#i really hope this made sense and helps!!

[audioandart]

remember that shame is a response that's supposed to change your behavior. That means there's two scenarios, so examine what's happening for you to feel shame and figure out which it is

Your behavior should be changed. This can be difficult because behavior can be hard to adjust, but we should. This is the only way to really get rid of your shame

Your behavior does not need to be changed. You are feeling this way because of someone (s) else making you feel this way, or such a thing has happened in the past and your mind has learned that's what happens now. Things like social anxiety, some disabilities, many types of trauma, etc can cause this. You do not need to change your behavior. If being made to feel this way by another, leave them if you're able (at least take a break from them). If this is a learned response, you can unlearn it. This can be difficult because behavior can be hard to adjust. This is the only way to really get rid of your shame.

Regardless of why you're feeling the shame, remember that you are not an inherently bad person and you are capable of change. There is nothing inherently wrong with you. Shame is simply a feeling. It's meant to signal that you've messed up, but many feel it when they haven't as well. Even if you have done something bad, you are still good. You are simply a person, and people do both good and bad things. Don't beat yourself up too hard, you're always learning.

It can be difficult to know when your shame is justified or not. An example of justified shame could be you've done something that hurt someone else. Some examples of "unjustified" shame (which means you do not need to change your behavior) could be; you've done something considered socially wrong but has not hurt anyone, you've done something someone else didn't like, you've been called terrible things, you've been given weird looks, etc.

Each situation is unique. You may do things that are not worthy of shame, but you still may need to change your behavior for other reasons (like people who hide parts of their identity to remain safe.) You are still not a bad person. Please remember that you are loved

cheat codes to stop feeling shame

easy hacks for stop feeling shame

ashamedness full playthrough

ashamedness ending explained with tips

[harryspet]

rough hands, soft chains [1] r.cameron

[warnings] dark!grey!rancher!rafe x bimbo!cowgirl!reader, arranged marriage, rancher au, manipulation, size difference, future smut, little editing, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+

A/N: This is an au I'm trying out where Kildare County is actually in Montana and all the pogues and kooks exist within a ranching community. Hope you enjoy!! I would really appreciate feedback, reblogs are most appreciated!

In which your dying father struck a deal with Ward Cameron, he promised the family land in exchange for your safety. But protection comes with a price, and that price is Rafe Cameron.

word count: 5k

rafe cameron masterlist

After the funeral, you flopped down on the old leather couch in your living room, absently twirling a lock of your hair as you stared up at the cracked ceiling. Your black dress, meant for the sweltering summers, fell just below your knees. You’d paired it with a shawl you found tucked away in your mother’s dresser, a pretty, soft thing with little patterns you didn’t understand, but it smelled like her, so it felt right.

People at the funeral said you looked “so grown up” now, which filled you with a sense of pride. They said nothing about the dirt under your nails from wandering around the yard barefoot earlier that morning or the way your mascara smeared from crying too much. No one ever took you seriously anyway. 

The quiet of the house was deafening, pressing in at you at all sides. The lack of his presence weighed on you. He’d built every corner of this house, your mother painted every wall, and you were grateful for the life they’d built you. Three bedrooms, a wrap-around porch where you’d once dreamed of watching your children play in the yard as you rocked in your chair, and the old, red barn that had weathered time alongside them. You knew you couldn’t lose it, but you weren’t sure how to keep it either.

A loud knock at the front door made the house shake and snapped you from your daze. It was not the knock of a kind neigbor delivering a sympathy caserole, the knock was firm and authoritative. You half expected the sheriff to be behind the door but instead found yourself staring back at Ward Cameron. 

You pushed back the curls that had fallen into your face. He stood before you, tipping his finest black cattleman hat with deliberate grace, lifting it from his head and placing it over his chest in a quiet gesture of respect. His square jawline was sharp, his striking blue eyes unflinching, and though the gray streaks in his hair hinted at age, they only added to his rugged handomenss. 

“Miss,” he greeted you smoothly, his voice as sharp as the crease in his shirt. He looked out of place here, too clean, too polished for the worn edges of your family’s ranch.

Your anxiety peaked, “Uh, hi. Can I help you?” You gripped the handle of the door tighter than you expected. 

“I think you know why I’m here.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s time we talked about your father’s arrangements.”

Arrangements? You shifted nervously, trying to make sense of his words. You knew your dad had debts, but it wasn’t like he told you all the details. You knew that a significant amount of your father’s debt was to Ward. It humiliated your father to lease the Cameron’s grazing rights but he only did it to keep the ranch afloat. Money and paperwork were never your thing, and your dad always said not to worry about it. “I—I don’t think there’s anything to talk about. I’ll figure out how to pay you back, okay?”

Although Ward wasn’t the tallest man, most people towered over you, and as he leaned in the doorway, you knew he had your stature in mind. 

Still, his smile was empty, “Why don’t we discuss this in your father’s office, hmm?” 

“Um, no thanks,” you said quickly, shaking your head. But before you could shut the door, his hand pushed it open with way too much ease. You stumbled back, your cheeks heating with embarrassment as he walked in like he owned the place.

“Excuse me! You can’t just barge in here!” you squeaked, hurrying after him, his expensive boots, tapping against the creaking floor of your home. 

He made his way down the downstairs hallway, barging into the room that not even your father wanted you to step in. Immediately as you stepping inside, a coldness touched you. he heavy oak desk sat like a monument to your father’s stubbornness, papers scattered across its surface in disarray. Just looking at it made your brain feel fuzzy. Ward moved behind it as if it were his own, his hands brushing against the chair’s worn leather.

“I offered to come speak to you, before all of this drama, but your father insisted I wait until he was gone,” Ward gestured to rickety chair that sat in front of the desk, “Sit.”

You ignored him, crossing your arms in stubborness, “What are you talking about?”

“Do you know how much exactly your father owes me? How much you’d be taking on?”

His words, like they had certainly intended to, made you feel stupid. Your father made sure you were uninvolved in the ranch’s finances and he had just passed this week, you hadn’t thought about entering his office and disturbing his things. 

You blinked, your mouth opening and closing. “Well… um… I know he owed some money, but he didn’t really tell me how much.”

“It’s more than the farm is worth, Y/N.”

The weight of his words settled heavily between you, thickening the already suffocating air in the room. You clenched your jaw, refusing to show any sign of the panic tightening in your chest. The farm, your father’s legacy, your mother’s dreams, was supposed to be yours to save.

“That can’t be right,” you said, though your voice wavered slightly. “My father would’ve told me if it was that bad.”

“Would he? It’s nothing you should’ve worried your pretty head about,” Ward continued, his eyes sharp and assessing, “We parents try to protect our children. But he was too prideful. Pride doesn’t pay the bills and banks don’t wait forever.”

“The bank–”

“The bank would’ve taken the entire property if your father hadn’t already signed the land over to me.”

Your heart sunk into your stomach at Ward Cameron’s words. Your breath hitched as you stared at him, trying to process what he’d just said. You shook your head in disbelief, “He wouldn’t do that.”

The land was the only piece of your father that you had left. A hundred acres that your family and only a few ranch hands tended to.There were dwindling amounts of livestock, mounting debts, but it was your home. Humble in comparison to the Cameron’s thousands of acres but it belonged to your family. Even if you were the only one left. 

“This all would’ve been easier for you if your father had explained all of this to you before. I think he was scared of you hating him.”

“I don’t understand.”

Ward’s expression didn’t falter. If anything, he looked almost bored with your responses, “We came to an agreement a year after his initial diagnosis. Instead of losing it to the bank, he would sign it over to me.”

“I promised to take care of you.” Ward’s words were slow, deliberate, as if he were explaining something to a child. “You’re unmarried, no prospects, and this place is a sinking ship. Someone was bound to take advantage of you eventually. You don’t have the resources to rebuild.”

“T-take care of me?” you stammered, your face scrunching in confusion.

“You’ll come live with my family for the time being. And eventually you will marry my son, Rafe.”

Your eyes went wild, “Are you crazy?”

Ward’s expression didn’t change. If anything, he looked even more smug. “This arrangement keeps the land in the family, ensures your safety, and gives you a future. You’re not equipped to handle this ranch on your own, Y/N. Your father knew that. I’m offering you a way out.”

You gaped at him, your thoughts spinning too fast to make sense of anything. “I… I want to talk to a lawyer or—or see his will or something!”

“You’re out of options. It’s either this arrangement or being out on the streets. I’m tossing you a lifeline.” 

 “I didn’t agree to this,” you said, your voice shaking with a mixture of anger and disbelief.

“No,” Ward admitted, standing and adjusting his cuffs. “But your father did. And a Cameron always honors their agreements.”

You wanted to scream, to tell him to leave and take his deal with him, but the weight of your father’s decisions pressed down on you. The debts, the ranch, your future—it was all tangled up in a web you couldn’t escape.

“I’ll give you until tomorrow to pack your things,” Ward said, placing his hat back on his head. “Rafe will come by to collect you.”

He turned and walked to the door without another word, leaving you standing alone in the office. The walls seemed to close in around you, and although you’d be crying for a week, you cried again. 

You thought that if you weren’t at the house when Ward’s oldest son came to collect you, they might just give up and leave you be. Maybe you’d slip through the cracks of their plans, vanish into the quiet of the countryside. You could disappear for a little while and return in a few days. It would be rough surviving outside but you could make it on your own. You’d packed a small bag of essentials and took Juliet, the chestnut-colored mare that had belonged to you since your fourteenth birthday.

“Okay, Jules, we’re gonna go on a little adventure,” you whispered as you fumbled with her saddle. 

Her large, liquid-brown eyes blinked at you with trust as you led her down the south path, the one behind your family’s ranch, overgrown from years of neglect. You left before the sun had a chance to rise. You didn’t want Ward Cameron or his scary son to find you, after all.

You tried to dress for comfort. Your long jeans would keep you warm, and you layered a jean jacket over a soft white cotton shirt. Perched atop your head was your trusty white cowboy hat, its wide brim offering protection from the sun, taming your unruly curls, while keeping your face shielded.

Juliet made a snorting sound, and you patted her neck. “Don’t worry, girl, we’ve totally got this. Like, what’s the worst that could happen?” You glanced back at the ranch, its dark outline fading behind the trees. 

You mounted Juliet after deciding the direction you were going to travel in. You wanted to be much farther away by the time the sun came up. The air was cool and crisp, a reminder of the coming morning. You looked behind you although you were sure no one was following you yet. 

The path twisted and turned. “Okay, so if we head toward the old fishing shack by the river, we can stay there for, like, a day. Nobody’s used it in forever.” You spoke out loud, pretending that Juliet could respond. “I think it’s... that way.”

You continued down the path in the direction you remembered the fishing shack to be located. The sun rose slowly, bringing light to the dark path. The shack was tucked away on the outskirts of the ranch, sitting in the bend of the river, most of it shielded by tall grass. The water flowed gently, the sound caressing your ears, it’s hues reflecting the red in the sky. 

A clearing sat nearby covered in wildflowers, the bright colors splashed against the muted landscape. You hadn’t ventured this far out since the previous spring and were surprised to see how the flowers had held their vibrancy, defying the chill of the cooler months. 

You hopped down from your saddle, taking Juliet’s rein before you tied her to a nearby tree, allowing her room to graze. The shack was small and weathered, and you rested on a rickety cot that you had to clear of cobwebs. It felt safe. At least for now. 

If only staying still was your strong suit. A few hours later, boredom quickly got the best of you. You could only talk to Juliet for so long and you’d failed several times to nap inside the dirty shack. The silence pressed in on you. You decided to wander out into the wild flower fields, tugging your cowboy hat low over your curls. The vibrant colors were calling to you. 

An hour later, you held a thick bundle flowers in your arm and a crown of daisies wrapped around your hat. Before you knew it, the shack was almost out of your sight and you faced a long trek back to Juliet. 

You didn’t hear him at first.

“Hell of a hiding spot.”

The deep drawl froze you in place. Slowly, you turned, heart pounding, your eyes landing on Rafe Cameron sitting tall on his horse a few yards away. His blue eyes sparkled with amusement, though the tight line of his jaw hinted at something darker.

Rafe’s quarter horse was even more intimidating. It’s coat was midnight black, sleek and imposing. There was a wild, untamed quality to him, a fire in his eyes that mirrored Rafe’s own.

“I… I was just…” You stepped back without thinking, the urge to drop your bouquet and bolt creeping up. You’d seen Ward’s son from across a room before, but no one had ever bothered to introduce you. Still, you knew enough from the whispers and rumors. He was wild, always getting into trouble with the Kildare County police, and everyone said he was gonna take over his dad’s power and influence one day. 

He was older than you remembered, more rugged, and definitely more muscular. His black button-up shirt clung to broad shoulder and his sleeves rolled up to reveal sculpted arms. A baseball cap sat atop his head, the bill slightly bent, with the Cameron Ranch sigil stitched on the front—an emblem of a stallion rearing. His light brown hair peeked from beneath it, slightly tousled. 

“You’ve been wandering around all morning. Half the town’s already seen you,” Rafe leaned forward slightly, eyeing you curiously, “If you were gonna run, thought you’d go a little bit farther.” You gained the courage to finish your sentence, “I wasn’t running …or hiding. And you can’t tell Mr. Cameron that.”

“Why do you think he sent me?” He smiled devishly, “I’m the one you gotta worry about, darlin’.” 

Your lips parted in shock and Rafe watched you take another step back. His jaw clicked before he swiftly hopped down from his horse. His heavy boots hit the dirt with a thud that seemed to echo, and you couldn’t help but notice the sheer size of him. Though he wasn’t much older than you, it was clear he towered over you, his presence demanding attention in a way that made your knees feel weak.

“I’m not coming with you,” You stated with all the strength you could muster, “It’s not right. You can’t make me.”

He stared back at you. Where Ward was bored by conversation with you, something about your Ward’s made Rafe’s eyes fiery, “And I guess you’ll make your living by what … selling flower crowns?” 

Your eyebrows furrowed. You hadn’t considered that an option. In fact, you hadn’t dwelled long enough on what you would do once Ward gave up on this arranged marriage nor did you have any idea of how to make the ranch profitable again. The idea seemed wrong. Flowers weren’t the key, were they? 

“I’m kidding,” Rafe spoke again after a moment of watching you reflect, “That’s a bad fucking idea. You know…I think your father might’ve been right about one thing in his life. You do need someone to look after you.” 

“You don’t know me,” You looked away, your face heating up with embarrassment, “And I don’t want to go with you.” 

A yelp escaped your lips as he started to close the distance between you, his long strides closing the gap in a matter of seconds. His smirk widened at your reaction, and quickly, you dropped your bouquet and made a run for the fishing shack. Rough hands easily snatched you up by your waist, lifting your feet off the ground, and making your head spin, “You’re real cute, darlin’,” Rafe drawled, hardly breakin a sweat as he dragged you back towards his horse. His grip on your waist was firm, unrelenting, and no matter how much you kicked or squirmed, it didn’t matter. He only hoisted you higher. 

Heavy boots crunched against the dirt. You could hear your breathing and the sharp pounding of your heart in your ears. You lost your hat and subsequently your flower crown in the struggle. Scared that you might spook Rafe’s horse, you found yourself succumbing to his force, letting him lift you onto the saddle. 

“Please, let me down,” You whispered, tears beginning to fall. Rafe was next, hoisting himself onto the black stallion, squeezing himself behind you. You were pressed against him so much that you could feel the flexing of the muscles of his stomach. An arm wrapped tightly around your waist. 

Rafe shushed you, and surprisingly, you felt him settle your hat back on your head. You hadn’t even seen him pick it up. You were never supposed to ride without a hat, that’s what your father had taught you. You barely had time to process it before he urged the horse forward, the powerful animal's hooves pounding the earth beneath you as Rafe held you tightly, “M-My horse, Juliet!” You remembered, panicked, “I won’t go without her, Rafe!”

“I didn’t forget your horse,” He spoke calmer than you expected, though his tone still had an edge to it, “She’ll follow. Unlike you, she seems to have a decent amount of common sense.” 

