#like on one hand its hard for me to understand.

[piper-2244]

the limit does not exist!

how spencer helps college!reader understand a little calculus and therefore understand how he loves her.

MDNI | smut word count: 1931 warnings & tags & stuff: fem reader, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), lil bit of overstim hehe, pure unbridled affection, LOVE, FLUFF, hugging, reader cries, this was in fact meant to be written for spence's birthday... sorry about that school is kicking my butt lets just pretend it's october! author's note: this one is for my folks who HATE their calculus class and want spencer reid to give them head instead <3 maybe this can help you romanticize it a bit. i think this is classified as self indulgent…like REALLY self indulgent… hah... anyway i hope you enjoy! let me know your thoughts if u have any, i loveeeee you!! have a great day my hands are shaking posting this smut is so scary!!!!!

You sat in bed, staring down your notebook, eyes narrowed. Limits stared back at you. You were just about at your own limit, if you were being honest. 

Your brain, however sharp and witty it may be, is absolutely not one designed for calculus. A literary analysis essay? Done in half an hour. In depth scientific research project? Easiest months of your life. But there’s something about finding the instantaneous rate of change of a curve at one point in time by finding the slope of a tangent line that hasn't clicked yet. 

A slew of other papers- notes, practice worksheets printed from obscure websites, and formulas- surround you, a sea of unfinished thoughts from the past month of the semester.

You bite on the end of your pen, the little hope you had for a good grade in this class slipping further and further away with each passing moment, like the last ember dying in the remains of a fire.

What you really wanted to be doing was celebrating Spencer’s birthday with him right now. A chocolate cake lay on the kitchen counter and pasta simmers on the stove, but you and your boyfriend had agreed to do a solid hour of work before the celebrations ensued.

You were never particularly strong willed when it came to following through on such agreements.

“Teach me calculus,” you say, a very impressive three minutes later, flopping down on the couch. Your head makes its way to its forever resting spot, Spencer’s lap. He raises his eyebrows slightly, thumb reaching out to trace over the slope of your nose. His eyes flit between you and the file to the side of him. 

“I thought we agreed on an hour.”

“Yeah. But it wouldn’t be a very productive hour if I didn’t know how to do what I have to do. And I missed you.” 

He sighs quietly, closing the file next to him. 

“What do you not understand?” You smile at that, loving how quickly you won.

“Related rates. Like, conceptually.” 

Spencer hums in response.

“It’s October. You’re not even supposed to know related rates yet.”

“Fine. Then let's open presents,” you respond, smiley. His eyebrows get impossibly higher, hand stroking your cheek delicately.

“No. I want our night to be a little more stress free when we celebrate, okay? How about you think about that lovely cake you made for me. What if I decided to squash it so that the diameter would get bigger, going from…let’s say, 20 centimeters to 26 centimeters in 3 seconds, and the height would get smal-”

“That wouldn't be nice. It took me like four hours,” you interrupt, grumbling. He cracks a smile.

“For the sake of the example, let's say I was an awful boyfriend and really wanted to ruin all the hard work you put in for me.”

You roll your eyes.

“Hey,” he says, hand moving down to touch your jaw softly. “Don’t do that. Don’t be difficult. I’m helping you.”

“Sorry. I guess I need you to zoom out a little. I don’t really get why I’m learning this as a whole.” Spencer’s eyes pore into yours, staring down at you adoringly for a small moment as he comes up with an answer.

“Calculus helps us begin to explain the unexplainable by harnessing what we can,” Spencer says simply. “Einstein once said that, ‘Pure mathematics is, in its way, the poetry of logical ideas,’ which makes it simple in practice, but I actually like to think about it as the opposite philosophically. Trying to find logic in the more poetic ideas.”

You cuddle deeper in his lap.

“Think he would agree with that?” you ask. “I do answer to Einstein before you, unfortunately.” Spencer bends down to kiss your hair.

“I think so. He also had a really nice quote where he remarked that, ‘Gravitation cannot be held responsible for people falling in love.’ He said, ‘How on earth can you explain in terms of chemistry and physics so important a biological phenomenon as first love? Put your hand on a stove for a minute and it seems like an hour. Sit with that special girl for an hour and it seems like a minute. That's relativity.’”

Spencer takes a deep breath.

“Math doesn’t explain how I love you. It can’t. But I love the fact that it tries to. It kinda makes you wanna learn it as best you can.”

You process that for a long second and nod. He keeps talking.

… 

Presents get opened, and cake gets eaten before dinner. Of course.

You’re now in bed, on top of the covers, forcing Spencer to give you a fashion show of the new sweater vest and tie you got him. He turns to you after putting it on, and you beam. 

“I really like it. You look great. Do you like it?” you ask. He nods, smiling back at you.

“I’m gonna wear it to work tomorrow.” 

You beckon for Spencer to come closer, sitting up in bed. Your hands go out to the tie, tugging at the knot softly. He stares down at you until eventually interrupting your motions with a slow kiss, hands cupping your face.

“You’re so pretty,” he mutters.

He pulls away and finishes what you started, folding the tie neatly and setting it in the drawer. Then comes the vest, and soon enough, he’s just in his boxers.

“You’re the pretty one,” you say quietly. “Come to bed.” He crawls on next to you, tugging you into his arms. “Happy birthday, Spence. I love you.” He dips his forehead to your shoulder.

“I love you.”

Before you know it, he’s shifted on top of you, moving down. Fast. You blink, hard, trying to rid your head of the hazy endorphins as you register what he’s doing.

“What? No, I was gonna do that. It’s your birthday. You don’t have to,” you protest.

“But I really, really want to, darling girl,” he murmurs back, kissing your knee and softly pushing it to the side.

You fluster and Spencer just looks at you, fingers tracing shapes on your waist, waiting for you to be ready. 

“Well. Um. Okay. If you insist. I can’t really deny the birthday boy.” Your voice is small, and a little giddy smile grows on your face. Of course Spencer Reid would want to give you head on his birthday. 

He smiles a little against the bare skin of your hip where your top meets your shorts. Then he meets your eyes. 

“You know you can, though, right?” he asks, voice a little more serious. You reach out to touch his hair softly. 

“Yeah. I know.”

Fingers hook your shorts, gently pulling them down. He presses a kiss to your thigh, and then he suddenly looks down at it. 

“Soft,” he murmurs, like he’s making a mental note. He presses another, and another, incrementally going closer and closer to your soaked through underwear. His eyebrows scrunch when he sees the wet spot. “All this from a few kisses?” 

You blush, unable to respond. 

Spencer’s fingers hook a centimeter of your underwear. “These?” he checks.

“Yes, please,” you manage. He tugs them down, silently noticing the slickness of your sex, and exhales shakily.

“How many times on average does it take for a guy to call you pretty on a given day before you get annoyed?” he murmurs, soft smile playing on his face. You smile too, head cloudy from his words, but it immediately drops when his lips press directly against your pulsing clit, kissing it softly.

“Fuck,” you say (Spencer would argue moan) softly (loudly). You let out a content sigh, and he moves to suckle it, actions becoming less and less delicate. 

It’s not harsh, but incessant. Spencer knows what you can take. He knows exactly what you can take. You’re both quiet for a bit, save for your breathy moans. 

“Spencer,” you say softly, ripping you both out of your individually hazy and dirty and distracted minds. “You’re too far away.” He looks up to you, face parallel to your aching core, hair beautifully messy and mouth glistening.

After a second, he grabs your hips, gently pushing you up against the pillows so you’re propped up at a better angle. He then shifts his body up wordlessly so he’s more above you, dipping his head down to give you a soft kiss. You taste yourself, tongue darting out to lick your lips.

His hand takes over where his mouth was, sliding in between your folds with a practiced ease. Spencer looks down at you, eyes wide and flitting between yours, searching for a reaction.

You reach out and wrap your arms around him, holding him close. “Holy shit, I love you,” you murmur.

His fingers lightly graze your clit again before one slides into you. “Angel,” he breathes out, so quietly. “I love you too. This okay? Are you okay?”

You nod feverishly and lift your hips to meet his hand, always in a perpetual state of wanting more, to be closer. Your bodies are melded so close together, barely giving him room to push his hand into you. He doesn’t even bother to ask you to use your words or keep your hips down, like he might on a regular night.

He pulls his head back to watch as he pushes another finger into you, stretching you just a little. “There we go. You always feel like heaven around me.”

Your eyes flit up to his face as he says those words, now having a little more room to observe him. You focus on the slope of his nose and curve of his mouth. 

“You’re so perfect,” you say quietly, adoringly, before you even realize it was true.

You blink at that thought. Spencer Reid is perfect, despite whatever universal odds deeming that impossible.

Those graphs, those formulas, now laying discarded & crumpled on the ground. They click, a little bit. You understand why Albert Einstein wanted to spend his life developing theories of relativity.

This is how Spencer sees you? What he was talking about earlier?

This is how he sees you?

The thought is almost too much.

Spencer sees your face, and not knowing what's going on in your head, slides down his free hand from your cheek to your carotid, feeling your racing pulse. “Take a deep breath for me, okay? You're about to come, huh?”

You inhale and are met with peace. Then your orgasm hits you like a wave. You clench hard around his fingers, and he just watches it happen, fascinated. “Baby,” he coos softly at you.

It wasn’t just your sensitivity he’s currently maximizing on or the little kisses he dips down to leave on your neck that sealed the deal, but the very thought that you could be loved in a way that is so perfectly impossible.

You exhale breathily as Spencer pushes you through the last trails of your climax, fingers not caring one bit that you just had your world tilted on its axis. 

“Spencer. Ohmygodohmygodohmygod,” you say eventually, overstimulated.

“You’re okay. Did so good.” he murmurs, fingers slipping out of you. 

His thumb brushes your cheek, wiping away a tear you didn't even realize was dripping down.

“Don’t cry, you always cry. It’s my birthday. Don’t cry on my birthday,” he whispers soothingly, affection lacing his voice.

“I’m not.” 

Another one falls. 

You reach and press out that perpetual little slope between his eyebrows with your thumb, gentle, like you might break him. “I’m not crying.”

Spencer lets you lie.

[goopgirlie813]

I wanna add another thing now that ive been thinking about it; y'all ever notice how right-wingers like to play the victim? "Reverse racism" "blm wants to oppress white people" "women actually have privilege now, men are the oppressed ones" "gays are trying to force us to all gay marry" etc etc etc.

Yeah, uh, they have a very obvious persecution complex. Its kinda their thing, a defining feature. It has been the backbone of fascist regimes (nazis said "the jews are ruining our society!! Theyre out to hurt your children and fuck up your life!!"). Bullying them only feeds this tendency. It gives them more material to work with.

But if you refuse to be mean while also refusing to budge from your position? They cant weaponize that as easily. They cant dismiss you as easily because you didnt give them the out of victimhood. You robbed them of an opportunity for martyrdom, their strongest propaganda tool.

Facists thrive on meanness, hatred, and anger. Not only does it shape their views of other people, but they thrive in environments where they are hated. It makes them stronger because they know how to flip the script.

But you know what facism isn't equipped to handle? Stubborn kindness. They cant weaponize it. They cant make themselves the victim to gain sympathy. They cant twist it their way and make themselves look powerful. Because bullying in the face of kindness makes a person look bad. It damages reputations.

Being kind without comprimising on your views puts fascists between a rock and a hard place. Because if they keep fighting you they erode their own cause. Because so much right-wing indoctrination relies on them being the victims fighting for a rightous cause. That falls apart if they attack people who are being kind. They need to make the person a villain first or else they expose their own lies. If they cant effectively convince people you're a villain, they lose a lot of their power.

This is not about holding their hand and making them feel happy. This is not about blaming marginalized groups for their own oppression. This is about ackgnowledging the enemy's weak points and using them to our advantage. We are not pointing fingers or casting blame, we are trying to strategically break the facades of facism.

Thats what people in these comments are failing to understand: kindness is not a reward only given to good people who do good things. Kindess is genuinely the most devastating weapon against fascist propaganda. Meanness on the other hand? That just waters their crops. Being mean to fascists helps them. It reinforces their beliefs, and opens opportunities for them to lure people in by exploiting their empathy for victims.

I am not asking you to be soft and quiet and compromising. I am not asking you to tell fascists "its ok I forgive you." No. I am asking you to observe the reality of the situation and react accordingly. Strategically. I am not saying that you are to blame for the spread of fascist rhetoric, I am telling you how fascists are exploiting your behavior for personal gain so that you can course correct and cut off their propaganda supply lines.

Let me reiterate:

I am not blaming you for your oppression. I am telling you that fascists are taking advantage of you and how to stop it.

Remember that story that went around about the Karen yelling at the cashier and OP putting money in the tip jar every time she yelled, while making eye contact to make it clear what they were doing? Yeah that kind of thing.

You dont have to be kind to the bigots, you just have to refuse to be mean to them. Every time they say something mean, say something kind about their target. Every time they harass someone, do something kind for their target. And do it immediately, publicly, in their face and everyone else's.

