#now comes the reassuring part

[yourlazykitkat]

sometimes I think about how azriel and eris say “I love you”. And I know, they’re more of a lets-fuck-to-emote couple, but in their quiet moments, how do assure each other that the love they share is real with its own heartbeat? Especially verbally. Then I think about how poetic mr “If I offer you the moon on a string, will you give me a kiss, too?” vanserra is and wonder, is that a lucien thing or a vanserra thing.

because then I think, eris does not say love- no, love is something used to hurt him, hurt his brothers (jesminda), his mother. he’s a courtier, a silver tongued fox with clipped claws which scratch but do not scar. thus eris turns to the metaphor, the euphemism for a heart robbed, the flooding blood and aching to fill its empty space.

he says, “my dear shadowsinger”. he says “the moon is beautiful tonight”. he says, “I saw an elderly fae couple and thought of you”. he says, “I do not mind the darkness, my flames are only brighter because of it”. he says, “the bed is cold without you. it is too big”. he says, “take off your armour. yes, i’ll keep it safe in the drawers. yes, I’ll learn the fastens and straps to help you put it on every morning”. he says, “my dance card only has one name. well, two because you’ve asked me to be kind to your family. yes, i’m picking nesta again.” he says, “I love the ocean. let’s go” he says “my dearest shadowsinger, i do not love you. I will not hurt you with such indignity, such injury-“

to which azriel says, “fuck you”. he says “I say ‘I love you�� because I’ve never been able to say so freely before”. he says, “do I scare you with this heart of mine? So many others have turned me away.” he says, “do not turn away from me, I can’t take it”. he says, “do not turn away from me, let me see you.”. he says, “do I scare you eris vanserra? let me tell you how you scare me”. he says, “here is why I love you”. he says, “eris, I wish you a painless death”. he says “vanserra, i’ll be the one to kill you. teach me how to do it slowly.” he says, “I love you, I don’t know what to do with myself now that I’ve told you.” he begs, “eris vanserra, keep this our secret- how much I devastatingly love you. don’t let them know.”

“I think they know,” Eris will say and then, “let’s go to the ocean.”

[lycandrophile]

i totally understand why some people have read my posts about my recovery experience and been a bit freaked out by it if they haven't gotten top surgery themselves yet, and i also totally understand other people who have had top surgery wanting to reassure those people so they don't get scared out of having top surgery.

what i don't love is when, in an attempt to be reassuring, other people who have had top surgery say "well, my experience was much easier than this and yours might be too. don't be scared of having this kind of recovery, because you might not!"

if you had a super smooth top surgery recovery, i'm so happy for you and i'll be the first to admit that i envy you. i'm genuinely glad you got lucky! but i also know that, when i was preparing for top surgery, i wanted to know how to prepare for if i did have a rougher time and need more support, because being pleasantly surprised by a better time than you expected is much easier than being unpleasantly surprised by difficulties no one prepared you for. trying to find out how to prepare and being met with varying degrees of "don't worry, that didn't happen to me" was infuriating. the chorus of "that didn't happen to me" didn't do anything for me when one day post-op it took three people to figure out how to lift me into a sitting position without hurting me, and i never want anyone to find themselves in a situation like that totally unprepared. i worked really hard to get ready because i'm disabled and knew my body never has a chill reaction to anything, and i want other people to be able to prepare themselves too, whether they have a specific reason to or not.

not to mention, nothing in my experiences so far has been some worst case scenario that you should pray never happens to you. none of the things i've described in my posts have been complications; it's all just natural parts of recovering. every single time my surgeon has seen me, she's assured my that i'm healing perfectly so far. so yeah, things have been rough, but this isn't a horror story that i'm telling. it's not a warning or a cautionary tale. it's all totally normal and expected, even if it is more intense than some people's experiences. it just doesn't feel great to have my experience treated as something awful when it's all just part of the process.

the confidence that comes with knowing what could happen and feeling ready to face it is such a powerful thing, and i want people to be able to have that going into their surgery. i want them to be able to trust in their knowledge of what could happen and feel equipped to handle whatever comes their way. i want them to know that it'll be worth it in the end, even if it's hard for a while. i want them to know that top surgery is a wonderful thing and is worth doing, even if it's a rough experience, and that they can have a hard time and still come out the other side thrilled with the outcome. i want them to be able to look that fear in the face and say "yeah, maybe it'll suck for a few weeks, but then i'll be so much happier for the entire rest of my life, so fuck it, let's do it."

if i've learned anything over the past week, it's that top surgery is scary but it's also so worth it. if it would make your life better, go for it. i promise, the fear will be worth it. and honestly? a lot of the scary shit isn't nearly as scary once you've experienced it and learned how to work with it.

[aquanutart]

I absolutely LOVE the Squirtle/Wartortle illustrations by kantaro in Pokemon 151!

The Squirtle jumping so joyfully from the rock into the ocean, the colors are STUNNING! I love the contrast of the Squirtle's aqua blue framed in the vivid orange sky, the soft bit of blue reflecting in its shell and its tail just catching the sun, how little and squishy its body looks as it launches itself towards the water with such tremendous excitement!

The lineless style of the background gives me the feel of a travel poster and I sense the tropical environment around it from the rocks and trees framing the corners, the waterfall splashing with as much energy as the Squirtle!

The layered blues on the surface of the water and the bubbles rising at the corner make me FEEL the liquid rising to meet the Squirtle--I can just feel how the next moment it's going to break through and be immersed in a cool island swim!

And the Wartortle running along the sunset beach, this is somehow everything I always imagined for Wartortle! I adore the way the rich purple melts into the warm red/orange sky, the matching purple clouds and shadows in the foreground, and how the dimming sunlight glows red on Wartortle's deep blues!

I love how the yellow and orange of the sky illuminate the lapping waves, I can just feel the gentle motion of the sea at dusk. The aqua color of the ocean matches Wartortle's ears and tail and sets off the red-orange sand, I just love how the colors are here!