He kicked the horse into a gallop, the powerful animal responding instantly, the sound of its hooves hitting the ground like thunder in the otherwise still air. The wind whipped through your hair, stinging your face. You gripped the saddle tightly, to anchor yourself, despite knowing that Rafe’s grip was strong enough to keep you from flying. 

This wasn’t the escape you wanted. Not even close. 

Sure, he’d heard the rumors that you were a little …daft. And maybe that was true in some ways, but you were more than he had anticipated. He followed you, watched as you handled the horse with ease, and found himself intrigued. Your confusion, innocence, even your stubbornness drew him in like a moth to a flame. 

The last thing Rafe wanted was a wife. He resisted the way his father felt like he could stll make decisions for him. Rafe was losing with this arrangement. Your father’s hundred acres was nothing in comparison to what he family already had and would acquire. But perhaps his father had seen exactly what Rafe was seeing now. You were raw, so unpolished, and that meant you could be shaped. 

Once you were under the Cameron’s roof, Rafe had the power to do whatever he wanted. 

Proving himself to Ward was a constant battle, every choice scrutinized, every misstep noted. To run the ranch one day, Rafe needed to show he could manage it all, the land, business, and now a wife. Building a home and keeping you in line was just another test.

That morning, Rafe had never expected to chase after you on horseback. He had arrived in his truck, scouring the house for any sign of you, only to realize you were already gone. In frustration, he called John B., one of the Cameron ranch hands, and sent him to bring Trigger, his horse, to the Y/L/N ranch.

When you both returned, John B. was already there, waiting. Thunder cracked above, a sunny morning turning into a dreary afternoon. Rafe barked orders to ensure Juliet and Trigger were both stabled at the Cameron’s ranch.

He lifted you down from the saddle, his grip firm on your wrists before you could bolt. It only took a second for him to realize the urgency in your voice as you spoke, trying to talk to John B., who was already taking Juliet and Trigger’s reins. “She gets nervous when she’s in new places. She doesn’t like to be rushed,” Rafe overheard, catching the panic in your tone.

“Yes, ma’am. Don’t worry, I’ll take it slow with her,” John B. assured her although Rafe only glared at the worker, jaw tight. 

“Come on,” Rafe pulled your arm, “We’re leaving.”

Your small hands grabbed where he’d wrapped his hands around your arm. You dug your boots into the gravel in front of the house, “Wait, I don’t have everything. I-I need to grab some things,” Rafe’s gripped only tightened as his irritation grew. 

“You should’ve thought about that before you made me chase after you,” He took one more look at your teary-face before he snapped. Taking you home should’ve taken thirty minutes, not four hours. Without warning, he scooped you up over his shoulder, ignoring the surprised gasp you let out. 

Your legs kicked in the air, “Hey! Please put me down!” Rafe didn’t spare your house on John B. a second glance as he trudged over to his dark, blue truck. Please, that made Rafe brow furrow. Rafe took the opportunity to cop a feel, of course, he had to know exactly what he was working with. You were his future wife, after all, “Rafe! I don’t like being upside down!” 

“Scream all the way there for all I fucking care,” He muttered under his breath, his voice cold as he finally reached the truck and tossed you into the passenger seat.

Rafe sped off moments after he pressed start engine on the vehicle. You went quiet and he hoped to be alone with his thoughts, soothed by the soft pitter patter of rain on his windshield. Fifteen minutes down the road, he heard your breath hitch. He looked over to see you were staring straight head, eyes wide and wet with tears. Smudged mascara beneath your eyes. Your chest rose and fell rapidly and you clutched your hands tightly in your lap. Your lips were shaking, moving as if you were whispering something to yourself. 

Your legs began to jitter, restless, and Rafe looked away. He managed to tune out your obvious panic for nearly an entire minute. He had a rare feeling. One he didn’t fully understanding. The angel on his shoulder was telling him to reach out, to try and comfort you. He thought about what Wheezie might think if this was the disheveled state he brought his future wife to meet her in. He let out a quiet sigh, knowing it was only going to get worse as the reality of your situation set in.

“Hey,” He spoke without that sharp edge, channeling a voice he might use with his youngest sister, “I didn’t mean you’d never get your things. We can come back, when you’re more settled …And I’ll send someone to get all your keepsakes. Okay?” 

“Okay, okay, okay,” You repeated though your voice sounded empty, “Okay.”

He thought those would be the magic words but you hadn’t even turned to look at him. You were doing the same thing, shaking like a leaf, barely taking in enough breath, “Fuck,” Rafe cursed. He pulled over to the side of the road with a sharp jerk, the gravel crunching under the tires as the truck slowed to a stop. Without thinking, he shifted into park and turned to you.

Rafe needed to be more deliberate in his actions. He had eyes on him, his entire immediate family, and he wouldn’t have them thinking he couldn’t handle you. 

He tried to calm you, squeezed your hand, told you to breathe over and over again. Nothing. You were spiraling, letting your thoughts consume you. Rafe had been too rough. It was all too much too fast for you. He wanted to mold you, not break you. 

He leaned in, taking your face in his hands, and pressing his lips to yours. You went frantic but he only deepened the kiss. He held your hand and slowly felt your tension lesson. He entwined his fingers in yours and slowly felt you move your own lips against his. You tasted like cherries, dark red, and perfectly ripe. His hands moved to the back of your neck, his fingers pressing lightly, urging you to focus, to let go of the panic.

He pulled away only when you stopped your heaving. 

“You’re okay,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “You’re okay now. Breathe with me.”

He waited for you to come back to him, cradling you there. You had no one left, Rafe realized in that moment, the truth settling heavily in his chest. And maybe that was why he couldn’t bring himself to be cruel. 

No, taking care of you wasn’t just an obligation, it was an important responsibility. One he’d shoulder completely. Whether you liked it or not, Rafe would make sure of it.

Rafe Cameron tasted like whiskey, with a faint hint of mint that lingered now even as you stood in the foyer of your new home, Tannyhill Ranch. The white house was sprawling and pristine, situated amidst of sea of green fields. Windows sparkled even in the storm that was coming down, and although the roof’s shingles were weathered, it was hard to believe the property had been there for more than a century. 

Workers, chefs and maids, bustled by but no one spared you or Rafe a glance despite the dry tears on your face and disheveled appearance. 

The interior was grand, the hardwoods polished until they shined, and the ceilings were higher than the ones at church. Everything screamed old money. You felt a hand on the small of your back, guiding you through the grand entrance hall and then up one side of a grand staircase. Portraits line the walls, serious faces, Camerons and previous owners of the estate. 

Their eyes watched you, “Rafe, where are we going?” You asked him quietly. 

“To your room,” He spoke low and firm. There hadn’t been any rough grabbing of your limbs or unwanted rides on Rafe’s shoulder since your kiss in the car. You hadn’t fully let you guard down but you preferred when Rafe was calm, and so you remained calm too, “You can settle in.”

Rafe led you down the upstairs hallway, stopping at one of at least six bedroom doors, and pushing it open. The room was breathtaking, a four-poster bed draaped in white linens, oak furniture, blue-white toile patterns, and large windows that overlooked the property. It was beautiful, yes, but none of this belonged to you. 

Your fingers absentmidnely traced the fabric of the bed’s comforter before you got a grip, turning around to say something in protest, “Don’t look at me like that,” Rafe interrupted, hands tucking into the front of jeans as if to give off a non-chalant appearance. The position emphasized the silvery belt buckle that sat on the middle of his waist. 

“I don’t want to live here,” You spoke softly, your voice still weak from all the crying. 

“I know,” Rafe continued, sounding exactly like his father, “Your father did though. You still love your Daddy, don’t you?” 

Rafe’s words made you think. Really think. Of course you loved your father. He was a smart man and he always did right by you and your Mother. However, deep down, this all still felt wrong. You stood there, caught between the beauty of the room and the unease of what you felt.

You nodded, “But–”

“But this is what he wanted, darlin’,” Rafe spoke in a way that carried a sense of finality. Rafe stepped closer and suddenly his body was a brick wall keeping you from leaving the room. His lips pulled into a smirk and he leaned down to speak in your ear, his breath fanning over your cheeks. Whiskey and mint, “You always did what your Daddy said, right?” 

“Yes,” You answered too honestly for your own good. 

“Now you’ll do what I say. That’s how it works. A young lady belongs to her father, and one day, after she grows up, she belongs to her husband,” He straightened up and you blinked your big eyes up at him. Slowly, your eyes traveled down to his lips, “You’ll thank me, one day.” 

Gently, he tucked a finger beneath your chin, lifting it even higher. You held your head exactly in the place he placed it, making something flicker in Rafe’s eyes. A heat bloomed in your core. You could only think about that kiss, your first one, despite the fact that he was one of the men completely ruining your life. 

“You ever seen someone break a wild horse?” 

His question caught you off guard, and your brows furrowed slightly as you searched his face for meaning. The smirk on his lips deepened, and his hand dropped from your chin.

“Takes patience. Takes strength. Takes knowing exactly when to push and when to pull back. But eventually, the horse figures out who’s in charge.” His blue eyes darkened, the intensity of his gaze pinning you in place, ”Out on the ranch, when we get a wild one. It’s my favorite thing to do. Watch em’ go from fighting you to starting to trust you. Really, there’s no point in fighting. The one’s who don’t submit, we don’t keep em’ around. They’re dangerous.”

“Oh,” You managed to say, shifting uncomfortably, “That sounds … hard.” 

Rafe chuckled in response, “Hard? Yeah, especially if you don’t know what you’re doing.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, Rafe’s smirk returned, sharper now, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“You want me to kiss you again. I can tell.”

His words sent you stammering immediately, “No!” 

“Tell you what,” Rafe interrupted smoothly, ignoring your denial as if it hadn’t even registered. “If you settle in, get all dolled up for dinner…” His voice dripped with false generosity. “I’ll give you another one.”

You stared, dumbfounded and frozen until the young rancher casually turned and walked out of the room. Your fists clenched at your sides as a storm of emotions swirled inside you, anger and fear. One emotion simmered quietly beneath the surface, unwelcome and disorienting. Anticipation.

Reblog and let me know your thoughts to be added to the taglist!

[revelboo]

God I hope one day whatever Nonsense happens on the Everything Is Alright Nemesis someone runs up to sparked Megatron like "Lord Megatron you will not believe what happened in the 20 seconds we were left to our own devices-" and they run in and hes just

And the human is next to him in their own lounge chair also kicked back bc if its his day off its THEIR day off too. Like go bother someone else, if Starscream wants to be in charge let him take it for the day and lets see if he hasnt started peeling his own paint from stress. Shoo.

(Image is from the Go Go comics!)

Megatron was already over it even before he got sideswiped by this nonsense. Megatron’s a ticking time bomb at this point

Everything Is Alright Pt 117

IDW Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, Megatron x Reader

• Aware of the very judgmental look Soundwave is aiming at you as you just watch Star get scruffed by Megatron while your mate screams what you’re guessing is Cybertronian profanity and Megatron just laughs, you’re so tired. Sick of aliens and their stupid, alien bullshit. Something Soundwave seems to sense as he vents and just turns and walks away with you. “Megatron?” He prompts as he carries you and your shoulders creep up to your ears.

• You’d denied him when he’d tried to fully bond to you and had fully bonded Megatron instead. Just when he thinks he’s figured out humans and he can’t help but be a little hurt about it. “Please, don’t look at me like that, I was so out of it, it’s not like I had any idea what was happening,” you say and he caves at your angry, little expression, reaching to tap a servo under you chin. “You’re going to go back and stop them, right? Soundwave?” No, he’s going to let them work it out. It’s not like they can really hurt each other anymore anyway. You’ve effectively made it so neither can murder the other. It’d be funny if it wasn’t so horrifying.

• Apparently he’s not going to do anything about the fight, Soundwave seeming not at all concerned about it. “Big trouble,” Soundwave admonishes, a servo rubbing your jaw as he carries you back to his quarters. And you have no idea if he means accidentally giving Megatron Star’s sparkling, fully bonding Megatron, or passing out. Probably all three. Sitting on his berth with you and mass shifting, his arms curl around you. “Worried, little one,” he says, voice soft.

• Rumbling softly as you reach up to cup his face, a thumb sliding against his mask until he retracts it for you. Do you have any idea how much you scared him? That when Starscream had collapsed, he’d been afraid he’d lost you again. “So Megatron is sparked now. Is that normal? You guys passing the spark?” You ask and he shakes his head. Because nothing about mating a human has been normal. Causing more chaos in the short time he’s known you than the Autobots have the whole war.

• So you’re a weird one off. Fantastic. And then the door is opening as Megatron drags Starscream in by a wing, your other mate still swearing as he’s shoved into the room and Soundwave vents tiredly against you. “Little pet,” Megatron snarls, optics narrowed. “You’d spark a mech and then abandon them?” Why? Why is it like this? Hiding your face against Soundwave’s neck, you just want to cry. And Megatron’s still grinning that slightly mad little smile that makes you skin crawl and promises retribution at some point for what you’d accidentally done. You’re starting to really hate aliens.

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[thechaoticcherub]

Cherub

Pairing: Priest!Joel Miller x reader

Summary: Reader is a student teacher at the Catholic nursery school attached to the church she attended growing up. While becoming disillusioned with being a teacher she runs into the church's priest that she has known since he taught her confirmation classes.

Warnings: 18+ please, large age gap, power dynamics, dubcon(?), priests, catholicism, lots of religious imagery, i mean i am GOING TO HELL, blatant blasphemy, violation of holy spaces, joel is a PERVERT, some mentions of him being interested in reader as a underage teenager(no actual underage anything), masturbation, sexual shame, humiliation, embarrassment, innocence kink, virgin reader, fingering, unprotected penetrative sex, light choking(not even really choking), rough sex, pussy pronouns, no use of y/n, religious trauma, i really gotta underscore how much I violate holy things from christianity, smoking, cigarettes, cum play, lots of pet names, no daddy kink but lots of calling him Father

Notes: Okay please bless me lord for I have SINNED. this is FILTH even thought there isn't like constant smut it might be the dirtiest thing i've written? I'm so sorry to Catholics everywhere. And I'm sorry if I fucked up terminology. I tried to do lots of research but you know, liturgical shit is hard to understand. also yeah, i get how much this is more writer insert than reader considering the title. Ahem. I'm sorry this is again not really edited or beta read. sorry. Well I hope you enjoy!

OH! also: I have a playlist for this if anyone would be interested, let me know!

Word Count: 6.4 K

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It had been a long week at Holy Trinity Catholic Nursery School and you were exhausted, when you had first started your student teaching unit you had been beyond excited to be back at the church you grew up going to. You were familiar with the facilities including the big, beautiful sanctuary and the priest who still presided over the Parish was the priest who had done confirmation with you. Father Joel Miller had always been a slightly off-beat, interesting, yet intimidating choice for priest of a Catholic church. He was known for smoking Marlboro Reds in his office, having a scruffy unshaven face, giving short homilies in his gruff Texan accent and seeming more like a cowboy than a priest. 

There was something about him though that had always sent a shiver down your spine. You couldn’t tell if it was a good shiver, or something sinister. He was handsome, that was a known fact around the church when you were growing up, the other girls in your confirmation class giggled about it and  even now your co-workers at the nursery school often made jokes or teasing comments to each other. He had to be in his mid-fifties now with greying stubble and hair and lines around his eyes and forehead but yes, you did still find him attractive, but it didn’t shake the sense that your tingling sense of something might not have been entirely positive. 

Maybe it was the simple fact that his eyes always had lingered on you for longer than you felt necessary. Even when you were a young teenager in his confirmation classes, learning prayers, handing in your sermon notes, sitting in mass every Sunday, you felt his eyes on you. You never understood what it was about you that made him look for so long but he had. Now that you were working on becoming a teacher like you had always hoped, you found that when he came to visit the classrooms, he spent his time asking you questions about the classroom instead of the lead teachers. That was easy to brush off as maybe he felt like he was helping you learn, but when you brought the children to the main church for their daily prayers his eyes would spark on you and he would come to you first when he gave a blessing to everyone. His hand resting on your forehead as he spoke his short blessing before drawing the sign of the cross on your forehead with his thumb, his eyes stuck on yours as if he would never look away. Eventually he always did, moving on to each individual child and adult from your classroom, but he didn’t linger with any of them the way he lingered with you. 

