#if someone has been triggered there's certain patterns

[inniave]

loving statistics vs hating having to manually scrobble albums

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + fourteen

authors note: swear this was the chapter that never fucking ended. it's essentially part one because even with how long it is, i still have a lot to cover. 😩

anywayssss, some foreshadowing, a ton of fluff, and some long awaited moments below.

if any cw/tw’s are missed, please let me know, and i will add them!

cw/tw: fluff, angst, smut

song inspo: ‘looking through your eyes’ by leann rimes

masterlist

words: 15k (sorrows, sorrows, prayers)

“Did they hurt?” The question is asked while sitting on top of Roman’s lap, the default seat for her, it seems, whenever she’s in his presence. Her fingers ghost over his inked skin, slightly fascinated by the intricacies of the design. Tribal. A nod to his heritage and his story.

Like most, if not all things with Solana, he answers truthfully. “Not really, but I have a high pain tolerance, so it’s hard to say.” For some reason, that makes her frown a bit. Was that a natural inherited thing or some level of tolerance built up from years of said pain? “Do you want any?”

She nods, tracing one of the patterns with her finger. “In Mexican culture, Hummingbirds represent many things. Strength. Love. But, the thing my mom always focused on and stressed to me is they’re also messengers from the spirits in heaven. That…they remind us of lost loved ones.” Her shoulders lift a little. Small, sad smile on her face. “Sometimes, I think I’d like to get one tattooed on me. Like…like a tribute to her, but then I think about the needle and don’t know if that could trigger me somehow.”

It could trigger from a couple different angles, but namely her trauma with knives as well as her history of self-harming. But, Solana is certain Roman already recognizes this, thus her not going into specifics. “I don’t know. I’ll��.I’ll think about it some more.”

Roman nods, offering, “if you decide to get it, I’ll go with you.” 

It’s a thoughtful gesture, not entirely surprising. Solana is starting to recognize there’s very little the man underneath her wouldn’t do for her. 

Appreciatively kissing his cheek, she murmurs, “thank you.” Biting on her lip, she foolishly tries to see if she can get something else out of him. “Speaking of going….”

Roman chuckles. “I’m not telling you.” He rolls his eyes as she pouts almost, his thumb going to her cheek, the cut almost entirely healed. “You’ll find out in a couple hours.”

It’s been almost a week since the gala, and the temperature has settled tremendously. Roman still doesn’t like thinking about it, thinking about how he lost his fucking shit but mostly at the fact that Solana was attacked. 

He’s about to start having someone with her at all times. Even in the bathroom. 

Roman has also noticed there seems to be some conflicted emotions on Solana’s end regarding what happened in the bathroom. Namely because she caught wind of Wes injuries, injuries that are truly tame compared to what Roman would have done and will do once he gets his hands on that son of a bitch.

But, he is him, and Solana is her. They are very different people. She is gentle where he is hard, so while there is still that adrenaline and proudness she was experiencing at defending herself as well as she did, he can see it’s something that’s bothering her.

He’s tried to bring it up, but she shuts down, so he’s left it alone out of respect.

But, with her birthday being tomorrow and them leaving in a couple hours for their trip, he’s hopeful getting away will be good for her. For them. 

She then asks a bit of a silly question considering who she’s talking to. Roman plans for every little thing, from the most major detail to the thing that most likely won’t happen but still serves as something that needs to be accounted for. “Is….is it at least domestic? I don’t have a passport.” 

“Yes, you do.” He opens the first drawer of his desk, pulling out a small Louis Vuitton passport cover and hands it to her.

Solana looks down with a gasp seeing that she, in fact, has a passport. A brand new, unstamped passport. “How did you—”

An easy answer. “I’m a billionaire, Solana. There’s nothing I can’t buy or make happen.”

It makes sense, but it doesn’t do much to chip away the tremendous amount of guilt and how bad she feels in learning that Roman’s birthday was back in May, and no one said or did a thing about it or acknowledged it.

She can still feel her stomach dropping when she asked a few days about when his is, and he calmly informed that it had already passed. That hurt. Truly. To know what should be a special occasion was essentially treated as any other day.

His explanation made sense. He expressed not liking to acknowledge his birthday because of what happened when he was 10. She can understand that. She does understand that, but it doesn’t make her feel any less sad at the fact that she didn’t even know it was her husband’s freaking birthday. 

Solana expresses said concern. “But…it’s….it’s not fair we’re doing all this for my birthday, and I didn't even know yours—”

“Hey—” He interrupts her, his hands cupping her face. “Don’t do that.” He pushes back some of her hair. “My story is my story. Not yours.” She opens her mouth clearly to protest or counter when his eyes take on a mischievous glint. “Besides, seeing you half naked most of the day for a week? Might as well be my fucking birthday.”

Solana rolls her eyes. He has a way of making her feel better in the most interesting and often raunchy sort of way. Blushing and smiling at his suggestive comment, she shrugs, admitting, “there are more bathing suits in my suitcase than clothes.”

“Good. The less clothes you have on, the better.” Her cheeks must be a red mess. Roman taps on her hip, gesturing for her to stand up. He also stands and takes her hand in his. “Come here. There’s something I want to show you.”

Solana looks down at her outfit which is most definitely nothing appropriate enough to leave the house in. “Are we leaving the house or—”

“No.” His answer is simple and to the point that she doesn’t really press him for more information as he guides her through the house. A frown does fall on her face, however, when she sees he’s taken her down the hall where he’d said construction was previously taking place.

It’s only then she finally asks, “what—”

“Close your eyes.”

Solana makes a face. “Roman, what are you—”

He steps towards her, pushing back her hair. “You know I don’t like repeating myself.” If she was anyone else, Solana is certain his tone would be much different. A lot darker, harsher. But, it’s not. Just….strangely calm. 

Blowing out a breath, she relents, realizing there’s not really an option for anything else. “Okay.” Shutting her eyes, she allows him to continue to guide her, stopping for a moment as she hears a door open. He directs her to walk through said opened door followed by a light switch, the presence of that light shining against her closed eyes. 

Solana feels him shift behind her, his arms snaking around her, mouth dipping to her ear. “Open em’.”

Solana doesn't need to be told twice, and as soon as they’re open, a gasp leaves her mouth. Naturally, she walks away from him, deeper into the room that has an open floor plan, walls almost entirely lined with white, empty shelves. Bookshelves. Against the walls and the cutout part of the room. Not to be confused with the other nook that’s occupied by seating, pillows, and anything else someone would need if indulging in reading or writing.

Walking further into the space, she sees another area clearly curated for another purpose. Art. A table to create on, two easels, countless art supplies all perfectly situated near the bay window that allows for natural sunlight. 

The perfect place to create. 

Taken completely back by the surprise of it all, Solana turns to Roman, stammering to ask, “is–is this for me?”

“You know it’s damn sure not for me.” He steps toward her again, gently pulling her against him. “You were outgrowing that space. And your journals are personal. They shouldn’t be kept at work.” His thumb brushes across her bottom lip. “They should be here. This is your home now.”

“Roman….” She looks around again, tears growing in her eyes. 

He continues to explain. “It would have been ready sooner, but when I found out you like art, I had them add that.” He gestures to the corner that has to be any artist's dream. “I’m not smart about a lot of that shit, so just let me know anything else you ne—”

He’s silenced by Solana practically jumping him, angling her body to face him as she wraps her arms around his neck. A hug, deep and sentimental. It takes him off guard for a second, Roman unused to such….affection.

But, the discomfort settles into something that almost feels natural. His hand on the small of her back as he chuckles. “I’m gonna take it that you like it then.” It’s not necessarily a question as much as an assessment. 

She gives a watery chuckle, pulling back and nodding. “I love it.” Her voice breaks. “No…..no one’s ever done anything like this for me before.” It goes without saying this doesn't include her mom, who Roman is almost certain did more for her than anyone ever could. Especially when she needed it the most.

Doesn’t mean he can’t do his part though. 

She swallows, whispering as he wipes away her tears. “Thank you.” 

“What I tell you about that, huh?” He ghosts his lips over hers, reminding yet again. “You never have to thank me for anything.” Roman kisses her forehead, seeing how her eyes shut from feeling content and partially overwhelmed. It brings a small smile to his face. “Happy birthday, Solana….”

________

“Oh my god….”

Roman doesn’t have to be looking up to know what’s caught Solana’s attention. It’s obvious by the way the SUV has come to a stop, shifting into park as they’ve clearly reached their destination.

And she’s clearly looking up at said destination. Well, the conduit to help them travel to said destination.

When he finishes sending out an email, one of the last before he goes into somewhat work blackout—because he never be fully disconnected—he looks up to see Solana still staring out the window. 

“Is that….is that a private jet?”

Smirking, Roman slides his phone in his bag and removes his seatbelt. “You really think I fly commercial?”

It’s not intended to come across as rude, and it isn't judging by her small smile. “They’re bigger than I imagined….”

“Mine is.” Double entendre, if he really wanted to make her blush, but he keeps it PG. For now. “I’m tall. Need the leg room.”

Roman exits the SUV at the same time the driver opens the door for Solana to do the same. He easily circles back around to her just in time for her to sling her small backpack on her shoulder and adjust her ball cap. In sneakers without any sort of height boost, she looks even tinier than she already is, especially compared to his massive build. 

Taking her hand, Roman asks, “you ready?”

She nods as he leads them over to the descended stairs where the pilot and two flight attendants stand outside, greeting them. The older man, Bob, he thinks, lifts his hat and nods respectfully in their direction.

“Mr. Reigns. Mrs. Reigns. Everything is just as you requested.”

Roman only gives a nod to acknowledge things being exactly as they should. His way.

He motions for Solana to walk up ahead of him, mainly so he can enjoy the view of her ass in the tight ass outfit she has on but also out of manners.

Manners he only seems to be able to find in her presence. 

She loiters a bit near the entrance, moving aide for him to also fully enter but still stands almost frozen, clearly taken back by the interior. 

“This is….”

“The best,” he finishes for her, tossing his bag on the closest beige sofa that lines both sides of the jet. Roman moves over to her, hand palming her ass as he dips his head to whisper in her ear. “I don’t accept anything less.”

She giggles against him, the sound hands down one of the best songs on the soundtrack when they’re interrupted by someone clearing their throat.

Momentarily considering murder for probably the fifth time today, Roman turns to see Paul standing at the bottom of the steps. Roman literally forgot this man was in the SUV behind them, coming to see them off.

Paul lifts his hand to shield his eyes from the sun, asking with all of the unease. “A word, please, my Tribal Chief?”

The automatic answer would be no if not for Solana turning around and placing her hand on his chest. A frequent gesture he never gets tired of. Any touch from her is always welcomed.

Her smile dips a bit as she asks with the same level of unease shared by Paul, “is—is it okay if I look around?”

Her question makes him scowl. Her asking him permission to do anything feels uncomfortable as fuck. “You don’t have to ask my permission for shit. Anything that’s mine is yours.”

His answer seems to ease her anxiety at least as she nods, kisses his cheek and starts to explore the rest of the jet. Roman’s eyes linger on her a bit before he switches his attention to his annoying ass head council.

Stomping down the steps with all of the agitation, he barks, “talk.”

Paul clears his throat, and Roman’s already regretting his decision to choose his Wise Man over his fine ass wife.

“Sir, I—I understand you wanting to take the girl—”

“Solana,” Roman corrects one time only. Because that was Paul’s one time referring to Solana as anything other than her name or his wife. “Her name is Solana.”

Paul swallows. “Of course.” He’s a quick learner, smartly running it back for a second, correct time. “I understand you wanting to take Solana away for her birthday, but is the timing really great? There’s so much work—”

“There’s always work to do, Wise Man. That’s why I delegated the appropriate tasks to cover the appropriate work while I’m gone.” It was a bit trickier than that as delegation has never been a preference for Roman. His ultimate preference is to always handle shit on his own. And truth be told, he made sure to sign off, approve, create, and orchestrate any major moves that needed to be done before leaving. The remaining tasks were split among Jimmy, Jey, and Rikishi. And he has no doubt they’ll be on top of it. Because as always, when it comes to business, the twins never miss. It’s just any other time they’re bumbling idiots who give Roman migraines from time to time. 

“Of course. Always so conscientious, my Tribal Chief.” Paul’s smile makes Roman want to turn and walk away yet again for the second time in two minutes. Granted, that’s his usual disposition when interacting with anyone other than his wife. “I just—for you to be out of the country for almost a week. Well, it’s just—”

“Wise Man.”

Paul’s eyes light up, and it has nothing to do with the sun that’s shining in his direction. “Yes, my Tribal Chief?”

“How long have I been the Tribal Chief?”

The answer is almost instantaneous, a small smile falling on Paul’s pudgy face. “Since you were eighteen-years-old.”

“How old am I now?”

“My Tribal Chief turned 39 on May 25th of this year.”

“And in all that time, how many vacations have I taken?”

There’s brief hesitation, eyes traveling for a brief second, searching for the answer. “N–none, my Tribal Chief.”

“Exactly.” Roman lifts his shades and sets them atop his head. “So, if I want to take a couple fucking days off to help my wife celebrate her birthday, then that’s what I’m gonna fucking do, and I don’t have to answer to a damn person about it. Because I feel like you’re questioning me, Wise Man, and I don’t get questioned. Is that understood?”

Paul’s fat cheeks are painted an ugly shade of red as he stammers out, “y–yes, my Tribal Chief.”

Semi pleased with the acquiescence, Roman turns around and calls out coldly, “only contact me for emergencies.”

Roman is almost certain Paul will be too scared shitless to risk his wrath with an outreach that’s only subjectively considered an emergency vs Roman’s definition. He’ll probably task Rikishi or the twins with the task. 

Roman would prefer their old man over them. Less antics and constant triggers for his anger.

The head of the table finds his wife still in the main section of the jet, sitting down on the sofa, legs pulled up under her, phone in hand. Hearing his return, she smiles, sharing, “I was just texting Naomi to make sure she grabbed Dulce’s favorite toy.”

Roman chuckles and walks over, joining her on the sofa. “The dog has a favorite toy?”

Smiling, she explains, “it’s the one she plays with the most. Her avocado.” Solana angles her body so she’s facing him more versus the other sofa that lines the other side of the plane. “Do—do you think she’ll be okay? We’ve never left her before.”

To be fair, Roman briefly thought about that. She’s so fucking little and still a puppy, so leaving her could be risky. But, he also knows that damn thing seems to always be hopping on Naomi and Bayley’s lap, so she should be fine.

“She’ll probably sleep the majority of the time we’re gone.”

Solana rolls her pretty eyes, her mouth curving into a small smile. “I’m serious, Roman.”

“So am I.” He sighs and brings his arm around her, pulling her into his side. “She’ll be fine, Solana. It’s not like we left her with Jey and psycho ass Nicki with their bad ass kids.”

Forever the saint, she pouts and lightly scolds him. “That’s not nice. I’m sure they’re not bad.”

“You ain’t met them yet,” Roman scoffs. “Why you think Jey always at our place?”

Smiling cheekily, she gently points out, “you said it’s because I keep feeding them.”

“That too.” Roman trails his finger up and down her upper forearm, her soft skin a contrast to his coarse fingertips. Her perfume, something sweet, vanilla, and gourmand doesn’t help him keep focus on the conversation nor the fact that she’s so close to him, their bodies touching him. His desire for physical contact, of any kind, with her has been heightened a bit in recent days. “That’s why you don’t feed fucking strays. Cause they keep coming back.”

Solana peers up at him, giggling, “you’re so mean to them sometimes.” Shifting her position so that her legs are laid out the opposite side of Roman, her back pressed against his side. His big arm is over her chest, her hands on his forearm. “I think….I think you like them more than you let on.”

“Really?” 

She nods, further explaining. “I don’t….I don’t think you would let them be as close to you as they are if you didn’t.”

Perceptive. Roman pegged that about Solana a while ago, when they first started writing, her previous preferred form of communication. She’s not entirely wrong. As fucking crazy Jimmy and Jey drive Roman, they’ve also been the two best and really only examples of friendships he has. Not to mention they’re family. 

“They’re….tolerable.”

She looks up at him, asking almost nervously, “and what am I?”

Such a good question that’s both simple and complicated. The easy answer is his wife. That’s just fact. Law. But the complex answer, the complex answer is that she’s so much more than that. That she’s become so much more than that. Where Roman finds himself craving her presence. A rarity for someone who typically avoids and shies away from social interactions like the plague.

Dipping his head to kiss her forehead, he answers in a low, steady voice, “my Lo’u Au.”

Her eyes flutter shut a bit as she murmurs, “it’s not fair you say things to me you know I can’t understand.” Roman watches her once again move around, this time sliding one leg over so that she’s sitting on his lap, straddling him. He doesn’t hesitate in moving his hands to the bottom of her ass, lifting her so she’s closer to him, her breast nearly touching his chest. Solana tilts her head to the side, whispering, “Yo siento muy bien contigo.”

Having her like this, so close against him, it doesn’t help that resolve, doesn’t do shit about the fact that his dick stiffens whenever she touches him. Like she is now. His eyes dip to her lips, so soft and full. “And what does that mean?”

Solana also seems to be on the same wavelength, her eyes also dropping to his mouth as she whispers with a small smile. “I’ll tell you when you tell me.”

Eyes shutting, Roman groans and tugs her even closer, her arms around his neck. “God, you drive me fuckin’ crazy.” Roman kisses her. Kisses her with all of the intensity and desire and borderline need he harbors for this woman.

And then she moans. She fucking moans in his mouth. His dick nearly fucking jerks as he stands up with her in his arms, Solana gasping and breaking the kiss to look around. “Roman….”

He needs to have his mouth on her, lips kissing the underline of her jaw as he brings them to the back of the jet, to the bed. He’s careful in how he lays her down, mindful of how she tugs on his shirt, pulling him on top of her and resuming their passionate kiss. 

Roman’s hands roam her body, but he pays extra attention to her breast, so big and soft, pillow soft under his hand as he kneads them, mindful of the way her nipples continue to harden under his touch.

“Roman….” Solana is breathing heavily, once again breaking their kiss, something he would otherwise be objected to if not for the two tiny words that leave her mouth. “Touch me.” 

His eyes widen a bit as he asks, almost unsure he heard her right. “What?”

Mouth parted, she licks her lips and again reiterates her previous request. “I—I want you to touch me.”

If not for not wanting to insult her intelligence, he’d remind her he is. He's touching her everywhere she’s previously admitted him access to. But, Roman would never do that nor is he stupid. He knows exactly what she’s referring to. And there’s suddenly a part of him that feels bad, wonders if she somehow thought that was the reason for him taking them to the bed. It wasn’t that. He just wanted privacy, wanted to give her that privacy. 

“Solana, I wasn’t—”

“Roman,” she says his name again, firmer, more committed almost to her request. “I trust you.” Three words. Three little words that pack such a heavy, emotional punch. “You’re…you’re going to have to when we finally…” She trails off, shaking her head. “Pl—please.” 

He shuts his eyes, jaw clenching. That one word alone coming from her is such a dangerous thing. Dangerous because it's incapable to say no to.

But, he doesn’t necessarily have to because her hand is on his, slowly moving it down from her breast, traveling down the span of her stomach and the top of her black pants. But instead of remaining there, Solana guides it under her waistband, her tour stopping when the palm of his hand presses softly on her mons pubis, still protected under the cotton of her underwear. Her eyes shut at this contact, but it’s when his fingers flitter near the space between her legs that she gasps.

His eyes snap to hers as he’s quick to ask, “do you want me to stop?”

And she’s immediately shaking her head ‘no,’ explain, “I’m just—not used to it.” She’s already so sensitive to his touch. Roman can’t even imagine what this level of sensitivity is going to look like when they go all the way. “It’s okay.” She’s again reassuring him, even spreading her thighs a bit, giving him better access.

Roman is hard as a fucking rock, but he taps into expert level self-control as he moves his other hand to her waistband, giving a slight tug. “Can I?”

She answers in a soft voice. “Yes.”

Solana lifts her hips as he slides her black pants down her shapely legs, his mouth practically watering to see and have so much of her soft skin exposed to him. He moves his hand to caress the skin of her inner thighs. She sighs, content, and this serves as more motivation to continue his efforts in following through on her task. 

Again, he’s making sure to catch her gaze. “Do….”

And once again, she partially takes him by surprise as she closes her eyes and instead of giving him the approval to remove the only remaining article of clothing keeping her covered from him, Solana takes her fingers to her underwear and pushes down, lifting her hips slightly until they're hooked around her ankles and kicked onto the floor.

Mouth previously watering, Roman feels a sudden, intense amount of dehydration. She’s completely bare and exposed to him, her cunt so smooth and pretty, lips glistening already just from their makeout.

If not for her trauma, he’d have already had this woman more times than he could count.

But, he’d especially already had her in his mouth. Licking his lips, he does his best to keep composure, maintaining the maturity of a grown ass man vs a horny ass teenage boy whose balls haven’t even dropped.

Once more, he asks, “are you sure?”

It might be overkill to some, but one thing’s for certain, he would never go this far without gaining her consent every step of the way. 

She answers, “yes.” 

Roman nods, starting his hand at the top of her belly, gradually teasing it downward until he’s touching her, long fingers gently caressing her lips, the tips of his fingers gathering some of her essence. “How you already this wet for me?”

It’s more rhetorical than anything, but it’s partially fueled with how her stomach caves in a bit just at that initial touch. Her being so responsive to just his hands does wonders for his ego but also fuels his burning to just make her feel good.

Roman uses long, slow strokes along the areas of her vulva, never taking his eyes off her face, mouth dropping open, eyes slamming shut and head craning back. Pleasure. She feels pleasure. That’s what he wants to see. All he wants to see.

There’s not an ounce of discomfort in sight.

“Roman…” Her moaning his name might be his new favorite song. So needy and wanton. It’s got his erection fighting for its life in his boxers. “Shit….”

He smirks a bit. “Must be good if I got you cussing, baby.” It’s evident in the way she becomes swollen underneath his expert touch, eventually exposing her clit. And it’s then that he brings his thumb to her clit, pressing softly, satisfied when she arches against the bed. “That’s it….”

Such light touches, not a finger entered into her yet, and she’s already so wet. Largely due to sexual deprivation and being touch starved. Of that, he’s certain. To be almost thirty and have never been touched as such as a woman seems almost criminal. He wants to give it to her though. Give her that experience. Give her all of the experiences. 

