#it’s complicated as is everything with them

[formulanni]

I’m genuinely getting so angry and upset at the comments and dms I’m receiving on Instagram being like “oh so when musicians and actors endorse Kamala it’s fine but when the president of the Fia endorses Trump it’s a problem?”

Like wow. It’s almost as if all art is a reflection of current events and culture as well as the feeling regarding them and can in fact be used as an act of protest. It’s crazy that any artist would express opinions about a current world shifting political event!

Like the thing you have to consider here is that Muhammad Ben Sulayem has consistently made a point to highlight that “politics have no place in this sport.” He has gone far enough to threaten to punish Lewis Hamilton for speaking out about BLM and also threatened Seb for speaking out about Pride. It’s also worth noting that the artists who endorsed Kamala are separate from the corporate entities and are speaking as individuals. MBS is speaking while he is the acting president of the FIA, an organization that represents ever y race creed and religion of the drivers. By endorsing Donald Trump, a rapist fascist and war criminal, and by posting a photo of them shaking hands in front of the McLaren Logo he has isolated his drivers! He has acted out in representation of the fia! He cannot separate himself from his role as FIA president because as long as he is on track or in the paddock he must be that.

Obviously this is a deeply complicated issue but acting as if MBS suddenly bring politics into the sport he has time and time again insisted “has no place in politics” isn’t deeply selfish, irresponsible and as if it hasn’t spit on everything some of the drivers, namely Lewis Hamilton and Sebastian Vettel have taken stands for. It’s very clear that politics are only allowed when it benefits his agenda but it’s very, very disappointing.

[azurem]

Tis one was also a request from the instagram im afraid. Hm. Okay quick yapping under cut

Okay so this rq was based on the idea of nm asking ink to marry him. However I believe the idea of marriage for Ink at least is a bit more complicated specially since marrying Nightmare means rebuilding his role

Like he'd only been fooling around with nm. At this point, their relationship has been centered around usefulness. They both use each other at a degree, and that was fine for both of them. They use each other to receive affection and to give it freely. They've been well and good. They could stay like that forever and that'd be fine.

But Nightmare still asked him to marry him. So it takes another tone. The main thing that confuses Ink is... reasons. He lives in a world where entropy doesn't exist. Creators make everything happen, there's no chaos. So everything has a reason to be. They know Nightmare likes him, they know his secrets and he knows theirs as well. But why would Nightmare make a point of marrying him when they were already a solid thing.

Was it a way to send a message? Does he want to make sure their things remain private? Is it to demonstrate love, a higher love? Maybe this was his way of tying Ink to him, to make sure that time would erode all his edges?

The idea of marrying and his role after also is complex for him because Ink is the one who'd get subjected to more change. Nm already has a solid antagonistic role while Ink goes with the flow. To be known as his husband would mean that his meta role (what the creators see when they look at him) would change. He'd have a solid bias and the role to prove it. He'd be more character than a concept for once and for all.

It's scary. Nightmare scares him because he radicalizes him. He cannot remain neutral as long as their thing remains a thing. Nightmare makes them a character and grounds them to the multiverse as a solid, warm thing and not just as an ideal they must protect.

So why did they say yes?

[ceaselesswatchersspecialboy]

Do the twins ever get attached to stanfraud? Does bill get attached to them too? what is their relationship like? and what is their immediate reaction to finding out everything was a lie -- first impressions? GAAHH I HAVE SO MANY QUESTIONS i'm ur biggest fan bro

Thank you so much!! It really means a lot that people are enjoying my madness this much!

It’s funny because earlier I was actually doodling him and the twins!

He absolutely gets attached and they get attached in return. While their initial introduction to him is very rocky, they come to enjoy his quirks and unusual interests, especially once Dipper puts together he was the author, and he regularly supervises them on adventures, mainly because Stan asked him too, but also because it’s strangely fun. He will repeatedly claim he hasn’t gone soft to Stan, but then Stan will find him fast asleep with the twins curled up against him, or he’ll catch him helping the twins in their respective Dipper and Mabel’s guide videos. He also likes Mabel Juice! Mabel won’t take his suggestion of adding eyeballs though. Alas.

His feelings towards them are made complicated by his own denial. He doesn’t like the idea that he’s changed much at all, and these new doubts he’s experiencing about his original plans are not thoughts he’s willing to entertain for long. He gets snappy when Stan tries to reassure him it’s okay that he cares, because he doesn’t care, he’s just… playing a role. That’s all. It’s all one big lie. He can do lies. But that doesn’t really explain the genuine panic he experiences when Dipper and Mabel are in danger, and how quickly he jumps in to protect them nor does it explain the fuzzy feeling in his chest when Mabel knits him a sweater.

He’s not the same as he was thirty years ago. That’s a fact. And thirty years was once just a blip for him, but this has felt like he’s lived a whole new life.

And on the flip side, Dipper and Mabel care a lot too. He’s off-putting and he’s strange and he says some things that imply he may have committed murder and gotten away with it, but they like being around him. It isn’t always perfect, same as it is with Stan, but the rougher patches don’t tend to last, and they reconcile by the end of the day (although, Bill is usually incapable of saying sorry verbally and shows his apology through actions instead).

Dipper for one hasn’t really had anyone he can just ramble about nerd stuff with. Bill can actually keep up with Dipper, and they both find themselves enjoying the debate they have about inter dimensional travel, or what sort of haunting would be the most annoying to deal with. Dipper does sometimes catch his uncle looking at him strangely though, almost as though he’s seeing right through Dipper and looking at someone else, but he blinks and the odd look is gone, so he must have imagined it.

Bill does sometimes push Dipper’s buttons, of course, and never gives him direct answers, usually making him look for the answer himself, or read between the lines, which Dipper comes to appreciate as it, so he claims, trains his mind for mysteries. They have a very fun back and forth, honestly. Dipper thinks Stanfraud is the coolest despite all the annoyances, and he really does try his best to impress him.

Mabel meanwhile is just her usual bundle of energy, and charms her great uncle by involving him in her unhinged hijinks, and showing him the art of glitter bombing. She meets him where he’s at! Even though he can sometimes be a little extreme, even for her, she pushes herself out of her comfort zone, mainly because of what Stan told her, about how Ford lost his mind while alone. Well, she can’t have that! She makes a real effort trying to understand him, and why he thinks the way he does.

He also weirdly gives her some good advice whenever Pacifica tries to bring her down, and Mabel is both comforted and inspired by how weird he is, even in his old age. He never lets anyone shame him out of it, and he encourages Mabel to just “Be weird! Your fleshbag life is short! Why waste it caring what lesser skin puppets think?”

Bill unknowingly allows both Dipper and Mabel to feel more comfortable in themselves because of how unapologetically ‘him’ he is.

Sorry if this is messy, by the way, I’m just writing my thoughts as I go along.

Anywho, I think all of this makes finding out everything was a lie very hard hitting for them. Mabel tries to rationalise it, that sure, maybe he wasn’t really their Grunkle, but he still loved them like he was, and they loved him like a Grunkle, meanwhile Dipper reacts very negatively, because he really thought he had found someone like him, someone he confided a lot in, and now he thinks he made the wrong choice, that he was an idiot.

And Stan lied too. He admits the biggest mistake he made was not telling them, but it’s too late for that now.

The one bright side, if you can call it that, is Stan and Bill do tell them before they get Ford back. They think they’ve finally found the way to do it, and Stan wants the kids to know before they try it, give them time to process.

Okay I’ll end there for now! Thank you so much again!

[get-a-life-comedy]

I'll do GTA for now.

All of them star criminals who move up the ladder working for others. Of course all in unique ways.

I found it via my Dad's ps2, which had San Andreas on it.

Just how real the world are. The game maps are small but dense and I love the way they operate. It's got an entire culture and everything.

Of course "Life is complicated" from GTA 4. But also all of the scenes with Vic and Louis from VCS.

GTA radio is perfect so I guess prairie cartel radio from Chinatown wars.

My favorite character is Roman for how goofy yet troubled he is. And Zero for how funny and glad he makes me to see him happy.

Least favorite character is definitely Steve Haines or Devin Weston. They're both assholes who give you nothing for working for them. Yeah they're meant to be bothersome in game not out of it. Tenpenny was absolutely spectacular as a villain.

Zero is definitely autistic as is Roman.

I love Roman, not enough to kin. And I could listen to Niko all day.

Trivia is probably that GTA has a lot of real radio hosts. And recorded half an hour of audio for their custom music radio in the PC version.

Something I don't like is some of the humor, and the government plot in 5. I feel like every GTA is at their best in the beginning.

media hyperfixation ask game!

this can also be applied to special interests! if you have multiple, put them in the tags so people who send asks can specify which hyperfixation/spin they’re asking about. 📃 what is the plot of your hyperfixation? and is it a movie, game, show, etc? 📌 how did you find your hyperfixation? ✨ what draws you towards your hyperfixation? what is interesting about it? 🎥 do you have any favorite scenes from your hyperfixation? 🎶 if your hyperfixation has songs/an ost, what is your favorite song from it? 💕 tell us about one of your favorite characters and why you like them! 💔 tell us about one of your LEAST favorite characters and why you dislike them. 🏳‍🌈 do you have any headcanons (lgbt, race, neuro, etc) that are important to you? 🍀 do you have any kins or comfort characters from your hyperfixation? 💎 are there any fun facts or trivia that you would like to share? 💢 what do you NOT like about your hyperfixation? is there something you would want to change about it?

[avatar-anna]

Never Really Over

a little bit of divorced!harry for your consideration

"I just wanna see him."

Y/n gave her ex a long look, not betraying the warring emotions swirling in her belly. Harry rarely showed up this late. He rarely showed up unannounced, for that matter. It made things easier—seeing him when she could prepare herself for the encounter. Now he was here on her doorstep, hair messy and eyes all pleading and sad.

"I just put him to bed, H," Y/n sighed. It wasn't that she didn't want to keep Harry from their son, but it was way too late, and it wasn't his week.

It had nothing to do with the fact that Y/n had been feeling particularly lonely lately and seeing her ex husband be all sweet with their son would make her think traitorous thoughts.

"I know, I know, I've just... I've had a long day, and I just want to see him. I won't even wake him up, I swear. I just want to sit with him."

Despite the divorce, Y/n still knew Harry struggled with the demise of their relationship, and she did too, even if she was the one who ultimately filed. They were five months in, but she felt like no time had passed at all. She floated between half expecting Harry to walk through the door like he used to and frustrated by the way their relationship turned so tumultuous by the end. It was all too complicated, which was why she preferred Harry's visits to be planned. It helped her to compartmentalize.

But she saw the look in his eyes and couldn't help but empathize with her ex-husband.

He looked tired and lost and maybe even at his wits end a little. She knew that look well, she recognized it every time she looked in the mirror on the days Harry had their son. She knew what it was like to have a bad day and want nothing more than to hold their little bub and let him wash away every bit of stress and frustration. Y/n did everything she could to not go completely out of her mind when it was Harry's week with their son, and she imagined that her ex felt similarly.

"Twenty minutes," she said, opening the door further and stepping to the side.

Harry's shoulders sagged with relief. He stepped toward Y/n as if he was going to hug her, then seemed to think better of it and went straight inside.

Y/n stayed downstairs while Harry went up, letting him have a private moment with their son. She cleaned up in the meantime, putting away stray toys and books and fluffing couch cushions and refolding blankets. Anything to not think of Harry with her son, or the soft look he always got when he gazed down at their little boy. It had always been her kryptonite, and she wasn't sure she'd gotten over it yet.

A little while later, Harry came back downstairs. Having organized and straightened up everything she possibly could, Y/n settled on the couch with the glass of wine she'd promised herself earlier that day. She'd wanted to have it in her bed with her book, but she settled for scrolling on her phone until her ex eventually left.

"Thank you," Harry said, his voice soft, careful not to wake the five year old upstairs. "You didn't have to do that, but I appreciate it."

"Don't worry about it," Y/n said, trying to appear like seeing him didn't have an effect on her the way it used to.

"Really, Y/n, I owe you."

"Let's not go and make promises you can't keep again," she muttered.

Y/n felt guilty as soon as she said it. They were having a civil moment, a rarity since the whirlwind of their divorce. She hadn't meant to pick at old wounds and make them bleed again. Her response was a reflex more than anything, one that she couldn't keep in check when she was tired.

"I'm not the one who filed for divorce, Y/n," Harry said, a dark cloud of emotion overtaking his face. "If anyone broke promises, it was you."

"Those vows were broken long before we got divorced, and you know it," Y/n said, that old fire that was more of a dull ember these days rising to the surface.

Harry and Y/n fell in love hard and fast, both loving each other fiercely and with everything cell in their body. Their relationship had been full of passion and intensity and so much love it was almost suffocating. But it also meant that they fought just as hard. Their arguments often blazed and burned bright, then fizzled out until they were in each other's arms again as if nothing had happened.

Until the arguments got bigger.

And longer.

And Y/n just couldn't take it anymore.

Y/n could tell that the anger simmering in Harry's eyes was more for show. She could see the sadness, perhaps even loneliness, in those lovely green eyes of his. And maybe her anger was a little more bravado than genuine hurt too. Maybe it was easier to slip into familiar habits and poke at old wounds than admit the truth.

She missed him.

"Don't make me the villain here. You—"

"I don't want to fight with you," she said before Harry could volley anything back. "I shouldn't have said what I said. I'm sorry. It's been a long day for me, and I'm assuming yours wasn't a walk in the park either."

Harry didn't say anything, or do anything, for a moment. Then, he let his head drop, his shoulders slumping a little. Feeling more than a little bad for kicking him while he was down, Y/n stood up from the couch and fetched another glass before pouring some wine in it for her ex. "Here," she said. "A peace offering. You look like you could use it."

With a laugh that held no humor in it, he took it and raised the glass to his mouth, and Y/n tried hard not to stare at his lips. Or the column of his throat as it bobbed when he took a sip. Or—

"Is this one of mine?"

Y/n willed her cheeks not to flush. "I might've snagged a few bottles from your collection before we sold the house. Most of them went untouched anyways."

"They were aging," Harry said, a little of that humor and charm she fell in love with sparking in his eyes, the lines of his face. "You're supposed to let the bottles rest for a few years until they're at their peak, and then you drink them."

Y/n shrugged. "If you wait too long it goes bad and you miss out on a perfectly good bottle altogether, and then you do all that waiting for nothing."

She didn't mean anything by it, but both of them recognized the subtle truth in regards to their own relationship. Y/n wondered if they would ever be over this part. The stumbling through conversations and trying to avoid dangerous subjects that were littered between them like a minefield.

"Are you saying that's what happened with us?" Harry asked after taking another sip. "That I waited too long to appreciate what was right in front of me? What was perfect in every way the whole time?"

"I was talking about wine, not us."

"You've always been perfect in my eyes, Y/n," Harry said. "You and that perfect angel upstairs. Both of you are my entire world."

"Don't," Y/n said, taking a step back when she realized how close together they were.

"I miss you," Harry said, his voice hitching in his throat. "I miss waking up to our baby snuggled between us. I miss holding your hand while we watch him play at the park. I miss building pillow forts and playing pretend. I miss you, Y/n. I miss being loved by you. I hate that we're divorced. I hate that I signed those stupid papers and let you walk away."