Now, as the day was coming to a close you had snuck away from the classroom to try and escape the exhaustion that was working with children day in and day out. You had always wanted to be a Nursery school teacher but now that you were experiencing a classroom you understood why burnout was so common. You had made up a bad excuse and snuck down the cool hallway, away from the school portion of the building,  to the candle lit nave, you weaved your way through the pews over to the side aisle lined with stone arches. You took a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of the cutesy dress you wore because of your ridiculous desire to be the next Ms Frizzle. In your opinion, just under the arches to the side of the pews was the best place to sneak away to and smoke without being in too much danger of being caught. The incense that was regularly burned covered up most of the smell, you could enjoy the view of the sanctuary and the altar while you smoked and it was usually deserted. You tucked yourself under one of the arches, your back pressed into the cool stone and lit up. Taking a long inhale you relished in the fact that you weren’t surrounded by screaming preschoolers. It was allowing yourself these couple minutes away from the chaos of the end of the day that made this week bearable. You smoked and tapped the ash off onto the stone floor, rubbing it into the cracks with your foot as you went. 

“You ain’t sposed to be smokin’ in here, young lady.” The voice came from a few yards away by the priest’s door that opened into the sanctuary by the altar, you jumped and turned to face the man whose voice it was. Father Miller was watching you as he walked across the sanctuary, first past the altar and then the pulpit and down through the central gap between the altar rails. You felt frozen in place, you had smoked here multiple times and no one had ever come in and of course now, it was Father Miller who had found you here. He stood in front of the first pew and crossed his arms over his chest, still watching you. 

“Shit,” you said, unsure of what to do with the lit cigarette. Usually when you were done smoking you’d put it out on the floor and rub out the mark and shove the butt into the pack to get rid of later. Now he was there and the smoke from your cigarette filtered up above you, curling against the stone arch and then dispersing. 

“Got a fresh mouth on you too,” He added with a laugh. “Never knew that about you before,” he crossed in front of the pew, walking towards you. You felt like a small animal caught in a trap and he was some kind of giant predator stalking towards you. He was wearing all black, his shirtsleeves were rolled up and his clerical collar was bright white against the black of the shirt. 

“I’m sorry, Father, I…didn’t think-” You broke off because really you didn’t think you would be caught, not that you didn’t think it would be a problem or anything. Joel’s eyes widened a little as he waited for you to finish your sentence, he turned at the end of the pew to walk along the side aisle to the first arch where you were still trapped. His finger grazed alone the  wood of the pew, 

“You didn’t think…?” He prompted when your voice faltered. You shrugged, 

“I don’t have an excuse, Father.” You admitted. Father Miller walked right up to you in your alcove that you thought would be so secret and stood in front of you. You remembered how intimidated by him you had always been, suddenly you felt fifteen again, having to recite scripture and prayers correctly in your weekly confirmation classes. Your heart thudded in your chest as he looked down at you, he was tall, broad and as he stood so close to you, popping any sort of personal space bubble you thought you had, you realized you could smell him. Tobacco, cool mint, fresh sweat and then underneath it all, an acrid heat, almost metallic. It mingled into something not unpleasant but it did mean he was too close. 

“Go ahead and smoke that, kid.” Joel’s eyes moved from yours down towards the cigarette dangling in your fingers and he nodded slowly, encouraging you. 

“I-I shouldn’t…” You stuttered, still looking up at him, almost transfixed on his face, still frozen there half with fear, half just trapped in his gaze. 

“No, you shouldn’t…but you already are, cherub, may as well finish.” Joel said and you watched as a sly smirk lifted the corner of his mouth. Cherub. Not typically did a priest use any sort of nickname for a parishioner, let alone a pet name like that. If anything they would say “my child” if in confession. Cherub sent that familiar shiver down your spine, a memory surfaced of that word on his lips years before. It had been to you then too,

“Say a hail mary and you will be absolved, cherub.” You must have confessed something to him or done something wrong in class.  Your heart sped at the memory and your eyes flicked up to meet his. He was telling you to smoke, daring you to and there was no reason not to anymore. It wasn’t like he didn’t smoke in the church, Mr. Marlboro Reds in his office. So you held his gaze as best you could and lifted the cigarette back to your lips and inhaled. You blew the smoke away from him and he watched you, like he had so many times before. 

“Aint you supposed to be with the kids?” He asked, still standing to close, his scent still wafting over you, still just watching you smoke. 

“Yes,” You said softly, “But I needed…a minute away,” You didn’t even want to admit how much you needed to get away from your job, your responsibilities but the words spilled out of you before you could stop them. You hurriedly brought the cigarette up to your lips again, as if to silence yourself.

“A minute away…” Joel repeated, “To pray?” He asked, his voice mocked you because even though you were in the church, you weren’t lighting a candle or on your knees asking for peace. You were smoking and feeling bad for yourself. You started to shake your head, the cigarette dangling from your lips now, before you could even complete the motion his hand was on your chin, halting your movement.  His thick thumb dug into one side of your jaw, his pointer finger curled down the other side. Breath, and all thought was knocked out of you. All you could do was look up at the chiseled face above you.  There was grey in the scruff on his cheeks and peppering his mustache and  his chin was tilted up as his eyes looked down on you, examining your face. The old priest shouldn’t have been touching you like this, you knew that but your feet wouldn’t work, your stomach twisted and the shiver running up and down your spine still couldn’t make up its mind about whether it was a good shiver or a bad shiver. “I think you need’ta get on your knees to pray more often,” his voice had lowered slightly but the gruff resonance in it was enough to shake you. You thought for a half second he was about to force your to your knees now but instead he reached up with his other hand and plucked the dangling cigarette from your lips. He put it into his mouth, inhaled and then removed it, taking a step away from you,

“Thanks, cherub.” he said and then he turned on his  nice leather shoes and walked back up through the pews. 

+

You didn’t return to the church to smoke again. You did tell yourself you would go to mass more often. The thoughts you were having about that evening were completely unholy, and you needed to force them out of your mind. You needed to take the Eucharist and try and heal yourself from these sins of the flesh. For the first time in a long time you had been tempted, really tempted to do something you knew was wrong. When you were young you had touched yourself plenty but as you got older you became more and more disgusted by your actions and resisted it, knowing self love was sinful, but that interaction with Father Joel Miller had you thinking things that made your body heat up. The crawling shiver up your spine had been a warning, a warning about feelings that had bubbled up in your tummy and how it would be so easy for those feelings, those desires, wants, needs to take over. It was your own dirty mind that was allowing you to believe it was because of Father Joel looking at you that you got that creeping sensation. He was a priest, a little bit of an unorthodox priest, but a priest nonetheless and you were allowing dirty thoughts to change your opinion of him. So going to mass was a good idea. 

You didn’t allow yourself to look at Father Miller during the service on Sunday, but his gruff voice speaking his homily reminded you vividly of the way he said “cherub”. The way he had told you that you needed to “get on your knees to pray.” You could barely pay attention to his words because simply his voice, that resounding, husky voice did something to you and warmth pooled deep in your belly. It felt like there was a persistent drip of warmth sliding lower down, lower to that place that remained mostly unexplored by you, by anyone. All because of his voice.

You felt like it vibrated through the floor of the church and up into your pew, making you pulse with your disgusting desires.

You kept your eyes down, on your hymnal, refusing to look up at Father Miller because there was a quiet part of you, in the back of your mind, that told you if you looked at him, you’d be meeting his gaze. That would do absolutely nothing to help control that heat that was pooling inside of you. 

When you stood to go to the altar rails and receive the eucharist your legs were wobbly, damn this weakness. There was no reason to sexualize Father Miller’s kindness to you. He hadn’t gotten you in trouble for smoking in the church and in return you were allowing these debased thoughts to happen to you in church on your way to receive the very body and blood of Christ. While you walked up the aisle, the crucifix directly in front of you, a statue of the Virgin Mary staring into your soul, you could feel that drip of heat wetting your underwear. You tried your hardest to tell yourself it was nothing, it was just natural discharge, not what you knew it to be, your body’s reaction to Father Miller’s voice as he spoke holy words, prayers and talked of repentance during his Homily.

At the altar rail you knelt down on the cushion and clasped your hands in front of you to pray while you waited for your turn to receive communion.  You knew you would have to look at Father Miller while he gave you the body of Christ but you were scared, you had forced yourself to avoid looking at him all throughout mass, you hadn’t met his gaze when you knew he was looking at you and you told yourself time and time again that his gaze meant nothing. But your attempts to curb your desires had been in vain something about his voice, about the memories of his hand on your chin, his body so close to you, his smell had caused you to leak arousal into your underwear. Your labia felt swollen against the tight cotton and you were ashamed to be kneeling in church like this, your face was burning much like you would be if you were to be struck down dead right now. You could hear him approaching, speaking to each parishioner as he placed the body of Christ on their tongue and blessed them. You would have to look up at him shortly, your eyes would have to meet his, you would have to take in that face that had been haunting you while he spoke his blessing to you. He was on the person to your right and now was the time to tilt your head up, you almost didn’t but as he moved over, you knew your place as a good Catholic and you looked up at your priest. 

He was just as entrancing as he always had been, in off white vestments with gold stitching, his greying hair pushed back away from his face, a little long in the back, curling around his neck and his eyes, dark and hungry, staring down at you. Your vagina clenched around nothing and you burned with shame and the memory of his big hand at your chin and jaw. 

Your eyes locked onto his and his gaze held yours, refusing to let you go, there was no choice in the matter, you would gaze up into his eyes until the end of time if he wanted it. He held the body of Christ out to you, your head upturned. At the time you didn’t understand just how reverent you looked, all you could think of was him and the vague worry that your juices might have been dripping down your leg. 

“The body of Christ,” Father Miller’s voice changed ever so slightly when he spoke the words to you. You had been listening the whole time you had been kneeling and now his voice had lost the monotone pitch he had had. There was a lilt in his voice that was only for you. 

“Amen,” You said, you opened your mouth, your tongue very slightly pushed out, resting on the edge of your bottom lip, your eyes still captured in his gaze. Something blazed there, behind his eyes and despite the heat in your cheeks and the heat that was making your wet and swollen vulva pulse with a need you had never felt before, that familiar shiver crawled up your spine. Joel placed the body of Christ on your tongue and maybe you imagined it, maybe it was a split second that felt like it stretched into eternity but you could have sworn the tip of his finger grazed the side of your tongue as he took his hand away. That tiniest touch of his thick, calloused finger against an intimate and sensitive part of yourself made your brow briefly furrow and that deep clench of your sex to take over your body again. You closed your mouth around the wafer that you believed to be the actual flesh of your Savior and your gaze remained on the man granting you that sacrament. You watched his lip twitch ever so slightly as, without taking those dark, burning brown eyes form yours, he took the chalice he was handed and held it before you. 

“The blood of Christ,” he said, you could hear that lilt again, like he was mocking not only you but God himself as he held that chalice out. 

“Amen,” you said and he brought the chalice to your mouth, tilting it back while cupping his hand under your chin in case it spilled over. The proximity of his hand to your chin buzzed something in you. Your eyes remained on him and his eyebrows raised slightly as he fed you the Blood of Christ. When he removed the chalice from your lips, a droplet of the wine dribbled out of the corner of your mouth. You were about to reach up and wipe it when his thumb beat you to it. In one quick motion, he swiped it away, the calloused thumb leaving a trail of heat on your face. You felt him tear his eyes away from you like a punch to the gut and you knew you had to continue on. You made the sign of the cross on yourself, collected every ounce of strength you had and got up from the altar rail. You could feel your slick soaking your underwear, and wetting your thighs as you walked. You knew you had to beg for forgiveness and the only place to do that was Confession. 

+

You knew you had to confess. You hadn’t been able to resist your carnal desires, once you had returned to your apartment after mass on Sunday you had tried your hardest to relieve that mounting pressure between your thighs. You had delicately stroked your folds and experimented with pace and tried to find a rhythm that would relieve you but as if as punishment, you couldn’t. Now, you needed to confess and to make matters worse, the only person you could confess to was Father Miller. You came to confession on a Friday night after school had let out. The hours for confession were set and you knew he would be in the confessional, waiting for perishoners.

Friday was usually silent at the church, the staff had left for the weekend and most people didn’t confess on a Friday. You walked into the church  and down the side aisle to where the confessional was. It was tucked into the side aisle just in front of the very altar rail you had knelt at and drenched your underwear earlier in the week. Your cheeks were bright red as you stepped into the booth and knelt down in front of the partition, there was a screen between you and him but you knew he was there. The smell of him lingered all around you. Tobacco, mint and the acrid metallic scent…what could that be? If you had to guess you’d say gunpowder but that made no sense to you. Your body reacted to his scent as if you were being touched by him again, your body clenched and your heart skipped a beat. 

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was…” You actually had to think about it for a moment, you had confessed at your church in college but that was over a year ago…was that the last time you had confessed? “Over a year ago,” You mumbled. You paused, unsure if you should just start or if he would say something else. 

“What are your sins, Cherub?” He knew it was you. He’d never say that to someone else. It would have been, “My child”. But no, cherub. You were taken aback by this breach in protocol and you didn’t speak for so long he cleared his throat, “We ain’t gettin’ any younger.” He said. “And your sins aint any closer to absolved,” You needed to speak and speak now, to get all this off of your chest so you could lay it to rest and forget it. 

“I’ve…been plagued with unholy desires, Father.” You said. You could hear him shift in the box next to you and you leaned your head forward, your forehead pressed to the screen separating you. “I’ve been having these intense…” Embarrassment made your cheeks flush, you fiddled with the hem of the skirt you wore today and you knew you had to keep going, “Sexual fantasies,” You blurted it out and you heard him let out a long, slow breath. “I can’t stop them but the thoughts are so intense…and wrong,” You said. You listened to his breathing while your own breathing quickened because the heady scent of him was doing something to you again. Your knees were aching from where they were pressed into the kneeler and your whole body felt tight and tense. 

“You been actin’ on these…fantasies?” He asked. Acting on them? Did an aborted masturbation attempt count as acting on them? In the eyes of the Lord, yes. You needed to admit it to him. 

“Yes, Father…I…I believe I have.” You said it even as you could feel that blooming, dripping heat fill your belly. 

“You believe you have, huh?” He asked, that mocking lilt colored his voice and another shiver crawled up your spine. While the shiver might have been caused by something unholy, it certainly was a good shiver. 

“I’ve touched myself because of these fantasies,” You admitted softly, your fingers still twisting the end of your skirt. “I was never able to…finish but it’s still a sin.” You told him taking a deep breath through your nose, you wondered if he was leaning in towards the screen too. You pulled your head back to look,  you could see bits of him through the latticed wood that created the screen that was supposedly there to protect anonymity.  

“Yea, Cherub, it sure is a sin.” He spoke and the words, his voice was like an injection of heat straight to your core. You had already practically leaked all over the altar rails at communion but now you were going to drip down your thighs in confession. “And I know what your penance should be,” he said. You let out a relieved breath, maybe if you did the penance you would be absolved and God would take the lust from your body. 

“Yes, Father. What should I do?” You asked. You heard Joel lean forward now, his voice was closer to the screen and the seat he was on creaked slightly. 

“You gotta reach your fingers under your skirt and touch yourself again, right here, right now.” His low voice sounded even more gravely than usual and the words burned through you. 

“F-Father?” You questioned, unsure if this could be possible. Your brain was already addled with lust, and this felt wrong but the temptation was so strong. 

“The only way we can absolve you of these sins is to complete them.” He insisted and you knew how wrong he was. Those shivers you felt were warnings of him. But how could you resist this? His voice was like a drug and that scent and the way you remembered the feeling of his fingers on your jaw, the pad of his thumb on your chin at communion, the ridge of his finger on the side of your tongue. “I want you to tell me just how wet you are, kneeling there before God,” Joel’s voice came to you through your lust filled fog and before you could think further you reached your hand up under your skirt and into your underwear. Your fingers immediately slipped over your soaked lips and you let out a gasp at the realization you had been soaking your underwear during the entirety of the confession. 

“Father, it’s…so wet.” You gasped, you heard movement again from his side of the confessional, the rustle of clothing and maybe the clinking of a belt being adjusted. 

