#is it better to know that it /can/ happen but never does than to just believe it was never possible to begin with | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yourabsolutemother · 3 days ago

Text

At Sundown

poly task force 141

A/N: I’m not good at narrative writing. Give me a book and I'll write a 12 page essay in two days on it. But narrative? I'm screwed. So a little constructive criticism is welcome. Also I’m using a translator app for their accents, I’m so sorry if they’re stupid hahahah

CW: Military inaccuracy, accent inaccuracy, possible lore inaccuracy, typical a/b/o sexism and classism, cursing, slightly suggestive, reader almost has a panic attack, crying, Price is upset and gets a little mean, Simon is just his mean self, slight mention of PTSD

Chapter overview: Reader has a stressful day at her job and her beta roommate does little to help. Price’s instincts are going haywire and the pack can’t figure out why.

=====

It’s the end of your shift, you work as a waitress at a bar and grill that is near your house. You mostly work during the rushes, when the small restaurant is packed with a line out the door. The restaurant you work at is open until 4 am all week, that's when they kick people out so they can clean up after a long day and get ready for the lunch rush. It’s not the best food around, but the bartender is good and it is a popular spot for business meetings. The place is dirty, but for some reason, the patrons don’t seem to care. If they don’t care, you don’t care. You’re just here to make money to survive.

They don’t exactly like you here, mostly because you are an omega. No one here really talks to you, except sometimes the beta host, but he didn't want people to think less of him by seeing him talking to the only omega in the building. You wish you could get a better paying job, but this was the only thing that paid above five dollars an hour in a 30 minute radius. This place didn’t even really want to hire you, but you begged them. It’s your last resort and you don't regret it one bit. It's hard to get over everyone saying things like. ‘No wonder this is the best job omegas can get. It's all they can handle’. No matter what you do or how hard you work, it's never good enough.

You bust your ass everyday that you work, which was most days, always kind and never showing up late. You have hardly used any of your sick days or vacation days. The only time you call out is when you’re in heat, and no one works when they’re in heat or in rut. But every time you have to call out for that reason, you’re always met with groans and stupid questions like ‘can’t you just put it off for another week?’ As if you could control something that naturally happens.

You know how to do every job in the building, other than cooking, and you have worked in all of the stations at one point in the time that you have worked here. You’re certain that you did every station correctly and efficiently, but you still can’t get them to pay you more for everything that you do. You don’t know what else there is for you to do to make them like you, even a little bit.

You can’t complain much, you have it pretty good. One of your omega friends was telling you one day about how his work wouldn't let him take time off of work for his heat. They made him go to a pharmacy and buy heat suppressants with his own money so that he could work. And then they threatened to fire him if he didn’t continue to take them while he worked for them. He has a very privileged job and makes a lot of money, even if it's only at a restaurant, so he was basically forced to continue taking them.

You thank scent blockers every single day of your life, not knowing how you could manage without them and their seemingly magic effects. Sometimes you had the occasional table with the people who wouldn’t wear scent blockers, wanting to flaunt their status. You hate it, it makes it hard to do your job. The omegas and betas don’t affect you, it mostly just annoys you because of the smell lingering around you and the table for the next few hours. It made people complain to you like there is anything that you can do about the smell. You can’t really use scent blocker on a scent that's already in the air. But what would you know, you’re just an omega afterall.

But, when alphas came in, it was a whole other story. Their scent was always so strong, leaving no room for question or confusion. Their scent would stick around you, the tables, their menus, and really anything they touched for the rest of the day. You can’t blame any of them though, scent blockers burn your nose which is why you never wear them.

It’s easy to tell when you are doing good and when you aren’t. The alphas scent would make your legs weak if they were pleased, if you weren't so scared of them. But if they were upset about something, it was like a punch right to the gut. You always step up your game when you smell their scent souring, acting purely out of a panic response, but sometimes it wasn’t in your hands and there was nothing you could do about it. That didn’t stop you from trying your best, nonetheless.

Right now, you are carrying a tray of hot food across the dining room, eyes not focusing on any of the tables just in case there was an alpha sitting at them. You hate having to look at alphas, only doing it when you have to, like when you are serving their table. Their gaze was always so intense, making your head swim as it tried to decipher why they were looking at you. You aren’t as good as most omegas at reading alphas, some say you’re too naive and will figure it out once an alpha forces you to figure it out. That’s exactly why you avoid them, if you aren’t around them, then you don’t have to worry about reading them and them getting upset because you can’t. If you ever ended up with an alpha, you promised yourself not to fall for one that would treat you as second class. You didn’t want an alpha that thinks an omega is only good if their instincts are good.

Making it to the table without too much trouble, the smell of two sour alphas enters your nose. You hold back an instinctual whine, nervousness filling your chest as you set their food down in front of them. “I’m very sorry for the wait, the kitchen is backed up.” You explain, smiling to try and relieve some of the tension. On the inside, you are panicking, playing out scenarios of what could happen in your head. You can only hope they are accepting of your situation. You waited with shaky hands and bated breath.

The alpha on your left waves his hand dismissively at you, his hand almost hitting your arm as a scowl formed on his face. That action alone is enough to make your heart drop in your chest. “That's enough, omega.” He practically spits, his tone filled with venom. Your mind raced with possibilities, it made you wonder what you had done wrong other than their food taking a bit longer than normal. Of course they blamed you. It always ended up being your fault.

The alpha on your right tosses their collective trash at you, somehow you manage to catch most of the unexpected projectiles with your shaking hands. You bent over quickly, picking up the trash on the floor and placing it on the tray in your hand. “This is why no one hires omegas anymore.” The alpha spoke to the other, speaking like you weren’t standing right there. “Especially if it's a woman.” The other response, a stupid cheeky grin on his face.

You stand up straight, forcing a smile. “Is there anything else I can get you two?” You ask, watching as they both silently pull their wallets out, shoving their cards into your hand. You place them on the tray, holding back the urge to sock both of them in the eye. “Give yourself a nice dollar tip, Hun.” One purrs, intentionally putting you down. You’re an omega at the end of the day after all. You smile and bow your head slightly as a silent departure, turning on your heel and weaving through the crowd back to the kitchen.

“Thanks so much, alpha.” You practically growl under your breath, your hands starting to shake more now that they couldn't see you. “I’ll be able to buy that gumball I've been eyeing all day.” you continue quietly, sarcasm dripping from your voice as the doors to the kitchen come into view. They always say it like they believe that one whole dollar is going to get you anything.

When you first started, you thought they were being kind and maybe were just down on their luck with money. But then you started paying attention to how much their bill actually was, most of them wouldn't have a hard time tipping at least three dollars. Most of the alphas that came into the restaurant ate a lot of food, they were big, strong men that needed a lot of calories to keep their physique. Their totals usually came out very large, a tip of three dollars wouldn't even be close to twenty percent.

You sigh in relief once you get back inside the kitchen, ignoring the kitchen staff on the other side of the window as they basically screamed at each other. Going over to the computer to start closing out their tabs, you feel a presence behind you. You immediately recognize the smell of the owner, who is staring down at what you were doing with a critical eye. His arms are crossed over your chest as he pushes his scent out to intimidate you. It works and you are practically trembling by the time he walks away, finally leaving you alone.

You continue to mutter annoyedly once he was out of earshot, closing out their checks and not bothering to give yourself that tip. You’d rather not get one then accept money from those pricks. You put their receipt in the holders and make your way back to the two grumbling alphas, probably complaining about how long it was taking you.

You force a fake smile on your face, trying to keep your souring scent low as you place their receipt in front of them. “Come back soon.” You wish them well. They just ignore you as they throw more trash at you and sign their checks. They stand up and head towards the bar in the middle of the restaurant, making a last minute decision to get a drink before they leave. You shove their small trash into the pockets of your apron and leave the rest for the busboy.

You get back to the kitchen shortly after, doing a few tasks you have to do before you leave. You couldn’t stop thinking about those two alphas, of course they had to come in right at the end of your shift and ruin the rest of your night. You walk over to the coat rack and grab your coat and purse, putting them on before clocking out. You walk out the back door and go to your car, trying to get out of there as quickly as possible before the alphas change their minds. The others can deal with it, you’ll deal with the fallout next time you work if they end up needing something else from you. Just another day in this hellhole of a job.

The parking lot is cold and dark, the ground wet from a recent thunderstorm. You aren’t paying much attention as you start to cross the street, not noticing the car coming right for you until the driver slams on its horn and zips right by you. You gasp out and hold tightly onto your coat as you watch the car speed out of the parking lot. They’re probably drunk. You didn’t sleep well last night because your new neighbor was up all night pacing in their room. You kept hearing people coming in to check on him, talking with gruff voices that you could hear muffled through the wall. Although, you could hardly hear what they were saying. You didn’t want to intrude on their privacy.

You are glad that it happened though, because you now realize that you can’t be as loud as you once used to be while in your room. That house has always been empty since you moved in not long ago, but on one ever came by or even visited so you assumed that it was just vacant for some reason. That was until you saw four big military men moving in, you assume they’re on leave for an unknown amount of time. Your room is the furthest down the hall from the stairs, a bathroom next to you separating you from your roommates room and an office across that ensured your solitude. You were used to being able to be on the louder side, no one was close enough to hear it. But now, your neighbors are and you have to be careful

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The drive home is quiet, only the sound of your car that is hardly running because you don’t make enough money to pay rent, buy food, and do literally anything else. Someone had stolen your radio, which you find odd because what is someone going to do with a beat up old car radio? Omegas were used to belonging to an alpha that took care of those needs so they never really needed money. Most jobs that omegas had were just so they had somewhere to be while their alpha was at work. But you are working for yourself, sometimes your roommates help you out, but you hate having to ask them. Omegas that didn't have a pack truly were lost, most benefit from being part of one. This being said, you didn’t have enough money to buy a new radio, so you sat in silence.

You are too afraid of alphas to even consider being part of a pack, only if there was no alpha. Packs with no alphas were a rare sight, hardly ever making it work in the long run. Alphas are natural born leaders, even if they are unsure of themselves, it’s their instinct to always do what they think is best. Sometimes, what they thought was necessary was cruel. Which is why you avoid them, they’re unpredictable and much more powerful than you.

Due to your status, alphas are able to control omegas in a sense. If they use their tone just right, it scratches something in omegas brains that almost forces them to listen. It's instinctual, there's nothing you can really do to stop it. But, if an omega is too scared of the alpha, too fearful for their own life, they can ignore the instinct. The instinct to stay alive is much stronger. Though, alphas hardly use their commanding tone, funnily enough because it strains their voices to do it.

It sounds like the gears in your car are grinding together, the sound becoming obnoxious as you drive. It always takes your car an abnormal amount of time to get going and it chugs up hills, not being able to catch the necessary gear to make it easily up them. You have to let your foot off the gas most of the time for it to be able to change gears, even though your car is an automatic. You gave up a long time ago trying to make your car smell nice, it always smelled like burning oil, meaning there was a leak somewhere. Probably an expensive one, wish is why you haven’t done anything about it.

There is not much you can do about it right now, you brought it to a mechanic and they gave you a quote that was astronomically out of budget. It was also probably a bit higher than it would be if you had been an alpha or a beta. Mechanics always give omegas a hard time because they’re easy to take advantage of. One time, you went to the mechanic with your roommate, who is a beta, and they charged her fifteen dollars less than they charged you for an oil change.

You can see your house from the entrance of your neighborhood, relief filling you as you get closer to your safe place. But as you pull into your driveway, the now familiar smell of alpha fills your nose, coming from the house attached next to yours. It was a mix of tobacco, patchouli, vanilla and mahogany. It makes your skin form tiny goosebumps all over your arms and legs. An odd mix of smells that somehow all complimented each other. But despite your body’s initial reaction, you can't help but feel panic rise in your body. There were two and it smelled like one of them was not in a good mood at all. It had been like this for a few days, you coming home to smelling angry alpha.

It hasn’t gotten easier in the days following them showing up, you are constantly scared out of your mind that you are going to end up meeting these scary smelling alphas. You wonder why they are constantly upset, you know they had at least one beta since you are able to smell him through your shared wall some nights. It only makes you more jittery with the uncertainty that you feel. You can tell that your scent is souring.

As you sit there in your car, trying to get your things together while moving pretty frantically, something catches your eye while you’re taking the key out of the ignition. Your eyes widen and the back of your neck tingles slightly as you see someone inside their car who was also, assumingly, coming home from work and about to get out of the car.

You’re frozen in place and all you can think about is what could happen, all the things that could happen to an omega when faced with an angry alpha. You could hear the blood rushing in your ears as panic filled your body. All you could smell were the two alphas, it felt like it was flooding every inch of your nose. You felt like you’d never be able to forget their scents. You can’t tell if the person in the car is someone you need to look out for or not, but you don’t want to stay long to figure it out.