Another element is to behave in good faith. Aggressivley assume good intentions. Explain why harmful behaviors are harmful while emphasizing the assumption that they have good intentions. If they, like most people, do just want the best but have misguded views of how to achieve that then this approach can and will make them change their behavior and mindset. If they genuinely do want to cause harm then sticking to the bit even when its absurd becomes a kind of mockery. The only mockery that they cannot weaponize. Their meanness contrasts so starkly with the aggressive positivity that they turn themselves into satirical charicatures if they double down.

Kindness is fascism's most devastating enemy.

I couldn't have said it better myself.

[lvmoure]

ATLANTIS CS55

Pairings: Carlos Sainz x pregnant!reader

Summary: In which he was too late

Warnings: angst, miscarriage

The morning light filtered softly through the curtains of your apartment, a golden warmth that felt at odds with the cold knot of anxiety twisting in your stomach. You sat at the kitchen table, staring at the small white plastic stick in your hand as if it would suddenly change its mind. The words on it were undeniable, though—bold and clear. You were pregnant.

For a moment, everything felt still, like time had decided to hold its breath along with you. Your heart hammered in your chest, loud enough to echo in your ears, yet the rest of the world seemed so quiet. It felt as if you were trapped between two realities—one where you were the same person you had been just a few days ago and another where this tiny, growing life inside you would change everything.

You knew exactly what this meant. Your mind raced through the tangled maze of questions. What would Carlos think? What would he do? The two of you had never discussed children—not seriously, anyway. Sure, you’d talked about the future in vague terms, but when it came to family, he had always been clear. He wasn't ready, he wasn't sure he wanted them. He was focused on his career, his racing. His life was full of ambition and passion for a world that didn’t leave room for a baby, let alone a family.

But here you were, pregnant.

Your breath hitched as you glanced at the clock. Carlos would be home soon. You had no idea how you were going to tell him. How do you share news like this? The kind of news that could make or break everything you thought you knew about each other? You had hoped the moment would never come, or maybe that you'd be able to convince yourself it was a mistake, that maybe those two lines weren’t as clear as they seemed. But deep down, you knew they were real.

You tried to imagine his reaction. Would he be angry? Would he be scared? Would he think this was something you had planned all along, to trap him into something he didn’t want? The thought sent a chill through you. Carlos wasn't like that. He wasn't someone to dismiss your feelings, but you knew he wouldn’t take kindly to something that disrupted his carefully mapped out future.

His career, his freedom—it was all he had worked for, and now it felt like it was all on the line.

You stared at your reflection in the window, watching your own face morph into one of uncertainty. You didn’t know how to navigate this conversation, how to make him understand. You weren’t ready for this either, but this was reality now. And the hardest part was telling him.

When the door clicked open, Carlos stepped into the apartment, his familiar scent filling the room. You looked up, your stomach tightening as his eyes met yours.

"Hey," he said, setting his helmet and racing gear down in the hallway before walking over to you. His smile was soft, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes, not like it usually did. There was something on your face that made him pause. Something was wrong.

You opened your mouth, but no words came out.

"What's going on?" he asked, his voice laced with concern, but you could hear the edge of hesitation in it. He knew you too well.

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat growing with each passing second. "Carlos," you began, your voice unsteady, "there’s something I need to tell you."

His eyes softened as he sat across from you, his hand gently brushing yours. "You’re scaring me, what’s wrong?"

You looked at the pregnancy test again, then back at him, feeling your hands tremble.

"I’m pregnant."

His face fell silent for a long moment. The words hung in the air, their weight crushing you. You watched his eyes search your face as if trying to decipher if you were joking, but you couldn’t find any humor in this moment, no lightness. This wasn’t a joke.

His expression shifted, his lips tightening. His hands hovered over the table, unsure whether to reach out or pull away.

"You’re sure?" His voice was low, almost like he didn’t want to hear the answer.

You nodded, suddenly feeling smaller, as if the space between you two had doubled in size.

"I’m sure," you whispered, the weight of the admission pushing down on your chest. "Carlos, I—"

"Wait," he interrupted, his eyes now narrowing slightly, "are you telling me that you… that we…?" He trailed off, visibly processing what you had said. "But we never—"

"I know," you said quickly, your heart pounding in your ears. "I didn’t expect this either, but it’s real."

A heavy silence fell between you, and Carlos sat back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. You could see the wheels turning in his mind, the tension in his posture growing with every passing second.

"How are we supposed to—" He broke off, his voice suddenly sharp. "You know I’m not ready for this. You know that."

You flinched at the words, though they weren’t said cruelly. He was upset, overwhelmed even. But they cut deep.

"Do you think I’m ready for this?" you asked softly, your voice shaking. "Carlos, I didn’t plan this. But this is happening. And I need you to—"

"I can’t," he cut you off, his tone now more forceful. "I can’t just drop everything for this. I have my career, my goals. I can’t throw all of that away now."

Your heart shattered, the weight of his words crashing down on you. You blinked rapidly, trying to keep the tears at bay. The fear, the hurt—it all bubbled up in an overwhelming rush. "Carlos, this isn’t about you throwing everything away. It’s about us figuring this out together. I’m not asking you to throw everything away. I’m asking for your support."

But he shook his head, his jaw tight. "I don’t know if I can give that to you."

The room seemed to close in on you. Your breath was shallow, each word he spoke pressing harder against your chest. "So, what? You’re just going to walk away? You’re going to ignore everything we’ve built because of one mistake?"

"It’s not a mistake," he snapped. "But it is something I wasn’t prepared for. And I don’t think I can be."

The pain in your chest turned into something darker, deeper. The reality of the situation was settling in, and it was suffocating you. You stood up abruptly, pushing your chair back. "I never wanted this to be a fight," you whispered. "I just wanted you to understand."

Carlos stood too, his face a mix of frustration and regret. "I need time to think, okay?" His words were softer now, almost a plea for space. But it wasn’t the space you wanted.

"Time?" you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper. "How much time do you need to decide if we’re going to have a child? How much time do you need to decide if we’re going to have a future?"

Without another word, Carlos turned and walked away, leaving you in the suffocating silence of the apartment. The stillness that followed was deafening, and all you could do was sit there, your hand still clutching the test, the reality of it all crashing down around you.

Carlos’ hands gripped the steering wheel tighter than he realized as he drove away from the apartment. The tires of the car hummed on the asphalt, the road stretching endlessly before him, but his thoughts were a jumbled mess. His breath was ragged, his chest tight with confusion. The words you’d said, the look in your eyes, the way you held the pregnancy test as if it were both a lifeline and a curse—everything had blurred together into a painful knot in his stomach.

He had asked for time, needed it—desperately. Time to breathe, time to think. But the truth was, Carlos didn’t know what to think. His mind kept spiraling, trying to reason his way through something that felt so far beyond logic.

He loved you, that much was certain. But that love had never once been tied to thoughts of starting a family, to the idea of being a father. He wasn’t ready for that. He had spent his life working towards something that didn’t leave room for the responsibilities of parenthood.

But then, he saw the look on your face. He could still feel the hurt in your voice, the way you tried to explain that this wasn’t something you wanted either, but it was real. And now, he had to figure out how to navigate this.

The sun was beginning to set by the time Carlos parked his car in front of his father's house. The familiar warmth of the home did little to ease the tension that had built up inside him. He didn’t want to admit it, but he felt lost. He needed someone who could help him make sense of all this.

Carlos had always been close to his father, Carlos Sainz Sr. A man who had seen both triumphs and defeats in the world of motorsport. He knew what it was like to struggle, to fight for something you believed in, but he also knew what it meant to be a man of integrity, to face your responsibilities head-on. It was that kind of wisdom Carlos needed now.

He didn’t knock. His father’s house was always open to him, no matter what time of day it was. Carlos let himself in, finding his father in the kitchen, preparing a cup of coffee.

"Hey, Papa," Carlos said, his voice a bit hoarse as he leaned against the doorway.

Carlos Sainz Sr. looked up from his cup, his expression unreadable at first. But then, he saw the look in his son’s eyes. The kind of look that spoke volumes about a thousand unsaid things.

"Hijo, what’s wrong?" his father asked, setting the coffee down and gesturing for Carlos to sit.

Carlos hesitated for a moment before making his way to the table. He slumped into the chair across from his father, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

"I don’t know what to do, Papa," he admitted, his voice heavy with uncertainty. "I… I just found out that I’m going to be a father."

Carlos Sr. didn’t react immediately, but his eyes softened, and he took a deep breath, as though weighing his words carefully. "A father," he repeated, the weight of the word hanging in the air. "And you don’t know what to do?"

Carlos shook his head. "I never wanted this. I mean… I never planned for it. You know how I’ve always felt about kids, about having a family. I was never ready for that. I don’t know how to be a father, how to be the kind of man who can balance everything. I don’t want to let go of everything I’ve worked for. My career, my life—it all feels so out of control now."

His father sat back, folding his arms across his chest as he observed his son. The lines on Carlos Sr.’s face seemed deeper than usual, as if he had seen this moment coming from a distance.

"I understand. I understand more than you know," Carlos Sr. said quietly. "But sometimes, life has a way of throwing us challenges when we least expect it. You think you’ve got everything planned, and then something happens that changes everything. And that’s not always a bad thing. You’re scared because you feel like you’re losing control, but maybe what you’re really scared of is letting go of the idea that you can do it all on your own."

Carlos ran a hand through his hair again, frustration mixing with confusion. "I’m not ready to be a father, Papa. I’m just… not."

Carlos Sr. sighed deeply, his gaze steady and filled with a depth of understanding that only comes from years of experience. He leaned forward slightly, his voice soft but firm.

"I wasn’t ready either, Carlos," he said, and his words hit harder than Carlos expected. "When your mother told me she was pregnant with your older sister, I didn’t know how to feel. I was scared. I wasn’t sure if I could do it. I didn’t know if I could balance my career with being a father. But one thing I did know was that it wasn’t just about me anymore. It was about us—your mother and I, and the life we were going to build. And there was nothing more important than that."

Carlos Sr. paused for a moment, letting the weight of his words sink in before continuing.

"You see, when you’re faced with something like this, you have two choices. You can run away from it, avoid it, pretend it’s not happening. Or you can face it. You can stand up and accept it for what it is, and figure out how to make it work. Because when you become a father, it’s not about you anymore. It’s about the life you’re bringing into this world, and the kind of person you want to be for them."

Carlos felt a lump form in his throat as he absorbed his father’s words. His chest tightened, the reality of what his father was saying hitting him like a wave. He had always been focused on his career, on his goals, on the life he had chosen. But now, it felt like that life was being torn apart by something so much bigger than himself.

"I don’t know if I can do this, Papa," Carlos admitted, his voice faltering.

Carlos Sr. stood up, walking over to the window and looking out at the garden. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, tinged with the wisdom of years of experience.

"You’re not alone, Carlos. You don’t have to figure this out on your own. You have people who love you, who want to support you. You have her—" He gestured toward the door, toward the life Carlos had just walked away from. "She’s in this with you. And you need to talk to her. You need to listen, because she’s not asking you to fix everything. She’s asking you to be there."

Carlos closed his eyes, the weight of his father’s words settling over him like a heavy blanket. He had been so caught up in his own fears, his own insecurities, that he hadn’t even considered what you must have been feeling. He hadn’t thought about the fact that you were in this together, that this wasn’t just his problem to solve. It was yours—yours to face, to share, to overcome.

"She’s scared, Carlos," his father continued. "She’s scared, and she needs you. Not the man who thinks he has all the answers, but the man who’s willing to show up, even when he doesn’t. She needs you to be there, to support her through this. That’s what it means to be a man. To stand by the people you love, even when it’s hard. Even when you don’t know how."

Carlos Sr. turned around to face him, his eyes meeting his son’s with a quiet intensity.

"You have a choice, Carlos. You can choose to run, to stay in the safety of the life you’ve built for yourself. Or you can choose to be a father, to take responsibility for the life you’re creating. The choice is yours. But don’t wait too long to make it. Because sometimes, the biggest mistake we can make is not realizing what we have until it’s too late."

Carlos sat in silence, the weight of his father’s words sinking deep into his soul. For the first time since he had walked out of your apartment, he felt a shift inside him—a slow, dawning realization that he could no longer keep running from this.

He had to go back. He had to face you.

Carlos’ heart raced as he drove back toward the apartment. His father’s words had cut deeper than he expected, like a scalpel carving into something raw, something fragile. The weight of his choices pressed heavily on his chest. The fear, the uncertainty—it was all still there, but his father’s wisdom had ignited something inside him, a spark of understanding he had been too afraid to acknowledge before.

He had left. Walked away when you needed him the most. And now he had to fix it. He had to go back and be the man he promised he would be—someone you could depend on, someone who would fight for you. But more than that, someone who would fight for the life growing inside of you.

Carlos gripped the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles white with the effort. He couldn’t shake the images of your face—the hurt in your eyes, the way you had begged him to understand. And he hadn’t. He had run.

When he pulled into the parking lot of your building, everything seemed so still. The world outside was unaware of the storm that had been brewing between the two of you, but it felt like the universe itself was holding its breath. He parked the car with a sense of finality, as if this moment would mark the beginning of something new—or the end of everything.

He got out of the car, walking toward the entrance with slow, deliberate steps. His mind raced with a thousand things to say, but none of them seemed to be enough. What could he possibly say to fix this? How could he explain the confusion, the fear, the selfishness that had led him to walk away from you when you needed him most?

