#that woman has zero safe spaces

[thebeigelunatics]

standish got in a fight with lamb at a petrol station, walked along the motorway in the dark, presumably had to get some sketchy transport back into the city, got back to her flat after having been abducted and betrayed and humiliated... only to find out shirley kicked her fucking door open. like that SUCKS. 😭😭😭

[allurilove]

Yandere Stalker x you

Rated 18 + -- mature short content !

Content Warning: This story contains themes of obsession, stalking, manipulation, and violent fantasies. It delves into the unhealthy and dangerous mindset of a stalker obsessed with you. Reader discretion is advised.

WORD COUNT: 3.6K

INCLUDES: Stalking, blood kink, obsessive behavior, cunnilingus, fingering, fem reader, choking, mentions of cheating, p in v sex in public, murder, death, he's not a good person, dom yandere?, degradation?, he can be a bit of a gaslighter, gore, and more.

*This is the third fic to this little mini series. Check out the first part, and the second part for a better understanding! He is referred to as "your stalker." The italicized portion is his inner thoughts! This fic is inspired by the show You, and this is purely fictional writing!*

SYNOPSIS: Your stalker's obsession intensifies as he becomes involved with another woman named Daniella Foster, who he views as inferior to you. Despite his disdain for your best friend, he engages in a flirtatious and sexual relationship with her, all the while fantasizing about you.

What's more dangerous than a sick, psychotic, and perverted man?

I ran out of your blood today.

Just four hours ago, I was completely fine. The vial of your period blood was nearly empty, but I was able to stick my finger inside to collect the last of your crimson essence. I sucked a particularly big blood clot off my finger, and I was able to start my day with a huge smile.

Four hours ago, I could claim that I was a normal and functioning man, someone you wouldn’t blink an eye at, and that was all thanks to you.

Four hours ago, I was able to brush my teeth, take a shower, and clean myself up for the day. I had an extra pep in my step, and I felt like I could take on the world with a positive outlook.

Don’t you see how much life you give me? Your blood alone has made me feel like I was on top of the world, like I could float up into space with just your plasma to help me survive.

But now, it was gone.

Your stalker stared blankly at the window as his body was jostled side to side, his hands tightly gripping the handle of his tote bag that rested on his lap. He tried to ignore the obnoxiously sick person near him, who didn’t even bother to cover their coughs. He closed his eyes to avoid staring into the eyes of another person across from him. He was sandwiched between two burly people: one shouted loudly into their phone, clearly having zero spatial awareness, while the other snoozed. The woman's head drooped as she nodded off, and her greasy hair brushed against his cheek.

She had a distinct smell of sweat and wet socks. Your stalker apologized to the man next to him as he slightly leaned his body away from the woman. He was stuck in this position unless someone took pity on him and spoke up.

His car was in the shop. The tire had unexpectedly given out, causing him to swerve into oncoming traffic. The car was old anyway, a gift from his parents when he first got his license in high school. That must have been, what, ten years ago? He didn’t like to think about his age; nothing good ever came from it anyway.

Your stalker rummaged through his bag, his hand searching for the familiar plastic tube he used to steal your period blood. His fingers brushed against a particularly sharp blade he kept for “safety” reasons before they wrapped around the vial. He had really tried to savor it. He would carefully open his mouth and tilt the vial just enough for a single drop of blood to settle onto his tongue. Sometimes he would pour a bit into his coffee, or he would put it into his food. Either way, it made him feel closer to you. It was a comforting notion to think about, that he was the only man and human who had access to you in such an intimate way.

Your stalker sighed as he put the empty tube back into his breast pocket for safe keeping.

He didn’t like taking public transportation. New York was known for having odd things happening on the trains, buses, and subways. He was pretty sure that last week someone had set a rat on fire, a poor woman got robbed in broad daylight, and a group of teens were filming their dumb YouTube prank videos on the elderly.

Your stalker felt a flare of irritation as the woman leaned on his shoulder again. He gently nudged her off and ignored the way she woke up all startled. He glanced down at his phone, counting the number of stops, and saw he had twelve more before he could get off.

He was going to Manhattan for a job. An absolute douchebag had hired him, and his name was Myron Vykolv. He was the type to spend his money on trips and a bedazzled car rather than giving back to charity. Vykolv was an artist's worst nightmare: fickle, a headache to deal with; but surprisingly, he had good taste in art. He had to; he hired your stalker, after all.