It is a tall man you can tell, you can’t tell their status yet and you aren’t about to go up to him and ask. Your vision isn’t the best and you don’t have your glasses on, plus having to look through two windows. Actually getting a good look at him felt impossible. It looks like he has a mohawk, in his mid to late twenties. He looks like a rough guy, a five o’clock shadow covering his face. His muscles stretch in his shirt because of the angle he's sitting at. He seems distracted by a laptop he has in the car. You can’t help but wonder why he has a computer in his car like that.

You panic, looking away to gather the rest of your stuff quickly, you book it inside. The slam of your car door probably immediately gave away your location, but you can’t care less about that now that you’re close to the house. You already have your key out when you get to the door, quickly slotting in the key and twisting to unlock it. You push open the door, your breath quick, hoping that the man didn’t see you. Closing the door behind you, you scurry to set your stuff down, wanting to get as far away from the smell of alpha as you can get.

A sigh escapes you as you reach the safety of your home, relishing in the familiar scent of your two roommates. You take a deep breath as you try to rid your nose of the lingering angry alpha scent. You lock the door behind you and hang up your coat and purse, which you had thrown your keys in, making your way towards the living room where you can hear the tv going. There, one of your roommates, and long time friend, Jasmine sits watching some show you don’t care about. Her long body is splayed out on the couch seat as her arms rested on the back, facing away from you as you enter the room.

Today is one of her days off, so she is just relaxing. From what she tells you, her job is very stressful. She says that she has to deal with angry alphas all day who are constantly on the edge of fighting. Something about being a mediator of some kind. It makes you wonder how many times you coming up to the table has stopped a fight from breaking out. Or how many times the alphas weren’t actually mad at you, but at each other. Fights broke out all the time at the restaurant you worked in, nobody ever did anything after they were broken up, which is why a lot of business meetings are held there.

“Welcome home, Hun.” She calls out, looking over her shoulder to see you walking towards her with a relieved look on your face. “How was work? Smells like it wasn't too good.” She asks, the following words referring to the lingering smell of angry alpha coming from your clothing. The tone of her voice is soft, like she's trying not to break you. Her head and eyes follow you as you make your way around the couch, hands immediately reaching out when she smells how stressed you are. The beta instincts inside her head tell her to help calm you down.

You let out a sigh and sit down next to her, leaning your head on her shoulder, leaning into her comfortable embrace. You can smell her calming cinnamon scent, reminding you of the cinnamon rolls your mom used to make when you were younger. “Why does everyone blame me for the issues that the kitchen causes?” You ask rhetorically in a whine, trying to relax in her reassuring hold. You just want to be able to relax in the betas presence after a stressful day at work. It was almost like a ritual at this point. You come home stressed, she works her magic, and you go on about your day feeling a bit better than before. Tonight seems to be the exception.

A laugh comes from Jasmine, making you whine in embarrassment despite her hand comfortingly playing with your hair. “Stop laughing..” You mutter, playing with the strings coming off a tiny rip in your black pants, smelling her scent getting stronger as she continues to try and calm you down “I’m sorry, puppy.” She says through lingering giggles, pushing her knee against yours to try and lighten the mood. “It's just that complaining about your waitressing job is such an omega thing to complain about.” She continues to laugh, her head falling back slightly and her hand in your hair stilling, making you pout. Her words felt like she only thought of you as an omega, not seeing the person below the status. Her scent does nothing to help your stressed mind, no matter how hard she tries to project it.

You stand up and let out a frustrated sigh, Jasmine's hold falling from you. Her eyebrows furrow slightly and you have to look away so you don’t feel bad for standing your ground. Jasmine was the only person you are comfortable enough with to do it. “You’re being mean,” You mumble, walking away to your room which resides upstairs. Jasmine turns her head to look over her shoulder at you as you walk away. “Aw, come on. You know I didn’t mean it like that.” She calls out, not receiving a response back to you. She lets out a slight groan, making a mental note to make it up to you later as she turns her attention back to her show.

Once you get upstairs, you walk down the hall towards your room while tears gather in your eyes. You just feel so stressed out and everything is so overwhelming, you just want to curl up in your bed. Just wanting to forget about how worthless you felt in a world that doesn’t appreciate omegas for the treasure that they are. You hope that you can keep your emotions under control until you are in your room.

You pass by Jasmine's room first which was obviously empty, then you pass your other roommates room. Their door was closed, you don’t bother asking them for help, they just moved in and you barely know them. You open your door and quietly shut it behind you, toeing your shoes off as you start to sniffle. You let out a few whimpers and shuffle your shoes with your foot off to the side and out of the way, starting to let the tears fall down your puffy cheeks.

You keep your crying down to whimpers and sniffles, occasionally letting out a sad whine. You remember hearing your neighbor last night, you don’t want them to hear you crying. Your room starts to really smell like sour oranges, like drinking orange juice after brushing your teeth. You took your shirt, pants, and shoes off, shuffling to bed and curling under the covers as you cry your stress away. Eventually your breathing evens out and you are reduced to sniffles as you slowly fall asleep. To be fair, you were still feeling the emotional side effects of your heat which ended three days ago.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Johnny sits in his car after having to go into a weekly training session, the superiors demanding they stay in peak physical condition even while they are on leave. Their superiors make them alternate weeks doing it together and doing it alone. They say they want to make sure they can still handle themselves when they aren’t together. Dysfunctional packs aren’t welcome in their field of work, always being forcibly split even if they had been together before joining.

He’s filling out his activity sheet that they have to email to Price every week, so that he could send it to their superiors, when your sweet orange scent fills Johnny’s nose. He’d been smelling you since they arrived, through the wall of his bedroom unluckily. He thanks the gods that he isn’t an alpha and can control himself better. Your scent would have driven him crazy by now if he wasn’t a beta. There was a tinge to your scent, smelling like oranges that had been left in the car for too long. He glances over at you, seeing you quickly getting out of your car with a panicked look on your face. He watches as you slam your car door and book it inside, he can practically see the trail of dust that follows in your wake from how quickly you moved. He wonders why you were so stressed out.

He wishes he could have seen more of you, only being able to see a glimpse of your face before your hair fell in the way. You looked so small and fragile as you scurried away, Johnny felt his body tense at the sight of an omega in distress. He wishes for nothing more than to wrap his thick arms around you and wash his scent over you as you relax in his hold. But by the looks of how you ran away like that, it isn’t really an option. He wonders what's got you so worked up. His brain immediately went to the worst possible scenarios. The thought of you having an abusive alpha crosses his mind, making his chest tighten.

He knows that there are no alphas in the house attached to his, at least he’s never smelled one. He knew there was you, the omega, and there were two betas. He assumes you three are a growing pack since it was originally just the one beta and how there are two new additions. The three of you being roommates never crossed his mind, almost like his brain was keeping him from getting attached to you. He couldn’t have you if you already had a pack.

He wastes no time sending the sheet to John and gathering his things so he can head inside, he has little to no patience waiting for what's his. He eagerly gets out of the car and goes inside, he's excited to see his pack after a long training day. He pushes open the door and the first person he sees is Kyle, who is in the kitchen cooking up dinner.

He goes up behind the slightly shorter beta and wraps his arms around his torso, shoving his face into Kyle’s neck to breathe his coconut scent in deeply. It always made his mouth water, having to swallow a few times so he doesn't drool. Makes him crave a pina colada. Johnny feels his muscles relax as he watches Kyle cook, his chin and nose pressing against the crook of his neck. He starts to sway slightly, relishing in the feeling of his bonded beta being close. “Mised ye..” Johnny mumbled against Kyle’s skin. Kyle responded by leaning his head against Johnny’s.

A deep growl comes from the entrance of the kitchen, making the hair on the back of both of the betas' necks stand up. “No’ going to gree’ your alpha?” A gruff voice grumbles from the archway. Johnny smiles and turns to see Simon, standing there with his arms crossed over his chest. Simon is big on respect for alphas, though he isn’t too strict about it and is never mean about it. There is a dark glimmer in Simon's eyes as Johnny lets go of Kyle, Johnny placing a gentle kiss to the side of his head to soothe the whine that slips from Kyle’s throat. Simon tilts his head up and sniffs the air, only being able to smell coconut, this makes him growl lowly again.

Johnny practically bounds over to Simon, squeezing him tight in a bear hug despite how angry he looks.. “O course ah'm gaun tae, LT.” He holds back laughter at the older alpha's recent possessiveness. He purrs as Simon's arms wrap around him, similarly to how he had just done Kyle. “Ya smell like scen’ blocker.” Simon states bluntly as he buries his nose in Johnny’s mohawk, trying to catch a whiff of the freshly cut grass he is used to smelling. “Shower, now.” Simon orders, his tone holding authority as he pushes Johnny away gently by his shoulders. Simon may be rough and it seems like he isn't happy, but the pack has learned that it's just the way he loves. Johnny doesn't waste any time getting upstairs and to his bathroom, passing by John’s office.

“Pup.” A frustrated sounding alpha calls from inside, making Johnny turn on his heel to peak his head into Price’s office. “Whit’s botherin ye, alpha?” The scot asks, knowing exactly what the pack leader needed. Comfort from his beta. Price looked exhausted, dark bags under his eyes and cigar buds all over his desk. There was so much smoke in the air that his office was hazy, and it reeked of tobacco. His gaze lifts from the paperwork and meets Johnny’s, his eyes are fiery. It isn’t often that Price is in this kind of mood, but when he was it was for good reason.

Price’s nose cringes as the smell of scent blocker enters his nose instead of cut grass. The scent blocker mixes with the Patchouli and strong tobacco scent, making Price growl loudly. “Go shower firs’.” He grumbles, turning his attention back to the mound of paperwork on his desk. “Aye.” Johnny responds before slipping away. He could feel the frustration radiating from Price's office, leaving feeling a little bit worried for the alpha.

Johnny snickers slightly at his two alphas, finding it funny how much they hate smelling scent blockers inside their home. He hurries to his bathroom, now that he has orders from both of his alphas, stripping his clothes off so he can get in the shower. He knows better than to keep Price waiting when he obviously needs a betas touch.

His shower was quick, years of military training taught him to do so easily. He steps out of the shower and wraps one towel around his waist while he uses another to dry his hair. He leaves the bathroom to be met with the smell of sour oranges, almost causing him to double over when his instincts kick in. He lets out a strained groan and sits on his bed, holding onto his knees as he tries to calm himself. He can tell your crying, the smell of your stress seeping through the wall. Your scent was so strong, there was no reason he should be able to smell it as well as he can. His chest tightens knowing that there was nothing that he can do to help you, he wonders why your pack wasn’t doing anything to help you.

There is a sharp knock at his door and the scent of pine enters in nose. It’s Simon. Johnny knows that if Simon comes in here and smells an omega in distress, things won't go very well. Especially when that omega smells so close to his beta. “hold on noo, big fella. I haenae even had the chance tae put on ma clothes.” He calls out, having to hold back the panicked twinge in his voice. He stands up quickly and throws on the closest clean clothes that he could reach, the colors completely miss-matched.

“Hurry up.” He could hear Simon bark from the other side of the door, sounding like he is pressed right against the door and very frustrated. It bothers Simon when members of his pack don’t allow him access to their space, but he knows they deserve to be alone sometimes so he never pushes. Only sometimes when he’s being extra possessive and needy. Simon just needs to know what's happened to feel secure, to know that everything is okay and he has everything under control. But today he seems very pushy about it compared to other days.

Johnny goes over to the door and slips out quickly, not wanting to open the door wide enough that your scent would hit Simon too hard. He looks slightly up at Simon while holding, afraid of his reaction. A million things can happen in the next few seconds. Simon’s eyes darken slightly, his muscles tensing under the tight shirt he has on. “Ya still smell like omega.” Simon grumbles, pulling Johnny closer to sniff him. A slight growl left Simon's lips, his nose cringing at the unfamiliar smell and sour twinge to it.

Johnny fills with anxiety, hoping that Simon doesn’t realize that the smell is coming from his room. Or even worse, thinks that he’s hiding an omega from them all. His scent shifts from smelling fresh to smelling like it rained right after the grass got cut and it got all muddy and weird smelling. A low grumble emanates from Simon’s chest. “Relax, beta.” He almost snaps, his eyes shooting daggers into Johnny’s. “If you needed me to scen’ ya to finish up the cleaning, all ya had to do was ask.” He grumbles, his rough voice sounding softer now as he grabs Johnny’s wrists. All Simon thought of the situation was that Johnny trained near an omega and still smelled like them.

Simon rubs Johnny’s wrists against the scent glands on either side of his neck, his eyes sharp underneath the balaclava as he stares at Johnny. He always felt like Simon was staring into his soul, like he could read his mind. Simon takes his time, making sure by the end of this that Johnny would reek of him. His vanilla and mahogany scent covering his beta, just the way he likes it. He drops his wrists and leans into Johnny, doing his best to rub his scent into his neck and the side of his face. “Mine.” He growls lowly in Johnny’s ear, his hands moving to hold his hips. Simon pulls him closer, pulling him into his chest. “Can’ have ya smelling like a needy omega.” He grumbles.