He works his thumb around her swollen clitoris, small circles, her growing wetness all the lube and slip he needs to work her good, in the way she deserves, in only how he can have her.

“Oh my god…” She’s starting to squirm against the bed, and he fucking loves it. Loves seeing how worked up he can get her. It makes the anticipation of actually being inside of her that much better. He plays around with different touches, different techniques, studying closely what seems to evoke the strongest physical reaction. A sort of a game, a way for him to learn her body, to learn what she likes. But also, for her to learn what she likes.

“You okay?” He checks in with her, seeing her nod ‘yes’ almost frantically. If not for the fact he can see speech is a bit difficult right now, he’d press her on actual words. But, he can extend some grace. “So fucking wet….” She’s a wet, soaking mess, pussy soaking his fingers, her thighs, and the bed under her. Not that he gives a flying fuck. Seeing her like this is better than he could have imagined, just a taste of what it’ll be like to be inside of her. 

But, it’s when he teases a finger near her opening, so wet and sticky that he clenches his jaw. Just that slight probing, and he can already tell how tight she is, can imagine that tightness gripping the mess out of his dick.

Roman carefully enters one finger and observes the way she tenses, whimpers, the way her cunt clenches against him. “Relax….” He coaxes her, talks her through it, allows her to adjust to the unfamiliar stretch while his thumb continues to play with her clit, never once stopping her pleasure train. 

And when she’s adjusted, he enters another finger, stopping there, not wanting to push her too far, recognizing how big this is for her. But when she shifts again, almost rocking against his fingers, Roman responds to her, moving in sync, staying along with her song and dance. He works with her, making the hitherto motion while his other fingers continue to rub and caress her into that higher room, that place of ecstasy. 

Roman can see it coming, can see her coming, see the way she starts to grip the sheets, the biting of her bottom lip.

“I’m—I’m—”

“Ride it out, baby. Let me see how pretty you look when you come on my hand.” His words of affirmation seem to take her over the edge, damn near her entire upper half arching off the bed, her body writing as she gives into the bliss, staying on that train to euphoria. 

Roman keeps his fingers inside of her just long enough to feel that fucking amazing sensation of making her come yet again, and he can’t help himself as he brings his soaked fingers to his mouth, tasting and licking off every bit of her. His eyes shut at her taste, just as fucking sweet as he imagined. 

God, he can’t wait to have this woman. 

Coming to, Solana sits up on her elbows a bit, looking down, becoming aware of just how messy things got. And she seems a bit embarrassed, offering what’s surely the start of an unnecessary apology. “I–oh my—I didn’t.”

Roman says nothing, just gets up and moves to the bathroom, grabbing a towel off the rack and bringing it to her. He’d clean her up himself, but he doesn’t necessarily trust himself to not try for take two.

Letting her handle it is the safest route, but he can work to dissuade any thought or feeling she might have that makes her think she did anything wrong.

“I’ll buy a new fucking mattress every damn day if it means I get to make you come like that.” 

Solana has cleaned herself and the bed as best she can as she reaches to slide her underwear back on. Roman has to push away his disappointment. She has such a pretty pussy. 

Her cheeks are red, partially because of what just occurred but also her naturally shy personality. “You’re really good at that.”

“I’m good at a lot of things, Solana.” He has every intention on eventually showing her just what those remaining things are, but time and place. 

He’ll be as patient with her as she needs. 

After Solana is all cleaned up, returned to a semi state of being adequately dressed, they fall into a sense of normalcy where she lays in bed, reading and writing a bit while he finishes up some work tasks on his laptop right beside her before she drifts off into a sleep that lasts longer than he was expecting.

He’s tempted to wake her when they start to descend, partially wanting her to look out the window at the clear, blue waters that he can admit are impressive looking. But, he decides against it, waiting until they’ve landed and are ready to exit the jet.

Gently shaking her shoulder, he stirs her, “Solana, wake up.” She does so relatively easily, pretty brown eyes blinking a little in confusion as he explains. “We made it.”

Those three words help bring her to a full state of consciousness. He smiles a bit seeing how she moves quicker than what’s probably necessary to get out of the bed and slide her shoes on, looking back at him and reaching for his hand.

Roman closes his laptop and does the same, taking her hand, guiding her out the jet. They’re both instantly met with an intense heat and radiating sun shining in their direction. They’re also met with the staff and security he made sure to have lined up and ready to go upon their arrival.  He walks out first, watching and taking her hand again as she follows him, face turned up in expected confusion. 

But, before she can ask anything, one of the men offers what may be a genuine smile. Not that Roman cares about that.

He flicks his gaze between the two of them. “Welcome to Isla Mujeres, Mr. and Mrs. Reigns….”

A loud gasp next to him is unsurprising, Solana almost spinning to look around, trying to process that she’s really standing on Mexican soil.

She eventually turns to him, eyes wide and then softening into something so warm and appreciative. “Roman…”

“It’s the only way I could get you to myself and away from my annoying ass cousins—” Once again, Roman is cut off by Solana throwing her body against his for a hug that results in him easily picking her up, her legs around his waist.. Similar to the embrace at the home library one. Emotional. Grateful. Happy.

She’s laughing a bit, even with tears burning her vision. “Thank you.”

Roman doesn’t correct her this time, just murmurs a ‘you’re welcome’ and kisses her temple. He  lets her back down, hand moving to her ass. “You’re gonna have to translate while we’re here though.”

Solana shakes her head. Such a small thing in exchange for such a major act of kindness. “That’s fine.” She holds onto his arm as the staff move to take their bags from the jet while security directs them to the SUV.

Solana is looking out the window almost the entire ride, captivated by the scenery, the landscape, the beauty of it all while he’s just focused on the beauty sitting right beside him.

She asks the driver something in Spanish, the answer putting an even bigger smile on her face. She turns to him, asking, “how long are we here for?”

“A week,” Roman answers, noticing the way her eyes light up even more. “Still think we shouldn’t have come?”

She rolls her eyes and playfully shoves her body against his, grabbing his arm and laying her head against his shoulder. “I just….I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

“You could never inconvenience me. I do what I want. You know this.” His lips linger near her hairline. “And I wanted to do this for you.”

“Well, I’m appreciative. So much. You….you don’t know how much this means to me.” 

He thinks he has an idea. 

The ride from the airport to the house is approximately twenty minutes, and just like the moment Solana stepped foot off the jet, she’s got that same look of marvel painted all over her pretty place at the property.

Roman, meanwhile, is just satisfied the pictures didn’t lie. If anything, they didn’t do it justice. 

She’s almost like a child on Christmas as she asks with excitement, “is this where we’re staying?” Before he can answer, she’s indirectly apologizing. “Roman, you didn’t have to spend so much money on this place. We’re only going to be here a week. We could have just—”

“I’m rich, Solana. I only do ownership.”

Her jaw drops again. “You bought this?” He nods. She scoffs, looking around, trying to process the fact that she’s technically standing on her property. “So….so we could come back?” 

“I don’t know how often I could come with you, but you’re welcome to come and go as you please.” It goes without saying she’d have hefty security detail as well as either Bayley or Naomi attending, but beyond that, Roman could never see himself denying her this. Denying her the opportunity to connect more with her maternal side since the paternal side has only ever caused her nothing but heartache.

Here, there’s a chance to rewrite the chapter. 

She walks over to him, holding onto his forearm, asking almost tentatively. “Can I look around the house?”

“How about we do this instead?” She looks genuinely curious as he explains. “If it’s regarding your safety, you ask. If not, you just do it.” Roman’s unsurprised by her unsure expression. “I don’t get to decide how you live your life. That’s all you.”

“Unless it could present a safety risk?”

“Exactly. Cause in that case, the answer is probably no.” A part of him dislikes having a caveat, but in the world they live in, with him being who he is, he can’t take any risks. He won’t take any risks. Not when it comes to her.

Ever.

Solana nods as if she understands better now. She slides her hand down, taking his with hers as she lightly tugs on his arm. “Come with me.”

It’s an easy request. There’s not much she could ask he’d say no to. If anything. 

Solana is just as amazed by the inside of the house as the outside, especially the kitchen, the first thing she gravitates to. Naturally.

“We have to go shopping,” she shares. “So I can cook.”

“Solana, you’re not cooking while we’re here.” She frowns, a pout almost on her pretty face. “We’re celebrating your birthday. The fuck I look like you making you cook on something that’s supposed to be for you? I hired a chef for us.”

Her frown softens a bit as she lays her hand on his chest. “You’re not making me do anything. I—I like cooking. You know this.”

“I know you do, but I want you to relax and enjoy yourself while we’re here.” His hands move down to her ass. “Starting with the pool in the back.”

A small smile grows on her face. “There’s a pool?”

He nods, imagining that sexy body of hers clad in one of those skimpy two pieces he told Bayley and Naomi to make sure she purchased plenty of. “I told you. Half naked, baby.” She giggles as he squeezes her ass and lightly pushes on his chest, separating them.

“Where’s our bedroom?”

He has to think about it for a minute. “Down the hall. Should be the first or second room on the right.” Again, she grabs his hand, guiding them based upon his directions. Directions that prove correct, Solana once again taken back by the luxury of it all. The room is damn near bigger than some apartments and provides direct access to the back of the house which houses the pool and hot tub.

“This is all so beautiful…..”

“Hmmm.”

Solana briefly turns from looking out the door when two of the guards bring her and Roman’s luggage into the room. She thanks them, while Roman just seems to glare at them to get them to leave immediately, which they do.

Once alone, she turns to Roman, “can we—” He doesn’t even have to correct her. She does it all on her own. “I—I want to go see the beach.”

He smirks. Assertiveness looks damn good on her. “Then let’s go to the beach.”

________

Roman is both surprised and unsurprised when Solana walks out the bathroom, a cover up partially preventing him from seeing whatever bathing suit she picked. And his disappointment must show as she murmurs, “I’ll take it off when we get there.”

Feeling like it’ll help her feel a bit better, less self-conscious, he informs, “it’ll just be us. I had the beach….cleared, if you will.”

Obviously confused, she wonders aloud, “how….how do you clear a beach?” Solana gasps, lowering her voice as she asks in an almost scared tone. “Did you….did you kill anyone?”

“Not today. Not yet, at least.” The way her eyes widen a bit makes him chuckle. “I’m Roman Reigns, Solana.” He walks past her, adding with all of the arrogance that he can without a doubt back up, “I always get what I want.”

Solana says nothing. Not that she needs to say anything. However, she notices then what Roman was messing with on the bed before she walked out the bathroom. “What is this?” She walks over, reaching for but not touching the camera. “You bought a camera?”

“I’ve had that for years.”

Curious, she less asks and more makes a simple statement, sharing, “I didn’t know you were into photography.”

He shrugs, almost indifferent. Dismissive. “It’s an interest. Haven’t really done much of it in a while.”

“You should,” she encourages. Solana would love to see and support him embrace a side of him that isn’t so deeply embedded in his work that seems never ending. “Especially while we’re here. It’s all so beautiful…”

“I could photograph you and get the same result.”

She smiles, looking away while admitting, “I—I don’t really like having my picture taken.”

“Too bad.” She looks back at him, Roman explaining. “That’s also an insecurity thing. I told you. I’m not letting you feed your insecurities.”

A part of her is grateful for that, grateful for him. Appreciative that he always seems to remind her of these things that she still struggles to notice or believe about herself from time to time. Like the fact that she is beautiful.

“Okay,” she relents, partially knowing it’s not like Roman will give in anyway. “But…but you can’t show them to anyone.”

“Solana, I don’t like sharing you with anyone as it is. You really think I’m trying to share some pictures?” It’s a fair, valid point. “No, I won’t show them to anyone.”

Pleased with the acknowledgement, the two finish getting ready and are out the door in less than 20 minutes. Given the fact that the property is more or less on the water, they opt, more Solana, asks to walk versus driving. Roman isn’t opposed. The beach is cleared, security is roaming the property, not to mention it’s a beautiful day.

Plus, he enjoys intentionally lagging a bit behind to enjoy the jiggle of her ass as she walks ahead of him.

Truly a win-win for all.

The minute she steps foot onto the sand, enters onto the actual beach, there’s a bit of a shift. Nothing negative. The complete opposite. Roman can sense her emotion growing, the reality of finally being in her mom’s home country truly settling in. 

He’s partially surprised by just how quickly she moves to the actual water, standing in the space where sand and ocean meet.

“My mom was right….” His gaze falls on her. “It’s so beautiful.” She steps forward a bit more, wind pushing the water closer as it grazes her feet. “I want to go in.” Another slight surprise, but not entirely. A part of the reason he’s been having her get in the pool was for this very moment, to lessen and minimize her fear so she could truly embrace this experience for all it can offer.

He nods but gestures to the camera bag. “Pictures first.”

She scowls a bit, and he chuckles, pulling the camera out. “Roman…”

“Non-negotiable, baby.” And she knows this, knows he’s not letting up when it comes to building her self-esteem and demolishing her body insecurity.

“Okay….” It feels a bit strange at first, posing as Roman snaps photos of her. She’s more than certain the first set of photos look just as awkward as she feels. But as time passes and with his encouragement and slight guidance, the awkwardness melts into something similar to relaxation. Her smile is a natural thing vs the result of being told to smile. 

And even when he tells her to remove the cover up, there’s some level of apprehension about being photographed in her bathing suit, but there’s also a level of confidence and reassurance that it’s literally just the two of them.

Roman has her damn near posing like it’s a real photoshoot, and when all is said and done, she’s tugging on his arm as he puts the camera away. “Come with me.”

Solana is both surprised and thankful when he doesn’t push back on her request, doesn’t deny it. There’s an obvious level of disinterest, but it’s nothing compared to his desire to make her happy. 

And in the beautiful ocean water that brushes past in little ripples and slight waves against her shoulder, holding onto her strong, handsome husband who seems to look at her like she set all the stars in the sky, she feels just that:

Happy

________

Solana is unsure just how long they spend at the beach. Long enough that by the time they return to the house, the chef he hired for them, an older, kind woman named Maria, has dinner just about ready to serve. And it’s exactly when they finish showering and cleaning up, the plate of delicious food is laid on the table, ready to devour.

It’s a bit of a different yet pleasant experience being able to have dinner with her husband. More often than not, he has to take it in his office due to his volume of work. So having him across from her, being able to talk with him while they indulge in Pozole is a kind of happiness she could get used to. 

But, it’s later that evening when they lay in the bed, Solana’s body sprawled on top of his much bigger one, Roman’s hand under her pajama shirt rubbing her skin, that something comes over her. A desire to unload something that’s been oscillating in the back of her head, no matter how many times she tries to push it away.

“I feel bad.” 

He doesn’t look down, just asks her calmly, “about?”

Solana licks her lips. “I didn’t mean to hurt him that badly.”

Roman had a feeling that’s what she was referring to, but he didn’t want it to be true. “Solana—”

“I know. I know I defended myself, but….” She tries to word it as best she can, though she also knows there’s little to no way Roman will abandon his ardent belief that Wes got exactly what he deserved. “I keep thinking about my mom and how….she always reminded me that at the end of the day, Wes is my brother, and a lot of his behavior was because of my dad.”

Roman does his best to keep his voice leveled, to keep out the unsettled anger he holds and will always hold against her piece of shit sibling. He doesn’t want her to think any level of that anger is directed toward her. “You were kids then, Solana. Sure, Xavier probably said and influenced a lot of things, but your brother isn’t a child anymore. He’s a grown man. There’s no excuse for the things he’s said and done to you.”

None whatso–fucking—ever.

And Solana knows that, hence her expressing agreement. “I know you’re right.” Her voice drops a bit, paving way for more vulnerability. “I just….I was so angry that night, and…and I’m not an angry person. I—I don’t like that.” Before he can continue his work to take away her unrequited feelings, she asks almost over a whisper, “what does it feel like to kill someone?”

Her question takes him back a bit, but he knows why she’s asking, where it’s coming from.

“Solana—”

She sits up, looking down at him, eyes watering. “If he dies….”

He brings his hand to her cheek, comforting her, “he won’t. That bastard isn’t allowed to die. Not unless it’s by my hand.”

Roman has ensured Wes has the best medical care money can provide solely for the fact that while his beating was well-deserved, it’s paltry compared to all of the ways Roman wants to make that bastard suffer before he encounters the fiery gates of hell. 

Xavier as well.

She shakes her head, sniffling, “I don’t—I can’t live with knowing I took someone’s life. I—” Her voice cracks. “I just can’t.”

“You won’t,” he vows. Anyone who would ever need to cease to exist because they’ve wronged her in some way, he would handle. He will handle. Because he agrees. Solana is a pure soul. Despite all of the evil surrounding and done to her, she’s retained her kind heart and gentle spirit. Killing someone, taking another life, destroys that, forever pollutes the soul in a way that’s irreversible. 

Roman would die before he let that happen to her.

But the topic of this conversation, it brings something else up for Solana. Something that literally shatters her spirit to think about, let alone verbalize aloud. But, she has to tell him, can’t keep it to herself any longer. It’s not fair to him with how good he’s been to her. 

She loves him too much to continue to lie to him.

“Roman…” Her throat suddenly feels so dry, stomach weighed down by a slate of concrete. “There’s something I—”

“Shhhh.” He sits up, bringing his other hand to her cheek, fully cupping her face. “Tomorrow is your birthday, Solana. You don’t need to be this upset.” He again brushes away her tears, gently adding, “I don’t like seeing you upset.”

Her eyes shut. He has no idea the increased emotion is for an entirely different reason. “But—”

Roman seems keen on not allowing the conversation to continue, solely because he dislikes how troubled she’s getting. Sees it as unfair. “It’s gonna be fine.” He then asks, “you trust me, don’t you?” She nods softly. That’s given at this point. There’s no one she trusts more than Roman Reigns. “Then trust I’ve got this.”

Her eyes shut, as she tries to listen and marinate on his words. Her husband is adept at remaining calm and being prepared for any and everything. She…she has to trust that for right now. Trust him. 

Has to table this conversation. For now.

Roman guides her to lay back down on his chest, Solana snuggling against him. “I’ve got you, Sol.” Her heart nearly bursts at that, at the nickname she hasn’t been called in years. The name her mother often referred to her as. Her eyes shut, stomach settling, emotions subsiding in the way only Roman seems capable of orchestrating. “Always.”

________

The first thing Solana notices when she wakes up the next morning is the noticeable empty space besides her. The space where Roman should be sleeping, his muscular arm around her body, holding her against him. 

Instead, she awakes on her back, alone, with no Roman in sight.

She frowns for a few seconds, sitting up in the bed and rubbing her eyes. The sadness shifts away just as soon as it appeared. Solana knows he must either be in the gym or doing something for work. There’s very little concern that he’s ventured far.

It’s why she grabs her phone off the nightstand only to find a plethora of birthday texts and an attached photo of Dulce in the group chat with her, Naomi, Bayley, Jimmy, and Jey.

Bayley: Happy birthday, friend! Roman’s ass better be treating you like the queen you are! 💙 Love you so much and can’t wait until you get back so we can fuck up some more trucks together! 😜

Naomi: What Bayley said! Happy freaking birthday, Solana! Even if you wanted to, you ain’t getting rid of us. Sisters for life! 💚

Jey: Happy birthday, lil sis! Make sure you take lots of pics of Free Willy over there!

Jimmy: Man, you dumb asf. They supposed to look at dolphins! Not sharks! Free Willy was a shark!

Jimmy: Happy birthday, sis!

Naomi: Solana, you can feel absolutely feel free to mute this chat until you return. 😐

Bayley: Or forever.

There’s a myriad of emotions coursing through her. So much happiness. Bayley. Naomi. Jimmy. Jey. A family. They’ve become her family. 

It brings tears to her eyes and keeps her in bed a couple minutes longer as she basks in the kind words and love.

It also keys her into just what Roman has planned for her big day. That brings on an additional layer of emotionality. He’s so so good to her.

Solana: Thank you, guys. You all have no idea what you mean to me. 🥺♥️

Placing her phone on the nightstand, she finally climbs out of bed and into the bathroom to pee, brush her teeth, and wash her face. She decides against placing the robe over her pajamas. An unnecessary thing considering Roman’s seen just about all of her at this point.

It'll make telling or asking him the realization she’s come to just a tad bit easier.

Out the bathroom and down the steps, sure enough, she finds him, burly body plopped down on one of the chairs in the kitchen, Maria working away to prepare what’s probably a more than necessary, grand breakfast.

Roman’s hearing and peripheral vision is expert level, because she’s barely in the kitchen when he lifts his gaze from the open laptop in front of him and sets his sights on her. One finger beckons her in his direction. An unnecessary thing considering that’s exactly where she was already headed.

Solana is easily guided onto his lap, Roman taking index finger under her chin for a kiss that’s so soft compared to his typically rough demeanor. She smiles. “Good morning….”

He chuckles. “Morning.” His hand moves to her cheek, “happy birthday.”

Heart filled, she lays her head against his shoulder, intentionally not looking at the computer in the event it’s private but still asks. “What are you doing?”

He instead motions for her to do just that. “Look.”

She does, and instantly she’s burying her face back into him. “Roman, I hate looking at pictures of myself.” Because that’s what’s on his screen, one of the photos he took of them at the beach yesterday. 

“Too bad, cause that might be one of my new favorite things.” She smiles yet again, a given whenever she’s around him. Solana also finds herself forcing her attention back to the screen, reaching to click through the photos, most of her, which is uncomfortable but still bearable. However, her attention is mostly drawn to the ones not of her, of the beach and nature and scenery that he took. 

“These are so good.” She finds herself complimenting him, because it’s true. Added to the long list of things Roman is exceptionally good at is photography. She teases him a little. “You should photograph more.”

He scoffs, an almost bitter tone to his voice. Not directed at her, of course. “When?”

She shrugs. “I—I don’t know, but we can figure it out. If…if you like to do it, then you should do it.” And just like that, she’s determined to help him figure out just that. It’s the least she can do for him.

Truly.

Noticing Maria multitasking, Solana calls out and asks, “Maria, do you need any help?”

The older woman gasps dramatically and waves away the offer as if it was an insult. “Nonsense, child. It is your birthday. You must rest and let that handsome husband of yours treat you.”

Solana laughs a bit. 

Roman asks, “what did she say?”

“I asked her if she needs any help, and she basically told me I don’t get to do any of that cause it’s my birthday.”