Her throat suddenly felt dry, her heart pumping in her chest so hard she worried he might hear it. Blinking, Y/n tried to maintain the thread of composure holding her together. "You've had a long day. I can tell you need rest—"

"Don't patronize me," he said, stepping closer and closing the small distance between them once more. When Y/n didn't try to widen it again, Harry continued. "If you don't miss me, if you don't still feel what I feel, then say that. But if you do..."

Harry took Y/n's glass and set it down on the coffee table along with his own. He straightened up, one free hand lightly caressing your face, his thumb grazing across her cheek with a touch so delicate she barely felt it. It was agonizing. To have him right there, just the way she used to, and only get a phantom touch. It was maddening.

So maddening, that when he leaned in, Y/n didn't stop him.

She might have whimpered, and her knees might have slightly buckled, and she might have clutched her shirt between her fingers in a desperate, iron grip as Harry slid his mouth against hers, but she would deny it if he said anything about it later.

His kiss was all-consuming, he'd been a ghost in her new life for months, and suddenly he was everywhere—on her tongue, in her hands, against her chest. And she nearly forgot how explosive kissing him was. How it was almost like a dance that they'd mastered but were always learning new and exciting steps to. The softness of her ex's lips were as familiar as ever, but the stubble on his cheeks was new. She didn't recognize the shirt he wore, but she knew the body beneath it almost as well as her own. And his hands—

"We can't—We're not—Harry—"

Over the years, Y/n had grown used to the feeling of Harry's wedding band against her skin. When he held her hand, when he cupped her cheek, when he was spreading her open or landing a firm slap to her ass. It was familiar, a part of him that just seemed intrinsic after they got married.

But now, as she placed her hand over the one that held the side of her face as he kissed along her throat, it wasn't there. The band was gone, they weren't married anymore, and they certainly shouldn't be kissing like they still were.

"Just this once," Harry murmured, pressing the words along the curve of her jaw. "It's been so long, baby. I just want to feel you again. We can still be divorced after. Like last time."

Flames licked Y/n's core as she remembered the night in question. It had been the night the divorce had been finalized. Harry and Y/n signed and initialed every dotted line, the lawyers shook hands and left, then Harry and Y/n went their separate ways

Harry still insisted that her late-night message about a few of his possessions that got mixed in with her things was meant to have some kind of subtext, and Y/n would swear until she was blue in the face that her text was innocent, even if the activities that followed Harry coming over to "pick up" said items were anything but. It was a final goodbye. It was closing a chapter on a book neither of them ever really believed would end.

"Last time was supposed to be the last time," Y/n said, her voice shallow and not at all convincing.

"Tell me you don't want me right now," Harry said, his hand creeping beneath the waistband of her pajama pants. Y/n's mouth opened in a strangled gasp, too aroused and too in love with him still to push him away. "Tell me not to set you down on the kitchen counter and let me love on that pussy the way I used to. Tell me not to haul you upstairs and fuck you hard for breaking us up when we could've had this every. Single. Day."

Harry's last words were punctuated by the thrust of his fingers inside Y/n, each one making her curl around him tight. He lifted her into his arms and set her on the couch, the closest surface in the vicinity that wasn't hardwood flooring. His fingers still moving inside her, pumping slowly, he pressed a bruising kiss to her lips.

"Tell me not to love you anymore," he said, his teeth nipping at her bottom lip. "Tell me how to fall out of love with you. Tell me how to not dream of you. Tell me how to not want you anymore."

Y/n, who had succumbed to this moment, this lapse in...whatever it was, could only grip her ex's hair as he worked her over with his fingers, each word he spoke a balm to the loneliness these last months brought. She wasn't ready to start seeing someone else after the divorce, but now she worried no one would ever measure up to Harry. He ruined her for any other man who might try to sweep her off her feet in the future.

"Tell me, Y/n, and I'll let you come."

Y/n was a mess. She could hear it as Harry's fingers slid in and out of her quickly and harshly, then slowing down before she could finish. He used to do it all the time, knowing how worked up it made her, and now he knew nothing had changed.

"I—" she gasped. She was so close she could barely think straight. Harry's desperate words and the way his fingers curled inside her had her seeing stars. But if she knew her ex, he would stay there and edge her until she gave him what he wanted. "I don't know. I don't know how to make it stop. Please let me come."

Having thought she'd given him what he wanted, Y/n prepared herself for an earth-shattering orgasm. She surrendered herself to tonight, to him, even if she regretted it in the morning. Even if secretly she didn't, which would make her feel even worse.

But instead of pushing her over the edge, Harry removed his fingers from her altogether. The whine Y/n let out at the loss was perhaps a little undignified, but she couldn't think straight with the thick cloud of lust looming over her.

"Wh—"

"We're going to do this properly," he said, scooping her up into his arms and heading back upstairs, taking a left toward her bedroom. Their little angel boy was down the hall on the right side, but Y/n knew they still had to be quiet.

Once behind the closed door of her bedroom, they were both quick to shed each other of their clothes. Stitching ripped, a button or two flew, socks tossed carelessly to corners of the room they'd probably forget about later until there wasn't an ounce of fabric between them.

There wasn't time to stand and appreciate. This wasn't a romantic moment. It was desperate, a little angry, and intense in the way it always has been between them. Y/n kissed her ex-husband hard, her teeth sinking into his bottom lip and soothing the ache with her tongue until he eventually flipped her over onto her stomach.

"You can't be here by the time he wakes up tomorrow," Y/n managed to say. "I don't want to confuse him."

"I know," Harry said, lining himself up with her entrance. "But wouldn't it be so nice if I did?"

"Harry—"

"Relax, baby, I'll abide by your rules," he said, his voice a soft caress. "Just let me have you tonight, and then I'll be gone."

Harry slid in with one smooth thrust, Y/n's mouth dropping open in response. She hadn't been stretched this way in months, and the feel of him inside her again as if nothing had changed...

"Fuck, Harry. I'm—I'm so close," she moaned, unable to say much more than that.

His movements were torturously slow, prolonging the climax he'd been teasing out of her on the couch. Then he leaned over her, his body pressing deliciously against hers.

"We may be separated, but you're still mine," he said, his words accented by his own pleasure. "These hips? Mine. Your tits? Mine. This little cunt? Well, she already knows. Absolutely drenching me. And tonight, I'm going to make sure you remember that."

Y/n could only whimper and wait to take whatever her ex-husband was willing to give her.

*.*

Y/n was having the best dream.

Sun streamed through the small crack in her bedroom curtains as she snuggled under the weight of the warmest, coziest blanket. She held onto it, wrapping it tighter around her, hoping to get a couple more minutes of sleep before her son eventually barged in and demanded they start their day.

She had a million things to do, but none of it seemed to matter while she slept. She felt relaxed in a way she hadn't in a long time.

Then the dream seemed to change. The cozy blanket became an arm draped over her, a leg tangled between her own, and a firm body pressed against her back. The unknown form wrapped around her began to kiss along her bare back, the arm tightening its grip around her waist. Her stomach flipped as a hand began to play with her breast.

She hadn't had one of those dreams in a long time, either.

Before the dream could go any further, Y/n regrettably began to feel the pinpricks of consciousness. But as she blinked her eyes open, she still felt that weight of another body next to hers, of someone other than herself occupying her bed.

It was then that last night made an appearance in her mind, recalling every dirty detail of how she'd given into her ex-husband.

"Good morning."

Harry's voice was low and gruff as if he'd only just woken up himself. The puffs of his breaths dusted over Y/n's skin and sent goosebumps all over. She didn't understand how her body, even while it was still waking up, was so responsive to him.

As casually as possible, she said, "You weren't supposed to stay over."

"Honestly, I don't even remember falling asleep," Harry admitted, though he made no move to leave her Y/n's bed.

"You have to go before he wakes up," she insisted, even if her body was completely against that idea. "He can't find you here. If he does, he'll have questions, and—"

Before Y/n could even finish, she heard the soft patter of feet against soft carpet. Then her door creaked open, and the light of her life appeared.

"Daddy!"

Y/n rested her hands over her face, but not before seeing Harry's broad grin out of the corner of her eye, one that was nearly identical to the little boy at the foot of the bed.

"Hey, buddy," Harry said, his voice less husky than it was just moments ago. "What are you doing up so early, huh?"

"Why are you in bed with Mommy?" the boy asked, climbing into bed with his parents and wriggling around until he was snuggled between them.

Wasn't that the question, Y/n thought, though she was in no rush to help Harry.

"Mummy and Daddy decided to have a sleepover," Harry explained.

"Oh. Well, why didn't you invite me?"

"Because..." Y/n felt Harry's gaze on her, but she was not inclined to dig him out of this hole. Their night was over. It was a new day, which meant everything was back to the way it was before Harry came over last night. "Because I wanted to surprise you this morning. We're all going to spend the day together. Just the three of us."

"Yay!"

"What?"

Y/n glared over the top of her son's head as he half-hugged half-tackled Harry from sheer excitement. This was definitely not reverting back to their normal routine of co-parenting and seeing each other only when it was necessary. Harry, who looked thoroughly pleased with himself, slid out of bed with their boy still latched into him.

Thankfully, he was wearing underwear, but that didn't help Y/n much. She couldn't help but stare at his muscles flexing as he stood and stretched while he held their son. At all the tattoos that littered his body and the mess of curls on his head. He had no right to look this good in the morning, especially when Y/n knew for a fact that she always looked haggard no matter what when she first woke up.

Not that her appearance in front of her ex mattered to her.

"Come on, let's start with making your mum some breakfast. I'm thinking...waffles?"

"Do not make a mess of my kitchen, Harry," Y/n warned, not even bothering to protest the idea in its entirety. She wouldn't have been able to tell her son no even if he tried. Not with how excited he looked at the prospect of spending the day with his dad.

"We'll clean up after ourselves, I promise," Harry said with a wink in your direction. "You stay there and rest. I know you had a...long night."

Y/n threw a pillow at Harry's retreating form before flopping back into her bed. She had half a mind to strut right over to him and prove him wrong, but, well, the dull ache between her legs was starting to make itself known, and the damage of her son seeing Harry in her bed was already done. She might as well stay in bed and take the morning off if Harry was offering.

Sighing, Y/n ran a tired hand over her face as one realization after another made themselves known.

Everything about last night and this morning was messy and would no doubt bring about consequences and difficult conversations she wasn't inclined to have. There were questions she didn't want to ask or know the answer to, but one thing was abundantly clear:

She was well and truly fucked.

[barcaatthemoon]

complicate me || leah williamson x reader ||

Coming back to Arsenal was a mistake, but you and Leah manage to make an even bigger one together.

18+

You had always known that you wouldn't be at Manchester forever. A three year loan was a pretty long time, and for a moment, you had hoped that it would become permanent. Arsenal had let you stay the couple years, but with Jonas out, management ended your loan early. They wanted you back in red, not that you could blame them. There were a lot of important games coming up, and even if you technically couldn't play in a couple of them, you were still an important piece for practices.

It felt weird for you to walk the training grounds at Arsenal by yourself. Jen was gone, and she had always been the person you could count on to still be your mate after everything. Leah had kept most of your friends after the breakup, and then you hadn't exactly helped your case when you just up and left after everything.

You could still remember the way that Caitlin had practically begged for you to stay with the team. If it wasn't for Jen, you probably would have been convinced to stay. A part of you regretted leaving, but you knew that you hadn't been in your right mind with Leah so close after everything. At the time, it all seemed like too much to be reconciled, but now you were hopeful that things could be fixed.

You'd never in a million years get back together with Leah, no matter how good she looked. It didn't matter how many drinks you had on a team night out. After the first couple to celebrate wins, however, you promptly decided that you'd be a loner at Arsenal. With Jen in California, you had lost your personal voice of reason, the only person who could truly keep you away from Leah for your own wellbeing.

"Come on, you have to come over. You never do anything with the team, everybody's gonna think that you hate them," Caitlin pleaded with you. The two of you had been going back and forth for the past week about you coming to the party she was throwing with Katie at their place. It was a bye week, so everybody was free to enjoy the weekend. You knew there would be a lot of drinking, and that was what scared you. You had always been able to hold your liquor pretty well physically, but you made absolutely terrible decisions sometimes.

"Cait, nobody wants me there. Let's face it, they barely even want me playing here again," you reasoned. Caitlin could see you start to move to get up and rushed to grab onto your wrist. "Caitlin, I don't want to argue about this."

"Then don't argue and just come over for a bit. You don't have to talk to anybody but me. Just please, I miss you. I've missed you since you moved and iced everybody out," Caitlin said. She gave you her best puppy dog eyes, and if it was anybody else, you probably would have just said no. But because it was Caitlin, you gave in despite your better judgement.

That afternoon when you got out of training, you went straight home and immediately called Jen. You had hoped that she would convince you not to go, but instead, she had fully agreed with Caitlin. You hated hearing how it was a good idea to bond with the women you'd be spending the next two seasons of your career with. Once your contract was over, you could go somewhere else, but for now, you were stuck at Arsenal.

A lot of things had changed since you left. The changes may not have seemed like much to people who had been around, but they had definitely taken you by surprise. The big one had been Caitlin and Lia. Caitlin had been clinging to Katie's side when you arrived, and Lia was stuck by Lia.

Years before, you had been close with Lia, even closer than Lia and Leah were. Now, you just had Caitlin, who you had only befriended because of Lia. It hurt for the Swiss woman not to even look your way, but you couldn't imagine how it looked to her. You were sure that everybody had gotten Leah's side of the story, which you weren't calling bullshit, but you knew had to be biased.

"You look good. Leah's staring," Caitlin said as she nudged you.

"Whatever." You brushed off Caitlin's comment, but only to force yourself not to glance over at the blonde. You couldn't let yourself get sucked over there, not when you knew where it would end up. Leah had an uncanny ability to complicate everything in your life, and she had been doing it for years now. Your relationship had been far from perfect, but you were happier then. Now, you were miserable while she was getting a chance to live her best life.

"(Y/n), I didn't think you'd come." Katie looked just as surprised as she sounded. Caitlin swatted at the Irish woman's chest, but Katie seemed unphased. "I'm glad you came. It's been boring without my favorite drinking buddy."

"Do you really want me to drink you under the table this early into the night?" you asked teasingly. Katie scoffed at that, but didn't deny that you usually did win the little competitions. You watched as Katie sent Caitlin a pleading look before Caitlin just nodded. Before you could react, Katie grabbed your hand and led you into the kitchen where the alcohol was.

You let Katie pick the alcohol, and thus, your competition began. You should have known better than to start drinking like this so early into the night, but you wanted to have fun. It had been so long that you believed that you deserved to have a good night out. Several shots later, and you found yourself having to help Katie stumble out of the kitchen.

"Katie, you promised you'd stop at 5," Caitlin huffed as she took her girlfriend from you.

"Hey, it's not my fault that she did doubles," Katie slurred. Caitlin glanced over at you, who just barely had a rosy tint to your cheeks. You didn't seem too out of it, so Caitlin left you there to make Katie sit down and eat something with the hope of sobering her up a bit. It couldn't have been more than maybe 30 seconds of you being alone for Leah to find her way over to you.