He pulled out his phone to scroll on social media, his eyes scanning the copious amount of braindead content, and he paused when he saw a familiar face. He pressed the buttons on the side of his phone, his screen flashing, and the screenshot he took was saved in his photo album. Your stalker zoomed in, and his eyes widened as he saw the perfectly harmonious facial features. The baby tee top had a cute graphic splayed on the chest area, hair slicked and pulled back into a bun, and gold hoops dangling from those nicely formed ears.

It was you.

He glanced down at the caption: "a coffee date with my favorite bff." Posted exactly five minutes ago. It wasn't your account, but it was the closest thing he had to you. Your stalker decided to follow your coffee-manic and bikini-loving friend, and every post and picture she had, you were in it too.

She made it almost easy to stalk. Jesus, what if a deranged man had decided to show up to her place in the Beverly Hills area on the street of— seriously? Did she really just post her full address online?

Daniella Foster. The epitome of a fun and ditzy socialite who spent way too much time at parties and clubs. A trust fund baby if there ever was one, with her daddy being a big shot in the entertainment industry. Despite all that privilege, she never quite made it big herself.

Your stalker snorted as he saw the array of failed projects she had been in. Modeling? Wasn't in the cards for her. Acting? Horrible. A piece of cardboard would've had more personality than her. Originally from Tampa, Florida, then she moved to California, where she had her comically large house, and then… she decided to bless us by coming to New York. Lucky us, right y/n?

Your stalker looked up from his phone and realized the train had come to his stop. He got up from his seat and quickly made his way out. He felt his phone vibrate in his hand and looked down: Daniella requested to follow you. That was fast.

He clicked accept.

She's a shameless flirt, your stalker soon found out, and he’s not the least bit surprised. Daniella slid into his DMs with a picture of her provocatively sucking a lollipop, and her first words to him were: “What do you look like?”

Gee, take a gander, Daniella. My profile picture is a high-definition shot of my handsome and sexy fucking face. But sure, ask me about my looks as if you were actually interested. Your stalker rolled his eyes. He didn’t even want to respond to that message, but he had no other way of seeing you again. You would probably run at the sight of him, and that would be the most sane and correct thing you could do.

So, what does a man say when he’s mediocre, average, and you’re clearly out of his league? “I look like the man of your dreams, sweetheart.”

Your stalker had spent hours sexting and courting this woman who had flooded his inbox. Even when he was painting for a client, he managed to multitask and send a dick pic. He sent her whatever she wanted to keep her hooked, and just by her messages alone, this must have been the only time a man actually matched her level of craziness and horniness.

Days turned into weeks and then soon into months. The moment he woke up, he would see that she had sent him hundreds of messages in one night—she must've been drunk again.

He spent hours reading each message, and he hearted the ones that he felt were the most important. It was actually coming to an end, thank God, but to his surprise, she asked him out on a date.

"So, what do you do? Who are you?" The girl in front of him asked.

He shouldn't have said yes because now he was sitting in a restaurant that he could barely afford or get a reservation to, and he had to be with this woman who wasn't you. She was dressed beautifully - he'd give her that. He liked the dark colors of her red dress, the way he could drink in the curves of her hips and chest, and how it gave him a clear view of her body.

Now, he wondered what you would have worn if you were on a date with him. Would you have put in this much effort and shown this much skin? Would you have laughed at all of his jokes to boost his damn ego, or knocked him down a peg? Would you have ordered something light so you could have sex afterward, or would you have eaten something hearty and called it a day?

He pretended to think for a while, all before he gently touched her hand, and his fingers caressed her soft skin. "Who am I?" He teased, his voice slightly deepened as he gave her a playful once-over. "I'm hurt. After all these months, you still don't know who I am?"

"Why don't you refresh my memory?" She tilted her head.

Your stalker sighed and he looked around briefly. This place was intimate, for high rollers only, and he could just imagine how much of his money was going to go down the drain. The tiny candle on the table, the white clean cloth, and the vase with a single rose was still too romantic for his taste. His thumb traced circles on her hand, and the other grabbed for his steak knife.

“I'm an up-and-coming artist,” He replied with a bit of a shrug.

“An up-and-coming artist, huh?” She echoed, her fingers now interlocked with his. “Do you come often?”