“Get those knees nice and wide and stroke your lips for me,” Father Miller said, and you knew he was close to you leaned into the wood lattice screen. You could practically feel his breath. You did as you were told, kneeling a little wider and stroking your lips. You let out a squeak of pleasure, “Nice n’ slow, darlin’” His voice floated through the screen and your fingers slowly, painfully slow stroked along your puffy lips. 

“Oh God,” The words were ripped from you as the tips of your delicate fingers grazed your clitorus and your whole body throbbed. 

“Jus’ your lips, pretty girl, don’t touch that clit of yours.” The filth words coming from your priest's mouth only spurred you on. You wanted to ignore him and touch your clit again, but how had he known you had touched it in the first place? “Stroke down to your hole, cherub,” it was horribly disgusting and lewd to hear him talk like that but it still stoked a terrible fire inside you. You reached your hand farther down, sinking your butt back towards your feet as you knelt. Your finger found your entrance, the source of your wetness and you found yourself longing to push your finger into yourself. As if he heard your very thought Joel chuckled,

“Dont even think about fingerin’ yourself, little girl.” He said. A moan of desperation that matched any of the vulgarity he had spewed to you fell from your lips. “Tell me, cherub, is that a virgin cunt you’ve got over there? Or is there somethin’ else you need to be confessin’ to your Father?” he asked. Your fingers were tracing a circle around your soaked hole, trying to listen to him and not let your finger enter your body. 

“I’m a virgin, Father. Please…” You didn’t know what you were asking for with that please but it felt appropriate. Once you said that, there was a rush of movement and then the door to your side of the confessional was thrown open and Father Miller stood in front of you. You nearly toppled over from where you were kneeling, your hand still shoved into  your underwear.  He made a tsking sound, 

“Oh my little Virgin Mary,” his voice crawled up your spine like the shiver. “I’ve always known you were my good girl,” He reached down to where you were kneeling and wrapped his arm around your upper arm, pulling you up to stand. You gasped and he pulled you out of the confessional, his body moving your weight like it was nothing. His hand tightened on your arm as he pulled you into his body and then it dropped to around your waist and his mouth was on yours, kissing you. It was anything but a chaste kiss, his tongue lavished your mouth, circling yours while his arms wrapped around your waist keeping you locked against his broad, strong body.  When he pulled away from you, you were gasping for breath and he let out a dark chuckle

“Oh, I am going to eat you up, Cherub.” It was a threat, but it made you pulse with need. Joel took your upper arms in his hands again, fingers digging in, “Let’s pray,” he said and he started to pull you over a few feet to the altar rail. In a sharp movement he pushed you down, bent at the waist over the rail, your feet pressed into the kneeler, you squealed in surprise, 

“Father!” You managed to squeak out.

“Let’s see this pretty cunt that’s causin’ you such problems, sweetheart.” Joel growled and with one hand shoved your skirt up and then ripped your undies down, exposing your soaked pussy to him. You whimper in shame and embarrassment. You were so close to the holy altar, staring up at the crucifix while your most private part was exposed to Father Joel Miller. He let out a laugh, as his hand came up to your ass, he grabbed the meat of it, digging his fingers in and spreading it enough to expose more of your pussy to him. 

“Ohhh there she is,” He breathed, he let out a low whistle, “So swollen, so wet.” The fingers of his other hand stroked down your wet lips and in response you spread your legs a little more. “Is that what you want, Cherub?” he asked. You nodded vigorously, completely lost in lust. Joel stroked along your lips up to your clit and he started to flick slow circles around it. Your moans started to echo as he worked you up. “That’s it, enjoy that sin, darlin,” he breathed, leaning over your back to whisper into your ear. You could feel his black button up pressed into your back while his fingers continued to circle around your clit, sending burning pleasure coursing through you. 

“P-please!” You begged, letting yourself go completely to the need for more. “God! Please!” You cried. 

“Please, what?” Joel asked into your ear, you could feel his stubble and mustache against your ear. His scent washed over you, intoxicating you further. 

“Please, I want you inside of me, Father!” You cried, you hadn’t even realized that was what you would say when you opened your mouth but it came tumbling out anyway. His fingers moved from your clit to your entrance where you were clenching on nothing, your cunt was begging for it regardless of what you said. His middle finger circled around your hole, not entering you but noticing how tight you were. Joel pulled back enough to look down at your pussy again, 

“You want me inside of your virgin pussy?” He asked, You nodded before letting your head hang down in shame, the shame of how much you needed it and how much you were willing to sacrifice for it. The temptation of him had been too much. You could feel his eyes on your fluttering sex while he started to ease his finger inside of you. He rocked his finger inside of you and you pressed yourself back against him. 

“Oh cherub, I can see that you’re a virgin.” He said, those greedy, dark eyes on you, still, even now, sending shivers up your spine. His finger had barely made it halfway inside of you when he tugged his finger away. You gasped at the loss and pressed yourself back towards him. 

“Father! No! Please!” You whined, wiggling your hips. 

“If your virginity is gunna be mine, I sure as hell am gunna take it with my cock.” Joel’s molten voice sizzled inside of you and the realization washed over you that you weren’t going to try to stop him, and you were about to be filled with his cock right here in the middle of the church. You heard the buckle of his belt and the shift of clothes, still leaned over the altar railing, legs spread wide, ready to for him to fully know you. 

Joel watched your pussy as he notched his thick cock against your hole, your inner lips were parting for him waiting for your cunt to accept him. 

“Joel,” you gasped his name for the first time as you fully understood what was about to happen. “Is it going to hurt?”You asked. 

“Well it ain’t goin’ to be a walk in the park at first, Cherub.” He said, and you could feel how thick his cock head felt at your entrance“But I think she’ll open up for me,” his voice had that mocking lilt to it again. Before you could say anything else he had started to push into you and the stretch was so much that the breath was completely knocked out of you. You lurched forward as his hips rocked into you. 

“Oh, that looks so good…pretty cunt splittin’ open for me.” He said and you knew he was watching the place where your bodies connected. He pressed himself forward again, forcing his way inside of you, making a spot for his thick cock in your tight hole. You let out a whine and he gripped your hips tugging you back more. “Atta girl, you’re takin’ my cock so well. This pussy was made for me, wasn’t it?” he asked and all you could manage was a garbled moan in response. It did hurt some as he continued to ease himself in inch by thick inch but you were also completely drenched with slick that it was decently quick work to ease you open. 

“Father! Oh, its…so big!” You pressed your hips back, hoping to open yourself more to him. When he was fully sheathed inside of you, he was still for so long that you felt like you might go crazy with the need for friction. “Please…father…fuck me.” You gasped and that seemed to spur Joel on, he started to pull his cock back before shoving it back in, setting a brutal pace. Joels breath started to grow ragged with his own pleasure,

“Is that what you want, little girl?” He asked as his hips snapped forward to fill you over and over. “You want my cock to fuck you?” He asked. You nodded, still dazed. 

“I wanna hear you, Cherub. Confess to me, what do you want?” Joel bent forward over you, one hand snaking around you and grabbing your throat , fingers pressing into your jaw.  You moaned, unable to form a proper sentence as he pulled you back by your neck, making you look up at the altar in front of you. “Come on, let‘s hear that confession,” he said as his cock ruthlessly pummeled against your cervix, splitting you open more and more with each thrust. His other hand, the one not forcing you to look at the image of your savior, trailed down your belly and underneath your skirt. His middle finger found your clit, stroking it in those quick, flicking circles. Your body tensed against the feeling, tightening around his cock. He groaned into your cheek while he held you up with his hand on your neck. “Come on, tell me you want me to fuck your pretty little cunt.” He said. 

“Yes, yes, yes!” You cried, your eyes blurring with tears as you admitted it in front of him, and God all the same. “Yes, I want your cock to fuck me and I want to come!” You cried. 

“You want to come?” He asked, “Is that it, Cherub? You wanna come while confessin’ your sins right here in front of the holy altar?” his voice was strained and you could feel his thrusts becoming messier, harder as he chased his own orgasm. 

“Yes! Father! Please!” his finger stroked across your clit. 

“Come on my cock, Cherub. Let go for me,” He spoke the word into her cheek, your head turned to the side, leaning back into him. Your orgasm burst over you like white light, heat and shivers down your spine. He stroked your clit through it while his hips pumped his thick cock in and out of you, pulling mewls of pleasure out of. Your eyes opened and you watched the statue of the Virgin Mary while his cock pummeled your cervix and he released ropes of his hot spend inside of you. He groaned into your cheek, your body still back against him. Joel’s teeth caught your jaw, biting you briefly. 

As your breathing settled a little, Father Joel Miller pulled himself out of you. You felt his eyes on your completely destroyed pussy and his fingers briefly stroked at your entrance, gathering a generous amount of his sticky come onto his fingers before he lifted your underwear for you, covering you again. 

“Turn around, Cherub.” he instructed and you did, your face burning with the shame of what had just happened. Joel grabbed your jaw with one of his hands, “Open,” he said and you did what you were told, your tongue pressed out just a tiny bit, resting against your bottom lip. He brought the finger coated in his come that had been dripping out of you to your tongue and swiped across it. The salty, heady taste mixed with the scent of Father Joel Miller, Tobacco, mint, fresh sweat and the acrid burning metallic gunpowder smell. Shivers ran up and down your spine as you stood in front of the holy altar, bleary eyed and red cheeked. 

“God the Father of mercies, through the death and resurrection of his Son has reconciled the world to himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins; through the ministry of the Church may God give you pardon and peace, and I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

[kikidoul]

── BITE ME.

໒꒰ྀི ^ ⸝⸝ ^ ꒱ྀིა 西村 力 x fem! reader content established+secret non-idol au riki is a vampire here ᥫ᭡ warning explicit sexual content submissive! riki cock sucking pussy fingering come eating belly bulge praise kink usage of petnames unprotected sex (wrap it up pls) riki being whiny and cute . . . !? 1402— mlist. | req

note. this was really fun to write tbh… to the anon who requested this, i hope it’s readable for you <3 taglist. @tfwbluu

Everytime Riki closes his eyes, he can imagine sinking his fangs into your neck. He could even taste your sweet, intoxicating blood, feeling it flow through his veins as he took his fill. He doesn’t know how much longer he could restrain himself. The desperation of drinking your blood grows with every second passing. One glance thrown in the clock’s direction tells him it was close to seven in the evening. If he wasn’t wrong, you should be reaching home anytime soon—

“I’m home!” 

Riki didn’t even bother walking from where he sat. He appeared before you, startling the lights out of you as you were in the midst of removing your shoes. He grabbed your things, still sane enough to put them on the dining table. You blinked, bemused when your boyfriend grabbed your wrist, dragging you towards the couch and he made you straddled his lap. 

“Riki, are you alright?” You asked, shivering when he slid his large hands underneath your blouse. 

And that was when you felt it—something poking your thigh from below. Riki buried his face in the crook of your neck, greedily inhaling your scent. His shoulders sagged with relief as your scent overwhelms his senses, calming him down. At the same time, it was driving him insane. He whined, lazily rutting his hips against yours. Your breath hitched in your throat, clenching down on nothing at the delirious friction of his clothed cock rubbing against your clit.

“Riki, wa-wait,” you protested but you couldn’t find it in yourself to stop him, not when he was practically rocking his hips against yours, chasing after his pleasure. 

“Pl-Please, need you,” he mewled, words borderline slurring, sending heat straight down to your throbbing clit. 

You decide to take things into your own hands, considering how your boyfriend was long gone. You reached out, tilting his chin up with your index finger and you cooed at how his lips curled downwards in a cute pout with teary eyes. There was nothing but pure desire written all over his face, the desire to taste your blood and consume you whole. 

“Aw, my poor baby, do you need my help?” You cooed and he eagerly nodded his head, eyes trailing down until they landed on your neck. Riki leaned in but you stopped him, leaning back and he made a noise of protest. 

You clicked your tongue in disapproval. “Ah ah, use your words, baby. Do you need my help?” 

He sniffled, nodding. “Y-Yes, need it. Need your blood,” he mewled and you smiled, tapping his cheek with your fingers. 

“Good boy, go ahead. You can drink,” you replied, tilting your head to the side. 

Riki’s eyes lit up and he leaned forward, hands firmly holding you down by your hips to prevent you from falling off his lap. You involuntarily shivered when he kissed your neck, trailing kisses down until he reached a certain spot—the same spot where he always fed from. You rested your hands on his shoulders, instinctively gripping onto them when you felt him licked your unblemished skin, followed by his fangs piercing through your skin. 

You could never get used to the feeling. There was no pain but instead, it was replaced by pleasure. Your eyelids fluttered shut, letting out a blissed sigh as you felt the familiar feeling of something coursing through your veins. Riki moaned, drunk on your heavenly taste. He couldn’t get enough, never wanting this to be over. With one hand by your hips, his free hand moved to pull your pants and panties down, as much as he could without making you stand. 

A moan was torn from the depths of your throat when you felt his long, calloused fingers rubbing the bud peeking out from your lips. Strength was gradually leaving your body as you grew pliant in his arms but you knew Riki wouldn’t dare to hurt you and you trust him. You groaned as he pushed his fingers in until he was knuckles deep, spreading you open. 

“Fuck, you’re doing so well for me,” you breathed out, hearing the muffled whimper from the other. 

Riki detached his fangs once he had enough, licking the spot to stop the bleeding. At the same time, he pulled his fingers out slowly, not wanting to hurt you. 

“Did I do good?” He asks, looking at you with hopeful eyes. 

You smiled, nodding in agreement. “Yes, baby, you did a great job. Do you want your reward?” 

His face brightened up at your words. “Yes, please.” 

Humming, you moved to get off his lap, chuckling at his sound of protest. You gestured for him to lift his hips so you could unbuckle and remove his pants and underwear, revealing his poor hardened, neglected cock that stood upright. The tip had turned an embarrassing shade of red due to the lack of attention. Tucking a few strands of hair behind your left ear, you leaned forward, glancing up to see Riki’s eyes focused on you. You giggled when his cock subtly twitched as you moved closer and closer, close enough for your lips to graze against the tip. 

“Baby, please,” he whimpered, jerking his hips forward—attempting to slide his cock into your mouth but you merely leaned back, chuckling at the disappointed sound of protest he made. 

“Please what? You need to speak your mind or I won’t know what you want,” you replied, wrapping your fingers around his cock, pumping it at a slow, lazy pace. 

Riki threw his head back, mind blanking out at the delirious sensation of you stroking him. Breathless whimpers and moans spilled from his swollen lips. He jerked his hips forward, his cock moving back and forth within the ring your hand created. His muscles tightened, feeling a rubber band about to snap—

Only for you to pull away. 

“Wha—why!?” He whined, lips curling down to display his evident displeasure that you had denied his orgasm. 

You chuckled, rising to your feet to press a chaste kiss on his lips. “Because I’d rather have you cum in me. Unless, you don’t want to.” 

The vampire shook his head at lightning speed. He raised his hands, awkwardly hanging them by your side—unsure if he could hold you. “No, no! Wanna cum in you, please, please.” 

“Since you asked so nicely, who am I to deny you?” 

Resting one hand on his left shoulder to brace yourself while Riki took it upon himself to place his hands on your hips, you reached down to grab his cock and positioned yourself. He watched with bated breath as his cock slowly disappeared, inch by inch as he sunk into your warm, tight cunt. He eventually bottomed out and you moaned, your head spinning at how you were practically split apart on his cock. Riki rubbed circles on your bare skin, unable to tear his eyes away from the faint bulge on your stomach—right where his cock was. 

“Look, you’re so deep,” you breathed out, grabbing his hand to place it over the bulge as you slowly grind your hips against his. 

Riki visibly gulped as he gently pressed down, eliciting a whimper from you. He leans forward, brushing his nose against your neck. You knew what he wanted without him asking, which was why you tilted your head to the side—granting him permission. Your boyfriend wasted no time in digging in, sinking his fangs into your skin. At the same time, you increased your pace, bouncing on his cock. 

“Ngh—Riki, you’re doing so—hah—good for me. Such a good boy, aren’t you?” You moaned, hearing the muffled sound he made at your praise. Your eyes flutter shut when Riki begin thrusted up, pushing the both of you to your climax. 