Wartortle looks so round and squishy, I love its happiness as it goes frolicking through the shallows, chasing the bubbles caught in the setting sun! The shine and deep shadow on its shell give it an almost jewel texture like real tortoise shell; I love the silhouetted splash Wartortle leaves as it goes running across the shore. It's so full of energy and delight at the end of a gorgeous day! The colors in these are SO vivid and harmonized and the style is so cute and bursting with energy and joy. I just LOVE it (also Squirtle is my starter)

[delta-piscium]

part 2 | this is part two to this from Steve's perspective leading up to and including part one | cw unresolved angst [unfinished/for now not being worked on]

31 days until moving day.

Steve burst through the door to Family Video, swinging it open with way too much force. 

Robin jumps and opens her mouth, probably to tell him off for scaring her but he speaks before she gets the chance. 

“Eddie asked me to move to Chicago with him,” he blurts out, “Robin, he asked me to go with him.” 

Her eyes widen, “what did you say?” 

“That I’d go, of course,” he huffs. Like it’s even a question? like not going was ever an option?

Robin jumps over the counter squealing and hugs him so tight breathing becomes a little bit hard. 

“I’m moving away with Eddie,” he whispers into her hair, awed as he hugs her back. She somehow squeezes him even tighter and they stay like that for a minute until they have to actually do their jobs. 

An hour passes and Robin keeps shooting him contemplative looks.

“What?” He finally snaps after getting tired of waiting for her to say what she wants to say herself. 

She jumps again like she didn’t realize how obvious she was being, which honestly, she probably didn’t.

“Nothing, nothing.” 

“Robin,” he whines.

“Okay, just,” she scrunches her face up a bit and Steve knows that face, she’s trying to figure out how to say something to him she thinks he’ll react badly to. 

He narrows his eyes at her, bracing himself, “yes?” 

“I think you and Eddie are great together, and like I love you both and I am excited for you guys. You know that right?”

Steve nods, doesn’t say anything though, wants her to get to the point.

“I’m just also, maybe, a little bit worried.”

Steve’s eyebrows draw together, “what do you mean?” 

Robin is looking around nervously. Something heavy starts to form in Steve’s stomach. 

“You haven’t been together for very long and this is a big step. I just don’t wanna see either of you get hurt you know? I guess I’m just wondering if you’ve talked it all through? Because both of you have a tendency to jump into things without thought.”

They haven’t talked it through, not really. Eddie asked Steve to move, he said yes and that was pretty much it. It didn’t feel like they needed to talk it through though? Did they? Usually, they just dealt with things as they became relevant, that had worked for them so far. 

Robin must see something on his face because she quickly talks again, backtracking and interrupting his thoughts. 

“Not that I don’t think it will be great, you know I just worry about things a lot. This is my anxiety talking. You know what, ignore everything I just said. You two know what you’re doing.” 

He doesn’t want her to know she’s already put doubts in his head so even though he’s starting to freak out a little he smiles and shakes his head. 

“It’s fine Rob, I’m sure we will talk more with time.” 

22 days until moving day.

Steve meant it when he said he and Eddie would talk. Meant to ask about the logistics, meant to make sure they were on the same page, he really did. But every time the move comes up Eddie just seems so sure about it already. Steve doesn’t want to make him think he’s having second thoughts. Thinks maybe it’s better to not say anything, to wait and let it come up naturally. 

He thinks maybe they’ll talk about it tonight. The kids had joked about them all evening, about how fast they were moving.

Mike had made some snarky comment about them moving to a city where they knew no one and how awkward it would be if they crashed and burned and they’d have to share a bedroom. 

Eddie had laughed, said it was good they weren’t gonna crash and burn then. But, he’d also added that his band was also going so actually he would know people. 

It was just jokes, Steve knew that. That didn’t make it any less true though. Steve wouldn’t have anyone except Eddie, sure he liked the guys in his band but they weren’t his friends. Steve would have Eddie and Eddie would have his band. It suddenly seemed like a big deal.

He expects Eddie to also feel it, to get worried and bring it up but he doesn’t. If he is worried he isn’t saying anything, just like Steve isn’t.

8 days until moving day.

There’s a knock on Steve's door and when he opens Gareth is standing there. Steve is a lot confused about it but lets him in. 

“Uh,” he starts a little unsure, “do you want anything to drink or?” He offers, mostly because he doesn’t know what else to say or do. 

Gareth shakes his head, looking about as uncomfortable as Steve feels. Shuffling around where he’s standing and fiddling with the sleeve of his shirt. “No, I’m gonna leave again soon. I just came here to say something.” 

Steve gestures for him to speak, “I’m listening.” 

Gareth doesn’t immediately say anything, he shuffles some more and looks around the room before his eyes land on Steve again, a determined look in them. 

“Look, I like you. I know Eddie loves you.”

Steve can’t help but smile a little at that, even though he’s starting to suspect he’s in for a shovel talk. 

“And like, I probably wouldn’t do this if it weren’t for the fact that you haven’t dated for very long at all and are about to move in together in a city four hours away.”Gareth pauses and waits to speak again until Steve nods, showing he’s listening. 

“Eddie does things without thinking. He doesn’t think about the consequences, not anything, just does. I love that about him, it’s the reason our band has gotten anywhere at all, but it also means that he gets hurt a lot, disappointed a lot. He can handle it with most things, he won’t be able to handle it with you.”

“What are you saying?” Steve asks even though he’s pretty sure he already knows. 

Gareth looks pained but continues, “I’m saying that if you aren’t one hundred percent sure about moving with him, if you have any doubts at all, you can’t go.”

Steve can’t suppress his flinch. He expected Gareth to say he needed to be sure, that if he wasn’t he needed to tell Eddie. He wasn’t expecting him to say he shouldn’t, no, couldn’t go. 