Lord, please have some mercy and shoot me. Do I come often? Wouldn’t you like to know, you slut. Is this the type of person you really want to spend your time with, y/n? Daniella is not you, and she could never be you. She parades herself around for anyone and everyone to ogle at—she is the epitome of what’s wrong with the dating scene. No wonder she doesn’t have a boyfriend. No wonder she’s desperate enough to entertain me—of all people.

I know the type of people you like, Daniella, and it’s not me.

“You know what you’re doing when you ask me that.” he brought her hand up to his lips and he kissed it. “I can tell you can make a man come often.“

Daniella giggled and her chest puffed out. She leaned closer to him, and he can practically drown in her scent of vanilla and cake. “I have an art piece that I think you'll appreciate. It's back at my place… wanna see it?”

Fuhhhhhck no. Your stalker slipped the knife into his pocket.

Your stalker smirked and he leaned in closer as well. He could see the makeup on her face, the gloss on her lips, and he could see a glimpse of her ample breasts. “I don’t know… is it one of a kind?”

Underneath the table, her leg started to caress his, and her foot slowly found its way to his crotch. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he gulped, and he held onto her hand tighter. As much as he hated this, he would have been lying if he had said that the attention wasn’t nice. He felt the pressure around his groin tighten as she pressed her foot onto it, and she gently rubbed it up and down while maintaining eye contact.

“It’s an original piece…something that can’t be replicated. I’m sure you’ll love it.” Daniella said coyly, and she bit down on her plush lips.

She knew when to strike when the iron was hot. A taxi was called, and she made out with him in it. Her body was pressed up against his, and she felt his hand grip on her ass. His hand then slid up her thigh, his fingers ripped her black sheer stockings and two of them found their way to her entrance. He bit down on her bottom lip and his tongue slipped into her mouth.

She's a fun girl. She knew exactly how to inflate a man's ego and pride. He heard her sweet, light moans, and her hips started to grind onto his hand. His thumb played with her clit, and they only pulled away when the cab arrived at her house. He grabbed her hand and tossed a couple of bills at the driver. He slammed the door shut, and before she could unlock the door to her house, he pressed her against his body.

"W-We're in public...!" Daniella's face was flushed and she tried to close her legs, but your stalker was quick to pull them back apart.

He narrowed his eyes and tugged down her panties. "So? Don't tell me you have morals all of a sudden." he snorted.

He wished that she would just shut up. She opened her mouth to rebuttal but he wrapped one hand around her throat to keep her still and quiet, and he shimmied off his pants just enough for his cock to be out. "I didn't come here for you to talk all the damn time. Shut it, before I put that mouth of yours to good use."

Your stalker lifted her up and made her wrap her legs around him. His dick then entered inside her, and he groaned at how wet and ready she felt. It's been awhile since he felt actual warmth, and her walls started to clench around him. His breath is ragged as he fucked her. His eyes were closed and he couldn't help but bite down onto her shoulder. Daniella cried out, and her body was tense as his teeth broke into her skin.

"God... you needed this, didn't you?" He purred as he licked up the puncture wound. Your stalker then looked down to watch his cock disappear into her. "You need someone to fuck your brains out." He sharply thrust into her again, and his hands dug into the plush of her ass to help with the momentum.

Your stalker dragged his tongue across her bleeding shoulder, then pressed his body against hers, pinning her to the wall. With one hand still gripping her body, he used the other to shove his fingers down her throat, silencing her whimpers."You're the prettiest whore I have ever seen. Isn't that right, y/n?"

Your stalker truly believed he was being intimate with you. Daniella, who? All he knew was you. All he ever wanted was to feel you, to taste you, and to be able to hear you mewl around his cock. He wanted to see your eyes roll back into your skull, to paint your skin with butterfly kisses, and for him to finally come inside you again and again. It actually pissed him off to no end that he had to be stuck here with her.

When he felt himself getting closer to the edge, he unceremoniously pulled out of her, and his white stream of cum dripped down onto the ground. He sighed as his dick softened, and he gently helped her stand on her own legs again. His hand dipped underneath her body, his fingers playing with her wet folds, and he spread them apart to furiously rub at her clit. Daniella gripped onto his arm to keep him firmly there until she felt her leg shake.

Your stalker watched with a bit of fascination as what seemed like an endless amount of juices squirted out of her. He got onto his knees and helped her to sit onto his face. After he cleaned her all up, your stalker suddenly remembered something and his hand patted down his pockets.