The door to the apartment creaked open with a quiet sound that felt impossibly loud in the silence of the hallway. Carlos stepped inside, his eyes scanning the room, searching for you. But the apartment was eerily quiet. He called your name softly at first, unsure if you were even home, but the emptiness in the air told him something was wrong.

"Y/N?" His voice trembled slightly as he stepped further into the apartment. "Are you here?"

There was no answer.

He walked through the living room and into the bedroom, the door slightly ajar. As he pushed it open, the sight that met him took the breath from his lungs.

You were lying on the bed, unmoving. The room was dim, the curtains pulled tightly shut to block out the light. But what caught his attention wasn’t the stillness—it was the absence of the warmth that had once filled this space. The energy that had defined your relationship was gone, replaced with a cold, suffocating silence. You weren’t sleeping. You weren’t pretending everything was okay.

Your face was pale, your eyes closed, but your expression... it wasn’t peaceful. It was hollow, distant, as if you had already begun to retreat into a place where Carlos could no longer reach you.

His breath caught in his throat as he approached the bed, his heart hammering in his chest.

"Y/N?" he said again, his voice breaking this time. "Please, look at me."

You didn’t stir. His heart twisted in his chest, a feeling of dread settling deep in his bones. There was something in the air—a heaviness that he couldn’t shake. Slowly, cautiously, Carlos sat on the edge of the bed, reaching out to touch your hand. It was cold, lifeless, a stark contrast to the warmth he had once known so well.

"Y/N, what’s going on?" he whispered, his voice full of pain and regret. He could feel the tears threatening to spill, but he held them back, not knowing if he even deserved the release.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you opened your eyes, though they seemed distant—no longer the eyes that had once been full of life and love. You looked at him, but it was as if you were seeing someone else entirely. Someone he didn’t recognize.

"Y/N, please," Carlos whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I’m so sorry. I was scared. I didn’t know what to do. But I’m here now. I’m here. I’ll do whatever it takes."

You blinked, your lips parting to speak, but the words never came. Instead, there was only the faintest trace of something in your eyes. Something he couldn’t quite place. Was it anger? Was it sorrow? Or something deeper—something he had failed to see in his own selfishness?

"Y/N," Carlos said again, his voice cracking this time. "Please... talk to me."

But still, you didn’t respond.

It was then that Carlos noticed something else. There, on the bed, beside you, was the faint trace of something—a small stain, barely noticeable, but undeniable. A knot formed in his stomach, and his hands began to tremble as realization began to sink in. His breath hitched, and his throat felt tight as he turned back to you, finally understanding.

"No," he breathed, his voice shaking. "No, please."

Your eyes fluttered slightly, and for a moment, Carlos thought you were going to speak. But then your gaze drifted downward, to the small band of blood that had soaked through the sheets. It was then that he realized—the child, the life that had been growing inside you, was no longer there.

"You lost it," Carlos whispered, the words coming out barely louder than a breath. His heart shattered at the realization, and a wave of guilt washed over him so strong he could hardly breathe. He had walked away. He had been so focused on his own fears, his own uncertainties, that he hadn’t seen the weight of what was happening to you.

He reached for your hand again, but this time, you pulled away. You looked at him then, and it wasn’t anger or sorrow in your eyes—it was something far worse.

"You don’t get to come back now," you said, your voice quiet, but firm. "You left when I needed you the most, Carlos. You can’t just come back and pretend everything will be okay."

Carlos felt as though the air had been knocked from his lungs. He had no words to respond to that. How could he? How could he explain that the fear of fatherhood had been so overwhelming that he had allowed it to dictate his actions, even if it meant losing you—losing everything?

"You’re right," he said finally, his voice thick with emotion. "I don’t get to just come back. But I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere. I don’t care what it takes. I’ll be here for you—for us. I should’ve been here before, and I’m so sorry that I wasn’t."

But your eyes were still distant, and Carlos knew that the damage had been done. The distance between you had grown too wide, too deep to bridge in a single moment.

"I can’t do this anymore," you whispered. "I can’t keep waiting for you to figure out what you want. I can’t keep fighting for something that you’re not ready for. I thought I could do it on my own, but now... now I don’t even know who I am anymore."

Carlos felt his heart break in ways he didn’t even know were possible. The weight of what he had lost hit him with the force of a wrecking ball. You weren’t just angry with him. You were hurt. You had been betrayed, and the loss of the child—their future—was something he could never undo.

"I’ll stay with you," Carlos said quietly, his voice breaking. "I don’t care if we’re too late. We’ll figure it out. I’m here now. But please, don’t shut me out. Please."

You closed your eyes, tears sliding down your face. "It’s too late, Carlos."

And just like that, the silence between you two became unbearable, suffocating. It wasn’t just the loss of the child. It was the loss of everything that had once been. The future you had dreamed of together. The family. The love. All of it seemed to have vanished, leaving only a hollow ache where something beautiful had once been.

Carlos didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know how to fix this, how to make it right. All he knew was that he had failed. He had failed you, and in doing so, he had failed himself.

Carlos sat at the edge of the bed, staring at the empty space beside him. His body felt numb, as though every part of him had been drained of energy, of life, of everything he thought he knew about the world. He had come back, had finally understood what he needed to do, but it had been too late.

He could still hear your words echoing in his mind, the quiet but firm dismissal that had shattered the fragile hope he had clung to. "I can’t keep waiting for you to figure out what you want," you had said, your voice filled with something far more painful than anger. It had been sorrow, the kind of sorrow that ran deeper than any argument, deeper than any misunderstanding. It had been the kind of sorrow that came from realizing that love, no matter how much you wanted it to, couldn’t heal everything.

The child was gone. You had lost it. The pregnancy was no longer a promise, no longer the future you had thought you were building together. And now, there was only silence.

Carlos closed his eyes, trying to push away the overwhelming weight that pressed on his chest. He had failed you, failed the life that had barely begun, and failed himself. He had walked away when he should have been there, when he should have listened instead of running. He had been afraid, too afraid to face the responsibility that was already his—one that could have been a gift if he had only chosen to embrace it. But now, it was too late.

The apartment felt suffocating. The walls seemed to close in around him as he stood up from the bed, pacing aimlessly across the room. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, each one more agonizing than the last. He couldn’t undo the past, couldn’t take back the moments he had spent trying to avoid the reality of what had been unfolding right in front of him. The child, the future, the love—it was all gone.

Carlos ran a hand through his hair, trying to calm the storm inside him. He had been so focused on himself, on his own fears, on his own insecurities, that he hadn’t seen what was right in front of him. He hadn’t realized that the most important thing in his life wasn’t his career or his accomplishments. It was you. And he had lost you.

The thought hit him like a physical blow, a punch to the gut that left him breathless. He had lost you, and in doing so, he had lost everything that had ever truly mattered.

A soft knock on the door broke through the haze of his thoughts, and for a moment, Carlos didn’t know if he should answer. He didn’t know if he was ready to face anyone, especially after everything that had happened. But then, he heard his father’s voice on the other side of the door.

"Carlos? It’s me."

Carlos felt his stomach tighten at the sound of his father’s voice. He hadn’t even noticed that his father had followed him back to the apartment. It was a small mercy, one that Carlos hadn’t even realized he needed, but now, standing at the door, he knew it was the only thing that could help him navigate the overwhelming pain and regret.

"Come in," Carlos said, his voice rough.

The door creaked open, and Carlos’ father stepped inside. His presence was calming, steady, like a rock amidst a storm. Carlos didn’t look up at first, too consumed by his own guilt, but he felt the weight of his father’s gaze upon him, steady and unwavering.

Carlos Sr. said nothing at first, just walked over to the small couch in the corner and sat down. He folded his hands in his lap and waited. It was a silence that spoke volumes, one that gave Carlos the space he needed to gather his thoughts, even as they remained tangled and chaotic.

Finally, Carlos spoke, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I failed her, Papa."

Carlos Sr. didn’t respond immediately, but the quiet understanding in his eyes told Carlos that his father already knew the depth of his pain. After a long pause, Carlos Sr. finally spoke.

"Hijo, you didn’t fail her," he said quietly. "You failed yourself. And in doing so, you failed to see what was right in front of you."

Carlos swallowed hard, the lump in his throat growing bigger with each word his father spoke. He had failed himself, that much was true. His own fear, his own inability to face the future had clouded his judgment, clouded everything. And now, all he had left was this empty apartment, the silence between them, and the memory of a life that was never meant to be.

"I didn’t want this," Carlos said, his voice raw with emotion. "I wasn’t ready. I thought I could keep going, keep doing what I was doing. I thought if I just kept pushing everything away, it would go away. But it didn’t. And now… now she’s gone."

Carlos Sr. leaned forward, his gaze steady, but his voice gentle. "She’s not gone, Carlos. She’s hurt. She’s disappointed, yes. But she’s not gone. Not unless you let her be."

Carlos let out a bitter laugh, the sound bitter and hollow. "I let her down, Papa. I walked away when she needed me most. I couldn’t handle it. I couldn’t—"

"Stop," Carlos Sr. interrupted, his voice firm but not unkind. "You’re wrong. You couldn’t handle it because you didn’t let yourself. You were so caught up in your own fear that you couldn’t see what was really happening. And now, you have to fix that. You have to go to her, Carlos. You have to show her that you can be the man she needs you to be."

Carlos’s heart pounded in his chest. His father’s words were like a call to action, but he didn’t know if he could follow through. Could he really fix this? Could he undo the damage he had done? Was it even possible?

"I don’t know if she’ll forgive me," Carlos said, his voice thick with emotion. "I don’t know if I deserve it."

"You don’t deserve forgiveness, Carlos," his father said quietly. "But you can earn it. And you start by showing up. You start by being there, by taking responsibility for what you did. It’s not about what you deserve—it’s about what you’re willing to do to make things right."

Carlos’s father stood up and placed a hand on his shoulder, the weight of it grounding him in that moment.

"You’re going to make mistakes, son," Carlos Sr. continued. "You’re going to mess up. But the measure of a man is not in his ability to avoid mistakes—it’s in how he handles them when they happen. It’s about owning up to them, learning from them, and doing everything in his power to make things better. That’s how you move forward. That’s how you become the man you’re meant to be."

Carlos felt tears well up in his eyes, a mix of relief and sorrow that he hadn’t expected. His father’s words, simple yet profound, broke through the fog of his confusion, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Carlos felt the smallest glimmer of hope.

"Go to her," Carlos Sr. said quietly, giving his son a final, meaningful look. "You’re not alone in this. But you can’t fix it by running away."

Carlos nodded, his throat tight. He wasn’t sure if he was ready. He wasn’t sure if you would even want to see him after everything that had happened. But he knew one thing for certain: he couldn’t stay here, wallowing in his own regret. He had to go to you. He had to show you that he could be the man you needed, that he could be the father he had never thought he could be.

He stood up, his legs shaky beneath him, and walked toward the door. His father’s voice echoed in his mind, steady and unwavering. He wasn’t alone in this. He had to believe that.

As he stepped outside, the cool air hit him like a slap to the face, but it didn’t matter. He was moving forward now. He wasn’t going to let fear control him anymore.

He was going to fight for you.

And this time, he wasn’t going to run.

[icarusredwings]

I dont CARE that it's November 9th and "Halloweens over" ITS MY BIRTHDAY MONTH ILL POST IF I WANT TOO

Anyway.

Thinking about apocolpse au.

Wade getting bitten by a zombie, Logan freaking out, Wade dying, and him coming back (Again)

"Didn't you just die?? I literally fucking burried you!!"

And wades like:

"Of course. Man, God REALLY hates you dosn't he?"

And he's bassically the same person except just saying, "Rahhah har ran re" (translation: I think the devil doesn't want me either)

"What?? Oh for fucks sake... tell me you're kidding.."

"Rah?" 🤔

"Great so now you stink more and you can't talk. Fucking lovely."

"Mmmmh..." 🥺 (would you still love me if I was a zombie?)

"*sighs, blushes and grumbles how insane this is and how much of a bad idea this is* Fine! Come on...."

"Raah!!" 😄

And sometimes his limbs fall off because I think it would be funny if you just saw him stop, turn around, pick up his arm and shove it back into place like a dislocated shoulder. (Marvel Magic)

But its very obvious that Wade is still consious and so logan leads him around, puts a leash on him, ties him up when he goes to sleep the first few nights so wade dosn't eat him, sometimes luring him with a piece of his thigh or telling him he'll feed him soon to make him behave.

The only thing about this resource wise is that it seems Wade is a bottomless pit, not ever able to get enough. It's like all the nutrients just pass right through him, so he can't get fed meals daily, but Logan will share at least one bite of his food. It makes Wade so happy and way more "wade like" than zombie.

Logan has learned that the hungrier Wade gets the worse it would be, snapping at logan a few times.

"Grr-"

"Aye! That's enough outta ya"

"GggRah!"

"Hey!! I said no! Bad! Bad wade!"

"Mmmh??"

"Bad!!"

"Mmh....rahah.."

"I forgive you. But stop trying to bite me. I feed you, don't I? I hold your hand and tell you that I love you?"