Gareth catches it and narrows his eyes, “I mean it Steve, it will break him more if you go, let him think it’s gonna work and then leave, then if you don’t go at all.” He steps closer to Steve, getting into his space. “So, if you’re not absolutely sure,” he pauses, steps even closer, “Do. Not. Go.” He punctuates every word and then he turns on his heel and leaves.

6 days until moving day.

Steve needs to talk with Eddie about it now, can’t ignore it anymore. He isn’t gonna just not go like Gareth told him to do. No, he’ll talk to Eddie and it will be fine. 

They’re in his bed together, laying next to each other. Skin touching skin and a comfortable silence between them. Now is as good a time as any. 

“Hey, Eddie?” 

“Mhh?” He hums, shifting slightly next to him. 

“What happens if something goes wrong when we move?” 

Eddie snorts, “what? Like if we get a flat wheel? I know how to change a wheel, sweetheart.” 

Steve smiles despite his nerves, tries to not imagine what Eddie would look like changing a wheel. 

“Good to know, but no, not quite what I meant.” 

Next to him, Eddie props himself up on his elbow so he can properly look at Steve. 

“What did you mean?” He reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind Steve’s ear as he speaks. Steve has to focus harder than he’d like to admit to not get lost in it. Even the smallest touches have an effect on him when it’s Eddie. 

“What if something happens with us?” His voice is small and he can’t look at Eddie, afraid of what his reaction might be. “Remember that thing Mike said about us not really knowing anyone there? Just, what would happen?” 

“Baby,” Eddie gently grabs Steve’s chin with his thumb and forefinger, tilting his face towards him. Steve easily follows but closes his eyes. 

“Baby, please look at me,” Eddie’s voice is even softer than before, and Steve has always been weak when it comes to Eddie asking him to do things so he slowly blinks his eyes open.

“There you are,” he smiles, face open and tendrils of hair falling around it. He looks angelic and Steve almost forgets what they are talking about, too overwhelmed by the man next to him. 

Eddie keeps them on track though. 

“Like I told Mike, nothing will happen. We will be fine. But,” he continued before Steve can protest, “if something does, we both have jobs already, we’ve done this right. We will be able to save eventually. Quicker because we’re two people, paying rent and all that stuff on two salaries. If something happens we will have that security.” 

Steve relaxes then and Eddie must see it because he grins and continues, “now if you didn’t have a job then I’d be worried. I’m not cut out for all the responsibility of being the breadwinner, princess.”

Steve groans and shoves Eddie away. Mostly to hide the blush he can feel creeping up his face just from Eddie calling him princess. Judging by the way Eddie cackles he doesn’t have to see Steve blush to know the effect it has on him. 

He reaches out and pulls Steve in against his chest. “Worst case scenario we have to move back. Wayne will probably pretend to be unhappy about it but he’ll let me take over his trailer again. And, I know you have complicated feelings about this house, that your parents are the worst, but you’ll be able to come back if you need to.” 

“Okay,” Steve says, his worries mostly calmed. 

1 day until moving day. 

Steve and Eddie are spending the night apart. Eddie wanting to spend his last night with Wayne and both of them needing to do some last minute packing. 

Just as he finishes closing one of the last boxes the phone rings, he’s a bit confused about who would call him right now. His friends all having seen him earlier in the day to say goodbye. Maybe Eddie needs to double-check what time they decided to leave. 

He picks up but it’s not Eddie, or even one of the kids, who speaks.

“Steven,” his mother's shrill voice crackles on the other end of the line. 

“Hi mom,” he tries to hide his sigh as he speaks, doesn’t have the energy to get into anything with her right now, doesn’t want her to ruin his excitement. 

“I thought you were moving to Chicago alone?” 

His freezes, when he told his parents he was gonna move he didn’t say he was going alone but he also didn’t mention Eddie. He knew they wouldn’t like it, knew it would be easier to let them assume he was going by himself. 

“But I just got off a call with Mrs. Hagan and she told me that Tommy had said you were moving there with- with that cult boy? The one who’s wanted for murder?” 

Steve closes his eyes and this time he doesn’t bother hiding his sigh. Fucking Tommy, he’s always had a big mouth but Steve suspects that this hadn’t been him blabbering without thinking. No, Steve thinks Tommy knew exactly what he was doing telling his mom this piece of information. 

“His name is Eddie, and he was cleared of all charges. The ‘cult’ was literally just a school club.”

“So it’s true? You’re moving with him?” Her voice is sharp and even just hearing it over the phone makes him flinch.

“Yeah, we’re friends and it’s cheaper that way. We got a better apartment because we’re two people with a job each.” It’s such a simplification of the truth it’s almost a lie but Steve doesn’t think this is the time to come out to her. He hopes the ‘better apartment’ comment will calm her, it’s the sort of thing she cares about after all. Not for his safety and comfort though but for how it will reflect on her.

He’s not sure she actually hears him though because she hisses a vicious, “If you move with him you will not be welcome back Steven, this will be the last time we speak.” Before she hangs up on him. 

Steve carefully places the phone back in its cradle, then he’s left standing alone in the living room, both too shocked to move and not really shocked at all. 

He’s not close to his parents. Has slowly been understanding just how much they’ve neglected him. He’s been relieved about moving away, about being in another city where he won’t have to see them when they waltz back into town. But to never speak to them again? That’s a whole different thing. He still hoped that they’d be able to fix their relationship. That him not being dependent on them anymore would allow him to stand up for himself. That everything would get better. Now instead, the thing he thought would allow their relationship to get better is gonna destroy it forever. 

He debates calling Eddie, wants to tell him what his mom just said, wants to hear his voice, wants to let him make it better. He decides against it, he doesn’t wanna ruin Eddie’s last night with Wayne and he’ll see him tomorrow anyway. He can tell him in the car. 