"Hey... I think I'm missing my phone." He started his little lie. "Can I borrow yours? I forgot that I had an important call--"

"Bag." She just said and pointed to the one that was tossed to the side.

He muttered a "thanks" before he went over and rummaged through her purse. "What do you think about doing this again?" he kept an eye on her as his hand aimlessly tried to look for her phone. "I had fun tonight, and I'd like to see you one more time."

He could feel the various items in her bag. A packet of cigarettes, two lip products, house keys, a whole perfume bottle, but fuck where was her phone?

He watched as Daniella rolled down her scrunched up dress. The woman then raised her brow and she crossed her arms. "I'm pretty sure you said another woman's name."

"I didn't." He said rather quickly. "You drank a lot of wine--it was almost like you were trying to bankrupt me." He joked, and his hand firmly gripped onto what felt like a smooth case. He pulled it out of her bag and there it was. "What's your password?"

"Trying to change the subject, are we?"

"I'm pretty sure your phone is the subject, unlock it pretty please?"

Daniella pulled back her hair and she stared at him expectantly.

"I said give me your password, not a blowjob." Your stalker frowned.

She gave him an exasperated look. "It's my face dumbass." she then snatched her phone back from him.

"You don't use your thumb? What kind of update is that?"

"God, you're so poor." He heard her mutter.

That was so unwarranted, and sort of hurt.

Though it made him feel a lot better when he finally decided to slit her throat. Now that she was distracted, he discreetly pulled out the steak knife from his pocket before he dropped her bag and roughly yanked her back to him. His hand clamped over her mouth to muffle her screams as he dragged the serrated blade across her neck. The knife sawed through flesh, muscle, and sinew, blood spurting and gushing with each desperate pulse of her heart. It took him a while to sever her head completely, his arm burning with exhaustion as he hacked away, the blade catching on bone and gristle, her life draining away in a torrent of crimson.

Your stalker wiped his bloodied hand on her dress, he grabbed the phone off the ground, and he groaned when he saw that the screen was cracked. He tried his best to work the damn thing, his finger poking at the messaging app multiple times before it decided to open. Daniella had a plentiful amount of unsaved numbers but they had weird emojis next to them. One number was from a different country and had the eggplant emoticon.

Then he found the only saved number: y/n.

You're apparently a good girl and shared your location with your best friend. How adorable, you even share every given moment with her too. You even talked about how you were thinking about going back to your serial cheater of an ex.

Your stalker gasped, his head reeling back in shock. You were about to go back to your ex? Your ex, of all people? You couldn't have, what—moved on like a normal person? You couldn't have gone out and fucked around with someone new? Someone like him? It's like you purposely make the wrong choices just to be saved. Before he could be your little personal super hero... his eyes slowly made its way back to the body on the ground, and then to the keys that were in her bag.

Have you ever heard of cuteness aggression? The rush of impulsive behavior that you get after seeing a cute and defenseless puppy? I get that when I see you. I think you're so adorable that it makes my heart burst. Your stalker stared up into your apartment, and the car windows were rolled down to air out the perfume he dumped into the body bag.

However, there was nothing cute about this ugly pig-like fuck that touched your waist. That man had no redeeming qualities, and boy, did I want him to start squealing in pain. I wanted to pinch his body until he had yellowish-brown bruises all over. I wanted to crush his skull with my bare hands and feel his pulse drop. I wanted to be able to drink the blood shower that would come from their body and bathe in it. I want them to realize that you’re off the market, and that you’re solely mine.

They’re not good for you, love. You have seen that time and time again, and they have disappointed you before without fail; so why do you welcome them with open arms? It hurts to see your legs over their shoulders, and to see a bit of your face contorted in pleasure and ecstasy. Is it the sex? Is it the way they give you a fleeting moment of what could have been if they weren’t constantly cheating on you?

That’s pathetic, and you know it. But it’s okay, I’m willing to look past this little transgression. It’s not completely unforgivable. They must’ve broken you down and made you vulnerable enough to pull your pants down. It’s not your fault. It’s theirs.

Your stalker continued to stake out your house, patiently waiting for your ex to come down to the lobby. The moment he did, your stalker would be ready. He might not have been able to get your blood, but killing your ex and taking his was like killing two birds with one stone.