Simon was weird about omegas. To Johnny, it seems like Simon thinks they’re too much work, not worth the trouble. But it’s not the case in reality, he just can’t see the benefits of having any one new in their already seemingly perfect pack. The truth is, alphas benefit greatly from having an omega to take care of. If you set expectations of your pack dynamic, like that there will be long periods of time that the omega will be without their pack, omegas aren't too much to handle. Alphas need to treat omegas with care for them to be happy and healthy, and Simon is not the most caring person. Johnny thinks that he’s scared and won't admit it, to them or himself.

Johnny rolls his eyes at Simon, which earns him a sharp smack to the back of his upper thigh. “Don’ be getting feisty now, Price needs to see ya.” Simon reminds the smaller beta, finally letting him go so he can take care of the pack alpha. Johnny can't help but notice the way Simon’s eyes watch him longingly, wishing he was able to command Johnny to stay with him. Johnny can immediately sense this, shooting a smile to Simon. “Dinnae go thinking I forgo’ aboot ye, Si. A’ll come see ye whan A’m duin.” Johnny reassures the moody alpha, his hands resting comfortingly on his forearms before he slips away.

When Johnny got to Price’s office, Kyle was already coming out. He reeked of an alpha in distress. Johnny was immediately filled with dread. If Kyle couldn’t do it, neither can he. Kyle has always been better about this kind of stuff and now they were replying on Johnny to fix it. “Whit’s gotten intae him? Ye couldn’t help?” The scot asked, worry bubbling underneath his eyes. Kyle looked just as worried as Johnny was, scratching at his nose to help rid of the stench that Price was giving off. “I don’ know, he won’ calm down.” Kyle breathes, his eyes softening as he quietly closes the door so he can speak to Johnny a bit more privately. “He’s no’ righ’ in the head space righ’ now, I think there's something wrong with his alpha. Bu’ ya know how old military men are, he’s denying there's anything wrong..” Kyle speaks in a hushed whisper, not wanting Price to hear them talking about him.

Kyle's words don’t help to calm him down, it makes his head fill with endless possibilities of what could be wrong with Price. Kyle senses the stress on his fellow beta, his bonded beta, and pulls him closer. His hand runs though the hair at the base of his mohawk. “You’re gonna do jus’ fine, Johnny..” Kyle reassures him, projecting his calming coconut scent over the stressed beta. Johnny doesn’t know how Kyle is able to do it so well, but he is immediately calm. He takes a deep breath of the coconut and nods softly. “Aye, ye’re right..” He sighs out softly, filling the tension leaving his body.

Johnny pulls away from Kyle's hold and faces the door to Price’s office. He feels Kyles hand on his lower back as he takes a deep breath and reaches for the handle. He pushes open the door and slips inside, being hit quickly by the musky smell of tobacco stinking up the room. It’s hazy in the small space, cigar wrappers littering the ground. The smell of tobacco is so strong, from the cigars and from Price, that it makes Johnny want to cough.

“Alpha..” Johnny speaks softly, walking over to Price who was hunched over his desk. Johnny’s hands brush over his back and grip his shoulders. “youre puttin tui much stress on yersel, sir. war supposit tae be on partial lea.” He reminds the frustrated alpha, starting to roughly massage Price's shoulders. “This doesn't luik lik partial lea tae me.” He points out, letting his scent wash over the frustrated alpha

Price straightens out and lets his shoulders relax so that Johnny could get to his tense muscles better. “Somethings no’ right, pup.” He grumbles, his hand gripping the pen tightly in his large hand. It looked like he was about to break the plastic in half. Johnny imagines how it would set Price off to be covered in ink, so he gently takes it from his hand.

This causes Price to growl softly, a small warning. “Give i’ back, now.” He grumbled, his shoulders growing tense even under Johnny's magical hands. “nae can do, cap’. You're gonna break it.” The scot whispers gently in Price’s ear. “Are ye hungry?” He asks, pressing his front to Price's back as best he can with Price sitting in a chair as he changes the subject. “A smellit Kyle's cuikin whan A cam in. A think he made soup.” He persuades, leaning down to place small kisses to the side of Price’s head.

Price doesn't say anything as he stands up and makes his way to the door of his office, roughly grabbing the doorknob and swinging the door open. Johnny is surprised by the sudden movement, not expecting it to be so easy to convince him to leave his cave. His hands fall from Price and he stumbles back a bit, being forced to make room for Price’s movements. The smell of his frustration fills the hallway as he stomps down the stairs, Johnny following close behind. A growl erupts from the living room as Prive passes by, coming from Simon in response to the intrusive scent. “Fucks up with you?” Simon asks, his bright blue eyes glaring at Price sharply. Simon tends to struggle when Price’s scent is as strong as it is, which makes it hard for him to remember they’re on the same team, on the field and as a pack.

Price glares back at Simon, huffing a little bit as Simon gets on his already agitated nerves. His fists clench at his sides, having to focus on not lashing out for no good reason. “Watch it, Ghost.” He almost growls, he tone commanding like he was on the field. Simon backs off when he hears his call sign, knowing not to press anymore. Sometimes, they struggle with their shared pack. There is a long silence as the two alphas stare at each other, both aware of the fine line they are walking

Price is the pack alpha, calling all the shots and making all the decisions for the wellbeing of the pack. Simon is an alpha of the pack, but does not have any proper authority as to what happens. The only thing Simon can do to have any say is to talk it out with Price, who always listens but can’t always promise Simon will get what he wants. While their relationship felt fragile, they still worked around it and found their own ways to be vulnerable around each other.

Johnny and Kyle look at each other, a similar look of worry. They aren’t used to feeling so unsure of everything, their alphas feeling so unsure of everything. All they can do is project their scent out to try and cover Price's burnt tobacco. “The food is already on the table.” Kyle broke the uncomfortable silence. “Your favorite, Alpha.” He continues, holding onto Price's arm as he guides him to the dining room.

They eat dinner in tense silence, Price’s eyes watching all of them as he eats, his gaze protective and observant. Simon meets his eyes everytime Price looks at him, realizing something together. Something is missing from their pack, they just can’t seem to put their fingers on it.

#john soap mactavish #john price #simon ghost riley #x reader #kyle gaz garrick #captain john price #task force 141 #tf141 #tf 141 x reader #poly!141 #omega #alpha #beta #john price x reader #soap mactavish x reader #simon ghost x reader #kyle gaz x reader

71 notes · View notes

lonesome-pear · 3 days ago

Photo

Ok but like. This post got me thinking. I think life’s purpose is both something we will never know and something we can create for ourselves. What if my purpose was purely to bring joy? What if I made the universe empty and uncaring for the sake of longevity, which was not just not my purpose, but the complete opposite? What if life really is just about those little fleeting moments of whimsy? I think it is. I truly believe my one purpose here is to bring joy to other people. Not in a “I’m gonna be a doormat who does nothing but people please” kind of way, but in a “life is hard enough, let’s make it easier for each other” kind of way

The thought of going against that for the sake of. What. Not being forgotten? Not dying? What does that do? Does it prove something? Does it fulfill me? Why would I do it if there’s no reason. Out of curiosity? I don’t think I could justify that, and I do many things just for the sake of “what would it be like?” So idk. Maybe I’ll go laminate a paper towel. Because the universe imploding and leaving only me feels like a very specific kind of hell

I live not for the sake of living, but for the things that happen in life. I decide to get up in the morning not because it extends my life, but because maybe I’ll get to see my friends that day. Hell, maybe I’ll even make them laugh. Maybe they’ll see me and immediately run over to me just to talk for a few minutes while they wait for a ride home. Maybe I’ll bring them a small moment of joy. Maybe that little moment of joy came at a time where they didn’t know those happen anymore. And maybe they’ll do the same for me, because we love each other and we want to make our lives easier for each other

Maybe my friends will make me laugh. Maybe I’ll see them and immediately run up to them just to talk for a few minutes before I go home. Who knows. Maybe the universe continues to exist because I decided to get up and go have moments of genuine connection. Even if they don’t last. Even if they are fleeting. It still mattered. I had a purpose. I might come to end, but the impact those small moments had won’t

Because then my friends will keep going. They’ll get up in the morning and decide to go spread joy to their other friends. And those people will bring happiness to their other friends. And it just keeps going. And some of them will have kids and teach them to do the same. And it just keeps going

So maybe the universe isn’t cold and uncaring. Because how could a universe so uncaring have people in it that are so loving. How could a universe so cold have moments and smiles so warm. How could choosing to be immortal preserve your longevity any more than being remembered for the comfort you brought to others. If you were left alone in the universe, all that would be left is you and it would be a self fulfilling prophecy of having no impact on anything, at least not anymore. But if you choose to live life. Then you could have such a great impact that changes the course of everything forever for the better, even if it’s only a little bit better

Anyway I don’t really have a point here, it’s late at night and I’ve been feeling very existential lately

Or maybe it’s just a laminated paper towel

I laminated a paper towel

#lonesome late night ramblings #new tag that may or may not get used because I ramble late at night fairly often #Also. Consider the sound a laminated paper towel would make #Wawawawawawawawa

879K notes · View notes

dr-spectre · 1 day ago

Text

I think that it's now more important than ever to keep making art.

Whether it's some scribbles on a piece of a paper, paint on a canvas, typing out erotic fanfiction about two cephalopod women, i need you to keep going. OKAY?!

Keep going at your own pace. Don't feel like you have to "grind" to achieve success, you're probably young as hell, you don't need to become a masculine obsessed fucking nutjob that is so obsessed with "discipline" and all this bullshit. Sure "discipline" is cool but... That shit takes a LONG TIME to develop and it only comes with experimentation and see what you believe in and what you enjoy. Don't get.... heh...... heh heh..... BRAINWASHED!!! by women hating bald bastards online who wanna turn you into a fun hating robot that's all about "work work work." Fuck them.

You are a human with flesh, blood, bones, a heart and a brain. You are not a machine. Got it?

Anyways, in talks of art, i wanna give my own sort of help for my writer friends out there! I thought it would be fun and plus, there's too many damn writing tips out there that boil down to "you HAVE to do this thing, you HAVE to follow this structure" and i think that is bullshit. Complete and utter bullshit that gives you more stress than needed. You know how many boring mid action movies come out that follow the hero's journey? The three act structure? The story circle? It is better to just make shit and learn what you could do for next time.

There are no rules, all of the "rules of storytelling" are just optional suggestions that you can either take or leave. Plus it seems like every fucking YouTuber has a different set of rules that conflict with each other anyways. However, I wanna share my own sort of "basic ass fundamentals of stories" that can fit into any story structure you want! I got these guidelines from the YouTube channel The Closer Look. I like their content, it's very insightful.

Here's Dr. Spectre's basic ass fundamentals for stories.

Characters. Simple, a story must have characters otherwise you are making something else that is not a story.

Progression. Is there a sense of progression? Does it feel like for every second of story it isn't stagnating or getting dull and boring? Does it feel like shit is happening and growing? If it feels boring to read for you, then it's gonna be boring for another person reading it. Progression could be plot based or character based and them growing as the story goes on. Doesn't matter which one, can be both or one. Good stories never feel like they are staying the same or spinning their wheels.

Delivery (Aka. Setup and payoff). Do you deliver on the promises in the story? And do you deliver them in a way where the audience after they finishing reading or watching, they felt like it was all worthwhile and they didn't waste time consuming your story.

Everything else? IT'S OPTIONAL!!! COMPLETLY OPTIONAL! YOU KNOW HOW MANY STORIES BREAK THE "RULES"?! Do not become reliant and dependent on these "rules" because it'll slow your development and discourage experimentation. Not every story is gonna fucking follow the Save The Cat format.

There is also the talk of theme and i will say this.

Theme is not "this story is about sex, drugs, greed." No. Theme is a message or argument, it is not a word, it is something you are trying to say via a story. People don't have to agree with the theme, but it must make people think about it. If your story is about sex, what is it trying to say about sex? That sex is a scary thing and that it's okay to feel scared and worried about your first time? What are you trying to say about greed? Etc. Etc.

I read through a Sonic comic recently that everyone loves called Scrapnik Island and guess what? I fucking love that comic too.

Scrapnik Island isn't truly about Sonic and Tails getting stuck on an island and Mecha Sonic is there and he becomes evil and does all this stuff. No, what it's ACTUALLY about is that your worth as a person isn't determined by successes and failures, Mecha Sonic feels like he is worthless and is a failure because he not only failed to kill Sonic, but also failed to help his friends on Scrapnik Island. However, Sonic snaps him out of that bullshit mindset and it's truly, truly wonderful stuff.

Splatoon 2: Octo Expansion isn't truly about Agent 8 being trapped in a facility and defeating an evil ai. It talks about racism and what does it talk about specifically? That it doesn't matter what someone looks like, as long as they are a good person that's all that matters. That life is varied and beautiful and it's worth protecting from those who wish to destroy it.