He doesn’t call Robin either, she’ll insist on coming over and he knows she’s on a date with Nancy right now. He doesn’t wanna ruin that either, even though both of them will tell him he’s not, he knows he will be. He goes to bed instead, sleep seems like the best option right now, at least he won’t have to think if he’s asleep.

Moving day.

He ended up not really sleeping at all. Tossing and turning for hours and after finally falling asleep sometime in the early morning he wakes up just hours later from a nightmare. He doesn’t remember what it was about but can feel the lingering panic. He gives up on getting any more sleep, doesn’t wanna risk more nightmares when he’s alone.

He picks at his breakfast, still thrown off from the conversation with his mom the night before and not feeling like eating, so he gives up on that too. He spends the rest of the morning wandering around, touching the walls and the furniture in the house he grew up in. The house he’s been left alone in since he was nine. The house he both hates and loves. The house he will never be allowed to return to after today. 

Then the phone rings again, it’s probably his mom calling to ask if he’s decided to stay he thinks. It’s not, it turns out.

“Hi I’m Patricia, I’m looking for Steve Harrington?” A chipper voice says.

“This is him.”

“Okay well, good. I’m calling about a barista job you’re supposed to start with us next week.” 

“Yeah?” Steve chews on his cheek. 

“I’m so sorry but due to our rent being raised we’re having to do cutbacks. Since you haven’t signed your contract with us yet, it’s the first one to go.” 

“You’re firing me?” Steve asks, it’s not entirely right since he hasn’t started yet but it’s all he can think to say. 

“Essentially,” Patricia responds, “I’m sorry for the short notice.” 

“Okay,” he says, his voice void of emotion, “thank you for calling.” 

He hangs up without waiting for a response, he doesn’t have the energy to be polite. 

He barely has time to let the information sink in before his doorbell rings. Eddie on the other side of the door with a wide grin on his face. 

“Did you oversleep?” He jokes. 

Steve’s confused for a second but then he realizes he’s still in his pajamas, that he’s spent the whole morning wandering around like a ghost in his house not getting any of the things he needed to do done. 

He hasn’t packed the bag of all his essentials. He hasn’t gotten dressed. He hasn’t even brushed his teeth. What he has done is get fired from a job he never even started.

He sees Eddie’s teasing smile, the combination of it and his sudden joblessness tugs at something in his brain, brings back the conversation they had last week.

“Now, if you didn’t have a job then I’d be worried. I’m not cut out for all the responsibility of being the breadwinner princess.”

He doesn’t have a job. He’ll have to live off Eddie and what little savings he has left. Become a responsibility Eddie doesn’t want, a burden probably.

“Worst case scenario we move back”, “you’ll be able to come back if you need to.”

If he leaves now he won’t be able to come back. 

Gareths words play back in his mind too.

“if you have any doubts at all, you can’t go.”, “it will break him more if you go, let him think it’s gonna work and then leave, then if you don’t go at all.”

“I’m not going,” Steve hears himself say as he steps back from the hand Eddie reaches out to him. 

“You’re not-“ Eddie looks so confused. “Like today? Do you need extra time? We can postpone by a couple of days but-“

He’s not getting it. Steve interrupts him, needs to make him understand because he can’t listen to him try to come up with solutions. 

“No, Eddie. I’m not going it all.” 

The words feel wrong in his mouth but he forces them out anyways. 

“What do you mean?” Eddie asks and it fucking ruins him. He feels his carefully blank expression break, despair showing through. 

“I can’t leave Hawkins, the kids,” he has to look away from Eddie as he says this. Knows it’s the only thing Eddie won’t question, knows Eddie thinks he doesn’t mean as much to Steve as the kids do. “They need me.”

“When did you decide you weren’t going?” Eddie asks and Steve didn’t know it was possible but he breaks even more from that, from Eddie not fighting him. 

I didn’t, he thinks, I don’t know why I’m saying this now. If you ask me to stop and just go with you I will. 

“A couple of days ago,” he lies. 

It’s silent then, just their breathing and the distant sound of cars down the street being heard. Eventually, Eddie breaks it.

“Steve?”

His voice cracks in the middle. Steve can hear the plea for him to take it all back and he nearly does, has to swallow the words creeping up his throat before they get out. 

“I’m sorry,” he says instead. He turns around, closing the door behind him. Destroying their future and breaking the last bit of his heart in the process.

He doesn’t get more than two steps into the house before his legs give out beneath him. He stays there, sitting on the floor for what feels like forever. 

After some time he hears a car drive away and he knows Eddie has left. He feels silent tears start streaming down his face that soon turns into sobs. Making him curl in on himself and gasp for air. 

He doesn’t know how long he stays there, crying until he can’t anymore and then just sitting there. But after a while, he’s interrupted by a loud ringing. For the third time in less than twenty-four hours he picks up the god-forsaken phone. 

“Hello?” He rasps, his voice dull and raw from crying.

“Steven. You made the right decision and stayed I take it?” His mother asks.

“Yes.” He says and hangs up on her. 

[felixiskandar]

im with the shippers on this one tbqh. like why are they doing all that if carmen and syd arent meant to be

[cant-get-no-worse]

Your writing is always great, I need you to write something to either making us optimistic about the future of the club or to make us realize how much in deep shit we actually are please 😭

Babe, just browse through my La Liga 2022/2023 tag and mourn with me. 💕

[dungeons-and-dragon-age]

head so full with denerim final battle thoughts hhhhhh

[wild-at-mind]

