I had this made before I saw it with Gavi so...🥴 Please, tell me what you think of this, I truly hope you like it!

Wrong Move -P.G8

Summary: He doesn't see what's wrong but you do

You remember the excitement on Pedro's face when you told him that you were finally agreeing to go on a date with him after five months of him trying. He went all in towards you and hugged you against him for a whole five minutes murmuring a few thank you's and a few you won't regret it's.

And it's not like you weren't interested in him, because you were; but, he was a famous football player and you were a simple univeristy student who works her ass off to pay for her university and bills. His busy and flashy life didn't contrasted a single bit with your boring and stressing studing one.

You were also scared of the media breaking into your private life and not to mentions his fans that could break you in millions of pieces with three words and also he had a reputation often being connected with random girls with the context of a hookup, he saying that he didn't looked for a serious relationship made you hesitate about him but Pedri reassured you and show you that, that was past, that he truly saw himself in a long run with you and that you'll be more than a random hookup.

He worked hard for you to believe him and he show you he really meant it.

That's why you gave him a chance and after eight months together as girlfriend and boyfriend and one month out in the public eye, you felt for the first time ever doubtful of everything he had said to you.

Pedro had asked if you wanted to join him, Fer, Adrián and their girlfriends on a night out since it was Adrian girlfriend's birthday and as much as you wanted to, you couldn't because you had to submitt a twenty-five pages essay in fours hours and you were barely at the fifteen page.

"Don't overwork yourself, amor, please" Pedro had said grabbing his keys "Te quiero, sé que podrás hacerlo, bonita" (I love you, I know you can do it) He smiled as you kissed him goodbye

"Te escribo al terminar, diviértete pero no mucho" (I'll text you whenever I'm done with it, have fun but not that much) You smiled fixing the neck of his polo as he pulled you closer to him by the waist kissing your lips once more

"I could never, not if you're not with me" He said against your lips before pecking them twice

"Anda, lindo. Te quiero" (Go pretty boy. Love you)

"Yo más, regreso más tarde" (Love you more, I'll be back later)

Two hours later, you got some weird inspiration and managed to finish your essay, you texted Pedro with the image of your submitted work and a lil "🎉😌 Did it!" To which he replied with a heart eyes emoji and "My smart girl" as you smile and got ready to have some dinner and shower.

Four hours later, you were sat on your couch with your chest tightening and watching the video of Pedri with a girl all over him, they were sit in some couch but this girl had her whole front pressed up against his side, her arms linked with his and they were talking.

The video showed him looking at her and sometimes nodding or shaking his head speaking with a smile but she was laughing, throwing her head back, pushing her hair out of her shoulder, the video ended with Pedro getting up and she following him.

Underneath, the comments were all of them disappointed on Pedro and supporting you but it didn't mattered to you.

What mattered is that how you were feeling, you were embarrassed, everyone was talking about how you were "The one who got cheated on", you wanted to cry and deeply wanted to know what is going on, on Pedro's head. You wanted him to tell you what did you just saw and the why behind his actions.

Ten minutes later approximately, you heard the front door being opened, soon your heard him taking off his shoes and then leaving his keys on the holder you guys have. Seconds later, you saw his figure greeting you in your living room.

"How did you passed from thirteen to almost thirty pages of content in two hours? Was I distracting you?" He laughed lightly coming over to you but his comment didn't changed your facial expressions, he didn't noticed them "I'm truly happy for you, bonita. However, don't let an assigment that long get up to you at last minute ever again. I don't want to see you that stressed out again, you were gonna pass out and I would have done it too 'cus-" You interrupted him showing him the video

"What's this and who's that girl?" Your questions sounded defensive and catched Pedro out of guard.

"¿Disculpa?" (Sorry?)

"Who's that girl? And what is this thing that's happening on the video?"

"She's just one of Ferran's friends"

"And are Ferran's friends allowed to link their arms through yours, push themselves against you and basically hint that they want you to... You know?"

"She wasn't hinting anything"

"You are right. She wasn't hinting, she was showing you. She was openly flirting with you and you weren't doing anything to stop it"

"You're overreacting this"

"Am I?" You stood up shaking your head in disbelief "If I am, then why millions of people are agreeing with me too? I'm not the only one. People are thinking you cheated on me with this girl"

"And you believe them?"

"I don't... But should I? You were incredibly cosy with letting her rest her front against your fucking arm over and over again. You were laughing, shaking and nodding your head at her words without pushing her away or letting her know you had someone waiting for you at home"

"Had?" He asked eyes wide open as you closed your mouth "You're just being jealous. I wasn't flirting with her and I definitely couldn't care any less if she had another intentions with me because I am that crazy in love with you, I am freaking greatful and satisfied for what I have at home that I don't need to see anything or anyone on the sidelines"

"Really? You have such a weird way to show that"

"Y/N..."

"I'm tired, Pedri. We can talk it later, I'm not in the mood to hear or see you anymore" You sighed shaking your head, you grabbed your phone and passed by him going to your shared bedroom "I definitely didn't think this could happen to us"

He heard it.

"Nothing has happen to us! You're overreacting!" He yelled pushing his head up so he can see you

"Would you think I'm overreacting if tables were turned around? Would you think it's okay if I go to some other man and flirt and link my arm through his and push myself onto him? Would you accept, me looking into your eyes and tell you: "I wasn't flirting with him"? Wouldn't you feel down knowing a millions of people have seen it and are letting you look like you were cheated on? Wouldn't you feel embarrassed? Are you sure you wouldn't? Because if you wouldn't then yes... I'm overreacting" You said looking into his eyes "Accept it, you fucked it up when you let her get that close to you"

"So this is it?"

"I don't even want to know if this is it or if it isn't. You can make your own assumptions and you can let me known them with another video if you like, I'll be in the guest room. I'm done. Night, Pedri"

And with that you were gone as he stood there looking up at where you were standing. He took his phone and got inside Twitter, the video was the first thing loading into his homepage.

He gulped watching it, it really could be misinterpreted but he wasn't doing anything with other intentions. He loves you with his whole life. It can be said that he loves you even more than he loves football, you came into his life unexpectedly and turned it around 360°.

He didn't see girls who weren't you with other eyes, he even stopped receiving fangirls numbers to prove you he is serious with you and to let you know how much he respects you.

"Why didn't I pushed her away?" He questioned himself

She was funny and he did liked her, as a friend, she lets herself be liked and gets into the group fast but in his mind and heart you were the only one.

You are the only one and he did the wrong move. His efforts that once were high now laid at 0 and he did understand your point of view now.

Frustrated with himself he got out of the app and his eyes connected with his home lockscreen. You and him kissing each other in a beach during you vacations in Canarias, the beauty of the photo is the love you two have for each other and the kiss that was interrupted by smiles on both of your faces.

He has to make it up to you.

Picking up said photo, he captured it with: Mi única chica, te amo💜 hoy y siempre♾️. (My one and only, I love you. Today and always) He turned off the comments for everyone except for you and headed up to the guest room.

He had to be careful with his words and explain himself as much as he could. Your eyes were closed but your cheeks had tear marks, you were awake just ignoring his presence. He sighed and crunched down to be in front of you.

"Que soy un idiota" (I'm an idiot) He began "I swear to everything I own and to everyone I love that I truly don't care about her, I talked to her and tried to be just her friend, she's nice and she may had wanted something with me but the only one I want, the only attention I want, the only girl I will care about the most, the only girl I will flirt back with, the only girl I fall in love with, the only one who I make fool with, my only one everything is you" He reached out to push your hair out of your face and when he saw you didn't reacted back to it, he let his palm lay softly on your cheek carressing it with his thumb.

"I'm sorry, mi vida. I really don't know why I didn't pushed her back, I should have because I'm a taken man but I guess she's new over here and we just wanted her to be comfortable with us"

"But not that comfortable" You said as Pedri smiled

"I know, she crossed a line" You open your eyes and looked at Pedri "I'm sorry" You shook your head smiling lightly "And you didn't overreacted, I would've done the exact same thing if tables were turned around. I'm truly sorry, mi vida"

"Don't do it again, Pedri"

"Pedro"

"Pedri"

"Pedro"

"Pedri"

"You only call me Pedri when you're mad!"

"I still am!"

"What can I do for that bad feeling to go away?"

"Cuddle me, love me, give me some ice cream and never do it again?"

"I can do all four and mostly the second one" You smiled and lifted the blanket for him to step inside. He smiled taking off his hoodie and joggers being left in his boxers and wrapped his arms around you.

He pushed his head down and searched for your lips, kissing you softly and slow "Te amo" He breathed out

"Te amo, mi niño lindo" You whispered back as he pressed you further into him. You guys got comfy and after a few minutes Pedro gasped "What's wrong?"

"The ice cream" He turned you around and got out of your hold

"Pedro, no! Come back here! Ice cream can wait!"

"I know how that goes! Ice cream CANNOT wait!" You smiled widely falling back into the pillows.

He may did a wrong move but he always knew how to fix it.

°°° °°° °°° °°°

Taglist: @gaviypedrisbride @stuckinaf4nfiction @elijahslover @azzpenswrld @http-isabela

#M. is writing #pedri gonzález #pedri #fc barça #pedri x reader #pedri gonzález x reader #pedri angst #pedri blurb #pedri gonzalez imagine

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blackjackkent · 9 days ago

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OK, I was about to get really worried cos I took a long rest after talking with Ravengard and nothing happened - but then I went to do a SECOND long rest... and Wyll got the Exclamation Mark of Romance over his head!

Here we go!

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(A/N: So - I've sat down and looked at this scene and then spent the last two days percolating on exactly what the hell I wanted to do with it in this liveblog. And apologies for the extensive meta ramble before the actual scene, but I'm going to detail my thoughts a little here before making a full attempt at it, because I feel like this kind of needs Context.

I was a little bit worried that Wyll's Act 3 romantic scene would end up being tonally dissonant with the way I've developed Rakha's story/character, and the truth is it kind of is.

Unlike my discussions about the writing around Wyll's questline itself, this is NOT a criticism of Larian. The scene's very cute! Super romantic and sweet, and for any character in a remotely normal relationship with him, this would be the climax of his impeccable Disney Prince vibes and the beginning of a beautiful life together.

But Rakha is, to put it mildly, strange, and fairly unromantic. And the way I've ended up evolving her story is (understandably) not a way that the game has really accounted for. Her story particularly in Act 3 has become about her slowly discovering her identity and how to live as herself rather than just being driven by the murder urge, and frankly there's still a lot she has to figure out.

And as I've discussed here, the more I've written her, the more I've come to feel that the ideal thematic ending for Rakha is for her and Wyll to go their separate ways. There's a lot of reasons for this but the TLDR is that they love each other and have been each other's rock through this whole ordeal, but Rakha needs time to learn to stand on her own and find her peace, and Wyll needs to go chase his destiny in Avernus and also needs a relationship that gives him a better balance of supporting and being supported.

(@astreamofstars asked me the other day when I was pondering on all this whether I think it would have been better for Rakha to have done a different romance. And that was an interesting question to think about, but ultimately I don't think it would, at all. Wyll was exactly what Rakha needed in the early acts of the game; he was kind and patient and saw the light in her, and I truly think she would not have become who she is now without him.

But she's starting to get her feet under her now and needs time to actually figure out who she is properly. This isn't meant to be a tragedy - just a reflection that sometimes people are right for each other for a while, but not forever.)

I'm hoping that the game does give us this as an option after the brain fight. I know that with Karlach's romance, at least, you don't have to stay together; there were options like sending her to Avernus with Wyll without going yourself. But whether or not it's an option at the end of the game, you certainly aren't given much option for nuance in this scene, where our choices are

a) excitedly commit to love him forever and sleep together b) excitedly commit to love him forever without sleeping together ("not yet") c) shut him down completely (upsetting) d) persuasion-check for sleeping together without the forever commitment

Of these four options, a and c both feel... not great. Rakha still loves him and she's not (at the moment) looking to break up with him, so c) is off the table, and a) feels like a dick move and a disservice to Wyll's story given that we know where it's headed.