There's a reason why Agent 8 takes the time to soak in the fresh air and sunlight near the end of Octo Expansion, why Eight has memcakes to collect and we see their thoughts and wishes. it's there to explore that theme, that idea of what the story is truly about.

Splatoon as a franchise is about how wonderful creativity itself is, that art and life are connected and grow together and are important and deserved to be protected. Commander Tartar, Mr. Grizz and Overlorder are all opposed to that idea and that's why they are the antagonists. DJ Octavio less so because he is trying to save his own culture and art, even as to go far as manipulating a mentally ill Callie who was already growing distain and tiredness from her own culture, so it just so happens that these two chaotic forces share the same ideology.

Now, I wanna say, do you NEED a theme to make a story? No. BUT! If you don't have something to say and that connective tissue, then it's gonna weaken everything else and the action, plot and characters have to be fucking top notch. The "Rule of Cool" only works when... you know.... it's cool? And well done?

Anyways, I've rambled long enough. Please keep making art, please? Especially now considering what has happened. I need you to hold onto hope, hold onto creativity and fun. You must. You have to...

Be good people.

63 notes · View notes

johnwickb1tsch · 1 day ago

Text

The Girl Next Door - XIV

A Constantine x FemVampire!Reader (feat John Wick!) fic based on this imagine. all chapters gen. warnings: NSFW, blood, biting, violence divider by animatedglittergraphics-n-more

⚠Trigger warning: YET MORE GRAPHIC VIOLENCE, if that squicks you DO NOT READ!⚠

14. a universal conduit

You’re not much for praying, but if ever God should be interested in you stupid little trials on Earth now seems like the time. As you tear through the streets of L.A. holding on for dear undeath on the back of Wick’s motorcycle, you send up a request to the big guy in the clouds:

Please, don’t let us be too late.

You just had to make a little stop at the Four Seasons to collect some blood from the Antichrist; a criminal defense lawyer named Kevin Lomax, unwittingly on retainer as don Juan’s little failsafe.

Truth be told, you’d expected more of a fight from one of Satan’s offspring–but then he was the other Son of Satan, an earthbound half-breed who possibly didn’t even know who he truly was.

More’s the better, and you keep the double Ziploc-bagged portion of his profane plasma in the inside pocket of your jacket, close to your heart.

According to don Juan…it just might be the key to saving the world.

He’d told you other things too.

Such as, this ritual was to take place at the old mental hospital, where supposedly two ley lines meet and the veil is fortuitously thin for such things, forming a sort of gate where it’s easier for the constituents of Hell to pass through.

“What sort of ritual?” you’d demanded, wanting to know what you were walking into.

Somehow, Juan managed to shrug with what remained of his trunk of a body. “Oh, the usual chanting and sacrifice I suppose. But that wasn’t my part of the deal.”

“What was your part of the deal?”

“Keeping Constantine out of it all. He was the only real threat left,” Juan grumbled, then glared at you. “You didn’t prove quite the distraction we’d hoped, you useless wench.”

You realized that he didn’t mean kidnapping you tonight, but earlier, when your whole ordeal as a creature of the night began. He’d ordered for this to happen to you. He’d been watching you all along. The weight of this truth dawned on you, and it hurt. Jesus, how it hurt, but rather than cry about it you’d bared your fangs at him, picking up his sword from the ground. It was nearly as long as you are tall, and Juan’s eyes went wide.

“What do you think you're doing with that?”

“It doesn’t feel good, does it, when you’re treated like your life is worth nothing?”

He bared his own fangs at you, jumping to the correct conclusion in the span of a second.

“We had a deal!”

“You had a deal with him,” you’d said, nodding at Wick, who stood by with his arms crossed and a stony expression. “Not me.”

“¡Espera! No, wait! You can’t–”

You’re not exactly proud of how quick you were, to cut off his head–but in the heat of the moment, the bite of the blade through flesh and bone–God it felt good.

Bloody, violated, but avenged, you stood over his decapitated corpse, shaking like a leaf but the sword still gripped hard in your hand. Lifeless eyes stared up at you, his mouth gaping as though he would still try to bargain with you from beyond the true grave. You thought of the way he touched you, the way he laughed at your pain–and you kicked his head as hard as you could like a soccer ball with a scream, bombing it into the dark depths of the cave.

The ringing in your ears returned; Wick spoke gently to you again, taking the sword from your hand. You weren’t exactly numb, but the world seemed to have narrowed to a tunnel, where there was only you, and Wick, and his strong hands upon you leading you away.

You never found Chas in the cave, and you hope he is with John, and not dead in an alley somewhere. You had to hand it to them, for baiting you just with a hat…but it seems safe to say the joke was on don Juan in the end.

♰♰♰

“You can stay here,” says Wick as you pull up to the hospital, cupping your cheek in his hand. It seems eerily abandoned, for a medical facility, the windows all dark. “You have done enough, milaya. Let me finish this fight for you.”

But you shake your head, unwilling to sit out from the fray. You can feel that John is in there, and he is afraid, although he is controlling it well enough to function. You sense the fighting hasn’t started quite yet. So brave, your demon hunter. He deserves better, than dying in this place a second time.

“No. I’m going with you.”

You like him even more, for not arguing with you. He simply nods, and he is ready to get down to business. “I hate demons,” he grumbles, rifling through his saddlebags for vials and a pair of brass cross-emblazoned knuckles. “They are too complicated.”

“Are they really harder to kill than vampires?” you ask, watching him with a fascination you’re not sure is healthy.

“Yes and no. Their powers…vary. You must be smart on your feet to find their weakness, before they kill you. It is impressive…your Constantine has lived so long.”

You are so surprised to hear him compliment John that he could have pushed you over with a feather. He looks up at you with a rueful smile you do not understand. “Let’s hope his luck holds, eh? Come on.”

Armed to the teeth with Juan’s broadsword, knives, guns, holy water, and what you think may have been a grenade slipped into his pocket, you follow your dhampir beau into the dark maw of the place some people would swear is already Hell on Earth.

♰♰♰

The moment you set foot inside the hospital you sense the demonic presence, like a seething nest of poisonous snakes in the heart of the building. Wick feels it too, and you follow the winding hallways towards the therapeutic recreation area of the facility; ie, the pool.

“Water is a vehicle; it lubricates the transition between worlds,” Wick explains hushedly, when you speculate as to why.

You are scared, but you shove it down, and follow a step behind at Wick’s side. Worry for Constantine knots in your gut; maybe it’s stupid, but you just want to see him again. You don’t allow yourself to think one last time–even if in the very back of your brain, you feel the impending doom all too well.

“...are all in violation of the balance,” you hear a familiar voice say, and your heart soars. “Leave now, or you will be deported.”

You arrive in time to find John standing on a chair with a crowd of demons looking upon him curiously, that golden shotgun at his side. He should look ridiculous like that, but somehow, he is so tall and resolute that he cuts nothing less than a striking figure.

“Go to Hell,” he tells the room, holding his lighter up to a sprinkler head–then he seems to sense you behind him–he whirls with terror in his eyes. “No!” he shouts desperately, throwing out his hand as though he could physically push you from across the room.

Wick seems to understand something you do not, for just as the sprinkler heads begin to spew water he grabs you around the waist and runs for the hall.

A few drops splash your hands and your face–and you scream.

It feels like battery acid, something horribly caustic that could eat the flesh from your bones. The pain is excruciating, and you can hardly think as Wick bundles you along, not stopping until you find a dry place in the building, far away from the sprinklers.

“What the fuck!” you hiss, looking at the sizzling droplets that landed on your hands.

“Holy water,” Wick answers, licking your skin.

Somehow, that works, and you sit back against the painted cinder block wall so hard your head cracks.

“Jesus fucking Christ, that’s diabolical.”

Wick pays you a commiserating half smile. “I fear you are the one who is diabolical, my love.”

You realize a beat later he is playing word games with you, and you hiss. “What about John? There were fifty demons in that room!”

Wick nods, and you cannot fathom how this man, who you’d witnessed literally tearing vampires apart with his bare hands, can give such effective puppy eyes. It’s really not fair. “Stay here, milaya.”

You grip Wick’s hands in yours, knowing it contradicts everything this man wants in the world, but pleading with him anyway, “Please look after him?”

With a growl the dhampir nods, electric blue flashing in his midnight dark irises. He makes to stand, but you aren’t done with him yet, pulling him back to you. You can tell he’s annoyed as he looks to you, and even with the looming doom and vestiges of the sting of holy water upon your skin, you can’t help but smile a little. “Promise you’ll come back to me?”

Immediately he softens, pressing his mouth to yours in a hard kiss that curls your toes and claims your heart all over again. He pulls away while you are too starstruck to function, disentangling himself from your hands curled in his jacket.

“Be seeing you, vampling. Ya obeshchayu.” You don’t know how you know that means, ‘I promise’.

And then he is gone, charging back down the hall towards the fray. You watch your warrior go with an ache in your chest; it moves you, just watching the way he moves with such deadly purpose. You find you are not half as worried about him, as you are Constantine.

Feeling utterly useless, you pace in the hall, hating being left to wait while the–you have to admit it–two men you care about are battling the unclean horde. You know you cannot go near that holy sprinkler water, and you pause to study a map of the hospital on the wall. It is black and white and grainy, state of the art printing from 1968. But it looks like you can access the pool area from another corridor on the other side, and you wonder if that section of the hospital received the same blessed deluge.

You know that John Wick asked you to stay put–for his sake, as much as yours. But the stakes are too high, and you just can’t stand by. It’s probably a bad idea, but you make your way down the hall.

♰♰♰

As you burst through the pool room doors via the men’s locker rooms you hear the cacophony of the battle taking place in the other room. There is also something thrashing around in the pool, the water churning like a feeding frenzy of sharks. Juan had made it sound like the pool itself was the gate, and fear spikes through you from head to toe.

Is it Him?

A figure emerges for a mere second, gasping for breath–you realize it’s Angela struggling with something trying to drown her, and you jump in without another thought. The thing is strong, as strong as you, and you grapple with it under the water, trying to get its hands off the detective so she can have a chance to breathe. It’s impossible to get a foothold in the water against this thrashing thing. In a desperate ditch attempt to stop it, you grab its head and wrench as hard as you can, breaking its neck, twisting it around all the way backwards.

By some luck or finally some divine interference, it goes still.

You waste no time in picking Angela up, hoisting her out of the pool. She is so tiny, for such a fierce thing. She’s gone still, and you plead or pray again through bloody tears, “Please don’t be dead.”

Perhaps you are technically dead, but you still attempt to breathe life back into her, blowing air into her mouth and you thank all the deities when she violently coughs up water and gasps for breath, clutching your arms for dear life. You turn her onto her side and pat her back, trying to help her expel the water from her lungs.

“Thank fuck,” you hiss under your breath, holding her. She looks up at you, her eyes widening when she sees your fangs and glowing orange eyes.

“It’s ok, it’s ok,” you tell her, trying to make yourself look more human and failing spectacularly in the heightened stress of the moment. “I’m a friend of John’s.”

She relaxes back against the concrete, nodding, maybe needing to believe you.

You laugh a little out of pure disbelief. There are still flashes of blue lightning and gunfire in the other room, Wick and Constantine working together. Who knew? But it sounds like the fight is winding down.

Is this it? Did you do it?

Is it going to be ok??

You are able to enjoy the lightness of this sliver of hope for a mere second, before suddenly you sense that you are not alone in the room. Something invisible picks you up roughly, and throws you back into the pool.

--------------

*full credit to @discoscoob for the idea to bring Kevin Lomax into this!! 😄 *a belated fyi, the reason I call Don John ---> don Juan is because "don" is a prefix and honorific signifying nobility, like Mr. or Sir, not actually part of his name. In Spanish, it's not capitalized. He's from Aragón, which is now a state but once was a kingdom unto itself in the Iberian peninsula, before Spain became, well...Spain as we know it, unified. Sort of.

59 notes · View notes

autistichalsin · 23 hours ago

Text

"What is it like to be so uncaring? I wish I could spend a day being as unempathetic as them. (Unspoken: What's the point of having empathy anymore?")

This is a sentiment that I've seen so many others express, and myself have kinda had to work through too, in the past 24 hours.

And it's a damn good question, isn't it? The people who care for no one but themselves- and worse, who actively want to hurt others not like them- won. They got everything they wanted. Meanwhile, good, kind people lost, and are now being mocked. "Triggered, liberals?"

So what's the point, then? Why should we care anymore?

It's one of those questions where you really have to be your own guide with that. We live in a world that punishes kindness and tries its best to beat it out of people, and sometimes it's tiring to do so.

But I answered that question myself and maybe my answer will help some of you.