Wade is actually extremely friendly for a zombie (duh) and still yaps at logan except its nonsense. Logan tries hard to understand him and talk back.

He holds his hand sometimes, even lays next to him only to scold him if he gets too bitey. This is hard because wade already had a biting issue and seeing as he practically ate anything or anybody now it was more difficult.

"...aahh-"

"Wade- No."

"Ggr.. raahh"

"Wade! No! Bad."

"Mmmh..."

"Ill feed you tomarrow. Don't bite me mkay? You wanna hurt me?"

He shakes his head like a dog shaking off from a bath, or that ate a bee.

"Then don't bite me."

"Mmh? Mrah?"

"No. No kisses right now. Im still not even sure if thats safe.."

"Mmmh...🥺 ahrrah?"

"No, not even a tiny one."

"Mm...😔"

Until Logan grunts and pecks his hand. "There. Happy?"

"🙂‍↕️mh"

"Good."

Honestly Logan felt bad, pitited him. No matter what food he ate it wasnt enough substance to sustain him and sometimes Logan would wake up to find him eating a different zombie that made the mistake of trying to eat Logan.

You ever wake up in the morning, lose your zombie boyfriend, call for him only to walk outside and see him knawing on some poor chaps arm like a happy puppy who found a chicken leg? Logan has. Many times. And he wishes his phone would charge so he could take a picture of it but unfortunately theres no electricity in the post apocalypse world.

This being said Logan is like- THE perfect guy for apocalypse au because he can smell everything and hear anyone before they even get to you, he has better wilderness survival skills then anyone I know and he'll never NOT have a weapon on him because of his claws. The only downside is that he's tired easily, needs a lot of food, and would lowkey be withdrawing from his tabccao and alchool, therefore very moody.

"Stupid fucking apocalypse having to happen when im fucking alive!! Why can't I just NOT live through ONE major historical event! Is that too fucking much to ask? One damn decade where everything is fine and dandy and- WADE! Get your ass away from that!! It's radioactive!! For fucks sake!"

"Rahahrah?"

"NO!! You can not become Spiderman! That's not how that works!"

"Aawr..😔"

The whole thing is they're on a quest to find Laura and Gabby, because when everything went to shit, they were on a cabin trip and now Logans brain is itching because he dosn't know where his babies are and its driving him insane. Once he finds them, they're gonna shack up somewhere with food and animals to hunt, and hes gonna make a little shed outside for Wade to sleep because he'll kill him if he bites one of the girls.

He dosnt care that much about himself really and he hates himself deep down for not being able to trust wade anymore but even wade dosnt trust wade, sometimes wandering off on purpose, staying about 30 feet away from him at all times, growling and giving Logan that glazed over look of unconsiousness. The only good thing about this, though, is after he removes himself from the idea of hurting Logan (because if logaj were to become infected - HA! Your all fucked. Utterly fucked. The whole humanoid species would go extinct because he'd kill anything that moved) he feels more trusting of him and it's not uncommon for them to hug after either. Afterall Wade- Some how???- is still wade and is very affectionate and sensitive when its not returned.

This whole thing also makes him think worse about himself, kicking reflective objects or staring at himself in a shop window in utter shock and disgust with a face of 'thats me..?' While logans raiding the place for supplies.

Did you know zombies can cry? Well, Wade could. Not a lot, only able to get a bit of liquid from dehydration, but sometimes Logan will catch him just... sitting there.. crying. Upset with himself for being bit. Upset with himself for trying to bite logan all the time. Upset at how ugly he is. Upset that he's starving all the time. Upset that he can't even talk to anyone, and Logan just has to guess what he's saying 90% of the time. Bro is literally

When they DO find Laura and Gabby, the girls are doing great. Laura was going to blow wades head off until Gabby ran in the shot, hugging him instantly, only to be ripped away.

"Of course my dad is the weirdo married to a zombie." Laura grunts, but is secrelty happy that wade is still 'alive'

Gabby, being as young as she is, thinks it's so SICK that her dad is a zombie now, giggling when he talks to her and holding his hand. She's not allowed near him for long, and not at all by herself, but Gabby bassically becomes Wades number one supporter, defending him when he messes up and snaps at laura.

"He's just hungry!! He's not bad! It's not bad to be hungry!" She'll say. "You wouldn't kill me if I was hungry.." she tells her bigger, more survival oriented sister whos suggested putting wade out of his misery, for his own sake. "I tried that... he found me again 3 days later." Logan tells her with a pang in his chest. It had taken everything in him to kill him the first time, and sobbed himself to sleep the next 2 days. By the third when he noticed Wade following him from a distance he couldn't believe it.

Not even the apocalypse could keep them away from each other..

[razorblade180]

Long Distance

Weiss:*reading*

Bzzz! Bzzz!

Weiss:*presses speaker* This is Weiss Schnee.

Winter:Weiss, I apologize for bothering you while you’re on leave, but there’s a situation that can’t-

AAAAARRRGGGGGHHHHH!!!!!

Weiss:Was that…a Leviathan?

Winter:Yes. It’s 55 miles due east of Argus. We’re on site but could use more power. If it gets closer-

Weiss:Evacuating procedures start. I really don’t feel like moving all that much.

Winter:You’re only three months pregnant.

Weiss:With twins. Let’s not forget that part. I feel bloated as hell. How many airships and do you have any heavy hitters there.

Penny:Saluuutations!!! Four airships in total!

Nora:Hiiii Weiss! Hope you’re putting your feet up!

Winter:That answer your question?

Weiss:*closes book* Nora, Penny, let’s play catch.

Penny and Nora:Ready anytime!

The tired young lady walks over to the fire escape and takes the stairs up to apartment complex roof.

Weiss:You said East?

Winter:Yep.

Penny:There’s a five mile head wind!

Weiss:Thank you!

She summons an Arma Gigas and lets it grow to its full size. One hand summons its mighty blade while Weiss creates a second blade made of ice for it to use. The grand beast began to spin slowly, its speed ramping up with each full cycle thanks to the weight of the blades. It wasn’t long before it actually chucked the blade in the right hand like a frisbee, then let the left blade fly out of its hand.

Weiss:Coming at ya!

xxxxxx

Leviathan:AAAAARRRGGHH!

Nora:Hold on a sec!

Winter:Stop acting like it understands you.

Nora:It knows it’s doing a lot.

Penny:*flying* Incoming gifts!

She points at two shimmering blades soaring higher than the airships at intimidating speed.

Nora:Uhh Winter?

Winter:I got it. Just jump.

Nora leaps out the ship into Penny’s arms and gets tossed sky high. Penny maxes out her thrusts to intercept the ice blade at the perfect time to grab the hilt; while Nora is added by Winter with the help of a giant gravity glyph that not only slows the speed of the sword enough for her catch without flying off, but also remain in the sky at the perfect angle.

With both girls above on each side of the beast, they launch themselves down diagonally. Nora swings downward from the left of the neck near the gills while Penny swings skyward, causing the Leviathan to lose its mind, literally. The head came clean off. Winter caught Nora and brought her back as the girls dropped the giant blades.

Weiss:Everything good? I…have two more of those in me.

Winter:On behalf of Argus, Atlas, and Mantle, we thank you for your services.

Weiss:Write it on a check and send it to my landlord.

Winter:Done.

Nora and Penny:Byyyye Weiss! Take care! Love you!

Weiss:Love you too! Don’t work too hard!

She hangs up with a satisfied sigh, her summon fading away as she makes it back inside. Weiss returns to her book just in time for Jaune to walk through the door.

Jaune:Hello, my Snow Angel. How has your day been?

Weiss:Jaune, I fear I might be really amazing. Dare I say, awesome?

Jaune:I definitely would. *kisses forehead*

Weiss:*smiles* Hopefully our kids think so.

[msbigredmachine]

New To This - Chapter 15

MASTERLIST

An hour after the hour-long ride from Josh’s house, Delilah was still perambulating around town, her mind filled with everything that she was going to say to Andre. She tried to anticipate his every reaction, mentally preparing herself for anything he could throw at her. What she would do if he cried. What she would do if he yelled. What she’d do if he even became violent. Yesterday in his gym, Josh had taught her a chokehold that she could take down people twice her size with, in the ring and in real life. She even came up with a plan for handling his stoic silence. All bases needed to be covered for a decision this monumental.

But before all that, she made a call to her sister, Simone, to ask if she was home. She needed to talk to her first before anyone else. Her friend and co-worker, Tiwa would be at Simone’s too, as she was the babysitter to CJ, Delilah’s three-year-old nephew. Her mother would also be contacted on FaceTime, so Delilah would be killing several birds with one stone.

It was a somber affair, breaking the news to her family. Over a plate of Simone’s comfort food and a pitcher of Clay’s (Simone’s husband) “famous” iced tea, with Grace on the other end of Simone’s iPad propped up on the kitchen table, Delilah sat them all down and laid out everything that had happened with Andre and Josh and what her plans were. As she unburdened herself, the gravity of what was happening to her life began to dawn on her for the first time maybe since this whole thing started. Overcome with emotion, the tears began to fall as she came to terms with the end of her life as she knew it, which included a decade of devotion to the boy she’d loved since she was a teenager. 

Simone and Tiwa sat on either side of her, the latter handing her a tissue, their embrace warm and comforting, their expressions surprisingly understanding. However, her mother did not share the same empathy, and watching her eyes fill with disappointment through the iPad sank Delilah’s heart. 

Grace frowned. “Child, what on earth are you doing?” 

Dabbing her eyes, Delilah shook her head, refusing to be deterred by the negativity. Not this time. “Something I should have done long ago, Mama. Andre and I’s relationship has been falling apart and I didn’t see it until it was too late.”

“From everything you’ve just said, you’re the reason y‘all are falling apart. You were unfaithful to him and threw away a stable life for some…wrestler,” Grace scolded, ever judgmental. “And you've not even told him! This is ungodly behavior from you, Delilah.”

“Mama, stop,” Simone cut in, “What’s happened has happened. Let’s just be there for her and-”

“I do not accept that, Simone. Your sister is behaving like a child.  Your daddy and I did not raise either of you to be so reckless and irresponsible! If he was here-”

“If he was here, he would have supported me no matter what!” Delilah finished for her, more tears falling as the mental and physical exhaustion of telling her truth took its toll. “All I ever wanted since my wrestling journey began was your support and Andre’s, Mama, but neither of you gave it to me and I ended up finding it somewhere else.” Wiping her eyes again, she shook her head, determined to get her point across. “I never meant for this to happen and I’m sorry that it's going to hurt Andre in the process. But I’m not sorry I met Joshua. Ultimately, he helped me reach my goal and I’m forever grateful to him. I don’t expect you to understand. I’m a grown woman, and the decisions I’ve made thus far are mine and mine alone.”

Grace tsked, her nose turned up at the absurdity of this situation. “You have so much to learn about life, my dear daughter. It’s a shame you chose to learn the hard way.” With that, she ended the call, the screen returning abruptly to CJ's grinning face that made up Simone’s Home Screen. 

Blowing out a shaky breath, Delilah pushed away the plate in front of her, feeling sick to her stomach. “Well…that went well,” she murmured sarcastically.

Tiwa rubbed her shoulder and rested her head on the other one. “It’s okay, Dee. She’ll come around.”

“She never comes around,” Delilah scoffed. Her mother was stubborn and strong headed and stuck to her ‘principles’ no matter how flawed and traditionalist they were.

“I’ll make sure she does,” Simone promised, peering closely at her little sister. “You do understand why she’s acting out, right? She’s just worried and wants the best for you professionally and personally.” Simone had the same concerns as her mother, adding to her disapproval of this love triangle her sister had deposited herself in. But the last thing Delilah needed right now was more scolding. “Tell you what, whatever happens with you and Andre, I’ll make the guest room available for you. You can stay here until your move to Orlando. I know CJ will be happy to have his auntie around.”

Letting her big sister’s words sink in, Delilah smiled a watery smile, grateful that she had someone’s unconditional support in whatever she decided. “Thank you.”

“You never need to thank me for anything, Lilah Girl. By the way, what does this Josh boy even look like? I wanna see what the fuss is all about.”

Tiwa swooned and made a show of fanning herself. “Sis, he is six different kinds of fine.”

“For real? Lilah, let me see!”

Chuckling softly, Delilah opened up her phone and found one of his photos with his newly won Intercontinental championship belt. Simone did a double take. “Damn, girl! Tiwa’s right. He’s gorgeous! Do he got brothers? Asking for a friend of course.”

“It better be for a friend,” Clay chimed in from the living room, making them all laugh.

“Of course, baby, I'm asking for Tiwa over here!” Simone joked.

Leaving her sister’s home feeling just a modicum better about herself, Delilah reluctantly made her way back to reality. The closer she got to her trailer home though, the confidence diminished and the butterflies in her stomach increased as she struggled to get her emotions in check.

What she was about to do, the words she was about to say, would signal the end of the only romantic relationship she had ever known. She was about to put a definite end to the only life she was familiar with and launch herself face-first into a completely daunting one that she, for all intents and purposes, knew very little about in the first place. It had nothing to do with Josh, and very little to do with Andre. This was about Delilah finally doing something for herself, something she should have done long ago.