I was originally thinking about b), since Rakha has been starting to feel somewhere on the ace spectrum to me and physical relations are not top-of-mind for her most of the time even with Wyll, but that really runs into the same problem as a).

Which leaves d). d) is interesting, because it makes this scene something of a mirror of Rakha's Act 1 no-strings-attached night together with Lae'zel. That moment was one of Rakha's first real moments of connection with another person; it was a gesture of trust before she really felt she deserved it, and I think probably opened the way for a lot of the growth that came later.

In counterpoint, I think this moment with Wyll is, for Rakha, much more bittersweet and melancholy than the writers perhaps intended. I think this is where she fully realizes for the first time that she can't give him forever.)

-----

Often when Wyll and Rakha sit together at the end of the night, Rakha takes the time to think, to ponder over things that have confused or bothered her. Wyll has always been kind to her in these moments, explaining, answering questions, or simply listening while she works out the perplexing thoughts in her battered and broken mind.

Tonight, though... Wyll is the one who seems pensive. In the wake of the tense and chaotic reunion with his father, he stands at the edge of the Chionthar, looking out at the water, and Rakha watches him, trying to read what is going on in his mind.

"It's funny," he says abruptly, rather like Rakha coming out of a pensive daze with a thought to share. "As the Blade, I've faced untold brutes and beasts." He lifts his eyes to Rakha's, meeting her gaze intently. "Together we've seen illithid horrors most souls could merely fathom."

He returns his eyes to the water again, and his jaw works with sudden restrained emotion. "I've lived at the mercy of fiends - a devil's plaything trying to write the Coast's wrongs. But I've only now come to see who my true enemy's been."

Rakha listens quietly. She can sense he's leading up to something, and that he wants her to speak in response - but she doesn't know entirely what he means. They have too many enemies to count; which one does he consider the true one?

"The archdevil Zariel?" she hazards, thinking about his new intended purpose as the Blade of Avernus.

Wyll laughs softly. "So you'd think," he murmurs. "But the right answer is much simpler than that. Time."

He waits, letting Rakha process this. After a moment she nods, but tilts her head at him curiously, inviting him to go on.

"Time is so godsdamned greedy," he says softly. "It can never give, only take. It builds mountains and deserts, only to tear them asunder. It fells armies, it conquers kings, queens... even gods."

She watches as he paces along the waterfront. What has prompted this, she wonders? The arrival of his father, perhaps - or perhaps the realization that in the end Wyll has surpassed him, to become a better man. Or perhaps simply that the time before their final battle is running out, the hours ticking away before they must face down the elder brain or die trying.

He swallows, coming to a halt and clenching his fists at his sides. "We blink, and we're gone..." he murmurs. "And our hopes... our memories..." His eyes are on Rakha's again, intent and warm. "...our heart-bonds are gone with us."

His smile softens, and he extends a hand towards her, palm up. "Lucky for us," he says gently, "I've found a way to stop time... if just for a moment. Come... let me show you."

Rakha looks at him silently for a moment. She remembers their dance in the shadowlands - how he held his hand out to her at one of her darkest moments. How he has always found ways to remind her of the light in her when all seemed dark. She suspects perhaps it is him who needs that reminder in himself now, in the wake of Ansur's death and the dark look that his father gave him, the look that it took all of Wyll's worst memories to dislodge.

Smile and take Wyll's hand.

She takes his hand, grips it tightly. She can feel his pulse thumping under her fingertips as he draws her away from the camp, down the bank of the river.

-----

They walk in companionable silence for some time, until they reach an enormous oak tree, its huge trunk twisted and gnarled, its branches spreading wide above them. The smell of greenery and moonlit water fills the air, and Rakha feels the quiet soak into her bones, into her heart.

"The Wilden Oak," Wyll murmurs, tilting his head to look up into the branches. "Legend has it it's stood since the Age of Dawn."

"I used to come here and climb it when father's eye was turned elsewhere." He walks forward, resting his hand against the trunk of the tree. "Daydream of the stories it might tell, if I listened close enough."

She can see him relaxing, some of the tension going out of him. A smile touches his face, more boyish and happy than she has mostly had occasion to see from him. He seems to be looking past the tree now, into the stories of adventure it conjured. "The dragon lords sparking the skies above it... the moon elves first plucking the strings of the Weave..."

He turns to face her, watching her eyes.

"Standing here," he says softly, "I feel like I can see into forever."

It is in moments like this that Rakha feels least worthy of Wyll. She knows what he wants - an echoing of his dramatic, poetic words and the implications behind them, the deep emotion. But she is no good at articulating her feelings, deep as they might be. She is no good at poetry, at speeches.

"I'm not sure I can see into forever," she admits quietly. "But it's a nice view."

He chuckles softly. "My favorite in all of the Coast. All of Faerun, even. Not even the Sea of Stars could rival its magnificence." He watches her face for another moment in silence, then nods, lifting a hand to brush his fingertips against her cheek. "Nor could it rival yours."

Rakha has no idea what to say in response to this - but luckily Wyll doesn't seem to be expecting a response. He's already moving again, kneeling down and picking up a small acorn nestled in the grass.

"My mother always said the Wilden Oak's acorns held just a touch of wishing magic," he murmurs. "If that be so... then may my greatest wish come true tonight."

She watches as he lifts his hand to her, with the acorn still clutched in it. "I love you," he says, looking up to meet her eyes. "Will you be mine - today, and tomorrow, and reaching into eternity?"

(A/N: I'm legitimately upset bc this is so fucking romantic and Rakha has NO idea what to do with it at all. :( I'm sorry, Wyll.)

Rakha stares at him, her heart suddenly pounding too loud in her ears.

Today, tomorrow, and reaching into eternity. She has trouble picturing eternity. As far as she is concerned, her life began when the pod spat her onto the floor of the nautiloid, and it is hard for her to picture that life will continue beyond the defeat of the brain. She is not sure she knows what it looks like.

But that is what he wants - what, perhaps, he has always wanted. A promise of forever. I still keep faith in the old tales of love, the once-upon-a-times and the happily-ever-afters, he told her once, the night they first kissed. I'd like to do this the proper way - the way of the old romances sung by the bards.

That's what he wants, and she wants to give it to him, to tell him what he wants to hear, to make him happy. She loves him; he has been the sturdy pillar around which she has built her fractured life. He helped her see the light in her that eventually allowed her to throw off Bhaal's control and the voice of the beast in her head. She wants him to have everything that he desires and deserves.

But she doesn't know how to give it to him. She's not sure that she can. How can she promise eternity, when she barely knows who she is? She realizes that the idea fills her with a strange sort of anxiety, verging on panic; everything about her has changed in the last few weeks, even the small amount she had come to understand, and she does not know how to ensure that the person pledging herself to him now is the same person that he would have in a month, a year, a decade.

And it shouldn't be, anyway. The certainty behind that thought slides like a dagger into her heart. She shouldn't be with him forever. He deserves so much better; he deserves to find a love who does not bear the weight of a thousand murders, who knows how to exist comfortably in their body and hold him close and whisper soft words to match his.

He has saved her, and she loves him. And for the first time she realizes that means she has to let him go. Not yet, perhaps - not while they still have a battle to fight together; she needs him to get through the ordeals that are coming, and she thinks, hopes, that he needs her too. But there is no eternity that she can offer, no matter how much she wishes she could.

And looking down at him, meeting his eyes, she realizes something else - he knows it too.

If these acorns are supposed to hold some magic in the service of wishes, perhaps he hoped for some miracle, that everything would become clear for them in this moment and a long certain path laid out ahead beyond the brain and into the future. Perhaps he wondered if she saw something that he didn't, some way that his love for her could coexist with what he truly needs.

But they both know the truth. His love for her and hers for him are both very real. And they aren't enough.

Rakha swallows and crouches down in front of him, her eyes never leaving his. She reaches out and his eyes brighten for a moment; she feels a flicker of magic snap through the Weave around her hands as her fingers draw near the acorn. Then she closes her hands around his so that the acorn is hidden in his palm.

[PERSUASION] "I can't give you forever, Wyll," she says, slowly, haltingly, resisting the urge to look away from his gaze. "But I can give you tonight."

It is like he said before, after all. Time is their enemy. It takes and it takes and it refuses to slow down. But tonight, perhaps they can find a way to make it stop, just for a little while.

His eyes drop from hers. He looks down at the acorn in his hand and then, slowly and deliberately, tosses it aside. She can see the grief in his eyes - but she can see the understanding, too, because even now he knows her better than anyone else.

"Ours is such a beautiful story, and this isn't the ending I wanted to write,"(*) he says quietly, and the pathos in his voice makes her heart twist and ache. "But..."

He smiles sadly and lifts his eyes to hers again, then reaches to cup her cheek with his palm. His touch is warm in the chill evening air. "Tonight, then," he says softly. "Be with me tonight. I'd sooner know one unforgettable night than a lifetime of 'what ifs'."(**)

She leans her head slowly and deliberately against his hand, with the sincerity and gravity of someone making a religious offering. Wyll is one of the only people she has ever felt comfortable to have touching her - not even just because she loves him, but because she trusts him. Physical contact, physical closeness, physical love... none of it is something that comes to her naturally; it is a deliberate choice, founded on that trust above all other things.

She knows a single night isn't truly what he wants... but it is what she can give. And as he leans forward to kiss her, she fists her hands into the front of his shirt and feels him cling to her just as tightly.

They fall into the grass, his weight pressing into her. With Lae'zel, so many months ago, this act was a battle, a fight for supremacy, but with Wyll it is a dance, a give and take. She feels how he responds to her movements and she to his, and her heart clenches in her chest, because she can see just the edge of that eternity he describes, loving him and being loved by him and seeking nothing else.

It is only tonight. But as she loses herself in his touch, she allows herself to imagine, just for a little while, that she could give him forever.

-----

(*) In-game, this line did not play; Wyll's dialogue picked up with the next line ("But..." etc, which I also modified). The line as I've written here is from a different version of this decision where it qualifies as a breakup option mechanically, but I like this text in the context of how I'm framing this conversation in Rakha's story specifically.

(*) In-game line is "But... I can't resist you. I'd sooner know one unforgettable night than a lifetime of 'what ifs'." I took some artistic license to modify this slightly; I don't think Rakha was specifically asking for sex so much as just saying they still have a little time together, and I like the idea of Wyll having a little more agency in this scenario.

#bjk plays bg3 durge #rakha the dark urge #incredibly long post alert #incredibly long meta ramble and long scene lol #this took forever to write and even longer to figure out what i wanted to write #honestly i am quite pleased with the internal cohesion of rakha's story and how complex and nuanced this feels #but i am also a bit bummed bc i am a hopeless romantic and want the sap at all times XD #hopefully this makes sense to people outside my head as well :P #anyway - this took all night so this weekend we will finish the foundry and head for gortash!

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reviewdiaries · 1 year ago

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Nancy x Ace and the soulmate we choose ourselves in 4x13

And so, dear reader, our story is over. And what an ending we’ve reached. The writers once again bringing the pieces back together after pulling them apart. A beautiful swan song to a truly stunning piece of storytelling we’ve been gifted over the last four years.

This episode is filled with symmetry and things coming full circle. Everything is connected - we come back to the bluffs, we come back to the choices we make and the way those can ripple through everything. And we come back to love. It’s always about love.

Ace always thought he’d have more time. Time to understand his feelings for Nancy, time to choose to act on them, or not. Time to find out exactly what they mean to each other and whether it can stand the test of time. And he’s been robbed of it. Over and over and over again he’s been robbed of the time he thought he’d have. Robbed by Temperance, by Nancy, by fear and his own feelings of inadequacy. He tried so hard at the start of the season to push through it, to own his feelings, to be brave, but at the first sign of pain, of fear, of loss, he couldn’t do it. And he’s been beating himself up ever since.

Sure he’s had chance to grow, to find himself a little more, to come back to Nancy on a more equal footing. But the undercurrent to that is one of fear, of self loathing, of not knowing how to stop being afraid and take that step. Because that was the best kiss of his life, that was a kiss that confirmed everything he was too afraid to admit to himself. That Nancy is it for him, there’s no coming back from her, everyone else would pale in comparison to the bright technicolour world she’s exploded for him. He can try and tell himself it wouldn’t work, it’s not worth it, he’ll find another great love as much as he wanted, but it wasn’t ever going to ring true.