“Damn straight,’ Solana giggles as he moves his hand to her hip. “We’ll leave after breakfast.”

Being honest, she dances her fingers up his arm, teasing almost, “I know where we’re going….” 

Roman gives her one of those infamous smirks which quickly drops when he realizes something. “Which one was it? Dumb or Dumber?”

Giggling, she hands him her phone, opening the group chat and showing him the messages.

His eyes rake over the words, and Solana has to bite back her laugh at the absolute irritated expression painted on his handsome face when he’s done. “Even hundred fucking miles away, they ruin shit.”

She kisses his cheek, wanting to calm him down. “It’s okay.” Solana suddenly asks. “Are you gonna do it with me?”

He gives her a look. “That’s for you, Sol. Not me.”

She pouts a little, gently reminding him, “but…it can be for the both of us.”

“Swimming with Dolphins screams you. Not me.” He adds on with an almost scowl and shake of his head. “I’m too old for that shit.” Curious, he switches the topic a bit, asking, “does our age difference bother you?”

“I never really thought of it,” she answers, honestly. Roman being older than her truly has never been anything she’s considered to be an issue. At the beginning of this whole arrangement, she had a slate of other much more relevant reasons to be cautious and wary. All of those reasons almost making her laugh a bit because they’re so far away from the truth. “So, no.” She shrugs, adding. “I—I never really had good luck with guys my age anyway.” Or, at all, really. “Besides….” She chews on her bottom lip, coyly starting off a leading sentence, “there’s nothing about you that bothers me….except—”

Roman is every bit as eager as he looks for the rest. “Except?”

She bats her eyelashes, almost intentionally trying to butter him up. “If you could be a little nicer to your cousins….”

“Baby, how many times do we have to have this conversation?” He once again reiterates what, in his mind, should be painfully obvious. “I’m not a nice person.”

“But you are,” she stresses, fingers moving through his beard. “You are to me.”

“It’s different with you, Solana.” He’s not necessarily in the space to explain just how it’s different, but it is. She’s in a category all on her own. “Look….do my cousins piss me off at least 8 times a day? Yes. Do I have thoughts of homicide regarding them at least once a day? Sure. But….” He blows out a breath. “We’ve been friends since we were little kids. They’re family. I would die for them just as quickly as I know they would die for me.”

While she understands his point and is grateful for his level of openness and vulnerability, Roman and death in the same sentence brings out an almost physical reaction on her part.

That’s not even something she can tolerate thinking about.

She would lose her fucking mind if something were to ever happen to him. 

Solana is desperate to change the subject, needing something, literally anything, other than Roman dying to think about. “I….I know what I want you to give me for my birthday.”

His brow lifts as he asks with a bit of attitude. “You planning on telling me, considering it’s here?”

She smiles softly, finger trailing down his face. “Later….” Solana climbs off his lap, rubbing her stomach. “Right now, I just want to eat breakfast with my husband.”

________

It’s called Dolphin Discovery. The activity Roman has planned for the morning of her birthday, and it consists of exactly what the title implies as well as what Jimmy and Jey unintentionally spoiled for her.

Not that that’s a big deal, per se.

It doesn’t dim her excitement. The way her smile is painted on her face at the private event Roman arranged for just them, the only other people are the staff and instructors who guide the event. 

Solana is even able to convince Roman to join her for a short period of time in the water, granted he looks irritated and uninterested the entire time. Still, she knows his focus and priority is just making sure she has a nice time.

And she does. 

It’s full of smiles and laughter. 

Just as the rest of the day as Solana asks to go to the beach after, fully enamored with the crystal clear water and beauty that is the island of las mujeres. Of course, this comes with the almost stipulation from Roman that he has to photograph her again.

She’s less uncomfortable this time around, posing for his photos without as much reservation. The decreased inhibitions largely due to her overall happiness. Solana hasn’t felt so great, so in love with life for a very long time.

If ever. 

But, she’s even more touched when Roman guides them back to the beach later that evening what’s a private dinner for just the two of them.

“Roman….” She can’t help to take in the beautiful set up as he pulls out the seat for her. “This is so beautiful….”

He takes her in as he sits opposite of her, the way her dress hugs her so beautifully, the soft set of her eyes as she continues to marvel, smiling so genuinely at the setup. “Very…”

She brings her attention back onto him, reminding, “Roman, you really….you really didn’t have to do all of this. I would have been just as happy back home with you.”

“That’s too boring.” He dismisses, reaching across the table for her hand. “Too close to people. I wanted you to myself.”

She smiles, teasing him a bit. “Is that why it’s just been mostly you and me so far?”

“Damn straight.” 

She giggles, head tilted as she turns his hand over, tracing the lines of his palm. “Me haces muy feliz….”

His eyes squint with intrigue. “You’re really going to make me learn Spanish, aren’t you?”

“No,” she answers softly, focused on her gesture with his hand. “I’m…I’m not saying anything you don’t already know.”

“Which is?” 

Her eyes lift to his, locking intensely. “How much I care about you.” 

How much I love you.

That part…..that he doesn’t know. Or maybe he does. Solana knows she wears her heart on her sleeve to a certain extent. Knows how perceptive her husband is. But, if he has noticed, he hasn’t said anything. And she’s partially grateful for that, because acknowledging her love for him, internally anyway, is something that she’s okay with. Something she doesn’t really question.

She can’t say the same for him.

Love and Roman have a complicated history she can’t even begin to truly understand. It may not be something he feels capable of anymore, not after the kind of loss he experienced. And she can understand that. She’s okay with that. Because the way he treats her, the way he makes her feel, the happiness he brings her….it’s more than enough.

It’s all she needs.

The dinner itself is just as wonderful as any other meal they’ve had the past two days, but what Solana mostly enjoys is the conversation. Being able to talk to and with Roman has easily become one of her favorite things. Their conversation never goes stale, and even when she worries she’s annoying him, he keeps it going.

He truly is becoming one of her best friends. Not in the same way Naomi and Bayley have. Something different, something deeper almost. Still as appreciated. 

And it’s when the dinner comes to a close, Solana is once again taken back by Roman’s nearly limitless generosity when he gifts her a set of bracelets, Louis Vuitton, Cartier, and other luxury brands she’s certain the combination of cost equalling what some people pay for homes let alone jewelry. 

The depth of his kindness toward her will never cease to amaze her.

Back at the house, she has a bit of a hard time getting him to use the shower in the master bedroom vs using the one down the hall. She comes up with a weak excuse regarding shower design preference, and while she’s certain he doesn’t believe her one bit, he lets it go.

And Solana is utterly grateful, because she needs to be completely separated in order to prepare for the thing she’s wanted and thought about since last night, since she decided it’s truly what she wants.

Everything he’s done thus far has been more than thoughtful, but this….this is something on an entirely different level. 

She’s just stepped out the shower and wrapped the towel around her body when a random thought about what tonight could and most likely will entail flashes in her mind. 

Solana closes her eyes and tries to ignore the aching between her legs, even if she knows it’s a fruitless effort. 

Roman has been an absolute saint, patient beyond belief with her and this gradual process of working up to being intimate. Always checking in with her every step of the way.

But…..but lately, she finds herself….thinking about him in….different ways. Wondering what it would be like to finally go all the way. To be with him fully in that way.

Ways she previously couldn’t allow herself to think about. Too hindered by the memories of her trauma. 

Yet with him, it’s something unlike what she’s used to. Her chest doesn’t feel like it’s about to explode, and she doesn’t find herself panicking, needing to push him away from her, to not have any hands on her because they all feel the same, the same as her rapists.

With Roman…..that’s not her story. It’s just him she sees, feels, wants.

By the time she’s done with her shower, Solana has to reach across the bathroom counter to wipe her hand across the fogged mirror. She hits the switch for the vent and digs through her toiletries bag for the essentials and gets into her routine, focusing way too much on what she’s doing to avoid the thought sitting impatiently in the back of her head.

But, it’s when she’s reached the end of her routine and goes to grab her bra and panties she had sitting on the counter, that she pauses.

Scared.

Solana realizes that’s one of the dominant emotions she’s struggling with. She’s scared to go for what she wants. It’s a tale as old as time. Fear is always the thing that holds us back the most, that keeps us from reaching goals, attaining desires, being freed.

For so long, she believed that she was damaged. That the trauma of her past made it impossible for her to ever have a healthy sexual relationship with another person. But Roman has changed that. He’s changed her life in so many ways, and now, she is presented with the chance and opportunity to take back her power, to reclaim her sexuality.  

And now….she’s ready to do just that. 

Solana slowly retracts her hand and instead slides her pink, silk gown over her head, ignoring the almost strange feeling of having nothing underneath her dress. Solana keeps staring at her reflection, mentally going over everything: floss, mouthwash, deodorant, lotion, perfume on all of her pulse points. 

When she realizes that she’s only stalling, she forces herself to leave the bathroom. Solana makes her way down the hall and into the master. She’s relieved to see he’s still in the bathroom and decides to sit and wait on the edge of the bed. Similar to how her nerves are on edge. In the bathroom, the pep talk was more motivating and inspiring. Now, in this space, her anxiety is doing those damn flips again. 

“Solana?” Her head lifts and she stands up. Roman is standing near the bathroom door, shirtless, gray sweats hanging dangerously low, his hair down. Solana watches his gaze darken, slowly taking in her immodest state, focusing on the clear outline of her nipples pressing against the thin material. “What are you—”

She says nothing and instead grabs his hand, leading him to the bed. She switches their positions and guides him to sit on the end of the bed as she straddles him, her legs on either side of him. Solana refuses to think about the possible exposure from this position and instead focuses on him.

“I want you,” is all she says, quiet but sure. “I want you for my birthday.”

His face reads a mixture of emotions, primarily confusion. 

And lust.

“Solana….” He seems to want to move his hands to her waist but hesitates. “I didn’t….that’s not why I brought you here. I would never pressure you—”

“I know,” she interrupts, softly. “You’ve always let me set the pace, so….so let me set it now.” She brings her hands to his face, looking him dead in the eye as she repeats, “What I want for my birthday….is you.” A fleeting thought creeps across her mind when she adds, “unless….unless you don’t want me th—”

Roman switches their positions so quickly that she can barely process what’s happening until she’s flat on her back with him hovering above her. His eyes are fluttering as he works to settle himself, breathing out, “I’ve always wanted you, baby. Just needed you to tell me when.”

She licks her lips and lightly glides her fingers over his abs. He’s so firm. “And now?”

“Now?” Roman moves his hand to her knees, slowly prying them apart. She breathes in as he starts to move his fingers up the inside of her legs. “After tonight, ain’t nobody else gon’ have you like this,” his thumb brushes over her inner thigh and she grabs his bicep. “Feel you like this,” Solana’s head goes back into the bed when he glosses his fingers over her apex. “Or taste you like this but me.” Their gazes lock. “Understood? You’re mine.”

His tone is commanding and authoritative. She can mumble a quiet ‘yes’ in agreement when his head drops between the crook of her neck, his hair fanning her face, pulling his hand from between her legs. “Promise me you’ll tell me if we need to stop.” 

She gently caresses the back of his neck, reassuring him. “Roman, I’m fin—”

“Solana,” he interrupts. There’s no denying or questioning of the seriousness in his tone of voice. “Promise me.”

She nods and rakes her fingers over his scalp. “I promise.”

Roman is visibly pleased by this, eyes raking over her body. “Good.” He lowers his lips to hers, hands moving to explore her body. “So fucking pretty….”

The light kiss easily progresses into something more intense, something deeper, something that has her feeling so flustered and warm all over. His pants are quickly discarded, leaving him in boxers only. Roman continues to massage and knead her breast, along with the palming of her ass yet still makes active efforts to receive consent, always checking her comfort levels.

Initiating this is major.

Her lips are nice and swollen when he starts kissing around her face before grabbing her hand and turning it over. Two long fingers press against her wrist. 

He doesn’t say anything for a good minute, prompting her to ask, “what are you—”

“Do you trust me?” 

There’s not a second of hesitation or delay. “Of course.” 

“I need to relax you more.” With his free hand, his thumb flicks over her nipple as he explains, just as tender as every other thing he’s done to maintain her comfort. “You’re still tensing a bit under me, and the more tense you are, the more it’s going to hurt, and I don’t want to hurt you…”

Swallowing, she replies back in the same soft tone. “You could never hurt me, Roman.” His eyes flash with something almost soft. Like affection. Like something deeper. “But…I understand. What…what do you want me to do?”

“I don’t want you to do anything. Tonight is about you.” Her eyes flutter shut as he brings his mouth back to her neck, speaking against her soft skin. “Just want you to let me take care of you…” And it’s as he continues to travel down her body, tugging at her dress as much as he can to press a trail of kisses between the valley of her breast, and halting near her covered belly button that she understands what he’s asking her.

And suddenly her cheeks are on fire. Solana isn’t entirely naive. She knows that plenty of people engage in oral sex, but she’s also heard a lot of men prefer not to. Prefer to receive rather than give. “I…..you….you don’t have to—”

“Solana, I’ve wanted to taste you since the first day I met you.” His words, dark and dripping with need make her bite down on her bottom lip as his finger trails along her inner thigh. “Will you let me?”

She’s insecure and a shade of unsure for reasons entirely unrelated to her trauma. Maybe there’s some influence there, but it’s primarily the intimacy of it all. But, she then realizes he’s eventually going to be inside of her before the night ends, so his mouth being on her most intimate area….isn’t really a major difference.

Swallowing, she answers, voice catching for a second with a need she didn’t recognize until this moment. “Y–yes.”

His eyes light with desire, but he doesn’t miss a beat in reminding her yet again that she’s fully in control tonight. “Tell me to stop and we stop. I don’t care what’s happening. All I care about is you. Alright?” 

Solana nods. “O–okay.”

Roman kisses her stomach and wastes no time in helping her remove her dress, leaving her fully exposed to him, physically and emotionally. Slowly, he pries her thighs apart, seeing how she bites on her bottom lip when he teases a finger against her. 

“Still so sensitive…..” There’s a level of intrigue there, Solana watching Roman push his hair back, his tongue exiting his mouth and wetting his lips. “You’ll get used to me.”

She’s not sure she could ever get used to a man like Roman, and the minute his tongue flattens against her there, she’s almost certain she’ll never get used to that.

“Oh my god.”

He looks up at her, Solana suppressing a moan at the sight of his big body between the space of her thighs, mouth curved into a wry smile. “I barely touched you, baby….”

That doesn’t stop the fire coursing through her body.

“You want me to stop?” A frantic shaking of her head to signify a hell no is all he needs. He’ll settle for no verbal acknowledgement this time. “Good.” Salona gasps as he hooks the back of her knees over his big shoulders. “Now lay back and let me take care of you...”

It seems like all Roman has done is take care of her, but this is a new level of care, one that has her scratching and gripping helplessly at the sheets as he licks at her one, two, three times before his tongue darts around and plays with her in a way that makes her stomach tangled and twisted.

Solana whimpers when he starts sucking on her clit. “Fuck being inside you, just let me stay with this sweet pussy in my mouth.”

For a second, she considers it, because the way he laps and sucks on her has her brain practically fried trying to comprehend how just his tongue alone can have her nearly worming off the bed.

His big, strong hands grip her thighs, holding her in place as he never once lifts his head for air.

“Roman…..”

“You taste better than I imagined.” She swears she feels him kiss her slick folds. “Gonna have you sit on my face the next time….”

The terror at that thought is short lived and stomped upon by his hands traveling up her body, gripping her breast, squeezing just enough to make her moan yet again, head pressed back into the pillow. 

His name slips out her mouth for what feels like the 20th time as she moves her hands on top of his, stomach arching, pussy pressing further against his mouth. He makes a sound down there, but sound isn’t the focus when all of her most sensitive nerve endings are being so beautifully catered to.

But then it becomes too much, Roman switching to a lethal combination that includes sucking on her clit while two fingers enter inside her. It has her nearly jumping off the bed, unintentionally inching away from him.

Roman hums against her lifting up only to warn, “stop running from me, baby.” He’s playing with the mess she’s made, essence practically dripping from his beard. “This pussy is too good to not indulge myself.”

And before she can protest, can try to find some words to string together, he’s back in between her legs, and Solana finds her hands moving to the top of his hand. She can’t tell if she wants to just shove him away or shove him closer. 

A strange yet wonderful dichotomy. 

There’s no telling how long he’s down there, feasting so eagerly on her like he’s been waiting on this. Like, he’s been yearning for this. The same way Solana is starting to realize she too unintentionally wanted this. Wanted to know what it could and does feel like to be intimate, to have those normal, sexual needs met. It was just all hidden and obscured behind a dense wall of trauma the same man bringing her to heaven has helped her dismantle. 

She owes him so much.

Especially for the way he gives her an orgasm that has her wanting to scream his name loud enough for anyone within 100 miles to hear. That just might have been the case too if she didn’t press her lips together as she rode out her orgasm, Roman still remaining between her thighs as he helps her through it, letting her ride out her pleasure still against his greedy mouth.

He seems so hungry for her. 

When he finally makes his way up, presses his lips against her, Solana moans at the taste of herself on his mouth. He smirks against her lips.

“I told you I’m good at a lot of things..”

She smiles, her eyes blinking. “Roman, I—I’m ready.”

He doesn’t look surprised, but he does look hesitant. “Solana….”

“This is what I want. I—I want to be with you….fully.” Even as the words leave her mouth, the aftershock of her orgasm still trying to subside, she’s nervous. She’s nervous because there will always be that small voice in the back of her head telling her she shouldn't, that she can’t, that sex has been forever ruined for her. 

But, it’s almost as if just looking at Roman, at feeling his desire and care for her, it snuffs those voices out, locks them in a closet with a key that he’ll make sure is never found. “I—I want you inside me.”

And there’s something either about that or the way she words it that seems to trigger the okay switch for him. He gently traces the outline of her lips. “We’ll take it slow.” 

She nods as he brings his fingers to her wrist again. Her pulse. She realizes he’s checking for her pulse, trying to gauge her heart rate, assessing for any spiked anxiety. 

“You’re relaxed, but…it still might hurt at first.”

“I know,” she murmurs, heat rising to her cheeks as she explains so simply yet accurately. “It’s…it’s because you’re big.”

Roman smiles, and that alone chips away a chunk of her anxiety. His smile is so beautiful.

It’s not missed upon her, however, that he doesn’t deny it. Not that he can. She’s heard enough, felt enough, even seen enough to some extent to know that he is very much an overall big man. And yet there’s not a damn thing about him that she finds intimidating, that she’s scared of.

His strength doesn’t scare her. Not anymore.

Just makes her feel safe. 

Solana feels him shift atop her, but she doesn’t remove her gaze from the vaulted ceiling above them. He’s most likely removing his boxers, the only piece of clothing separating that part of him from that part of her. 

She tries to lower her eyes down between their heated bodies, partially wanting to see him for herself, to see what’s about to enter her when Roman brings his hand under her chin, forcing her gaze back onto him. “It’s just you and me….okay?”

Her eyes flutter closed for a second as she nods, opening and breathing back, “you and me…”

Roman lowers his mouth back onto hers, taking her for a slow sensual kiss that’s timed perfectly with the exact moment the thick tip of his dick gradually descends into her tight, wet opening. Solana gasps into his mouth, taken back by the stretch of him, a slight burning sensation that’s eased by the way he kisses her jawline, asking if she wants him to stop.

The answer is easy. 

“N–no. I’m fine.” She murmurs, grabbing him by his face and kissing him again, utilizing the talent of his mouth on hers to blur away the borderline discomfort of his initial entry. Roman is certainly well endowed and an initial level of pain is to be expected, both from his size and her experience. But, she needs his kisses to keep her from gravitating to that other painful experience, to keep her from getting triggered.

And something tells her that he knows as much without her needing to say anything. He’s consistent and dedicated in keeping his mouth on hers, his tongue raking across her bottom lip before he enters in yet another part of her. She does her best to keep up with him, to match his passion, but deep pants often break their rhythm as he continues to sink into her. He feels so deep, and he’s not even all the way in.

And when she’s moaning and groaning at the newfound stretch of him, his voice is in her ear apologizing, asking again if she wants him to stop. The answer is the same as before. Just worded differently.

“I want all of you.” 

The good. The bad. It doesn’t matter. She just wants him.

Roman is the one to groan this time, resting his forehead against hers, “fuck, you’re so tight.”

Once finally and fully seated in her, Solana is grateful that he gives her a second to breathe, to adjust to this new sensation. Still uncomfortable, the fullness in such a sensitive area, but also comforted by Roman, by his constant attempts to assess her comfort levels. It’s why after a few minutes she glides her hands up his arms and encourages him to continue. “M–move.”

He’s studying her, like he’s done at every point throughout this process. “Are you sure?”

She nods and quickly remembers his one rule. “Yes.”

Though her eyes are closed, Solana can feel Roman’s gaze burning into her as he shifts his hips, the thickness of him slowly sliding out of her, lessening that fullness only to slowly re-enter, bringing it right back. He keeps this pace, slow and gradual, working her as gently as he can, never not watching for any sign of distress. 

And it’s at some point that burning sensation washes away into something unfamiliar but desirable. It morphs into a form of pleasure that has her head slipping back against the pillow, her stomach starting to cave under his expert thrusts. His name falls out her mouth in the form of a breathy moan. “Roman….”

“Does that feel good?” She cries out as he kisses her shoulder, hand kneading her breast. “Tell me what feels good.”

The answer is easy, “everything.” And she means it, there’s not a trace of pain she can identify as she moves her hands up his muscular back as he switches up his pace, quicker but deeper thrusts that have her nails digging into his taut skin. “Oh….”

His head drops down in the crook of his neck. “God, you feel fucking amazing.” His hands drop to her hips, pulling her up to meet him thrust for thrust. “Could stay inside of you like this for hours….”

Solana chews down on her bottom lip, back arching as he adjusts his hips, reaching her even deeper, hitting another sensitive spot that has her eyes watering. “Roman.”

“That’s it. Say my name, baby.” And she does, again and again, his name a song on her lips that’s sweet music he wants to keep on repeat for the rest of his life. “You don’t know what you do to me, Solana.”

Whatever it is can’t be as good as he’s making her feel. Solana could scream from the absolute rapture he’s bringing her body, elevating her to places unseen and almost too good to be real. 

“Te quiero mucho.”