Listened to the podcast series 'Eight years hard Labour' which is about the Corbyn years of Labour, and they talk a lot about the Labour party internal divide- there was the internal right wing, who were more like centrists, and the internal left wing, which was the Corbyn side. To tell you where I stand on this man: I voted for Labour, and therefore Corbyn, in both the 2017 and 2019 elections but was absolutely not part of his cult of personality, and I found it disturbing how devoted people got so quickly. Mainly the leftist queer people section of my social circle were doing a LOT of facebook meme posting in the run up to particularly the 2019 election. I could literally look down my feed and see a very long, very detailed defense of how Corbyn could not possibly be even the teeniest bit antisemitic, and below that a different Corbyn devotee would be proclaiming that the only reason Jewish Brits would not vote for Corbyn was because they were all too wealthy. I mean....what more conclusion could I possibly draw from that?? I do not care to get caught in the weeds of whether Corbyn knew what was in the fucking mural or not before saying it shouldn't have been removed, and I know the tabloids really did do plenty of smear jobs on him, but the fact that I could see his devoted supporters becoming antisemitic before my eyes was incredibly damning and was all I needed really. Anyway, obviously Corbyn lost the 2019 election by a massive amount and it was a surprise to literally no one except Corbyn's fans who had been in social media meme echo chambers the whole time. Corbyn left the Labour party and now we have Starmer who leaves a lot to be desired, but is still the head of the most left wing mainstream party. But it made me think- what hope is there for left wing politics in the UK? Can we ever hope for a hard left of the left leaning party that doesn't go off in these weird antisemitic, Putin defending directions? (Oh god...imagine Corbyn being PM during the Ukraine war. :S) Do we always have to settle for centrism just to be on the left of the Tories? We have had leftist governments in our history that brought in genuine social change, the formation of the NHS being the biggest example, so it is possible, but why are things so right wing now, and for so long, especially while things are so objectively shitty for so many people? I don't expect anyone has any answers but I want to hope for better. There are massive limitations to party politics, but I'm not an anarchist and I do think running the country is a job someone has to do. I don't know how to make things better, I just know that genuine compassion for all people is needed in order to do it, not just some people, and I don't know if hard left conspiracy types can ever feel that for people they consider their enemy.

[machidielontheway]

hmmm made a big money decision i'm not sure about. but i clicked and paid, so there we go !

[bravevolunteer]

me vs the urge to rewrite my bio for no reason

[likeawolfatthemoon]

yesterday i had a panic attack at work and sobbed for over an hour at my desk in front of all of my coworkers bc i was frozen to the spot and couldn't like...move myself to a different area at the very least. and i embarrassed the fuck out of myself and now i'm afraid of the new job that i loved 🙃

[femmefaggot]

genuinely very very happy about maya still Do Not get me wrong. I simply wish... the world was better and less cruel. and that I was not complicit in that cruelty. and that honorspren in shadesmar werent such hypocrites.

[blye-flower]

✨Rant in the tags✨

[tobiasdrake]

Like, getting political for a moment. A thing a lot of people need to understand is that, ultimately, rules only exist if they are enforceable. The mechanism of enforcement is what determines the realness of a rule.

If you're playing Monopoly and you decide that being in Jail sucks so you move your piece to Go and call it a tunneling loophole, there's nothing built into the game to actually stop you from doing that. Other players yelling at you and banishing you from the table is how the rule is enforced. But if they don't, if they let you do that, then I'm sorry but that's just how the game is played now. If you're allowed to do it then it's not against the rules.

We all instinctively understand that when you're running track, you're not supposed to cross the lines into someone else's lane. But the lines are not a wall. They're not physically preventing you from doing anything. If you decide you want to run into the lane to your right and jump-kick the other racer, you physically can do that.

The line on the ground is a social construct. It's part of the magic circle; A thing that takes on special meaning, even psychological power, so long as we exist within its play space. But it's not real, and it only has power if somebody comes over and drags you off the field for striking that other racer.

At the highest echelons of power, a lot of what "can" and "can't" be done are actually just the boundaries of a magic circle with few real enforcement mechanisms. The President can't do that. But. Like. Who's going to stop him if he does?

The biggest thing we learned during the Trump Presidency was just how many restrictions on government power are illusory. Trump spent his four years in office testing the limits of what he can and can't do. Stepping over the lines of the magic circle to see which ones had enforcement mechanisms and which were merely decorative. And revealing that an alarming number were decorative.

Because the thing about the highest offices, about POTUS and SCOTUS and Congress, is that they're the highest offices. There's nobody above them. The only check on their power is each other and, contrary to what high school social studies might tell you, those checks aren't very strong at all.

Trump wants to redefine the game rules to be dictatorial. The magic circle says he can't do that. But the only factor that truly decides whether he can or can't is whether the other players at the table will let him do it. And if you listen to the way Republican Congressmen talk, it's not reassuring.

There are no executive super-cops who will arrest Trump if he breaks the rules. The Avengers are not going to show up and stop him from continuing to reconfigure the magic circle to his liking. The only thing, the only true restriction on his power, is the vote. It's the fact that we, as a population, get to make a choice as to whether or not he even gets to sit back down at the table to play again at all.

In a democracy, voters are the enforcement mechanism. Let's try and remember that when November comes around.

[poguehearted77]

Winter's Chance

Summary: It's Rafe's turn to have your son for the weekend, but it seems the weather wants you to spend the holidays together.

--Finally some Baby Daddy Rafe

With delicate rubs to your son's tummy, you desperately tried to get him to calm down with soft pleads and overeager soothing. He'd been fussing all day, so much that you'd called the doctor to make sure everything was okay.

They simply reassured you that it may just be a prolonged stage of fussiness. Most babies grow out of it around 4 months which is exactly where Max had just reached a few weeks ago.

Just when he was finally beginning to calm for a moment your ears are filled with the chime of your doorbell. Max picks up his crying as if he had never stopped. Your eyes roll, already knowing who is on the other side of the door.

You gently scooped him up to rest over your shoulder on top of the little binkie you tend to have thrown over your shoulder at all times for moments like this. He was cute, but the spit-up was never pretty and you were always prepared.

Opening the door from a distance you weren't expecting to see Rafe step in partially covered in snow. It distracted you momentarily before Max's cries cut through the shock.