If she was honest, she was glad that Andre had gone to that audition. She was glad that he had been called back. She sincerely hoped that he would make it far in the competition and be on TV too. She wanted him to be happy. But more than that, she had been looking for the perfect way out and finally she’d found it. Having him around all the time, working out with her and attending her shows, was supposed to make everything right again. But it hadn't.

The only real purpose the last few weeks had served was to increase her guilt over sleeping with Josh. As much as she told herself that she pushed her lover to the back of her mind, the truth was that their affair was never far from her thoughts. She had nearly confessed to Andre on multiple occasions, but couldn't bring herself to break his heart. His announcement about the Idol callback had given her the perfect cover to blow up.

But she was tired of pretending and feeling guilty. There were more mistakes in her life to come, but she wanted to make them on her own without worrying about someone else's feelings. She owed Andre complete honesty. She needed to finally confess and let him go. She needed to move on and so did he.

By the time she parked alongside the house, she had resigned herself to her fate. As agreed, she would crash at Simone’s house for her final few weeks in Pensacola and deal with the weight of what she had done. And then she would move down south all by herself and move on with her life. She would be okay. Andre would be okay.

Somewhat quelled by this, she stepped through the front door of the house.

Sitting on the couch with his feet resting atop a big cardboard box, Andre sipped from a beer bottle. "I think this is everything," he nodded to the other boxes stacked around the room. "I kept the dishes, but your pots and pans are in there," he pointed toward a couple of boxes next to the kitchen island.

A numbness settled into her entire body. Opening her mouth and then shutting it again several times, Delilah leaned against the front door and spluttered, "You're kicking me out?"

"You didn't come home. For two days," Andre stated, his voice surprisingly void of anger. "You somehow managed to get it up in your head that I don't give a flying fuck about you, Dee, but I do. More than you could ever know.” He took another swig of his beer. "The guys left at around one a.m. When you didn’t come back in the morning, I got worried. So I went to Tank’s gym. You wasn't there. Went to Simone’s. Not there, either. Then I remembered the tracker on your bike," he said.

Delilah's shoulders sagged with relief. She knew where this was going. "Andre," she whispered, her eyes brimming with tears.

But he only held up a hand and continued his dialogue. "You took me a long way outta town, babe," he said, "Luckily, I’ve been to this neighborhood a few times for work, so it was easy to get in. I followed the tracker and I found your bike in some fancy new house parked next to a big ol' Escalade. His security system sucks, by the way. I was able to sneak ‘round the back of the house into the backyard, and who do I see in the pool?" Meeting her eyes, he took another drink, his expression hard. “Y’all were too busy to see me standing there, but now I know who you been learnin’ all your little sex tricks from.”

The bile rose in her throat faster than her body could compute. Rushing down the hall and into their bedroom, Delilah emptied the contents of her stomach into the bowl as sobs wracked her body. She had intended to tell him about the affair. She had planned it perfectly on her way back from Simone’s but now her plan had been blown to smithereens.

As she dragged herself to her feet and flushed the toilet, Andre loomed behind her like a shadow, leaning casually on the doorframe. "How long have you been fucking him? Hmm? My guess is since your tryout," he surmised.

Splashing water over her face, Delilah rested against the edge of the sink, avoiding his eyes. She couldn't look at him, couldn't bring herself to see the accusations in his eyes. Nodding, she sniffled back another sob. 

"I'm so sorry," she managed to choke out when she risked a glance at him through lowered lashes. "It wasn't supposed to be like this."

Andre smirked, shaking his head in disbelief. "You don't just fuckin' cheat on your fiancé by accident, Dee. I know it might be hard for you, but can you at least try to respect me enough to tell me the fucking truth now that I know? Did you bring him here to fuck, too?"

"No, of course not!" Like a wounded animal, all she wanted to do was hiss, claw, and bite back at him. She wanted to scream for him to understand, to try to act like an adult for once. But she had broken their engagement. She had been planning a life without him. She had no right to fight back.

Squeezing past him, she glanced into their bedroom. The piles of laundry on the floor were seriously diminished, and the candles were gone. The closet was more than half empty, her clothes and the rest of her belongings gone, probably in one of those boxes in the living room. This was really happening, and she couldn’t bring herself to stop it.

"When I met him, he was just Main Event Jey Uso, ya know?" she started, lowering herself to the bed and then standing again. Sitting felt too comfortable. She didn't deserve comfort right now. "One of the most over guys in the business that I wanted so badly to be a part of. He was really complimentary about my talents. And it felt so good." 

The look on Andre’s face made her wince a bit. She knew how absurd it sounded. She knew that it didn't make sense. But she knew that there was nothing she could say that would sound valid. There was nothing that made her actions right. "Knowing that somebody thought I was good enough to make it, that he wanted me to succeed? It was easy to convince myself that I was just thanking him for that faith in me."

In disbelief, Andre sat his beer bottle on the top of the dresser and crossed his arms. "You couldn't just buy him a thank you card or somethin’?"

"How? We’re broke as fuck!" Delilah argued without thinking, regretting it instantly.

A wry laugh escaped him as he scratched the top of his head. "Right. Of course," he started, biting his lip and shaking his head. "Ya know what? I'm not even gonna have this fight with you. We've both known this was coming anyway," he sighed, turning back for the living room. “I’ll drive you to Simone’s. You might need to get whatever else you got here before you head out.”

Delilah followed him, her legs as heavy as lead, wondering why she felt so hollow. It was what she had wanted. She had the gun loaded and cocked before she ever walked in the door. She guessed it was just hard to accept that she wasn't the one pulling the trigger. "Can I ask you a question?" she spoke up.

Andre opened the door and lifted one of the heavier boxes into his arms, leaning against the wall for support when he looked back. “Might as well."

"Why even pretend all this time?" she asked with a shrug, grabbing the box closest to her before moving toward the door.

Andre stepped onto the porch and spoke over his shoulder as he walked to his fiancée's bike. "I wasn't pretending," he grunted, laying the box on the ground and opening his trunk to place the box inside. Resting his hands on his hips, he offered her the first genuine smile she had seen since arriving home. "You forget who you're talking to, Dee? I’ve known you for half our lives. When you go off to the most life-changing event of your life and you don't call me at all? I know somethin' is up, okay? You had already decided that you were goin' to Orlando before you ever got home. So what was I supposed to do? Fight you?" 

He released his grip and stepped back, leaning against the car and crossing his arms once again. "I figured I'd give it a shot. I decided I was gonna try to give it a shot, try to salvage what was left of us. Cause ya know what?" Tilting his head to the side, he gave her the crooked grin that had always set her heart on fire in the past. "Believe it or not, this ain't easy. It ain’t easy walkin' away from somethin' that's been your life for as long as you can remember. But this has to happen. We ain't been right for a long time, and every time we try to fix it, we just fuck it up even more."

For a moment, she thought that she might throw up again. The way that he was shrugging his shoulders made it seem as though he didn't care. But he was right. They knew each other. She could see it in his eyes. He loved her, more than he was ever going to admit in words. "And you don't think that we can co-exist for another couple of weeks?" she asked, unsure of where the questions were coming from. But at the moment, the thought of leaving him hurt more than she could explain. Not Andre, her fiancé, but Andre, her best friend since high school.

"No," he said without hesitation, stepping past her en route to the house to grab the last box. "You need to go, baby. You need to follow your dreams. I've seen you wrestle, and you shine brighter than a damn diamond. You light up, and the crowd loves you. It’s where you're supposed to be. Not in this house," he explained.

Stepping back over the threshold, she wordlessly helped him carry the rest of the boxes to his truck. Once they were all loaded, she turned and looked at him, slightly amazed by how peaceful all of this was going. "I was gonna leave today," she informed him.

Andre smiled, unsurprised. "I was going to ask you to leave today," he said, "I guess we’re both doing what needs to be done."

At that, a sense of calm filled her beyond all reasoning. She was seconds away from driving away from the union they had worked so hard to maintain, yet both were happier than they had been in more than a year.

Glancing down, she spotted the final piece of her connection to him, the sparkling diamond ring still on her finger. Sighing heavily, she slowly tugged the it off her finger and took his hand, pressing it into his palm. Andre locked eyes with her the entire exchange, the sadness and resignation in his eyes reflecting the emotions she was feeling too.

After rolling her motorcycle onto the back of his truck, Andre opened the passengers side of his truck to help Delilah in before moving to his own side of the truck, kickstarting the vehicle to begin the ride to Simone’s house. In the rearview mirror, Delilah cast one last look at her former life, heaving a heavy, cleansing sigh. The first chapter of her new journey had been completed, and despite the bittersweet sensations she was currently experiencing, she couldn't wait to crack on with the next chapter.

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

Thoughts?

Please leave comments! I love comments! 😁

Credit to the owners of the pics and gifs.

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[lgbtsana]

LOST IN TRANSLATION

- sim jaeyun / jake one-shot

GENRE: Romance, Enemies to Lovers, Deaf Jake, College Life.

PERM TAG LIST: @run2seob

Jake is a 21 year-old deaf, junior university student, who has trauma from bullying over the fact he can't hear. Y/N is a 20 year-old, freshman university student, who just wants to make friends. She approaches Jake without knowing he's deaf, and he begins to dislike her when she couldn't understand why he was pointing to his ears. Y/N learned through Heeseung that Jake was deaf. Why not learn sign language? Will she be able to befriend Jake or will he dislike her until he graduates?

The alarm in her room, blaring, filling the room with its ever so annoying noises. Y/N's hand slams on the nightstand, searching for the alarm clock desperately, trying to turn it off.

“Just turn off already!” she exclaimed, sitting up and turning it off. A sigh of relief escapes her lips, “Finally…” her voice trails.

“Fuck! I'm late!” She hurries to change her clothes and get to her university, Decelis Academy.

While she was almost always late, she had good grades. Her GPA is what got her accepted. So, learning things felt like a breeze to Y/N.

Arriving to her class, she immediately got scolded by the professor. “Late again, Ms. Seo” Professor Jay remarked, annoyed at the tardiness. But, just glad she made it.

While, Professor Jay seems harsh. He actually is laid back and kind. Always making sure everyone is done with their work, and able to turn it in. The students appreciated it, this allowed them to understand the material better.

“Sorry, Professor Jay…” her voice trailed, “I was up late studying.”

A sigh left the professor's lips, “Sit down, at least you're late with a decent reason.”

A slight smile met her lips, “Thank you, Professor Jay!” she spoke excitedly, walking to her desk chair and taking a seat.

Being a Freshman gave Y/N some advantages, she was able to get off with being tardy, blaming it on ‘studying’ when she already knew the material.

Though, she had some challenges with making friends. They always walk away from her, saying that she was “Too weird.”

It irked Y/N, but she let it go.

After her class ended, she noticed a taller boy in the hallway. Realizing this was a chance to make a friend, she skipped over excitedly and spoke, “Excuse me? Would you like to be friends?”

Silence.

“Ah, ignored again…” she sighed as the boy turned around and jolted in surprise. His jolt made her jump as well, but she was still confused. Why didn't he answer her?

She said the same lines she just spoke, and he tilted his head. Bringing out his phone and typing, before showing her, “I'm deaf.”

Her mouth formed an ‘O’ shape, finally understanding the situation. She still wasn't sure how to communicate with him, and he got annoyed. Huffing and walking away.

Y/N reached her hand out as she frowned. Another chance down the drain.

The night of, she looked up videos to learn sign language. She realized that, to communicate better, she could learn sign language.

Y/N stayed up all night learning sign language. Practicing signs to perfect her understanding.

The next day, she walked up proudly to him and tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around and was visibly annoyed by her presence. “My name is Y/N, what is yours?” she smiled as she signed to him. His eyes widening in shock, no one having done this for him before.

“Jake.” was all he signed before quickly walking away.

“Jake, huh…” Y/N murmured, turning on her heel and making her way to Heeseung.

“Hey!” her hands clasped his shoulders roughly, making him jolt. “What the hell!” he exclaimed, “I'm doing an assignment, what's up?”

“Do you know who Jake is?”

“Jake? Yeah, he's the deaf student. Keeps to himself.” Heeseung quickly replied.

“Making more friends is hard, Seungie…” she whispered, visibly upset.

“What happened? Wait- Did you try to talk to Jake?”

“Yeah! But I learned sign language after that to fix things, I think that made him hate me more…”

A fit of laughter began as Heeseung couldn't hold it in anymore.

“Hey! It's not funny, asshole!��� she hit his back lightly, making sure not to hurt him.

“It kinda is.” Heeseung spoke plainly.

“No!”

“Yeah!” He laughed heartily.

“I'll get Sunoo to talk to him, he knows sign language.”

“You will? Thank you!” she hugged her closest, and only, friend.

“Yeah, yeah. Now let me do my assignment, in peace.”

Y/N nodded and left the room.

Heeseung was able to get Sunoo to convince Jake to talk to Y/N. It was a long process, but they were able to do it.

Jake and Y/N meet up at the park, signing to each other, Y/N made sure to get every sign correct.

Jake noticed her concentration on making sure she was signing correctly. A chuckle left his lips, watching her eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

“What's so funny?” she signed to him.

“Your eyebrows furrow when you concentrate,” he signed back, “It's kinda funny.”