"I see that you're enjoying yourself," Leah teased. Your eyes narrowed at her, but your anger was fleeting. You couldn't hold onto any one emotion for too long before forgetting what exactly it was that you were feeling. "You're gonna be feeling that tomorrow."

"That's not your concern," you told her. Leah seemed a bit shocked by the snark in your tone. She shouldn't have been surprised by it, you had spoken to her in worse tones constantly by the end of your relationship. "Why are you over here? You told everybody that I ruined you. Nobody wants to talk to the woman who ruined them."

"(Y/n), I was hurt. You know that I lash out when I'm hurt, besides, I am much more mature than I was before," Leah said. She placed her hand on the small of your back, and it ignited something inside of you. Without an ounce of hesitation, you turned and tried to kiss Leah. "Hey, no, not like this. I want you, but I want you to want me back."

"Leah, it's complicated. I'm complicated now," you told her. Leah bit her lip and glanced at the bottle of alcohol just sitting on the table behind you. You followed her gaze and immediately knew what she was getting onto. "You want to be on my level?"

"I don't think I'd feel so bad if I was," Leah reasoned. You didn't like the thought of her needing to be drunk to want you, but the notion was gone as quickly as it popped into your head. Everything was fleeting, except for your desire to have Leah. You didn't necessarily want her sexually; you just wanted her close. If you had to crawl into bed and open your legs for that, then you were more than willing to do so.

The trip back to Leah's was a bit of a blur. Leah's place wasn't too far from Katie and Caitlin's, close enough for the two of you to walk there. The two of you had left fairly early into the night, but it was nearly 11:30 by the time that you had gotten inside. Neither of you seemed to care as you had both been guilty of stopping to kiss and feel the other up.

Your lipstick was smeared on Leah's mouth and neck by the time that you got back to her place. She paused as she caught a glimpse of herself, a little more disheleved than normal. Leah promptly turned her atttention over to you. You looked just as far gone as she did, pupils blown wide as you watched and waited for her to make another move on you.

"Come on," Leah said as she tugged you along with her. Leah tried to move quickly with you, not giving you a chance to take in the state of her home now that you were gone. She was scared that if the two of you stopped for too long, you would notice all of the little pieces of you that Leah had refused to give up.

The truth was that she had tried, and for a while, they had been gone. However, Leah had always kept the few boxes of trinkets and little things you left behind in her closet. Lia had begged Leah to throw it all away, but the blonde couldn't bring herself to do it. Eventually, she began hating the way that her house felt, so she slowly put all of your things back in their rightful places.

Leah kept the light in her room off, guiding you to the bed herself. She didn't think about you waking up in the morning and seeing anything, but Leah doubted that the two of you would be on speaking terms for a while after tonight. Any time that you let yourself get remotely close to Leah for a little, you always blanked everybody for about a week or two.

"Lee, it's dark," you said. Leah just hummed, neither of you stopping in your attempts to undress each other. You wanted to see Leah's body, but you weren't willing to pull yourself away from her to turn on the lights. You didn't need the lights on to know the look of concentration on Leah's face as the two of you ground against each other.

You could vividly imagine everything happening around you. This was far from the first time that you had closed your eyes and just tried to imagine all of the things you remembered about Leah. Now, it was much more real than before with Leah panting and moaning in your ear.

"I want to feel you. I want to be inside of you," Leah told you. You had never been glad to be laying down before in your life. There was no way that Leah wouldn't have known how her words would affect you. You were sure that Leah could feel the surge of arousal as it coursed through your body.

"Fuck me, Leah, please," you begged her. You pushed a needier tone than usual, letting Leah really hear every ounce of desperation inside of you. Leah groaned as she sat back on her knees. One of her hands slipped between your legs while the other went between her own.

Leah could just barely make out the twisting of your body in the moonlight. She was so much closer than you were, but Leah wanted to make you cum. She wanted to feel you clench around her fingers at least one more time. She didn't know whether or not she'd get another chance to touch you like this again, and so she tried her best to savor the moment.

…

The hangover from hell was the least of your problems whenever you had woken up the next morning. With Leah fast asleep next to you, you quickly snuck out of her home. It had once been your home too, but once again, you were running from it. A few quick phone calls to Arsenal's management staff about taking some time off for your mental health and a hasty plane ticket purchase later, and you were dead set on leaving the country.

Leah would be mad at you, as would Caitlin and everyone else, but you had to go. You watched as a text was sent out from management about you taking the next month off. Text after text began flooding in as you packed a bag. You didn't know how long you'd really be away for, but you just had to get the fuck away from London for a while.

"Jen? I know it's early for you, but I fucked up. I'm not over her, and I just need to clear my head for a couple of days. I swear that I won't be long, they're giving me the month, so I'll probably go back to Glasgow for a bit too. I just, I'll see you later." You had always hated leaving voicemails, but the words just poured from your mouth. You knew that your best friend was going to kill you when she saw you, but she'd also take care of you too.

[peppermintquartz]

Hello! ❤️ For the prompts - not v original but I would love something with them running into each other on a job and one of them getting injured? If it sparks joy (not that there’s much of it to spark atm) ❤️

Tommy can be professional. That's what he tells himself as he half-slides carefully down the steep slope to the two men sitting on the narrow strip of flat geound.

Howie sees him first and his face twitches in a mix of complicated emotions. "Hey Tommy." It's too casual and Howie winces.

Even so, Tommy manages a smile. "Hey Howie." He takes the opening and drops to a crouch, coming face to face with his now ex-boyfriend. "Hey."

"Hey," says Evan, face tight with something other than physical pain. "I didn't know... Didn't know you're working today."

"Changed shifts," Tommy says. To reduce the chances of seeing you at work is what he doesn't say. "What happened?"

They're on a hiking trail. Howie has a few scrapes over his forearms and elbows, and a shallow cut over his brow that's already scabbing over. Evan is the one with the injured ankle - it's his left leg, the bad leg - and Tommy's brow creases.

"I've secured it with what I had," Howie says. "But there's no way he's gonna make it up the slope and I can't carry him up there either."

"That's what I'm here for," Tommy says, not meeting Evan's eyes. He hands the spare harness to Howie. "Gus and Samuels up there are waiting for you. Then Gus will come down for Ev- for Buck."

Evan glares at him, but says nothing other than "Go, Chimney."

With Howie working his way up the slope, it's just Tommy and Evan now, and the silence is so awkward that Tommy almost wishes he had just been on flight duty today. But he had a migraine attack the day before and told Samuels to swap pilot duty for the shift.

"How have you been?" Tommy eventually asks. "Other than, you know, falling down a hiking trail and getting hurt."

"Chimney was trying to take my mind off the breakup, so I suppose I'm doing super," Evan says, sarcasm in every word. It feels wrong, coming from him.

Tommy wants to hold him and tell him how much Tommy has missed him. He settles for a deep breath and a sharp nod. Still, he can't help replying, "Guess we're both doing super then."

"You're such a dick." Evan stares at him, and God, the red-rimmed eyes are as beautiful now as they were the night Tommy ran away like the coward he was. Is.

"I'm sorry." It's a weak reply to this, to everything he's done.

They both hear Gus coming down the slope. Just as Tommy's about to stand, Evan grabs his arm and says, "I want you to visit me, do you understand? Come to the loft with my favorite poke bowl for lunch. I'll definitely be home for this week, and I want you to bring me lunch, and I want you to listen to my side of things. You had your say and you didn't let me have my say and it's not fair."

Tommy can't breathe. The touch of Evan's hand feels like it's burning into his skin. He can only nod mutely in promise and step back slightly for Gus to take charge, securing Evan to be hoisted up the steep slope.

--

Three days after that shift, he shows up with Evan's poke bowl.

--

Three weeks after that lunch, Evan moves into Tommy's place.

--

Three months after moving into Tommy's place, Evan becomes Tommy's fiancé.

[god-is-zombie]

But like, it's so fucking complicated right? Because, like does the left have a problem with hatred towards men (particularly white men)? Absolutely. It's it a huge problem for everyone? Yes.

But at the same time.... Look. It's perspective right? Because we have all been raised in a society where the default is not, treat men and women as equals. As humans. The default in society is to uplift men over women. We are all, all taught that men are more valuable than women, more important, and more human. It is baked into us.

And like, it's just like being rich, or white, or straight, or any of the other stupid thing that inherantly gives you a leg up in this country. When you've been given power your whole life (through no fault of yours, don't get me wrong) that becomes your standard. When you can't see the ways you're above everyone else, because it's been that way you're whole life, then being above everyone becomes your definition of respect.

Then, conversely, being treated like everyone else will FEEL like hate. Like derision. Like disrespect.

Like, I'm not saying the left doesn't have it's own little hate problem. It does. And that has to change.

But like, there needs to be a perspective shift for you guys too. And that's so hard.

The left is never going to be able to offer men what the right does. Never. The left says, we will lower some pedistals and raise others until we are all equal. And that's a hell of a hard pill to swallow when you're on a higher pedistal. Especially when you're on a higher pedistal and you can only barely afford food, or rent most months. Compare that to the other side screaming "No! You are the specialist boy and you deserve everything!" At the top of their lungs. Compare that to the right's promise that sure there will always be pedistals, but yours will never be on the bottom... Yeah.

And like, I'm on a higher pedistal too. And I can't afford rent or food. And letting go of the few advantages I have by being a high fem white lady who knows how to speak and act in a way that makes rich religious white folk with power think I'm like them, fucking sucks. And hearing how those advantages (that I was simply born into) make me scary and unsafe to people who don't have them, when I still have so little, fucking sucks.

But, I don't have a right to those advantages if others are arbitrarily denied them. And the powerful are fucking terrifying to the powerless. The atrosities that people like you, people like us have committed are, innumerable. And we weren't the ones doing it, and certainly shouldn't be the ones blamed. But the fact that we regularly benifit from it is undeniable. And if I'm going to be given power anyways, then I have a responsibility to listen, at the very least, to the people who weren't.

White people as a whole, and white men in particular need to willing to let a few things suck sometimes. I'm sorry. It sounds so, flippant I know. And, everything in you, everything in me, wants to just yell, "do you have any idea how hard everything already is?" And I KNOW. I know. It isn't fair. And it fucking sucks.

But if we are looking at not fair in this country, we're not the worst off by a mile. By several. And it has sucked for everyone else for so, so much longer.

I couldn't have said it better myself.

[homesick4la]

complicated — hamzahthefantastic

1. pushing it down and praying

contains: a little cheating..smoking, some nsfw content but nothing crazy

summary: after half a year of no contact, you run into your ex at a party.

a/n: kinda got this idea from the lizzy mcalpine song bc i am obsessed with it. so listen if you haven’t lol. also i decided to split the fic but it’s only gonna be two parts!

it’d officially been six months since you and your ex boyfriend went no contact.

the first few months were hell for you.

of course, you went through the stereotypical phase of eating ice cream and crying to rom-coms directly after your break up. but that short-lived phase gradually shifted into one that was much more melancholic once the two of you decided to go no contact.

everyday that you woke up, you were engulfed by an emotional numbness. a dull pain that served as a constant reminder of your grief.

you were grieving what the relationship was and what it could’ve been.

you had always envisioned your future with hamzah in it which is why the lack of communication between the two of you left you absolutely soulless.

you had never experienced such an intense love before him. everything was picture perfect in the beginning. it was even better than the movies.

but after two years, the miscommunication between you to became destructive.

things that should have been minor disagreements escalated into full blown arguments. you’d yell over each other, ignoring each other’s feelings and growing overwhelmingly defensive.

eventually, it became exhausting. you were both so angry all the time and too stressed with work or school to address it properly.

ultimately, you two mutually decided to call it quits. additionally, you later agreed that going no contact would be the best option for both of you.

now, half a year later, you were finally trying to move on.

after reading an endless amount of self-help books, you learned that after experiencing every stage of relationship grief (which you had), you theoretically should be ready to search for love again.

despite your reluctance, your best friends had forced you to join all the dating apps- urging you to hook up with someone new to get your mind off your ex.

it took days of swiping left on men that were literally the epitome of a walking red flag for you to finally find a man suitable enough to go on a date with.

his name was matthew. he recently graduated from college and instantly started a 9-5 working in finance. he spent his free time hiking. he had a golden retriever.

he was kind. he was stable. but he wasn’t hamzah.

you two had gone on a few dates. you had even hooked up after a couple of them.

as guilty as it made you, each hook up was spent closing your eyes- imagining hamzah on top of you. that it wasn’t matthew deep inside of you but it was hamzah; the one that knew your body like the back of his hand and knew just how to please you every time.

you were giving your all to this “moving on” stage but you simply weren’t satisfied.

that being said, when matthew had asked you to attend an old friend’s party with him on your last date, you politely agreed.

now here you were, shuffling through a crowd of sweaty bodies with a man that barely knew you guiding you by your waist.

“how do you know the host again?” you ask, nearly yelling over the music that was blasting through numerous speakers.

“he’s a friend from my hometown, remember? from ottawa?”

“right, right. i remember now.” you look up at him. you did not remember.

you two make your way into the kitchen. he pours shots of vodka into red solo cups and hands one to you.

you feel the familiar burn of alcohol stinging your throat as you down the shot.

“you look gorgeous tonight by the way. forgot to tell you earlier.” he tells you, running his hand up and down your waist.

hamzah would’ve told you earlier. he would’ve been kissing up and down your neck before you even finished your makeup while getting ready. reiterating how beautiful you are each time his lips left your skin.

fuck. there you go again. comparing everything matthew said or did to hamzah.

he’s not in your life anymore, you think to yourself. it’s time to get over him.

“thank you.” you answer matthew, mustering up a smile.

“you ready to go meet my friends?”

“yeah, let’s go! i’m excited to meet them.” you were lying straight through your teeth. but you continued to put on this enthusiastic act simply because he was nice.

he leads you to the main room where you meet a couple of his hometown friends. one named kyle. another named josh.

they were essentially carbon copies of matthew. frat bros that grew up and became finance guys.

you quietly listen as the boys catch up on one another’s lives.

until something, someone, catches your eye.

hamzah. he was across the large room with his back faced toward you. but it had to be him.

you could recognize the shape of his shoulders and you knew that those dark curls stuffed under a camo hat could only belong to him.

you stomach drops. somehow, you had never ran into him since the breakup.

the sight of him mixed with the alcohol made you sick to your stomach.

“hey”, you tap on matthew’s shoulder. “i’m gonna go find a bathroom real quick.” you explain.

“okay, just come find me when you’re done.” he replies before resuming his conversation with his friends.

you turn around, walking in the direction of a long hallway that you knew must have a bathroom.

you turn the doorknob of the first door you find and miraculously, it is a bathroom.

you clutch onto the counter, letting out a sharp exhale.

one of your hands grips to your stomach while you continue taking deep breaths.

in for 4. hold for 7. out for 8. you repeat.

a breathing technique that hamzah had taught you.

you hear the doorknob rattle. before you can say anything, the door is being launched open.