In a world like ours, kindness is an act of defiance. Becoming cruel/callous/selfish feeds in to the reality they peddled to steal American democracy for good. By being kind, you remind them that not everyone is like them. And believe me, under their taunting, under their cries of "own the libs", this unsettles them. Kindness is an act of resistance. Love is an act of resistance. You are telling them that they will never change who you fundamentally are, they won't take away the things that make you better than them. And there is nothing evil people hate more than reminders that not everyone is evil!!! Do you remember that scene from The Dark Knight where the Joker had a group of prisoners and ordinary citizens on two ferries with bombs to blow up the other's ship, expecting them to hit the button- but no one did, because they wouldn't take the others' lives? And how utterly baffled he was? Your continued compassion enrages fascists.

You are gaining so much more from remaining kind and empathetic than you can understand. Yes, the ones who lack it won and will get to abuse people, but they lack human connection, and most of theirs are shallow. Alpha male types don't enjoy close friendships; Matt Walsh himself said he never had a friend say he loved him, Tucker Carlson's mom hated him so much that she left him $1 in her will, and Donald Trump's wives only ever married him for his power and status. The few connections they have lack depth and care and genuineness. Sure, they have families, sometimes, who love/care for them. But it is a very different kind of love because it is conditional. That's the only kind of love they know. "Be like me, espouse my values, and then I will love you." They disown their queer children, they fear their wives being independent or their husbands being 'soft.' The instant they become "wrong" in some way, they'll be discarded. You, in seeking relationships with people who genuinely love you for you- and offering that in turn- are never going to know that terror.

You deserve to be loved. You deserve to get to continue to feel the full range of human emotion, which does and should include compassion and empathy and love. You don't deserve to have to give that up just to survive this dystopian hellscape. You deserve better and if this country has failed too much to give you better, you should still at least hold on to what scraps of better you can find.

Things are about to get worse in nearly every aspect; financially, socially, geopolitically, I could go on. Staying your authentic self- loving and compassionate- is one of the only ways you are going to be able to survive what's coming, because you'll need support, and so will those around you.

Not going to numb to what's happening is the literal only way we can fix this. And I'm going to be blunt here, no fix is coming in our lifetimes. We're going to try and salvage something in the future we aren't ever going to see here. But that makes retaining your fundamental kindness even more important, because when there's nothing in it for you, the only way to keep going is to retain a love of humanity, no matter what flaws it has, because otherwise you'll get discouraged and give up. We won't get out of this, even in a few generations, without radical acts of altruism for people who are going to live here after us. They deserve your help even if they're not here yet. They NEED you.

Don't let this change who you are. Who you are is good. Who you are is perfect. You're a normal person in an utterly insane world, and this insane world won't become sane again without people like you.

46 notes · View notes

irrealisms · 1 day ago

Text

#not attacking OP!! maybe US hotlines do contact police#I don’t want vulnerable people scared to text the service that exists for them#bc someone’s telling them the cops will be called on them by default (tags by @aetheros)

i'm not saying that the cops will be called by default. you can argue i implied it in my first post, but that was a "hey where's the post with more info on this" that wasn't intended to get reblogged as much as it was; my reblogs of it just talk about ones that call the police sometimes and those that don't. even in the US, only a minority of crisis line calls will end with police involvement. according to MHA, less than 3% of their calls end with police involvement! that said, i referenced the Trevor Project, and quoting from their Terms of Service (bolding mine):

Crisis Interventions. The Trevor Project cares deeply about the health and wellbeing of our community, and thus we make disclosures as needed to protect LGBTQ+ youth and others, and our policy is to alert law enforcement, state authorities, or emergency services if your communications with The Trevor Project indicate that you are at imminent risk of death or serious injury (i.e., if you have suicidal desire, a plan, access to means, and an imminent timeline).

I'll also link some sources that talk about police involvement in crisis lines; they're not perfect or anything, this is half "cursory search" and half "what I already had in my tag". If you go through the tags on this post, you can find people who had the cops called on them after calling hotlines, and I know people who have had this experience. The fact that you did not even do even a cursory amount of searching before confidently stating that hotlines do not do that does not impress me. a 3% risk of police involvement is in fact too much for a lot of people.

And, like... this post includes 6 hotline/warmline numbers. I'm not trying to scare people out of using any hotlines.

But I am unequivocally opposed to nonconsensual "active rescue" (lol i hate that fucking euphemism) and involuntary hospitalization, something that happens to many suicidal people who try to seek resources for that suicidality (including, yes, most hotlines--you yourself acknowledge that your hotline does active rescue). I realize this post is getting reblogged by a lot of different people who may have different viewpoints but... I'm a psychiatric survivor. Many of my followers are from antipsychiatry spaces. Calling paramedics is better than calling the cops, and calling only if they have a plan with a short timeline is better than calling about everyone no matter what, but it's still bad. Hospitals kill, injure, and traumatize people (check out the research and debate around restraint and seclusion). Recent research (full study should be published in the upcoming weeks!) by Pim Welle suggests that involuntary hospitalization "nearly doubles the probability of being charged with a violent crime or dying by suicide or overdose in the three months after evaluation."

Compare the Trevor Project's statement to the statement of Trans Lifeline (a resource that I recommend in this post) on the subject of active rescue (I highly recommend reading the full link, btw, which criticizes active rescue):

Trans Lifeline does not engage in non-consensual intervention because, in our community, this can place our community at increased risk for suicidality.

or BlackLine:

All calls remain private and will never be shared with law enforcement or state agencies of any kind.

not "we only do it some of the time, if we reeaaaaaally need to". never. no nonconsensual intervention, no involvement of state agencies of law enforcement. those are the resources this post is about. if someone reads this post and decides to seek help from a hotline that does active rescue, that's fine! i've called hotlines that do active rescue in the past! but i want people to be making an informed decision that's aware of the risks.

anyway, the post i was talking about in the OP is this post, which also suggests Promise Resource Network at (833) 390-7728, Project Return Peer Support Network at (888) 448-9777 English or (888) 448-4055 Spanish, Key Consumer Organization at 800-933-5397, MBRLC Peer Support Line at 877-733-7563, and this directory of warmlines. another post by the same person recommends the White Bird Clinic crisis line at 541-687-4000 / 1-800-422-7558 for the Eugene/Springfield Oregon area. somone in the notes of this post suggests Project LETS. for longer-term peer support outside of psychiatry that rejects nonconsensual "help", another person in the notes suggested the Hearing Voices Network and Alt2Su; while I don't have personal experience with Alt2Su, and obviously it all depends on the person and the group they go to, I've personally been helped by HVN.

hey where’s that post about how it’s important to be aware before recommending/calling suicide hotlines that They Will Call The Cops On You. i have it saved somewhere but i can’t find it & i want to reblog it today For No Particular Reason

#also i love the implication that im not one of the vulnerable people who might need said services #rather than someone who DID AND DOES need said help but has trauma around nonconsensual 'help'#and is trying to warn ppl in similar situations & share resources that dont risk Making It Worse #like to the extent that im ~driving ppl away~ from resources it's bc i and ppl i know have been traumatized by them.#and im going 'hey maybe warn for that risk in your resource posts; heres some alternate resources that have a lower risk of that'#psychiatry tag #long post #therapists dni

14K notes · View notes

heartofbusan · 2 days ago

Text

Pretty terrifying outlook, not going to lie. I usually need a while to unglue myself from feeling anxious whenever anything this monumental happens, and I hope sheer apathy isn't what does it. I need that to come from something concrete, something real. Something that makes me feel hopeful about the future.

You know, I honestly don't think I'll ever see BTS live. Ive always wanted to, but it just never felt like a possibility. Right now, the prospect of fighting for tickets seems so pointless that I'd rather give up before I even try. Isn't that just so sad? Shouldn't we all feel like doing something as frivolous as going to a concert is something worth a little struggle? I just hate confrontation. I also hate unfair fights. If someone isn't willing to meet me on fair terms, I'd rather not bother.

I hope that whatever Kamala takes away from this past year is that she doesn't feel like this defeat was all down to her. She did her utmost best in an unfair fight. Having to drag the carcass of your predecessor along your path to a better future wasn't an easy task. The odds were not in her favor no matter what she did or didn't commit to. Again, it's the institution that has to admit their fault in getting us all here.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I fear for what this shift in power means for our boys. If you've been following global news at all, you'll already know that for SoKor, too, the odds aren't looking great. But I can't succumb to this line of thinking. They have already overcome too much to get sucked into a vortex greater than even their reach.

Let's sit with this news and then see what tomorrow or a week or a month brings. Do the small things that make you feel good. And, if possible, save something extra for your bts savings account, so you can become a fighter in a race for a little bit of tangible hope.

#idk man #just hang in there i guess #bts

43 notes · View notes

aamy2100982 · 2 days ago

Text

So, I was reading the Venom comic THE END again and I had a crazy fanfic idea... I'll probably never get it done, but I wouldn't mind if someone else take it, as long as they sent me the link right away :b

As a few warnings: mention of suicide and forcing someone to change their identity

In this comic we can see that Symby is able to replace Eddie's body and is also able to recreate life through the codex that is in it's own system.

Just as we also know that he is capable of changing memories as happened in the 2018 Venom comics when Eddie discovers that he never had a sister or an uncle who died of cancer and it was only an alibi for the symbiote to make him stay with them through fear.

So let's set this scene. Eddie dies. The reasons for his death are not necessary for the rest of the story, but to give an example... he suicide, maybe.

When I thought of this idea I immediately thought of Flash because, one, he is the first possible host that Symby would join after losing Eddie and two, he is a character slightly similar to Eddie physically. But I guess it can be exchanged if they find a better substitute.

I guess you're starting to see where the story is going. Symby will progressively try to turn Flash into Eddie, physically and mentally. Altering his memories and DNA to turn him into literally Eddie.

It's obviously a gradual change. Something non-invasive so that Flash won't be able to recognize it and stop it.

As the days go by he has the feeling of forgetting things and having memories that he doesn't fully recognize. Symby gaslights him by telling him that things have always been that way, and there is no reason why his memories change from one moment to the next without explanation.

After a couple of months Flash will start to have more Eddie-like behaviors, especially the symbiote will want him to manifest like when Eddie has this feeling that he wants to get away from everyone, go out to find criminals to kill and probably end up in a sewer sleeping on an old mattress.

Since Flash's change is gradual and slow, his friends and family cannot fully recognize what is happening to him, because it does not seem like a sudden change, but rather as if Flash were going through a complicated phase of his life where for some reason he feels more irritated and less friendly than usual.

I imagine Flash not being able to recognize himself in the mirror, but at the same time having forgotten who he looks like, because the symbiote wants to convince him (and itself) that the one in the mirror is Flash Thompson, and not some kind of impostor.

The story would probably end with Flash adopting his new identity as his own. Disappearing from the lives of his loved ones to adopt this lifestyle that Eddie Brock has, living day to day, thinking that, although he has allies here and there, he has no family or friends he can trust other than his other.

I guess the real happy ending would be that Flash recovers and manages to regain his true identity... but that would also ruin the entire concept that is built throughout the story :b

#eddie brock #venom comics #symbrock #flash thompson #symflash #venom symbiote

24 notes · View notes

puckinghischier · 2 hours ago

Text

so, y’all ever heard the song dogtooth by tyler, the creator?? (if you haven’t i suggest listening to it immediately)

bc to me, that song is soooooo jack coded

it’s the right kind of cocky but also the perfect amount of loving his woman, which is exactly how i picture jack to be in a relationship.

he’s a pretty private guy, not enjoying being in the media too much and revealing a ton about his personal life. but his girl? she knows everything about this man and he basks in the fact she knows him better than anyone else.

and when he’s down for someone? oh he’s down baddddd. i mean, pining level shit. he always wants to be around her. always calling her. always texting her. he just wants her attention 24/7, no matter what he has to do to get it.

he loves to pleasure his girl. and that’s it, really. he loves any second he can spend making her feel good, any way she wants. he doesn’t even care about the reciprocation (though he does love when she returns the favor) because knowing he’s the one to satisfy her needs is enough to put him on cloud nine all by itself.

which brings me to this scenario: the second jack hears this song for the first time? oh he’s got big plans for it.

you’d be sitting on the couch, waiting on jack to get home from a mid-day skate. he sent you a text telling you he was leaving the rink around thirty minutes ago, expecting him to walk through the door any second.

no sooner than the thought entered your mind, you heard the lock click, signaling his arrival. calling out a greeting, you’re met with silence. you turn your body to see why he’s ignoring you, noticing the small white ear buds stuck in each ear.

he sets his bag down at the door, no doubt filled with his sweat soiled clothes he wants you to wash. waiting on him to look up and acknowledge you, you lay your head on the plush cushions resting against the back of the couch. you watch him, never missing an opportunity to admire how pretty he is.

finally, he looks up and meets your gaze, smiling at your love-filled eyes. he pops one headphone out while walking towards you, rolling it around in his hand.

“hey, sweets,” he leans down to place a small kiss on your waiting lips.

you savor the taste of his lips, always loving their soft feel.