Y/N pouted, “No fair! I'm trying not to mess up and make you hate me…” she signed and frowned at the end.

Jake's eyes widened, he didn't particularly hate her, he was more weary of her.

“I got bullied for being deaf when I was younger,” he signed, explaining his childhood thoroughly.

At the end, Y/N understood why he was weary. But, he finally knew she wasn't like that.

Christmas came around in a flash, people around campus going home to visit family. Yet, some decided to stay in their dorms. Keeping time to themselves.

Jake texted Y/N that he was going to visit family and came to her dorm room to give her a hug. “Until we meet again!” he signed, making it dramatic as possible. Y/N laughed, “Yeah, yeah, get going drama king!” she signed back, before putting her hands on his back to push him.

He pulled out his phone and texted her, “See you later!”

She looked up from her phone and smiled. Mouthing slowly, “Bye.”

Holidays ended, and Y/N was waiting at the train station for Jake to arrive. She wanted to surprise him when he came back.

As the train came to a stop, the door slowly opened and people from inside came flooding out. Y/N was focused on finding Jake, her eyes searching through the crowd until their eyes met.

Her face lit up as a smile came to her lips. She noticed Jake mouthing, “Can I hug you?”

She gave him a nod as confirmation, and he walked over to her, pushing through the crowd and placing a gentle kiss on her lips.

Y/N's eyes widened as Jake pulled away, “Kiss?” she signed, “I thought it was a hug?”

Jake covered his mouth to laugh, before signing, “I mouthed, ‘’Can I kiss you?”

Y/N shrugged, “Either works!” she signed with a smile. Before giving him a tight hug, pulling away and signing, “Welcome back.”

While flowers take time to blossom fully, so does love. It takes time to learn a language, it takes time for feelings to grow. Love takes time.

[oflights]

wip snip 8.1

thank you for the tag, @buhloodweeeave! your snip looks like so much fun!

my current wip is a fic called Travelling Together (based on that w.s. merwin poem, yes, i am who i am). the premise is this:

After the tadpoles are gone and everyone goes their separate ways, Astarion and Gale realize they can still hear each other’s thoughts. Probably because they’re soulmates.

and here's a snippet!

“Astarion?” Gale gasps out loud. “When did you learn Sending? I thought you lost the sending stone I gave you! Did you find—wait. I’m not Sending, but you’ve been responding to me; how is that possible? Did you discover a new kind of stone? A more advanced working of the spell? You must tell me all about it—” Gale! Astarion shouts in his head. Somehow just the sound of his name in Astarion’s distinct voice, angry as it is, sets Gale’s heart fluttering slightly, which is quite pathetic and embarrassing, actually. Ugh, stop—you’re thinking far too fast and too much, I can’t make heads or tails of it. Slow down, will you? Just—think. Quietly, slowly. “That’s not exactly my strong suit,” Gale says, and Astarion immediately counters you don’t have to talk. Just think. As if you’re Sending. “But I’m not Sending,” Gale says, and then he flinches because he feels like someone has just smacked an open palm over his face. He stares down at his hands, which haven’t moved, and looks around his kitchen again. It’s still empty, if warm and cozy, the morning sun dappled on his honey-colored floorboards and baskets of fruits and grains hanging from various hooks, humming with spells to stay fresh. There’s the wall of shelved preserves and drawers of ingredients, everything in its right place. A fire crackles in the hearth, ready to cook his breakfast, and a few birds land periodically on his windowsill, twittering merrily as if they know that Tara’s not about. But for those birds, it’s just Gale here, alone in his kitchen.      Did you feel that? Astarion asks in his head. Gale narrows his eyes at—at nothing. His still empty kitchen. He’s beginning to wonder if he might still be rather drunk. What about this? Invisible fingers pinch at Gale’s left nipple, sharp and sudden, with a familiar twist—“Ouch!” Gale yelps, clutching his hand over his chest. “That was—how did you—that was entirely inappropriate given the current state of our relationship—or lack thereof—” Gale Astarion cuts in mentally, even managing a long, mental sigh. Stop talking. You’re giving me a bloody headache. I woke up with a headache Gale thinks forcefully, lips pressed together in consternation. Did you give that to me? From your waking musings, I believe the headache is from the alcohol last night, you lightweight Astarion tells him. Gale feels his face go hot. So you heard—I mean, you can hear— I can hear your thoughts, darling; at least the ones that make sense. Some of them are too fast for me, especially when you’re talking—and gods, that makes so much sense. As his knees suddenly go a bit wobbly, Gale sits down hard in the nearest kitchen chair and stares despairingly, still at nothing. I don’t understand he thinks pointedly, beyond caring about the admission. He doesn’t even mind Astarion’s answering jab. Well, that must be a first.

tagging @ashamedbliss @junietuesday @hausofthestars @shallanigans and @koalamatcha to share snippets (with zero pressure!!)

[ireallyliketalldarksultrymen]

for writing stuff, lizzie & mumbo perhaos? i think they'd be a silly duo (ooh if u want maybe as a hypothetical double life pair?) /vnf

lizzie and mumbo are such sillies <333 (you can find this fic here on ao3!)

—

Never in all his years did Mumbo imagine him and Lizzie having a sleepover—Void, he never expected them to be friends. Their personalities clashed, practically worlds apart; while she was outgoing and effortlessly warm, Mumbo tended to be reserved, fading into the background at times. He’d long assumed friendship between them would be improbable, if not impossible.

Yet here Mumbo was, hands folded politely as he sat on Lizzie’s bed, cross-legged atop hot pink sheets. Lizzie herself was at the vanity in front of him, chatting animatedly as she rummaged through her drawers. Her space buns bobbed with her words, and Mumbo watched, almost mesmerized.

As he listens to her ramble, loud and clear over the song humming on the record player, Mumbo’s allows for his eyes to drift around the room, taking a moment to admire her decor.

Joel didn’t exaggerate when he told him her bedroom was pink—in fact, he downplayed it. The walls, the drapes, the lamp, they were shades from chewed bubblegum to carnations. The latter so happened to rest in a rose pink clay pot on the windowsill.

There are few contrasts to the rest of the room; stood inches from her dresser was a bookshelf, which barely held novels. Sea shells and rocks painted in their own ways sat on the ledge, detailed in acrylic paints. Vinyl records lined the remaining shelves in a rainbow gradient, dark reds bleeding into deeper violets. Mumbo makes a mental note to ask her about her favorite artist.

Right of the windowsill is a poster of band he’d always be familiar with. Gem, Impulse, and Scott were posed with their instruments on the stage of their very first venue, sporting shirts tailored to their favorite colors, accompanied by embroidered initials.

When Mumbo squints hard enough, he can make out the cursive written in Sharpie on the top corner, which is marked with three different signatures that vary in neatness.

A platter of what were formerly cookies was put aside at the foot of her bed, crumbs and chocolate chunks its only remains. Mumbo’s only a tiny bit embarrassed to admit to scarfing down the cookies after the first bite.

Without warning, the bed dips as Lizzie plops down beside him, carefully balancing a handful of nail polish bottles. She grins, simping the assortment between them. “Alright!” she exclaims, looking excited. “What color are we going for?”

Mumbo glances down at the small, powerful army spread out across the blanket and realizes he has absolutely no idea where to start.

After a moment’s hesitation, he thinks he’s settled on a shade,  from his peripheral catches his eye, so Mumbo’s positive he’ll settle on that one—but, no, turns out there’s a whole other color that suits him better and, oh, he’s lost.

At this point, his hand hovers over one bottle before he snatches it back, repeating the gesture with the caution of someone touching a hot stove.

Finally, he groans, pulling his hands over his face. “Sorry, I just—“

“It’s okay!” Lizzie’s voice is warm and steady, coaxing Mumbo to pull away his hands away from his face.

He looks up and her smiling at him with a reassuring glint her eyes, full of understanding. “Here, let me see if…”

Lizzie starts to rifle through the pile, nose scrunched as her eyes carefully examines each bottle, and moment Mumbo feels ridiculous, fully convinced they wouldn’t be able to find the right color for him, but the gasp Lizzie lets grasps his attention.

“A-ha!” She triumphantly holds up a bottle, brandishing it like a prized trophy. “Looks like we’ve found your match!”

Lizzie brings up her other hand, placing her nails and the bottle side by-side. “It’s the shade I’m wearing!” she explains, grinning.

Mumbo tilts his head, studying the polish in her hand. The bottle was half-filled with a rose-gold paint, which shimmer slightly with glitter. He feels a smile tug at his lips. “It’s…perfect.”

Lizzie lets out a cheer, raising her arms in victory. The sight of her happy makes a sense of pride coil in Mumbo’s stomach.

Once her enthusiasm settles, she reaches over and gently presses her and Mumbo’s palms together. “See? Now we can even be matching!”

Mumbo looks at the hands, grinning at the sight of her painted nails against his plain ones. He can’t help but feel a flutter of excitement. So towards the end of the night, when the lamp on the bedside table is turned off and the sound of crickets chirping can be heard beyond the window, Mumbo settles in his sleeping bag, admiring his nails as they glow in moonlight.

[epickiya722]

I am seeing a lot of people in the jjk fandom idolize sukuna and empathize with him and say that his backstory is more compelling and interesting than geto's and that geto's radicalization journey was not interesting and relatable.

And while I understand that sometimes it can be hard to understand a character that wants to commit genocide I feel like that take is so shallow?

Part of me thinks its just a product of the ship wars but also its deeply fascinating that they would put geto's crimes and sukuna's crimes next to each other and say sukuna is better out of the two of them.

I feel like it has been a deliberate choice by gege to give a drawn out backstory only to geto while not giving Heian era flashback to sukuna as many wanted because the story wants you do understand geto (not agree but understand) while sukuna is presented as a villain even though there are crumbs of his backstory in there but not as nuanced and detailed like geto's.

I don't know I'm rambling but I feel very sad when I see people dismiss geto and his radicalization journey and in the same breath say that sukuna is more relatable.

But fandom is gonna fandom of course.

Before I say anything, I am a fan of both mentioned characters. Sukuna is actually one of my top favorites (of course, after Yuji). So with that said, I don't care for anyone to act an ass and be like "fake fan" or "how dare you bash---". No, no, no. Chill out.

◇

You said something that I feel like some people tend to not do when it comes to villains in stories.

"Understand", that part right there.

Sometimes, I do think the writer can have the intention of readers to sympathize and/or empathize with the villain. However, it depends on the kind of villain. But, at best, when writers give backstories to these villains, it's to understand why the villain do what they do and how they became that villain.

You can understand a villain and still not sympathize or empathize with their actions.

In the case of Geto and Sukuna, I do find it odd that some will say Sukuna is more relatable than Geto. Especially, as you pointed out, Sukuna doesn't have as much backstory present in the canon story as Geto has. We'll get back to that.

Now, do I think people can't relate to Sukuna? No. I think if you relate to him, you can and I'm not stopping you. However, that doesn't mean Geto can't be relatable, too.

In story, both are presented as villains.

We don't know much about why Sukuna turned out the way he did, but we do for Geto.

I know that the arc is also called "Gojo's Past Arc", but it is also Geto's, too. It shows why he changed, too.

It boils down to the fact he was a teenager that was just as much as a victim like his friends were to a fucked up system ran by a conservative group of traditional folks who would rather exploit the people under them than get their hands dirty.

Geto, as many jujutsu sorcerers, witnessed deaths of people he came to care about and if it wasn't death, stress caught up to everyone and him as well as a growing distance played a part.

Now, while usually a teenager isn't going to resort to killing a bunch of people, teenagers (anyone really) have been put in positions that will make them feel helpless. That was Geto.

Bringing back the backstory thing...

What backstory? (Not directed to you, Anon.) As much as people were up in arms about "we didn't get the Heian Era backstory", it's just doesn't make sense to then turn around and Sukuna's backstory is more interesting than Geto's.

I ask again... what backstory?

I said it before, but none of these characters actually had a full backstory. Not just Sukuna.

No one had a backstory that showed everything. In fact, some bits and pieces are found out through fanbooks and interviews.

That may be on purpose. I know it felt like Gege may not have touched on a lot with the characters, but for some parts of the story, what if that is the point? Maybe we're not meant to focus on the past but on the present and future. (Reflecting how some characters are working to make the future better and being more adaptive to the present unlike other characters who are more traditional and stuck in the old ways.)

Yes, some parts of the past are meant to be known but that's meant to understand the present. That doesn't mean everything must be known.

With Sukuna, I feel like some did miss the mark with him. I'm not saying I'm right, but my guess is we're supposed to feel detached from him. We're meant to understand him, but not idolize him.

We don't know much about him because we're supposed to not see him as someone redeemable, someone not humane. Just as Sukuna portrays himself to be. Sukuna does nothing in the story worth going "Ah, he's just a hurt guy 🥺". Sukuna admits that everything he does is out of his own pleasure and selfish gains. He is aware of emotions, he knows what love is. He just chooses to not allow himself to feel those emotions. He doesn't allow himself that humanity.

Rereading the story, you can see how dismissive he can be even about himself. When he talks about eating his twin? He says it like it was just another day for him. When he tells Hajime about being an unwanted child? Again, he's dismissive. He states it with even a small smile on his face.