Allure: This is the first fic I wrote that actually has y/n in it! And it's pretty unedited, so if there is mistakes I will probs fix it later on. This dragged on for waaay longer than it needed and tbh, I am never writing a long fic like this again LMAO

[lou-struck]

Time to Cool Off

Osamu Miya x reader

~ Osamu knows that a busy dinner rush can make even the most experienced workers run hot. That’s where you come in.

 W.c: 1.9k

Warnings: Karens, Swearing, The Service Industry

a/n: This one goes out to everyone who has ever had to cry in the walk in (I know I have)

It's one of those cool summer evenings where the sun has been hidden behind the clouds for what seems like hours. The pavement is no longer warm as you stroll down the familiar sidewalk path to your favorite spot in the city.

Like every other Friday night, Onigiri Miya is absolutely packed. Seeing your fiancé's restaurant succeed fills your heart with joy, but this is ridiculous. By the time you manage to squeeze yourself into the waiting area by the front counter, you cannot tell what customers are in line waiting to order and what customers are standing by waiting for their food. Even the dining area is at capacity as servers are frantically running around trying to take care of their many tables.

Through the chaos, however, you do see that there is a bit of organization with the staff, who are more than used to a busy evening. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you see an outstretched arm swinging towards you. Dodging throws you a bit off balance. But at least you managed to avoid receiving an accidental black eye from the woman in front of you.

"This is insane," you mumble to yourself. It's not safe for you to be standing in such a large crowd of hungry people. You eye the stainless steel kitchen doors and zero in on your Target. Osamu is in there, along with a plethora of personal space for you to enjoy.

You weave through the crowd of customers gently. Avoiding all sorts of outstretched arms, legs, purses, and those dangling wallet keychain thingies like you are fresh out of the matrix. You're almost free when a large hairy arm stretches out in front of you, stopping you in your tracks.

You turn and see a middle-aged man glaring at you, an irritated expression on his face as he looks you over. "Oi, who do ya think ya are cutting in line."

You shoot him an apologetic look and raise your hands innocently. "Oh, I'm not putting in an order; I'm just heading back to the kitchen to~."

He cuts you off with a venomous look in his cold, dark gaze. This gentleman is clearly past the point of hangriness and now evolving into a full-blown Karen. "Likely story," he spits, reaching for your wrist. "But I don't think so~"

A familiar-looking body steps in between the two of you, and you take a slight step back. "I wouldn't touch them if I were you," your future brother-in-law says with a smile. The friendly face comforts you, and you flash him a thankful smile.

Atsumu may have is hands full with his volleyball career, but he still tries to make time to help out at Osamu's restaurant whenever he has a chance. Unlike his (slightly better-looking) brother, the setter is a klutz in the kitchen, so he is usually confined to the front-of-house duties such as ringing in take-out orders or seating parties. 

"And what are you gonna do about it?" He quips, not realizing he is vaguely threatening a professional athlete. 

The faux-blonde man with almost the same face as your fiance grins and rolls up his sleeves, nonchalantly revealing the product of years of hard work, his biceps. 

Karen dude pales in fear as he becomes aware that he has bit off far more than he can chew and takes a frightened step back, nearly knocking over another customer in the process. "Whatever, I'm leaving. I'm sure I can find some better stuff to eat than this place." He spits, turning heel and scampering away with his metaphorical tail between his legs. 

With the troublesome customer gone, you breathe a sigh of relief and turn your attention to Atsumu. 

"Thank you for stepping in; I'd hate to think what your brother would've done if he had to deal with serving that asshole." You smile, glancing just beyond the counter and see that the restaurant is even more packed than you thought it was.  "It's crazy busy tonight, isn't it?"

At your comment, he lets out a long sigh, "Ya have no Idea. I was just bored at home, so I came in to make some just came in to help out since he was bored at home, but if he knew how crazy things were gonna be, he would've just stayed away."

"Is Samu in the back?" you ask worriedly; these crazy dinner rushes are a lot for anyone to handle, especially someone as passionate and thorough as he is. 

Atsumu's eyes widen a bit as he nervously glances back toward the kitchen with a gulp. "Well…Samu is struggling a bit tonight."

"Oh, I see…" you frown, and your body moves toward the kitchen unconsciously. "I better go check on him."