“oh shit! sorry!”, you hear a familiar voice as the door is being pulled closed again. “wait- y/n?”

the voice belonged to mandy. hamzah’s bestfriend’s girlfriend. you forgot that her and martin were from ottawa. they must’ve known the host of the party.

she steps inside, shutting the door behind her.

“are you okay? what’re you doing here? i haven’t seen you in so long.” she pulls you into a hug.

“yeah i’m here with some guy i’ve been seeing. but i saw hamzah and just needed to take a sec.” you explain during your embrace.

she pulls away, looking in your eyes.

“did he see you?”

“no, he was facing the other direction.”

“oh okay”, she nods and looks down.

“yeah. i haven’t seen him since we ended things so, it gave me a bit of panic attack.” you chuckle awkwardly.

“i’m sorry, y/n. break ups suck.” she pauses, “when i went through my first break up, i saw my ex at an amusement park about a month after. and i got so upset, i threw up in front of one of those stupid basketball games where you can win a big teddy bear.”

you laugh at her story, “seriously?”

“yes! it was so bad, the worker ended up giving me one of those huge bears out of pity!” she exclaims.

once your laughter dies down, mandy breaks the silence once again.

“he still talks about you, you know. every once in a while.”

every once in a while. you had thought of him every single day.

“every once in a while?”

“yeah. seems like most of the time it’s too hard for him to talk about. but sometimes, he can’t help himself.”

maybe he did think of you as often as you did.

“anyway”, she continues, “whose this new guy?”

she smirks teasingly.

“ugh. mandy, he’s so boring! but he’s so nice! he’s just- he’s nothing like hamzah. i don’t know- he’s really sweet, it’s just not, exciting? i guess?”

she nods. “well, if you want my advice..i say you shouldn’t stay with someone just because they’re nice to you. a lot of people are nice. only a few people will make you feel ‘sparks’ or whatever.”

you nod understandingly.

god you missed talking to her.

“i gotta get back to martin but if you want to talk to hamzah, he went out on the balcony. and let’s not have to run into each other at a random party to catch up again, ‘kay? text me.”

“okay.” you hug her tightly, “we’ll go for coffee soon.”

she smiles before exiting the bathroom.

you look into the mirror, trying to decide if going out on the balcony is a good idea.

“fuck it.” you whisper to yourself.

you didn’t know when you’d ever get the opportunity to speak to hamzah again. you had to go out on that balcony.

you walk out of the bathroom, sneaking past matthew who was still deep in conversation.

turning the corner past the main room, you find the sliding glass door to the balcony.

there he is. alone. sat on the small balcony, lighting a joint that hangs between his lips.

with his camo hat he wore a pair of dark wash jeans and white t-shirt.

you take a deep breath before reaching to slide open the door.

his head instantly whips towards you, his eyes widening a bit.

“hi.” you break the silence. you feel awkward. what are you supposed to say to someone you’ve been completely heartbroken over for the last six months?

“hey.” his eyes soften as he speaks.

“i, um- ran into mandy. she told me you were out here.” you explain to him.

he nods slowly. “come sit.” he pats the space on the floor next to him.

you do as he says. plopping onto the ground and pulling your knees to your chest.

he takes a drag from the joint between his fingers before pulling it out and handing it over to you. you two had shared a joint countless times during your relationship, making the action feel natural.

you bring the joint to your lips, sucking on it for a few seconds before blowing out the smoke and handing it back to him.

“how’ve you been?” he asks.

his voice was calm. you wondered how he could act so nonchalant in this situation.

“i’ve been okay. school’s been stressful.” you say, trying to avoid ranting about the emotional turmoil you’ve experienced since you two separated. “how about you?”

“good. just working a lot. martin and i upload multiple times a week now and run the merch ourselves so it’s been busy, but it’s fun.” his face lights up as he talks about it. he’d always been passionate about his career.

“that’s great, hamzah. i still remember when you had him up on that cracked screen just to have him on the pod.” you laugh.

“oh god, it was a shit show trying to get that thing to run properly.” he chuckles at the memory.

it falls silent for a moment.

“you still gonna become a journalist?” he asks, cocking his head to the side while looking at you.

“that’s the plan, yeah.” you answer.

“good. you were always good with words.”

“yeah?” you smile.

“of course, it’s why i was always calling you smarty pants.”

you chuckle at the nickname you’d forgotten about.

“i thought you were calling me that because of my attitude.” since childhood, you were teased for being bit of a know it all.

“i mean- yeah that was part of it.” he laughs, “but it was mostly because of that big brain of yours.”he taps his pointer finger to your temple.

“well, i don’t feel very smart these days.” you admit. “my grades have been slipping.”

“seriously? how come?”

“just had a rough last couple months.” you try to remain vague.

“your new guy not keeping you happy?”

your eyes widen. how did he know about matthew?

“did you see me with him inside?”

“yeah. i was about to walk into the kitchen when i saw you two together.”

you exhale deeply. “oh, uh. sorry about that.”

“answer my question, y/n.” his voice was low, serious.

“what?” your voice tinged with confusion.

“are you happy?”

you think for moment. you could lie, tell him you’re happy, let him believe that you’ve moved on. but everything in you wants to be honest with him.

“i’m trying to be.” you respond quietly before taking the joint from his hands and up to your mouth once again.

his eyes were glued to you as pushed the smoke from your mouth, like he was studying your face.

“that guy’s not right for you.” he shook his head as he spoke.

“hamzah, you don’t know him.” you’re not sure why you feel the need to defend matthew but you do.

“i can see what kind of guy he is—the kind that can’t even begin to grasp the complexity to you.” he explains.

“you’re high, hamzah. and you’re jumping to conclusions.”, you shift your position on the ground, “based on looks, might i add. didn’t they teach you not to do that in elementary school? the whole don’t judge a book by its cover thing? did you tune that part out?” you say as you stand from your spot. it pained you how well hamzah could read people- how accurate his description of matthew was.

“baby all this rambling makes it seem like you’re avoiding the truth—that he’s not good enough for you. and you’re not happy. i mean has he even noticed how long you’ve been gone?”

you forgot how stubborn this man could be.

you let out a defeated sigh. “it’s none of your business, really. and you’re right, i’ve been gone too long. i should get back to him.”

you steal the joint from his hand and take one last drag before you start to walk back towards the sliding glass door. you hear hamzah rise to his feet behind you.

“y/n, wait.”

you turn around, facing towards him again. “yeah?”

“i’m sorry. i shouldn’t have said that.” he apologizes.

“s’okay.”, you shrug your shoulders. “it was nice running into you.”

he nods agreeably.

you turn back around, beginning to accept that this was it. your last few seconds with him before you were back to no contact.

your hand reaches the sliding glass door, about to pull the door open when you hear hamzah’s voice once again.

“y/n, don’t go.”

don’t go.

“what?” you question, furrow your eyebrows.

he takes slow steps toward you, ditching his joint by throwing the remains of it to the floor.

he keeps walking towards you until you’re just a foot apart. he grabs your hand, pulling you to him and shifting your bodies so your lower back rested the black metal railing of the balcony as he stood directly in front of you.

his face was inches from yours. you could so easily lift your head and kiss him.

“come back to my apartment with me.” he whispered.

“why would i do that?” you replied, feeling the pace of your breath quicken due to the close proximity.

“because you miss me.” the corner of his mouth upturned into a cocky smirk. “and i miss you.”

you were speechless. all you could do was stare into his eyes, trying to decipher whether or not those words had actually just left his mouth.

you swallow harshly before speaking, “i’m here with someone else, hamzah. i’m going home with him.”

you try to stand your ground, but god you wanted to give in.

he scrunches his nose and shakes his head as he places his hands on the metal railing behind you, trapping you between his arms.

“but he doesn’t know you like i do.”

before you can respond, you feel his fingers brush your hair away from the side of your neck.

he places his hands on waist as his head falls to your neck, his plump lips hovering above your skin. your head instinctively leans to the side, giving him full access.

“does he know how much you like being kissed right here?” he whispers softly, feeling his lips move on your skin as he speaks.

he presses his lips to place where your neck and shoulder meet, remembering how much this spot had an effect on you.

you shut your eyes in utter satisfaction. you hated how much of an effect he had on you.

you bring your hands to his neck, then weaving your fingers through his curls as he continues kissing, sucking, and nipping at the sweet spots on your neck.

his hands float down, gripping onto your hips- another minuscule touch that he knew drove you crazy.

with his hands on your hips, he pulls your bodies closer. suddenly, the thought of matthew has completely vanished. you’re completely caught up in hamzah, and it felt so good- indulging in his recognizable scent and familiar touch.

you let out a soft moan as his hand falls to your ass, grabbing it shamelessly.

“hamzah, hamzah— i can’t, we can’t do this.” you say breathlessly, using your hand to tap on his chest.

hamzah steps back, his breath unsteady as watches you carefully, his gaze lingering on your lips. for a moment, you think he isn’t going to say anything— that he was just going to turn around and walk away.

but then he leans, his voice low “meet me outside in five.” his tone carrying both a question and a promise.

you feel a rush of nerves as he walks away, opening the sliding glass door and slipping back into the crowd.

you stay out there for a moment, catching your breath.

you shouldn’t go. you know you shouldn’t.

but you couldn’t stop thinking about the way he looked at you.

part 2: with you all night

a/n: yuppppp part two coming very very soon and it’s gonna pick up right where this leaves off. sorry if this is long and boring, tbh i just needed something to distract myself from everything going on lol…k bye muah

[dailyanarchistposts]

Turbulent times are upon us. Already, blockades, demonstrations, riots, and clashes are occuring regularly. It’s past time to be organizing for the upheavals that are on the way.

But getting organized doesn’t mean joining a pre-existing institution and taking orders. It shouldn’t mean forfeiting your agency and intelligence to become a cog in a machine. From an anarchist perspective, organizational structure should maximize both freedom and voluntary coordination at every level of scale, from the smallest group up to society as a whole.

You and your friends already constitute an affinity group, the essential building block of this model. An affinity group is a circle of friends who understand themselves as an autonomous political force. The idea is that people who already know and trust each other should work together to respond immediately, intelligently, and flexibly to emerging situations.

This leaderless format has proven effective for guerrilla activities of all kinds, as well as what the RAND Corporation calls “swarming” tactics in which many unpredictable autonomous groups overwhelm a centralized adversary. You should go to every demonstration in an affinity group, with a shared sense of your goals and capabilities. If you are in an affinity group that has experience taking action together, you will be much better prepared to deal with emergencies and make the most of unexpected opportunities.

This guide is adapted from an earlier version that appeared in our Recipes for Disaster: An Anarchist Cookbook.

Affinity Groups are Powerful

Relative to their small size, affinity groups can achieve a disproportionately powerful impact. In contrast to traditional top-down structures, they are free to adapt to any situation, they need not pass their decisions through a complicated process of ratification, and all the participants can act and react instantly without waiting for orders—yet with a clear idea of what to expect from one another. The mutual admiration and inspiration on which they are founded make them very difficult to demoralize. In stark contrast to capitalist, fascist, and socialist structures, they function without any need of hierarchy or coercion. Participating in an affinity group can be fulfilling and fun as well as effective.

Most important of all, affinity groups are motivated by shared desire and loyalty, rather than profit, duty, or any other compensation or abstraction. Small wonder whole squads of riot police have been held at bay by affinity groups armed with only the tear gas canisters shot at them.

The Affinity Group is a Flexible Model

Some affinity groups are formal and immersive: the participants live together, sharing everything in common. But an affinity group need not be a permanent arrangement. It can serve as a structure of convenience, assembled from the pool of interested and trusted people for the duration of a given project.

A particular team can act together over and over as an affinity group, but the members can also break up into smaller affinity groups, participate in other affinity groups, or act outside the affinity group structure. Freedom to associate and organize as each person sees fit is a fundamental anarchist principle; this promotes redundancy, so no one person or group is essential to the functioning of the whole, and different groups can reconfigure as needed.

Pick the Scale That’s Right for You

An affinity group can range from two to perhaps as many as fifteen individuals, depending on your goals. However, no group should be so numerous that an informal conversation about pressing matters is impossible. You can always split up into two or more groups if need be. In actions that require driving, the easiest system is often to have one affinity group to each vehicle.

Get to Know Each Other Intimately

Learn each other’s strengths and vulnerabilities and backgrounds, so you know what you can count on each other for. Discuss your analyses of each situation you are entering and what is worth accomplishing in it—identify where they match, where they are complentary, and where they differ, so you’ll be ready to make split-second decisions.

One way to develop political intimacy is to read and discuss texts together, but nothing beats on-the-ground experience. Start out slow so you don’t overextend. Once you’ve established a common language and healthy internal dynamics, you’re ready to identify the objectives you want to accomplish, prepare a plan, and go into action.

Decide Your Appropriate Level of Security

Affinity groups are resistant to infiltration because all members share history and intimacy with each other, and no one outside the group need be informed of their plans or activities.

Once assembled, an affinity group should establish a shared set of security practices and stick to them. In some cases, you can afford to be public and transparent about your activities. in other cases, whatever goes on within the group should never be spoken of outside it, even after all its activities are long completed. In some cases, no one except the participants in the group should know that it exists at all. You and your comrades can discuss and prepare for actions without acknowledging to outsiders that you constitute an affinity group. Remember, it is easier to pass from a high security protocol to a low one than vice versa.

Make Decisions Together

Affinity groups generally operate on via consensus decision-making: decisions are made collectively according to the needs and desires of every individual involved. Democratic voting, in which the majority get their way and the minority must hold their tongues, is anathema to affinity groups—for if a group is to function smoothly and hold together under stress, every individual involved must be satisfied. Before any action, the members of a group should establish together what their personal and collective goals are, what risks they are comfortable taking, and what their expectations of each other are. These matters determined, they can formulate a plan.

Since action situations are always unpredictable and plans rarely come off as anticipated, it may help to employ a dual approach to preparing. On the one hand, you can make plans for different scenarios: If A happens, we’ll inform each other by X means and switch to plan B; if X means of communication is impossible, we’ll reconvene at site Z at Q o’clock. On the other hand, you can put structures in place that will be useful even if what happens is unlike any of the scenarios you imagined. This could mean preparing resources (such as banners, medical supplies, or offensive equipment), dividing up internal roles (for example, scouting, communications, medic, media liaison), establishing communication systems (such as burner phones or coded phrases that can be shouted out to convey information securely), preparing general strategies (for keeping sight of one another in confusing environments, for example), charting emergency escape routes, or readying legal support in case anyone is arrested.

After an action, a shrewd affinity group will meet (if necessary, in a secure location without any electronics) to discuss what went well, what could have gone better, and what comes next.

Tact and Tactics

An affinity group answers to itself alone—this is one of its strengths. Affinity groups are not burdened by the procedural protocol of other organizations, the difficulties of reaching agreement with strangers, or the limitations of answering to a body not immediately involved in the action.

At the same time, just as the members of an affinity group strive for consensus with each other, each affinity group should strive for a similarly considerate relationship with other individuals and groups—or at least to complement others’ approaches, even if others do not recognize the value of this contribution. Ideally, most people should be glad of your affinity group’s participation or intervention in a situation, rather than resenting or fearing you. They should come to recognize the value of the affinity group model, and so to employ it themselves, after seeing it succeed and benefiting from that success.