So he’s latched on to his ghost, to the shreds of memory woven into something else where his feelings for Nancy were muted into something closer to friendship. Latched onto the fear and the anger and the unforgivable. Always with the idea that he’d have time to unpick that, time to work his way through it. Time to maybe work himself out and start to think about breaking the curse again. Because no matter how much he told himself he could live with this half life, the grey of a life without Nancy in it, he can’t.

I’ve talked so much about how Nancy can’t keep her heart out of her eyes, and she can’t, even now. But this episode we start to see Ace return that again. He can’t keep his eyes from her. Can’t stop the bitter taste that rises in his throat everytime someone says the word “soulmates”. Because he was meant to have time. Time to forgive, time to process. And it’s barely been a day and already he can see Nancy slipping away, tied to another person and where does that leave him? He can’t compete with soulmates - he only speaks three languages, how could he possibly live up to an epic love like that?

GIF Credit @whitefluffyyeti

But slowly the cracks are beginning to form, he can’t deny it any more, the feelings he’s been burying so deep ever since their kiss and having to walk away from her. The conversation with Nick about forgiveness, the way Nancy looks to him every time someone says soulmate - every time Tristan reaches for her. He can’t help himself, can’t help the way his eyes drag to hers every time. He can’t hold onto the anger, not like that. Not in the all encompassing I won’t ever talk to you again or love you like that way he’d been trying to. No this is quieter. This is an understanding that she did something desperate in a moment of terror because of how great her love is. And that doesn’t excuse it, but it provides context for it. He doesn’t have the time to hold onto that anger, because he’s losing her with every moment of soulmate talk and he just wants to be there for her one last time, help her one last time. Be exasperated and in love with her epic Nancy-ness one last time.

And Nancy is fully owning her past selves, the wrongs her soul has committed. She has never been one to shy away from mistakes, always works so hard to try and rectify them as soon as she realises she was wrong, and this is no exception. The town needs saving, so their souls have to be separated, but more than that she doesn’t want another supernatural thing tying her down and dictating to her what she can be. She is her own person, mistakes and all, and she has spent so long over these four seasons coming to terms with that, with the duality of herself, with the pain and the heartbreak and the wrongs and all that she does to try and shine a light in the world. To be able to hold the pain and the joy at the same time and know that they’re both valid. So there’s no question that she’ll damage herself to fix this, she’s always thrown herself headlong into danger. Crumpled on the ground in agony, ripping her soul to pieces in the place that she was born, where her past self is buried, the duality of herself and the cyclical nature of it all coming home at last.

Only it’s not one last time. It’s not romantic soulmates. And he knows her better than anyone - could find her with his eyes closed, never mind the death curse bonding them together in the weave. And the relief of it, the beauty of that moment of Nancy talking to him.

Think back to the first season when Nancy locked it all inside, poured her thoughts out in narration to her diary, to the audience, but never to her friends, never to the people that cared about her the most. And Ace cared, even then he cared. And he’s always been the one to be there to listen when she finds the words. On their break sat outside the back of The Claw telling him about her mum and failing to get into college. About college, about staying in Horseshoe Bay. About Lucy and Ryan and Carson and her own feelings for Ace. Even when she couldn’t talk to anyone else she’s been able to talk to Ace. Until these last few episodes where they’ve been so off kilter, so at odds, so unable to find their way back to each other. And now finally they can talk about Nancy’s fears, about Ace’s forgiveness. Another step on the path back to each other after so long lost without a compass.

Ace isn’t afraid anymore. He’s been stepping into owning his feelings all episode, coming to terms with forgiveness, with the forever nature of his feelings about Nancy, about his place in the world. And so now, in this moment, with the love of his life in agony, putting herself through it once again to save Horseshoe Bay, he makes a stand. A selfless, beautiful, stand. He’s watched her stand up and tell the world about Lucy Sable even when it hurt. He’s watched her do the ritual to try and save them from the Aglaeca even when it meant admitting who her parents were and not allowing herself time to process it. He’s watched her sacrifice herself as bait to the wraith to save them all. He’s watched her over and over and over again put others before herself. And so many times he’s either been powerless or paralysed by fear and unable to do a damn thing to stop it. So he doesn’t even think about it. No, he does, he thinks and he does it anyway. He steps into that circle because he loves her, selflessly, selfishly, unconditionally. And there is no way he’s leaving her behind. Ever. No matter the cost. He’ll gladly pay it, bear it, sacrifice himself to help her. Love isn’t dying for each other, but he was wrong. It is looking at the flames and standing firm and protecting the ones you love anyway.

GIF Credit @whitefluffyyeti

And once they’re out he can’t keep away from her. A hand on her arm, her back, sheltering her, protecting her, reassuring himself that she’s there she’s there she’s there. The gravitational pull undeniable. And he’s done denying, done lying to himself, done telling himself that he’s not worth it, that he can live without her, that he just has to move on and let her go. Because he is and she is and he can’t. And why should he? Love isn’t dying for each other but he was willing to go into the flames, to sacrifice himself, his soul, for her. He’s not afraid anymore. He’s got this one wild and precious life and he’s finally realising that it’s exactly that, and he wants to spend it with her.

So he takes some time, because now, finally, it feels like he has a moment to breathe, to process, to snatch a handful of moments for himself to straighten it all out in his head. To put Alice to rest - Alice who got caught in the crossfire of the supernatural and he has been weighed down with a guilt that may never truly leave, but at least now he has the time to process that grief and learn how it sits within his body.

And then he goes back. Once he’s sure. Well, fifty fifty. Only Ace would never stake Nancy on a fifty fifty chance. This is more than that, a certainty deep in his bones that it’s broken, and if it isn’t, then at least he’s not letting fear dictate his life. At least he is living it again.

And the circle comes back again. Back to 4x01. Only he’s not run, not out of breath this time, not filled with a panic and a need to know. He knows. He knows how he feels, he knows how Nancy feels. He doesn’t press her for answers the moment he walks in, he takes a beat just to look at her, drink in the sight of her after time away.

But he’s certain still, in his walk, in the confident way he moves towards her, head held high. Takes his time, pauses, lets her come to him a little, talks to her, communicates at last. Tells her what he wants from life, what he’s going to do with his life, his last life. This is Ace, who has been so lost and adrift, so uncertain. We met him when he was washing dishes at The Claw, directionless, unsure. And he’s talked about finding a place with Nancy, with all of them, about feeling like he’s doing something with his life. And now finally, finally he’s getting to take that forward, secure in the knowledge that he still has them, all of them, his family, supporting and loving him in whatever he chooses to do. It’s only with that support and unconditional love that he’s been able to find his next steps, something that was missing from his parents, from his life pre-Drew Crew.

That’s what love does, it compromises our judgement, it also gives you a reason to forgive each other again and again.

Finally he’s learning, love isn’t just life and death and the be all and end all. It’s everything in between, it’s so many shades of grey. It’s the way Nancy and Ace are so entwined and couldn’t ever just be friends, stumbling over the same things again and again and again because they hadn’t yet worked out that love is more than just the two extremes. It’s a symphony of emotion, of compromise, and bad choices and forgiveness and trying, trying, trying.

Their conversation in 4x01 was hurried, shrouded in darkness and cloaked feelings, desperate and uncertain and marred by a lack of communication. And here they are talking. He’s taken his time to be sure, to make sure he’s coming to her with all the facts, laying them out one by one at her feet. Coming to her cautiously but sure of himself, leaving her to make the choice. He knows himself better now, knows her too. And it always had to be him coming back, him to follow up on the curse. Because when he walked out and walked away he broke Nancy’s heart so thoroughly she was never going to go against him and keep looking. Was never going to throw herself over and over at him for fear of the rejection she thought would be waiting for her. Ace had to be the one to come back, to say I want this, I want you. And he is, finally. Eye contact and slowly stepping into her space giving her so many options to say no, to refuse him, offering himself and this choice to her, and whilst it’s not an apology it’s a clear promise to not be led by fear again. He’s let himself be led by fear all season, shying away from any possibility of happiness, at life because he or those around him might get hurt. But he’s finally seen that life isn’t guaranteed, the promise of happiness might get snatched at any moment, and this is his one last life and by god he wants to spend it living it to its fullest.

We’ve never seen Ace this centred, this sure of himself and his choices, and it is the culmination of everything he’s been through this season. He knows his fears, and he knows Nancy’s - her fear of abandonment, of losing the ones she loves. Bess has spoken openly about her fear of abandonment, but Nancy’s fear is just as strong, and Ace knows that. And he knows what to say, how to soothe her.

GIF Credit @userneos

The mystery of who you are will never end, and I know that the next clues will have to take you on the road, but so do mine. But will you solve this part of the mystery with me?

This isn’t the end, not if they don’t want it to be. They are tied by more than just a death curse, and he is in it for the long haul. His language coded precisely for her, a love letter, a promise, a declaration of intent.

GIF Credit @thatonekimgirl

He offers her his hand, and everything about this is so counter to all we saw at the start of the episode with Tristan who pushed his way into Nancy’s space and presumed intimacies she wasn’t comfortable with. Everything with Ace is a choice. He always asks how she’s feeling, offers her space to talk, to explore her feelings, offers his hand, offers his strength. There is always space to say no, never an expectation that she will be there. And she chooses him, of course she does, it’s always Ace, she always chooses him, even when she goes about it in the wrong way, even when it doesn’t translate.

GIF Credit @thatonekimgirl

The expectation would be that they would kiss. But this is about reforging the intimacy, the bonds between them, and they have denied themselves physical touch so much of this season for fear of triggering something, for fear of repercussions, for fear of not being able to hold themselves back, tripping over some unknown line. Fear, always fear. And the simple relief of just being able to hold each other close again, tip herself up on her toes so that she slots into place against him in the space that fits her body as though it were made for it.

GIF Credit @thatonekimgirl

She’s learned from him though, to ask, to check in, to communicate. Finally. To ask him if he’s scared, to hear him speak, to hear what he’s thinking, run her fingers through his hair and against the curve of his cheek and step in close. Because she knows that if he’s come to her with this he’s more than fifty fifty sure, and they’re neither of them letting fear stop them now. Certain in the knowledge of how the other feels and that this is it, they’re free. Free to look the other in the eye with love and conviction. Free to step in close, and know the other won’t step away. Free to say kiss me and pull Ace in with both hands.

GIF Credit @thatonekimgirl

Ace led everything about their first kiss, and Nancy leads their second. Hands in his air, filled with joy and a deep rooted knowledge that this is right, he is her person, and this is exactly where she belongs. There’s so much joy in this kiss. Their first was epic, sure, cinematic and beautiful. But this is two souls who have finally found their way back to each other, unfettered by tragedy and heartache, allowed to find joy in this moment.

GIF Credit @thatonekimgirl

In the lightness of Ace teasing her that he feels fine, in barely being able to kiss around the smile breaking across Nancy’s face. In the assuredness in his fingers as they reach to map her jaw, find the pulse point at her throat, tangle in her hair. Paths he’s followed a thousand times in his dreams - since their first kiss, their first touch, their first moment of connection, a reference point to find each other by. The exhilaration of holding each other close and nothing shattering, the light of her torch remaining unbroken.

GIF Credit @thatonekimgirl

The ease with which they slip into being them again. They were so close to it before, so tangled in a way that was impossible to break - that made them miserable even trying.

GIF Credit @yellenabelova

Caught in each other’s orbit, always caught in their space, so it’s nothing to reach down and twine their fingers, lean their weight a little harder, curve fingers around bicep, waist, the curve of a neck as they capture lips in a kiss. To choose each other as soulmates over and over and over again.

GIF Credit @nancydrewcentral

#nancy drew #nancy drew cw #nancy x ace #ace [redacted]#cw nancy drew #nace #nancy drew spoilers #nancy drew analysis #nancy drew meta #naceedit #nancy drew 4x13 #nancy drew 4.13 #The Light Between Lives #My babies #I love them your honour #the drew crew

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sonkitty · 3 months ago

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Trickery Post #5 - Perfect

After reviewing some posts in looking for something else, I had my timing incorrect for when I got all sad about the sunglasses and reflections. I have corrected it accordingly within the previous post (Trickery Post #4 - Looking).