You shuddered as he spilled inside you, followed by some of his cum slowly rolling down your legs, only to stain the floor. None of you moved for a while, remaining in the same position as you catch your breath. Riki leaned back, cupping your face with his hands and you leaned into his touch—like a touch-starved kitten. 

“Are you alright? Do you feel dizzy?” He asks, eyebrows furrowed with concern written all over his face. 

“I’m fine, don’t worry. What about you?” You shook your head. 

Riki flashed you a boyish smile. “I’m feeling better now, thanks to you.” 

You laughed, pressing a kiss on his nose. “You’re welcome, by the way.” 

[amygdalae]

hey idk if this question has been asked before but you’ve got such cool accessories and outfits. how do you like. find things? i’m trying to put together a better wardrobe but i have no idea how to start

my favorite items are secondhand, from my fave lingerie shop or hand me downs. for me accumulating clothing or accessories is like putting stickers on a water bottle ; if you got everything all at once it would be boring and wouldnt reflect the flow of your life! accumulating accessories over a broader period allows your style to develop and change as you do. and also its more affordable to bide ones time. so really focus on keeping an eye out for things that are your style (or the style you want) and let them come to you. wander about, check out local markets, yard sales. Window shopping is fun even if you rarely buy things; it can give you a lot of inspiration. (that isnt to say I havent succumbed to the ordering things online urge; I have a couple impulse online purchases like most ppl. just that in my experience its usually more cost effective/genuine/rewarding to seek out secondhand things.)

also experiment! you might have clothes already in your wardrobe that can be layered in interesting ways. or maybe youve got a cute garment that you'd wear more if it was a color you liked more--you can get clothes dye at most craft stores. dying something black can make it a whole new thing. turn an old shirt into a crop top, cut the sleeves off, mess about a bit. get weird with safety pins.

also never buy a fishnet shirt just get fishnet tights and cut the toes off and a slit into the crotch for your head and it becomes a shirt.

[clappingandcheering]

Hii baby, how are you? I wanted to ask Percy something where the reader's relationship with Percy has all 5 love languages? And it's so cute and romantic🙃

I'm so good!!! I hope this is what you meant?? It's like how Percy would show each love language, if that makes sense. I tried!

(Percy Jackson x Reader)

"All the Ways I Love You"

It was one of those quiet nights at Camp Half Blood. The kind where the campfire was flickering in the distance, but it was mostly calm—no monsters, no quests, no chaos. Just the gentle sound of the ocean and the occasional laughter from the cabins.

You were lying on a blanket outside your cabin, your head resting on Percy’s chest as he traced lazy circles on your arm. His fingers were warm against your skin, his touch gentle, and you couldn’t help but smile. You were comfortable here, wrapped in his presence.

“You know, you’re really good at this whole'making me feel loved’ thing,” you said, glancing up at him.

Percy chuckled, his hand stopping its movement to cup your face. “You make it easy.” His thumb brushed across your cheek, and you felt your heart flutter. “Besides, you deserve all the love in the world.”

You smiled, feeling the full weight of the affection in his words. But there was something in his tone, something about the way he said it, that made you think about just how much he loved you—and all the different ways he showed it.

Percy shifted so that he could look you in the eyes, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to fade away. He was always a bit awkward with words, but when it came to you, he found a way to speak to your heart.

“You know you’re amazing, right?” He said softly, his voice low but full of sincerity. “Like, I’m seriously lucky to have you. You’re strong and kind, and you make everything better just by being you.”

You felt a warmth spread through you at his words, and you couldn't help but laugh softly. “I’m not that amazing.”

“Yes, you are,” Percy said, his gaze never leaving yours. “And I’m going to keep telling you that until you believe me.”

You leant up to kiss him—a soft, lingering kiss that was all about how much you cared for him. But it wasn’t just that kiss—it was everything he said. You could feel his love in every word and every whisper.

Later, when the night air grew cooler, you pulled your jacket tighter around you, shivering slightly. Without a word, Percy stood up and quickly pulled off his hoodie, wrapping it around your shoulders. He didn’t even wait for you to ask; he just did it because he knew you’d need it.

“You’re going to freeze out here if you don’t wear this,” he said, his voice teasing but gentle as he adjusted the hoodie around you.

“I wasn’t cold before, but now that you mention it..." you smiled, feeling the warmth of both the hoodie and his thoughtfulness.

“You don’t have to thank me,” Percy said, sitting back down next to you. “It’s just what I do.”

You rested your head against his shoulder, feeling the quiet love in every little thing he did.

The next morning, you woke up to find a small bag of chocolate—your favourite brand—by your bedside. A note was tucked inside that simply read, Thought you might need some sweetness today.

You smiled, recognising Percy’s handwriting, though it was a little messy. He didn’t know much about buying the “perfect” gift, but he always knew exactly what you liked.

When you found him later by the lake, you teased him, holding up the bag of chocolate. “What’s this?”

Percy grinned sheepishly. “I saw it and thought of you. Figured it could make your day a little sweeter.”

You wrapped your arms around him, your heart swelling with affection. “You always know just what I need.”

“Guess I’ve learned a thing or two about you,” he said with a wink, and you kissed him again, feeling the sweetness of both the chocolate and his gesture.

The day continued with the two of you walking along the beach, talking about everything and nothing. Percy made you laugh with his usual jokes, but there was also something soft and serious in the way he’d listen to you—whether you were venting about something small or sharing a memory from your past.

Every moment with him felt like a treasure—just being in each other’s company made everything feel right. You didn’t need grand adventures or flashy gestures; the quiet moments of being together were enough.

“I love just being here with you,” you said, slipping your hand into his.

Percy smiled, his eyes lighting up. “Me too. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

You didn’t need to say anything more. The way he held your hand, how he kept stealing glances at you with that goofy, love-sick grin, told you all you needed to know. Being with him was always enough.

As the sun began to set, painting the sky with hues of pink and orange, Percy pulled you into his arms, holding you close as you both sat on the sand. His fingers gently brushed through your hair, and you felt his chest rise and fall against your back with each slow breath.

You snuggled into him, feeling safe, loved, and completely content. His touch was grounding, and every small caress of his hand on your skin sent sparks through you.

“I could stay like this forever,” he murmured, his breath warm against your ear.

You smiled softly, tilting your head to look up at him. “I’d like that.”

And in that moment, you realised that Percy didn’t just love you in one way. He loved you in all the ways that mattered—in every word, every action, every moment spent together. His love was full and infinite, wrapped in gestures both big and small.

"I love you, Percy," you whispered.

"I love you more," he whispered back, and then kissed you softly, tenderly, as if the world outside of the two of you didn’t exist.

With Percy, love wasn’t just something you felt—it was something you experienced in every way, every day. And somehow, it only made you love him more.

[cosmiclily]

chapter one: heartache

wc: 2.1k

Five years. Vi and Caitlyn had been together for five years before Caitlyn decided that the exposure from Vi’s life as a musician was “too much.” She said she was already dealing with enough from her mother’s expectations, constant scrutiny, and the pressure to be perfect. Being tied to someone constantly in the spotlight only amplified the chaos she was trying to escape.

But how do you just walk away from five years? Five years of love, growth, and shared memories. They had been through everything together—the awkward phases, the big milestones, the small, intimate moments that made life feel worth it. They were each other’s first in almost everything: first love, first heartbreak, first time believing someone could truly know and accept them for who they were.

Vi couldn’t imagine a future without Caitlyn in it. Caitlyn wasn’t just her girlfriend; she was her rock, her balance, her safe place in a world that could be loud and overwhelming. With her, life made sense. Without her, it felt like the ground had been pulled out from under her feet.

Now, Vi was left standing in the ruins of what they had built together, forced to pick up the shattered pieces and figure out who she was without Caitlyn. Every corner of her life reminded her of what she’d lost—the songs Caitlyn inspired, the jokes they shared together, the faint trace of her perfume still clinging to the throw pillows they’d picked out together.

Relearning herself wasn’t just hard—it felt impossible. How do you start over when so much of your identity has been intertwined with someone else? How do you let go of someone who was your past, your present, and the future you were certain you’d have?

Vi’s days were spent trying to fill the void Caitlyn left behind, and her nights were haunted by the deafening silence where laughter and love used to live.

──────────────────────

“Wake up!” you say, shaking Vi’s body aggressively. “I sure hope you’re not dead or still drunk because we leave in 30 minutes. Pack your shit.” You’re already gathering her clothes scattered across the room, shoving them into her beat-up suitcase. It’s barely holding together, much like its owner.

The thing is, you love Vi—you really do. She’s one of your best friends, and without a doubt, one of the most talented people you’ve ever met. But ever since her breakup with Caitlyn, she’s been a complete wreck. All she does these days is drink and mope around like the world ended.

When she first came to you, heartbroken and teary-eyed, spilling every detail of the split, you were genuinely sad for her. Five years with someone isn’t easy to walk away from. But, selfishly, you couldn’t help but think,“At least we’ll get some killer songs out of this.” Heartbreak always fuels the best music, right? You figured she’d take her pain and pour it into the band.

Instead, she spends 85% of her days drowning herself in booze and picking fights with strangers in dive bars, and the other 15% passed out somewhere she probably shouldn’t be. Honestly, it’s exhausting keeping up with her. At least this time, she actually made it back to her own hotel room instead of crashing on some stranger’s couch—or worse.

“Violet, seriously,” you snap, shaking her again when all you get is a groan. “You’re a grown-ass woman, and I’m not your babysitter. Get up, get dressed, and try not to look like you’ve been on a week-long bender. The van is leaving, and I’m not letting you make us late again.”

She finally stirs, one bloodshot eye cracking open as she glares at you. “What’s your problem?” she mutters, her voice gravelly and tired.

“My problem? My problem is that you’re wasting your talent and dragging us all down with you. I get it—you’re hurt, heartbroken, life sucks. But this?” You gesture around the room, littered with empty bottles and discarded clothes. “This isn’t you, Vi. And it sure as hell isn’t the Vi this band needs right now.”

She sits up slowly, rubbing her temples like even that’s too much effort. “You don’t get it,” she mutters, her voice low. “You don’t know what it’s like to lose someone like Cait.”

You take a deep breath, softening your tone. “No, I don’t. I won’t pretend I do. But I know Caitlyn wouldn’t want you to do this to yourself. And I know you’re better than this. So, get your ass up and let’s get to work. You don’t have to fix everything right now, but at least show up—for yourself, and for us.”

She looks at you for a long moment, her face unreadable. For a second, you think she’s going to argue. But instead, she sighs heavily, dragging herself out of bed like the weight of the world is on her shoulders.

“Fine,” she mutters, running a hand through her mess of hair. “I’ll pack. But don’t expect me to look ‘presentable.’”

You snort, tossing her a clean shirt you found buried under a pile of god knows what. “Presentable’s overrated. I’ll settle for functional.”

She gives you a half-smirk, the closest thing to a smile you’ve seen from her in weeks, and starts gathering the rest of her things.

You make your way to the van, your thoughts swirling as you reflect on how much your lives have changed in such a short time. Just a few months ago, you were barely scraping by, playing gigs at any bar that would have you. Your dad thought joining a band was a terrible idea—especially since it meant you wouldn’t be going to college. He never liked Vi, or her family for that matter, constantly calling her a bad influence. He’d been saying that ever since the two of you met in high school, always claiming that Vi was the one putting reckless ideas in your head.

When you told him you were starting a band with her, he completely lost it. You could still hear the echoes of his angry voice, the awful things he said, the way he swore you’d never make it. “You’re throwing your future away for a pipe dream,” he’d yelled. “Mark my words, you’ll regret this.” Those words used to haunt you—sometimes they still do. But right now, you can’t deny the faint sense of satisfaction in knowing that you’ve proven him wrong. Sure, things aren’t perfect, but you’re here. You’re on a tour van, opening for a bigger artist, starting to get noticed by her fans. It’s not the dream yet, but it’s closer than it’s ever been.

Climbing onto the van, you spot Jinx already in her usual spot by the window, earbuds dangling around her neck as she scrolls aimlessly on her phone. She glances up when she hears you, a crooked grin forming on her face.

“Did you get her to wake up?” she asks, scrunching her nose in exaggerated disgust. “I tried, but it reeks in there. Smells like whiskey, sweat, and bad decisions.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small laugh that escapes you. “Yeah, she’s up. Barely. I had to practically shake her awake and threaten to leave her behind. She’s packing now, probably still half-asleep.”

Jinx smirks, leaning back in her seat and tossing her phone onto the cushion beside her. “You’re a braver soul than I am. I gave up after two knocks. You know how Vi gets when she’s hungover—like a grumpy bear. Or a bear with a hangover.”

“She’s not a bear,” you say with a sigh, dropping into the seat across from her. “She’s just… going through it. Though, honestly, I wish she’d just move on already.”

Jinx raises an eyebrow, her expression equal parts amused and frustrated. “You’ve been saying that for weeks. When does ‘going through it’ stop being an excuse? She’s dragging herself—and us—down. It’s not like we’re rolling in free passes for her to waste.”

You glance out the window, watching the early morning light streak across the horizon. She’s not wrong. Vi’s breakup with Caitlyn hadn’t just been hard on her—it had been hard on all of you. The drinking, the fights, the inconsistency... It was becoming impossible to ignore.

“Where’s Ekko?” you ask, changing the subject. “Don’t tell me he’s late too.”

Jinx shrugs lazily. “Oh, he forgot something in his room. He’s probably on his way back already. You know him—‘fashionably late’ and all that.”

As if on cue, the hotel doors swing open, and Ekko steps outside with Archie, your ever-enthusiastic manager, trailing close behind. The two are deep in conversation, their hands gesturing wildly as they talk.

“Oh, you girls are already here! Excellent.” Archie’s voice carries before he even reaches the bus. His short, chubby frame and thick british accent somehow manage to command attention wherever he goes. He’s the reason the band even had a shot, the one who saw potential when no one else did.

“I have exciting news,” Archie announces, his grin stretching ear to ear as he climbs aboard. Then, his expression falters. “But… where is Miss Violet? Don’t tell me she’s late again.”

“She’s packing,” you answer, sitting up straighter. “She’ll be out any minute.”

Archie narrows his eyes, clearly unimpressed. “Packing? At this hour? I gave everyone strict instructions to be ready by now.”

“She had a rough night,” you offer, though you feel like a broken record at this point. How many times have you covered for her?

“A rough night?” Archie throws his hands up dramatically. “She’s had a ‘rough night’ every night for the past month! If she’s not careful, she’ll burn herself out before we even get close to making it big.”

You exchange a glance with Jinx, who shrugs as if to say, He’s not wrong.

At that moment, the can door opens again, and Vi steps aboard. She looks like she just rolled out of bed—hair tousled, hoodie wrinkled, and sunglasses covering her undoubtedly bloodshot eyes.

“Morning,” she mutters, flopping into a seat without so much as a glance at Archie.

“Morning?” Archie echoes incredulously. “Miss Violet, this is hardly the professionalism I expect from you. We’re opening for one of the biggest acts of the year, and you’re showing up like you’ve just walked out of a frat house!”

Vi groans, tilting her head back against the seat. “Save it, Archie. I’m here, aren’t I?”

Archie pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath before shaking it off. “Fine. I’ll save my lecture for later because—believe it or not—we’ve got good news. Big news.”

Everyone perks up at that, even Vi, though she does so begrudgingly.

“What kind of news?” you ask, leaning forward with curiosity.

Archie’s grin widens as he claps his hands together. “You’re being added to three more tour dates! One of which is in LA. And, if you can manage to pull yourselves together, there might even be offers for an single on the table.”

The van erupts into excited chatter, a buzz of energy filling the space. Jinx punches the air, Ekko grins from ear to ear, and even you feel a rush of exhilaration. This is what you’ve all been working for—an actual shot at something bigger.

Even Vi, slouched in her seat with her sunglasses still on, cracks a small smile. It doesn’t quite reach her eyes, but it’s there. Maybe this could be the spark she needed—the moment she finally stopped wallowing and started using all that anger and hurt for something productive.