“tried to say hi when you walked in, but guess you couldn’t hear me,” you gesture to the one earbud still lodged in one of his ears.

he gives you a small, apologetic look. “sorry, found a new song i really like. think you will too, actually. made me think about you.”

grabbing his phone from his pocket with his free hand, the one that’s holding the small bluetooth device brushes your hair away from your own ear, comfortably resting the earbud there.

“here’s the thing though….i want you to ride my face while we listen,” he just casually tells you, not even looking up at your face, still fiddling with his phone.

you perk up, surprised at his casualness. “i- what?”

“you heard me, before i press play i want you to ride my face.”

said face in question is dead serious, not an ounce of mischief to be found.

“you…literally just walked through the front door. what happened to asking each other about our days? or discussing what we’re gonna eat for dinner?” you ask him, not knowing how to react to the sudden proposal.

he rolls his eyes playfully. “is this your way of telling me you don’t want to? because you don’t have to. just think it’d really add to the experience, s’all” he shrugs.

you still don’t know how to react to the pure casualness of it all. by the way he’s acting you’d think he’s suggesting watching a movie, not having you ride his face in the middle of the living room.

“i didn’t say i didn’t want to. it’s just a little wild for that to be one of the first things out of your mouth when you get home.”

jack snickers at your words, walking around the large sectional to occupy the spot next to you.

“not really. not for me, at least. been thinking about it all day,” he plops down beside of you, making himself comfortable.

his words shoot excitement down to your core. he’s been thinking about it all day?

before you can think of a response, you feel shuffling next to you on the plush couch. you look over to see jack laying flat on his back, head only slightly raised to look over at you expectantly.

“so, you gonna get rid of those shorts or what?” he asks, referencing your thin, cotton pajama bottoms.

“i swear to god, if i wasn’t turned on right now i’d slap you,” you grumble, standing and removing all clothing below your waist.

jack laughs a real, out loud, laugh this time, prideful in the fact that you’ve never really been able to (or wanted to) resist any of his offers.

he burrows his body further into the couch, making sure he’s in the middle of the large surface, ensuring there’s room for your knees to rest on either side of his head.

you climb to hover over his body, looking down at his hungry eyes that are glued to your bare pussy, following every movement of your body from that landmark.

“shirt off or on?” you ask him, sitting on his toned abdomen.

“off. wanna be able to play with your boobs, please,” he flicks his eyes up to your face, an innocent smile on his own as he bats his eyelashes.

“of course you do,” you remove your (his) t-shirt from your body, now completely bare as you sit on top of him.

“swear they get bigger every time i see them,” he says in awe, bringing a hand up to massage one of your full breasts. you moan as he kneads the flesh, stomach turning flips in anticipation of what’s about to take place.

“gonna press play so we can get started or you just gonna play with my tits all night?” you huff out, loving the feeling but growing needier by the second.

it takes jack a second to register what you’re saying, too lost in the feeling of the heavy skin in his hand.

“oh! yeah, almost forgot,” he reaches up to the back of the couch where he left his phone, picking it up long enough to press play.

you scoot yourself farther up his body, resting your eager core right above his chin. all you’d have to do is relax your thighs the slightest amount to make contact with his mouth.

suddenly you hear a smooth beat ring out in one ear, assuming jack’s hearing the same.

the second you hear the lyrics “she could ride my face i don’t want nothing in return” pour out of the earbud, jack inched his face up, licking a long, deep stripe through your folds.

you allow yourself to relax, sliding your slick pussy back and forth gently, not wanting to rush.

jack’s nose brushes your clit with every movement. you sigh at the feeling, not realizing how much you needed the friction until now.

the melody in your ear continues, but none of the lyrics are registering anymore. the feeling of jack’s tongue working through you takes every ounce of your attention.

“god, fuck! jack, best idea ever,” you moan out, picking up your pace slightly.

jack groans, letting his tongue still for a moment, allowing you to work yourself over it as you please.

fighting through the bliss radiating throughout your body, you try to focus on the lyrics at least a little bit. the chorus starts repeating, but the lyrics that follow make your head fuzzy in the best way.

“she could ride my face i don’t want nothin’ in return, except for some her time and all her love, that’s my concern” is what you focus on, the words squeezing your heart and your cunt.

jack smirks into your pussy when he hears you moan, knowing exactly which lyrics elicited the reaction from your body. you’ve always been the type to get off on the sweet nothings he whispers in your ear while he fucks into you, so he knew that line in particular would be especially helpful while his mouth is otherwise occupied.

your pace increases again as the song continues on, already halfway to your release.

jack brings his hands up to hold you still, your hole mere centimeters from his waiting tongue. he guides you to lower yourself onto the muscle, encouraging a slight bobbing motion of your body.

with every depression of your cunt onto his tongue, your clit bumps onto the tip of his nose. the pressure is a delicious form of teasing, the sensation gone nearly as soon as it’s felt each time.

“please, touch me. need you to touch me, jack. so so close,” you pant out, feeling the familiar swirl of your climax forming already.

jack grunts in response, the vibrations sending waves all throughout your body and you’re convinced you can feel it in your toes.

his hands leave your hips, traveling up your body until they find your sensitive buds, pinching and playing with each pink, taut nipple.

you jolt a bit, the motion causing your clit to slam against his nose this time. you cry out at all of the various sensations all at once. full with his tongue, rough hands on your tits, and round nose scraping against your clit.

the pure stimulation of it all forces your orgasm out of you, slamming into your body with the force of a train.

“fuck!” you scream, quickly shooting a hand out to grip the back of the couch, trying to stop yourself from collapsing on jack’s face completely.

you can barely hear the words “she can ride my face i don’t want nothin’ in return, and will i ever fall in love again? i can’t confirm,” ring through your ear, the soundtrack to your release, literally.

jack continues to work his tongue in and out of your hole while you shake and convulse above him, having to chase your entrance as you move. he continues to knead your sensitive breasts, each squeeze sending small volts through your already spent nerves.

he can feel your release dripping onto his cheeks, chin, and nose. he tries to lap up as much as he can, not wanting to miss a drop of your liquid pleasure.

your taste alone was enough to form the wet spot on his grey sweats, not embarrassed in the slightest he’s literally leaking from how turned on he is. but when he looks up at you above him, skin damp and eyes half rolled into the back of your head, mixed with the feeling of your body tightening around his tongue so harshly he can’t even pull it out, he blows his load right then and there.

he can feel the last flutters of your walls around his tongue, not stopping his movements until you pull back, having half a mind to keep going and work another orgasm out of your sensitive state. he moans through his own unprompted release, the only thing keeping him from following his sudden impulse to overstimulate you.

once the tired muscles in your thighs stop shaking, and your breath evens out, you can hear the fading of the music in your ear, signaling the end of the song. you push up slightly on your knees, detaching yourself from jack’s mouth as he chases your now swollen cunt, a small whine escaping him at the action.

“jack…the song’s over,” you manage the words somehow, in awe that he made you come in only a single song’s length.

“i can hit replay,” he rushes out, already reaching to grab his phone again.

you squeak out a slightly panicked “no,” while shaking your head, worried if he started again you might actually explode. you let yourself relax fully, scooting back so you can rest yourself on his lower abdomen once again, but the feeling of something wet stops you.

jerking back up, you turn and look down, spotting the large, wet stain on his sweatpants. you can’t stop staring at it, wondering if you’re really looking at what you think you’re looking at.

“jack…did you…” you trail off, turning back around to look at him.

he smirks as he leans himself up on his elbows. “sure did, sweets. you have no clue how much i enjoyed that.”

you laugh at his pride filled face. “pretty sure i do, seeing as i just sat on the evidence.”

he simply shrugs, patting your bare ass lightly to signal you to stand. you swing your legs over his body, standing and bending over to pick up your discarded underwear and slide it back up your legs.

“so….about that dinner conversation,” you ask him as he stands, suddenly way hungrier than you were when he first got home.

it’s his turn to laugh at you, walking over and removing the now silent earbud from your ear.

“whatever you want is fine with me. i already ate,” he gives you a kiss on the forehead then turns to walk towards the bedroom.

“oh…not even right, you dick,” you huff, following it with telling him you’re ordering his least favorite take out, a punishment for his sass.

making your way to the kitchen to dig through the different take out menus, you hear jack shout your name once again.

“i was thinking, how do you feel about that being our wedding song?” he asks, poking his now shirtless, but clean sweats clad, figure out of the bedroom door.

“jack!” you shout, scolding him as his loud cackle rings out around you, causing your own amused smile to break out on your face.

34 notes · View notes

purgaytorysupremacy · 6 hours ago

Text

as the grandchild of survivors of the Second World War on both sides, this has been a really hard thing for me to internalize. none of my grandparents (nor my parents) talked about WWII much. I don’t actually know that much about what my families were doing, only that it was bad. I have an entire branch of my family tree that’s just gone and (supposedly) no one knows why. where I grew up in Canada had a lot of Holocaust survivors because we had large Dutch and German communities already, and every year until I graduated high school, we were fortunate enough to hear firsthand stories from survivors.

the one thing my grandparents would say and those survivors would repeat in their talks, over and over, until it was seared in my brain: “Never look away. You can’t let this happen again. The least you can do is never look away.”

I took this lesson very seriously. I was plugged in to the news all the time. I felt so helpless and useless and hopeless, but I wasn’t going to do the people suffering through it the disservice of looking away. I donated my money and my time and hoped to get into international aid, even joined the military because Canada is the nation of peacekeepers (Listen, I was a kid lol) and Gen. Roméo Dallaire, the Canadian who led the peacekeeping mission in Rwanda, was my hero. (Even as it ruined his life.)

I don’t know if anyone reading this had this same experience. I don’t know many people IRL who had this message drilled in so completely. (Being a white first-generation Canadian as a millennial is like that sometimes.) And I ended up breaking. I just couldn’t keep watching everything and being utterly unable to do a damn thing about it. It made me feel like a bad person and like I failed not only my grandparents but all those who shared their stories, so few of them who are still alive to do so.

Thing is, my grandparents got their news from film reels and this new thing called radio. The photos and documentation they saw from the time, both now and contemporaneously, was sparse and edited and targeted, for better or worse. None thought we would someday live in a world where individual people can upload hours of no-context atrocities from anywhere at any time.

Obviously, the “Never Again” and ��Don’t look away” aren’t literal, but the way we pay attention now is different than they would’ve in the 1940’s or 1970’s. No one taught me how to stay true to something that has become a core value while not collapsing into compassion and empathy fatigue to the point where I have to look away.

I don’t have an answer on that balance yet, but just understanding that there does need to be one has been incredibly helpful. That doomscrolling isn’t helping anyone. That paying attention doesn’t mean knowing everything about everything at all times. We have more information by orders of magnitude than even existed in my grandparents’ lifetimes. We have to choose what “not looking away” looks like for each of us in the cultural and activism environments we live in. No one is more virtuous or caring because they’ve exposed themselves to more trauma than someone else. It’s not sustainable. You’ve gotta keep your oxygen mask on.

A video that was really helpful in me noodling this out—it’s been a lifelong project, and I’m sure it will continue to be—was Hank Green’s vlog on Webs of Care.

None of us can do everything, but all of us can do anything.

Hi. Things are bleak, I know that. I know that we paid for Trump's last term with blood and it is likely the price will be blood again.

But listen to me. LISTEN.

You do not have to force yourself to witness horrors as an act of activism. It is not a form of activism. You can put your phone down, you can block that horrific video. We cannot win if you cannot fight and you will not be able to fight if you are hopeless.

Do not let them guilt you into this. People who are exhausted are easier to walk over. Take care of yourself, find community where you find joy.

#sorry.#I reblogged this being like oh I’ll just tell this quick story #and then a whole gd essay came out #like I said it’s been a lifelong project for me #and I’m not getting it right at any given time #but I’m doing my best #I want to do right by the people who stoked this in me #I want to be one of the helpers Mr. Rogers told us to look for #it’s fundamental to who I am #but I can’t save the world when I’m drowning #(thanks kc davis - her book on keeping house while drowning was another life changing book)#and when I say I broke I mean it #I spent nearly three years barely existing #and the two years before trying to just keep pushing through it. like always.#and I’m hoping that I’m coming out the other side of those three years now #I think I’m still in them #bc part of having that be so fundamental to your identity is that people who would exploit that will find you lol #and when I broke I also ended up alone #bc I wasn’t useful to the support system I’d ostensibly built up #ANYWAY #it’s a lot!!#the invasion of Ukraine really shattered something in me #and ofc there are things from before and after that are awful and hard #but something about another land war in Europe just… activated the intergenerational trauma I guess.#anyway. if you actually read this thanks! I needed to get this out obviously.#sorry op #here’s wonderwall

887 notes · View notes

docholligay · 1 day ago

Text

So, the true and glorious story of my own failure in the face of knowing how my own body works, despite having lived in it for 38 years.