Also, I did let go of that general take of being that sad after I realized more about what was happening with both the sunglasses and the windows during that sequence. I grew all the more sure of that threshold part over time.

I can't remember exactly when the following thought entered my mind, before or after looking at windows, but something that did occur to me was to question if Crowley's clothing meant anything for his touch on the door to his car at the end of episode 6 because the clothing itself is all linked together. No numbers or smaller ideas left me satisfied with that bigger idea, so I dropped it.

The time frame for my own play of the games covered in this post is mainly early January 2024.

When I made my windows posts, they were called "Earthly Objects Study - Windows Part 1" for my initial study on windows and "Earthly Objects Study - Windows Part 2" for the part focused on the end of episode 6.

I knew there was something special about pockets, but it looked well beyond anything I would ever be able to comprehend, so I did not pursue it.

Okay, I have four threshold things that are named as Threshold Tricks unless I ever find something better.

For the door thing and the window thing, I remarked that they each have a conceptual base. For the door it was, "Touch the door while touching the door." For the window, it was, "Look through a window while looking through a window." I considered the bigger thresholds as like having a broad touch to those places. And the coffee shop entrance just was what it was.

Another thing I felt worth noting in my earlier posts on the general subject, and remains in them to this day, is that there is an underlying idea of, "Never do the same trick twice." Each Trick had a different format for how it brought about getting that 1, 2-in-1, and 3-in-1.

I knew I wanted a better way to express the meaning of 1, 2-in-1, and 3-in-1. There should be a word for them.

I searched for some variation of those things and found the words, "single", "double", and 'triple". Oh, yes! That made sense. Those were the words!

Was there a word for those words?

There is a phrase, and that phrase is "multiplicative adjective." Oh, that was fitting since I even said Crowley should be earning multipliers for these Threshold Tricks.

Now, with those words in mind, I have a sunglasses thing, but it doesn't quite fit as a Threshold Trick.

I spent a weekend that was probably January 6th and January 7th 2024, I mainly remember it being a Sunday so January 7th, based on my found drafts and published posts, where I was trying to break down the events of the Final Fifteen with what I found about windows.

But by this point, I know there's something important about the number 3.

If I have something for a door and something for a window, that's 2.

The door thing is for Aziraphale given its context and Aziraphale looking over to Crowley just before it finishes.

The window thing is for humans.

There should be a 3, and it should involve the sunglasses for Crowley.

Right?

But the thing was, I couldn't find it.

Crowley removes his sunglasses with his right hand at the start of the argument scene in the bookshop. That's a 1, or a Single.

When Crowley puts the sunglasses back on, he uses both hands. That's a 2-in-1, or a Double.

And I could not find a 3-in-1, a Triple, in that scene. I looked, and I looked, and I looked. I thought, and I thought, and I thought. The other two happened within the Final Fifteen itself, so this one should too.

Where is the Triple?!

Did my missing Triple have to do with Aziraphale? So far, people have not been thresholds. The thresholds have been physical not-people things. The window looks are conceptual yes, but they are based on a window pane and a window frame, things that are still physical in nature and not people.

Even if a person were a threshold, it should be like...a guard. Between Aziraphale being a guard to Crowley's heart and the sunglasses being a guard to Crowley's heart, I would definitely go with the sunglasses, given everything on screen and in context. Crowley is hurt and protecting himself.

I grew so frustrated. I was in tears. I knew there should be a Triple, and I simply couldn't find it.

I gave up. I was so, so mad and so so frustrated, I deleted the drafts of my trying to explain the frustration of looking for a Triple and not finding it. I wish I hadn't done that, but I did because I felt so...inept.

I shouldn't be crying over this stuff. It's not a fun game if it's affecting me that badly.

I knew I had something with this game idea, but maybe this time, I was wrong with what should be happening in the Final Fifteen. I had made mistakes before. Maybe Crowley failed on this bit. He was heartbroken after all. Maybe I was looking for something that just wasn't there.

Maybe it really was only 2 this time.

I was taking it too seriously, all the same, so it was time to back off.

So, I updated whatever I could in great annoyance, trying to mask what I had been through.

I wanted the four Threshold Tricks known and had to get this window stuff somewhere with them, so it was time to do that.

The game wasn't fun here, and I was getting frustrated. It was time to stop. I had hit a wall that I could not pass, so it was time to just let the matter go. I didn't stand much of a chance with the pockets thing anyway. Maybe I would try it and just fail quickly. For the sunglasses thing, I was probably just wrong after all.

I don't remember if I was actively updating the sunglasses post despite the frustrating failure of my own play, but I do remember my thoughts lingering on one particular touch Crowley had with the sunglasses that stuck out to me.

That touch takes place in episode 1 after Crowley exited the Hell summon. He puts his sunglasses back on before driving to the bookshop.

Let me talk about doors for a bit.

My understanding of doors was limited, but it went something along the lines of figuring out that doors themselves have earthly objects on them. Those earthly objects are doorknobs, push plates, handles, locks, window panes, mirrors, and possibly even something I looked up called an astragal. The panel serving as the door is another story. That is the threshold. The door frame was not quite as clear to me, but I mainly got that the game cares about these types of things. They do matter.

Well, Crowley's sunglasses as a door is a little different, but I at least knew that the end pieces were the thresholds and how he manages Accessory Mode has to do with thumb management and human context.

Given the full context of the scene and what Crowley was doing, that looked like a move to maintain Door Mode yet not match certain other touches he had that focused on the end piece or end pieces.

He covers the right end piece completely with his right hand, then uses his left hand digits to slide along the temple.

It was a very quiet, slow little click, but it was there.

He did that on purpose because he did not want credit for a threshold-only touch on the sunglasses in whatever sunglasses thing I had been looking for.

He wanted threshold-only credit in other touches.

...

Words have power.

And the power here is that knowing those multiplicative adjectives, with some extra time to let them just be in my thoughts, and thinking about that touch, helped me find what I was really looking for with the sunglasses and had been looking for since before I even started on studying windows.

The sunglasses threshold thing took place over multiple episodes, just like the bigger thresholds thing. It didn't look like a 3 or a 6 though.

It was an 8.

It was not just a Single, a Double, and a Triple.

It was layered.

Even as I type this post, I realize that my recognition of the window layering probably helped me subconsciously recognize the layering here for the sunglasses.

Due to the scale of the mistake that I made, I'm actually going to tell you the correct version first. Hopefully, that will make the mistake easier to understand.

The touches go like this:

Double #1 of our eventual primary Double (Episode 1)

Crowley removes his sunglasses touching two end pieces with one end. Both doors are opened.

Triple Part 1 of our eventual primary Single (Episode 1; Not Hissing)

Crowley removes his sunglasses before being summoned to Hell by touching the right end piece. He did not have a subtle demonic hiss as an added sound effect.

Triple Part 2 of our eventual primary Single (Episode 1; Not Hissing)

Crowley removes his sunglasses before throwing them on a desk by touching the left end piece. He did not have a subtle demonic hiss as an added sound effect.

Single #1 for our eventual primary Triple (Episode 2; Different Sunglasses)

Crowley removes the first set of present day sunglasses while holding a Jane Austen book by touching the right end piece. He had a subtle demonic hiss as an added sound effect.

Single #2 for our eventual primary Triple (Episode 2; Different Sunglasses)

Crawley removes his Job era sunglasses by touching the right end piece. He had a subtle demonic hiss as an added sound effect.

Single #3 for our eventual primary Triple (Episode 5; Different Sunglasses)

Crowley removes the second set of present day sunglasses by touching the left end piece. He had a subtle demonic hiss as an added sound effect.

We have three Singles that have something that make them all different—the different sunglasses...yet we also have something they all share in common: he hissed. We're going to go ahead and merge these Singles into the Triple. Now it's time to get the Single and the Double.

Triple Part 3 of our eventual primary Single (Episode 6; Not Hissing)

Crowley removes his sunglasses and holds them. When removing them, his right hand did so on the right end piece. He did not have a subtle demonic hiss as an added sound effect.

The Triple is already taken by our previously merged Singles that became the Triple. This group did not have three different pairs of sunglasses. It did lack hissing. We're going to merge these parts and switch this Triple to the Single. Now all that's left is to finish the Double.

Double #2 of our eventual primary Double (Episode 6)

Crowley puts his sunglasses back on. He touches the thresholds of his thresholds with both hands. Note that on the front view, two sets of fingers are touching each other as one of the fingers of each pair touches each edge. From the back view, there are two visible digit tips with the thumb and index finger.

The Double is done.

Both doors are closed.

...

The Single was a Triple. The Double was a Double. The Triple was Three Singles.

...

Now when I first laid it all out, the big mistake I made was that I had the Single and the Triple switched. I thought that the three hisses were the Triple that becomes a Single since they all happened in a row. In turn, I thought the three Singles that become a Triple were the other set of three, outside the Doubles. Basic process of elimination.

I wrote something to the effect of it not really mattering which set was which since you could just go with whatever. That didn't quite sit right with me, but I didn't know why so posted it anyway. As I've said, sometimes I have to make mistakes public to really get at them anyway.

That's what happened here.

It does matter which set is which, at least if you want the correct answer to play better and be a better, more reliable source of information to people who might read your posts and believe you. Better play does lead into advancing in the game.

The hisses have a different pair of sunglasses every time. That's what makes them the distinct three Singles that become a Triple. In case I further doubt myself, there is also a different earthly object being held each time.

So, I rectified that mistake in my post after a few days as well.

Speaking of embarrassing mistakes with the sunglasses, I revisited the face touches idea. I took off the credit for Crowley getting a full solo set for the first touch of those. That should be 1 point, not 3. The other two points could be found with touching them with his hand first as he is putting them in Accessory Mode and then with him saying the number, "ten." It took me so long to realize that characters saying numbers could earn a dialogue point.

I was now in full doubt of my guessed third face touch. Maybe there was still a third face touch out there somewhere I had not found yet, but it wasn't the one I guessed. That wasn't good enough.

I admitted maybe I was just wrong on the face touch idea overall anyway. I had made plenty of mistakes by this point, so that was certainly possible.

Anyway, I kind of glossed over it because I wanted the mistakes known, but I'm going back to focusing on the Threshold Trick with the sunglasses:

I was blown away with the realization of that layering.

Like, I was just amazed. I did not think, not for one second, that the game could ever amaze me more than what I found there. I called it the most mind-blowing thing Crowley does in the Threshold Tricks whenever I got around to updating my Earthly Objects Study post on the sunglasses overall

It's hard to see and hard to get, but once you do get it, it's just so beautiful and amazing and...well, if you asked me, it was just downright perfect.

Then a thought struck me. In Tekken, a PERFECT is when a player wins a round without taking any damage.

Given what I found with "multipliers" sounding like "multiplicative adjectives", I had better check if the word "perfect" has some special math meaning.

...

It does.

The number 6 is a perfect number because 1 + 2 + 3 = 6.

As a reminder, we have already been going with the idea of a Single, a Double, and a Triple. Let me say that again. We have already been going with the idea of a 1, which is the Single, and a 2-in-1, which is the Double, and the 3-in-1, which is the Triple, as a combined requirement for these Threshold Tricks to be what they are.

Learning this definition then further clarified something about the coffee shop sequence: Oh, it's a Perfect Entrance!

I had been so close with saying, "What a beautiful entrance," and the music and the camera work really were trying to convey that! So awesome!

The realization meant that the Threshold Tricks have names.

I had five Threshold Tricks with five names:

The Perfect Entrance Trick

The Door Trick

The Window Trick

The Bigger Thresholds Trick

The Sunglasses Trick

Maybe The Sunglasses Trick had a phrase to be found with the "perfect" still, but the best I had was Perfect Reversal, and I wasn't sure.

Maybe The Bigger Thresholds Trick wasn't quite right, but there was no way I wanted to call it The Bigger Trick and leave out the word "threshold". So, okay, fine, that was hopefully probably its name.

I acknowledged the names looked like they were meant to be found when I listed them for an update.