"I know, I know." You whine, gently rocking him, backing away from the cold air that swept against your feet. "Hurry up, and close the door." His eyes roll, "Hello to you too." He closes the door and stomps off the snow from his boots before stepping out of them and hanging up his jacket.

"Woah, woah, what are you doing? This is just a pick-up, then you can have fun trying to calm him down at your place." Rafe stands still, his thumb gesturing to the door behind him, "You haven't seen the news, have you? They're closing the roads, so we're snowed in. The only reason I made it here is because of the suspension on my truck."

Your face turns sour and Max continues to cry.

"So why did you come in the first place if you knew you wouldn't be able to make it back?" He ignores your question for the most part, "Relax, baby. As excited as you are to see me, I didn't come for you. I came for my son. There he is," Rafe's expression lights up as he reaches for Max and takes him out of your hold.

"Rafe you can't just take him and expect him to calm-"

For the first time in seven hours, silence consumes the room. No more screams and tearful cries. "You've got to be fucking with me," You don't say it loudly, but Rafe still hears.

"Guess he was just missin' his daddy, huh? Isn't that right, Max?" Rafe's tone is playful as he pokes at Max's tummy which elicits tiny giggles and the brightest smile you'd seen all day.

You walk away, headed towards the kitchen. Not sure why you were moving so fast, Rafe was hot on your heels. "It's not your fault, it's probably just been a long day-" He finally shuts the fuck up with his smug remarks when he hears a soft cry, "Y/n," Your name rolls off his tongue, tender and sweet. "Baby, what's wrong?" Effortlessly, he supports Max with one hand while he reaches to turn you so you're facing him.

Your eyes are filled with tears, lips quivering ever so slightly and he knows what's coming. He's seen you like this more times than he can count. He takes you under his arm, your cheek pressed to his chest and you break down, muttering into the fabric of his hoodie.

He comforts you with a big hand rubbing your back, soothing you the way he learned from those parenting books that he swear he never read. "It's so hard, Rafe." Is all you manage to say through broken cries for the first five minutes before you're pushing off him, expression more angry than upset? "He was crying all day, and the second you walk in, he's perfectly fine."

Rafe's lips frown, puzzled. "And that's a bad thing?--"

"Yes! Why do you get to be Superman?!" Earlier, the sound of a pin drop would disturb Max from calming, but now even your exclamations left him unfazed, as long as he was in Rafe's arms he was unbothered.

As a matter of fact, with a second glance, you notice he'd actually fallen asleep. Just Perfect. Another win for Superman.

He chuckles, leading you both to have a seat on the couch. Your son sleeping soundly in his father's hold. "Well, I think I've got the abs for it." His shit-eating grin spreads across his lips.

"You try carrying a baby in your stomach for nine months, and you tell me if you still have abs after." Subtly, his tongue wets his lips at the memory, "All I remember is how good you looked pregnant. Shit, wanna do it again?" You'd never wanted to hurt someone so badly.

"You're lucky you're holding my son." He scoffs, leaning in slightly as if to speak away from the baby. "I seem to remember the two of us going half on the conception, and a few times after that." You air-swat him and stand, making your way for the stairs. "I'm going to take a nap."

The hours flew by as you finally had your first uninterrupted nap in what felt like years. By the time you woke up, the sun was long gone, and there was a thick layer of fresh snow sitting on your window pane. You headed downstairs and stopped at the bottom of the steps to appreciate the view.

Nothing melted you quite like the sight of Rafe taking care of Max. You hated to admit it, but he was a good dad. A really good one. Hot, too. Rafe held the bottle to Max's lips, murmuring some undistinguishable babbles with a soft smile. Surely speaking a language only the two of them can understand.

"I hope you warmed the bottle before you gave it to him." You say, and he finally notices you standing by the stairs, stalking your way over and sitting beside him.He ignores you, knowing that you're just trying to get under his skin. "You look well rested." He remarks and you sigh with a soft nod. "Yeah, I am actually." He grins to himself, "Must be a miracle to sleep well on that cheap-ass mattress you got up there."

"Sorry, we can't all have premium mattresses." Rafe pulls the bottle back once he realizes Max has had his fill. "Y'know my money is your money right? I give you ten thousand a month but everything I have is yours, too." Standing him up on his lap first, Rafe holds the baby over his shoulder, gently patting his back.

"Well, I don't need to live in a fifteen thousand sq ft house to be happy unlike you." He shakes his head slowly, his gaze falls on you, somber. "I seem happy to you? I don't give a shit how big my place is. It's always going to be empty without you two in it... " He trails off, alluding there's more to come.

"Rafe.. What are you saying?"

"Move in with me, again." Your head shakes before you sputter profuse denials, "No, Rafe, we can't we tried that before remember? We don't get along. Technically, we're not even together." The conversation is briefly interrupted by a small gurgled burp on Max's behalf.

Rafe leans down to place a drowsy Max in his rocker in front of the couch before sitting back up. "Things were different then, we were eighteen. I can't do the back-and-forth anymore. Don't you wanna wake up in the morning, see that Max is taken care of and I'm making you breakfast, then we go back to bed and I take care of you? Huh?" He hums, his voice igniting sparks along the length of your neck as he nosed along it.

"Rafe.." your voice is shaky, feeling the heat from the discussion.

"Whadd'ya say, hm?" You reflect, having Rafe stay with you today, in just a few short hours you'd been able to take a break, he held you when you cried like he always did. You'd hardly even fought. Though that was no surprise, the two of you fought considerably less ever since Max came into the picture.

"Okay, yes." You can feel the lines from his smile stretch against your jaw just before he begins to pepper kisses on your cheek. "Y'know, we made the world's cutest baby ever right?" You smile, both your gazes focused on the little one before you.

"He's got your eyes, for sure." Rafe states and you giggle, "You're just saying that because they're brown." He sits up straight, heartfully disagreeing. "I'm not. They're the same eyes that I fell in love with when I first laid my eyes on you, and the same ones that humbled me when they looked up at me for the first time in the NICU."