Last night, I expected to be at least moderately on edge. I pretty reasonably decide that I would be better served to fall asleep and find out what life looks likein the morning. i'm not young any more (my wife worked for the Kerry campaign, I've been volunteering politically since the first Obama campaign. To date ourselves) and so, i don't stay up for results anymore.

Very reasonable.

So I take a pot pill. Great. i take it about two hours before i want it to hit.

I make the mistake of checking the results right before I head to bed, and while everyone is embroiled in hope, I see that I was exactly right about my initial impressions, months ago. That i got in trouble for! Anyhow.

Anxious, i go, "I gotta take something else" I have a bottle of .5 mg pills of lorezapam I've had for a decade, and I take one.

A pot pill, for me, is a quarter of a gummy. That's 2.5 mg. You may notice that between the two of these things, the dosages are very small. This is because my brain is wired bizarrely, and some things have a tendency to hit me harder than they do normal people. I know this. I know this!

Neither of these things have ever caused me any unusual symptoms. I just go to sleep.

But I am stupid. i have never met me, apparently. This body is new to me! I combine them.

My brain is so fucked that I have to do a patch test any time I try a new drug like I am VINTAGE CHINESE SILK. I know this, very well. That very night, I told Mike and Teddy I wasn't really going to drink because pot and alcohol can make me go full, "The Senate is lying to us!" So I know I have to watch it with combining stuff.

And y'all know me! I am not a teetotaler! I have sampled many fine drugs over the course of my existence. DARE made me think, "Wow that sounds cool." I am not a square. I am not suggesting straightedge behavior. This song did not work on me.

youtube

So I, forgetting the very makeup of my body, take this tiny, ridiculous lorazepam on top of my pot pill. It is the dosage my wife gives a twenty pound dog. it is a thing I have taken before.

But not together.

I crawl into bed, and I begin to get sleepy. Fantastic.

I roll over.

Oh. No.

My skin is alive, all of a sudden. I can feel every inch of it beneath the covers, where it touches on each individual wrinkle of the comforter.

"fuuuuuuck." I whisper between gritted teeth. Because, you see, I've done this to myself before. Not with this specific combination, but I have mixed things before, or just taken things, that make me aggressively aware of my surroundings. I am SO AWARE. There's nothing to do, once it reaches this point.

I have to wait it out. I pull myself up, and thump my twenty pound blanket on top of my body--which does help--and spend the next five hours riding each wave of hyperawareness, breathing through it, because it will end, like most hard things, and I am trying not to laugh at myself while it's happening. I know better! I know better!!

Finally it does wear off a bit, in just enough time for me to realize that I was right all along and the election has not gone my way.

38 years and I've learned nothing.

#Youtube

36 notes · View notes

daemon-in-my-head · 2 days ago

Text

Rook can literally never do anything wrong and it's kinda annoying and I have nothing better to do so I'm sorry but I need to vent about how poorly they treated the nice old man

Both my Watcher Rook and Emmrich are Necromancers. Every Watcher is. Emmrich gets side eyed or straight up insulted for being a Necromancer. Luckily I can challenge it if a companion does so, asking if they think the same about Rook.

'No you're fine because you do less corpse stuff and more spirit stuff'

My dear brother in Christ, I am siphoning the lives of living creatures, and killing them, to keep my own ass alive. I'm a fucking Reaper relying on necromancy just as much if not more than Emmrich and while I don't embalm corpses I am turning the dragons, blighted creatures, Darkspawn and humans into corpses for Emmrich to have fun and actively profiting from it by healing myself.

Rook did something apparently so controversial in an undead uprising they had to leave the Grand Necropolis for a while. Even Emmrich (who wasn't in the Necropolis when it happened) knew what Rook did, even if he didn't know the name of who exactly did some weird shit. That's how infamous a Watcher Rook is within the order.

But no, peaceful Emmrich who is constantly somehow trying or actively helping the companions and is much concerned about how he's gonna raise Manfred properly with his dilemma, his own mortality and past, and permanently trying to get Spite and Lucanis to reach an agreement by grace of him being able to hear and talk to spite, is a skullfucker and got ppl wondering if he does corpse stuff in bed (again, what the fuck) but Rook is just a poor little baby who can do no wrong.

What the actual fuck. We got rid of fantasy racism and slavery cuz that's too political and evil but its still absolutely fun and fine to pick on people for their interests or jobs and be as intolerable as we want despite being in a place where we should know a lot better than to judge someone for rumours you've heard or other surface level shit like that?

Am I getting the correct message here BioWare? That's the morale of the story?

#datv spoilers #datv critical #god damn theres rly a lot of venting from me lately aint it #i should rly just finish this run and return back to bg3

20 notes · View notes

lafaiette · 3 days ago

Text

Your Lavellan breaks through the fog of Solas’s expectations and suppositions of behavior, limits, and nature that he has held and observed as a millennia-old being. Lavellan is a mortal, a fragile, flawed mortal with death looming and immense social and political and military power and yet she does not allow it to corrupt her. She holds steadfast to duty, to what is right, what is ethical. She is open minded in defiance to everything the world has taught her of spirits being scary and unknown.

@yes-these-obsessions-are-healthy THIS, EXACTLY. This is who Lavellan was for Solas in Inquisition. Not all Lavellans are the same, of course - some are ruder, harsher, more cynical than others, but all of them must have an open mind about spirits, want to save people, and not be tyrants to start a romance with Solas. I don't remember if an Inquisitor can ever say they enjoy having been thrust into this whole mess, like "Hey, interrupting Corypheus' ritual was worth it, look how powerful I am now! >:D "

I believe most Lavellan would feel very disconcerted at the sudden position they are in, even if they were not happy in their clan. They can grow to love the Inquisition and their new leadership role, but it's not something they asked for, that they fought for - it happened because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time.

And this is the first difference with Mythal. Morrigan says that Mythal loved ruling, that she asked Elgar'nan to share power, but wanted to do so in a kind way, like a mother guiding her people. However, she was also prickly, because she hated being wrong, being corrected, wanted to be respected as a god, but not in a servile way, wanted to right wrongs, but only if they were just and interested her according to her ideas. Like all spirits, Morrigan says, her emotions were incredibly strong and volatile.

How, then, can Lavellan remind Solas of her? To continue her romance with him, Lavellan must actually face and accept the idea that the Dalish remember many things wrong. One of the first things she can say to him in Haven is "I am sorry - if the Dalish did you a disservice, I will repair that. How can we do better?" - and in being humble, Lavellan makes Solas humble. He falters, accepts her apology and apologies in return, and admits he was wrong, because the Dalish could never recover what is lost. By showing him humility, Lavellan allows him - a spirit made flesh - to reflect that humbleness and embody it. Mythal never did this, she actually turned his very nature, his wisdom, into pride.

When Solas tells Lavellan about the vallaslin, there are several possible reactions. She can be sad and ashamed ("We try to preserve our culture, and this is what we keep?"), angry because she is hurt, react in shock - but she always accepts the truth. She doesn't get angry at Solas because he corrected her ("They honor the elven gods." "No. They are slave markings."), which is what Mythal would have done; she can get angry because of shame, yes, but at the end she knows what he's saying it's true and she accepts the truth, the wisdom, he gives her. And she can choose what to do with it: renounce the vallaslin's terrible history or embrace the new meaning the Dalish gave them.

Lavellan can make decisions that are wrong, according to Solas, like not exile the Wardens or not use Gaspard as a puppet for Briala and her elves. But they talk about it, they can have a par-on-par discussion about it, something it's clear he never could do with Mythal. In all the regret cutscenes we see, he always accepts to do what she asks of him, never once arguing with her. Yes, he starts his rebellion also against her, because she betrayed him and his ideals of freedom, but it's clear he still feels reverence for her and even asks to meet her in secret to warn her about the Blight they created.

Mythal liked ruling and didn't give up power, even when the Evanuris started going too far. Lavellan gives up her power, in one way or another: she can either completely disband the Inquisition or give it to the Chantry. She doesn't keep the power for herself or start a coup to undermine Ferelden and Orlais' demands. She has lost her arm, discovered world-shattering information, and is surrounded by bloodhounds: so she gives up her position and influence, something not even Mythal, in all her "wisdom and kindness", ever did. Something no ruler, Solas once warned her, would logically do. But she does!

Never, not even once, I considered Lavellan to be a foil to Mythal while playing Inquisition. In that game, Mythal is actually described as a foil to Andraste, to Flemeth, to all the women of Thedas betrayed and cast aside. Flemeth announces there will be a reckoning, and Mythal allows Solas to take her power from her without question, because she wants to be avenged. She has been crawling through the ages for this very purpose.

But in Veilguard, the last regret mural shows her suddenly changing her mind and questioning him, with Solas making just the vaguest comment about the elves deserving to get their immortality back, the faintest of threads tying it back to Trespasser. Why then allow him to take her power, if that's not what she wanted to do anymore?

And how can the fragment of Mythal from the Crossroads, that very fragment Morrigan warns being still tied to vengeance and rage, be the one who manages to change his mind? Why should that part of Mythal, still hungry for retribution, tell him to stop and free him from his service?

So basically one of Solas' murals

is the Crestwood scene, but with reversed roles. Solas is the rejected one, Mythal is the one who walks away, leaving him alone in what I presume was a glade at night, judging from the environmental sounds and hushed tones we can hear.

And, to be honest, I don't know how I feel about it - it feels like it cheapens the Crestwood scene, repeating an abusive pattern, stripping away the romance and softness of that scene. It's, once again, something Solas already went through with Mythal, not something he shares with Lavellan only. It's Weekes saying yet again that Solas saw Mythal in Lavellan, and that's why he fell in love with her. Not because she was Lavellan, but because she reminded him of Mythal and gave him hope that all elves could return to that "level" of wisdom.

What we learn in this game also ruins the kiss scene on the balcony, where Solas say "You have showed wisdom I have not seen since... since my deepest journeys into the ancient memories of the Fade."

Most of us believed he meant "Wisdom I have not seen since my ancient days in Elvhenan", but it's basically confirmed at this point that he meant "Wisdom I have not seen since Mythal".

A month ago, someone here mentioned how Weekes had said there was a specific reason why Solas had falled for Lavellan. I never found the interview where they said so, but I saw many believed it had something to do with reincarnation, lost soulmates finding each other again etc., but once again, it's clear what Weekes meant, and it's bad, cheap writing.

They could have written a god finally learning the error of his ways thanks to his love for a mortal - a love completely different from that of who was basically an abuser, a parent-like figure forcing him to take form and serve -, but instead they went for the easy route: a god still loving another god, feeling love for a mortal who reminds him of her, and changing his mind only because his god finally gives him permission to be free.

The mortal who supposedly "changes everything" serves no purpose - she actually tells him "There is no fate but the love we share" after he's been "freed" from his service, which in this context, in this situation, sounds more like a punishment, another yoke, some sort of "I finally got you, you can't run from me anymore".

I don't know what happened to Weekes' writing - either they were forced to make these decisions due to various constraints, or they completely changed their style/ideas during development, because this is not the Solas, this is not the Solavellan romance, we got in DA:I.

#solavellan #da:tv critical #dragon age spoilers #yes-these-obsessions-are-healthy #i'll be honest #i didn't agree with some of david gaider's choices #but you could see his guiding hand was the right one for the series #he was the one who reined weekes in #telling him to make solas more sympathetic and follow the lore guidelines #DAO DA2 and DAI had a vision #DATV is a jumbled mess of lore and characterization #no wonder he and laidlaw jumped ship at the first chance

131 notes · View notes

a-998h · 2 days ago

Text

Emotional Storm

Well, this is not good. Vaggie and I just joined everyone else downstairs. What I'm now looking at is Charlie with red string, papers, and a multiple cork boards while she looks like she hasn't slept. He'll, she's not even fully put together as she only has her shirt, bootie, pants, and apparently suspenders on. She's mumbling about stuff relating to the hotel, but I can't hear her. We're all worried, especially Vaggie. I have no idea where Alastor is, but that takes a backseat to whatever is happening with Charlie.

"Charlie?...Sweetie, you, uh. You good?" Vaggie asks.

"Nope, no! Not really! Haha!" Charlie tells her.

That does nothing to reassure any of us. Charlie goes on about how she's trying to figure out why the hotel isn't working. As she rambles I feel the fucking hotel start to shake! Her hair briefly flairs up, and a pair of horns grows from her head and disappear just as fast. I give Charlie a hug, and she returns said hug in a manner that will either break my neck of suffocate me. As she starts spiraling once more, Vaggie speaks up.

"Maybe it's time..." Vaggie says.

"No," Charlie responds to the half finished sentence

"To ask..." Vaggie continues.

"Don't say it." Charlie begs.

"Your dad," Vaggie finishes.

Charlie groans as Vaggie finishes her sentence. Vaggie assures Charlie that as much as Charlie hates the idea, we need as many people on our side as we can get. My eyes widen as the only way for Charlie to be princess of Hell is if her dad is... Lucifer. My heart rate soars at the thought of seeing Lucifer himself. The only version of Lucifer I know is the hot version played by Tom Ellis. But, since Hell is now my new reality, I might actually get to meet the real Lucifer.