I changed the title of the post to "Multiplicative Threshold Tricks," because I felt that part was so significant with what happened with the sunglasses. It was eventually changed back since I found myself using Threshold Tricks most of the time anyway. If season 3 were ever to admit these things existed, I suspected that would be the phrase actually used.

With The Perfect Entrance Trick named, I also felt that each one had a conceptual base even if I did not quite yet have the words for how to say such things in the way I had, "Touch the door while touching the door," for The Door Trick.

I made a post called Good Omens 2 Compendium, considering the scale of posts I had ended up making, and I probably started to call the sideburns thing The Sideburns Scheme as another similar game name.

Somehow, I was still saying I was not sure if Earthly Objects was a game so much as my understanding of something happening in the story.

But you know, the further I got, it was looking more and more like a game.

Eventually, I wanted to go over the ball invitations since they looked like some kind of mini-game leading to the theoretical shift into the supernatural zone.

Eventually, I wanted to get back to continuing posts about the present day sideburns scenes.

But first...

I had five Threshold Tricks. Three take place during one episode. Two take place over multiple episodes.

Crowley ordered six shots of espresso, nothing else, in episode 1.

Nina referred to his coffee order 3 times over the course of the story, making her say "six" those 3 times. She even gave him a name of, "Mr. Six Espressos in a Big Cup," on the last of those three times.

Crowley has a strong association with the number 6.

If I have 5 Threshold Tricks, then there was a very good chance that there should be 6, with a third one that takes place over multiple episodes. The missing Threshold Trick had a decent chance of being...The Pocket Trick. I knew where to find some pocket touches through my overall work on the Earthly Objects game. It was time to at least attempt figuring out the pockets. It sounded so daunting and difficult already, I didn't think I would last long at the challenge.

(For reference: Trickery)

#crowley #david tennant #good omens #good omens 2 #good omens s2 #good omens season 2 #good omens meta #good omens crowley #good omens analysis #good omens 2 trickery

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m00nsbaby · 1 year ago

Note

Hello :3

I hope I'm not bothering you and I hope this is okay to request, I don't want to push boundaries and make you uncomfortable because I know that I'm asking for a lot right now, but I was listening to Spotify and the song "We'll Never Have Sex" by Lieth Ross came on (it's a very good song and it really gets me in my feels, I really recommend listening to it) and my first thought was the Moon boys with reader who struggles with past SA and thinks of themselves a ruthless monster since the reader is an active mercenary (I don't know if you write for male readers or not but I'm politely asking if you can make the reader male please and thank you 🥺👉🏻👈🏻 it's okay if not)

Sorry for rambling so much and asking for a lot of things from you, please don't feel rushed to make this and be sure to take care of yourself

The Nerve.

Moon system x M! Reader.

Tags & warnings. Mentions of death, hints of SA, violence, blood, abuse, inaccurate representation of DID.

Sorry for the amount of text on this writers note, lol: Hi!!! So, this is my first request!! :) And I have a lot to say lol.

To whoever sent me this request I want to thank them for trusting in me and my writing to make something that feels somehow personal and for being the nicest ever! <3 Don't say sorry for asking for certain stuff, I really from the bottom of my heart hope that this fulfills what you wanted to read <3

Word count. 2.9k

Summary.

Oh, you kissed me just to kiss me, Not to take me home. It was simple, it was sweetness, It was good to know.

It had been a long time since the idea of death had ceased to matter to you.

When Bushman took everything from you and slowly immersed you in a world you never wanted to be a part of in the first place, you began to understand that perhaps whoever ended your life would be doing you a favor.

So when your mission turned into breaking into one of the neighborhoods protected by the vigilante in white to 'dispose of' some random person, you accepted without protest.

And that was basically the context of how you ended up like this, underneath him with his hands on your neck. You had put up a good fight; in fact, you could see how his chest rose and fell heavily with fatigue. In the end, your training was nothing compared to whatever was protecting him.

The air escaped from your lungs, your vision was blurry, and you heard him growl beneath the mask, your body was about to give in.

You were almost happy to know that this was finally the day. You stopped fighting, and in less than 10 seconds, the ceremonial white suit turned into an ordinary white and cream-toned tuxedo. The mask disappeared as well, and his startled expression filled your entire field of vision.

"Marc?" you whispered with a hoarse voice, and his orbs widened even more in surprise.

"Do you know him?" the vigilante murmured to himself, his hands trembling as he moved them away from your neck.

As much as you tried to hold on, your body gave in just a little while later, from exhaustion, shock, or perhaps the lack of oxygen in general.

The punishment for failing had been worse than you remembered.

It had been a long time since you had failed a mission.

Still, as you tended to your wounds, there wasn't much on your mind other than the encounter with Marc. Your Marc.

For several months now, you had come to accept the idea that he was dead, even if 'accept' for you meant crying in his name during the nights or using all your strength to pound your fists as a way to vent your anger for losing him.

Was it really him, or had your mind gone to him immediately when it thought you were about to die?

And if that was Marc, had he recognized you, or had the mask done its job well?

It was foolish of him to assume that you hadn't felt his footsteps behind you. He had been following you from at least four blocks away, and even though you knew it was him, you had no desire to confront him.

You were angry, of course, the rage at the thought of him trying to excuse his disappearance flooded you every time you stopped to think, but probably the word that would work best right now would be 'tired.' It was your day off, probably the only one in the week when you didn't stain yourself with blood and didn't have to deal with work.

And there he was, reminding you of every horrible detail of your life with his mere presence.

When your body pushed his against a wall in the nearest alley, both of you remembered that although he might be stronger, he would never be smarter.

He raised his hands in a sign of innocence, and you took the liberty to study his face in detail after so long. The same mischievous curl of hair always ran across his forehead, and his brow was furrowed, not out of annoyance or surprise, that had always been Marc's lifelong expression.

"What are you doing here?" You spat out the words with more bitterness than you would have liked.

He didn't respond. Apparently, he was still the same as always. When you let go of him, his body seemed even more tense.

"Oh, you're not going to answer, I get it," you nodded to yourself. You could swear you were going crazy. "If your plans don't involve killing me or attempting it like the other night, or maybe speaking and using your damn mouth for once, I want you to stay away from me."

He was not able to say anything or to follow you.

Unfortunately, what Marc didn't anticipate was that your encounters wouldn't be solely with him, as there were two other individuals in his head waiting to come out at the slightest provocation.

The second time around, Jake was in charge, and somehow, he had even less control over his punches.

"Who are you, niño bonito?" (Pretty boy.) You groaned in pain as his foot on your chest forced you to stay on the ground, catching your breath. "Why is Marc so interested in you, huh?"

You didn't respond; in fact, you didn't even believe you had processed his questions. Instead, you pulled on his foot, the same one that was on top of you, and brought him down in a thud. You felt the hint of a smile on your face.

"Mierda." he muttered under his breath, and without giving him a chance, you escaped from him.

You had a million theories in your mind. With all your time in that world, you knew inside and out every kind of torture imaginable, and the idea that Marc's memory was failing didn't seem so far-fetched.

That, or he simply wanted to pretend he didn't know you, although that made much less sense. Either way, he was an idiot for injuring your shoulder tonight.

Then you had an encounter with Steven, and it was much more enlightening than the previous three. You almost killed him when you saw him in front of your apartment, with those puppy-dog eyes and soothing himself with a hand game. You noticed that his sleeves were longer than his arms.

Hah.

"What do you want, Marc?"

"I don't…" A funny accent. You caught it in the first few seconds. "I'm not Marc."

That led to a conversation that the mentioned one probably wouldn't have enjoyed because Steven took it upon himself to tell you in detail everything that had happened in the months when you hadn't been in contact with your ex-best friend and former mission partner.

You knew about his mother, you knew Marc's tumultuous past and how all of that had led him to belong to one of the largest and most terrible groups of mercenaries and thieves on the continent, but it turns out the idiot never told you another result of the trauma.

Dissociative Identity Disorder.

You had a faint understanding of how it worked, and Steven seemed so nervous that you were afraid to ask for a deeper explanation. The whole situation gave you an exceptional headache, but the real story was nowhere near as crazy as half of the theories you had in mind for days.

Oh, and you also understood that he didn't seek you out by his own choice.

"I can understand why he can't stop thinking about you," Steven said as gently as he could after a few prolonged minutes of silence.

It was surprising how he managed to make his voice not sound like he was flirting with you, just a sweet confession, accompanied by a nervous smile.

"He wants to talk to you but doesn't know how." It was the next thing he said, understanding that it was time to leave and leave you alone; you had a lot to think about.

Your feet dangled at the edge of a building's ledge as you sipped your beer as if you'd been thirsty for days, Marc was doing the same beside you. Both of you laughed at nonsense, so close that your shoulders brushed against each other. "We're heading back home," you murmured with your eyes closed as you enjoyed the cold breeze hitting your body. Marc was looking at you, he always did. Over time, you understood that returning from your missions was never really coming home; Marc was your home. "If you let yourself get shot again, I'm going to kill you myself." You laughed with your eyes closed; your leg still hurt. After long minutes of silence, the other's hand found its way to your chin. And you opened your eyes, looking at him with confusion. His fingers gently pressed against your skin, and you obediently leaned in. He was so close. You could smell mint and beer on his breath, his eyes seemed to shine brighter than the stars that night. The daydream lasted briefly, before you could react, your entire body was pulling back, rejecting him in the full meaning of the word. Marc didn't insist after that day; he understood well what your expression of fear meant.

You woke up drenched in sweat, your breath ragged as if you had run a marathon. You no longer had to bear the idea that Marc had left without knowing that you felt the same way he did, but things had changed so much that you weren't even sure if he had come back.

Marc began to let Jake take charge when you played this little game of the cat and the mouse.

You weren't going to yield, and it wasn't out of a passion for the job; you knew what failing meant to Bushman. You had experienced it more times than you would have liked since Marc had disappeared that night in Cairo.

Jake was more… aggressive than usual; you could feel it in the force with which he struck.

In a moment of distraction, you stopped his fist with your hand, and although you couldn't see his face, you knew you had taken him by surprise.

"How long are you going to keep this up?" He growled. His accent allowed you to recognize him, just like with Steven, who had told you all about the two of them.

"Until you give up," you squeezed his fist between your fingers, "or kill me."

You felt him suddenly stop pressing when you said that. The mask disappeared in front of your eyes, and he tilted his head slightly to the side as he examined you with his eyes.

You rewarded him by removing your mask, letting him see your face. You heard him gulp.

"¿Quién eres?" (Who are you?) He whispered, and both of you let your guard down in seconds.

You didn't answer, just as Marc would've done, and the truth was, you didn't even know who you were. His now-enemy? An old friend of Marc? Now a stranger?

It turns out that one of the many nights you crossed paths, Jake and you were able to talk. In some other circumstance, you would have joked about how you liked him better than Marc.

He was more friendly when he wasn't trying to break your ribs.

"What happened?" You feared the question, but maybe it would be fair to let it out for once in your life.

"He was…" You cleared your throat, searching for what to say. "He was very special to me." You didn't have the strength to say he was your everything. "My best friend."

Both of you had met while working for Bushman, and the connection was undeniable for both.

And although you adored him, you thought you were crazy when you felt him brush his hand against yours, or when he hugged you as if he wanted to squeeze the oxygen out of your lungs when he found you alive at the end of a mission.

Jake understood why he felt so drawn to you, where that strange feeling of nostalgia came from when he saw you.

"Do you miss him?" The question hurt more than the blows, and you realized that you had never talked about this with anyone, as if Marc were only a product of your solitary imagination.

Of the three, Jake was the one who had lived through and seen the worst things as Marc and Steven's protector, so it wasn't hard for him to understand what you had faced throughout your life.

And the truth was, he was afraid to ask. He was afraid to go too far because his mind sent him to something as personal as it was terrifying.

He realized it in probably the least reasonable way for both when your late-night conversations gave him the idea that maybe you felt the same way he did, even though he wasn't Marc. He leaned forward, and his lips collided with yours. It felt right, a strange feeling of 'finally.' You reciprocated, your lips gently brushing against his in a gesture as intimate as it was delicate.