He has no idea what she just said, but he has no doubt it’s an expression of bliss, and it only encourages him to dive deeper, to rut into her a little harder. Her pleasure is the roof, but that’s a limitation. He doesn’t do limitations.

He wants to never stop hearing his name leave her mouth, breathy and wanton. She’s a mess underneath him, wet ass pussy gushy, gripping the shit out of him like he’s never experienced. It actually takes a bit of effort on his his part to not come before she does, a arduous task considering she’s never looked more fucking beautiful being underneath him like this, every little facial expression making his dick pulse inside of her.

Roman has always heard people say sex is even better when it’s someone you actually care about. He never believed that shit. He never believed that shit until now. Because he’s never felt something, never felt someone, as good as what Solana feels right now.

If not for her trauma, wouldn’t nobody be getting any sleep tonight. He’d stay in this pussy, have it in his mouth, have it in any and all ways until the wee hours of the morning. Sleep be damned.

But, this isn’t about him. It’s about her. It’s all about her, and he’ll do whatever she wants, whatever she needs. Even if selfishly, he’s working to prolong her climax just as much for his pleasure as hers.

He doesn’t ever want to pull out.

And maybe it’s also the fact that he’s never been with anyone else raw. Never had that skin to skin experience, feeling slick pussy directly against his hardened dick.

Possibly.

Regardless, after tonight, if it’s not Solana, he doesn’t want it.

Her pussy is premier and just for him.

But, it’s when he takes a brief pause, to switch their positions, situating her on top of him, he sees the nervousness wreck her beautiful face.

“Roman. I—I don’t—I don’t know how–” And it’s as she protests, as she tries to explain to him she doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know how to please him like that, Roman brings his hands to her hips, tugging her forward just enough for her mouth to drop open from the friction, from the way he presses into her, hitting yet another spot that has her eyes nearly watering all over again. “Oh my….”

His eyes are blazed with desire and yearning as he encourages her. “That’s it…..” Her eyes shut, the sound of him asking, “are you okay?” an almost distant thing, an almost inconceivable question. Everything about everything he’s done to and for her has felt more than okay. It’s felt heavenly. 

The same way her hands naturally plant against his chest, less of him directing her movements and more of her riding him from her own volition.

The tips given to her by Bayley and Naomi just weeks prior return to the forefront of her mind, and Solana finds herself moving her hips, grinding on top of him as if she was spelling her name. 

And almost instantly, Roman’s eyes are shutting too as he sings all of her praises, “fuck, just like that baby.”

She moves against him, riding him with a growing intensity that’s only matched by the level of desire on both of their ends. It feels fucking ethereal.

And when he can sense the pending fatigue in her body, Roman sits up, hands moving down her smooth back to her hips and guides her body against him, hitting her spot even deeper, Solana’s cries of pleasure a continuing symphony of bliss.

“You feel me, baby? Feel me in you like this?” Her head drops against his shoulder as she holds onto him, their bare, slick chests pressed against each other.

She whimpers against him, “god, yes.”

“I told you I would make you feel good, didn’t I, sweetheart?” She nods frantically only to cry out yet again when he glides his hand down and peppers his thumb over her swollen clit. “Gonna take care of you every single time. I don’t care how or where. You want it, imma give it to you.”

His voice takes on a darker tone, reminiscent of his reputation, a testament of the depth of his feelings for her. “I’ll kill anyone who tries to take you from me.” She gasps against him, yet another wave of pleasure shooting through her core. “Burn this whole fuckin’ world down….”

There’s something about his words, about his dedication to her, to keeping her safe. To keeping her with him. She lifts her head and brings her hands to his cheeks, making him lock gazes with her. “No one could ever take me from you.”

Roman just looks at her. 

Something happens. A shift. A move. A disturbance of some sort. It’s as if something snaps in half the minute his eyes lock onto hers. He doesn’t move, and neither does she. No one says anything. It almost feels like no one is breathing. Her gaze on him is just as his is on hers. Deep. There’s something happening at the soul level. A tying of some sort. A connection. 

A bond. 

Unbreakable. Unshakable.

Eternal. 

And it’s with an almost unheard non-existent level of vulnerability that Roman practically whispers against the slick skin of her shoulder, pressing a soft kiss. “I need you, Solana.” 

Her eyes water. The connection. The emotion. The love of it all. She doesn't know if he’s feeling the last one, but she certainly is, and it’s the best feeling in the world. “You’ll always have me.” She moans, whimpering as he starts moving her again, nudges that spot yet again. “Te amo con toda mi alma, Roman."

This man now has her: mind, body, and soul.

Her better half.

Her missing piece 

It aids in the build up, her fingers squeezing against his muscular shoulders. “I’m—I’m gonna—“

“I know,” his voice is strained, his body tensing up underneath her. Solana knows he’s not far behind. He quickly switches their positions, wanting her underneath him, spreading her thighs further to maximize the full pleasure of this final ride. 

Hand to his chin, she forces his gaze on her, reminding him with a hint of vulnerability. “You and me.” Her release is almost immediate, a fountain of tightness and pressure that’s both wonderful and all encompassing, forcing her to lay her head against his shoulder, holding onto him as she rides out her climax.

And it’s not even minutes later that his release finds him just as strong, just as heavy, just as fucking shattering.

Roman lets go, big body jerking above her as he releases inside of her, the mixture of their togetherness creating an absolute mess that coats almost all of their lower halves. But, she doesn’t care, just continues to hold onto him as he empties until there’s nothing left. 

Solana groans quietly as he pulls out of her, the absence of him creating a strange, unfamiliar void that’s moderately eased as he plops down on his back next to her, immediately pulling her onto his chest.

This settles her almost instantaneously. 

He kisses the top of her head, gently rubbing her back. “Did I—did I hurt you?”

She smiles against him. The answer to that question has and will always be the same. “No. Never.” Tears burning her eyes, she murmurs into his skin. “You set me free.”

Because, he did. Because after tonight, there’s no turning back. There’s no block or wall of trauma that can stop her from experiencing this. From truly being able to say that while her assault fractured her, it damn sure didn’t break her. 

Roman’s deep voice above her offers a low, gentle rebuttal. “You did that, Sol.” And as if emotions weren’t high enough as it is, he has to send her nearly overboard with his next simple but powerful statement. “you said yes.”

Eyes closing, she has to sit on it, has to rest in it, has to feel it. With all the emotion, she reaffirms it, reclaims her voice, her autonomy, yet another piece of her life. “I said yes…..”

----------

translations:

“Te quiero mucho.” = "I love you so much."

"Lo’u Au" = Someone who is your absolute favorite

"Me haces muy feliz" = "You make me very happy."

"Te amo con toda mi alma, Roman" = "I love you with all my soul, Roman."

"Yo siento muy bien contigo" = "I feel happy with you."

[ivymarquis]

A Little Death

Pairing| Ghost x F!Reader Rating| M Word Count| 7k Kinks/Content/Warnings| The author has decided she can't be assed to edit this, Chubby!Reader, Kidnapping, nondescript mentions of torture. Ambiguous mentions of S/A (vague enough you can chose to ignore that part if you want tbh), Reader is traumatized from her ordeal but working through it. Fingering, PiV, riding, squirting, Simon has a moment where he's worried he triggered reader after sex but that is an incorrect assumption on his part.

On days like this Simon can almost pretend he’s normal. 

The game’s on, a beer in one hand while the other has been commandeered by his girlfriend with a simple “Gimmie.”

Simon has never been one to worry about his nails beyond clipping them for practicality’s sake.

Having a SAS lieutenant for a boyfriend means she deals with what she insists is Simon’s paranoia and he insists is a healthy level of suspicion about the outside world. Having a nail technician for a girlfriend means every so often she’ll commandeer his hands to ensure they’re up to her standards. As it turned out, adhering to regulations wasn’t up to par for her. 

His neighbor is a popular woman.

It sets him on edge, all the traffic. One or two people at a time, usually other women- sometimes with a man in tow, other times not. They show up, they stay for maybe an hour or maybe 4, and they leave. Within 30 minutes someone else is knocking on her door.

Normal men humor their partners about things they don’t particularly give a fuck about when left to their own devices, as an acknowledgment of its importance to them. 

And so he sits, beer in one hand as she works on the other. Once she’s finished she gathers up the towel that acts as a catch for the various clips and trimmings before making her move to switch sides, Simon easily acquiescing to her whim.

“I’m not keeping you up, am I?” She asks one night. Music plays lowly from a laptop on her patio as he steps onto his for a smoke break. Just because he’s got his vice doesn’t mean he wants the whole flat smelling like it.

“Don’t sleep much anyway, pet. Bit of music won’t change that one way or another.”

Despite his insistence that he’s merely humoring her, he soaks up the attention she readily gives him. When she’s done and tidied after herself she returns with a small bottle of lotion.

He’s got one arm wrapped around her shoulders, pressing a chaste kiss to the top of her head as she massages his hand. If he plays his cards right tonight he can probably get her to soothe some of the aches and stiff muscles that always plague him. For now he melts as she seems to know exactly what points to hit in his palm and forearm. 

It’s domestic and normal and Simon can almost ignore the burner phone he keeps on him at all times.

It goes off at 5am on a Sunday, Simon already awake and having been watching the ceiling fan since 4:30. He can’t fall back asleep but can’t bring himself to separate from her. 

She burrows further into his chest as his shifting disrupts her. He’s fairly certain she would crawl inside his ribcage if she could, curl up right next to his heart and never leave. 

Simon would gladly let her. 

She’s a nail technician, he comes to learn. Sure as shit, he eventually memorizes the traffic that comes and goes on a roughly two week interval. Some of them are steadfast in their appointments. 2 o clock every other Thursday. 4 o clock every other Friday. Others not so much- they come around frequently but the days and times are random after the 14 day mark. 

The familiarity of some of the faces takes him slightly less on edge. He will never relax, not truly, but it settles him down now that he knows the pattern. 

It also explains why her hands have two completely different designs on each one. Color, pattern, the shape of the nails. Her left and right hand look like they belong to two different people. 

Simon doesn’t use social media, for obvious reasons. His little neighbor has formed an entire career for herself based off of it. 

But the phone buzzes on the nightstand, an omniscient presence that always hovers heavy in the air.

“Price?” Is all he gives for a greeting. Trying to keep his words short and concise. He doesn’t want to wake her, still under the lull she draws him into without trying. 

He keeps his work and his personal life separate with no intention of ever melding the two. 

“Laswell’s got intel. We meet in 2 days, back on base at 06:00.”

He is about to respond, both an acknowledgment and a hopeful end to the conversation, when she stretches next to him with a groan of protest at being awoken so early. 

“Tell your other girlfriend I said hi,” she grumbles, already knowing it’s Price on the phone and that the clock is officially counting down on the time they have left together. 

“You know at a certain point I'm going to just decide you’ve got a whole secret life with a wife and kids and a picket fence.”

He doesn’t want his work to ever follow him home. Not to her. He keeps them strictly separate. She knows he’s military- specifically SAS- and that he works in counter terrorism and that’s about all he’s willing to tell. She doesn’t need to know details. And more importantly the details don’t ever need to know about her. 

His past missions have haunted him in the worst way possible. He’s finally rebuilt something for himself as the ghost of a dead man, and doesn’t want anything to ever tarnish what he’s found. 

He can’t entirely blame her. It takes a leap of faith to accept the little he offers her. What does he have? A dead man’s name and most likely a violent end waiting for him. 

Eventually he does offer a small peace offering. Price is enough to settle the concerns that she hides as jokes. Provides enough credibility that she can let go of the concern that he’s living a double life.

Well, he is. But not the kind that nags at her. 

Price knows her; Gaz and Soap know that he’s got someone waiting for him at home, but Simon is already at his limit of how much intermingling he can handle. They’re both compromising, both making allowances for their comfort levels for the sake of the other. But he has to draw the line somewhere. 

If Simon had his way Gaz and Soap would be none the wiser, but a night of frantic coupling before he’d left had Simon bearing marks that are incredibly obvious in the changing room. 

“Steamin’ Jesus L.T.! You get jumped by a wildcat?” The chortle from the Scot makes it obvious that Johnny is yet again not afraid to push Simon’s buttons. 

There’s no denying what they are, nor how he got them. Neither Soap nor Gaz are stupid. 

Long, red scratch marks criss cross the broad expanse of his scarred back. He certainly hadn’t complained when his lovely girl had left her mark on him- those nails dragging across his skin had only encouraged him as his hips clapped wetly against hers, hands gripping her knees as he pressed them to her shoulders.

Most nights he is soft and gentle and strokes her skin while his lips press either in her hair or the soft expanse of her neck. He doesn’t roughhouse her tonight, but the knowledge he’ll be gone for weeks and tonight is their last together for the foreseeable future?

Well, the pair of them are a bit amped about the impending separation. It’s a good thing neither of them are particularly known for their good sleeping habits, because there’s not a lot of that usually happening on the nights before Simon leaves. 

Leaving without waking her up is an impossible task but he tries anyway.

Whereas Simon finds sleep difficult to achieve and eventually sleeps like the dead once he finds it, she drifts readily enough but will wake at the drop of a hat.

Usually she’ll settle soon after. Eyes following his form in the dark, waiting expectantly for him to come back after he dresses to kiss her goodbye. 

They carve out a routine for themselves. One for when Simon is home, and one for when he’s preparing to walk out the door until eventually coming back through it.

His therapist is equal parts shocked and pleased to hear that Simon is taking the leap and opening himself up emotionally to someone. 

His therapist is less pleased about the way he simply buries himself in her life when he’s on leave.

Simon is nothing- has nothing- when he is not acting in the line of duty. He is a dead man with nothing to his name and no one who gives a fuck if he ever walks back through the door that isn’t tied to his military career. 

He thrives on the stability and schedule on base. On the simplicity of nights spent out on the field. Wake up, piss, dont die, go to sleep. Wake up, repeat. 

Some days the only thing keeping him from trying to end it all (again, he bitterly acknowledges) when he’s gotten too far into a bottle of bourbon is his therapist and the thought of his team’s face at the news. 

Until, at least, he meets her. 

The mission is brief but successful. Simon is pleased. 

The deepest of the scratch marks has just finished healing and he’s already missing the sensation of her nails dragging against his skin- and he’s not picky about the context, either. 

There have been plenty of nights he’s fallen asleep with his face buried in her chest with one of her hands scratching gently at his scalp and the other tracing in broad strokes across his back.

Of course those nails also feel divine scratching at his abdomen while she is on her knees for him.

There’s a process he goes through when he gets home. It lets him shed the mantle of Ghost- to calm down as much as he’s able and be better equipped to deal with civilian life. Helps him give her the illusion that she is with a normal man who’s not holding onto himself with a death grip, desperately trying to keep the pieces together.

He feels fine when he leaves base and heads home. Everything is normal. 

Until he turns the corner and sees the door ajar.

Fear runs ice cold in his veins, hackles raised and on guard. 

I’m just being paranoid, he tries to self soothe as he steps towards the door. She tells me all the time.

Course, it was one thing when he gripes about how she answers the door without looking to see who it is. She doesn’t leave the fucking door open.

“Wish you’d at least look at the peep hole before just opening the bloody door,” he grouses into her hair, pulling her in so she’s tucked up to his side. 

“If I’m expecting someone to come at 3 and there’s a knock at 3, I already know who it is, Si.”

There are times when he is grateful that she has, by comparison, lived a life where she thinks he is paranoid and needlessly worries. She hasn’t had the experiences he has, and he doesn’t wish that upon her. He’s grateful with the knowledge that every time he’s sent out, thus far, that she’s been tucked away safe and sound until he returns. 

But of course the other shoe was always going to drop eventually. 

“Price?” Simon doesn’t know who else to call. 

He’s standing in the middle of his flat, evidence of an altercation scattered around the living room. 

She put up a fight if the state of the flat is anything to go by. He wants to be proud of that at least, use it as hope-

He just feels hollow. 

A group the 141 has dealt with prior are the ones all the signs point to. They wanted the team’s attention and by God they fucking got it. 

Simon doesn’t understand how they found she has any ties to him. He’s so careful- keeps her tucked away and hidden from any potential cross over with his work.

The next few days are a blur and Simon’s mental health has seen better days. 

He resigns himself, even when Laswell gets a hit and the 141 are loaded into a helo, to the fact that at best this will be a body retrieval mission. 

Even as Soap gives a reassuring knock into his shoulder- we’ll get her back, LT- as confident as ever. 

His sweet girl is dead, just like every other person Simon has ever cared about. 

He doesn’t understand what he’s done to deserve losing them all. The only ones he has left are his team, and that’s a tenuous state at best. His family was good. They were normal people with normal lives. She is good and a normal person. 

Her only sin is being foolish enough to love him. 

Some time between getting on the bird and offloading, Simon forces the thoughts in a corner and blocks them off. 

Simon, the terrified boyfriend, gives way to Ghost so he can get through this in one piece. He just wants to find her, bring her home and bury her body. He’s numb to anything beyond the scope of the plan he’s formed in his mind. 

It’s laughably easy. A fringe group the 141 has had altercations with- she’s not exactly a high profile prisoner. They just wanted to fuck with Simon.

There’s no satisfaction or vindication as they clear the building floor by floor. 

He feels nothing.

The further they venture into the building with no sign of her, the pit in his stomach sinks just as far. There’s no sign of anything concrete or anywhere they’d keep a prisoner. 

And then there, in a corner of a hallway, Ghost spots it-

An acrylic nail lying broken on the ground, dried blood clotted on the tips. 

For the first time in days, Simon feels something. 

It’s not hope. He doesn’t dare hope. 

But it’s confirmation that she has, at some point, been in the building. 

It’s also confirmation that she gave it a fighting chance. 

She’s a civilian- nothing much she can do against professional criminals. But she tried and Simon has to find something in that.

They split into pairs down a hallway clearing rooms. Every door that opens only to not have her in it is like a knife that keeps twisting in his abdomen. 

Just let him have this one thing. 

It’s just as Ghost and Soap have called out clear on another room that he hears Price’s voice call to him down the hall. 

There’s only one reason Price would be calling for him specifically.

As he approaches he can hear the captain again, softer this time. Can’t make out what he’s saying but everything feels slow; like he’s moving under water. 

As his mind prepares him for every horrific potential image waiting for him beyond the threshold of the door- there’s nothing that prepares him for what he sees. 

She’s alive. 

Wide eyed and panicked, which is to be expected all things considered, but she’s here and she’s breathing.

Simon forgets himself entirely. He swings wildly from feeling nothing to feeling everything and it bubbles up all at once as he barrels towards her. 

He forgets that while she knows Simon is SAS she knows nothing of Ghost. Simon works in counter terrorism, yes, but she knows nothing about the mask.

So after being kidnapped and going through God-knows-what in her absence, she’s got no fucking clue the 6’4 fucker with the skull mask gunning for her is her boyfriend. 

The sharp, croaked “Stay the fuck away from me!” doesn’t cut but it does jog his memory enough to know she’s absolutely terrified.

Again there’s that part of him that is proud of her. After everything she’s been through even if she wouldn’t stand a chance in an actual altercation- She’s not huddled in the corner. She looks willing to fight him, until Simon rips the mask off his face. “It’s me, love! It’s me.”

“Simon? What the fuck is that?!”

Rather than scrambling to get away she turns to launch herself at him, a tangle of limbs as they cling to each other and reassure themselves that yes this is real and yes the other is there. That this fucking nightmare is over.

Simon buries his nose in her hair- was so certain he’d be bringing her home in a body bag he almost doesn’t know what to do with himself. She’s shaking in his grip, sobs ripping through her as he shushes her gently and murmurs “It’s alright, love. I’ve got you now.”

“As much as I love a good reunion- we need to get going, Ghost.” Price is ever the voice of reason, because Simon’s head is not in the game right now. 

He wants to cling to her and never let her go- he needs to pull his head out of his ass. 

Price isn’t wrong. As much as he has to fight off the impulse to tuck her against his side and keep her there, they have shit to do. 

He won’t truly be able to relax until she’s safely stowed on the helo and they’re on their way back.

It’s a bit easier once he puts the mask on. His brain is trained to focus on work and not let his personal life muddy the waters. Where Simon can’t help but falter, Ghost is dauntless. 

Simon can barely string a thought together now that he has her back in his arms. Simon still cannot believe she’s alive and breathing even after touching, smelling and hearing her. 

But Ghost can focus on getting her to the helo. 

Everything is a blur as Price and Gaz lead with Soap bringing up the rear. 

Ghost can’t quite decide where he wants her- keeps alternating between keeping her behind him in the event they get blindsided, that he’ll take any hits that go past Price or Gaz, or getting her in front of him so he can keep an eye on her, and there’s two SAS soldiers in front of her and two behind.

The hostiles in the building wanted the 141’s attention. Mission fucking accomplished.

The ones they chance across are dropped with ease. Simon is no stranger to returning to a location and making his point. Right now he’s got bigger concerns to be worried about. 

A knot of anxiety lodges itself on his ribcage as they move through the building that doesn’t unwind until he’s got her strapped to her seat in the helo. 

For the first time in days he can breathe. The knot slowly untangles as they ascend.

It finally settles in for both of them that she is out and she is safe. She’s been quiet the whole trek to the helo but Price, Soap, and Gaz have been on enough hostage recovery missions to not be caught off guard as she bursts into tears and buries her face in Ghost’s vest. 

It’s finally safe for her to do so, the adrenaline wearing off as she sobs. 

For the most part the other three men try to avert their eyes and not intrude.

Simon’s always been reserved about his life off base and watching him soothe his partner is bordering too personal for the others to witness.

It comes and goes in waves; Simon will settle her down, crooning quietly in her ear too low for the others to hear. She’ll stifle her tears for a bit as he soothes her. They go straight to medical after landing to have her looked at. She starts up again while waiting for the nurse to come back, trying to apologize to Simon through choked sobs. 

He won’t hear it, softly but firmly brushing her apologies to the side and assuring her everything’s fine now, love. No need to apologize.

He feels physically ill when the nurse delicately asks if she needs a rape kit or screenings done.

The rest of the 141 gives them a wide berth- which is a marked accomplishment because all too often Soap and Gaz are trailing behind him and finding some sort of shenanigans to get up to. Simon is perfectly content with the arrangement. He wants to focus his attention on her and that’s easier to do without the sergeants under foot.

His room on base is much like his entire apartment was before she moved in.