His words were touching. You're seeing a whole new side of him. Not the usually hot-headed and impulsive man you were used to. This one was sweeter, softer, and more sincere.

You reeled him in for the first kiss, his lips soft as they pressed against yours, his hands confidently holding you at your waist. "Ah, I see you're taking me up on my previous offer. Let's go for a girl this time, yeah?" He grins, and you pinch him.

[criminalamnesia]

Simon x Reader whose already work with TF 141 for a pretty long time. And one day, there's a traitor around the base, leaking their information. All of the proof are leading to reader but reader always deny it! And they interrogated reader, and reader always deny it! And he's (with other 141 members, of course, but it mostly him) do their torture methods to get information out of reader. They keep doing it until someday, the real traitor finally captured!

And make the reader traumatized, pls. Like, she would have trust issues, trauma, and others. She wouldn't forgive them, tho.

ooooo the angst. had to sit on this one for a few days before I wrote something, but here goes nothing.

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

when you blink open your eyes, the room is dimly lit. it’s silent save for the sounds of your labored breathing.

you must’ve passed out. one second johnny— a man you’d known for years—was slicing into your skin with a knife. the next, you’re staring into an empty room.

your hands jerk up involuntarily. still bound. the rope holding them to the arms of the chair have rubbed them raw. the skin is bright red and bloody. it makes you grit your teeth.

you look down at your lap, taking inventory of the parts of your body you can see. large gashes break up the fabric of your tac pants. the blood surrounding the deep wounds is dry and crusty.

one of the cuts looks like it’s getting infected. you swear you can see bone.

you’d taken this kind of suffering before. been capture by enemies, held and tortured and pushed to the brink of death. this was different. this was being done by your team. men you’d bled with. cried with. laughed with.

one you’d even slept with. the same one you loved. the one you called yours.

the door to the room swung open, hitting the wall with a metal thud. your head slowly lifts, eyes squinting to see him. by his stature, you know it’s simon.

he doesn’t bother shutting the door behind him. instead, he walks towards you slowly. as he comes closer, can make out his eyes in the sea of dark paint he smears around them. the same paint you’d helped him apply a time or two.

“back for more?” you say, and it’s meant to sound sarcastic, but all it sounds like is pitiful. your voice cracks, and pain seeps into your tone.

the first rule they’d taught you about scenarios like this was to never let the enemy know it’s working. never let them know that they’re hurting you— that they’re slowly wearing down your defenses.

well, you’d just broken that rule, and you hadn’t even meant to.

you didn’t know how long you’d been tied up, subjected to torture by men you had once called your family. all because a fucking liar whispered your name into their ears. all because they fucking believed it.

apparently the years meant nothing to them. to him, least of all, considering he’d done more damage to you than the rest of them.

simon comes to a stop in front of you. his hands are empty by his sides, but that’s not reassuring. there’s a table full of weapons off to the side. he would have his pick of the litter.

“ready to talk yet?” he says, and his voice is gruff. his tone is hollow. he’s speaking to you the same way he’d spoken to countless enemies. it makes you sick.

“fuck you, simon,” you spit out.

the betrayal of john, gaz, and johnny had hurt. but simon’s betrayal? that was enough to almost put you in the ground.

you’d stopped pleading with them the second they tied you to the chair. now, you were angry. furious. rage filled your veins, and if you weren’t beaten to all hell, you’d find a way out of these fucking restraints and strangle the man in front of you to death.

the man you loved. you’d thought you meant something to him, but apparently not— because who tortures someone they love?

“if you talk,” he ignores your outburst. “it’ll be easier. quick.”

“fuck. you.” you enunciate the words, your jaw impossibly tight as you grit your teeth. “im not the fucking rat.”

“all the evidence,” he starts as he disappears from your vision. you know he’s going to pick his weapon of the hour. you force yourself not to shudder.

“points to you.”

“take that bullshit evidence and shove it up your ass, riley,” you seethe, ropes pulling taut as you lean forward in the chair.

he’s back in your line of sight now, brandishing a large knife.

“you’re only making it harder on yourself, love,” he tuts, and then he’s swinging the knife down, right onto one of your fingers.

you scream as the blade cuts right through skin and bone. your teeth dig into your lip, drawing blood as you refuse to give him more of a reaction. it fucking hurts, but you’ll be damned if you let yourself cry.

“feel like talking now?” he asks, watching as half of your left pinky finger falls to the floor.

“or should we take off another?”

you look up at him, hoping he can see the hatred in your eyes as you speak your next words. “you could take the fucking hand off and I’d still have nothing to tell you.”

“let’s see how true that is then, eh?” he replies, and raises the knife again. he’s about to swing, when someone comes running into the room.

“ghost!”

it’s johnny. he’s obviously winded as he stops beside simon, dropping his hands to his knees as he struggles for breath.

“what, mactavish? im busy.”

“they’re—” he gasps. “they’re not— the— rat.” he says between breaths.

the room goes impossibly still. so quiet you swear you could hear the men’s heartbeats (or maybe that pounding in your ears was your own).

“you sure?” simon’s voice is softer as he lowers the knife and turns to johnny. the younger man nods, his eyes trained on you. you can see the regret in them, the sorrow.

“it’s fucking shepard.”

it’s not funny, but at the news, you burst into laughter. the men stare at you in confusion, but you can’t stop.

you’re laughing so hard you’re crying, and they’re just standing there.

“are you alrigh’?” johnny’s asking as he moves towards you. he’s fully recovered his breath now, and he drops to a crouch to be eye level with you.

you don’t answer— you can’t. you keep laughing. distantly, you hear the knife simon was holding clatter to the ground. can just make out the sound of more footsteps out in the hallway, coming towards the room.

you pass out.

when you wake up again, you’re in the infirmary. your eyes open slowly, adjusting to the bright fluorescent lights.