He has the title "King of Curses", but what are curses born from? Negative human emotions. Taking a guess here, but what if that title is meant to be fitting (other than visually) for Sukuna being metaphorically that how he sees himself? A curse born from the nasty nature of being human and he happens to be the strongest one of all?

For both characters, I do find them interesting in their own right. And I agree with you, I do think some of the fandom have their views on their characters because of shipping. I don't think shipping is the whole reason, but part.

(I think I know the ships, but I could be wrong. Both involve a certain white haired guy? I have no problem with either ship though.)

When it comes to Sukuna and Geto, I feel like some can mischaracterize both and stick to that fanon version of them just to make their ship more interesting.

With Sukuna, some tend to write him as only being attached to a certain person because "he gets him, he knows how to challenge me, I'm in love, he taught me love". When, just me probably, it's not that Sukuna doesn't understand love. I don't think he wants it, no matter the form of it. (Let's remember there are different kinds of love, folks.)

With Geto, it's like he can't stand as his own character because everything he does was only for one person and/or he's a lot worse than what he is.

When you compare who's worse and than say "it's Geto", that's wild. They both may came from a place of hurt, but let's not act like Sukuna is a Saint. He has done more heinous shit just for even the hell of it. Geto isn't the only villain here.

I know people will say "he's a genocidal maniac" but so is Sukuna??? Hello??

Let's be real, Geto's biggest kill counts definitely came from the village and maybe the Night Parade event and I say maybe because by then sorcerers may have already gotten civilians out and some people died at the hands of his followers.

But I doubt he actually was killing endlessly for ten years. I think he killed, but not as many as some of the fandom says. If he was that big of a problem, then why was he able to do whatever for TEN YEARS?! There is no excuse! They knew where he was at. If regular people knew, I know for a fact, the Higher-Ups knew. They could send a group or whatever? No, because Geto was collecting curses and as we see, he doesn't have to kill people to collect curses. He killed those that was no use to him, money wise. And maybe the occasional jackass.

I apologize, I rambled there.

Point is! Both characters are in the wrong for their actions. Both characters can be interesting, however you choose to feel. Find Geto boring, but Sukuna interesting? Alright. The vice versa? That's fine, too.

But regardless of backstory, or lack thereof, to idolize Sukuna and not Geto is rather absurd because "Sukuna is better". No, no. No. He's just as bad. He is evil. He literally had beef with his own nephew and sought to kill him. People in the Heian Era worshipped him out of fear. He wasn't some hero. Saying this as a Sukuna fan.

Both characters may be different, overall, but why excuse one character for the sake of "I think he's cooler"? That does nothing for the story at all! In fact, that's quite an injustice. Don't get the story, that's fine and all, I'm still understanding some things myself. I'm not an analyst expert on JJK at all.

I get having preferences, do you, folks. But let's not mix up fanon with canon and argue with people because of preferences. Do you truly like that character if you only seem to like a fanon version? Do you really hate a character if you try to worsen how they really are in the canon?

Sorry, this got longer than I intended! As you can see, I ramble!

[lesbehonestsstuff]

Catholic guilt - part 6

Casey Novak has always been the good catholic girl. Always perfect, always trying to meet high expectations. But she doesn't understand why she feels no interested in the boys who flirted with her, why her eyes instead linger on other girls.

Word count: 2371

Chapter 6/7

I was rushing with deadlines but I finally got time to write so here you go

The day had gone by and Casey had barely moved. She lay there barely able to breathe. The motion felt too hard, the pressure hurting her ribs. She was staring up at the ceiling, the tears that were falling catching on the soft brown fur of the bear. The room felt smaller, suffocating, the walls closing in on her. Her father’s words echoed in her head, “I’ll make you normal if it kills me.”

She wasnt broken, she wasnt something he could fix. Her entire life she had been living under their pressure and she couldn’t do it anymore. She couldn’t let them send her away. She couldn’t lose Alex.

The thought of being torn from the only person who truly loved all of her, who understood her—it send another rush of tears down her face. She couldn’t stay, her father would make sure she was gone by tomorrow. They would force her into that camp, try to erase everything she was, make her forget the love she had for Alex.

She couldn’t let that happen.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she sat up, wiping the tears from her eyes. She knew what she had to do. She couldn’t stay here, not with them. Not after she knew what they’d do.

Quietly, Casey got up and grabbed her backpack from the floor. She moved quickly, her hands shaking as she stuffed it with the most important things she could find—some clothes, her favorite sweater, the one she had stolen from Alex months ago, her favorite book filled with images and a photo from the Photo Booth she and Alex had taken, all of it hiding in its pages.

She opened the door to her room and heard them downstairs, dishes clinging and her fathers voice rough and loud as it always was. She took the chance to run to their room, to the box of documents her mother kept under their bed and quickly grabbed what was hers. Everything else she left behind. There wasn’t time. She needed to get out.

Wiping her the rest of her tears with the back of her hand, Casey shoved everything in her bag and crossed the room to the window. She stopped for a second looking back at all the memories, all the things she was leaving behind. It made her ache to know that her life would never be the same, that her parents were so hateful they had pushed her to this point. If she stayed she would be gone, so she would go before they could take her.

Grabbing the bear Alex had won for her and stuffing it at the top of her backpack she went to her window. The latch clicked softly as she unlocked it, the cool night air rushing in as she pushed the glass up. She hesitated for a moment when she heard footsteps coming up the stairs, glancing back toward the door. If he heard her, if he caught her leaving, she didn’t know what he’d do. But she wasn’t waiting around to find out.

With a deep breath, Casey climbed out onto the roof, it had gotten dark and she used it to her advantage, her movements quick and careful. She’d done this a dozen times before to sneak out, but tonight it felt different. Tonight she wasn’t sneaking away, she was escaping.

The gravel crunched under her feet as she dropped down onto the driveway below. Without looking back, she ran. The wind whipped through her hair, and the cool night air stung her cheeks, but she didn’t slow down. Her heart pounded in her chest, her pulse racing as she made her way to Alex’s house, each step fueled by desperation and fear.

By the time she reached Alex’s house, her lungs were burning, and her legs felt like lead. She scrambled around to the side, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She could see Alex inside asleep on the couch, the tv illuminating her features. She tapped on the window trying to get her attention.

She could see Alex slowly wake up, looking around confused until their eyes locked together Alex’s came closer rushing to the window, her brows furrowed in confusion at first, but the second she saw Casey’s tear-streaked face, the confusion melted into concern.

Alex pushed the window open, leaning out. “Casey?” Her voice was soft, but Casey could hear the worry. “What’s wrong?”

“Let me in,” Casey choked out, her voice shaking, desperate with sobs that wanted to crawl out her throat. “Please.”

Without hesitation, Alex disappeared for a second, and Casey heard the sound of her unlocking the back door. She rushed to meet her, and as soon as Alex opened the door, Casey crashed into her arms, sobbing uncontrollably.

Alex’s arms tightened around her immediately, holding her close. “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Alex murmured, her voice gentle, though panic was creeping into her tone. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you, Case. What happened?”

Casey couldn’t speak. She just clung to Alex, her fingers digging into her shirt as if letting go would make everything worse. Her body shook with sobs, her face buried against Alex’s neck.

Alex guided her inside, shutting the door softly behind them and leading Casey upstairs to her bed. They sat down, and Alex kept her arms around Casey, rubbing slow circles on her back. “You’re safe here. It’s okay.”

Alex felt helpless, she held tightly to Casey, waiting as sob after sob came out of her. She had never seen her so distressed and not knowing what had caused it had her so worried she felt like she was going mad. Casey was barely breathing between her cries, the desperation in them making Alex’s eye glaze over.

It took what felt like forever, but eventually, Casey’s sobs subsided enough for her to speak. Her words came out in ragged gasps, choked and broken, as she tried to explain what had happened. “My dad…he knows…they both do. He—he called me a pervert. He said—he said I was disgusting. That I’m.. that I’m—”

Alex’s felt her breath knocked out of her at the words, her grip tightening protectively around Casey. She pulled back just enough to look at her, brushing the hair out of her face, her blue eyes full of worry and love. “Casey… they’re wrong,” she whispered, her voice filled with so much conviction that Casey almost believed it. “They’re wrong. You’re not. You’re perfect, just as you are.”

Casey just shook her head, a hollow look in her eyes. She hugged her arms tightly around herself, a faint wince escaping her lips as her hand brushed against a tender spot on her arm.

Alex’s brows furrowed, and her gaze dropped to Casey’s arm. She reached out, gently lifting Casey’s sleeve to reveal a darkening bruise wrapping around her arm, the clear mark of a handprint. Her breath caught, her eyes wide with shock. “Casey… who did this to you?”

Casey swallowed hard, her gaze shifting away. “My dad,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Alex’s hands were gentle, but her voice was filled with barely controlled anger. “Is… is there more?”

Without a word, Casey lifted her shirt slightly, showing Alex the darkening bruise that was starting to form on her ribs. Alex’s face went pale, her jaw tightening as she took it in, her hands shaking as she looked at Casey, barely holding back her tears. She didn’t say anything for a moment, just stared at the bruises, her mind racing. Finally, she took a shaky breath and gently lowered Casey’s shirt.

“Stay right here,” she whispered, her voice tight. She left the room briefly, returning with a small ice pack. She knelt beside Casey, her fingers gentle as she traced them on Caseys side, her touch so careful it made Casey’s chest ache. “This will help a little,” Alex murmured, pressing the ice pack to Casey’s ribs, her hand lingering to hold it in place.

Casey winced at the cold but Alex kept the pack still, she then pulled out a small camera her expression sad, a camera Alex had that Casey knew was filled with their happy moments. “Case, I’m going to take pictures of these, okay?” Her voice was steady, but her eyes were filled with a fury Casey had never seen. “Just in case. In case we ever… in case you need to show someone.”

Casey nodded numbly, letting Alex take the photos. She hated the idea, hated that this moment was now something to remember. Hated that it was now going to be tainted. But as she watched Alex, the determination in her girlfriend’s eyes made her feel safer. She knew Alex would protect her. She trusted her.

With the bruises documented, Alex sat back down beside Casey, her hand resting on her knee. “What happened after that?” she asked softly, her voice gentle but urgent.

Casey shook her head another sniffling “My dad… he… he said they’re sending me to a camp. Tomorrow. He’s taking me tomorrow morning, Lexie—”

Alex’s arms brought her back in, pulling her as close as she could. She felt nauseous at the thought. She had heard, had been threatened by her parents at some point, but the thought of Caseys parents actually following through and sending their daughter to one of those places made Alex feel like she was going to be sick. “No, they can’t… they can’t do that. Casey, we won’t let them. We won’t let them take you.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Casey cried, her voice breaking. “I can’t go back home. I can’t. But if I stay, they’ll find me—”

“We’re not staying,” Alex said firmly, her voice strong despite the fear in her eyes. The decision quickly made. “We’re leaving. Tonight. You and me.”

Casey pulled back, her eyes wide with fear. “No, you can’t… you can’t just leave because of me. I don’t want you to throw everything away.”

“I’m not throwing anything away,” Alex said, her voice soft. She cupped Casey’s face gently, wiping away her tears with her thumbs. “I don’t care about any of it if I don’t have you. I’m not letting them take you away.”

“But… your parents—”

“They don’t care about me,” Alex said quickly, pain glazing over that was gone as fast as it came. “They stopped caring years ago. But there’s someone who does. My uncle, Bill. He’s like us, Casey. He understands what we’re feeling. He lives upstate, in New York. He’ll take us in. We can be safe there.”

Casey’s breath caught in her throat. She didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to process any of it. Everything was too much. They had been happy the day before, everything had been perfect and now it was all falling apart.

She knew Alex meant it. They were going to run away—leave everything behind, leave the people that hurt them, the awful town they had never felt welcome in. They didn’t have a choice. If they stayed, Casey’s parents would destroy them.

Alex was right. They couldn’t, they had to go.

“Okay,” Casey whispered, her voice shaky. “Okay, let’s go.”

Alex gave her a kiss, a soft kiss that sent a wave of warmth through Casey. They rested their foreheads together as the last of Casey’s tears fell. “Okay” Alex whispered giving her another peck and pulling away.

Alex packed in silence, the weight of what they were doing sinking in with every item she shoved into her bag. Casey had taken only what she needed—the things she couldn’t live without—and left everything else behind. It didn’t matter anymore. She sat there, the ice offering her some relief as she wondered how she had managed to find herself so lucky to have someone like Alex by her side.

When Alex was done she grabbed Casey’s hand giving it a soft squeeze. “You ready?”

Casey squeezed her back with a small nod “Yeah. Im ready”

They went down the stairs, Alex turning all the lights off and grabbing her keys as they walked outside. She locked the house, giving it one last look as they headed out into the night.

The bus station was quiet at this hour, the sky just beginning to lighten with the first hints of dawn. Alex bought two tickets, one-way, to upstate New York. Casey stood beside her, still feeling the last waves of shock pass through her, trying to wrap her mind around what they were doing.

They were really leaving. Running away together. It would’ve been romantic had the situation not been so dire.