The problem came when he rested a hand on your thigh for stability as he leaned forward. Your heart stopped.

The fear was almost paralyzing, almost. Not enough for you not to push him away, and Jake obeyed without exerting force, although he did look at you confused, worried.

You had to blink many times to try to clear your vision. momentarily, it was as if Jake's face merged with someone else's. Your eyes filled with tears, your body suddenly rejecting his before running away.

You didn't see them for the next two weeks, and you continued to move in the shadows, this time without interruption. At least they wouldn't get you into trouble.

Although the rule didn't apply to Steven Grant, who was trying to get your attention with his ridiculous white tuxedo while you cleaned a wound on your cheek.

"What's up, Steven?" Your voice was so soft that even he was surprised. To Jake's panic, he could swear you were disgustingly upset with them.

"Jake feels sorry." That was the first thing he said.

And you laughed.

"Why?"

"For not asking for your permission." Well, that was new.

Did anyone ask for it?

You took longer than you would have liked to confront Marc, he was probably as reluctant to these encounters as you were. He visited your apartment and didn't even greet you.

But you understood. You understood as you had been understanding for a long time, and you let it pass.

You spent the evening with your head in his lap, and he touched your hair delicately as if he were going to hurt you. Quite ironic after the number of blows you had received from him.

Or from his body, rather.

You had never been with him… like this. The closest had been that night on the rooftop.

Marc ran his hands through your hair as much as he wanted to, but he never went beyond your neck; he could feel your body tense when his fingers grazed your skin. He understood it, and from the darkness, Jake did too.

The issue wasn't him, and it wasn't you either.

Do you ever think about them?" Jake looked at you, curious.

"Them?"

"The ones affected."

Ah, them. He pressed his lips together as he thought about what to say; if Marc was bad with words, he somehow was even worse.

"I try not to."

You nodded slowly, satisfied with the answer. He had stopped chasing you a while ago; he had other methods to distract you from your missions, although you never told him what that resulted in. Maybe he already imagined it, or he was so focused on you that he never noticed.

He placed his hand over yours and looked at you intently for a brief moment, as if confirming that you were okay with it. You moved your hand to entwine your fingers together.

He gave you a squeeze, catching your attention.

When you looked at him, he gave you a smile.

"I'm here." Just what you wanted to hear.

Your invitation surprised Steven, who, although he understood that there was something between you, didn't know to what extent because of how volatile you were.

Thankfully, Steven was the most careful and innocent person you could know, so your invitation to sleep together was taken just as that, with no jokes involved.

You spent the early hours talking about everything, and somehow, although the four of you spent more time talking than you thought, the conversation never seemed to end. And as expected, you got to that topic.

You were crying, as you had started doing for some time now.

"I don't deserve you."

"What are you talking about, love?" He laughed in genuine confusion. One of his arms was around you, and you felt his warm breath on your neck.

"I'm not… I…" You mumbled, taking a breath. "I'm a bad person."

You felt him tense behind you; suddenly, he was holding you tighter against his chest, and you didn't feel fear. In fact, you could swear you felt a deep need for more contact from him.

"M-Marc, he's…" Another sob from you, why was it physically painful to express your feelings? "He's fixing the things he's done, you know?" You had to take a breath to continue. "The people I've hurt, the things I've done…"

Steven moved his hand up your body, and his hand pressed against your chest as if he needed to feel the beats of your heart for comfort. He didn't know what to say.

"You're not a bad person." He made you cry even more, if that was possible.

"I, I don't…"

"Shhh." He exerted more pressure on your chest to make you feel your own ragged breathing. "You're not a monster."

Steven had thought something similar about himself; he knew well what you were feeling.

And Marc, and Jake.

That's all you needed to hear to know that you were in good hands, even in this moment when you felt nothing but the urge to cry.

He got you.

The number of scars on your body already exceeded the space you had in your memory to remember all the horrible stories they told. And yet, Steven kissed them all.

Hii, i'm not doing tag list on this one because of the themes I talked about :)

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apprenticestanheight · 1 year ago

Text

More - Adam Stanheight x gn! reader

Alllllllll right!! It is my birthday and that means that I am officially one year older yay!! I'm not really big on celebrating my own birthday and instead of doing some big like, event type thing I wanted to just write a couple thousand words a week or two in advance so that I didn't have to worry about editing on the day of, and that's what this is!

This is a college-adjacent AU (Adam is canonically a hs dropout but I've been thinking about maybe working my way to a creative writing PhD lately and projected so thats where the college part comes in) bc I headcanon that Adam grew his hair out in his early twenties and also: recovery era leigh whannell my dearly beloved.

Fic type- this is fluff that leads into smut!!

Warnings - this fic is meant for audiences of 18+. Minors, do not interact. Other than that, religion is referenced once (in the context of the reader saying adams name like it's a prayer lol), the word cunt is used a few times, and the reader is gn for all intents and purposes but I wrote the fic with AFAB anatomy in mind as that is the anatomy I know best. Petplay is also kind of present here (the puppy nickname has wormed its way into several of my fics bc I try thinking of gn petnames and my mind goes completely blank oops)

As it turned out, it was easier than one expected to get someone who wasn't an attendee into your college library. You'd snuck Adam into it without a care in the world, yearning for someone to lean against when you hit a breaking point in your studying while your closest friends were two-thirds of the way into breaking points of their own.

Adam was happy to leave the crappy apartment he lived in, though. He worked forty-hour weeks but his boss had mentioned that there was unclaimed PTO so Adam took the four days he was offered from the 186 days that had been accrued and relished in the fact that he was being paid not to work for approximately a day and a half before he yearned for fresh air.

When you'd asked him to come with you to finish up the last of the work you needed to do to finish up your thesis on your 22nd birthday, Adam had jumped at the opportunity and agreed to meet you near the charity shop that was a fifteen minute walk from his apartment and a fifteen minute drive out from your campus.

Of course, in his delight he'd ended up showing twenty minutes before the time you'd agreed, so he ducked into the aforementioned charity shop and looked around to occupy the time he had before you'd meet up with him.

He found a camera for fifteen bucks, three rolls of film and a camera bag included in that deal and couldn't resist. Scott gave him $200 a few times a month for printing up a hundred copies of his bands posters to hand out, and his paycheck had run in time for the rent and groceries to eat it completely, so the two hundred was something like lifesaver.

He'd gotten $400 that January because Scott and his band were doing a lot of gigs, which came as a bit of a surprise--Adam had heard Scotts band play before. Scott was lucky most people didn't pay much attention to bar music.

That $400 was originally going to take purpose at least partially as gas money because there were some distances that it just wasn't worth walking, maybe the purchase of a pack of cigarettes from the corner store that always had deals on them--$3 for two packs was the typical deal going on, and something Adam had used to his advantage more than once in the year since he'd become legally eligible to smoke and drink--and not much else, but the camera seemed like a decent enough purchase. If he got good enough, maybe he could display the photos he took somewhere or sell them as prints to make up for the money he lost to rent and a few groceries during his first paycheck of the month, keep him from going hungry until the second paycheck of the month came in.

He dips out of the charity shop and grins when he spots you, lets you drive him and steals the rest of your energy drink when you talk about the fact that you're not sure why you thought you'd like the peach flavor, and that gets you where you are--sitting in the darkest corner of your college library, face pressed against Adams shoulder as he laughs meekly.

"You can do this," he says. "You have another, what? Three pages left and then it's done. Then you can go back to whatever else your creative writing PhD entails and worry about your dissertation next year, yeah?"

"That doesn't work," advises a close friend of yours, Aurelie. She's been studying for a masters in biology and has known you since 1993, when you were both eighteen and freshly new to the college campus. "I've tried it numerous times, Stanheight, and it doesn't."

"I should've gotten my bachelors and masters before I jumped into this," you mutter, words muffled by the sleeve of Adams baggy black sweater. "But of course the only PhD option within two hours of work was an accelerated course. Ugh."

Adam laughs pitifully, pulls your face away from his shoulder to kiss your forehead before he gets up and you give him your card to get you, himself, Aurelie and her girlfriend Samantha a coffee.

When he returns, Samantha is pulling a strand of bright green hair behind her ear and watching you struggle, eyes narrowing at the book you're trying to focus on reading to get something you need for your thesis. Aurelie is offering you a bite of the sandwich she'd brought, telling you that a bag of chips also has the potential to be yours if you can get the last of your necessary research done in time to meet your February 18th deadline.

Adam presses a kiss to the top of your head as he maneuvers back into sitting down, gesturing at the coffees to tell Aurelie and Sam which ones are theirs and which ones are yours and Adams.

Adam wraps an arm around your shoulders as you thank him, taking a sip of your coffee, the order for which Adam had memorized at some point in the four years of your relationship to that point. He kisses your temple in response, grabbing his own coffee from the tray and checking the time.

It's not until six grueling hours, sunrise and four mental breakdowns have surpassed that you're officially done with your thesis. Adam asks if you want to spend the night at his place--you're not going into classes tomorrow if the way that you talked about sleeping in is of any indication--and Aurelie gives you a high five and mentions one of the bags of Doritos she'd brought along to munch on as she studied but hadn't ended up touching.

"You officially owe them a thousand kisses, you know," Aurelie says as you tuck your notebooks into the satchel you've been using since Adam had gifted it to you when you'd walked across the stage and graduated high school three and a half years prior. "You've gotta do it. It's what they deserve."

Adam laughs, blue-green eyes meeting Aurelies hazel brown ones. "I know," he says. "Though, to be fair, I don't think they really expected three pages to turn into fifteen more tacked on."

"They did not," you state affirmatively. "Professor Mason better fuckin' love me for it, though. I hadn't expected to meet his maximum page count and I managed to, just barely. Give me the chips."

Adam and Sam both laugh at the come-hither motion you make with your finger as Aurelie gets a bag of Doritos from her bag and tosses them at you, laughing a bit herself.

"Gremlin person," she says, shuddering a little for dramatic effect. "I surrender an offering to thee."

"The gremlin thanks you for it means the gremlin can put ordering dinner off for like, an hour and a half," you laugh a little, breaking open the bag of Doritos as Adam steals your two-litre water bottle from the table and takes a sip, leaving it open if you should decide to take a sip within the following thirty seconds.

You do, taking a break in your Dorito munching to take a sip of the water while Adam steals a chip from the bag and all of your preparations to leave are temporarily put on hold.

"I'm serious about the thousand kisses thing," Aurelie says. "Four breakdowns, fifteen pages and six different books in six hours. You have to do something to celebrate that."

Adam laughs, runs a hand through hair that he has yet to cut because he can't usually afford it and when he can, there are always better ways for money to be spent.

"I know you are," he says. "For the record, I am, too. I have a plethora of plans to make Y/Ns productivity feel worth it tonight, trust me."

"Gonna let me in on one of them?"

"I set aside $200 over my last few paychecks," Adam says. "Your birthday presents await, one of which is dinner."

"Two hundred from your paychecks--even multiple--means you have less grocery money, idiot," you scold lightly, glaring at him. Adam laughs, shakes his head, uses humor to fend off the anger issues that have a tendency to come up and bite him in the ass.

"Scott gave me $400 this month to print band posters," Adam says. "Also designed them, helped hand at least two and a half dozen out to people, but--you don't need to worry, okay? I have stuff covered and I had four hundred I could spend. I didn't spend it on groceries because I didn't need to, so it's okay."

Adam knows you only get defensive because of how his pay is and how his rent and groceries are in direct correlation. He works forty hours a week, brings in six hundred and fifty dollars every two. Rent eats four hundred during that first monthly paycheck and the other two hundred and fifty gets eaten by groceries.

The second pay period of that month is swallowed by other expenses. He sets aside gas money for the rarer times wherein he has to use his car, some money for cigarettes and other pop-up expenses as well as groceries for those two weeks.

His landlord had raised the rent in January of 1997, though. All he had left of his first monthly paycheck was a measly 100 dollars, which he couldn't buy very much with as it were. Scott had given him four hundred dollars for his efforts in graphic design and his access to a printer though, so he was cool as an ice cube in the few days before the second monthly paycheck he got was deposited into his bank account and he could afford to get a couple more things to last him through until next month.