“easy, love,” a voice to your right drawls.

your eyes are fully open now. you look down at yourself, noticing the lack of bindings. noticing the iv taped to your arm, the stitched cuts, the black and blue bruises, the missing fingernails and missing finger.

the person sitting next to you clears his throat. that’s when you look up and meet the eyes of your captain.

your captain. the man who was supposed to lead you, to keep you safe. what a fucking joke. he’d started the damn witch hunt.

“how d’you feel?” he asks, his words soft, like he’s trying not to scare off a timid animal.

you stare at him for a beat. then two. then you’re moving, pulling the iv from your arm and shakily pushing yourself up in the bed. price is telling you to stop, reaching out to push you back down, but you slap at his hands.

“get the fuck off me!” you shout, and that takes him aback. he stops, frozen, as he watches you shift in the bed. you throw your legs over the side of it and prepare yourself to stand.

“you really shouldn’t—” he begins after he’s regained his senses, but you pay him no mind. you place your feet on the ground and start to stand. your legs wobble, almost give out, but you’re able to stand. barely.

“shut up,” you growl, stumbling forward and towards the exit. he’s moving to cut you off, and you slide him a gaze that’s sharper than a knife. “and leave me the fuck alone.”

he halts again. he seems almost scared of you— but that can’t be right. even on your best days, he would still beat you in hand-to-hand combat.

he’s not scared of your threats or your frail body. he’s scared of what he’s done to you.

just then, johnny and gaz come through the infirmary doors.

“cap, y’alright? we heard yellin’—” johnny begins, but his mouth snaps shut at the sight of you out of bed.

you’re heaving from your spot next to the bed. your legs are shaking violently, threatening to give out any second. you feel nauseous and numb.

“let’s get you back into bed,” gaz says, and he starts towards you, but you stop him as your gaze snaps to his.

“don’t come any fucking closer. any of you.”

“bonnie,” johnny murmurs. he sounds miserable, but you don’t care. don’t give a fuck about how any of them feel.

“don’t. im leaving,” you grunt out, moving a foot forward slowly. you’d be damned if you fell in front of them.

“you can’t, love. you’re in no shape to be walking.” john says, and you snarl.

“and whose fault is that?”

the men stay silent as they watch you slowly shuffle towards the foot of the bed. you’re bracing yourself to walk on your own when simon walks in.

“get back in bed,” his tone is blunt. you ignore him.

you remove your hand from the bed, move to take a step forward without support, and you begin to crumple to the floor.

simon moves forward, quick as a cat, and catches you. he lifts you into his arms bridal style, and you’re screaming hysterically. your limbs are flailing the best they can in such a battered state. you’re in fight-or-flight mode, your body betraying your desire to put up a steely front.

your palms slap against simon’s upper body and his masked face. he gives no reaction. he doesn’t say anything. the others are watching the exchange silently. the room is buzzing with tension.

“get off me!” you screech, landing a slap to simon’s cheek. “let me— let me go! let me go!” you’re gasping for breath, tears streaming down your cheeks. you’re panicking. your heart feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest.

“put me down! get— get— off me! stop—” you sob.

the doctor rushes into the room then, yelling at the men for allowing you out of bed. you can’t make out what she’s saying over the rush of blood in your ears. you feel light-headed. you can’t breathe.

“put them down, now!” the doctor yells at simon. “they’re having a panic attack— I thought I told you four to stay away from them? they’re too vulnerable right now—” the doctor is chastising them as simon places you back in the bed.

spots are dancing in your vision. you don’t even feel it when the doctor sticks another needle into your arm. the words being exchanged above your head are muffled. it’s like you’re underwater.

john’s face comes into view, then johnny’s, then gaz’s. as your eyes start to close, you notice the only face you don’t see again is simon’s.

when you wake up again, it’s been two weeks.

the doctor had put you into a medically induced coma to allow your more serious wounds time to heal, without risking another episode. unbeknownst to you, the members of your team had stayed by your bedside almost the entire time— minus simon. he hadn’t come within ten feet of the infirmary since the day of your panic attack.

there’s fresh flowers on the bedside table. a steady beeping of the heart monitor. a fuzzy feeling in your head.

it feels like a dream, all of it does. none of it feels real as you settle into your body again. but then the hurt starts, and you remember the truth.

your family betrayed you. your lover betrayed you. they locked you up and tortured you. they didn’t believe you.

when the doctor came to your side to check your iv, she smiled.

“how’re you feeling?”

you look up at her, and it takes a moment for you to speak.

“don’t,” you begin. your mouth feels like it’s full of cotton. “don’t let them…in here. don’t…wanna see them.”

the doctor nods in understanding, and she doesn’t say anything else to you. she turns and walks out of the room.

the door clicks shut behind her. she lets out a sigh before turning around to face the three men.

“they don’t want to see you.” she tells them, and their expressions drop. they don’t protest, and like wounded puppies, they walk off.

no one else comes to check on you for a few hours.

you’re in and out of consciousness— can’t tell what’s real and what’s a dream. flashes of your torture come back to you. flashes of a smile. of a scarred face. of hands on your hips and—

you crack your eyes open, and the room is dark. the only light is the blinking of some of the machines. it illuminates the room enough to allow you to see a large, dark figure slip from the room. the door clicks shut so quietly it’s almost imperceptible.

that’s when you notice fresh flowers on the bedside table.

your eyes start to droop once more, and you chalk up whatever you just saw to a dream, while simon exhales heavily on the other side of the infirmary door.

————————————————

authors note:

I hope this alright! it’s one in the morning (and I’m half asleep writing this) so I apologize for the errors that are most likely present, and the sense this most likely lacks. I feel like I could write a whole book about this idea, but im cutting myself off to sleep lol.

thank you for the ask, I hope I did your idea justice. 🫶