“Quiet down, please,” Archie calls out, waving his hands to settle everyone. “I know you’re all excited, and you should be. But this will only be possible if you show your absolute best in the upcoming concerts. No more sloppiness, no more excuses. This is your chance to prove you’re ready for the big leagues.”

His words hang heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the stakes. The excitement dims just slightly, replaced by determination.

“So,” Archie continues, checking his watch, “settle down, get your heads in the game, and prepare to give it everything you’ve got. We’ll be leaving in a couple of minutes.”

Jinx leans over your seat, her voice low but tinged with excitement. “Three more shows, an album, and LA? Think we’ll survive?”

You chuckle softly, glancing at Vi, who’s staring out the window now, her expression unreadable. “We’ll survive,” you reply. “The question is whether we’ll thrive.”

Jinx snorts. “Speak for yourself. I was born to thrive.”

Despite everything, you feel a flicker of hope. This was it—the break you’d been waiting for. Now all you had to do was rise to the occasion.

──────────────────────

masterlist - chapter two

notes: i love making vi suffer 😔 it’s a character flaw im sorry

[jsraven7]

This is an odd post, but seeing all the new Hellenic Polytheists terrified of making the Gods angry breaks my heart.

You have to try extremely hard to make the Gods mad. They will not be mad at you for tiny things. You practically have to be intentionally trying to make them mad, or do something hubristic. I wanted to share a story of mine personally to aid others in this anxiety. I know this may be an odd way of helping others feel better, but I really do hope it helps.

I started working with and worshipping Lady Hekate over a year ago. I was in a horrendous headspace, and called out to Her for more selfish reasons. I built my relationship with Her on needing help to do baneful workings against the abuser I just escaped from. Which, really, is a thing a lot of people do. But, because I was in this horrendous headspace, I didn’t go about it the right way. I didn’t do a good job at building Kharis with Her, or giving Her any offerings for Her help. I was quite disrespectful to Her, really. I felt my relationship with Her turn towards something more strained. I felt more negative when thinking of Her, and a lot of the time I felt shut out from Her. Any offerings I gave Her felt disconnected, like a call that didn’t go through. She was not quite happy with me, and I couldn’t blame Her.

The thing is, though, is that She was never angry with me. I could feel our relationship break slightly, and I could feel a wall between us. My offerings didn’t always feel like they were accepted, and our relationship just felt discordant. But every time I sat down with Her with my divination tools and asked if She was mad at me, the answer was always a very strict, ‘no’. Despite how tumultuous our relationship felt, She was never angry. Disappointed maybe, yes, but not angry. I worked closely with Her on repairing the little cracks in our relationship as I begun to heal a bit more from what I asked Her to help me with, and as I got more stable in myself. I dedicated time to devotional acts for Her, speaking with Her, and giving Her offerings with the intention of reparations. Very quickly, our relationship healed. I wouldn’t say it’s perfect yet, but we have a very wonderful relationship now. I clean bones in Her honor, and I love to feel Her presence as I do so.

All in all, the point of this is, our relationships with our Gods are just that—relationships. The Gods will not be mad at you for every small thing, or even for bigger things, like the mistakes I made. Your relationship may feel odd with Them from time to time, but that’s completely alright. Like every relationship, you have to figure out your rhythm, and there’s no sense in a God being mad for you figuring out how this all works. I was very experienced with this all when I made those mistakes, and yet She was never mad. Why would They be upset when you’re just figuring it all out?

Rest easy, all of you. This is a religion, this is life, this is love. Religion is to be enjoyed, to let your happiest self go. The Gods rejoice in Themselves, and rejoice in you. Have fun, be respectful, and trust in yourselves and Them. Love to all of you—be kind to yourselves.

[keepthedelta]

#in general i find the whole racing versus winning thing to be very interesting#and the way some drivers believe in the sanctity of racing and others believe in the sanctity of winning fascinates me

Deltinha can you expand on this concepts? I got fascinated by them after reading the tags.

Thanks!

it kind of started when i listened to some of the sky sports podcasts where they were talking about the mclaren team orders situation. and i found what jenson said versus what nico said to be very interesting.

jenson was defending mclaren's policy of just letting their drivers fight it out on track, arguing that the racing was what the sport was supposed to be about. but then when nico was asked about it (on a different episode) he argued that mclaren should be using team orders to help lando because the point of the championship was to win, and you have to take every advantage you have because you don't know if or when you're going to get another chance.

and it made total sense to me that each of them was making that particular argument given who each of them is. jenson's whole thing is racecraft, he has such a unique driving style and was so admired for his racecraft even when he wasn't the fastest driver that it made sense for him to value the actual racing element above anything else. when he was talking about the team orders and mclaren's history of not issuing team orders, he said that he and lewis took wins off of each other, and if they'd been given team orders one of them probably could have won a championship [during the vettel/red bull dominance years]. but i think jenson could only say that because he already got his fairytale championship in 2009, and because he has canada 2011 to his name. if he didn't have those, particularly the wdc, i think he would look at his mclaren years very differently. and although jenson beat lewis across a season, lewis was overall the stronger driver, and if mclaren had given team orders, it's quite likely jenson would have been the one ordered to help lewis rather than the other way around. so in that sense, mclaren not having team orders and prioritising the "racing" helped jenson out a lot.

equally i think it makes total sense that nico values the winning over the racing. he spent a very long time being a very good driver in very bad cars, and when he finally got a good car, he had to face off against the most successful driver of all time. so it makes sense that the racing is not enough for nico, because it was never enough to be good, or even great, it was important to win. all of the effort he put in, the extremes he went to were not about becoming a better racer, they were about winning, and being able to call himself a champion. since retiring he's said that the only part of formula one he missed was winning, and although he's remained a part of the racing world, he's never raced again, unlike jenson who has raced in multiple other series. in the end it was the winning that fulfilled nico, and once he had that, he felt able to explore other worlds. additionally, i think nico's insecurities/self-esteem issues really affect this. he said in an interview that he didn't believe in himself at all throughout his career. while other drivers have talked about the need to view themselves as the best driver, and believe that given the right circumstances they can be champion, nico talked about how he never believed that, and so the thing that kept him going was his commitment to it. he committed to that championship 100% because he believed in the value of it. and that's why i think he argued that mclaren should have given team orders to help lando because he believes in the inherent value of a championship and of winning, and believes that you should commit to that, even if you don't win, rather than hoping the win comes to you.

there are some drivers that talk about racing as a priority and some that talk about winning as a priority, and i think it's interesting to see which is which, and why they've come to that conclusion. and with charles specifically, i think it would be incredibly interesting to see him choose between winning with anyone for the sake of winning over the possibility of winning with ferrari because of the ferrari of it all. what matters more to him, a championship, or a potential championship with ferrari?

[unfortunatelyphoenix]

So I had another idea that I wanna share, btw I still know barely anything about either fandom and am going off fanfics for info. Also I'm really tired rn so don't expect everything to make sense.

After a nasty accident the portal blew up with the explosion being so big it would've destroyed the entire planet and Ghost Zone if Danny hadn't managed to absorb the majority of the blast, but with how much power it had been Danny wasn't able to completely stop the destruction and was sent into a centuries long coma to heal with Clockwork and Frostbite putting the energy (both his and everything he was able to absorb from the blast) into a large pearl-like object and storing it into some ancient ruins to help protect him. But despite having taken so much of the force humanity was pretty much given a hard reset in advancements and created metas.

Now, centuries later, the JL hear of a villain (idk who) having pinpointed the location of an extremely dangerous magic artifact that could send everything back by centuries if not outright destroy the planet and obviously go to stop them, with a 10 year old Damien who is determined to become Robin managing to catch a ride and sneak along with them. Somehow Damien ends up in a position where he's between the villain and the artifact and is severely hurt, but he refuses to give up and the fighting makes a ruckus, enough of a ruckus that Danny wakes up.

Danny, who has absorbed all of the energy into is own being and now looks like some sort of animal-like creature, wakes up to see an adult hurting a kid so badly it looks like their gonna kill him and immediately goes into hero mode to save the child. Thanks to pretty much having the power of several Tsar Bombs now, easily finishes the fight and quickly starts panicking over the small injured child and does his best to use his powers to heal the kid whose barely even conscious.

At some point of Danny's frantic mother-hen-ing one of the JL members, who is also really injured, manages to get to the room to stop the villain only to find the villain unconscious, what looks to be a brand new Robin barely conscious, the artifact missing, and some sort of monster that looks to be made of space, shadows, and ice panicking over the small child and quickly getting protective once noticing the other person and putting itself between the JL member and the hurt kid to protect him, seemingly shape-shifting to appear more dangerous.

After somehow calming the thing down (which was pretty difficult due to a language barrier) the JL and JLD come to the conclusion that somehow the magic artifact must've reacted to Damien and bonded with him since it's refusing to leave his side.

Danny on the other hand thinks he's been out for maybe a month max and was transported to a different universe thanks to the existence of powers, superheroes, and the very prominent language barrier between them. He just hopes that this strangely stabby child calms down soon so he can find his way into the Ghost Zone so he can return to his family and haunt.

[allllium]

Meet Cute

~ Spencer Reid x Barista!Reader

~ I hope this makes sense to people other than me 😭

~ Fluff, first seasons Spencer WC: 979

- You have a very cute customer -

Being a barista isn't the best job in the world but it definitely has a couple benefits. One being the cute boys that stop by everyday.

Well, only one boy.

He came in a couple months ago for the first time and has come in everyday since. His name is Spencer and unfortunately that's about all you know.

He comes in very early in the morning and orders multiple very different coffees. He seems shy but you haven't talked to him enough to really know.

The strangest thing about to it, is how he only comes in when you're working. According to all your coworkers when he comes in on your days off and doesn't see you, he leaves.

You want to believe that means something. Like he's only coming here for you. But that's just wishful thinking.

"Good morning." He says when he comes to counter. It's a couple minutes earlier than when he usually arrives, not that you're keeping track.

"Good morning." You smile at him.

"Can I get the same thing as last time?" He asks, unsurely. You best guess is he's trying to see whether or not you'll remember it. Does that matter to him? He's probably just trying to save time.

"Yeah of course. It shouldn't take too long."

"Thanks." He nods slightly as he says it. And you fall into an awkward silence.

"What are you doing up so early?" You ask, hoping the question isn't too invasive. It's not something you'd ask any other customers.

"Work." Is all he says. It answers your question but you were expecting more.

"Where do you work?"

"I work for the FBI, in the behavioral analysis unit."

"Really? That's so weird, usually I forget the FBI is made up of actual people and not just robot things."

"Why would they be robots?"

"Because they work for the government?" You phrase it as a question so he doesn't think you're crazy. You probably shouldn't have said that if being crazy isn't your goal.

"Y'know the conspiracy of robots being in the government without people knowing stems for the similar conspiracy that birds are robot spies for the government."

"I could see that. People are so suspicious of the birds it would be easy to sneak robots in as humans."

"Are you joking?"

"Partly." You laugh a little. "I don't actually think the government is making robots that are functional enough to behave as humans, they aren't smart enough for that."

"I could be." He states it as a fact.

"Are you building a robot army?"

"Not at the moment." His smile at you widens as your conversation progresses. He's very, very pretty.

"But in the future you might?"

"You never know." As you go to respond, your coworker yells over that the drinks are done.

"I hope you enjoy them." You say as you hand them to him.

"They're not all for me." He says quickly, "I get them for my coworkers."

"That's a very nice thing for you to do."

"Caffeine can be a very helpful thing for certain people when it comes to work productivity."

"Do you have lots of facts like that?"

"Yes."

"Good. I like facts." He leaves with both his drinks and a smile on his face.

The next morning is the same story. He comes in, way earlier than you deem socially acceptable to be awake, orders a couple coffees, the same ones every time, and gives you a random fact or two.

"Did you know that giraffes are 30 times more likely to get hit by lightning than people are?"

"No I didn't. That makes a lot of sense though, I don't know why."

And the next day,

"The electric chair was invented by a dentist."

"Were his patients pissing him off that bad?"

"He saw someone get electrocuted and it inspired him."

"Makes sense."

And obviously the next,

"Three presidents died on July 4th."

"Similar causes?"

"Different enough."

And the next day,

He didn't come.

For the next week that you worked, Spencer didn't come in. You don't understand why this makes you so upset.

You don't even know his last name. You don't really know anything about him, why does this matter to you.

Another week passes by, and when it becomes obvious he's probably done with whatever friendship thingy you thought you had. Oh well, you try to think but it's no use.

You really thought he was coming in for you. Well not for you, for the coffee. But also a little for you.

"Did you know dolphins name each other?"

"Are you saying there's a couple dolphins named Fred?"

"There could be." He smiles at you. Is it normal to feel a little angry right now? No it's not. You don't know this man. At all. He doesn't have any obligation to only get coffee from you.

"Where have you been?" You ask, trying to be super nonchalant.

"Work got really busy."

"Too busy for coffee?" You half joke.

"Unfortunately it's too long a walk from the hospital." He shrugs like it's nothing.

"You were in the hospital? Are you okay?" What is wrong with this man? Walking in here, announcing he was in the hospital like it's nothing.

"I'm fine now."

"This is not how I saw my morning going." You mutter to yourself.

"Do you wanna get dinner with me?" You freeze.

"Like a date?" You ask gently.

"Yes, it would be a date."

"Yeah," you agree softly, "That would be great."

"Good. Okay. I'll give you the details." Five minutes later he's walking out the door again, this time leaving you completely speechless.

"Spencer!" You call out to him before he can walk outside.

"What?"

"Why are you asking me now?"

"Lifes to short to have regrets." He explains simply and walks out. He never said why he was in the hospital.

[the-clock-of-the-time-dragon]

So we're doing this, lol. Okay.

He is a double agent.

Literally just headcanon. As I said. Like, I think it's a GOOD headcanon — as I also said — but even you admit that it requires heavy inference and conjecture to claim that he did anything to help Animals; and slipping in "I don't think of her as a Wicked Witch" and wanting to push back against the more insane rumors is not being a double agent (which would require actual action), it's being a known contrarian and former friend of hers. As I explained to begin with: his quest to find her is not evidence of some kind of revolutionary activity behind the scenes — it's evidence that he wanted to personally reunite with her, which is exactly what his actions led to.

Fiyero knows this, by placing himself here he is in the best position both to protect Elphaba but also protect the Animals in the regime.

He didn't do either of those things though. Like, I fully believe that he wanted Elphaba unharmed (obviously) and that he had some qualms with rounding up the Animals... but he literally volunteered for the Harm Elphaba and Round Up the Animals Brigade, and there is zero evidence he did anything to undermine them until she finally showed up in the Wizard's palace unexpectedly.

Given he used the first opportunity, when they wouldn’t get in trouble, to help the Lion Cub it seems a pretty good inference that he was trying to send out warnings to Animals when he could (especially now the movieverse has made him the only character aside from Elphaba who is friends with an Animal – he probably even has a network he can tap into!).

I would like to see that fleshed out in the second movie, yes — because I agree it would be in character, but on stage, we're left to just hope that he did that (albeit his hypothetical offscreen attempts to help Animals still seem objectively outweighed by his actions that harmed them, so — again, as I said — his having sympathy for them doesn't seem to have stopped him from knowingly doing a lot more harm than good).

IDK about you, but I think if I were to search for someone wanted and was given the opportunity to both have the best resources and information to find her and hamper people who might find her and hurt her, I would totally do it this way too.

Saying you'd totally join the Gestapo instead of the Resistance if given the chance — because of "resources and information" — is not the winning argument you think it is, I'm sorry, lol. Like, if he'd already been a soldier before he realized it was fashy, that might make a bit more sense. If that were the case, then yeah he should've become a double agent! But as it is, it kinda just seems like you're making a lot of excuses for why volunteering to do fascism is justified as long as you feel bad about it and (speculatively) tried to sabotage it (with no evident success whatsoever). I would truly love to believe in Double Agent Fiyero, and I hope that's the direction the second movie goes with him: but I also really liked the Amoral Nihilist Fiyero we got on stage. You keep acting like I'm denigrating him as a character, but I can only express so many times that I'm not. He's a great character: just not a great guy imho.

I know we don’t see him helping the Animals, but nor do we really see Elphaba doing so?