Organize With Other Affinity Groups

An affinity group can work together with other affinity groups in what is sometimes called a cluster. The cluster formation enables a larger number of individuals to act with the same advantages a single affinity group has. If speed or security is called for, representatives of each group can meet ahead of time, rather than the entirety of all groups; if coordination is of the essence, the groups or representatives can arrange methods for communicating through the heat of the action. Over years of collaborating together, different affinity groups can come to know each other as well as they know themselves, becoming accordingly more comfortable and capable together.

When several clusters of affinity groups need to coordinate especially massive actions—before a big demonstration, for example—they can hold a spokescouncil meeting at which different affinity groups and clusters can inform one another (to whatever extent is wise) of their intentions. Spokescouncils rarely produce seamless unanimity, but they can apprise the participants of the various desires and perspectives that are at play. The independence and spontaneity that decentralization provides are usually our greatest advantages in combat with a better equipped adversary.

Bottomlining

For affinity groups and larger structures based on consensus and cooperation to function, it is essential that everyone involved be able to rely on each other to come through on commitments. When a plan is agreed upon, each individual in a group and each group in a cluster should choose one or more critical aspects of the preparation and execution of the plan and offer to bottomline them. Bottomlining the supplying of a resource or the completion of a project means guaranteeing that it will be accomplished somehow, no matter what. If you’re operating the legal hotline for your group during a demonstration, you owe it to them to make sure someone can handle it even if you get sick; if your group promises to provide the banners for an action, make sure they’re ready, even if that means staying up all night the night before because the rest of your affinity group couldn’t show up. Over time, you’ll learn how to handle crises and who you can count on in them—just as others will learn how much they can count on you.

Go Into Action

Stop wondering what’s going to happen, or why nothing’s happening. Get together with your friends and start deciding what will happen. Don’t go through life in passive spectator mode, waiting to be told what to do. Get in the habit of discussing what you want to see happen—and making those ideas reality.

Without a structure that encourages ideas to flow into action, without comrades with whom to brainstorm and barnstorm and build up momentum, you are likely to be paralyzed, cut off from much of your own potential; with them, your potential can be multiplied by ten, or ten thousand. “Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed people can change the world,” Margaret Mead wrote: “it’s the only thing that ever has.” She was referring, whether she knew it or not, to affinity groups. If every individual in every action against the state and status quo participated as part of a tight-knit, dedicated affinity group, the revolution would be accomplished in a few short years.

An affinity group could be a sewing circle or a bicycle maintenance collective; it could come together for the purpose of providing a meal at an occupation or forcing a multinational corporation out of business through a carefully orchestrated program of sabotage. Affinity groups have planted and defended community gardens, built and occupied and burned down buildings, organized neighborhood childcare programs and wildcat strikes; individual affinity groups routinely initiate revolutions in the visual arts and popular music. Your favorite band was an affinity group. An affinity group invented the airplane. Another one maintains this website.

Let five people meet who are resolved to the lightning of action rather than the agony of survival—from that moment, despair ends and tactics begin.

[purple-plum-petals]

Hello!! I see your requests for Homicipher are open and I got giddy :D (starving for more content) May I request fluff drabble for Mr Silviar? Maybe his s/o teaching him how to say "I love you" in human language? Thank you!

⊱ Those Three Words ⊰ || Mr. Silvair X Reader

╭─���━━━━━━━━━━━─╮   Character(s): Mr. Silvair (Homicipher/文字化化) Reader Type: Human (Gender-Neutral Pronouns) Warning(s): Spoilers for Homicipher (specifically Route End: Mr. Silver Hair 1), Canon-typical Mentions of Violence (and Horror-Elements), Cultural Barriers (Mr. Silvair Doesn’t Fully Comprehend Certain Emotions). Anything spoken in the other world’s language will be bolded. Genre: Drabble, Fluff, Slight Angst, Pre-Established Romantic Relationship (It’s Complicated, honestly). Word Count: ~3,280 Request: “Hello!! I see your requests for Homicipher are open and I got giddy :D (starving for more content) May I request fluff drabble for Mr Silviar? Maybe his s/o teaching him how to say "I love you" in human language? Thank you!” Author’s Note: Mr. Silvair!!! He’s genuinely so pretty, y’all – it’s not fair. 😔 I find his overall character to be quite fascinating, and a part of me is really hoping the game gets a DLC or something to further expand on each of the character’s lore (and more moments with the MC, of course). Like game, what do you mean that some of the monsters may have been humans while others probably never were?? I desperately need more food… I headcanon that Mr. Silvair was either 1. never human, or 2. has been in the other world for a very long time, resulting in the loss of his memory as a human which could be why he’s so interested in researching them/maintaining the MC’s humanity. 🤔 But that’s just a theory – a game theory! Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

→ If you enjoyed my work, please reblog it if you can! Exposure on Tumblr is based on reblogging content rather than liking it, so your support would be much appreciated!  ♡ ╰─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╯

Even after everything that had happened between you and this world’s resident human-enjoyer, you surprisingly still felt at ease with Mr. Silvair. That comfortability, though, made you think hard about your sanity. After all, it probably wasn’t normal to be comfortable around someone who enjoyed taking you apart and watching your body put itself back together over and over again. Yet, you did, and you didn’t mind your current arrangement as much as you probably would have in the past. 

Mr. Silvair’s home was destroyed in a fiery explosion (courtesy of himself), so you had offered to help him find a new one. You managed to locate a large room, one that he deemed satisfactory enough to call his base, and you had been staying with him indefinitely since then. As long as you had a comfy bed to lay in and someone else to keep you company, you were happy. 

Your other friends(?) frequently stopped by as well to say hello, the most common ones being Mr. Crawling and Mr. Chopped. While you were occasionally hit with a feeling of loneliness, it was hard to feel that way with so many friendly faces around. Well… maybe their faces weren’t that friendly, but they were kind and gentle with you, and that’s what truly mattered. 

You hear the sound of Mr. Silvair moving around in the room adjacent to the one you typically stayed in, and you wonder to yourself what his plans for today are. The tall, long-haired man spent most of his time engaged in research. You didn’t see him as frequently as one would expect despite the fact you two were practically roommates. All you could do was hope he wasn’t messing around with and subsequently angering any more terrifying, violent ghosts. You enjoyed your current home, and going out to look for another one wasn’t very high on your list of things to do. 

The Rubik’s Cube in your hand was still as scattered as ever, and it seemed like, no matter how long you spent trying to solve it, you were only able to successfully complete one side. Mr. Masque was kind enough to give it to you (he apparently had a whole stash of the things somewhere), and his gift was something you were immensely grateful for. Attempting to figure out the puzzle helped you pass the time wherever you were alone (and it most likely helped you keep your head on straight). 

You’re currently lying flat on your back atop the plush bed in the relatively empty living space, looking up at the gray concrete ceiling with a blank stare. Once you decide you’ve loafed around for long enough, you stand up slowly from the bed, placing the cube gently on the covers of the cot. You stretch your arms above your head, a strangled noise coming from your throat at the movement of your stiff muscles, and you begin to make your way to the other room where your… 

What even was Mr. Silvair to you? While yes, you were fond of him – hell, you’d go as far as to say you loved him – you knew he didn’t feel the same. You remember the moment he told you “I not understand like”, and that he didn’t want to save you from your condition, no… he found you entertaining to keep around, and that’s why he did what he did. 

It was complicated, you thought, trying to have a relationship with a being who didn’t grasp what the concept of love was. Deep down, though, you knew you wouldn’t change it for the world. He enjoyed your presence, and that was all you could ask for. 

You walk over to the metal door and knock, waiting for a response. After a moment, you hear Mr. Silvair’s voice echo, “Enter.”

The door opens with a slight creak as you twist the knob, peeking your head inside the somewhat grimy space. The room, still fairly new, didn’t have as much blood or gore as his old one did. There were fresh stains on the floor and wall, you noted, and you couldn’t help but wonder who or what they were from exactly. It didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things, though, so you didn’t bother asking. 

You grin up at the taller man and give him a small wave, saying softly, “Hello. I not bother?”

He returns your smile, placing the scalpel in his hand on the stainless steel tray that held a variety of medical tools. It looked like he was in the process of cleaning the many, typically blood-stained, pieces of equipment. Mr. Silvair turns to face you and replies gently, “Hello. You not bother. Enter.”

Tilting his head to one side, his long, silver locks move when he does, cascading down his head and slipping off his shoulder at the movement. His smile drops slightly before he asks, “Feeling unwell? Injured? Need cure?”

“No, no cure.” You quickly say, not quite in the mood to be dissected or taken apart right now (honestly, though, you never really were, even if you did understand why it needed to be done). You pause by the door before finally shutting it behind you, the both of you now alone in the private and secluded space. 

Ugh – why was it so hard to say what was on your mind??

After taking a moment to build up your confidence, you tell Mr. Silvair while fidgeting with the rubber of the clear raincoat you wore, “I want see you. Communicate.”

He hums and smiles at your admission, walking over to you before placing a calloused hand on your face. Your eyes close on instinct, and your breathing shutters when he rubs his thumb across your cheek. A part of you wanted to be annoyed with him since he had to be aware of the effect he had on you, yet you didn’t want to run the risk of him removing his cool palm from your skin, so you kept your mouth shut. 

It had taken quite some time for Mr. Silvair to get to this point of physical affection with you (something he began doing more often after he saw how much you enjoyed getting head-pats from Mr. Crawling), so you didn’t want to ruin any progress you two had made in your complicated and unconventional relationship. 

“Okay,” Mr. Silvar starts, removing his hand from your face as he gestures to one of the two chairs in the room. He smiles down at you before saying, “Sit. We communicate.”

You do as you’re told without speaking another word, your hands folded in your lap after you sit down, watching Mr. Silvair take a seat on the chair across from you. You talk with him for quite some time, doing your best to update him on your current progress with the puzzle since that was pretty much the only thing you had going on in your life. While it wasn’t satisfying to speak in the other world’s language because it tended to miss most of the nuances of speech, it was the only way the two of you could communicate. 

Mr. Silvair seemed to pick up on your frustration, seeing you were growing annoyed at the lack of words in your arsenal – the term you were looking for wasn't coming to mind. In response, he tilts his head to the side and asks you, “You upset. Why?”

“Not right words.” You reply, brows furrowed when you look up at him, your gaze landing on the bloody bandages wrapped around his eyes. You turn your head to look down at the floor, the somewhat fresh pool of blood perfectly matching the color of the Rubik’s Cube. You point to the puddle and turn to ask Mr. Silvair, “What’s this called in your language? Can you tell me how to say this color?”

“Blood.” Mr. Silvair responds, not understanding what you wanted him to explain. 

“No, no.” You quickly reply, shaking your head. You continue to glance between him and the blood, enunciating your words even though he didn’t understand your language the same way you were able to understand his. You didn’t back down or give up, though, saying again, “The color – I want to know what color blood is.”

He pauses, one hand under his chin as he seemingly takes a moment to figure out what you are asking him. After a few beats, Mr. Silvair replies with a word you haven’t heard anyone speak before, “???”

You visibly brighten at the new word, and the expression on your face causes Mr. Silvair to let out a light chuckle before he crosses one of his legs over the other. You take a breath before telling him, “Okay. Thank you.” 

After another pause, you continue to speak, “So… One part object done, red part. Other parts hard – not finish.”

Mr. Silvair had been leaning forward in his chair, his elbow digging into his knee while his hand rested under his chin, holding his head up as he stared at you with an unwavering gaze. He always listened to you with rapt interest, and you would be lying if you said the constant attention didn’t make your heart stutter in your chest. However, he suddenly speaks, pointing to the pool of blood you had been gesturing toward moments before, “What you call that?”

“Huh?” You ask, pausing your story to look at him. Mr. Silvair doesn’t say anything else, though, giving you a moment to comprehend what he has asked you. You perk up when your brain finally registers what Mr. Silvair had said, replying to him happily, “Oh, that’s the color red. So, blood is typically red – blood red.” 

“R-ehd?” He echos, and the sound of his voice speaking a word that you were able to understand without having to flip through your mental dictionary had your breath hitching. It sounded so strange but so nice coming from his lips. 

“Yeah, red! Blood is red!” You say, sounding excited and oh-so happy. Mr. Silvair would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t find the look on your face and the tone of your voice endearing. Then, your expression shifts slightly as you lean forward in your chair, saying enthusiastically, “Oh my god – I just got an idea! Me teach you me language!”

“...You language?” Mr. Silvair asks after a moment, shifting in his seat slightly. 

“Yes! Me teach you!” You reply, gesturing to both him and you with your hands. Your mind remembers the way Mr. Silvair and Mr. Chopped helped you shortly after you first arrived, teaching you directions to walk, facial expressions, and more. They had helped you expand your knowledge of this world’s language, and they were probably responsible for your survival in so many of those early interactions. So, you smile at him as you say, “We same.”

He returns a smile, nodding his head and replying with a simple, “Okay.”

“Alright, so, let me think here…” You hum to yourself, leaning back in your chair and closing your eyes while you consider what you should start with. Body parts seemed to be the first thing that popped into your head, so that’s eventually what you decided to start with. Sitting up in the chair, you point toward your hand with the other, tapping a finger to your palm as you speak, “Okay, so, this is my hand – hand. Can you say hand?”

It was kind of cute, strangely enough, seeing Mr. Slivair take the time to repeat the word you spoke over and over in his mind, trying to match the movement of your mouth with his own. Your languages were quite different in sounds, syllables, and the like, so he was practicing what to say before actually speaking. After a few moments of contemplation, he replies, “...H-ah-nd.”

“Hey, that was pretty good! Not bad for your first try, Mr. Silvair, even if the pronunciation is a bit off.” You say with a wide smile, clapping your hands together as you applaud him on his efforts. He chuckles again, finding your way of teaching to be… sweet. 

Then, you speak again, once again grabbing his attention. You tap the pad of your finger under the skin of your eye, asking him, “Do you remember what this is called? I think I’ve told you before.”

Mr. Silvair is quicker in his response this time, having heard you ask him about his own eyes before as he smoothly says, “Eye.” 

“Yes! Good job!” You praise once more, giving him a thumbs up in response. Then, he stands up from his seat, walking over to you while his once-white lab coat flows behind him. You crane your head back to look up at him from where you were still sitting, a simple and stupid, “...Huh?” leaving your mouth. 

Mr. Silvair reaches a hand to your face, cupping your chin gently in his hand. You feel his thumb resting on your bottom lip, and he begins to move his finger back and forth along the slightly chapped flesh, tugging at it slightly. He tilts his head to the side, asking you seriously, “What this called?”

“Oh, uh…” You know your face is probably flushed beyond belief at this point if the heat cascading through your head is anything to go by, and your mind and heart are completely caught off-guard by his sudden touch and question. You avert your gaze to the side, swallowing harshly before you finally reply, “They’re my lips – they’re, umm… similar to mouth. Lips, mouth, same.”

“...Lips?” Mr. Silvair asks again for clarification, his voice having an almost husky tone to it that has a shiver travel down your spine. 

You nod in response, muttering a barely audible, “Yes…” 

Mr. Silvair hums at your response, a small smile gracing his lips. He leans down, face so close to yours, before he inquires with an almost teasing tone to his voice, “You want touch?”