"He let the extermination happen to begin with. They just had a meeting and said, 'Go ahead and kill everyone!'" Charlie rants.

I highly doubt that's what actually happened, but Charlie knows he dad better than I do so I'll have to take her word for it. Charlie gasps, and says she has an idea. Vaggie asks if her idea is killing everyone, but Charlie shakes her head.

"He could get me a meeting with Heaven," Charlie explains cheerfully.

Vaggie reminds Charlie that there was a meeting with Heaven, lead by dickmaster, I mean Adam. Charlie says that it doesn't count cause Adam is an asshole, which seems like a fair observation. She reasons that Adam isn't in charge of all of Heaven, so there must be some angels who will listen. Charlie pulls out her phone and turns her back. Me and Husk can sense the hesitation in the air. Husk asks Charlie what the hold up is.

"You got daddy issues?" He asks.

Charlie explains that after her parents divorce she was never close with her dad, so basically admitting she has daddy issues. I kind of know how Charlie feels, except I have mommy issues. Everyone shares their excitement about meeting Lucifer, and Angel has to pull the knife out of Niffty's hand.

As Charlie calls her dad, I can tell things are rocky. As Charlie wads through this awkward conversation I give her a thumbs up and a smile. Charlie beats around the bush until she gains the courage to say what we need.

"I need to speak to Heaven. Well, whoever in charge up there, above Adam, above anybody. I need to go to the top!" Charlie asks.

I smile, happy that Charlie finally worked up the courage to ask for this giant favor. From the look her face, I can guess Mr.Lucifer said no. Charlie gets annoyed and starts practically begging for her dad's help. Vaggie grabs her hand and comforts her.

"Please, just come see what I'm trying to do. You'll see why it's a really good idea and Heaven is bound to agree if I get the chance to talk to them," Charlie begs her dad.

It hurts my heart seeing Charlie look so sad. But, her expression changes to a small smile before she pulls the phone away from her ear. So, we now have an hour before Lucifer, King of Hell, gets to the hotel. Vaggie goes toned down drill sergeant mode, holding a rolled up paper in a threating manner. I help where I can, mostly with setting up the food and drinks table. I'm still so nervous, and I guess it was visible on my face. By now, Charlie is fully dressed and ready.

"Hey, you ok?" Charlie asks me.

"Yeah, I'm just worried. I mean, you're dad is a big deal," I confess to her.

Charlie pats my head, assuring me that her dad will love me. Alastor has finally come down from his room. He asks me what's happening and I explain what's happening. The aura around him changes, and it makes me feel off. He pinches my cheeks and tells me to be on my best behavior. Something felt off, that ever present smile was hiding something.

"Ok everyone, it's show time!" Charlie tells us.

She opens the door and standing on the other side is a short guy with sharp teeth, wearing a large, white top hat and a red and white outfit similar to a ring master. Charlie greets her dad, who hugs her in what appears to be a bone crushing hug. The look in Alastor's eyes is not reflected in his smile. Apparently, the cat is named Keekee and the two demons that follow Charlie are Razzle and Dazzle. I never expected to the king of Hell to be so... silly. I keep these thoughts to myself cause the silliness might be a front.

"Wow, this place sure looks, uh... uh-huh. Yeah. Uh-huh. It's got a lot of character," Lucifer says as he walks around the lobby.

It doesn't take him long to notice the werid bar spot. Alastor uses his werid shadow magic to appear near Lucifer, his voice dripping with contempt. The two throw jabs at each other, and this is the first time I hear Alastor swear and Angel begrudgingly hands me some money from our running bet about Alastor being incapable of swearing. Charlie separated the pair and showed her dad the parlor, praising Alastor for his contribution to the hotel.

"Charlie, dear, why don't you introduce me to your other friends?" Lucifer redirects.

Charlie starts off by introducing Vaggie, to which her dad makes it awkward by getting a tad overly excited. Vaggie brushes off the awkwardness and Charlie directs her dad's attention to me, Sir Pentious, and Angel.

"Your Majesty!" Sir Pentious says with a salute before landing face first into a tray of cookies.

Angel, using his flirty voice, calls Lucifer a short king.

"And this is Reader, our youngest guest," Charlie tells her dad.

Lucifer's POV

I look at the guess Charlie points out. They don't look any older than a teenager. Poor kid, but they must've done something to end up in Hell... wait, are those angel wings. I rush towards the kid, giving them a hug, I get a closer look at the wings. Yep, these are genuine angel wings... like the ones I have. Azrael has been sending me letters, and shared news of an angel who was put on trial for not only disobeying Heaven, but also having sex with a mortal... a mortal. Holy fuck, this kid isn't just any sinner, they're the kid of that angel! The poor thing probably doesn't know, and who knows if Heaven knows about them. They're happy here, and all of Heaven's rules and expectations would crush that joy... they don't deserve that. Don't worry duckling, I'll keep you safe.

"Hello, your Majesty," the duckling calls me.

I laugh it off, trying to put them at ease.

"You don't need to be so formal, you may call me, Lucifer!" I tell them.

They nod, that's good. Today it's Lucifer, in a few months it'll be dad!

Reader's POV

Charlie introduces Husk and Niffty to her dad. After Niffty says "I clean", the chandelier almost falls on Lucifer!

*Timeskip*

"Oh you tack piece of..." Lucifer sings before the front door is kicked open.

"It's me! Yes, it's me!! I know you were all waiting for me. I'm here, what a gas. Took a while but I'm present at last! It's me! It's me! Mimzzzyyyyyy!" Some random flapper lady sings.

"Who?" Lucifer asks.

She gets annoyed, and ask why everyone is staring at her. She thinks it's cause we think she's adorable, I'm staring because she just kicked to the door open and sang part of a musical number. Alastor walks to this Mimzy lady with open arms. It's clear the two know each other. They hug and Mimzy explains how "I was in the neighborhood". I highly doubt that but whatever. She calsl the hotel a "ritzy slob factory" and says that everyone is welcome here. Charlie is so happy to learn that Alastor has more friends.

"Oh, yeah. We go way back, ran in the same circles when we were alive. You know, this one use to frequent the club where I used to perform. He's the only one I know who could pound whiskey like a sailor then keep up with me on the dance floor," she says.

I look at Alastor and I just have a hard time imagining him getting shitfaced drunk. I've never seen him drink, so maybe he doesn't like Hell alcohol? Alastor praises and jokes about seeing Mimzy in her heyday, to which she says she's still in her prime as she pulls up the front of her dress. She turns her head and sees Lucifer. I see her push Sir Pentious out of her way as she walks over. She gives a curtesy before telling Alastor that, "You gotta warn a girl when she's in mixed company." Lucifer plays along before returning his attention to me.

"As much as I'd lobe to catch up, Charlie and I have a tour to continue," Alastor tells Mimzy.

Lucifer says that Charlie is capable of doing it herself, to which Alastor shuts that idea done. He tells Mimzy to stay with the rest of us here as he follow, Lucifer, Charlie, and Vaggie. Mimzy wanders over to the bar where Husk sounds very upset that Mimzy is here. Mimzy then turns her attention to Niffty, who is chasing after a roach. Husk, reluctantly, slips Mimzy a drink after he makes a martini for Angel and pours some juice for me.

"So, you and Alastor are like what? Friends?" Angel asks.

Mimzy says that's a fitting word for it. Sir Pentious, Angel, and I share a look of surprise. Mimzy ask why were all surprised, and Angel says that he didn't know Alastor had any friends, bring up how much of a mystery Alastor still is despite being here a long time.

Mimzy tells us how Alastor randomly showed up in Hell and was disregarded until heavy hitter overlords started going missing. No one knew what happened until a radio broadcast of the missing overlords screams appeared, and that he never lacked new voices to add once he reveled himself as the radio demon. Mimzy ends by saying that Alastor becomes a kitten if you give him "a couple fingers of rye" and play jazz muzic.

I could hear my heartbeat in my ears. I knew Alastor wasn't one to be messed with, but this... holy fuck. Angel uses one of his hands to pet my hair, whispering comforting things to me.

"Shush, shush, it's ok bambino," he tells me.

Mimzy tries to downplay the scare factor of Alastor, saying that he hasn't done any of that for awhile. Husk is gone and Sir Pentious is also scared. I knew Alastor was dangerous based on what I was told, but this... this makes me fear for my safety. Tears prock the corners of my eyes as Angel tries his best to calm me down.

Extermination and Alastor being a psychotic murderer scares me, I'm so scared. Angel pulls me into a side hug, promising to bring me Fat Nuggets later. That makes me feel a bit better, and I thank Angel. Sir Pentious brings me the tray of the cookies he and Niffty baked. The cookies taste amazing and I thank him for sharing.

"This... This must be real scary for you, bambino?" Angel asks.

I nod, there's no point in hiding it. Angel reassures me that I'll be safe so long as I don't leave the hotel. This moment of warm, feels really, really nice. Sure, I'm in Hell, but I'm surrounded by decent ish folks who like me.

"My dear child, just know we'll make sure nothing happens to you," Sir Pentious syas. That makes me feel even better. This is a moment of comfort I never expected to experience in Hell, but here it is. I never want this warm moment to end. The moment is soon ruined by the hotel shaking.

"Mimzy, we know you're in there you lousy bitch!" A dep voice yells from outside.

I look at Mimzy as she slinks to the floor. Vaggie, Lucifer, and Charlie come through a portal and we all look to Mimzy for an explanation.

"I maaaaaaay be in some trouble with some loan shark's I may or may not have borrowed fifty grand from," she says. This is followed by more banging from the front door and Mimzy hiding next to Husk behind the bar. We can all hear the loan sharks yelling from outside, and they're out for blood.

"And I may have stolen a car... and crashed it... into the loan shark's girlfriend. But that bitch had it coming!" Mimzy says.

The loan sharks are still trying to batter down the door and I'm glaring at her. Rule one of loan sharks, dont fuck with them and she failed at that spectacularly! Fireballs come through the windows, which upsets Niffty. We all start panicking and trying to keep the hotel from falling apart while Lucifer is telling Charlie that she can't expect any better from sinners.

Vaggie gears up to fight, but Alastor stops her. He looks at me, telling me to cover my ears and close my eyes before he pats my head. The area glows green as black tentacles sprout from his back and his eyes turn to old fashioned radio dials. I hear the loan sharks screaming even as I have my eyes closed. I feel and hand on my shoulder and it's Angel pulling me behind and upturned couch. Charlie snaps, yelling at her father about how despite Alastor handling the situation more sadistically than she would like, Alastor is doing it for Charlie.

"How come he can have faith in me but my own father can't?" She asks, her tone sad.

Angel pulls a bag of popcorn from nowhere and is invested in this "drama".

Alastor's POV

"Oh, I missed getting to let off steam," I say to myself.

Hearing footsteps behind me I assume it's Charlie or mon petitange, but much to my dismay, it's Mimzy. Mimzy praises my display of violence, but I peek over her shoulder to see mon petit ange sharing popcorn with the spider and Husk. We'll, it's nice to see this incident didn't traumatize them. Mimzy "apologizes" and says that Charlie could take care of mess for me.

"I think you should fo Mimzy. Niw." I strenly tell her.

She laughs, clearly thinking I'm joking.

"I mean it. You deliberately brought danger to this place and mon petit ange just to have me clean up your mess. I can't have that here," I tell her.

She keeps thinking I'm joking,. She asks if I care about the hotel, while that is debatable, I do want mon petit ange out of danger. I warn her for the last time to leave and she storms off like a child throwing a tantrum.

Reader' POV

I chuckle as Mimzy storms off. Our attention is back on Charlie and Lucifer. Charlie is begging him to help and him turning it down.

*One Muiscal number later*

"Aww, that was sweet," Sir Pentious says with tears in his eyes.

I wipe my eyes. It reminds me of my own dad... the one I left behind when I died. Sir Pentious gives me a side hug, and Lucifer says that he can get Charlie the meeting. Charlie assures her dad that she'll be OK in Heaven. Once he has that assurance, he disappears in a swirl of gold and red magic. I give Charlie a strong hug, one that she returns.

"This next part is gonna be scary. You ready?" Vaggie asks Charlie.

Charlie pulls Vaggie into a hug, saying that she's ready cause she'll have Vaggie with her.

"In spirit, right?" Vaggie asks, clearly uneasy about this.

"In Heaven," Charlie declares.

Vaggies gives an uneasy yay, still trapped in the hug. Now, things are going to get scary and things are going to change. But, I'm ready now more than ever for change.

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin husk #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin niffty #hazbin charlie #platonic yandere #platonic relationships #all platonic #nephilim! reader #Platonic Lucifer #platonic yandere hazbin hotel #platonic yandere fanfic

19 notes · View notes