It’s 3am, Simon needs to take a piss and as he’s doing so, he’s not-quite eye level with a sign that says

“★★★★★ -

Would poop here again”

He’s got no idea when or where she found that, let alone put it up, but rolls his eyes good naturedly as he tucks himself away.

Normal people have bathroom decor.

Simon can appreciate a bit or a joke as much as the next person- but while this space is his it’s not something he’s ever felt the need to decorate. It’s a bed for him to crash on in between missions or if he’s too bloody exhausted to safely make the trek home.

There’s only one piece of any sort of personal touch to the room- a framed photo of her.

Simon intends to see her through the next few days- they’ll head home in the morning and realistically there’s only so long John can hold off on calling the boys in again. But the captain says he’ll do what he can to keep Simon home while they settle back in. He’s been due for some leave anyway.

He doesn’t sleep the first night. She swings drastically between being knocked out and jolting awake screaming and crying. Even once she’s gotten over the initial shock of her rescue it still takes time for her nervous system to calm down.

“I’ve got you, love- you’re safe here” he murmurs into her ear as she trembles like a leaf. “We’ll be home soon, yeah? You’ll feel better once you’re in our bed.”

The question is twofold- it is to soothe her, and also to gauge her reaction to the prospect of going home. Simon won’t hesitate to set the flat ablaze if it makes her feel better. 

Start fresh.

For now she seems to sleep better if he’s got her pinned up against the wall- the bulk of him a physical barrier to anything that might enter the room.

He’s always slept between her and the door so that’s no hardship- it just takes time to realize she feels safer trapped between him and the wall.

They make it through the first night in one piece, although the next morning she will not stop chewing on her nails. With someone else, he wouldn’t necessarily be surprised- but she’s never been a nail biter.

It dawns on him, as she sits on the couch and bursts into tears, that she wants the nails (or at least the ones that survived the ordeal) off, and is winding herself up too much to take them off the way she knows she should.

Simon goes to her office; he’s watched her enough that he knows the steps and the materials she’ll need, gathering them up before coaxing her to the table.

There’s no interest in redoing them but Simon manages to get the current sets off of her so she doesn’t damage her nail beds- assuming she stops chewing on them (which she does).

Over the next few days he lets her set the pace. She’s jumpy at home and calmer when he takes her out to run errands or just to stretch their legs. 

Maybe he will propose moving sooner rather than later. Their building is a shithole anyway.

He puts her in therapy after a week. It’s the only time he’s away from her. Realistically he knows it’s not good to have her so used to always being within arms length or eyesight of him- it’s not sustainable when eventually he will be called back in. But he has no qualms for the coddling he subjects her to while he’s able to. She’s quiet and comfortable with his hovering in a way she’d never tolerate before she was abducted- he figures he’ll know when she’s feeling a bit like herself again when she starts complaining about him not giving her any space.

Knowing she’s got the therapist gives him some security on how she’ll mentally cope when eventually he needs to leave again.

Her bursting into tears occurs less frequently. If Simon has to pry himself away from her to take a piss in the middle of the night she’s not up, back ramrod straight and waiting for him to come back with wet, teary eyes.

As the days tick on, bleeding into months later, Simon idly acknowledges that-short of when he’s on deployment- this is the longest they’ve gone without having sex. There’s nothing else that goes with that acknowledgement- he’s far more concerned with her well being than he is getting his kicks. He’s just taking stock of all their ‘normals’ and prior to her abduction they’d had quite the active sex life.

It’s one day as they’re watching a movie that it’s apparent Simon isn’t the only one aware of their dry spell.

They’re laying on the couch, her back pressed against his front with one of his heavy arms draped across her rib cage to keep her snuggled up against him as they watch the screen in front.

At first he thinks that she’s repositioning- thinks nothing of it and lifts his arm just enough to allow her the freedom to wiggle to a more comfortable spot. She keeps wiggling though and Simon is trying to keep his mind off the sensation of her arse grinding into his groin. Trying to ignore the way his dick twitches in interest, because- God help him- he's not dead and the love of his life is grinding her arse on him. Bodies are going to do what bodies do, and he can feel himself stiffening in response.

“Sweetheart, you need to sit still,” he whispers the plea into her ear. 

Her head tilts back towards him and lust jolts through his body at the look in her eyes while she still continues to grind against him.

“I miss you, Simon,” and given how he is rarely further than grabbing distance from her, there’s very few other ways to interpret what exactly it is that she is missing.

He’s a goner when she gives him that wide, doe eyed expression paired with the prettiest “Please?” he’s ever heard in his life.

One moment they’re quiet and content laying on their sides on the couch- the next Simon’s gripping her arm and pulling her on top of him as he settles onto his back. She follows his lead and moves so her weight is settled on his hips as his hands grip hers.

It is no hardship on his end to wait for her- the patience never truly even registered in his brain. She can have as much time as she needs and Simon will give it to her gladly.

But his pretty girl batting her eyes at him and pleading softly for him? His patience isn’t the only thing he’s willing to give her.

“Are you sure?” He doesn’t mean to second guess her or make her question herself but he does want to make sure that she’s not acting on obligation.

“Yes, Simon- Please,” and who is he to deny her?

His hands are on her immediately- pulling her towards him and encouraging her to grind, knowing her sweet clit will light up at the friction of her soft panties dragging across the rough material of his jeans.

His lips find hers, separating only briefly as he hauls her dress up and over her head, happily discarding the material in a heap on the floor.

His hands grip her hips, Simon relaxing into the couch while his fingers dug into the pillow soft skin perching above him. He’s straining against the fabric of his jeans- knows the tip of his erection is leaking clear pre and it’s not just going to be her being the reason the fabric has a wet spot.

The couch is certainly not the worst place to be, his beautiful girlfriend’s tits in his face as she grinds down in his lap with little hitching breaths.

“Just like that, pretty,” he encourages, kissing down her jawbone, the length of her neck and across her collar bone before happily mouthing at her breasts which are blessedly right in his face.

Simon groans in pleasure as he teases one nipple, her sweet mewls and the grip on his hair only spurring him on.

Grabbing a handful of her plush arse, he groans in anticipation while switching from one breast to the other.

It’s been a fair while since his back has been shredded by her nails and he can’t wait to feel the bite of them dragging down the length of his spine.

“Lift up, sweetheart,” he instructs, somewhat loath to release her plump bottom but eager to get her dripping for him.

She pulls up enough for him to slip one hand between her legs. Exploring fingers are quick to spread her wetness, dipping between her folds and dragging back up to circle her clit softly.

“Fuck- Simon!” she whines in his ear.

He knows enough by now what makes her tick. Once she’s all warmed up and ready to roll, that sweet cunt of hers could take a thrashing. But warming up involves feather-light touches to get her squirming and squealing for him.

“Feels good, pretty?” he asks despite knowing the answer in the way her arms wrap around his neck and she sags against him, hips twitching as she lets him tease her.

“Ye-yeah,” she murmurs, and presses her lips against his neck as he takes another pass- finger pulling away from her clit just to draw shivers from her as he traces back down her folds and presses ever so lightly against the entrance on her- just to the first knuckle- and making his way back to tease her clit.

Each pass has her rocking her hips more as he slips more of his finger inside, eventually adding a second that has her mewling and squirming in his lap.

He’s going to have one hell of a hickey from how she’s sucking on his neck, but Simon can’t bring himself to care. Not when his ears are graced with the delightful little noises she makes- whimpers of protest as he pulls his fingers out of her, the shaky inhales as he circles her clit and the trembling moan when he once again slides his fingers inside of her to give a few pointed strokes to her g-spot just to get her shivering and blinking up at him with lust-blown eyes.

“Fuck you’re wet,” there’s absolutely zero resistance now, even when he slides a third finger inside her. 

“Please,” she mewls into his skin, hips rocking in time with the thrust of his fingers into her.

“What do you want, sweetheart? Use your words.” He’s always found her an absolute delight to tease- she gets so flustered and stares at him with that doe eyed, betrayed look- how dare he make her ask for anything when it’s obvious what she wants.

“Please let me cum,” she pants as her eyes screw up in pleasure while his fingers trace and circle her clit for several passes.

“You wanna cum, love?” His tone is just a bit too soft to be a mocking tease despite the way she glares at him. Spoiled little thing so easily sliding back into her old habits.

“I’m going to bite you,” she grumbles in bemused annoyance, brows furrowing as she tries to follow his hand while teasing her.

He doesn’t doubt his little viper for a second, mollifying her displeasure with three fingers digging for that spot that makes her see stars.

“Oh~,” she mewls against him as he stokes the fires of her orgasm with a vengeance. He doesn’t stop, angling his hand so his thumb can stroke against her clit and enjoying the way she trembles against him like a leaf caught in a windstorm.

“That the spot, hm? Right there, innit?” He rumbles low in her ear, a satisfied smirk on his face as she nods in a big sweeping motion against his neck. “Come on, pretty. You wanna cum so badly? Do it.” he baits.

Mission accomplished.

Fuck he’ll remember the vision of her crying and cumming and trembling in his hold, soaking his forearm and abdomen as she squirts, for the rest of his days. His free hand runs soothingly down her back for a few passes before pulling both hands away from her.

She’s immediately whining against him, upset at having his touch taken away. “Simon, please-”

He shushes her with a kiss to her temple, “I know what you need, sweetheart,” he murmurs while deftly undoing his pants and freeing his cock.

It only takes a few strokes, already straining and ready to perform, before they’re shuffling as he pulls and maneuvers her so she’s hovering above him and Oh fuck has Simon missed this as she sinks down on him.

It always takes a couple attempts- he’s not a small man, and doesn’t want to risk injury. Not to mention there’s just something fucking delicious about only giving her a few inches, pulling back and feeding her just a few more. Slow, short, steady thrusts that get deeper bit by bit, having Simon ready to melt into the couch at the bliss of being buried in her by the time she sinks all of her weight onto him, her groin pressing against his.

She’s so fucking warm and wet, clinging to him as she shuffles to get good leverage on top of him to bounce.

Bloody fucking hell does she feel good. “That’s it, pretty. Take it all,” he encourages her while she whimpers above him- if he angles himself just right he can grind her clit against him in a way that has her sucking down air and shivering.

She’s so good for him but he knows there’s only so long she can bounce in his lap- even resting on one knee on the couch and her other foot on the floor so she can shift her weight and give leg a break every now and then, Simon throwing his head back and groaning loudly.

It’s one of the only times he’s particularly verbose- Usually content to be silent and broody unless he has a specific question in mind, the bedroom (or in this case the living room) is the one place where he is a chatterbox. The mouth on him is surreal at times, and while one would think his sweet girl would be use to the filth every now and then he’ll catch her off guard with some particularly out of pocket comment.

For now though, he’s a bit reserved- doesn’t want to go from zero to a hundred out of nowhere.

No, for now his attention is focused on the goddess bouncing on his cock, wondering if he can get her to squirt a second time if he just- he shifts underneath her, changing the angle and fucking hell does that seem to do the trick for her. Swiping one of his thumbs across his tongue before pressing it to her clit and circling again, Simon can’t help the smug look on his face when she squeals. “Just like that, sweetheart. Fuck,” he grunts as he thrusts up into her. From how those pretty thighs are trembling, her legs are about to give out as he fucks into her. 

“Simon!” She’s yelping his name with glassy eyes and a clenching cunt “Fuck- Simon! Please-”

She doesn’t have the energy to get herself back up again- poor thing, her thighs must be burning, and he can’t help but be a cocky fuck about the fact that she loves riding his dick to the point that she physically can’t keep going.

“On your back, sweetheart,” he instructs with a light swat to her ass- appreciating the way her body jiggles at the impact.

His sweet girl has done so well and worked so hard, it’s only right that he rewards her. Once she’s on her back he grips her under her knees and folds her legs back- gives himself room between those gorgeous thighs.

“Fuck, baby- please don’t stop,” she pants underneath him, back arching in pleasure as his mouth drops to her breasts again. Her arms wrap loosely around his neck, and he twitches in anticipation at the feel of her nails tracing ever so lightly against his back.

“Not gonna stop, pretty girl.” he groans against her skin, alternating between which nipple he has between his teeth.

Fuck she’s clenching down on him like a vice. He knows she’s getting close; squirming in his grip, keeping her legs nice and spread for him. The feel of her nails reaching down his back and dragging up his spine pulls a groan that would be embarrassing if Simon could find it within himself to care in the slightest. The slight pain encourages him as he cants against her.

“Simon!” The sound of his hips knocking into the back of her thighs is loud and messy. Fuck he’s such a goner when she looks up at him with that sweet expression on her face- pure adoration and wonder in her eyes.

“Just like that, sweetheart. Fucking hell, love,” he grunts out, a second wind reinvigorating him when she starts shaking. Those plush thighs shaking in his hold as he knocks the sense out of her pretty head, he’s so fucking close he can taste it but is determined to get her across the finish line first.

“Such a good fucking girl,” he purrs in her ear, “You feel fucking perfect taking my cock. This wet cunt’s all mine, innit?”

All she can do is chant “Yes! Yes! Yes!” over and over again- Simon’s not sure if even she is certain if she’s repeating the word to answer him, or if she’s just babbling because he’s making her feel good and she’s getting close.

“You gonna cum again love? Gonna soak me, hm?” He’s just running his mouth now- knows the shit she likes to hear, reaffirmed by the way she’s shivering in his hold and crying for it with a glassy eyed gaze.

Whatever she is going to respond with is cut off with a squeal. Simon rears back, enjoying the show as she makes a mess all over his cock with her eyes rolled back. He lets go of one of her legs in favor of teasing her clit just shy of overstimulation to prolong her orgasm- she lets him for a time before her hands abandon shredding his back in favor of wrapping around his wrist in a plea for mercy. 

“Simon it’s too much,” she laments with teary eyes as he pulls his hand away with a chuckle and a chaste kiss. 

He stays curled over her, hips driving into hers. “Tell me where you want it,” he instructs.

“Inside! Please, I want it inside!” Her answer is sharp and immediate, the leg not pinned to her chest wrapping around his waist like she is daring him to even try to pull out.

And fuck there is something cathartic about his orgasm when it hits. Burying his face in her soft body while his hips snapped into hers a few times, Simon groans as his vision damn near whites out for a second.

Simon knows better than most that there’s good days and bad days- and a presumed good day can become a bad day quicker than one can blink. But overall he feels like consistently she’s doing better all around. They take their time calming down, Simon showering her in attention and getting a feel for where her head is at. Praising her for how well she did and making sure she feels stable.

He lets out a breath, feeling confident that she’s settled, having a good day, and everything is fine for now. 

And it is. Until about two hours later.

One moment they’re finishing the movie they’d initially started before the impromptu romp on the couch, and then Simon has a 3 second warning of her sniffling as she obviously tries to fight back the tears and then she’s sobbing harder than she has in weeks.

Simon goes from content to concerned in a second, his blood turning to ice in his veins. His immediate assumption is that their prior activities finally caught up with her mentally and now that she’s had time to think it over it wasn’t good. It was too fucking soon to have sex. He should have told her no, should have been gentler, should have-

“Sweetheart? Talk to me,” his voice is tinged with a thinly controlled concern (not panic he convinces himself) and while he means to comfort her, she can hear his tone and that just sets her off anew.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” she blubbers, turning to face him. “I don’t know why I’m crying!”

That settles Simon’s nerves somewhat, stroking her back and pulling her close to comfort her. “It’s okay, sweetheart.” he soothes her, listening to her sniffle against his shirt after shoving her into the crook of his neck.

“I just want to feel normal again,” she sobs into his collar.

“You will, love,” he assures her- never mind that ‘normal’ is something that even he struggles with on a near daily basis. “It’ll take time but you’ll get there. I promise.”

He’s a bastard for making a promise to her that he can’t guarantee to keep. There’s a part of him that knows that- hell, he’s been working on his shit for years and he still doesn’t feel normal most days.

But while he can’t promise that she’ll ever get back to feeling exactly the same as she did before all of this happened, he can promise that he’ll be by her side and ensure she’s adjusting. It will take time, and work, but Simon will make sure she gets there one step at a time.

[tarotofhope]

PAC: 「Which Aspect of your life should you put more energy into」

(Please Read My Pinned post *IMPORTANT NOTE* before selecting a Pile)

Pick an Image by meditating and selecting the image you feel called to. You can be attracted towards more than 1 image. If you are not able to select maybe this reading isn't for you.

*TRIGGER WARNING* Many strong trigger messages are there in Pile 2 and 5. It's almost calling out toxic habits/people because some people are focusing their energy on negative things. It's mostly talking about shadow aspects. That energy could be yours or someone you're currently closely dealing with.

It was very hard to write both these piles for me but I couldn't skip those because it was important to mention them.

Please don't take any offense, if you think you don't relate to those piles or if you feel uncomfortable reading them, you're free to choose another pile. Don't let a reading ruin your day and don't take it to your heart.

Pile 1

Wheel Of Fortune, The Fool, Ten Of Swords.

Welcome to your reading, Pile 1. You guys went through a lot of trouble because of your family patterns and beliefs/values or your ancestral trauma that has been carried down towards you by your family. There seems to be a lot of toxicity here. You don't like it and you're someone who doesn't want to carry it forward to your own offsprings as well which is such a righteous and courageous decision in itself. If you think you don't want to follow the same toxic pattern, you've already done half the work for your coming generations. That's very applaudable. The universe and your guides/angels will be so proud of you. This decision of yours itself is going to be a huge game changer which is why The Wheel Of Fortune appeared. It could be so that the elders of your family or your parents/guardian believe that, "We faced this trauma, this strictness from our parents so you're definitely going to have a taste of it. What's so wrong about it? It's normal." That's their toxic thinking which they inherited from the previous generations. One example I want to share here, which is very important. I was watching an asian stand-up comedy video on youtube where the guy(in his 40s) said to the young audience, "Your generation has become so sensitive that you cannot even handle beatings from your parents. You consider it as traumatic, toxic. You guys are so confused about your gender and sexual identity. Our generation suffered so much more than you but we never complained like you guys do. We never talked back to our parents/elders because we thought they can never be wrong. We accepted bad/toxic behaviour with ease and never argued back in defense and so we never complicated things for ourselves." But I believe, this kind of mindset of never speaking for yourself, never being curious to raise questions is always going to stunt your personal growth and development. If children are not questioning certain behaviours, parents must teach them to do so, that way parents can also win the trust of their children. Breaking toxic family patterns and creating a life full of freedom and hope for yourself and others should be your motto in life. You're not supposed to carry the same toxic family patterns towards your future generations. You should be the one who marks the end of it. If you feel the need to speak up, then speak up. I know we cannot change somebody's mindset but we can atleast teach the younger generations about what's toxic and what's not.

That's all I got for you, my dear Pile 1.

Love, light, hope and peace to you..🌸🌼🌻

Pile 2

Ace of Swords reversed, 7 of Swords, The Tower and The Sun Reversed.

Welcome to your reading, Pile 2. You're someone very sharp and intelligent by birth. Like it's in your blood.

*Trigger Warning ahead. If you do not resonate, you're free to choose another pile, please don't take any offense. It could be you or it could be someone you're dealing with currently. Different people will relate differently.*

There's something bad that's happened to you because of which things took an ugly turn. You maybe started putting your energy into revenge or as a result of getting hurt, you're letting out all of your anger by using your abilities and gifts in negative ways. As I said you have a sharp mind, you might be using your intelligence in such kind of jobs where there's deception/gambling/fraud, in something that's not morally correct. You're not using your mind in doing something smart in a good way, which could bring more convenience to you and others. Whatever you're doing, you're very good at it but it does not seem morally correct. I'm not saying you're a bad person but you're letting out all the negative energies of what has happened to you on others. See, the way you think, the way you see it, matters a lot. If you think of revenge, then it will be so but rather think of fighting back, you can get back at people who cause great harm to you but are in denial or having no remorse whatsoever. Sometimes, other people can't do justice to you, if you are a survivor, you can do it for yourself because the victims who die in an assault/murder/attack etc don't get the chance to do justice for themselves. In this pile, I can also see a lot of jealousy and a habit of cursing people for doing the slightest mistakes which hurts you even a tiny bit. These could be the after-effects of a trauma. There's an advice to use your gifts and abilities for good things. You might be someone who themselves is very hurt and troubled but you might be doing the same thing to others. After The Tower moment that happened(means when you were probably deceived/betrayed or hurt), you might have started believing in the idea that, "There's nothing such as right or wrong, it doesn't matter. I don't believe in karma. Karma needs to first get to the people who hurt me and I don't see them getting their karma, so it doesn't work, I guess" or you still know the difference between right and wrong but you've become so cold that you don't want to give a care about it. You're also someone who is very hard to impress. Some of you also believe in working smart than working hard. You need to know that by seeking revenge or getting things by wrong means is only going to look good temporarily, it's not going to help you in the long run. Very few of you could also be into black magic and use it to get things done your way. You could also be someone having a leadership position but you're using authoritative power in the wrong manner. Focus your energy into healing yourself and then let yourself out into the world. The world needs people like you but you're doing the opposite. Let your scars be your strength. Surrender your hurt, traumas and troubles to the universe.

That's all I got for you, my dear Pile 2.

Love, light, peace and hope to you..🌸🌻🌼

Pile 3

The Devil, Ace Of Swords, 5 Of Cups and 5 of Wands.

Welcome to your reading, Pile 3. It seems like you guys are not treated fairly at work. You're in a constant fight to survive. You might also be currently in an argument with a superior/parent/guardian/authority figure. You're quite disppointed and tired of your current job situation. Either you're doing this work out of an indirect/unspoken pressure from home, because you want to put food on the table or you're working here because your family wants you to or because you just want money to fulfil some needs. This work is taking a lot of your time and the income is quite unsatisfactory. This could be a family business or a startup as well for some people but something about it looks forced, like you had no choice. Lots of 5s here in the cards, means it's something which brings you sorrow, dissatisfaction, regret, disappointment. Some of you have recently left a job due to the above mentioned reasons. For some of you, this could be an educational course that you're doing out of pressure while for some of you, this could be your own happily chosen field of work but currently you're struggling to keep up, either you are not in good health or people have too many expectations from you. If this is something where force/pressure is involved and you're not okay with it then you should somehow try to get out of this situation soon or if this is something which seems out of your control and you can't get out, you need to do something as a side hustle or any relaxation activity/extracurricular activity which you like for your own well-being, but that side-activity should be equally calming and strong enough to get all that stress out of you. You will need to do a bit of balancing, a bit multi-tasking(which is work + relaxation activity) in order to keep your mind calm, otherwise, it will take a huge toll on your health in the long run.