“Y-Yes.” You answer at an almost embarrassingly fast speed. 

The man who you had grown so fond of chuckles at your enthusiasm before leaning forward, pressing his lips softly to yours while he holds your face between his palms. Kisses weren’t a common thing between the two of you, and they were really only something Mr. Silvair initiated when he felt like it. You could feel the intensity at which your heart was beasting due to his sudden affections, and there was a part of you that was worried it would burst out of your chest right then and there. 

Your eyes flutter shut and you tilt your head to the side, your hands coming up to rest atop his – his hands that were holding your cheeks so, so gently. It was almost sickening the way he was holding you like you could break at any moment. 

Then, almost as quickly as it began, the kiss ended before you even realized it did. Mr. Silvair’s forehead was now pressed against yours, and he doesn’t make any move to remove his hands from your face. Your lips were no longer touching, and yet he still lingered.  

Mr. Silvair didn’t play fair, you thought, yet you couldn’t help but wonder why he wanted to kiss you so suddenly, so randomly. You close your eyes and your brows furrow at the tightening in your throat, an aching sensation slowly spreading throughout your chest like a disease before you whisper, “...I love you.”

There’s a silence, a stretch of nothingness before Mr. Silvair suddenly asks you, his voice just as soft as yours had been, “Repeat?”

“...No,” Your response is nearly immediate, and you shake your head before repeating once more, “Nothing.”

“...I love you.” The sound of those three words leaving his lips nearly causes your mind to implode. It sounded so sweet, yet it also felt worse than any suffering you had experienced before. The searing and excruciating pain, the feeling of a blade digging itself into the flesh of your torso couldn’t compare to the deep-seated torment you felt right now.

Mr. Silvair hums, tilting his head to the side as his thumbs continue to caress your cheeks, “What mean?”

You knew there was no point, no reason to try and explain your feelings again, but you do. You still do, even though you know it’s pointless to try. You can’t bring yourself to look at him as you speak, finding the concrete floor more interesting, “Mean… mean me like you. Lot like.”

There’s a pause, a moment of contemplation before Mr. Silvair says, “...Not understand.”

“I know.” You reply, nodding your head once in response. 

“You know?” He asks you, sounding somewhat confused, a tone you very rarely heard from the man. Had he forgotten that moment that you couldn’t seem to forget, the memory that you continuously found replaying in your mind like a broken record? It wasn’t fair, you thought, that only you were forced to hold onto such a painful memory. 

“You communicate before.” You clarify, finally willing yourself to look at his face. Mr. Silvair’s expression was tight, his lips drawn into a flat line. 

You needed to get away, to just run from this moment in the hopes he would forget the whole exchange just as he apparently did the last one. You take your hands and grab his wrists, removing his palms from your face before you stand up from the chair. You refuse to look at him as you turn, heading to the door as you utter, “...I’m going to go for a walk, so I’ll be back later. Goodbye.”

Then, you feel something tug at the sleeve of your raincoat. It wasn’t strong, nothing that would actually stop you from moving, but your legs proceeded to hault at the small action. Mr. Silvair says, his tone not demanding in the slightest – if anything, it sounded like a plea as he speaks, “No exit.”

You take a deep breath and turn around to face him, asking in such a small voice that it even caught yourself off-guard, “...Why?”

“I want you here.” Mr. Silvair responds quickly, so quickly it seems to have taken both of you by surprise. The two of you stare at each other for a moment before he asks, finally releasing the material of your jacket from in between his fingers, “Stay… Will you stay?”

You once again find yourself wondering if Mr. Silvair was aware of the effect he had on you as a sigh leaves your mouth. You nod your head lightly and reply, “I will stay.”

“Good.” He says in response, a gentle smile on his face as he says for the second time, “I love you.”

You frown at him and shake your head, saying with a slight edge of frustration in your voice, “No speak. Not true.” 

“True… Believe true.” He says quickly, reaching out to once again place a hand against your cheek. You don’t move, don’t flinch away from his touch – you still relish the way he’s holding you like a fragile piece of glass. Mr. Silvair’s brows are furrowed ever so slightly as he mutters, “Confused.”

“You’re telling me… How do you think I feel?” You say with a huff, your hand holding into his as you find yourself nuzzling your nose into his palm. The painful feeling in your chest was still present, but it wasn’t nearly as excruciating as it had been now. You find it in yourself to smile, gazing up at him as you speak, “...but we’ll get through it together – we together. Right?”

“To-geh-ther…” He repeats, leaning down to press his forehead to yours once more as he says softly, “Yes.”

[ceaselesswatchersspecialboy]

What happens when Ford eventually returns? I mean, Dipper and Mabel will have to get used to a whole ‘new’ Ford, and Bill is a chaos-god again, so meeting him in his real form will be interesting, will Bill just hang around?

To summarise: It isn’t great, for anybody.

In the case of Ford, it’s like he’s just woken up from sleep. In his mind, it’s like no time has passed at all, but instead 30 years has, and he has to come to terms with that. His paranoia is intense, and to make matters worse, he doesn’t just feel like a stranger in his own home, but a stranger in his own body. He honestly spends a lot of time around Stan, despite his lingering anger, as Stan is the only person who doesn’t look at him strangely, or make him feel like he’s the one who stole this body, that he’s the one who doesn’t belong. Stan’s familiar. He’s safe. Everything else is just… wrong.

He’s generally quite unsure around the twins, which is a mutual feeling.

Mabel wants him to feel welcome, she really does, but she’s struggling to cope with the feelings of confusion and betrayal, and though she does her best to put on a smile and get to know him, he always seems very far away. Meanwhile, Dipper thought he knew the Author for the longest time, but apparently, it was all a lie, and he’s hurt, they both are, but Dipper honestly handles it worse. He’s fixated enough on Bill’s pages in the journal to know he’s dangerous, that he did something bad to their real Grunkle Ford, and he’s relentless in finding out what.

It feels like walking on eggshells at all times. Their new Great Uncle Ford is jumpy, and he’s always looking at them like they’re going to attack him. He’s only ever really at ease when Stan is around. Speaking of Stan, he doesn’t blame his brother for being so on edge, nor is annoyed at Ford constantly trying to argue with Stan and prove Bill has manipulated him too, because to Ford, it’s the only possible explanation as to why Stan would protect him. And Stan gets that. Even now, he will never forget the anger he felt at seeing Ford’s body, how damaged it was, and how Bill laughed about it. But, unfortunately, he’s spent 30 years with Bill, 30 years Ford had taken from him, and that leaves everything painfully complicated.

Speaking of Bill, I haven’t decided exactly how he’s going to be present, either he’s completely back to hanging around the mindscape, or he’s latched onto Ford still somehow, either way, he hangs around.

I have a particular vision in mind of him entering the twins dreams sometimes, especially if they’re having a nightmare, and he and Mabel end up having a conversation one night.

I may make a full, coloured comic for it honestly, because it’s very clear in my mind, and Mabel asking Bill to lie to her for her own comfort… yeah.

(If anyone’s seen Buffy, it’s kind of based off the ‘Lie to me’ scene)

(One final note: I think DD&MD will still be the key to getting Ford to open up, but it’s something the whole family gets involved with, even Stan and Mabel, though they admit the game isn’t really for them, just to make him feel more comfortable around them, and break the tension a bit more. Dipper kind of figures out he likes it in the similar fashion of Ford seeing his die!)

[miscellaneouzz]

More Vox Machina meta time bc I feel like people do NOT talk enough about how complex Pike and Scanlan’s relationship is. First off the show is very good at steering away from the typical he’s-annoying-so-she-eventually-gives-in misogynistic approach a lot of those types of dynamics have. Like it initially comes off as just cute and flirtatious until their dynamic ironically becomes the least romantically driven of the main ships in a way that’s far more layered than I expected. It always feels like Pike’s complicated feelings come with observing Scanlan from a distance, she’ll flirt back and play along but ultimately wants to see the person he COULD be, the more sincere and earnest side to him (which can also be tied to Zerxus’ comment about her taking pride in “redeeming” her friends).

But then from Scanlan’s perspective, becoming the person he “could” be means distancing himself from Pike completely, because he’s in love with her and in his mind he sees that as an example of him clinging to his old habits of “finding all the wrong ways” to fill his emptiness. His scene with her on the balcony felt like such a culmination of both their complicated feelings– him relying on those coping mechanisms and Pike recognizing that– and I think that’s part of why he cried and why Pike pulled away at the last second. After that scene, we pretty much see Scanlan stop pursuing romantic interest in Pike for the rest of the season, but she’s still the only person he’ll be vulnerable with.

So then comes this heartbreaking irony that Pike’s been wanting more sincerity from Scanlan for a while now, only for Scanlan finally opening up more about his feelings to include him saying things that end up hurting and pushing away Pike. Because now Scanlan being more vulnerable and sincere means finally admitting he doesn’t view Vox Machina as his “real” family and that he never thought he mattered when he was with them and I don’t think that’s something Pike was truly ready for. And in the end Scanlan is still defining his worth purely on his relationships with others– if he’s no longer pouring his identity into romance/sex, he’s gotta pour it all into his newfound parenthood. He’s still flawed and not in a way where everything just hinges on Pike to “fix” him.

I think when it comes to the romantic relationships in the series it’s the one I’m most invested in from a character perspective. They’re the only pairing that’s yet to sincerely confess or discuss feelings for each other despite how much their relationship focuses on the need for sincerity and it’s so interesting. Like through the relationship struggles of Keyleth x Vax and Percy x Vex, we still see them be more open and upfront with both the conflicts and resolutions of their feelings for each other.

Pike & Scanlan are the only ship we’ve seen neither for, neither a straightforward conversation on the conflict of their relationship itself nor a sincere resolution to their feelings. And I think it has a lot to do with the parallel you can make about their own crisis of identity. Their character motivations and struggles with identity are not entirely dependent on each other as Scanlan has a tumultuous relationship with parenthood and Pike with her faith yet they impact each other so deeply.

There’s a lot more to say BUT for now… onto whatever season 4 brings for the gnomes!

[bookshopsbizarreblog]

I don't normally care to get involved in Tumblr discourse, but ik you prev so I'll share my thoughts <3. The first set is more in relation to your comment than the root post, but it's your comment that got me thinking.

While your argument makes some sense on paper, and the fundamental core of it is trying to affirm folks trans identities (always a good thing), it still rings a bit.... not necessarily gender essentialist, since that has connotations™, but rigid in terms of what gender means. There is no universal set of features, internal, external, experiential, or socially mandated, that encompass what it means to be any given gender. I'm sure this is something we agree on, barring possible quibbles about how self identification functions. If someone says they're a certain gender (or not, for that matter), you believe them. How they identify is in their hands.

But identifying one way now doesn't necessarily mean that all of their past experiences align with them as their present gender going through that. For some people, I'm sure it does. There is a whole lot of utility in recontextualizing one's past in that way, in, as you put it, declaring that they "[were] not experiencing it as women, they[ were] experiencing it as men who are being treated as women." Or whatever other gender is relevant for the given situation. But it's not necessarily universally true. Case in point, genderfluid people. Someone feeling nonbinary one day and like a man the next doesn't mean that their experiences within the self-identification of nonbinary are all retroactively male experiences. Again, I'm sure that's preaching to the choir here.

For binary trans folks, I can't imagine not applying a similar principle. If someone believed and was treated as though they were a specific gender growing up, and later discovered otherwise, how they choose to relate to and understand their past is their call. The root truth is that gender and identification is a complicated mess, and we are all constantly shifting in our relationships to society and ourselves. Even cis people can experience dysphoria and disconnect from their preferred gender. There's no one unified story for what it means to be any given person. We get to make those ourselves. It'd be completely valid for a trans man to look back at when he thought he was a girl, along with everything that came with it, and pick out the early signs that would lead to them deciding that being a girl didn't suit them without invalidating their previous experience with that gender. We don't have to understand ourselves as always having been one way or the other, even within a binary identification. We can, if it serves us. But it's an individual's decision.

Anywho, that's just my rambling thoughts on what you said. TL; DR - I agree overall with you but think there's room for individual nuance and different self-concepts.

Now to actually address the disconnect I see between you and OP lol

I don't feel like your two claims are contradictory, and the linking factor is empathy. Let's set aside everything else I said, just work with a spherical trans man in a frictionless vacuum someone who has always known they were a man in the wrong body, with all the frustrations and dysphoria that entails. As OP said, they will not have always passed, and will thus have first hand experience of how society treats women.

Now, does this make them a woman? Obviously not. Does this mean they experience it identically to how women do? Again, no (though I'd also argue against any one universal experience with sexism and harassment). But they can still get it. They can still understand how it feels to go through all that due to society's perceptions of women. And I think that's closer to the point OP is making. They're not arguing that being on the receiving end of misogyny makes trans men women.

They're just saying "we experience it too. We understand how painful it can be. Don't discount our pain, or our knowledge of it, just because we're men. You're ignoring a very real struggle many of us have gone through, and that also hurts."

At least that's my reading, prev. Feel free to disagree, and I'd love to hear your thoughts! I'm sure I've missed some things and have points people might quibble or clarify. Learning is a constant process and I'd appreciate feedback!

i think im going to lose my fucking mind actually.

this little make believe game that yall are playing where ur all pretending that we have always been passing as cis men is honestly just really sickening to read. as if trans men have never been sexually harassed or abused because society perceives us as women. im genuinely of the opinion that u all just do not believe trans men face misogyny and thats so unbelievably fucked up and just not based in reality. its actually disgusting and vile.

[kokokoula]

drunk confessions

a/n: wow i haven't posted in a long while hahaha thanks for staying :) i'm so burnt out from exams please tolerate me🥲 again, not beta read, my beta reader is busy as heck because of a hellish sch system. also, i wrote all of this at 3am, i hope it's still readable TT (this is obvi in timeskip no underage drinking guys)

---

"i think i love you."

you rest your head on your palm, gazing at him with soft eyes and warm cheeks. you reek of alcohol; tsukishima doesn't seem to care.

the two of you sit by the bar at the far end, where the light jazz music gets faint. he's thinking clearly, only a bit red from a drink or two— or is it something else?— while you're flat out drunk. his eyes widen slightly at your confession, and pauses.

"don't say things you don't mean." tsukishima eventually brushes you off, pushing his glasses further up. despite that, his heart beats a little faster, and he hates it.

you splay out your arms across the countertop, burying your face in them. he takes the last swig of his drink. there is the distant sound of glasses clinking and a cheer.

"tsukki?" his name is a bit slurred as you turn to him again. your hair is in a tangled mess, locks of it falling over your eyes. he resists the urge to tuck them away and behind your ear.

tsukishima nudges your foot: a sign to continue.

"y'know, when i first met you, i thought you were an arrogant, self-centred bastard. i hated you." you state, fiddling with your empty shot glass. wow, and just when he thought things were getting intimate.

"where exactly are you going with this?" he frowns at you.

"we used to bicker about almost everything at school. i can't count how many times yamaguchi had to step in." you giggle, hiccuping at the end. you didn't seem to have heard him but he doesn't mind. he shakes his head, a small smile appearing on his face; you look so cute being lost in your own world.