As they boarded the bus, Alex took Casey’s hand, not leting her go as they made their way to the back, finding seats by the window. The bus was nearly empty, just a few other passengers scattered throughout. It was perfect—no one would notice them. No one would care.

Casey leaned her head on Alex’s shoulder, her body exhausted from the everything that had happened. The adrenaline had worn off, leaving her feeling drained, her emotions overwhelming. But there was one thing she knew for certain—Alex was with her. Alex was always with her.

“I’m sorry,” Casey whispered, her voice chocked up and soft.

“For what?” Alex asked, her fingers gently brushing through Casey’s hair.

“For making you leave. For… everything.”

Alex leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to Casey’s forehead. “You didn’t make me do anything. I chose this because I love you, Casey. I don’t care where we are, as long as we’re together.”

Casey felt tears prick at her eyes again, but this time they weren’t tears of fear. She shifted, pressing a soft kiss to Alex’s shoulder, her heart swelling with gratitude and love. She didn’t deserve this. Didn’t deserve Alex’s kindness, her love. But Alex was here, holding her, refusing to let her go.

They were running, yes. But they were running together.

As the bus rumbled to life, the city disappearing behind them, Casey let her eyes drift shut, exhaustion pulling her under. She felt safe here, next to Alex, wrapped in her warmth. For the first time in what felt like forever, she wasn’t afraid, she didn’t feel guilty anymore.

[autisticjoshrusso]

ok ok ok. a post about josh, buck, and maddie at dispatch as promised. (and because i dont feel like writing a whole separate post or repeating myself etc, if im pointing something out as evidence for my autistic josh headcanon, it'll be in parenthesis like this) also this is long because im going basically line by line in some places so just be prepared for that and such.

the first thing i wanna say before anything else is that like... as far as how this conversation fits into the larger narrative, i was fairly disappointed, due to the way that including this scene like this is kinda implying that the racism was fine because of being closeted etc. HOWEVER. luckily for my sanity it is pretty clear that from a character perspective, that's not at all what's being said by josh himself here, and we can be pretty certain that he is not aware of tommy's past behaviors. in fact he has almost no facts or context about the situation, which i'll get into later.

now that the disclaimer is out of the way, im gonna move onto character analysis and will not be touching on what i think the narrative might have meant etc. any further. like this is going to be purely talking about character dynamics and dissecting the dialogue etc.

we start out right away by skipping all the exposition right into a hard cut of maddie reacting to the news that tommy and abby were engaged. LOVE this set up we get right into the important part quickly and we as the audience only have to hear information that is new to us, not the information being repeated back to the character for whom the information is new.

and oh maddie. i love you so bad. she's like DAMN thats crazy, and then makes the obvious turning people gay joke. her energy here is sooo like it didn't make sense until looking at it in retrospect, but she's shocked and invested yet not taking it very seriously as a concern for buck, because well, she's having a baby and this is objectively not that serious comparatively <3 but i do love that she sees buck's reaction and quickly reins it in and is like woah im kidding im not actually being homophobic holy smokes. which. it kinda still is a little. but i think she's allowed <3

and then... josh enters the scene. he apparently only walked in as buck was saying "-kissed a boy" so of course he had to be like huh? gay shit? something gay? boys?? what's going on over here? and i love that for him. and i love that maddie immediately is like oh hi bestie i catch u up to speed on the tea <3 the maddiejosh bestieism is so back we never lose <3 and that fact that she's like. feeding in the facts in a way to dramatically amp up the tale i love it. she really said man the things my baby brother gets himself caught up in are wild.... anyway <3 true sibling behavior is finding the perfect balance between being supportive and being so so annoying <3

and she is supportive still. like when it becomes clear that there's something deeper going on here she does try to help him work through it. and its so interesting to me the way she is sort of seriously contemplating his words and is shocked when josh not only speaks up but is being very serious and equally focused on the problem at hand. it's like... she's trying so hard to figure out how to help her brother with something she doesn't fully understand that having someone else speak up to help them kind of shocks her and boy does that say something about their lives and the buckley sibling dynamic!

side note, the way josh is jokingly like "she didn't bring her personal life to work, unlike SOME people" and maddie's little look of mock offense?? they're so cute i cant handle it.

i also really love how the shots are framed during this conversation. at first, even when she's not talking and is just listening to josh talk, maddie is still in frame, we're still getting her reaction, she's an active participant in what's going on. and then there is the one shot where she's talking and josh is out of frame, hidden by buck, because whatever reaction he might be having isn't important, it's a buckley sibling moment. (he's not an active participant at that point; he's entirely observing and reacting and gathering information, not dictating the direction of the conversation whatsoever.)

it's only when josh gets very serious and it starts to turn into a heart to heart moment just between him and buck that maddie is allowed to leave the frame. it still goes back to her in very brief cuts when her reaction is relevant, but she steps back out of focus and let's josh handle the conversation. and i love that so much. thank GOD someone else is helping buck sort out his problems that isn't his parentified sister or just generally someone more marginalized than him. it was kind of getting irritating to watch, as much as i love buck so much. like dude... the emotional labor. watch it.

and man. this conversation guys. everything about it makes me an insane crazy person. ive already mentioned this in the tags of some other posts but like... its so fascinating because on the surface it is such a cohesive conversation, but when you really break it down and analyze both of their expressions and body language alongside what they're saying, you can start to see the cracks in it. what one of them is saying is not what the other one is hearing, in both directions. they are having two different conversations and i think it's critical to analyze both of those conversations and how they are interacting with each other. what josh says, what josh hears, what buck says, and what buck hears are four entirely separate things happening alongside each other.

the first part is josh trying to get a sense for how serious this relationship is to buck. when buck falters at the question of "do you love him?", he elaborates with follow-up questions that, to josh, define "love" or close enough to it. answering "yes" to those questions is close enough to a "yes" to the question of "do you love him?".

(which. ok. the particular choice of questions makes me insane because they do essentially boil down to "do you prefer this person to solitude and grant them an equal or greater importance to yourself?" which is sooo... it's said from the point of view of someone who greatly values their solitude and would not easily grant someone that level of importance.)

unfortunately, well, buck is NOT someone who greatly values his solitude, and puts other people before himself quite easily. buck would answer "yes" to those questions for basically anyone. josh does not know or understand this about buck and takes buck's answers at face value, while buck is taking this as sort of... it's hard to explain, and i think others have done a better job of capturing buck's perspective already tbh. he's convincing himself that he loves tommy here because josh is unknowingly handing him that information and expectation, and buck loves to mold himself to fit an expectation etc.

and then comes the second part, which... i think this is where it is most critical to realize that josh has none of the context about tommy, abby, and buck and those respective relationships. by his own admission, he didn't really know much about abby or about her breakup with tommy beyond the fact that it was upsetting. he didn't hear the way tommy talked about abby to buck at dinner, and he definitely didn't get to see any of the real fallout and damage to her psyche that tommy leaving her caused.

but buck did! im not inclined to rewatch s1 to get any exact quotes or anything but from what i remember, she either outright said or implied that she was so heartbroken because tommy left her because of her mother's illness. buck is understandably very upset because he understands exactly what she went through and how, unless abby was lying to not out him, he didn't exactly come clean with the breakup, and left her feeling like it was her fault, like there was something wrong with her or she was being weighed down by caring for her mother. he calls tommy's behavior exactly what it is: dishonest and cruel.

but josh doesn't know this. all he is hearing is a young, freshly out bisexual calling a gay man "dishonest and cruel" for having been engaged to a woman for his own protection. and he responds exactly how you'd expect! he reminds him of queer history and the fact that he doesn't really have a right to judge the people who grew up and had to survive in a world that was much less safe to come out in.

(and i said in my other post that's still doing numbers that "pre-Glee/post-Glee" is an actual queer discourse talking point and makes sense that it'd be used here, as awkward and cheesy as it seems, but it's also a win for my television/film/popular media/hollywood culture/etc. as a special interest headcanon. <3 we love to see it)

and it kills me because of course buck is just going to take this at face value and decide he needs to stop feeling the discomfort he's feeling, leading to the subsequent doubling down and over committing that is typical of his unhealthy relationship patterns.

(and then at the end of the speech josh has to literally announce that he's leaving DSJFHJKDSKJ. because walking away/ending conversations is so awkward and difficult and the easiest way to mitigate that is to lean into the Dramatic Homosexual Stereotype mask or whatever <3 i've long been of the opinion that josh is someone who uses the behaviors associated with queer men and queer masculinity as the blueprint for his neurotypical mask, which is why he often comes across as being just a little bit off from the Funny and Bitchy Gay vibes that it seems like he's going for. and boy did his exit from this scene just reinforce that headcanon so hard!)

they wrap the scene with a little bit more levity too which is kind of nice to like. move on from that. because it got kind of heavy there for a second.

overall i do like what this scene accomplished, but like i said at the start, i think it has some really unfortunate implications that weigh it down for me. still, always nice to get more josh content, especially when it's pretty consistent with his character as established AND not at all related to doing his job. we got to see him and maddie being goofy and maddie being allowed to let someone else deal with buck's problems for a second. and the whole thing was very well shot! excellent camera work going on throughout.

i don't actually know how to end this post so yknow. im gonna make a dramatic exit now or whatever <3

[countlessrealities]

Vaggie knows that Charlie won't hold her laco of answers against her, just as she knows, deep down, that she has no reason to feel like she's yet against letting the princess down. Yet, she can't really help it. She's frustrated with herself, with her inability to do more, with how things seem to inevitably escape her control, no matter how hard she tries.

Perhaps, if her origins had come with knowledge that could be useful for them, perhaps her lies and secrets would have been less heavy to carry. But instead she hasn't been denied even that much.

"Yeah, if we had at least one of those answers, things would have been...much easier."

It's hard to solve a problem you don't fully understand, even more when it's complicated on its own. She doesn't doubt that, even if they had been aware of the whole picture, they would still struggle with finding a solution. At least, they wouldn't be fumbling in the dark as at times it felt like they were doing.

These, however, aren't the kind of thoughts she can share now. Charlie obviously needs reassurance, and it's part of the duties Vaggie has taken up to provide it.

"Hey, I'm not going anywhere, alright?" She claims with a smile, but her tone is deadly serious. She doesn't want the princess to ever think that her leaving is a possibility. "I'll always be by your side, no matter what. I won't leave you unless you want me to. And even then, you'll have to fight me to make me leave."

The former Exorcist squeezes her girlfriend's hands once more, her expression sobering up a little at the mention of their late companion. She knows how hard Charlie has taken Pentious' death, how she blames herself for it, even if she shouldn't. He knew what he was risking, he has made a conscious choice.

"I wish it too. But he isn't, so it's up to us to make sure that his sacrifice won't be in vain. And we will honour his memory, with every soul we'll redeem, with every life we'll save. Alright?"

   It almost hurts to know that so many of the angels, exorcists included, seem to be left out of the loop regarding things. Charlie had a feeling that Vaggie wouldn't be able to answer her questions, but she's not upset. Not with her anyway, more with the other Seraphim that knew and just how many secrets had been kept.

   To Charlie, being an exorcist sounds .. lonely. Maybe that's not quite the word, but if she was in Vaggie's place where she'd only really be around fellow sisters .. it'd just seem like the world is closed off in a way. She doesn't say anything about that though, and simply give a soft smile as Vaggie takes her hands.

" It's okay, I had a feeling you wouldn't be able to. If you or anyone had those kinds of answers we probably would've had a solution by now. "

   At least she hopes they would anyway. But that's all she rides on most of the time. Hope. Even in what feels like the darkest of times.

" I hope you're right, Vaggie. I'm not going to give up either, and I hope you'll stay right there beside me like you have been. We'll get through this together and find a solution. All of us. "

   There's a small pang of guilt in her chest though as her smile drops.

" I just wish Pentious could be here to see it. "

   And she certainly hopes the others can be redeemed before they end up meeting the same kind of fate.

[sirenofthegreenbanks]

im always reminded of that one tweet that explained, the power of dictatorships is less about enforcing laws and being successful in censoring the shit out of you, but about enforcing the most ridiculous shit on earth, mud-stuck-on-wall degree of shit, the kind everyone with two braincells is aware is shit and ridiculous and hysterical, and enforcing it succesfully. its not about whether a state truly believes in their policies or their mission, its not even about whether they believe (and care about) that the public, the citizens, believe it. its about enforcing, and enforcing it successfully. its about the fact that they know you know and can still do it. thats the power.

[martyrbat]

[ID: Bruce Wayne and Minhkhoa Khan breaking up in the rain. Bruce is in normal civilian clothes while Khoa has a white cloak on and a mask that hides his eyes. Khoa persuades, “We'll start in a small city in Southeast Asia, and systematically dismantle its criminal underworld. Out all the corrupt politicians. And then we'll go to the next, and the next. We'll build a high-tech base of operations that moves with us. We'll live well off the coffers of the gangs we dismantle. We'll expand from there. In time, maybe we could even tackle a city like Gotham. Not like boys, but like men at the peak of our skills.” Bruce simply tells him, “No.” Minhkhoa points an accusatory finger at him as his angry response has been edited to be a post by @/egirlbutternubs that reads, “But babe you love being gaslit.” END ID]

[manglam-marfach]

dyke!Chilaios has me understanding breeding kink all of a sudden