So, that's all I got for you, my dear Pile 3

Love, light, peace and hope to you..🌻🌼🌸

Pile 4

Knight Of Pentacles, 2 Of Cups, Ace Of Pentacles, 2 Of Wands.

Welcome to your reading, Pile 4.

Lot of 2s here, so there's a strong wish for companionship in this pile. You want stability in your work and personal life. You are looking forward to finally settle down. But before that, you need to focus on your career, independence and money. Work, earn, settle down your finances and then marry. You could be under the age-group of marriage or could have crossed that age limit according to societal beliefs and norms but believe me, the universe works in magical ways. It's never too late to do anything. You must first focus on yourself and your overall growth then only you could bring that level of prosperity in your married life as well. This applies to your partner as well. We all have some baggage due to bad experiences and traumas but if it is something that's constantly been like an itch you need to scratch, then you need to first get rid of that itch. You need to be healthy and fit because I'm also hearing some of you are not happy with your looks/weight or something that is related to your body or you have some chronic health issues which you're dying to get rid of. There's also some problems with finances going on, some serious family issues and you know on the inside that you're not currently at your best. So, you first need to stabilise your finances and health before you jump into any serious relationships or marriage. I'm not telling you to not fall in love neither am I asking you to hold back. I'm just telling you to be ready and prepared before taking such a major step in your personal life because then it would be a total mess and you'll carry major regrets and insecurities later on because of the things you didn't work on earlier. What needs to be done earlier should be done earlier for your own sake. Don't think that things will change magically after entering into a romantic relationship or marriage. You're hopeful and being dreamy but you're not ready. If you think you're mentally quite disturbed and unstable, not well health-wise, not independent enough, finances are not good then you shouldn't go looking for a partner just because everybody else is getting into a relationship/getting married. Work on yourself first, what's meant to be yours will be yours and only yours to take. Nobody will be able to snatch it away from you.

So, that's all I got for you, my dear Pile 4

Love, light, peace and hope to you..🌼🌻🌸

Pile 5

King Of wands Reversed, Wheel Of Fortune Reversed, 9 Of Cups, Judgement.

Welcome to your reading, Pile 5.

*Trigger Warning Ahead. The following messages contains many triggers. Don't take it to your heart. If you do not resonate, you're free to choose another pile but please don't take any offense as this reading could be about you or someone toxic you're dealing with*

You could be too much dependent on others or others' opinion of you. I can also see a lot of toxic femininity and masculinity, blaming on others for your defeats, losses and bad luck but you are not taking an initiative to see where the problem exactly lies. We all are not perfect but this pile specifically seems to call out toxic traits. You are someone very kind and generous and you like to help people but at the same time your intentions are mostly directed in your own favor. It's good to keep yourself first but you might be extremely focused only on your needs. You might not like to accept a 'no' from others. There could also be an ego issue because of which you don't like to apologise to others. You could be someone who has created a stable home for themselves or someone who doesn't have anything of their own(it is either your parents' or someone else's resources), but there's an ego issue and a lot of pride. Now, here there are 2 kinds of people, ones who are deeply connected with their family members or atleast one or two people in their life whereas the other ones are not bothered by relationships at all. You could be someone who love pets and/or children. You might even be a quick judge of character because you like to observe but you might not be always right. I'm also getting a lot of greediness from this pile. There is little to no focus on self-growth and inner healing here. You might also be someone who gets angry easily, always wants an upperhand in an argument. You like to do things yourself while for some of you, you don't give enough credit to people who help you. Again, similarly to Pile 2, you might have great leadership qualities but a habit of controlling everyone your way, imposing your way of doing things on others. You need to meditate, pause and take a look inside your mind, body and soul. That's where you'll find your answers. Start putting yourself in other people's shoes and try to see the world from a different point of view.

That's all I got for you, my dear Pile 5.

Love, light, peace and hope to you..🌸🌼🌻

Thank you so much for being here. I post PAC readings every Tuesday and Friday. Do love and support by reblogging, liking or following.

[akrasianwords]

a few people were interested in my aspd dazai analysis but I feel like no one is seeing the reblog of the essay so it gets its own post now! yap ahead

A couple of days ago, I was having a conversation with an acquaintance about Dazai. At one point, I had offhandedly mentioned that I believe Dazai is someone who deals with ASPD. While I thought it was fairly obviously implied throughout the show, they were quick to disagree with me, offering instead the opinion of him having BPD. Now, I’m not one to start arguments over simple things like this and I could tell they were not the type of person who would enjoy a debate. So like any rational, passionate person, I decided to write a 5 page essay on it instead. In this essay I will elaborate on why I believe ASPD is a better fit diagnosis for Dazai than BPD, present evidence to support it, and talk about why I don’t think he has BPD.

Before we get into this, let’s talk about what exactly ASPD and BPD are. Disclaimer, I am not a professional, nor have I been formally diagnosed with either. So, I am not an expert. However, I do believe I’ve done enough research and have my own personal experiences with a large portion of symptoms of ASPD, as well as having several personal connections to people with BPD, to speak on this.

Antisocial Personality Disorder is a cluster B disorder characterised mostly by a frequent lack of understanding of empathy, using manipulation and/or deception to further one’s own needs or wants, and being generally apathetic towards people’s personal thoughts and feelings. People with ASPD often have a hard time discerning and comprehending morals, forming meaningful attachments with people around them, and caring about societal norms. Overall, the struggle of ASPD is mostly found with morality and empathy.

(I would like to note that just because someone may struggle with these things, it does not mean they are incapable of it. Someone with ASPD is just as able to love and be loved as the next person, they just have a more difficult time overcoming their own personal blocks in order to do so. Similarly, they may struggle with understanding morality but that does not mean they are incapable of conforming to what is widely considered right or wrong. They may have different reasons for being kind or just, such as ‘it’s too much trouble to be bad,’ ‘I like it when others tell me I’m a good person,’ or ‘it’s just what I’m supposed to do.’ This does not mean their actions are invalid, simply that they have differing motivations from the larger population.)

On the other hand, Borderline Personality Disorder, also cluster B, is most well known for intense and irregular mood swings, attachment and abandonment issues, and impulsive and self destructive behaviour. People who deal with BPD typically also struggle with mania, a warped and unstable sense of self, and intense and generally unjustified anger issues. The gist of BPD, at its core, is the inability to regulate thoughts and emotions. Someone with BPD may do a complete 180 emotionally because of something another individual may deem small or insignificant. A partner forgetting to text back could trigger emotions that have the same weight as if the partner were to break up with them. Someone who has just experienced the death of their father could suddenly the next day feel on top of the world, given the right prompting. BPD is all about the instability and insecurity regarding thoughts, feelings, or identity.

So! How does this relate to Dazai? I’m glad you asked!

Throughout the series, Dazai continuously shows signs and behavioural patterns aligning with that of someone with ASPD. He is constantly seen manipulating people and situations to get the results he desires, he’s outright stated to have no interest or understanding of ‘right’ and ‘wrong’, and it’s not uncommon to see him using or mistreating certain people in his life with little to no empathy or regret. The prevalence of this behaviour changes significantly with his transfer to the Armed Detective Agency, but is definitely still something that affects Dazai to this day. If he has to threaten to torture someone to get the information he wants, as seen with Kouyou after Kyouka was taken, or sacrifice one innocent person’s life to end a villain’s, as seen with Rokuzo and Miss Sasaki in his entrance exam, he has no issue doing such.

In the Dark Ages, Oda tells Dazai outright that he doesn’t care about morality. Dazai is as Dazai does, and he has no reservations doing things deemed evil to further his (or Mori’s) own goals. His list of crimes is extensive. His personal relationships are messy and toxic. He has no issue with lying, stealing, or killing. The only reason he decides to pursue the life of a good man is because someone he grew to care for, Oda, had requested it as his dying wish. It’s likely that in stating his understanding of Dazai’s views, or lack thereof, on good and evil, he proved to Dazai that he understood him. This is one of the main factors that convinced Dazai to take his wish into consideration. Knowing that Oda understood his true apathetic nature and still requested this of him convinced Dazai to give Oda’s ideologies a chance. Had Oda not asked it of Dazai, he likely would have stayed with the Port Mafia without much thought to it.

Manipulation is perhaps one of Dazai’s most well known traits. He’s famous for his schemes, his tricks, his ability to transform any person or situation into what he wants them to be. Take Akutagawa for example. Dazai is cruel to him with the interest of moulding him into something the Port Mafia (or himself, later on) can use. He has little to no regard for Akutagawa’s safety or emotions. This is something that, for the most part, follows him into his new life at the Armed Detective Agency. He says and does things to manipulate Akutagawa’s emotions to play in Dazai’s favour. He makes comments about Akutagawa being inferior to Atsushi (‘my new apprentice is superior to you in every way imaginable’), he uses Akutagawa’s admiration against him (ex. The Moby Dick, when Dazai has Atsushi throw the cellphone in order to distract Akutagawa), and he holds the promise of approval over his head in order to get Akutagawa to do things he typically wouldn’t (‘I hope to see you a little more competent now’ during the Cannibalism Arc as he’s told to work with Atsushi).

During the prison arc, Dazai is shown to play a game of chess with Fyodor. It’s obvious what the pieces on the board represent: each piece is a character. Every character plays a role in Dazai’s chess match against the Demon. He’s got his Queen, his Knights, his Bishop, etc. and he’ll manipulate them and the situation as he sees fit in order to win the match. One of the main components to his relationship with Fyodor is how similar they think. Dazai has stated on several occasions that the reason he’s able to predict Fyodor’s actions and plans is because ‘it’s what he would do.’ They share ideas, strategies, and behaviours. Both are prone to manipulation and deception in order to get what they want.

Some other noticeable examples that I’m too lazy to elaborate on but speak for themselves are the scene with the nurse and the phone, the scene where Dazai sends Atsushi to go investigate his own abuser’s death, and when Dazai manipulates Chuuya into joining the Port Mafia.

I’ve touched on deception a few times so far, but I felt it was significant enough to deserve its own paragraph. It’s not uncommon for Dazai to leave out important details, or tell outright lies in order to get what he wants. He lied to most of the members of the Agency about his past for years in order to keep his place there, assuming that they would shun them had they known. His entire personality is mostly a facade, putting up the mask of a silly detective man to avoid being taken too seriously.

He’s prone to apathy, and doesn’t really ever show any characters empathy throughout the series. When Atsushi is having a panic attack, Dazai’s instinct is to slap him back to reality rather than cater to his emotional needs. When Kunikida is upset by the results of his and Dazai’s actions in Dazai’s Entrance Exam, Dazai simply tells him that reality won’t conform to his ideals. After Chuuya is betrayed by the Sheep, Dazai uses his vulnerability to recruit him into the Port Mafia. It’s rare to see him act sympathetic with characters. This does not mean he doesn’t show kindness to them, but he clearly has difficulties empathising with people going through crises.

Along with others, he’s rather uncaring towards himself. Most of the times we’ve seen him in dangerous situations, he’s continued to act carefree and unbothered. When he was captured by the Port Mafia he had no reservations about provoking Akutagawa even though he knew it would cause himself harm. He also has consistently proven that he doesn’t care about his own life. Via attempts and jokes alike, he’s prone to suicide in a way that makes it obvious he holds very little value to himself. This doesn’t necessarily mean that he has a low sense of self, or that he’s insecure. He’s got a very solid opinion of himself. He just doesn’t care whether he’s dead or alive.

While Dazai struggles with all of these, it doesn’t mean he is incapable of doing good. His relationship with Oda was clearly genuine, and he obviously cared for him a great deal. He’s also the only reason Atsushi is alive right now, and he’s taken great care to give Atsushi a decent life. He’s a sufficient mentor for him, and he’s done a lot of good for Yokohama with the Armed Detective Agency. He’s come clean about his past to his friends, and overall has improved his way of life. Dazai has grown from the Demon Prodigy of the Port Mafia into a respectable man of justice. He still has moments where his apathetic side will shine through, but he’s clearly healed and developed quite a bit since joining the ADA.

‘Okay cool. So… what about BPD? He could share some symptoms. You haven’t talked about that since the intro paragraphs. Wasn’t this about ASPD and BPD? You suck. Loser.’

I’m getting there! Control yourself. It’s taken 14 paragraphs to get to this point. God forbid I be thorough with my analysis. SMH. Anyways.

Now that we’ve talked significantly enough about Dazai having ASPD, let’s touch on why I don’t think he has BPD. This is a headcanon I’ve seen frequently enough that I’ve formed an opinion on it. Obviously. That’s why I’m writing this essay.

The thing is, BPD relies on emotional instability and a disorganised attachment and sense of self. I don’t see any of that in Dazai. He has a fairly concrete opinion of himself and his identity. His emotional state is consistent throughout the show, excluding a few specific scenarios, and while he seems reckless and impulsive, he’s not. All of his actions are always carefully planned out, even if it doesn’t seem so.

Dazai is well known for his carefree and jokester persona. When he’s not playfully dumping his work on Atsushi or Kunikida, he’s cracking jokes and poking fun at the members of the Detective Agency. It’s not often that we see the mask slip off. When it does, though, it’s almost always when he’s reminiscing over Oda. That, or actively plotting against a formidable opponent he takes seriously. These are pretty normal situations to not be joking around in. The guy is grieving his dead best friend. Not exactly a drastic mood swing. Fairly run of the mill. Outside of this, we don’t ever see him react severely and unjustifiedly. His emotions are always carefully balanced.

(Note, I am aware of the scene with Akutagawa during the Dark Ages. Have patience. I’ll get to that eventually.)

We also don’t see him struggle with abandonment/attachment issues. He has the ‘everything worth wanting is lost the moment I obtain it’ mentality, but that doesn’t exactly prohibit him from forming bonds with the people around him. He’s fairly normal about everyone at the Armed Detective Agency. He obviously cares for Atsushi, and he doesn’t make any moves to push him or anyone else away—or become unhealthily attached, on the contrary—both of which are very common behaviours in people with BPD. He goes to their parties (I can’t exactly remember when, but I’m fairly certain he was there when Poe visited Ranpo during the ADA party, and on the yacht with the infamous ‘to the Stray Dogs’ scene), runs errands and completes chores with them (the Wan episode where he and Atsushi are cleaning lockers together), and makes a point to hang out with them outside of work (the fireworks festival we all know and love/hate).

He doesn’t struggle with his self image. It’s never implied that Dazai doesn’t know who he is or where he belongs. He doesn’t have any internal conflict about whether he’s Port Mafia or Armed Detective Agency; he’s actually quite firm on his stance. He rejects Mori’s offers and requests to return to the Mafia several times throughout the series. He’s secure in his sense of self. He has no issues admitting his strengths and flaws, and he knows who he is and what he wants.

The only time we’ve seen him become angry to the point of an extreme reaction is when Akutagawa doesn’t do as Dazai had wanted in the Dark Ages. He kills the hostages they had taken rather than prodding them for information. Dazai’s reaction, while definitely intense, was neither unprovoked nor unjustified in his point of view. Him shooting the gun at Akutagawa was both a punishment and a lesson. The pressure of a life or death situation was what provoked Akutagawa to finally grasp control over Rashomon in a way that would allow him to use Devoured Space. So while extreme, Dazai’s anger had reason to it.

I also would like to remind everyone that this scene was set during the time Dazai was in the Mafia. It’s understandable for the stakes and punishments to be intense. If a subordinate doesn’t learn a lesson quickly and efficiently, the consequences can range from a mild beating to the fall of an entire organisation. Dazai knew this as well, which is why he wasn’t going to tolerate impulsivity. Also it’s the Mafia. They’re like, known for guns and killing and shit.

Contrary to anger, mania is the state of intense highs, feeling like you’re on top of the world. People who experience mania often feel like they’re invincible, either physically or metaphorically. They may put themselves in harm’s way to prove that ‘nothing can hurt them,’ or risk all their money gambling because ‘they just can’t lose.’ They’re excitable, irrational, and impulsive. Dazai is none of these things. He puts himself in harm’s way to either attempt to destroy himself, or as a part of his plan to get things to play out the way he wants. Everything he does, while it may look impulsive, has a plan. The only thing I can think of within the series where he acts without thinking is in his entrance exam where he offers to drive the taxi for the thrill of the fact that he is actually a terrible fucking driver. If he gambles, he knows he’ll win. If he jumps, he hopes he’ll fall. His behaviour is always carefully thought out. Also he’s consistently depressed throughout the story, so. No room for that.

Now onto everyone's favourite topic, self destructive behaviour! It's pretty widely known and agreed upon that Dazai either does or has self-harmed before. Hence the bandages. He's also very loud and proud about his passion for suicide. This could count, it's definitely self destructive in the physical sense, but I don't believe it's because of BPD. I think the guy is just really fucking depressed. He just wants to die, it's not so much in an ‘I don't deserve good things or comfort’ way. I also want to touch on the more figurative methods of self destruction. He doesn't exactly go out of his way to sabotage himself in regards to his work, his relationships (he fucks with Chuuya, but he just generally enjoys riling him up), or anything like that. On the contrary, we see him actively putting effort into keeping those things stable. (Lying in order to keep his place at the ADA, being active in his social circle, working towards keeping the ADA and Yokohama in general safe.) So, not really self sabotage in a way that makes me think of BPD.

Overall, most of Dazai's struggles or traits fall under understanding empathy, morality, and manipulation. His actions throughout the series are not hard to connect to these patterns, and it doesn’t take much digging to find supporting evidence. All of his characterization leads to the conclusion of ASPD, rather than BPD. He isn't a very emotionally unregulated character, in my opinion. He’s level-headed, well managed, and secure in himself and his environment. The guy just doesn't quite know how to function as a human being with other human beings, but he's trying.

Also no you cannot change my mind. Anyways I've been writing for like 4 hours so goodbye.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Would you mind talking more about Ghost? I dig your interpretation on him so i'm curious if you'd share your thoughts; since i know how COD in general writes these characters and we know romance isn't on the table for them, ESP for someone like Ghost (even confimred by his voice actor too!)

So all that aside, in your opinion, what would it take to win Ghost's heart (or well, Simon's)? :)

It's great to hear you like my interpretation of Ghost! I'll gladly share my thoughts on this, the supposed love life of Simon Riley is one of my favorite subjects 🧐

Thoughts on what would it take to win Simon's heart under the cut ->

To be honest I see it highly unlikely that Ghost would date. I think Samuel Roukin's opinion on this matter was spot on. Simon's traumatic background, trust issues, the need to stay anonymous and his profession as a special ops soldier is just too heavy a combo. His family's murder and multiple betrayals have pushed him on a path of extreme independence and made him evade any kind of attachment.

That being said... I'm a hopeless romantic and love to imagine scenarios just like every other little simp here 🩷💋, and I've pictured (and occasionally written) him to be drawn to someone who is principally the opposite of himself, but who also has a dash of angst in their heart and firsthand experience or at least some basic understanding of complex trauma.

A positive vibes only/sunshine type of person would not resonate well with his darkness, and a carefree joker would only annoy him. Then again, there's Soap – but the thing with John MacTavish is that he shares the same profession and in that way, is not a stranger to the Underworld. Their banter is also evidence enough that Soap is not afraid of Ghost's madness and even looks up to him – actually a perfect way to make someone like Ghost enjoy your company. This man has a terrible praise kink but he can't stand spineless bootlickers. So the adoration should happen in a "I trust you and would follow you to hell & back" kind of way.

However, due to the shit he's been through, I'd say (contrary to popular headcanon, I dunno?) that Simon would likely fall for someone outside the military world. First of all, he's very uncomfortable with the fact that his partner has to fear for his safety. But the fear of losing his partner to the dangers of this profession would be a little too much. It would only trigger a shitload of PTSD stuff. The fear of losing a loved one again would override the mutual experience and bonding through warfare, all the elements which otherwise might be pull factors in a military love interest. On the other hand, people with traumatic backgrounds tend to repeat the pattern, no matter how horrific or unsafe, simply because it's familiar. Still, I'd say someone from the base personnel would be a more alluring option for him. The shared hell, so to say, could make the foundations of this relationship quite dark. Not that it's necessarily a bad thing!

Deep down, Simon would be attracted to softness. Not innocence, per se, just something different from the realm in which he operates. This is why I think he could definitely fall for "a normie". He would appreciate dark humor and a certain kind of fearlessness, however. What ultimately would win his heart is someone who can stand, even cherish, his melancholy and cynicism and life choices and who is not on a quest to change or "fix" him.

I think Simon's ultimate wish is to find a home because he has lost it (or hasn't really had one in the first place). He's a leader and has to provide safety and support on a daily basis to the people under his command. But who offers support and safety to him? He knows how to protect people but doesn't know how to create a safe space, so he would appreciate someone who makes him feel he's finally found his way home. I think he yearns for a small measure of peace and a slice of normal life to wash away the adrenaline and blood and filth, he wants a small corner free from the demons that haunt him, even if he would reluctantly (if ever) admit that he does.

[fanficfanatic000]

(A date?) E.M one

Nerd loser eddie x nerd loser fem reader

Trigger warning 18 + content no minors

Summary ( the fem reader works at a craft shop .seems and patches. Reader has more alt style. Reader is 21 and Eddie's 22. Eddie dropped out of high-school after almost dieing. The reader has zero friendsUntil a certain boy came into your work.)