"remember it was our last class, and it happened to rain that day? you laughed at me because i didn't bring an umbrella." yes, he remembers. tadashi was sick that day, and the both of you ended up getting lectured many times by teachers for your incessant arguments. he almost laughs at the thought of it.

"i didn't expect to find your umbrella in my shoe locker after you left, though. you said you had an extra when i confronted you about it but yamaguchi already told me you had returned home drenched." tsukishima's face starts to burn. shit, being reminded of how down bad he was—and still is— is embarrassing. he wishes he was much cooler about it.

"i couldn't accept that you were capable of being nice, let alone to me..." it's even more so because of you.

"...till i realised you're nothing like what i thought you were. you admit your own faults, are too hard on yourself, and incredibly encouraging of your friends in your own complicated way. hell, even to hinata and kageyama!" you're sitting upright now, your hands making exaggerated movements as you talk. you take a deep breath in.

"it's your fault that i can't stop thinking about you, and that i get so sickeningly happy when i see you. so shuddup, i do mean it when i said i think, no wait, i know i love you." you rebuke him, pointing your finger at him like an angry child.

you have done it. you've lit his face on fire with your words. he can't tear his eyes away from your piercing gaze.

tsukishima isn't the most affectionate person, but maybe it's the late hour, or the influence of the alcohol, because he reaches over to caress the back of your head and bring you closer to him. his lips softly presses against your forehead, lingering there for a few seconds before pulling away. he sees your eyes sparkle.

since kei believes actions speak louder than words, he hopes you know that this, everything, means something.

[quietstormxr]

More than Worthy - Clueless Girl - Pt 2

Bodhi Durran x Reader

Angst, Fluff

Requested Part 2 to Clueless Girl

Summary: There's no time for holding yourself back anymore.

Word Count: 6.6k

A/N: Swearing, some Fourth Wing Spoilers

As your awareness returns, you can’t help but squint your eyes at the staunch white that is burning your eyelids. Next, you notice the pungent smell of antiseptic and healing herbs assaulting your nostrils. You scrunch your nose as you slowly begin to blink your eyes open. 

When you can finally open your eyes fully and focus, you scan the room. You see a chair that has been pulled by the bed, but it is currently empty. Your brows furrow in confusion trying to piece back together the last day or so. 

How did I end up here?

‘Gentle One.’ You hear as a soft voice stirs in your mind, Ezzonth.

‘What happened Ezzonth?’ You question trying to piece everything together in your mind. 

Before your dragon has a chance to remind you, there are muffled voices talking from outside the door.

“You’ve been here long enough Bodhi. You can’t miss any more classes while waiting on her to recover.” You hear a male voice state with a sense of command.

With your fuzzy mind, it’s hard for you to try and piece together who is speaking, but obviously it must be someone from leadership and Bodhi.

“Why?” You hear another voice question with a snarky tone. You assume it must be Bodhi. “How long did you sit around waiting for Violet to wake up after the fight with Barlowe?”

You furrow your brows. Fight? Is that why you’re in the Infirmary?

“That’s not the same thing. Your life isn’t tied to hers. Besides, I thought you said she was just a clueless girl.”

With that last sentence everything whirs back into place, like all the puzzle pieces arranging themselves correctly. It must be Bodhi and Xaden outside the door. As you start to panic at the thought of having to come face to face with Bodhi, one of the healers walks into the room to check on you.

The man in front of you gives you a small smile. “Glad to see you’re finally awake. Your boyfriend has been sitting here the last two days waiting for you to wake up.” 

Your eyebrows immediately shoot up at the realization that you’ve been laying in the infirmary for two days. A second later, what the healer said hits you in the face.

“Actually,” you say hesitantly. “That guy isn’t my boyfriend. Is there any way that you can make him leave without letting him know I’m awake?”

The healer must sense that there is an underlying story to your request, but he just shakes his head in agreement.

“Of course I can.” He says calmly. “I’ll just get both of them to leave and then I’ll come back and check on you, okay?”

You nod your head back and mumble a quick thanks before you’re watching him walk back out the door. You strain to hear what he says over the cacophony of sounds in the infirmary.

“I’m sorry to you both, but I must ask you to leave.” He starts before you hear the shuffle of two sets of feet.

“Why? Is she awake?” You hear Bodhi and you watch the door incredulously at the hopeful tone that he takes.

“No, she’s not. But we need to check her over and you won’t be able to come back in for a while. Why don’t you head to classes, and you can return again this evening after dinner.” You can almost see Bodhi’s face in your mind’s eye in how he will want to say no. 

“Come on Bodhi.” You hear Xaden coax. “You can come check on her again later.” 

As you hear him talking, you see the shadows at the end of the bed begin to shift. As if a light is turned on, you immediately reach for Ezzonth’s power and build up a shield around yourself and strengthen your mental shields. The last thing you want right now is to have Xaden bursting through the door to mock you or look down on you.

Soon enough, you watch as the shadows seem to settle back on the floor into their natural shape. You inhale deeply and try to calm your racing heart. 

Gods, when did everything become so fucking complicated?

The healer comes back in and begins to ask you questions and check your current vital signs. 

“Although the blade went through your side, it just barely nicked your kidney. You’re very lucky.” He says looking over everything.

“You were also lucky that the guy that’s fretting over you got here so fast and demanded you see Nolon. If he would’ve been five minutes later, you may not have made it.” He says looking at you seeming to ask a question you know you aren’t going to answer. 

You just shake your head back to him as you continue to listen. With Nolon’s mending, the reason you were out for two days was due to the amount of blood you lost. The healer turns you to your side and you look back to see a new five-inch scar slicing through your side.  You shrug your shoulders at the revelation and move to try and sit up. 

Your head swims momentarily with black dots dancing in your vision, but soon enough it all dissipates. 

“Am I clear to go back to my room while everyone is in classes?” You ask hoping that you can get to the safety of your room before you run into anyone. 

“I just need to check with the Head Healer, but I believe you should be good to go. Give me about five minutes.” He turns to leave but before making it completely out the door he turns.

“Are you sure you want to leave before that guy comes back to check on you?”

You can’t help the glare that marks your face at the questioning of your decisions. The healer must take that as a warning and doesn’t press further while continuing out of the room. 

Soon enough you’ve been cleared with instructions to continue to rest for the next four days in your room. The healers had confirmed that someone from their quadrant would be by to check on you three times a day with meals as well. 

Confident that you’d get four more days of avoiding all your problems, you begin your trek back to your room. Fortunately, there is class for another thirty minutes so there aren’t any riders currently milling about. You take this as the blessing it is thanking Zinhal and swiftly make your way back to your room and shut the door making sure your wards are still in place. 

Once inside the safety of your room, you let out a sigh of relief. However, it is short lived when you start to think everything over in the quiet of your room. 

Since when did you become the scared girl that couldn’t face her fears again? Were you really going to let a comment from a guy be the reason that you wilted back in on yourself?

The more and more you let your brain wonder, the more indignant you became at the thought that someone could control how you perceived yourself.

‘This is what I chose you for, Gentle One. You are my rider, and you are more than worthy.’ Ezzonth purrs at you.

With that reminder from your dragon, you let a plan begin to formulate in your head before drifting off to sleep. 

Unfortunately, your rest is interrupted about an hour later by heavy knocks on your door. As you slowly regain your consciousness from sleep you register that someone is talking along with the annoyingly loud knocking.

“Y/N, Love.” You hear someone call. “Please answer the door. Please.”

You rapidly blink your eyes and try to shake yourself awake. You realize that all the blood loss you suffered from the spar is still making you sluggish. As you are finally able to get yourself to rise from your bed, you slowly shuffle over to the door. Before opening it, you rest your arm on the wall and your head follows leaning against it. You drag in a few more deep breaths as you hear three more heavy knocks on your door.

“Please Lo –” The voice cuts off as you draw open the door slightly to be met with worried deep brown eyes. 

Still groggy from being woken up, your mind doesn’t seem to want to process the sight in front of you. 

Finally, your brain seems to catch up again and you slap yourself mentally when you realize that you’ve just opened the door for Bodhi. Narrowing your eyes in a glare, you go to close the door again when you’re stopped by Bodhi’s arm.

“Go away Bodhi.” You snap in a tired voice.

“No, please let me in. Let me talk to you please. What happened? What’s the matter?” He says in rapid succession, his tone rising with the panic shining in his eyes. 

“I have nothing to say to you.” You say in a deadpanned tone, letting your eyes go cold. 

“Why love? Please talk to me.” Bodhi repeats as you can see the terror in his eyes begin to rise and his hand reaching out for you.

“Do NOT call me that.” You hiss out at him while backing up a step. Without thinking it over much in your mind, you continue. “Why don’t you go find some other ‘clueless girl’ to be your love, because you’ve lost your chance with me.”

You continue to watch with cold eyes as your venomous words finally seem to find their mark. Bodhi’s eyes blow wide with continued panic and his arm that was holding the door open falls back down to his side. Soon enough, you watched sorrow and regret find his features, but that was the last thing you saw before you slammed the door in his face.

As soon as the door was closed, your back was to the door, and you let yourself sink to the floor. Even though you wanted to forget Bodhi for his callous words, you couldn’t help the way your heart would leap when he called you love.

As promised, for the next four days you were visited by a healer and brought meals to your room. A few of your friends and squad mates had visited throughout the days, but mercifully Bodhi seemed to get the message and didn’t return. 

As the day came for you to return to classes, you solidified your plan in your mind. No longer would you let anyone think you were something to play with or someone to walk over. Some people knew of your previous history and lineage in the rider’s quadrant, but most were ignorant. 

With this ignorance, you relished the looks that were sent your way when you entered back into formation after finally being cleared. You had brought out your leathers from home that molded perfectly to your curves, showing off the ways in which you had honed your body that the Central Issue leathers just didn’t do. Your flight jacket was tailored to your body in a cut that accentuated all your features.

To top your new look off, you pulled out the two short swords that you excelled at from the back of your armoire and now walked with them strapped to your back. With your hair now secured in braids, you confidently walked to the courtyard and took your place with your squad. 

As you turned, you smirked at the disbelieving looks on your friends faces. So far, none of them had seen you fully dressed out, weapons and all. 

“Damn L/N. What happened to our quiet little squad member?” Nico, one of the guys in your squad, teased. 

You look over at your squad member and give a devious smirk. Something about everyone’s reactions has your confidence soaring even though you aren’t usually the one to want this attention. Before entering the quadrant, you had told yourself you’d keep your head down and wouldn’t draw attention to yourself. However, after the events of the past few weeks, you knew that just wasn’t going to work any longer.

“No kidding, you look hella dangerous with those swords.” Iona calls from your right. 

You smile back at her knowingly. Iona was the only one who knew that you were proficient in short swords since you both would spar at odd times for practice and learning new moves.

“Quiet and standard weren’t getting me anywhere, so now its time to really show the quadrant who I am.” You tease back to your squad mates.

“You’re certainly showing the quadrant something in those leathers.” Cain says from behind you. 

You turn around and watch as the only third year in your squad looks at you up and down appraisingly. You give him your best seductive smile before you turn your attention back towards the front of the dais. 

As you look up, you can see Xaden looking you over from where the wingleaders are standing on the dais. You raise your chin high and hold yourself still under his scrutiny. But you’re rewarded when you realize he can’t seem to stop from appraising you either. Before you know it, formation is over, and you are walking in between your squad mates to your first class. 

Before you make it to the door, you spot Bodhi standing in the hallway further down waiting at the door of the next classroom. You watch as his body goes taut as a bow string as you get closer to him, but he isn’t looking at you. No, he’s looking at the others that are still staring at you appreciatively. You watch as his hands clench into fists so hard his knuckles turn white and threaten to tear from the hold he has them in across his chest. 

“Is there a reason Durran is looking like he’s going to murder the entire quadrant?” Iona whispers in your ear. 

You look back at her with a delighted smirk on your face before replying. “It’s probably because he and I are no longer a thing.”

Iona pulls back and looks at you with raised brows. “When did that happen? And what happened?”

“He had some choice words for his cousin that I overheard.” You converse nonchalantly. “They weren’t something that you would say if you really were interested in someone.”

You left it like that as you walked towards the doorway of your classroom. But before you entered, you took one last look at Bodhi who was now staring directly at you. The conflict in his eyes was palpable. You could see that he was at war with himself on whether to come up to you. Fortunately, before you would have to make the decision to talk to him or not, Nico came up behind you and slung his arm on your lower back leading you into the classroom.

You looked up at him and gave him a wide, knowing smile. He had obviously heard what you had told Iona. 

“Just making sure you don’t have to talk to him if you don’t want to.” He whispers in your ear as you both walk through the doorway and take your seats.

It’s been days since you’ve been wearing your new leathers and swords and it was as if you had just entered the quadrant. Everywhere you turned, there was someone you’d never spoken to trying to get your attention. It wasn’t all good though, some of the comments you heard directly challenged your competency and if the swords at your back were real or not. Some were convinced a ‘girl like you’ would never be able to wield swords like that in a challenge.

But of all the attention you received, both good and bad, the one you enjoyed playing with the most was Bodhi. Watching him squirm as you talked to other guys and even some of the girls gave you more pleasure than you cared to admit to yourself.

Deep down though, you knew it wouldn’t ever go to more than friendly flirting. You weren’t in the business of breaking hearts or giving someone too much hope where there was none. You weren’t going to let someone get their heart broken by you, like what Bodhi had done to you. 

Realizing that things weren’t going to change overnight, you decided that you needed a little flight practice for some fresh air. You had been practicing with Ezzonth on different dismounts since your flight lessons with your squad seemed just boring drills for the both of you.  Skipping dinner sometimes and going to the kitchens later meant you could fly while it was still light and enjoy the freedom without being hampered by others in your class. 

‘Ready to try the rolling dismount again?’ You questioned Ezzonth.

Without directly replying, you felt as Ezzonth began to accelerate and angle for the perfect advantage to dismount. You got up from your seat and steadily made your way to Ezzonth’s shoulder, as you saw the ground rush in towards you, you jumped. As you felt yourself tumble down her leg, you braced yourself to keep running forward. 

When your feet hit the ground, you felt yourself accelerate before very slowly coming to a stop several meters from where you originally landed. You closed your eyes, tilting your head up and taking a deep breath while a self-satisfied smile stole across your face.

“You should come show the third years how its done.” You hear a deep voice call out from behind you. 

You turn quickly and bring your hands to your swords.

“Woah, woah. No need for weapons, I was just trying to give you a compliment.” The deep voice rumbles with a slight chuckle. 

You finally take the time to register the person in front of you. There’s no mistaking the dark hair and hazel eyes of the immensely muscular man in front of you, Garrick. 

You give him a sarcastic smile back and turn to walk away from the Section Leader.

“Oh, come on, not even anything snarky to say back?” He continues to tease you. 

“Nothing in particular to say to you, Section Leader.” You snap.

“No, is it all of us Rebellion kids or just Bodhi you’re icing out?”

You completely stop in your tracks, the rush of blood filling your ears as your fury rises. Why should you be blamed when you were the one that was made to be a fool by them?

‘Ezzonth.’ You bite out to your dragon.