No, we don't see Elphaba doing stuff to help Animals onstage (albeit, as I've said, there don't really seem to be any free Animals left by the time we get to Act II), but there are at least direct statements that she's been involved with the Animal resistance. There isn't even an implication that Fiyero tried to do that, let alone did. You're basing your interpretation of his character on speculation — because it is somewhat difficult, in some ways, to reconcile the compassionate boy we saw in the woods with the fascist commander he's become by Act II — but I'm basing my reading on sheer text; on the actions and statements on the page. Regardless of whether you choose to think he was secretly doing a ton of anti-regime work behind the scenes, I just don't think (as I've said) that the preponderance of his behavior really justifies that. Because at the very least he was still choosing to swallow his compassion and do fascist stuff at the same time, and in the end those were the actions that objectively shaped the future of Oz, not the imagined attempts at sabotage he may or may not have done. Either way, he's interesting, but his actions are hard to defend.

Does this mean he didn’t commit atrocities? No probably not. But bear in mind if he hadn’t been doing it, someone else would have.

Yikes...

He literally succeeded in the exact goal he was planning by joining the Gale Force: to protect Elphaba.

But he didn't protect Elphaba. He couldn't even fuckin find her, lol. She protected herself. While he was actively participating in the violent repression that she hated more than anything in the world.

If he hadn’t been Captain of the Guard in the throne room when the Wizard called his guards she would have been captured and killed, instead she escaped which eventually allowed the Wizard to be overthrown and Elphaba’s values to be acted on in the form of Glinda ruling.

None of which was REMOTELY planned, or even likely. Granting for the sake of argument that she would definitely have been captured and/or killed had he not been in that exact place at that exact time — I'm not convinced of that — if we're really gonna try these long-term domino effect arguments, then Glinda's questionable choice not to get on the broom was actually a heroic act that ultimately led to the liberation of Oz! Come on.

There is a difference between keeping quiet, not protesting a regime and actively endorsing it. Glinda was doing the latter and she was not forced into that. (She also was not helping undermine it the same way Fiyero was).

Yes, she was literally forced into that, lol. Claiming she wasn't forced into her position when she was literally captured and molded into an asset of the regime — and then moralizing about her trying to make the best out of her literal enslavement — whilst somehow insisting that Fiyero going out of his way to enlist as an armed servant of the regime wasn't "endorsing the regime", is actually absurd. Like, it's all well and good to believe his ulterior motives for joining make it okay, but to argue that the guy who volunteers to do the hands-on violent repression side of the regime is somehow "protesting it" because he said a couple things mildly out-of-step (so mild that he doesn't seem to have faced any official criticism for it whatsoever), while the girl we saw two seconds away from getting imprisoned or worse right before the intermission is "not forced into endorsing it"?? In what universe??

Madame Morrible made abundantly clear that the only thing keeping Glinda from being thrown to the wolves like Elphaba was serving as a pretty mouthpiece for the Wizard, and nothing more. I've got a whole list of decisions she actually, with little to no coercion, that I think are legitimately questionable. But you aren't even citing those: you're just victim-blaming because she didn't... suffer enough? Or signal against her abusers enough? Like YES, I will say there's a point where a victim can cross lines and become complicit to varying degrees in their own situation — she herself all but admits this — but unless we're going to talk specifically about those instances of dubiousness, it seems as if you're just blaming her for trying to make space for herself to breathe and not be miserable every waking moment of her... *checks notes*... forced servitude in the regime with absolute power over her life????? A victim trying to make the best of their terrible predicament is not a crime. And Glinda makes very clear that having to spread lies about Elphie is an abuse against her; it's a pain to her very soul. Saying it's her fault and that she wasn't forced into it is just... gross tbh.

But do not pretend for one moment that she is not actively complicit in this regime, with no real desire to stop it until it starts actively hurting her.

Yes, she got a lot of things that she wanted out of her arrangement. She is a complex character, after all. She's flawed. Certainly not the "perfect" victim. She also understands that Elphaba would want her to be safe and happy, and that silly (and outright wrong) rumors will not actually bring any more harm to Elphaba than what she already faces. It's a challenging situation, but Glinda chose to pursue a net positive approach: do her part to maintain her situation, make the best of it, and trust that one day Elphie would manage to set things right. She was incorrect — in the end, she had to be the one to do what Elphaba couldn't — but to claim that she was at fault for her own situation and could/should have done more to push back but just didn't want to enough (and moreover, that Fiyero somehow is NOT accountable for his much more violent, much more voluntary situation), is just perverse. The regime was actively hurting her the entire time; Fiyero certainly understands suffering and living one's best life at the same time, so don't act like it doesn't count for her.

He gave up his wealth, privilege and safety to ensure Elphaba escaped from the throne room and continued her cause (this isn’t about running away with Elphaba btw, he lost everything from the moment he pointed the gun at the Wizard). He was ready to die for her in the Corn Field scene. I don’t know what more you want him to do to prove that he was not shallow and he wouldn’t die for his cause in the exact same way Elphaba was prepared to?

He acted on spontaneous desire, as he always does, and is a nihilist who never gave a shit about any of the things (or people) he cast to the wind to begin with. "He lost everything" — and you expect me to find that brave and romantic, I take it? I don't. Throwing caution and care aside to run off and have a passionate night with the object of his affects isn't WRONG — and I've never said that it is — it's foolish and selfish and impulsive. And as I explained many times: I think it's cool that he's like that. But please do not expect me to accept your premise that these actions were deep and selfless. The actions of a depressive with nothing left to lose, recklessly pursuing the one and only object of obsession that keeps him going — irrespective of all other considerations, even hers — is actually shallow and selfish. It isn't a crime to act on passion or desperation or whatever, and as I've said, I think it's really interesting on multiple levels. Just because he's shallow doesn't mean he doesn't have layers; just not many. We can acknowledge his motives as essentially selfish and still respect that he defended her. I think we should be a little more critical and ALSO account for the consequences of his actions in ways that he did not. Why is that such a controversial suggestion?

Fiyero is the only character of the trio to put thoughts into his actions. He is the only one who doesn’t immediately act on his impulses.

Hard disagree. Like yeah, Elphaba and Glinda have their own brands and moment of impulsivity too — I wrote about it in my original post — but no, Fiyero does not think through shit. He doesn't think about the potential consequences of denouncing the rumors about Elphie; Glinda has to temper his impulse to do so. He doesn't think about the potential consequences of abandoning Glinda; for never cared about either his own safety or hers, only Elphie's. If you assume he joined in the army to be a double agent, then he clearly didn't think through or care about all the violence he was going to have to commit.

I'm not saying he isn't clever — his thoughtlessness is not a function of lacking intelligence, but of lacking concern — and I'm not saying he's reactive to denigrate him. Things happen around him, and if it's something that ignites his passion he acts boldly and fearlessly, with zero concern for anyone or anything outside of that moment. When he makes "plans", they're all very ad hoc and making resourceful use of situations that he absolutely did not (and could not) have planned for. Which is neat! Some find that bold, spontaneous, "she's all that I care for in this world" intense personality type romantic. I'm not one of them, but I can see the appeal; as I've acknowledged. I think it's a bit sad that he behaves that way tbh: because it speaks to his pretty hollow existence, as Elphaba herself identified.

[Wicked Act II spoilers]

[edited for tone and clarity of purpose, apologies for initial crudeness and frustration]

Okay, obviously I'm biased, but I'm gonna need the Fiyeraba shippers to please set a lot of your people straight about some things. I've seen way too many people trying to say that Glinda is just a selfish bimbo and that Fiyero is a virtuous and selfless figure more worthy of Elphaba's love. I'll set aside for now the idea of "worthiness" in this context. But let's start off with Fiyero joining the Wizard. Hoo boy...

Yes, he was initially somewhat less tolerant of the propaganda against Elphaba than Glinda was; yes, he was secretly trying to find her so he could run away with her or whatever. But honey: those facts DO NOT fully absolve his actions as the Wizard's top officer, or selfish recklessness throughout Act II. I see so many popular threads and posts romanticizing and whitewashing with "oh but he didn't REALLY join the Wizard, he just pretended so he could try to get to Elphie! It's all for love, and he sacrificed everything for her!" As if the literal captain of the literally fascist forces responsible for the oppression of Animals wasn't equally responsible for said oppression?? Hello? Fiyero really didn't think of seeking out Elphaba in ANY other way that DIDN'T involve becoming *checks notes*... the trusted leader of the troops committing all the abuses she's fighting against in the first place???? Like it's cool and all that he helped with Brrr, and it's all well and good that he planned on betraying the Wizard as soon as he found Elphaba (which took literal years, so I guess we're left to assume he was prepared to just keep doing fascism indefinitely if she didn't show up????), but uh... it's kind of concerning to how eager some of you are to make excuses for this dude volunteering as the head of the Ozian Gestapo??? smdh

He didn't accomplish anything from it either, by the way — like yeah, we get it, he did everything he did whilst silently fantasizing about running away with the Witch he was being paid to hunt. Fine. But I can't be the only one who doesn't buy that as an actual excuse???? Like, guys: nobody forced him to join the fascist army — even with crazy ulterior motives. He wasn't coerced into it; it wasn't his only choice or anything. Searching for Elphaba did not somehow compel him to go and volunteer to follow (or to give!) orders in the name of the dictator who was trying to have her assassinated the entire time. He could have just not done all that. (Genuinely so curious how the second film plans on covering that material tbh)

Glinda made several questionable decisions that can be (and have been) debated, but she is still very unambiguously a victim. Her position in the Wizard's regime was foisted upon her. There are things we can discuss, but I find that many folks need reminding that Glinda would undoubtedly have been disposed of (or worse) if she failed to make herself useful. I mean hell: she wasn't even supposed to meet the Wizard in the first place — she was only there because of Elphie. If she'd tried to resist, it would have immediately gotten her labeled the Witch's accomplice. As soon as she'd chosen not to get on the broom, her fate was out of her hands, and all available options were varying degrees of horrible.

That's not the case with Fiyero. He went to the Wizard all on his own; no one ever cornered or forced him into it. Thinking Animals are people, and having a crush on Elphaba, simply did not stop him from carrying out the regime's orders — for years. It's not clear exactly how long he's been captain at the start of Act II, but the clear implication is that he's been a soldier for most of the time skip. I've seen Fiyeraba accounts with headcanons about him acting as a double agent, secretly doing stuff to help Animals — and that's a great idea, it would indeed serve to make a lot of his actions way more palatable — but until we actually get to SEE some of that (maybe they'll add it for the movie version of Act II; we'll have to see), there is nothing in the story to suggest that. He certainly didn't do a damn thing for all those Animals who were enslaved and caged in the Wizard's palace — and we don't see a single other Animal outside of there in Act II, so as far as we know Fiyero has participated over those years in the near-total removal of Animals from Ozian society. In the name of "finding Elphaba". Not fighting for her cause. Just finding HER. For HIMSELF.

It's fine to have a ship you like, obviously — and there is genuinely a lot to like about Fiyeraba, I don't dislike the idea of them as a couple or as friends — but come on guys: please stop those out there idealizing Fiyero as somehow a clear "morally-superior" alternative to Glinda, lol. The dude had power, access, and opportunities, for years, that he could have wielded in any number of really selfless, revolutionary ways. He didn't. And I propose (apparently controversially): he simply didn't want to. And that — at the end of the day — is (much as some would like to deny it) true to his character. He always WANTED to be self-absorbed and shallow, and all his actions are consistent with that. Elphaba saw depth and discontentment in him, yes: but (and I cannot stress this enough) when given the chance, he channeled that in the wrong direction. He didn't confront that and become a better person — for the most part he just displaced and projected it onto Elphaba as an object of obsession, and put on an even thicker pretense than before.

All his actions — regardless of the complexity he has deep down — are those of a man who never gives one fuck about anything or anyone, except (kinda sorta) Elphaba. But even then: at no time does the care he has for her seem to extend to caring about any of her wants or needs outside of sexual validation from him, or how she might feel about his actions, or indeed the impacts of those actions upon her, her cause, or anyone or anything else. I don't think it should be all that controversial to say: he doesn't think through the wider repercussions of anything he does — thoughtlessness is just one of his core character traits. He doesn't think ahead or see meaning in anything outside of what can temporarily excite him, in the moment. I think people place a little too much weight on Elphaba clocking him with regard to his internal pain, and seem to expect (understandably of course) that she is not only right, but moreover that he will grow from that in a positive direction, based on her influence.

But he doesn't. If anything, we get a surprising inverse: he pretty much proves her wrong. Not to say he didn't have hidden depth and all that, like she said: but his hypothetical heart of gold proves not to really amount to much in practice. He doesn't grow out of his shallowness and his self-centeredness: he grows into it in a way that he hadn't quite yet in school. Where once he was only masking an internal listlessness, after he's been cracked open by Elphaba he decides to be genuinely self-absorbed and deeply shallow, not just coasting by. He performs in new ways — as a soldier, eventually as a "fiancé", etc. — but by Act II we meet a Fiyero who has staked the last remaining shred of humanity in him on the vain pursuit of the only object of his desire that has ever been unavailable to him, and firmly chosen to say to hell with everyone and everything else.

When put to the test, Fiyero sacrifices Glinda, the Animals, and all else that Elphaba actually cared about, to pursue his own unresolved crush from college. Mostly to get in her pants, really — as harsh as I'm sure that sounds. But let me be frank: that is literally all he ever accomplishes in the show. He gives her dick one time, and one of his castles, and that's it. That's the culmination of his years trying to find her — years in which he actively worked as one of the stormtroopers (or even the one commanding them) committing untold crimes against Animalkind (who, again, it seems have been all but erased from Oz by Act II): y'know, the very crimes Elphaba sacrificed her life to try and stop????? He spent the most important time of his life — of his own free will — being a fascist soldier, but he "did it for her" somehow, so according to some, it's perfectly fine. Heroic, even. Yikes??

But let's make something very clear (since my original version of this post caught a lot of flak, including slurs and other rudeness):

I like Fiyero. I find his role extremely interesting (I could do a whole dissertation on him, but I'm especially a fan of the way his proving Elphaba's assessment of him wrong presents a fascinating parallel and contrast with Glinda, which I think is lost on a lot of people). But PLEASE stop with all the misguided Glinda slander and idealization of Fiyero. By all means, thirst! But don't give me all this bullshit about him deserving Elphaba more, or being super deep, or being really principled or noble or whatever else. He does have layers, and quite intriguing ones, but his insides are straw — he isn't meant to have some deep, overwrought emotional core or motivations; he has passions that he acts upon when given the chance. That's it. And that's fine. Actually kind of refreshing in a story rooted in simple children's fantasy but rife with intensely complicated personalities. Fiyero makes it his mission to represent denial of depth and embrace of raw, spontaneous desire — and I for one love that, and wish others appreciated it.

And in all seriousness, shipping wars aside: by the end of the story, it's Glinda who is ultimately vindicated, and has — for all her faults — made the necessary choices to fulfill Elphaba's wishes, bring down the regime, etc. And all that despite herself. She's miserable: not just because of the mistakes she made, but because of her correct moves as well. Fiyero is simply not — and could never be — that person. And that's okay! Like I said: I am not anti-Fiyero. Fiyero's willingness to throw it all away for the sake of sheer, overriding passion is a huge part of what people like about him, of course — and it's an obvious factor in the attraction between him and Elphaba, because she has her own flavor of that impulse as well — but I'd actually argue that it's not romantic, it's his fatal flaw. And thematically that's fantastic! But I just don't believe that it somehow means he "deserves Elphaba more" because he "gave up his life for her" or whatever. In part because NOBODY truly "deserves" Elphie tbh, not 100% (and I question anybody who claims otherwise), but ultimately because I don't accept the idea that his fleeting acts of passion make up for all the shit leading up to them (or even proceeding after them tbh). At least Glinda managed to do what Elphaba always wanted in the end — but I would die on this hill even if Gelphie didn't exist.

You don't have to agree with my analysis of Fiyero and his choices, relationships, etc. — that's fine. What isn't fine is trying to portray Glinda as some kind of spineless traitor whore for the Wizard and Fiyero as a conscientious hero who earned Elphie through self-sacrifice. That's just not the story that was written. It's WAY messier and more interesting than that.