"You promise it has no harm even though your landlord raised your rent to a stupid amount?"

"Rent being raised to a stupid amount means renovations," Adam throws you a cheeky smile. "The heater works, my showerhead isn't busted like it used to be, and the fridge, microwave and oven aren't running on fumes. It has it's perks."

"If I have to force you, you will be dragged by your gorgeous hair to the college apartments one of these days," you say. "They let non-attendees rent out the units year round for three hundred a month. You could actually afford to live if you went that route."

"You'd also be able to afford a haircut," Samantha chirps. You glare at her and Adam has to laugh, pressing his forehead against your shoulder and kissing it as he does.

You part ways thirty minutes later, waving goodbye to Sam and Aurelie as Adam asks who's place you want to go to.

You end up choosing to go to yours--you live in one of the apartment buildings owned and managed by your college. Its one of the many perks attached to the full ride scholarship you earned. It wasn't an easy feat, but you earned it from doing a collaborative photo and written essay that your english teacher called 'completely and totally heartwrenching' on the emotional support stray cats have proven to offer the homeless and those otherwise down on their luck.

Your apartment is nicer than Adams by half a mile, at least. Twelve hundred square feet, two bedrooms for the off chance someone has to move in. White walls, dark brown hardwood flooring, marble countertops in the bathrooms and kitchens, up-to-date appliances wherever such appliances are necessary. It's a good place, ten minutes out from your college campus by car, and you have every intent to keep living there and paying the rent attached once you're done with your PhD.

You and Adam debate dinner but decide to eat it later, go to your room while you talk idly. Adam tells you about his job, you tell him more about the professors who you like, and life carries on.

Adam relaxes in your room while you shower, happy to test the camera he'd bought in the charity shop by taking a photo of a polaroid you'd snapped the previous weekend. Adam has a love-hate relationship with the polaroid because of how goofy it is--it's a photo of him with two cigarettes in his mouth, one behind each of his ears, and one in his hand. They were horrendous cigarettes so the photo wasn't a waste, and he knew you loved it so he let it be.

You come out after fifteen minutes, hair damp as you wear one of Adams shirts and not much else. He grins as you settle into bed, head tilting at you before the question befalls his lips.

"How would you feel if I were to do what Aurelie practically demanded of me?" He asks, unawares as to whether or not you'd heard her remarks. "If I kissed you a thousand times?"

You ghost your teeth over your bottom lip, laughing softly. "You really think you'd be able to keep track?" Adams hand finds your thigh as he nods, palm running across it until he reaches your hip.

"I do," he says. "And besides--I think we kiss at least two hundred times when I wear the gray sweatpants in autumn anyway."

Your tongue juts out to wet your lip. "Okay," you say, realizing very quickly that 1000 kisses is basically the gateway to bliss. "I'm in."

"Really?" Adam asks, grinning like a fool. "Even if I take it slow and you start despising me for it?"

You nod, laughing a little as Adams lips find yours.

The first kiss is deep and intense, one of Adams hands on your hips as the other moves to up your face.

Adams tongue moves expertly around your mouth, thumb rubbing against the skin of your hip gently as he angles your head so that he can kiss you deeper. You moan into his mouth and he laughs a little, only pulling away when neither of you can breathe.

"999 to go," Adam whispers against your lips, smiling when the sound of your laughter meets his ears.

He kisses along your jawline.

998, 997, 996, 995

And then down your neck, tongue joining his lips as his hands move from your hips to your stomach, slowly and steadily inching up your chest.

You're happy to let Adam do as he pleases--it's a good enough gift for hitting twenty-two and because of studying and school getting in the way, you'd not really had much of an opportunity to give him anything significant for his 22nd birthday in the weeks before anyway.

One of your hands finds his hair as his lips remain focused on your neck and you undo the low ponytail he's got it in, moaning out his name as he keeps on going with his kisses.

994, 993, 992, 991, 990, 989, 988, 987

His hands keep their steady incline upwards, stopping to tease your nipples as he presses kiss after absolutely intoxicating kiss back up your neck and your jawline, grinning against your jawline when a soft moan falls from your lips and he tucks his knee between your thighs, pressing it against your core.

986, 985, 984, 983, 982, 981, 980

He captures your lips in his own, one hand moving up to cradle the back of your head and allow the kiss to deepen. The other one stays carefully focused on your nipple, and you laugh into his mouth as you realize he's fighting the urge to smile.

He pulls away to kiss down the other side of your neck and you manage to regain some of your breath thanks to your best efforts.

"Any regrets yet?"

"None at all," Adam laughs against your neck. "Oh, you're gonna be such a mess when I'm done with you. This is amazing."

979, 978, 976, 975, 974, 973, 972, 971, 970

You pull the shirt you'd stolen from Adam off your torso, fighting every single urge you have to grind against his leg as his kisses now start traversing down your chest.

He's the kind of person who commits to an action and it's a very good thing, ordinarily. He wants you to be so kissed up you forget your own name, only really remember his if you remember anyones name at all, and he's committed to that. His kisses will keep slow, his lips glorious and the pressure he puts onto your clit and aching core just enough to make you want to start grinding against him.

He kisses your breasts carefully, takes so much time with your nipples that you're almost completely sure there's a wet spot in his sweatpants from how wet the action has made you, laughs slightly when you moan loudly and become embarrassed.

969, 968, 967, 965, 964, 963, 962, 961, 959, 958, 957, 956, 954, 953, 952, 951, 950

"I love it when you get loud for me, baby," he whispers as he moves his lips down your chest and to your navel. You know he's going to take an absurd amount of time to kiss your hips, but you don't mind that.

You've always been particularly insecure about your hips and Adam has spent the majority of your relationship kissing them and holding them and telling you he loves them when your insecurity shines through. You hate your hips and you hate the hip dips you've been saddled with but Adam? You tell Adam he can't kiss your hips and he spends the next hour kissing you and telling you that you and your hips are fuckin' perfect.

He kisses down your navel and, of course, finds your hips. He glances at you for a second, waiting for your consent to kiss them because he knows it's an area of insecurity for you. When you nod, Adam can't fight his smile as he kisses across your stomach to your right hip, which he spends more time on than is probably worth.

He presses kiss after kiss there, probably leaving a hickey in the wake of his lips from his tongues involvement, murmurs an "I love you so much, baby," against your skin as he kisses across your stomach from your right hip to your left.

He takes his time with your left hip just as well, chuckles at the fact that you're so turned on that you've mindlessly let your moans go from quiet to average in terms of sound level because you've mostly stopped caring.

949, 948, 947, 946, 945, 944, 943, 942, 941, 940, 939, 938, 937, 936, 935, 934, 933, 932, 931, 930, 929, 928, 927, 926, 925, 924, 923, 921, 920

He kisses down to your dripping cunt, laughs when his lips press themselves against your clit because he knows just how wet he's managed to make you within maybe thirty minutes.

He moves his kisses from your wetness to your inner thighs, happy to kiss them for as long as he wants because he loves your thighs as much as he loves your hips--he loves them wholeheartedly, tells you as much as often as possible.

"Love your thighs, puppy," he whispers, breath ghosting against you in a way that makes you shiver. "You're so fucking perfect, yeah?"

You hum a response, unsure of how you're still even slightly coherent.

919, 918, 917, 916, 915, 914, 913, 912, 911, 910, 909, 908, 907, 906, 905, 904, 903, 902, 901, 900

He kisses from your right inner thigh to your left, once again taking his time because of how much he loves them. His hands slip under your thighs to find your hips, and you laugh a little, flustered because the fact of how much he loves your hips and hip dips when they're one of your biggest points of insecurity will never cease to turn you into a blushing idiot.

He laughs against your thigh, eyes keenly watching you. He's always been a bit voyeuristic so the fact that he's watching you is of little surprise, but you don't hate the way that he watches because he looks at you like you're the love of his life.

Granted, he always looks at you like that, but still. It's a nice emotion to register within the levelness of his gaze, the focus swimming in his blue-green eyes muddled by the love and adoration that rears itself upwards whenever he so much as glances in your direction.

899, 898, 897, 896, 895, 894, 893, 892, 891, 890, 889, 888, 887, 886, 885, 884, 883, 882, 881, 880

"So perfect," he whispers, kissing from your thigh back to the area just above your clit. He kisses from there back up your stomach, stopping once more to pay an absurd amount of attention to your hips and hip dips before he's kissing over your chest and you're another minute, maybe two, away from being so blissed out that you lose any and all senses of coherency onto which you've previously held.

"Adam," you whisper, saying his name like it's an unanswered prayer in an empty catholic church. "Adam, please."

His knee finds a spot between your legs again, and you moan as he presses it against your clit while his kisses move from your chest back to your neck.

879, 878, 877, 876, 875, 874, 873, 872, 871, 870, 869, 868, 867, 865, 864, 863, 862, 861, 860, 859, 858, 857, 856, 855, 854, 853, 852, 851, 850, 849, 848, 847, 846, 845, 843, 842, 841, 840

One of his hands finds your hip, the other one coming up to your lips. He presses his thumb against your bottom lip you take it into your mouth without a second thought, holding Adams gaze.

"Good puppy," he whispers, moaning lowly and pressing his forehead against the left side of your neck. "Oh, you're so good for me."

You moan, rutting your hips against his leg before you can stop yourself. The movement makes Adam grin, lift himself up so that he's staring down at you.

"You're desperate, aren't you?" He asks, a teasing grin on his face. "Keep doing that, mm? Grind against my leg, puppy. I know you want a release."

You moan, setting a pace with your hips as Adam slips his finger from your mouth and moves it to your chest, lips returning to your neck.

839, 383, 837, 836, 835, 834, 833 832, 831, 830, 829, 828, 287, 826, 825

Adams lips remain on your neck, occasionally drifting to your collarbone, upper chest and shoulders. He's relentless with his praise because he knows it's bound to make you melt, and make you melt it absolutely does.

"You're ethereal," he whispers, nipping gently at the skin of your collarbone. "I'm so proud of you, puppy. Workin' so hard to finish with your PhD program, you're fuckin' amazing."

You moan in response, needing more friction. Adam presses his knee against your clit further, adding just a bit more pressure--enough pressure to almost make you lose it.

You moan lewdly, hands slipping underneath his shirt to grip the skin of his back. The action makes Adam laugh, his kisses becoming more slow and deliberate as he starts kissing along your neck and eventually tilts your head up to reach the underside of your jaw.

"You're so perfect," he whispers.

824, 823, 822, 821, 819, 818, 817, 816, 815 814, 813, 812, 810

His kisses traverse back down your neck for what feels like the millionth time, and he kisses your shoulders and collarbone in a way that he knows makes you want him inside you more than will ever be reasonable.

When his kisses move down your chest and he adjusts so that he's not stuck in an uncomfortable position, you whimper at the loss of contact as his leg moves.

He's quick with it, though--one of his hands moves to your clit, rubbing slow circles as he tells you to grind against it in place of his knee.

809, 808, 807, 806, 805, 804, 803, 802, 801, 800

Before you can really register it, his lips are pressing kiss after senseless kiss against your inner thighs and you're moaning, begging words falling from your lips because all you want is to feel his tongue pressing flat against you while he slowly thrusts a finger into your folds.

He presses a few kisses against your clit, watching you through his eyelashes.

You look like a picture of bliss--one of your hands clutches the sheets, the other one has pulled itself through your hair so many times that a mess has been made of it, and you're biting your lower lip with anticipation.

His hands slide themselves under your thighs and over your hips, finding their favorite spot as his tongue presses flat against your clit. You press your head into the pillow it rests upon, moaning lewdly at the contact.

799, 798, 797, 796, 795, 794, 793, 792, 791, 790, 789, 788, 787, 786, 785, 784, 783, 782, 781, 780, 779, 778, 777, 776, 775, 774, 773, 772, 771, 770, 769, 768, 767, 765, 764, 763, 762, 761, 759, 758, 757, 756, 754, 753, 752, 751, 750

Adams tongue is skilled--eating you out is one of the things that gets you both off the quickest, and because of Aurelies words, you have zero doubt you're in for at least another few orgasms before Adam is done, but the way that his tongue feels against you is so good that you remain entirely unbothered by the idea, focusing on the way that his tongue feels when he presses it flat against your clit and the way that his hands feel as one locates your nipples and the other remains on your hip with the aim of keeping you steady.