‘Coming, Gentle One.’ She replies.

You stand there rooted to the ground and glare at the Section Leader in front of you, trying to get your anger to an acceptable level. Once you feel slightly in control of yourself, you step up to the hulking Section Leader.

“Not that it’s any of your business, Garrick.” You spit bitterly at him. “But when you hear people say you aren’t worth anyone’s time and you’re just a pretty thing to bed, you tend to shut people out. If you don’t believe me, just go ask your boss and his cousin.”

As if perfectly on cue, you hear the wingbeats of your dragon above your head. You continue to watch Garrick as his brows furrow in confusion at your words. With a practiced maneuver, you sling your shield in a rope around Ezzonth’s neck as he begins to ascend. Eventually you are yanked from the spot in front of the Section Leader and to your dragon’s back. 

‘Hold your ears, Ezzonth.’ You demand.

As soon as you are far enough from the flight field, you let out a frustrated scream into the air at the absolute rage that boils inside of you. You can’t help the indignance that laces your veins at the feeling these men think you are something to be toyed with.

You spend the rest of the night in a cave on one of the snow-covered peaks not far from Basgiath. Ezzonth curled up in front of the entrance as you sit back in the cold cavern and try to get your thoughts together. 

You thought you’d pushed past the harsh words the Wingleader and Bodhi had said, but after that display you know that you have obviously not. 

Soon enough, you are watching the sun rise past the scales of your dragon. You try to let the peace of the cavern settle you as you take several deep breaths.

‘Let’s get back to Basgiath.’ You say softly to Ezzonth, hoping that your dragon knows how grateful you are for her.

As you move towards her leg, she brings her head down and knocks you with her maw. You give her a gentle smile and hug her nose.

‘Thank you for everything.’ You whisper quietly knowing there is no way to possibly convey what you mean with just words. 

‘You are mine, Gentle One. You are my priority.’ Warmth spreads through your chest at Ezzonth’s words. 

As you land back on the flight field and head towards the tunnel to get back to the main campus, you feel the sensation that someone else is there.

You summon a mage light, and your eyes blow wide at the sight in front of you. There’s an infantry cadet that has a rider in their grasp, but their head is covered by a black bag. The only thing you can tell is that the body is female.

Without thinking too much about it, you unsheathe the two swords strapped to your back and brace into a fighting stance.

“Drop her.” You command with a lethal edge. “I’ll only give you one chance.”

The infantry cadet laughs seeming to think that his larger size will be enough to overpower you. You’re ready for him though when he goes to attack after dropping the rider to the ground. 

You let him walk towards you so that whoever that is won’t get caught in the crossfire between the two of you. The guy lunges towards your right side, which is a mistake on his part. As he tries to grab for the sword in your right hand, you drag your left hand up the side of his leg. He hisses in pain as a gash is left down the side of his calf, you know this isn’t a mortal blow, but it will sting and unsteady his stance. 

With a frustrated growl he unsheathes a long sword and tries to swing across your neck. You’re waiting for the move and parry his strike by bringing both swords to your left. With his sword stuck in between yours, you lever it and knock his from his hands. Without stopping, you twist yourself around and slice him through the back. 

Unfortunately, the death blow doesn’t stop him as he grabs a dagger and slices down your upper arm. However, as you push him off your blade, you know that he only has mere moments. You close your eyes as the heavy iron scent of blood fills your lungs, along with the same lead feeling you get any time you have taken a life.

‘You did what was necessary.’ Ezzonth confirms in your mind. 

You let yourself have a second as a wave of nausea roils through your system. After you’ve taken several deep breaths, you walk over to the rider that is lying on the floor and hasn’t flinched throughout the whole fight. 

You slowly drop to your knees in front of the girl and take off the bag that was obscuring her face. Your eyes blow wide as you stare down at the girl in front of you.

Imogen.

Her face is bruised, and she is clearly unconscious, but from what exactly, you are unsure. You take a fortifying breath before you squat down and pull both of her arms around your neck, careful to avoid the hilts of your swords. You slowly rise to your feet with the extra weight that is now on your back and slowly make your way through the rest of the flight tunnel.

As you come close to the entrance, you turn to your right and slide Imogen to the floor. Swiping your fingers across a craggy rock, another click sounds and you push the large stone open. You drop down to pick up Imogen again and begin walking down the path to the healers quadrant. 

No one else knew that you were aware of all these passages. Your signet had become a way for you to sneak around undetected from others since you could shield your entire person. You bent down and picked up Imogen again and cloaked yourself in a shield just in case there was anyone lurking around. As much as you were angry at Imogen for her nasty comments, you were never going to let anyone die innocently.

As soon as you walk into the healers, everyone stops and turns to you. You can only imagine how you look. You huff a laugh to yourself and can imagine the purple smudges under your eyes from not sleeping, the blood that is all over you, swords strapped to your back, hair mussed from lack of sleep, flight and fighting. You are a mess. 

“What happened?” a healer asks sprinting towards you with two other men coming to take Imogen from you. 

“I’m not sure. She was unconscious when I found her and her head was covered.” You retold leaving out some details. 

Unsure of exactly what happened, you knew that the fewer details, the better for both of you.

The healer looked at you and then pointed to your slashed upper arm with a questioning look. 

“This is just a scratch from trying to get her here.” You say as convincingly as you can. 

You can tell that the healer is skeptical of your reasoning, but she just nods and points you over to one of the free beds. 

As you sit there waiting to be tended to, you can’t help the way your mind questions why Imogen would’ve been caught by an infantry cadet in the first place. 

What could she have possibly been doing?

You knew it couldn’t have been an RSC issue because she was alone and so was the infantry guy. You shook your head trying to come up with an excuse but kept coming up blank. 

Soon enough, a healer cadet asked you to take off your flight jacket and helped to clean and stitch the wound on your upper arm. You asked about Imogen and the healers confirmed that she would be fine and just needed a little more time to sleep off whatever had her unconscious. 

Wishing them a thank you for tending to the both of you, you put your swords back on your back and threw your jacket over your uninjured arm. Beginning the walk back to the quadrant, you wondered if you should find one of her marked friends and let them know what happened. 

As if the gods were answering your own question, the minute you walked into the rotunda of the riders quadrant, there were Xaden, Garrick, and Bodhi. 

Gods, do those three do anything without each other? 

You can’t help the question that pops to your mind. With all the calm you can muster, you push your own feelings about them down and head towards the three. Garrick notices you first and you watch as he jerks his head towards you alerting the other two of your presence. 

You watch as Bodhi’s eyes slightly widen and dart between your face and bandaged arm. 

“Are you-“ Bodhi begins, but you cut him off before he can finish.

“I thought you three would like to know I just brought Imogen to the healers quadrant.” You say with a tired sigh.

You watch as all three of them tense. Xaden and Garrick are looking at you with a hint of suspicion in their gaze and Bodhi looks like he is going to try to step between the three. Before they can get riled up anymore, you continue.

“She was being dragged somewhere by a guy in the Infantry. Her head was covered in a black sack, and she was unconscious.” You explain. “I challenged the guy, and he dropped her. I killed him and brought her to the healers. She’s fine and resting there now, in case any of you want to check on her.”

You immediately turn to walk away having done what you thought was right by letting them know where their friend was. Unfortunately, before you could walk away, you felt someone’s hand pull back on your injured arm. 

You let out a hiss and turned back to the group to see Xaden’s hand around your forearm. 

“You mean to tell me that you just happened to walk up, and some guy was just standing there with her limp form?” Xaden asks with disbelief in his voice.

You turn to face him fully and forcefully pull your hand back from his grasp. You look at your wingleader with a steely glare.

“Yes. I did.” You hiss back through grit teeth. “Unlike some people, I believe everyone is worth the effort.”

You let out the last few words slowly so that he can understand your meaning. You’re rewarded as you watch his eyes slightly widen and look down at you. Without waiting for him to say anything else, you back up a few additional steps. As he goes to follow you and most likely ask you more questions, you stop.  

“With all due respect, Wingleader.” You hiss maliciously, spitting his title as if an insult. “Fuck. Off.”

You give your back to the three men and forcefully walk yourself back towards the dormitories. By the time you make it to your room, all you can think to do is drop to your bed for some much-needed sleep. Regrettably, you barely get your swords off your back and boots off before there is a knock at your door. 

You take a deep annoyed breath and shuffle to the door. As you look back at the visitor, you don’t hold back the annoyance in your face. 

“What do you want Bodhi?” You hum agitatedly. 

“Can I talk to you?” Bodhi asks quietly.

Tired enough not to care, you just open the door slightly while gesturing for him to come in. As soon as the door is closed, you continue to let yourself get comfortable in your own room. Good decisions have apparently left your head as you pull your shirt over your head in order to change into something more comfortable. You let the excuses turn in your head as Bodhi’s already seen you undressed before, so with the tiredness dragging down your body, you just keep going. 

As you turn around, you tug a large shirt over yourself before beginning to unbutton your pants. When you take a second to look up, you realize maybe this wasn’t your best idea. Bodhi is stuck absolutely still watching you. You can see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows thickly.

“Sorry.” You mutter and go to sit down on the chair by your desk. “What do you want to say Bodhi? I’m exhausted.”

Your words seem to crack the trance that he had fallen into and before you blink, he’s moving towards you and kneeling next to your side. 

“Are you okay?” He questions as he slides his hand gently over the bandage on your arm. 

“I’ve had worse by the girl that I dragged to the infirmary, so yes, I’m fine.” You huff. 

Why this man thinks he can mother hen you all of a sudden is beyond your comprehension?

“Is that what you needed to talk to me about?” You ask beginning to get sleepier by the minute, letting your eyes shut as your head lulls back.

He doesn’t respond to you immediately. After a few more moments, you feel as his hand ghosts across your cheek. You flutter your eyes open and realize that he’s now standing in front of you and looking down at you with concern. You cock your eyebrow in question and move your hand up to his to knock his away from your face.

At the gesture, his face falls and his eyes turn sad. 

“I know that you heard what Xaden and I spoke about that night and I’m sorry.” He says as he goes to kneel in front of you.

“I will never be able to take those words back and I certainly won’t be able to make excuses for what my cousin said.” He takes the hand of your injured arm while tilting your chin up to look him in the eyes.

“I just need you to know that what I said was a lie.” Bodhi drops his face in defeat, and you can’t honestly tell if you believe him. 

“Why would I believe that you would lie to your own cousin?” You snark defensively. 

He draws his head back and looks you in the eyes. If it wasn’t for the fact that you knew Bodhi’s facial features so well, you would think he was a brilliant actor. But you could see the hurt awash in his eyes and the certain way that he held his head whenever he was trying to convey a truth. 

“Because the bastard thinks that caring about anyone more than who we have is a danger. He thinks that you’ll be a liability to me if I care about you more than what he thinks I should.” He tries to explain.

“And regrettably, the thing is, he’s right.” You scoff indignantly at Bodhi’s words. 

You can’t help the way your eyes roll in response to Bodhi’s words. How can he say that you’re a liability to him if you’re just a convenient addition to keep his bed warm? Before you can open your mouth to voice your opinion of his cousin’s ideals, he’s pulling you to your feet. 

You look back at him with annoyed eyes as he grabs your face with both of his hands. Your tired mind and body betray you and calm at the feel of his calloused hands on your face. 

“You matter more to me than anything or anyone else in this gods forsaken thing we call a school. Or even in my life.” He declares as one of his hands drops from your face and wraps around your waist. 

“I’m absolutely terrified every minute of my life when I can’t see you or know that you’re safe.” He continues as his other hand falls to the back of your neck and his thumb caresses behind your ear. 

“Ever since I met you, I haven’t been able to stand one day without seeing your face, your smile, the way your eyes twinkle in the sunlight and the moonlight. You’re the first thought I have in the morning and the last thought I have at night.” His hand continues to tighten across your waist. 

“I thought I was going to die when Imogen’s blade went through your side. I sat there and I could’ve killed her right then and there for hurting you even a little. I’ve never felt a rage and panic as pure as that moment.” He’s now pulling your entire body even closer until there isn’t any space between you. 

“I was close to setting the entire college on fire when you showed up in formation in those leathers. They hugged every beautiful curve and showed the entire quadrant the absolutely gorgeous body that you had hidden from everyone else. And on top of that, you looked like the goddess of death with those swords strapped to your back, daring anyone and everyone to challenge how deadly you could be.” He drops his head and rests his forehead against yours.

“But the most devastating thought I’ve had was that I could possibly lose you because of my own stupidity. Of course, I never thought you would hear my conversation with Xaden, but I should never had lied to him.” Your both now just a breath away from each other. 

“You’re not a clueless girl. You’re the love of my fucking life. The woman that haunts my thoughts day and night.” He whispers against your lips. “And I’m asking. No. I’m begging you to forgive me. Please. Let me make it up to you.”

You lift your eyes to Bodhi’s and search for any hint of a lie, but all you see is the fire of conviction in his eyes. 

“If I give you another chance,” You breathe, unable to raise the volume of your voice any louder. “You’re going to be working to make up for your mistakes for a very long time.”

“I’ll be begging for your forgiveness on my knees for the rest of our lives, if you’ll let me.” He states back with pure conviction lacing every word. 

“I expect you to have some choice words for that cousin of yours as well.” You say pointedly to the man that can clearly sweep you off your feet. 

“I’ll have all the words to tell him he’s an asshole and to back off, and you’re coming with me when I tell him.” He states and looks into your eyes. “I want you to know how serious I am.”

You can’t help but continue to study the man that has you in a vice grip. You can feel the way his fingers are digging into your waist and the back of your neck as if any minute you will run away or disappear. 

“Please tell me you’ll give me another chance. I promise you won’t regret it.” He begs. 

“If I hurt you again, you can have Ezzonth burn me to a cris-“He continues before you cut him off by bringing your lips to his. 

For a moment you wonder if he really meant what he was saying as he doesn’t respond, but after a few seconds, his hands move to your face. His large palms cover your cheeks and squeeze as he kisses you with a fervor that you’ve never felt before.

He hands then move to your thighs and he taps the back in direction for you to wrap them around his waist. You jump slightly and you continue to explore his mouth as he moves towards the door. In another moment you are slammed against the back of the door as you continue to exchange desperate kisses. He swipes his tongue against the bottom of your lips in request and you open your mouth for him. 

Your body responds immediately arching into him as you continue to tangle with tounges and teeth. He nips at your lower lip as you feel a smile break across his face. He draws back slightly and leans his forehead against yours again as you both try to calm your heaving breaths. 

“Gods, I fucking missed your mouth.” He says, punctuating it with a kiss. 

You snicker at him. “You better behave Durran, or you’re going to find yourself missing it for good.” You can’t help but tease him. 

His face turns serious again as he slowly lowers you back to the ground. His hand goes to your jaw and leans your head to look at him. 

“I don’t know how many times I will have to tell you, but I’ll do it every day if you need me to. You’re it for me. You are my forever, in this plane and beyond.”

He kisses you hard and wraps you in his arms. You nuzzle your face into his neck and take a deep breath. Though you may not have a clue as to what the future holds, you know you’ll be happy as long as you’re wrapped in Bodhi’s arms. 

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