A usual day usually consists of older women asking for floral pattern fabric And the white thread until today It was afternoon when you heard the bell on the door ring as someone with clanking chains walked in "welcome to seems and patches anything ya looking looking for?"You had to greet every customer because The job made you. He walked up to the counter. His figure was tall and leaned back Slightly his ripped dark blue jeans slightly baggy and hanging over his dirty white sneakers. His black Metallica t shirt was slighty tight clinging to his chest under a Jean jacket and a Jean vest. His doe brown eyes looking at you with his small stubble on his chin and a grin. "Uh do you guys have any sew on patches?" He raised an eyebrow"Yep our patches would be in isle 8" you smile "yeah thank you..." his hand on the back of his neck and he gulped "um can you come with me... i kinda wanted a second opinion and...." he gets flustered from your stare "n-nevermind" you smile "no problem its a pretty slow day anyways" his face immediately brightened and the red from his face drained "thanks p-pretty girl" and that caught you of guard cause no one has said that. Your face turned pink "you okay?"He looked down at your name tag "y/n?"You awkwardly nodded yes "um yeah its just no one has ever said that..."He tilted his head "?thank you?" His nose slightly scrunched "no ive never r-really been called pretty" you look down and you walk towards the isle slowly "seriously?""Yep" you say popping the p "Well i think thats probably because you make them nervous so they could never get it out.." his words have you all red and filled with butterflies he runs infront of you and held his hand out "im eddie."You put your hand in his ringed hand "hi eddie" he smiles wide and his beautiful eyes sparkle then you made it to the patches. He grabs a Metallica patch and holds it to the Jean vest. "Where would this look good?" You grabbed the patch from him and put it on the left of his chest. The air heated from noticing how close he really was. "Here would look pretty good"You hear a shaky breath exhale from eddie "Yeah" his face a pink tint as he grabbed a patch with a little coffen on it "how about this one?" You put it under the spot of the other one. The sunsetting out side "um i gotta check out now my uncle wanted me to get pizza and he's probably so Starved" he laughs slightly. As he just gave you an explanation to leave a store. "Well eddie i hope you enjoy your new patches." You say scanning them he smiles "ya know im thinking ill need more tomorrow if a certain pretty girl will be here." He leaned foreword and winked playfully. And you handed him the patches and he stepped out the clear glass door and you watch as he fist pumped in the air then basically skipped away.

look for part two with hash tag

A date em

[needybimbopuppy]

Feel free to save this ask til youre more lucid (sorry for asking the genuine kink advice question during your intox session) but how does hypno actually work? Ive rped hypno type stuff during scenes with my partner, but that just amounted to pretending to be hypnotized, the closest ive ever come is slipping into subspace for a bit. Is it kind of like that, is it completely pretend, or is there more to it?

sorry i took so long to answer! i wanted to make sure i had the spoons to answer it because hypnosis (specifically erotic hypnosis, but hypnosis in general) is one of my genuine special interests. i love talking about it so much!! i'll try and be as concise as possible but because it'll probably be fairly long i'm adding a read more!

if you have any questions or want me to expand upon certain things, please feel free to ask! even if you're not this anon and just have other questions i love hypnosis and i love educating people on it!

so! first thing's first, to clear up some basic myths: hypnosis is in fact real. it is not a commonly studied phenomenon, but it is something that there's still quite a bit of supporting evidence for and a lot of examples of it. this makes it, technically, a pseudoscience. that word has the connotation of being fake, but all it really means is that we haven't empirically proven its existence, as hypnosis is just generally not studied on an academic level, if that makes sense. there is a lot of hobby research around it! there are even a few full on conventions.

that being said, hypnosis (and to expand upon that) and other mind control kinks are also very commonly simply roleplayed as well without necessarily going into the technical know how hypnosis tends to require! it is not a necessity to engage with actual hypnosis, but it very much does exist and imho creates a really strong basis for actual hypnosis.

see, the states of hypnosis and subspace are incredibly similar. they're not the exact same, but hypnosis essentially works by taking a state of trance — an altered state very similar to subspace —and using that state of trance to essentially bypass the concious mind to speak to the subconcious mind. and people reach these states of trance really easily every day without realizing. i'm not a driver so i can't speak to this, but the most common form of trance is a phenomenon called highway hypnosis. have you ever driven somewhere and realized you arrived without necessarily being concious of getting all the way there? that's a state of trance. or how about playing video games and then realizing you lost hours? another state of trance.

hypnosis is the skill of guiding someone into these states typically verbally and then using those skills to alter thought patterns as these trance states tends to allow someone to do things like alter thought patterns or install triggers (i.e every time the hypnotist does something like snap, the subject would go deeper, things like that).

entering trance is a skill of its own too. a lot of people get discouraged because it's hard to reach that state immediately, but it genuinely takes practice to allow yourself to be molded as well. it takes time to carve these neural pathways in a way that makes it more accessible; a newbie might be really difficult to bring under, but someone who's been a hypnotic subject for a decade is a lot more used to the sensations and how to give in.

there is a lot of nuance to hypnosis and how it works and what's possible and what's not, of course. not every methodology is going to work for every hypnotist or every subject, and a large part of it comes down to two very key things: trust and repetition/consistency. i, sadly, have not reached this level with anyone yet but i have seen people who have played together for years pulling off feats like control without trance, deep personality rewriting, etc. it's genuinely very fascinating even just to research.

of course you can do hypnosis with anyone. you don't need all that for temporary triggers or brief fun, i just mean to emphasize the power those two elements can have! i've gone under for people i've known for five minutes, but they'd never be able to rewrite key things.

generally, hypnosis is best with a real living person, but it's also possible via things like written trances or audio files.

this was already a lot so i'll cut myself off here but please reach out if you want to know anything!!!

[saneandrocking]

I need more about dead stan au

To be clear, I'm not sure if this idea has been already exposed and is the theme of someone's fanfic out there. I just like Dead people AU and suffering. With that said, I kinda raw dog this righ here and I hope you like the flavor!

Bits of context: This is the AU where Stan dies while he's sleeping in his car, is basically a casuality of him getting robbed, reacting and getting killed, nothing much in the side of the extraordinary. I don't remeber exactly all of the series details, but I'm rewatching it, I promise! Yes, it's a music fic, cause I'm corny. The lyrics at the right are Standford's and they belong to Come Home by One Republic and the lyrics at the left are Stanley's and they belong to Take me home by Jess Glynne, because this is how I pictured they both feel at this moment in their respective lives. Remember: Stanley's is barely a legal adult whe he's is evicted from his house and he has canonically hold a grudge because of it, and I don't think I need to justify Stanford's anger. They both have made decision that are unmistakenly selfish, and that does not define their whole characters. Kissessss!

Major trigger: Grief. Major Character Death. Curse language.

After the fallout between the Pines twins, Stanford was accepted into another university, less prestigious but with generous resources for his research. Alongside Fiddleford, he was determined to prove to the rest of the scientific community that this world was far from being fully explained by the already known elements of nature. He was more motivated than ever to delve into the obscure side of anomalies. He was going to make sure his name was not forgotten in history. He's ambitious, he has something to prove, and he feels—or has always felt—like he's already running out of time to do it, so he's fighting against the clock.

Well, hello, world

Hope you're listening

Forgive me if I'm young

For speaking out of turn

He's in his dormitory room at the college he attends, and Fiddleford is taking a well-deserved nap after helping him with some more references, while he's still researching one of the maps of anomalies recorded in the last decade. There's a certain frequency in certain areas, not old-fashioned publicity tricks to attract attention, no, it's something more… He feels like he's going in circles, even though he can see there's a pattern there. He squeezes his tired eyes; the low lighting isn't doing him any favors when the telephone (something Fiddleford found in the trash and brought home to fix) rings. It's three after midnight, and he knows nothing good can come of this.

He doesn't have time to say anything after picking up the damn thing ringing like crazy and putting it to his ear.

—Stanford, for God's sake, why aren't you answering this damn thing?! I've used all my coins trying to call the university, but they only gave me your roommate's number— a feminine voice berates him. He waits a few seconds, trying to place that strident voice, but the answer comes quickly, of course. The only woman who would call him in the middle of the night is his mom.

—Mom. I've already told you, I don't have time! I have to study even harder since Stan— He stops himself, angry. Sometimes, remembering his brother is still a mix of anger and resentment that he can't fully name to this day. He sighs.

There is someone I've been missing

—It's not the time for that! It's about your brother.— Her tone is not authoritative, but there's an agony there, a desperation that only a mother can express. A guilt trip is what she does best, he thinks bitterly somehow.

Wrapped up, so consumed by All this hurt If you ask me, don't Know where to start

—Mom, what the actual—why would I care what he does?! He ruined everything for me! I'm going to hang up now, I'm busy, call me later.— Deep down, he already feels bad enough for talking to her like that. His poor mother has tried her best all her life, just as he is doing now. And, vaguely, probably Stan is living like that too, even if his best is in another category of stupidity.

—No, no, please!— Loud sobs interrupt her speech, and he sobers up right there. His mom is not one to cry over just anything. —Ford, he is…

—Mom? What happened? I'm sorry, I lashed out.— He runs his hand through his hair, breathing in and out. —What did he do now?— A long and strained sigh, again. Why does everything have to be a problem with Stan? —Are we talking about Stan or the baby? If it's the first, let me guess.— There's a certain humor in the guessing game; he bets Stan did some nonsense expecting him to clean up after him. Again.

Anger, love, confusion Roads that go nowhere I know that somewhere better

—He's dead, Stanford. Stanley's dead,— she says finally.

—What,— he says, as if in a chokehold, struggling to get the words out.

—I'm going to pass you to your dad, he'll…— His mother chokes on her words and murmurs loudly, —My baby boy Stanley…

—Mom?! What—I can't—!— He's lost. That's all he can say and think. Stanley's lost, not dead, just lost. The idea of death is too much.

I think that they could be

The better half of me

They're in the wrong place

Tryin' to make it right

But I'm tired of justifying

—Hello, son.— The serious and deep tone of his dad doesn't do much to calm the desperate young man; it only intensifies his horror. Stanley's lost. Lost is the word they are searching for.

—Can someone just tell me what I just heard? Stanley is—it can't be, Dad…please, talk to me! He's lost?— Why does he ask something as stupid as this? He knows what he heard.

So I say to you

Come home, come home

'Cause I've been waiting for you

—It's what your mother told you. I have nothing more to say. The funeral— The rest of his words get lost in the moment. All Stanford could hear was the sound of the pen he was holding before it fell onto the table, and the room he shared with his friend became a world of its own. An empty and devastated world, full of silence and sorrow.

Would you take the wheel If I lose control? If I'm lying here Will you take me home?

Stanford can't remember how this conversation ended, how his too-hard-to-impress father explained with a shaky and strained voice when the event was going to be. He didn't even have the money to buy something formal to wear to his brother's burial. Would he be buried in his father's suit? He can only describe the slow and painful realization that came with the equally painful heartache: his twin was dead. If there was such a thing as another half of someone, his was dead and about to be buried six feet under within the next hours.

Could you take care Of a broken soul? Will you hold me now? Oh, will you take me home?

The one and only Stanley Pines died far from home, probably alone, while Ford was studying the anomalies of the world, trying to once in a lifetime feel like he belonged, only to discover that nothing could have been more important than his blood—but suddenly, that was a too-late realization.

Fiddleford stared at him as he fell to his knees, too stunned to utter a word, too broken to make sense. He later woke from this numbness holding a cup of coffee in his hands, tears rolling down his cheeks. Stan was dead, and he was alive, and now this is what he'll remember for the rest of his conscious life. This, and the broken look on his mother's face when she saw him at her door on the same day her other son died—his father did not have the strength to look directly at him.

And right now there's a war between the vanities

But all I see is you and me

And the fight for you is all I've ever known

So come home

At the funeral, the only ones present were him and his mother. Despite all the emotions (too overwhelming for Ford to watch, by the way), his father outright refused to see Stanley in the coffin. —I can't take it. I'm not man enough to watch it. Take care of your mother.

He prayed that day, to a God he wasn't sure could even hear him. The guilt was louder than him, but he tried anyway. With all the conflicting feelings in his chest, between his anger and profound grief, he did what he could with all of that, standing side by side with the cold body of his deceased brother. The mirror image of himself lying down, more neat than ever.

The world ain't half as bad

As they paint it to be

If all the sons, all the daughters

Stopped to take it in

Well, hopefully, the hate subsides

And the love can begin

It might start now, yeah

Well, maybe I'm just dreaming out loud

—I will fix this, Stan. I swear. Or I'll see you after giving up. Either way: wait for me one more time.

Everything I can't be

Is everything you should be

And that's why I need you here

[anonymouse5]

could you do a james potter X misophonia!reader

i have misophonia and have been struggling recently due to it,

if your not sure on what it is it’s where certain sounds trigger you, for example eating or pens tapping. Maybe a fic where he comfort her, normally when i’m triggered i either end up crying and walking away form the situation or i flip out at whoever is triggering me

ITS okay if not !! THANKYOU BBY

hey, sorry this took me so long to get to! writing this was an interesting experience. not sure if i want to do reader fics often but i'm not fully opposed to them either? anyway, i hope this brings you some comfort and is accurate(ish?) to your experience :)) sending lots of love <3

(feel free to send more requests if you like this!) (also feel free to send feedback!)

here you go:

Hogwarts had been busier than usual today. If you had been at home, maybe you would’ve just slipped on some noise cancelling headphones. But that isn’t really an option here, so you deal with it the best you can, hiding it out in your dorm on most days. Again, not an option today. You had way too many classes and clubs to go to. In the few minutes between, you go to the library. It literally has to be quiet there, right?

Of course, this is the one day James Potter and his friends finally decide to study (for once in their lives). You’re friends with Remus, and he seems alright. James— well, you try not to think too much about James. Thankfully, they aren’t making much noise, probably already having gotten a warning from Madam Pince.

It’s alright for a few minutes. But then you hear someone’s wand—

Tap. Tap. Tap.

You look over to the boys’ table. James, looking extremely focused, is tapping his wand on the edge of the table. He does look really busy. Maybe he’ll quit in a minute.

Nope. It just gets worse.

You feel a pressure in your head every time he taps his wand until it gets overwhelming. And then you snap.

“James, would you stop that?” you whisper-shout at him.

But you know it’s useless. You can’t study anymore anyway; you’re too overwhelmed. You pack your things and leave. You don’t notice James following after you until you’re outside the library and hear him shout after you.

“Wait,” he calls.

Despite yourself, you turn to him.

“Did I do something wrong?” James asks.

You bite back your immediate “yes”.

“The tapping was bothering me. It’s not your fault, though. I just—” you trail off, afraid he’ll laugh at you.

He’s got this weird look on his face, like he might.

“Remus hates it when I ‘chew loudly’,” James says. “Is it like that?”

“I guess? Listen, James, I just really want to be left alone right now.” You sigh.

“Ok, but before you leave— I think I might have a spell for you. We can go somewhere quieter?” James offers.

Reluctantly, you agree. James takes you to a spot on the Hogwarts grounds you haven’t seen yet. It’s a nice spot beneath a tree, with just bare grass and flowers blooming. You both sit down, and James points his wand at you.

“Woah, what’re you doing?” you shout.

“Just trust me,” James says.

You almost point out the obvious dangers of pointing a wand at someone’s head, but James seems so sincere and like maybe he’s done this before, so you let him.

He mumbles a spell and waves his wand in an unfamiliar pattern. Suddenly, it feels like your wearing your favorite noise-cancelling headphones, but so much better. You can’t even hear the light buzzing that you normally do.

“You have to teach me this spell,” you say enthusiastically.

The spell makes it a whisper to you, but the way James scrunches up his face tells you that maybe you were a bit loud.

“It worked then?” he asks.

You give him a thumbs up.

He takes out a piece of parchment and a quill and writes something down:

You know, I’ve been wanting to talk to you for a while. Go to Hogsmeade with me next weekend?

There’s two checkboxes underneath: yes or YES

You smile and check the YES box, adding a smiley face next to it.

The two of you sit at the peaceful spot until the sun starts to go down. You start to come with him here often, and he teaches you the spell right after your Hogsmeade date.

[justshapesandshitposting]

New Tweaked Designs for the Bosses, as well as some up-to-date headcanons for them! it's a bit long so it's going to be under a readmore-

Fresh

His voice is actually high pitched (like the vocals in the actual song) he doesn’t see any issue with it, but if someone starts giving him shit about it he will get annoyed and start getting hostile

Borderline blind, has to actively focus in order to see things clearly, so he mostly relies on his energysense to get around for the most part. 

He actually likes kids, despite his grumpy demeanor, and he’s pretty good with them too, one of the best folks to leave your kids with if you don’t mind the trek to get to his den in the caves

Actually leans more on the feminine side for other centipede shapes, since he's larger than most (this tends to be a trend with arthropod shapes, larger individuals leaning more towards the female side of the shape gender spectrum) 

Semi-transparent midsection with less plating than normal for centipedes, allowing you to see some of his bones (you can’t see his spine, or any of his organs, since they’re deeper in, though sometimes if his stomach or crop is really full, or if there’s something glowing brightly enough in there you might be able to somewhat see it through his skin, it’s more reliably seen with his crop though-)

Territorial towards places and people that he likes, you can tell if he likes you even if he doesn't tell you since he'd start getting lowkey territorial in regards to you

as close to cold-blooded as a shape can get, but it's offset by his general chunkiness and the fact that he dresses warmly

Collar is a comfort item that he almost always wears (also the spikes on them are made with carved treeangle wood, normally they absorb the excess beat-energy he produces, the corruption however overwhelmed them)

if he gets too cold he can go into torpor, sometimes quite suddenly (longest time he's been in torpor has been a month)

has a instinctual behavior pattern of eating more and starting to bulk up during colder months/seasons, even if he doesn't go into torpor during the season. (sometimes he can get pretty mindless with it. Try to avoid being around him if you happen to be small and roughly food-shaped.)

Surprisingly soft, good to cuddle with (as long as you ignore the scattered small plates along his back) don’t expect him to start cuddling unless he likes you though, he’s more likely to straight up eat or maul you, especially if it’s sudden and you startle him.  

Likes to dig and burrow, if you can’t find him, just start looking for the big holes in the damp dirt.

He eats rocks and dirt sometimes, no real reason for it, he just wants to-

Rarely washes his clothes, washes his modified boots even less. 

He normally keeps his mandibles tucked into his mouth, but if he wants to paralyze someone with his venom or just eating they tend to pop out. (if you get on his nerves enough he can and will bite with intent to paralyze and leave you there) 

If he’s feeling strongly about something he starts growing spikes and more plates along his body. 

Those ‘spikes’ along his tail are actually tiny centipede legs, they don’t really get used except as a pouchlet or in his shape form, but they’re there.

He actually knows how to make clothes, kinda had to in order to modify his own to fit his needs better. (most of his clothes are made of denim to last longer)

Lycan

Thrives off of chaos and like the goose from untitled goose game, they will cause problems*… on purpose (*minor problems, more mischievous rather than actual problems)

Grows ‘petals’ (they feel closer to feathers) during spring and winter, after that they tend to shed, leaving them with only their short fur

They are a carrier of the shape version of the vitiligo gene, which while meaning that they aren’t actively vitiligo, if certain conditions are met, the gene can get triggered and cause their colors to start to change, a condition/coloration that’s often referred to as ‘False Vitiligo’ (true vitiligo turns the shape white, gray, or black) in their case, their corruption triggered the gene, and after getting purified their fur and petals gradually started turning magenta. 

They’re one of the few shapes that Bitis actually tolerates/likes, since they know when to shut up and calm down when needed. Plus they’re warm, and willing to act as a living heater for them.

Very loyal to their ‘pack’ which is mainly Fresh, Bitis and themself, though they have a few others that they consider as ‘pack’

Has a tendency of burying things, and also likes to dig, just to make holes

High energy, social, and a ball of furry chaos in general, prone to affectionate biting and scratching as well, not enough to break the skin, but still-

They do like being pet, and will invade people’s personal space, but tends to be leery and wary of people they don’t know petting them

Their sense of smell and hearing is really good, and can often be driven crazy by things like dog whistles and can hear and smell things that some others can’t

They can in fact howl, and sometimes they have the instinct to howl back when they hear it, it’s a impulse thing and they can resist it sometimes, but if they get caught off guard they will howl if they hear another howl

Will affectionately bully the folks that they like, but will cut it out if they upset them or if they’re not in the mood.

Bitis

Their corruption essentially swapped their purple/magenta colors when it came to their markings

An ‘ew people’ type of introvert who only tolerates a few shapes, everyone else can fuck off in their opinion

They’re a sea snake, so they do spend a good deal of time swimming and hunting fish to eat. 

VERY venomous, and fatally so if too much gets put in, which is why they tend to keep their mouth sealed unless they’re actively using it. 

Their venom is paralytic, and they mostly use it to hunt

However the instinct to bite something that startles them is still there, which tend to mean that if you startle them you are going to get headbutted, which is going to hurt both of you-

As close to cold-blooded as a shape can get, however, they can’t go into torpor to hibernate through the colder moths like fresh can, so they just stick to the volcano and bundle up in their ‘sweater’ for the most part. They don’t tend to leave the volcano at all during the colder months. 

Shorter lengthwise than most serpent/snake shapes, but they’re built more powerfully and thicker as a compromise. Makes them actually pretty fast in the water, if somewhat less agile and harder to fit into crevices. 

While it is possible to create a anti-venom for their venom, that involves having to interact with other shapes, and Bitis would rather not have to subject themself to being forced to interact with other shapes if they can avoid it. 

Scales are smooth, to the point that it’s hard to find where one ends and another begins. 

Keeps their hair braided, keeps it out of the way and in one place, since it constantly looks wet/greasy and is slightly heavier than the average. (the braid is what’s causing it to puff up into that hood shape around their head, nobody knows why and Bitis doesn’t care to figure it out) 

Aro/Ace and gets annoyed/disgusted if people start talking about things like relationships or sex in front of them. You will get forced out one way or another. 

Their serpent attacks are structures, and they do in fact have a few pet snakes as well, that are well taken care of. 

Prone to stress-shedding random scales, which can be good when pressed underwater by something dangerous, distract the thing with sudden swarm of shiny scales, but it leaves that area without scales until they shed. 

They can and WILL pop out their fangs and start threatening if someone starts getting on their nerves enough, and if they don‘t get the message they’ll do a ‘dry bite’ that normally gets other shapes to fuck off- 

There’s no proof but there was slight increase in drownings when they first arrived, though honestly, Bitis straight up told people that they’re venomous, that it’s paralytic and that they want to get left the fuck alone unless they like you when they first arrived, so if you go swimming/flee into the water after getting bitten by them it’s kinda on you? (def still manslaughter/shapeslaughter though)

Widow

Prefers to live off of the land in the caves, there’s plenty enough big bugs and other animals that they can feed off of, so she really only tends to go into town for supplies she can’t find or make in the wilderness

Makes her own silk cloth with her own thread/silk and makes clothing and other cloth things like bags. 

Gets along pretty well with Fresh, and will ask him to babysit occationally while she does something. 