[the-kr8tor]

Yk what I think would be really cute. Hobie with a florist reader. Hobie’s a street performer who finds his little spot right outside readers shop. He sees reader come every early morning to open her shop and how she closes it every night. He needs to talk to her🙏🙏🙏

Thank you for this cute prompt! I hope you like it ❤️😊

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 1.5k

Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, CW injury, shy! Reader, lovestruck! Hobie, fluff!

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Hobie's soulful song echoes during the early mornings until night falls. Every other week you see him strum the same cherry red guitar right outside your shop for almost two years now. You greet him whenever you open your little corner flower shop, and you murmur a shy goodbye to him every night when it's time to close for the day. And without fail, he always asks you for permission to play in front of your shop, and without a second thought, you always say yes.

Throughout your day, he stands there right outside your window, singing and performing to his heart's content. Sometimes you think he does it just for the love of performing, one day you'll ask him. But for now, you'll gladly toss him a few quid here and there whenever you go out to water the flowers displayed outside. It's your way of saying thank you for always helping you take out the pots from inside and carry deliveries for you even though you haven't asked him to do so. And you always hand him a cup of coffee straight from your own coffee pot, you always tell him that you made too much for today, an excuse to casually converse with the handsome punk.

Hobie always sees you open the shop thirty minutes early, always humming a soft tune as you carry bundles of sweet smelling flowers. He thinks you're as pretty as the flowers you sell, much sweeter too as you always make time to greet him bashfully. The coffees and occasional pastries you hand him with a gentle smile are always a highlight of his day. One day he'll talk to you, not the casual conversation of ‘how was your weekend?’ or ‘how’s business?’ but an actual conversation that he hopes would blossom to a friendship, or maybe more as he glances at you from his usual spot whilst you're watering your flowers that are on display.

“Is that new?” He asks, interrupting your soft humming. “The gardenias, they look a bit different, innit?”

Your smile brightens up the whole street. “You noticed! it's a new type.” Pointing daintily at the petal, you beam at Hobie, finding that he's already smiling at you, his hands paused from playing his music. “See, the petals are bigger than the usual ones, and they smell sweeter too.” Plucking one, you purse your lips together at what you're about to do.

You cross the distance towards him, handing Hobie the flower as you shyly look at him through your lashes. “Here.”

Hobie grins, hands suddenly clammy as he looks into your eyes. “It's mine?”

“Yeah, it's a gift, Hobie.” Your heart threatens to jump out of your chest.

“Thank you, love.” Plucking the flower from your grasp, his warm hand lingers briefly against your own. He has decided that he's going to make a move when you close the shop later. Bringing the flower to his face, he lets the sweet scent waft over his nose. “You're right, it's as sweet as you.”

You chuckle, face warming up from his comment. “Thanks, Hobie.” Without thinking, you nudge his shoulder with your fist, like a guy joking with his mate. You internally cringe to oblivion. “I–I gotta head back.”

Hobie can't help the grin on his lips, absolutely endeared by you. “Sure, love.”

You bounce nervously on the balls of your feet, before heading back inside. “right, bye.

Then, his spidey senses suddenly kick in, sending his adrenaline into overdrive. “Shit, not on my day off.” He guesses that the spider band needs his help. Tucking the flower inside his vest pocket, and with one last look at you through the window, he bolts off into an alleyway.

—

Your hands play with a silky ribbon, rolling it around your fingers then unraveling it again. You're bored out of your mind, all the orders for today have been sent out, and your duties all checked. As you stare out into the distance, elbow perched atop the counter and looking at the same spot Hobie's supposed to be in, you wonder where he went. You saw him sprint off an hour ago, maybe there's an emergency? You're starting to worry that he's not alright or having an awful day.

Placing your chin atop your palms, you watch people pass by the shop, hoping that something happens or you'll die of boredom. Then you see it, a red and blue flash coming straight at you.

Eyes widening, it gets bigger and bigger. You duck under the counter with a yelp. Glass shatters and bursts into the tiny shop, sending shards to clatter around you.

“Wanker!” You hear a curse from behind the counter.

Peeking over, you see someone lying down on the floor, groaning and cradling his shoulder. Realization hits you when you recognize him as the same masked vigilante you keep seeing on the news.

“Spider-Man?” You mumble, legs wobbly from anxiety. “Are you okay?” He freezes in place, shoulders stiff as he slowly looks over his shoulder. “Are you in shock?” With a bit of courage, you dredge through the broken glass to walk over to him. “I have some bandages, but I don't know if that'll help much.” Wringing your hands together, you see the eyes of his mask widen.

“Lo—” he clamps his mouth shut, leaping back to his feet within a split second. Clearing his throat, he shifts his weight from foot to foot. “Are you alright?”

His voice is much more high pitched than you thought it would be. And he's taller in person too, just like someone else you know.

“Yeah, I'm fine. I ducked.” The awkwardness permeates through the air of your broken down shop. “I can't say the same thing for my shop though.”

“Shit,” He lifts a foot up after noticing that he's stepping on a rose. “Sorry, I'll— fuck, I'm sorry.” His gloved hands hover around you, not knowing if he should comfort you with a hug or leave you alone.

You sniff, eyes tearfully looking at your ruined hard work. Putting on a brave face, you smile at him. “I–It's okay, I have insurance.”

“I—” A roar echoes from somewhere, interrupting him. “It's the lizard, I have to…” he points at the green smoke billowing out from the rooftops a few ways ahead.

“Okay,” you nod, smiling nervously at the vigilante. “Be careful, Spider-Man.”

He takes a step forward, but then goes back to face you. “I'll come back and help fix this.”

“You really don't have to.” You wave your palms in front of you, then you unexpectedly take his hand, squeezing it once as you give him your sweetest smile. He smells weirdly of gardenias, it has you smiling even more. “Just beat the crap out of the lizard for me.”

Chuckling, he squeezes you back before reluctantly letting go. Who knew that his other persona would get to hold your hand before his civilian self did. “I will, for you.” Raising his hand, he swings away.

Looking around your shop, you should've been careful of what you wished for. You're just glad that Hobie left before this all happened, or he might've been caught in the crossfire. As you grab a broom, you start your clean-up while you dial your insurance company. You're sure that you availed the villain slash hero accident in the insurance.

—

The sun is just about to set when you finally got to talk to an insurance agent about your predicament. Sighing, there's still so many shards of glass on the floor, not to mention all the crushed flowers and broken flower pots that are scattered all over the shop. Your cleanup wasn't very effective since it's just you and a single broom. With a sigh, you grab the broom again, sweeping relentlessly as the breeze passes by the broken windows. You definitely need something to cover it up.

As you sweep, you spot a familiar pair of boots coming your way from your peripheral. You crane your neck, sighing in relief when you see Hobie trying to catch his breath.

“Hobie.” You beam at him, and he smiles back, hands reaching for you. “What are you doing here?”

“I heard.” He grasps at your elbow, calloused fingers squeezing you lovingly, heart aching at the state of your flower shop. “Are you hurt?”

“No, I'm fine.” You hold onto the top of his hand, thumb brushing along a bandaid on the side of his palm. Looking down, you see a dozen or so bandaids on his arms and hands. “Shit, did you get caught in the fight?” Taking his palms, you worriedly glance all over his tiny cuts.

Hobie chuckles, shaking his head as he makes you look at him with his index lifting up your chin. “I'm good, love.” He pats at his leather vest, where the gardenia you gave him rests. It's a bit beaten up from the looks of it, but it's fully intact. “My lucky charm saved me.”

Exhaling from the relief, you haven't noticed that you're still holding onto his hand. “I'm glad my flower protected you.”

“I heard it's a new kind of gardenia.”

“Capable of saving you, I heard.”

The two of you stare at each other under the glow of the sunset, savouring the peaceful moment.

Numerous footsteps suddenly come your way, prompting you to look at the group of punks smiling at you while holding onto cleaning supplies and the biggest tarp you've ever seen.

“I also heard that you need help cleanin’ up. Brought some extra hands.”

[solarpunkani]

Things To Do To Maintain Hope In These Trying Times

Okay so look. This isn't the desireable outcome for me and my fellow solarpunks, but I personally find that I have two options right now--panic and wait for the worst; or dream of, hope for, and work towards the best that I can manage. And I prefer that second option. Is a single individual going to be able to remold the societal systems we find ourselves in, reshape the fabric of our government and turn everything for the better in the next four years? If someone can, it's not me.

But what I can do is do stuff to make things better, lighter, and more hopeful for myself and my community around me, through actions big and small. So here's what I plan to do, or hope to take on, to keep myself from absolutely doomspiraling. And if this list helps you, inspires you to take up an action I'm doing or to try something completely different, by all means that's amazing! What's more solarpunk than inspiring others to be more solarpunk?

Anyways

1: Trash Cleanups and Other Volunteering

I joined a mutual aid group a few months back and lately we've been doing a lot of trash clean ups, which I find really fun! It also helps feel like I'm making a tangible, helpful difference in my community--the areas look nicer for humans, there's less litter issues for plants and animals--it's just a general improvement! I have recently found nothing gets me fired up quite like a trash cleanup these days. I would also like to join more volunteering/mutual aid groups in the area, I'd just have to find ones that fit my current work schedule (and aren't a huge commute to and fro). Maybe someday this year I'll get the courage (and time) to join the Food Not Bombs in my city for a few events!

Maybe picking up trash at parks and ditches and intersections isn't going to improve the entire nation's situation, I'll never claim that it would. But improving the world around you, even a little bit, can help get the ball rolling for other changes--maybe people will start using a park more once its cleaned up, maybe native plants will reclaim that ditch and create a new habitat, maybe people will see us cleaning and see our flag and check out other stuff our organization does! Bit by bit, we're contributing to a brighter, cleaner future.

Maybe I'll get the courage to clean up some trash on my own, who knows.

2: Make Stuff With My Hands

This covers a lot of things, and not always a physical thing to hold. Maybe it's crocheting little plushies, or hats and cardigans, or anything I feel like to accomplish something. Maybe I'll learn to sew more things, or how to embroider. Maybe I'll draw, or write more short stories, or work on my longer projects.

Sure, some things can be made to give away or donate, or can be made with a specifically solarpunky end goal and message. But honestly, even if I'm not writing solarpunk short stories or drawing solarpunky art, if I'm writing or drawing anything it helps bring me hope--and brightens the day of my friends who enjoy it too!

3: Gardening and Sharing

It's winter as I'm writing this, which means its about time to dive headfirst into garden planning and seed starting! Even the process of watching something grow from a tiny little seed to a fully-grown plant brings me hope, and every different kind of plant gives hope for a different reason! My pollinator garden helps me take action to assist the native pollinator species by giving them a place to feed and grow, and the more kinds of native plants I provide the more habitat I create for them! And the fruits and vegetables I grow bring a sense of accomplishment with each harvest, and satisfaction as I share them with family, friends, and neighbors! I am still chasing the high of sharing bowls and bowls of tomatoes and peppers with my cul-de-sac.

In addition to my own personal garden, my volunteering group is looking into adopting an abandoned community garden and bringing it back to life! If we can (still waiting for approval), it'll bring access to fresh veggies and herbs to the nearby community, and if it goes well we may even try to take up more around town! I'm really, really excited about this project!!

Maybe sharing produce from my garden will inspire my neighbors to create their own (I'm already lowkey claiming credit for inspiring one neighbor to start growing tomatoes last year), and share their extra produce, and inspire more people to garden! Maybe talking about my pollinator garden and sharing seeds with my friends and coworkers will create more interest, and more habitat for for local creatures! Maybe if I yap about milkweed and tree snags hard enough, people will see the expanses of grass on the sides of the road differently, or find a different species to advocate for!

Then of course there's the possibility of guerrilla gardening. While there are a lot of reasons I haven't taken it up super hard yet (not finding good sites, not having a lot of money for throwaway seeds, not wanting to be a black woman in the south doing 'weird stuff' on the side of the road, etc), maybe I will. In any case, I have brought up the idea of scattering wildflower seeds at some of the sites we clean up to my volunteering group--if that idea gets taken up, that could in a sense be guerrilla gardening, right?

4: Clean My Goddamn Room

"Ani what does cleaning your room have to do with hope in these trying times" Clean room, clean mind, more room to start seeds, less environmental stress. Maybe just doing a few chores when I'm feeling anxious can help me take time to think things through instead of downspiraling, or can help me work my way through a plot hole in a story, or think of a new project to take up.

Maybe for you guys its not 'cleaning your room,' maybe its some other task. Sometimes doing a small, mundane task for yourself can give you the vibes and energy to take up another challenge!

5: Encouraging Others

I've said it before and I'll say it again, is there anything more solarpunk than encouraging other people to be more solarpunk?

Even if you aren't waxing poetic about the values and virtue of the solarpunk movement, being a source of hope and light for others can do a surprising amount to get things done! For example, if I personally can't muster the courage to go to an FNB event or a rally, or if something comes up and I suddenly find myself unable to garden this year or keep doing trash cleanups, if I--through talking about my hobbies or sharing resources on how to start or just existing and vibing with my gay little NPC bounce and chatting about sunflowers in a checkout line--inspire five other people to take up an action, that's five more people taking up an action. And that action can lead to them doing more and more, bigger and better things. If I help a friend feel better when they're feeling down, maybe they'll have the energy to help others, who'll then help others, and help make the world just that much brighter! Even if the action is unrelated to what I personally am doing, it'd still be a beautiful and amazing thing! If me sharing my crochet projects inspires someone else to take up leatherworking or sculpting or woodworking, that's still more creative energy in the world! If me talking about native wildflowers burgeons an interest in native trees, or grasses, or hell even something like green building design or community planning somehow, that's someone developing an entirely different skillset than I could ever imagine, which can be used to do amazing things!

I'm not gonna pretend like its going to be all sunshine and rainbows from here on out! We're still talking about the person who literally refused to leave the house yesterday because she was so anxious something might happen, after all. But if I'm given a choice between wallowing in misery and anxiety and despair, or doing anything I can--even the smallest things--to make things a little bit better and brighter for those around me? I know what my choice is.

[stardustamaryllis78]

By taking out the Archdragons, Aaravos removes anyone from being able to contact the Cosmic Council. For example, there would be no one left to be able to tell them that Callum is a human Primal Mage.

Obviously, it would cause big issues for Callum if they were to find out he was a human Primal Mage. And with the Archdragons now dead, it gives way for humans to freely be able to learn Primal Magic again without fear.

You can't tell me that Rex wouldn't have dobbed in Callum had he had known he was a Primal Mage. He knew he had a Primal Stone and could therefore do magic, but he did not know he was a Primal Mage. Rex still refers to Aaravos as Betrayer for his work helping humans so he very much still has his anti human bias.

As for Domina, a reminder that she said this when first referring to Ezran.

Now yes, she does end up friendly with Ezran but she still looks down upon humans with this being her immediate reaction. (I can't be the only one who found it weird that she gave her life for them in the end.)

Now for Zubeia. Remember this:

If she somehow wasn't still somewhat pro Order, why would she say "First Elves"? Remember, these are still the same people who had Leola murdered for kindly giving magic to humans after Sol Regem dobbed her in. Why does Zubeia look upon them so fondly?

One thing I also found kind of weird is how Ezran says that Callum is the first human Primal Mage in centuries, whereas Callum says that he is the first human Primal Mage.

So which is the truth?

Well, this goes into theory territory but I believe at some point, there was a time that humans did learn and understand Primal Magic but they were killed by the Cosmic Council. I really don't believe Callum would be the first human to figure out Primal Magic after all this time, especially after Ezran's comment. That just really doesn't make any sense.

Aaravos is the creator of Dark Magic and the one who suffered most at the hand of the Cosmic Council. Does Dark Magic perhaps protect humans from the Cosmic Council at the cost of "compromise"? And Aaravos doesn't even really even control Dark Mages very often at all via this "compromise" because otherwise he could have easily just controlled Viren instead of working with him. Same with Callum in season 4 instead of just roasting the cast and then dipping.

Its an interesting topic I hope we get the answer to at some point. But ultimately, Aaravos has now made it so there are no more people that can dob Callum in as a Primal Mage. And human Primal Mages are now free to roam again.