When you start helplessly grinding against his face, Adam doesn't stop you. He moans, burying his face in your cunt and letting you ride his face paceless and senseless, clearly just wanting you to cum all over his nose, mouth, and chin.

When you come for the first time that night, you do so with a moan of Adams name before you release over his face. He keeps his tongue on your clit and works you through the aftershocks before he pulls away, lifting himself up to your level again and kissing you soft and slow, letting you taste yourself on his lips.

He cleans his face after your kiss, gets back into bed and presses kiss after kiss against your face, neck, and shoulders, delivering praise to you like it's nothing, and you can tell he means every word.

"You're amazing," he whispers. "You did so good for me, puppy."

Forty minutes of kisses go by, and you're happy to let Adam keep kissing you for the rest of time if he wants to.

749. 748, 747, 746, 745, 744, 743, 742, 741, 740, 739, 738, 737, 736, 735, 734, 732, 731, 730, 729, 728, 727, 726, 725, 724, 723, 722, 721, 720, 719, 718, 717, 716, 715, 714, 713, 712, 711, 710, 709, 708, 707, 706, 705, 704, 793, 792, 701, 700

"How many kisses down?" You ask, practically swimming in post-orgasm bliss.

"300," Adam grins cheekily at you. "It's been an hour and a half. That basically sets us up for another four hours."

"What time is it?" You ask. Adam checks the clock.

"About to be six thirty," he says. "We'll be done by around ten if you're still wanting me to actually kiss you a thousand times."

"Do you still want to?"

"I wouldn't tire of kissing you even if I gave it my all, so I'd like to, yeah."

You grin at him, nod. "Please kiss me again."

Adam does as you ask of him, smiling a little bit into the kiss as your hands slip underneath his shirt with the aim of eventually slipping the shirt over his head.

He pulls away to take his shirt and pants off, momentarily feeling guilt for being completely clothed while you were completely exposed.

The guilt fades when you're pulling him back into you by the neck and laughter bubbles up from his throat as he calls you a kiss fiend and moves to press kisses along your jawline.

You let him kiss you senseless, counting down the kisses while you have half the mind to do so, before he's taken you and turned you into a thoughtless, brainless version of yourself that's so clouded by bliss that any other emotion pushing past the weightlessness of how you'll feel is completely and totally inconceivable.

Adam has kissed you one hundred and fifty five more times across forty-five minutes by the time that you lose focus, as he's telling you to turn around so that he can kiss your back and you're doing as he asks because of how good the kisses feel and the fact that you never want them to stop.

He kisses along your shoulder blades, down the backs of your arms and the back of your neck, praising you and making sure you're not completely and totally blissed out by asking you to use your words and tell him how good it feels.

He kisses the backs of your hips, smiles against your skin and then turns you back around, kisses your lips sweetly as his hand trails down your chest, past your stomach, to your clit. He laughs, presses a kiss against your forehead when he presses his finger against your clit and you moan because it's throbbing and the touch feels amazing.

"Adam," you whisper. "Please."

Adam nods, rubs slow circles around your clit as his lips press themselves against your neck.

545, 544, 543, 542, 541, 540, 539, 538, 537, 3537, 535, 534, 533, 532, 531, 530, 529, 528, 527, 526, 525

The pace he sets with his finger is slow, his lips pressing kiss after kiss to your neck as you slip further and further into the bliss of it all. You're pretty much content to let Adam do whatever he wants to you at this point, all of the stress from completing your thesis and trying to figure out plans with Aurelie and Sam to celebrate your birthday melting away with every single one of Adams kisses and the pressure of his fingers.

524, 523, 522, 521, 520, 519, 518, 517, 516, 515, 514, 513, 512, 511, 510, 509, 508, 507, 506, 505, 504, 503, 502, 501, 500

Adam replaces his fingers with his thumb, pulls you into an open-mouthed kiss as he slowly thrusts his fingers into you.

You moan into his mouth, grinding against his fingers slowly.

"So good for me, puppy," Adam whispers against your lips. "God, you're so perfect."

You moan again in response, and Adams lips dip to your collarbone, paying attention to it like he hasn't since the kisses began. He fucks you with his fingers as his lips press kiss after fervent kiss against your shoulders, collarbone, and chest, dick throbbing because he hasn't let himself come yet.

When you're coming for the second time, Adam is kissing you and you're practically floating, willing to do any and everything he asks of you. His kisses are perfect and he knows how to make you teeter on the edge of release until he's ready to let you go, and he does such, kissing you senseless until he curls his fingers inside you with each of his thrusts and you're coming undone around his fingers within five minutes after those ministrations had begun.

You moan his name into his mouth, and he pulls away from the kiss as you clench around his fingers.

Clean up is simple enough--after he's kissed you through the aftershocks and pulled his fingers out of you, he simply licks his fingers clean while you watch him, dazed but mesmerized.

499, 498, 487, 496, 495, 494, 493, 492, 491, 490, 489, 488, 487, 486, 485, 484 483, 482, 481, 480, 479, 478, 476, 475 473, 472, 471, 470, 469, 468, 467, 466, 465, 464, 463, 462, 461, 460

"Adam," you whisper. "There are condoms in my nightstand. Need to feel more than your fingers."

"Y/N--" two times across three hours feels like a stretch, and he knows you have zero intention to go to class for the rest of the week because you've finished up with your thesis and thus, there's no point until you have to pass it in on it's due date, but still. Adam doesn't want to leave you so sore that you can't walk when you're a college student with more things to worry about than he.

"Please," you whisper. "I'll be fine, I promise. I had hoped the 1000 kisses thing would mean I got fucked senseless anyway. I already told my professors not to expect me for another week because of how much work I've done, and how badly I need a break. I need to feel you and you're throbbing because you've only fucked me with your tongue and your fingers, so it's a win-win situation."

Adam presses another two kisses to your forehead before he rolls over in the bed to grab a condom. He takes off his boxers as you tear the condom open, rolling it onto his length and relishing in the way that he moans at the contact of your hand with his cock.

"Fuck, Y/N," he moans quietly.

You let him position himself at your entrance, moan at every inch he pushes into you because of how good it feels. Adams cock is long and thick and nothing you'll ever get tired of.

Once his full length is inside you, he moans, pressing his forehead into the pillow to the right of your head as one of your hands finds his hair and the other rests on his neck. Your thighs move to wrap around his waist, and he kisses the side of your jawline as he waits for you to adjust.

459, 458, 457

When you give Adam the okay to start moving, he does so, his lips pressing kisses just about wherever they can reach.

It doesn't take Adam very long to make you see stars, the kisses that he delivers adding to the mindlessness of the way you feel. Every single minute that passes and you get closer and closer to forgetting what your own name is, Adams name the only clear thought that runs through your mind, repeating itself over and over like a mantra that only barely manages to keep you from floating away.

456, 455, 454, 453, 452, 451, 450, 449, 448, 447, 446, 445, 444, 443, 442, 441, 440, 439, 438, 437, 436, 435, 434, 432, 431, 430, 429, 428, 427, 426, 425, 424, 423, 421, 420, 419, 418, 417, 416, 415, 414, 413, 412, 411, 410, 409, 408, 407, 406, 405, 404, 403, 402, 401, 400

Adam keeps going after you've released and you're happy to let him, the feeling of him inside you too good to do anything but relish in. He moans your name in between his kisses, chasing the high of his own orgasm while also wanting to bring you to the edge of a fourth.

"Fuck," he moans. You're practically brainless beneath him, a cock-drunk mess of moans as your nails dig into his back and the hand that's kept a hold on his hair holding it so that it doesn't fall to the side because you'd taken the elastic out of it without thinking.

"Adam," you moan, his name the only coherent thought you have.

"You feel amazing," he responds, kissing your forehead. "Fuck, baby. You feel so good around me, mm?"

You moan in response and his kisses return to your neck, kissing along the underside of it and up to the underside of your jaw before his lips move back to your shoulders again.

399, 398, 397, 396, 395, 394, 393,392, 391, 390, 389, 388, 387, 386, 385, 384, 383, 382, 381, 380, 379, 378, 377, 376, 375, 374, 373, 372, 321, 370, 369, 368, 367, 366, 365, 364, 363, 362, 361, 360, 359, 358, 357, 356, 355, 354, 353, 352, 351, 350

He's apologizing lightly for a hickey that forms on your neck as he continues thrusting, and you're so blissed out from being fucked into the mattress that you tell yourself you'll give him a response later.

He slows the pace of his thrusts enough to drive you up the wall just a little, keeps that pace while he kisses you senseless for a long fifteen minutes before he kicks the pace back up again, dialing it from a six to an eleven within seconds.

349, 348, 347, 346, 345, 344, 342, 341, 340, 339, 338, 337, 336, 335, 334, 333, 332, 331, 330, 329, 328, 37, 326, 325, 324, 323, 322, 321, 320, 319, 318, 317, 316, 315, 314, 313, 312, 311, 310, 309, 308, 307, 306, 305, 304, 303, 302, 301, 300

Adams pace is quick, evenly timed, and perfect. You can hardly control how loud your moans start getting and Adam loves it, laughs when you press your forehead into the side of his neck in a break where he'd stopped kissing you because of your embarrassment.

"You're cute when you're embarrassed, puppy," he whispers, kissing your forehead. You hum your disagreement and he kisses you as deeply as either of you can manage, hand cradling your neck to allow the kiss to be so deep.

He pulls away and presses his lips across your chest again, keeping count where you've lost the ability to because of how fucked out you're starting to feel.

One hundred more kisses pass you by, and by that point Adams kicked the pace up just enough.

You come with a whisper of his name, saying it like it's the most meaningful word you'll ever speak. Adams teeth bite gently against your neck and he moans your name as your fourth release triggers his first, and he releases into the condom.

After thrusting into you through the post-orgasm aftershocks, Adam pulls out. He disposes of the condom while you go pee to avoid a UTI, and when you're back in bed, Adams lips are kissing you again and you're so blissed out that all you can do is stare at him lovingly.

The last two hundred kisses go by within fifteen minutes, Adams lips soft against your skin as he delivers whispered praise and sweet nothings in between each of the kisses he drops over your face, your arms, your hips, stomach, and thighs.

When he leaves, you're smiling like a buffoon and so happy your heart could melt with the joy you feel. He gets a bath going and then helps you to the bathroom, helps you into the bathtub while he reaffirms that he's proud of you for all the work you'd done with your thesis and acknowledges how hard it's been for you.

You let Adam wash your hair, exhausted and still not very coherent as he does so. It's very easy to melt into him and the way that his hands feel, and you let yourself do so without a second thought.

You agree to order pizza as a late-night dinner--it's nearly ten o'clock by the time you're both discussing it--and Adam helps you out of the bathtub, gets you to sit on the toilet while he blowdries your hair and leads you back to the bedroom.

He laughs when you point out the drawer of clothes you have that belong to him, kissing your forehead and making a remark about a pair of sweatpants he's not seen in close to two years. He gets dressed in the clothes from that drawer, helps you do the same because every single one of your limbs feels like Jell-o--completely and utterly unstable.

He grabs your phone from where you keep it, on the television stand in your living room, orders your birthday pizza while the two of you lay in your bed.

"Happy birthday," he says after the phone call is done and the pizza order is placed.

"Thank you," you hum, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. He grins a little, runs a hand through your hair and hums contentedly.

"I love you," he whispers after silence has settled.

"I love you more," you respond, half-asleep but so content your chest aches with it.

Adam presses a kiss to your forehead, holds you close and for a minute, feels as though letting you go is an impossible feat, hopes that nothing ever comes around to separate the two of you from one another.

His gaze shifts from you to the window, hand running through your hair as he watches the sky and listens to the sounds of the outdoors at two hours before midnight.

He's so content it makes him ache, and he knows you feel the same.

All in all, you have to think, as you drift off, that it's your best birthday yet.

#adam stanheight #adam stanheight x reader #saw 2004

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