Def a milf, and can be quite flirty, though understands if people are a bit anxious about her, it’s only natural. (Arthropod shapes do have a tendacy to have… slightly cannibalistic urges, especially ones that are female/more on the female side of the spectrum, and DEFINATELY while gravid, even if the eggs aren’t fertile/fertilized)

Pretty chill and laid back. she knows that she’s one of the largest shapes on paradise and that most things can’t threaten her, so she’s pretty laid back

Do NOT threaten her kids though, she can go from 0 to 100 on a pin drop if her kids are involved. 

Speaking of her kids, she has a decent amount of them, not a large amount (at least for arthropod shapes) but a decent amount, roughly around 8 of them currently, and a good few others which are fully grown now.

Currently single, and yeah she’s open, though generally isn’t fond of marriage, she’s not against the concept, but she likes having multiple partners that she can dote on

She’s very doting and affectionate with her partners and her kids, can and will pick people up and carry them around. 

Her voice is chirpy and relatively high pitched, and sounds like it belongs to something far smaller than her. 

Will affectionately nibble on folks that they like as long as they’re comfortable with it (no mandibles though since that’s where the venom’s kept)

Her venom is a flesh-melter (she does have anti-venom on her so if she accidentally envenoms someone it’s dealt with quickly) which helps her feed her kids (most pouchlets can only eat fluids or soft foods at first, and spider shapes can have some difficulties eating solid food sometimes)

Morbid

Yeah, they’re a bit bonkers because of their isolation in the tree/level void:™: and are desperate for company, food, and touch- (they need a good amount of therapy) 

However their unstable mental state and their starvation often results in… well… bad outcomes for most who come into contact with them in the level void- 

Fossilized is really the best way i can describe what’s happening to their beat-energy- since their beat-energy is still the same but it’s gradually getting well… replaced or petrified by the ambient energy of the tree void- 

if they were to die in the tree void:™: their energy would still stick around it would just… decay or regress into something that’s more similar to the levels (yes that’s my headcanon about the tutorial levels, the tree’s gotta eat too-) until eventually fading away into the background

However, since they’re a spirit and elemental hybrid, they can feed off of things that other shapes can’t, specifically since they’re a fire elemental, they can feed off of anything that’s flammable, things like clothes for example (which is why they don’t have any clothes) and spirit shapes can essentially parasitize off of other sources of energy, and in their case, they’re feeding off of the energy in the level void itself. It’s not the best, and they are still very much starving, but it’s enough to keep them alive. 

Due to their isolation and general insanity, they don’t really remember anything about themselves from before their entrapment there, they can only get glimpses or blurred sensations occasionally, though once they’re freed they do start to remember a bit more

Their mind is actively suppressing their memories to avoid trauma (they were very attached to the rest of their group, which well… aren’t alive anymore- save for antimony’s ‘familiar’ which is prolly the only thing keeping them sane… or as sane as they can be after their release, and tree help you if you are a threat to their only remaining link to their friends their companion)

Pyromaniac (they had this condition before, but being trapped there made it worse and caused them to start trying to set everything on fire just so there’s something else apart from the darkness there) it gets somewhat better after their release but they still have urges to set everything on fire- 

VERY touch starved, but wear something flame-resistant or fire-proof because they WILL become VERY hot temperature-wise VERY quickly

Oh yeah since they’re a fire elemental they can control their body temperature, but it normally runs hot enough to burn people without protection (at least internally) and it tends to be a bit wonky due to their mental state as well, sudden highs and lows along with their mood and current state of mind. If they focus they can control it somewhat, but they have to re-learn how to do it, since it’s so unpredictable now. 

They can phase through objects and walls since they’re a spirit hybrid, but anything that they have on them that isn’t made with their own beat-energy will get stuck on surfaces unless they actively surround it with their own energy and sorta ‘falsify’ it being part of them

This does mean that they can sometimes get stuck in walls after eating or drinking something. 

They are VERY clingy and a bit obsessive towards those who they enjoy the presence of-

[many-but-one]

TW: RAMCOA questions (NOT ABOUT TRAUMA)

Sorry I’m very very confused- I’ve had some people say RAMCOA is being programmed into a system, and your blog (+others) says it is an extreme of abuse? (I am not saying neither of these are false, I’m just deeply confused)

No pressure to answer!

RAMCOA is an acronym that stands for Ritual Abuse, Mind Control, and Organized Abuse. It is not exclusively “mind control” programming.

Which, mind control programming is really just intentionally severely conditioning someone via torture and manipulation tactics. I know mind control sounds like a magical sci fi fantasy, but when you break it down in therapy speak, it is just severe intentional conditioning, using triggers and cues to get certain parts of a system out and conditioning them to have certain beliefs or tasks via torture. Not all people who go through mind control programming develop a system, and even adults who go through this often develop a different kind of dissociative disorder called OSDD-2. This is often seen in cults who manipulate their adult victims and “brainwash” them so severely that they create “self states,” though they are not autonomous like in DID self states. If you read testimonies of adult cult survivors, they will often talk about how they “became a different person” when in the cult, and had a “cult version” of themselves and a “at home, non-cult” version of themselves that is completely disconnected from their cult self.

For both child and adult survivors, this immense coercion and controlling of thought patterns is emphasized via the BITE model. I highly recommend you read that link, as it explains each part of that acronym and how it is used to manipulate victims and survivors and conditions them (“mind controls”) them to do actions and have beliefs as the group requires.

To answer your question more succinctly, RAMCOA does not ONLY mean “mind control,” however the RA (ritual abuse) and OA (organized abuse) often all go hand in hand. You can experience OA without MC, and you can experience RA without OA. However, they’re often very interlinked because groups that do OA and RA want to keep their victims complicit and willing to do whatever they want, with extreme conditioning and coercion via threats of harm to self or others…AKA “mind control.”

Though folks in the community have been discussing replacing TBMC (“torture based mind control”) with ITBPC (“intentional trauma/torture based psychological conditioning”) or ITBC (“intentional torture based conditioning”) in order to demystify mind control and help non-survivors understand what MC really is—extreme intentional conditioning via torture. It can happen to adults, it can happen to children, and with groups who are aware of DID, if they figure out a child has started developing DID due to their abuse, they can learn to manipulate negative and positive triggers to get certain parts out and intentionally condition them to have certain beliefs or perform certain actions when cued/triggered out. It’s much less complicated than people realize. Our goal is to help non-survivors understand that this isn’t all that mystical, it’s not conspiratorial, and this really happens to people everywhere.

I hope this answered your question! I may have rambled a little bit, but I’m passionate about demystifying MC and helping people understand what it really is. Take care!

-Many

[hood-ex]

As someone who has been catching up on comics. I noticed a pattern with Nightwing. Every time the author changes the supporting cast gets dumped. We had the run offs and greyer Blockbuster. They don’t exist by the Ric arc even though they could be people to step up in Nightwing’s absence or grab power. Ric arc had a cast of cops and friends and Bea. Never heard from the cops again despite them being potential informants. The difference with Tom Taylor is that he’s the only one who uses old characters but he mutates them. Not sure if that’s worse but I hate the cast dumping. I fully expect never to see Bea, and the sister again. If the Sister stays someone will kills her off. Huh Taylor had a small supporting cast compared to others.

Yeah that's been a reoccurring problem with Nightwing and is one of the complaints fans have about it.

OH SHIT. Hold on. I'm sorry but this conversation just triggered something in my brain. So Guppy was in prison, right? Omg was he in the prison that Heartless liberated? Is Guppy free??

Wait let me double check... Heartless liberated Bludhaven Private Prison... and Guppy went to Bludhaven Maximum Security Prison... ugh. Damn. Different prisons.

Anyway, if they had kept Bea's normal civilian origin, I would've loved her as an informant of sorts for Nightwing since she could overhear convos at the bar and also see who certain individuals came in with. So yeah it would suck to see Bea just disappear after this, but at the same time, I don't know if I vibe with her sticking around as a pirate queen.

Melinda on the other hand, she can go. TT literally just set her up as the mayor as a way to make it easy for Dick to take down the baddies of the city. That's her purpose. Just easy gateway/easy access to certain information and such. TT hasn't bothered doing anything else with her, really. The sibling thing was just to give Dick an easy way to befriend the mayor. That's it.

But yeah, it'll be interesting to see which cast members the next writer pulls. Or who knows, maybe they'll rely more heavily on the Titans.

[actual-changeling]

TW // SA mention

What’s the difference between emotional manipulation and just being desperate? You said Aziraphale “speed-runs an emotional manipulation checklist” after he called Crowley back, but I didn’t get that sense at all…he just sounded confused and desperate to me? How is his “i need you” different from Crowley’s kiss, for instance? I think those are their respective most desperate moments. Can emotional manipulation be unintentional? I can maybe see it but it feels like the equivalent of calling Crowley’s kiss sexual assault. Like yes it was, but it feels like too extreme of language to use in this specific context with these specific characters, even if it does invoke an uncomfortable personal feeling (at least for me).

Hi anon!

Lots of difficult questions but I'll do my best to answer them—it won't be in chronological order, just going based on vibes and the easiest way to make it coherent. This will probably get very, very long, sorry in advance.

(side note: I will be discussing manipulation techniques in detail, so tread with caution if this is something that squicks you out or triggers you)

Can emotional manipulation be unintentional?

Short answer: Yes, absolutely!

The important thing here is that there is a gigantic difference between emotional manipulation as such and on-going emotional abuse; the latter is not something you can do on accident, it requires a certain amount of intent and power.

Emotional manipulation, on the other hand, can mean everything from the small actions we do pretty much daily to malicious attempts to influence someone else.

Appealing to someone's emotions is an average part of communication, you can see it in advertisements or when you talk your friend into doing something because "it'll be fun, trust me", and it's not necessarily bad! We're a social species, and that low-level emotional communication is a part of that.

This is commonly referred to as emotional influence or persuasion, it's generally harmless.

There is, however, a very big grey zone, and you reach that once the other person finds that they are uncomfortable or crossing their own boundaries without wanting to.

E.g. if you have a friend with a phobia of clowns and you talk them into going to the circus with you event though they do not want to, they will probably end up feeling like they have to go or you will be upset with them/it will impact your friendship.

At that point, it's no longer completely innocent, it's what most people would understand as mild (to severe depending on the situation) active manipulation.

You want someone to do something so you use what you know about them to get them to do it.

Manipulation is about control, it's about achieving your own goal without having to compromise while convincing the other person to cross whatever boundaries they need to placate you.

So, to summarize, the important questions to consider are:

what is the relationship of the people involved?

what situation is it about/what goal does one party want to achieve?

are there any relevant outside influences (e.g. a time limit)?

what is the emotional state of everyone?

are boundaries being crossed?

has this happened before/is there a pattern?

Now, I could use this checklist and comb through the entire conversation, but I will focus on that final part I mentioned.

The "status" of their argument is as follows:

Crowley has ended the conversation and wants to leave

neither of them changed their mind or has expressed any interest that they want to do so

Crowley is very hurt and no longer feels comfortable around Aziraphale (-> he put on his sunglasses)

This should have been the end of it, but Aziraphale follows him and stops him from leaving—this is not manipulation but it shows a lack of respect for Crowley's needs (and not for the first time either). Keeping an argument going when the other person actively wants to get out of it is not just unkind, it also harms the relationship you have with them; it's not like he storms off either, there is a proper ending to it.

Aziraphale's actions here made me uncomfortable too, and I can explain why!

While there are different vulnerabilities someone can exploit to manipulate someone, Aziraphale uses Crowley's biggest (and more or less only) vulnerability: his emotional connection to and dependency on Aziraphale. It is the reason Crowley has caved time and time again in the past, he loves him and does not want to lose him, and that makes him willing to hurt himself if it means keeping Aziraphale by his side and happy.

Let's go through it one by one.

Crowley! Crowley, come back, to Heaven!

He is using Crowley's name, which is the second time he does it after "nothing lasts forever". Using someone's name in a conversation is an attempt to make it more personal, to make it more 'urgent', so to speak. There is a big difference between, e.g. "I love you" and "I love you, Crowley".

Work with me! We can be together!

Here Aziraphale uses Crowley's own language against him. Earlier, Crowley said

I mean, if Gabriel and Beelzebub can do it, go off together, then we can.

It's a phrase he uses a lot, be together, do something together, go off together—and Aziraphale knows that, so either consciously or subconsciously, he uses the same language Crowley used to appeal to him. Copying someone's wording can have a bunch of reasons and effects. In this situation, I think it's simply meant to rile him up again, to make him more emotional.

Aziraphale says 'together' to make it seem like they actually want the same thing and that Crowley is in the wrong for wanting to leave the bookshop & not coming with him to heaven. It definitely hits Crowley quite deeply because he looks like he got punched and then turns away.

Angels… doing good!

Not going to linger on this one long because that alone is worth a big post. It's a moral imperative. We can do good together, don't you want to do good? Be good? Good is the superior moral option to bad, so why would you not want to do good?

It works for Aziraphale because he has his own issues around the good/evil and angel/demon dichotomy, but it does not work on Crowley because his moral compass is far too complex; he knows that 'doing good' means absolutely nothing here.

I… I need you!

Pretty much the clearest example for the emotional manipulation taking place here.

I need you.

You love me, you want me to be safe, you have always protected me in the past, so do it again. I NEED you to do this.

Openly admitting to 'needing' Crowley puts more pressure onto him to act.

How dare you not give the person you love what he needs? Do you not love him enough? Are you that selfish? Would you leave him alone and weak on purpose and deny him the support he is asking for? Aziraphale loves you, he needs you, he wants to do good things with you, why are you being mean and disagreeing? You are the bad guy here, look at how sad you are making him. He needs you—give yourself to him.

This is also known as guilt-tripping.

In the past, threats along these lines have worked. He came back to help him with Gabriel, he did not leave earth, he returned no matter how mean Aziraphale was because Crowley wants to keep him safe.

This time, Aziraphale has pushed him too far and it doesn't work, so he resorts to the next item on the list.

I don't think you understand what I'm offering you.

You don't know what you are doing but I do, so you should listen to me and follow me in what I do.

Everyone always gets caught up on Crowley calling him an idiot (which imo is perfectly justified here) but no one ever talks about the fact that Aziraphale's line here is incredibly demeaning and condescending.

CROWLEY does not know what you are offering him? The angel who fell TRYING TO CHANGE HEAVEN? You are telling him that you know better than him what that is like?

It's insulting, it's a blatant attempt at manipulation, and it is the one thing Crowley responds to.

I understand. I think I understand a whole lot better than you do.

"I understand" is a fact. He does understand. Even after all of this, Crowley does not say "I know better than you". He says I think, giving Aziraphale an opening to disagree with him, to explain his position and why he thinks he knows better than Crowley—but Aziraphale ignores it because he knows he's in the wrong.

Which brings us to the grande finale.

Well… then there's nothing more to say.

Exact mirror to their argument about Gabriel.

You're at liberty to go. If you won't, you won't. Do what I want and if you don't I will kick you out.

We can go back even further than that because Aziraphale has used this threat with a very similar wording before and had success with it.

It is essentially an ultimatum: Agree with me or I won't talk to you again. Same contents with a slightly different package. I think Crowley saw it coming this time plus Aziraphale has emotionally wrung him out already, so it does not have the desired effect.

Aziraphale still tried to use it though.

Saying Aziraphale attempted to emotionally manipulate Crowley is simply calling it what it is. It does not make him a villain or a bad guy, it does not mean that their relationship is somehow abusive.

You are right, Aziraphale is desperate and confused, he's feeling out of control, and that unfortunately makes people more likely to try and manipulate others to regain said control. I think some parts are intentional, others are unintentional and a consequence of his complete lack of self awareness and reflection, but it's manipulation nonetheless—and it's not alright that he does it.

Crowley—who is arguably even more upset and shocked—doesn't fall back on emotional manipulation.

Being upset, traumatized, in distress, mentally ill, whatever you want to list, nothing gives someone else the right to emotionally manipulate someone and abuse their known vulnerabilities. I could go through many of their conversations and write down in detail how exactly Aziraphale is trying to manipulate Crowley because this is really just the tip of the iceberg, but this is already wayyyyyyy too long, so I will save that for if anyone else has more questions.

I hope this helped clarify things, anon!

[melancholic-pigeon]

During my class, we talked about the difference between like, Catholic guilt versus the kind of atonement that's associated with Yom Kippur. The phrasing that was used was "course correction", which my moral OCD really found helpful. It's not "you're a terrible person who must suffer in repentance", it's "Who do I want to be? Where did I stray in being that person over the last year? How can I correct my course so that I am closer to the person I want to be next year?"

I talked to my therapist about certain things that recently happened that I won't devote any more air time to specifics on unless I'm forced by someone else's actions. And I've been thinking about it and turning it over in my head, because it still has me pretty shaken!

But basically, I got a very clear, very vivid image of the kind of person who says "Kindness is so important, unless I'm the one being unkind, then it's okay". I found a pattern of unkindness and justifications afterwards for said unkindness. I realized the path I've been going down this past year leads to a destination I find revulsive.

I don't want to be mean. I don't want to let my anger eat through my load bearing walls. I don't want to be the kind of person who snaps in anger, who defends others snapping in anger, who spends her time justifying her outbursts of poor emotional regulation and who blames everyone but myself for my own big feelings.

I've been down this path before, and it's something I'm ashamed of. I don't like being full of rage, but it's way too easy for me to get swept up in someone else's excuses for why their own uncontrolled rage isn't destructive and totally won't ruin all their relationships or give them a reputation for being a combative hair-trigger who will scream at people over innocuous things or miscommunications and then scream at them more for tone policing when told screaming at people for misunderstandings is rude.

I don't want to be fueled by anger. I don't want to be bitter and mean and judgmental and suspicious. I don't want to turn into the kind of person who spends their day arguing on tumblr dot com about how actually I am special enough to be trusted with the death note because I am a Good Person who would only use it on evil people. I don't want to be the kind of person who lashes out every time I misunderstand someone and then punishes them for clearing up the misinterpretation because it made me look bad.

I don't want to be a bully. I don't want to enable bullies. I don't want to defend bullying. And I want to get better at actually listening to the voice in my head (maybe the voice of HaShem) telling me "Hey, you know better than this, you know this is wrong, why are you letting a charismatic bully sway your actions and pull you along to defend them?"

So, yeah. This year I'm working on improving my de-escalation skills and getting a much tighter rein on my anger. Rage is like fire: it's a great source of energy, but it will also destroy you completely and turn everything you love into ash if you don't keep. it. controlled.

I want to reaffirm that it's not okay to blow up at people because you're having a bad day. That if I've done this to you, I'm really, deeply fucking sorry, and I use that in the New England Intensifier way. I fucked up a number of times over this past year, I'm not okay with it, I don't WANT to be okay with it, and I'm just...sick of being angry. I'm sick of watching people hurt each other. I'm sick of being complicit. I'm sick of holding the idea that "being mean is not praxis" is a controversial viewpoint that should be kept away from activism rather than a preschool level ground rule for how not to actively make your community worse and more hostile.

I'm tired of all of it. I don't want to be in this place anymore. It's dangerous to all of us when we lean into the idea that our anger is paramount and angry responses are always justified.

I just....if your behavior towards other activists on your side is to treat them like you're the mustachioed villainous husband in a lifetime movie about an abused soccer mom and then criticize others for telling you that's shitty, that's a bad thing! But I've historically been way too easy to shame into accepting this premise, and it doesn't matter why I ended up there. What matters is that I did, in fact, enable this behavior from people, excuse this behavior from people, and defend proponents of this behavior. And I hate that I did it, but I did.

Frankly, it makes me ill to think about. But it makes me more ill to think about not even trying to do better.

This year, I'm trying to do better.

Fast easy if you're fasting, everyone ✡️

[britt-kageryuu]

Donnie is showing off some of the features that Genius Built AR glasses have, to his stream audience. With the help of their camera that can capture the AR field around them. And anything that happens in that AR field.

"The tech team had quite a bit of fun getting some VR games to translate over to AR, like that Clothes making game I made. That was probably one of the easier ones to transfer over, though for whatever reason the cloth/fabric physics kept breaking, and warping the entire outfit." Donnie while explaining this has a dressform pop into existence with a partially put together pattern 'pinned' to it.

"Though we all agree once of the greatest aesthetic features we implemented was, that from the wearers point of view there can be a videogame style HUD that is customizable. Like if you're looking for a location and bring up directions, it will show visibly like a quest marker, and optional sparkling path that you can follow." Donnie makes a purple sparkly path appear around themself that lead offscreen.

Then a pop up window appears with a message. [From Angelo: I for some reason became hyperfocused and organized the spices, drinks, and the alcohol at work. It turned out looking Oddly Satisfying. Here are the pictures! (Pictures of said organized areas, all nice and neat)]

Donnie looks at the message then realized it's visible to the stream. "Well as you can see, there is an option to have your text messages appear as a pop up. I forgot to change that setting before starting. Sigh. Reply: Those look very nice, but aren't you at work? Is it really that slow today? Send." The message they sent also shows up as a chat box, and quickly closes as Donnie opens the settings to turn off the pop up effect. Purposefully ignoring anyone in the chat asking who 'Angelo' is.

"Now, as previously stated, many personalization features are available for these GB AR Glasses. Including a portable memory bank with a solar charging battery pack, for those who want to get into the gaming." A 3D model of a bipedal purple dragon in black pants and a magenta hoodie, wearing visor style AR glasses, pops up. Apparently playing an AR pokemon style game.

"And there's a bundle in the works for vlogging or filmmaking using the AR Glasses." A 3D model of April with Mayhems ears and tail pops up wearing the AR Glasses with a drone style camera robot, recording her talking about something with pop up note floating around her. There is a 'Just a Concept' sigh next to it.

Donnie then banished them from the area before continuing. "There's still alot of things that need to be worked out before we get the first models out in stores. So please be patient. We don't want you spending a ton of money on these, only for them to not work after a short amount of time. We also want to finish up plenty of stress tests on the system and the hardware. Now please hold on minute, I need to check for any pranks that might have been rigged."

The stream audience watched as he found and still somehow triggered a prank that made a certain meme music video pop up and play. And Donnie couldn't get it to close, so the song looped 3 times before they finally found how to get it to stop.

"I will either be threatening to fire someone, or threatening fratricide, but that is for later! There are still a few more new features I want to show off in this stream!"

There are some in the chat that are still questioning about 'Angelo', but the end up getting timed out by Shelldon who only pops in to do this. And answers no questions asked.

----------------

Masterpost