You push open the door, and a rice ball misses your head by an inch. You are too scared to scream as you watch it splatter against the door. Your eyes widen as your head snaps to the source of your assault to see Osamu, you're handsome, loving fiancé, having an irritated conversation with a waitress. 

"What do ya mean her onigiri is the wrong shape? It looks the same as the hundreds of others that have passed by her table tonight."

"That's just what she said, sir," the waiter huffs. And you feel his pain; people are crazy tonight.

Osamu just sighs and turns toward the countertop to make a new riceball. A clean hand plunges into a pot of still-steaming rice and pulls out a handful. You wince as he frustratedly shapes a new ball, but the tension is running so high he doesn't even flinch from the pain. He prepares it in his usual practiced motions and sets it down on a new plate to hand to the now-sunned server. 

"Give 'em this one. And if they have anything else to say, jus grab me, don't waste yer time talkin to these idiots." he sighs as the waiter goes on their way.

They slip past you in the doorway, and Osamu finally notices that you are here, in his kitchen. His tired eyes light up a bit as his lips curve upwards in a weary smile. His broad shoulders slacken as you step into his open embrace and he holds you tightly. 

He smells a bit like smoke and onions, but you don't care at all; he needs this hug. "Busy night?'

"You have no idea," he murmurs, burying his face deeper into the crook of your neck. "Is it a full moon t'night cause people are actin crazy?"

"Actually, that would explain a lot," you mumble, reaching into your back pocket to grab your phone. When you check your weather app, your face falls, and you flash him the screen, illuminated with a big, blue supermoon."

"Well, shit. What the hell is a supermoon?" he grumbles. His strong face looking adorable in his exasperated little pouting situation he has going on.  

"I guess it's like a full moon but more super." you chuckle, patting his back. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Jus keep me company," he smiles, "Ya do more than enough as is."

Although his words are sweet, you aren't buying any of it. This isn't your first time working at his restaurant, and it certainly won't be the last. With a quick wash of your hands, you turn your attention over to the to-go orders. There are several that are completed and waiting to be packed up and sent out. 

Osamu sees you already hard at work and lets out a chuckle, "What would I do without cha'?" 

"Suffer." you tease, boxing up another order. 

The two of you get into a steady rhythm; he works his way through the mountain of tickets, and you box up the ones that you need to. Everything is going great until you are interrupted by a frazzled looking Atsumu.

"Hey Samu. I got a coupon here that won't work; what should I do with it?"

Osamu's head snaps toward his brother with lighting fast quickness.

"What coupon?" he asks, taking the piece of paper from his brother's outstretched hand. As he reads the paper, you see his body go rigid. And you place a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"TSUMU, THIS IS A COUPON FOR 25% OFF A BUSHEL OF YARN DOWN AT THE CRAFT STORE! WHY DID YA THINK I WOULD ACCEPT THIS?" he snaps. "ARE YA AN IDIOT?"

Atsumu's eyes turn glassy as he takes the paper back from his brother. "B-but the lady said it worked for her last time."

Osamu sighs deeply and pinches the bridge of his nose. "No, it didn't,"

"But the customers.." he starts to say and you feel your body tense up as he begins that dreaded slogan. 

"Can be idiots," Osamu finishes. "Jus give the lady her coupon back and tell her that the only coupons he will accept are the ones printed for this restaurant."

Atsumu frowns and walks back into the dining room, armed with the knowledge that the customer is not always right. In fact, sometimes they are just idiots. As Osamu slumps back over to his workstation, he accidentally knocks a frying pan off the counter. 

It hits the ground with a deafening clatter, and he completely loses his shit. 

This is the Straw that broke the camel's back. 

"Goddammit," he grunts, kicking the fallen pan across the room with all his might as he returns to furiously start chopping vegetables.

Angry chopping is never a good idea, so you gently grab his arm to still his movement before he loses a finger or worse. 

"What are ya doin babe?" He asks, looking up at you with a mixture of confusion and a bit of despair.

"You need to go and cool off before you hurt yourself," you say calmly. 

"I-i can't jus take a break; i-its the dinner rush." he stammers in disbelief as you pry the kitchen knife from his grasp and tug him into the walk-in freezer.

"Don't care," you reply, yanking open the large door. Your hand comes to rest on his chest, and you feel the ferocity of his heartbeat through the muscles of his tig ol biddies and shove him into the cold room before he can react. 

Shutting the door behind you, you only need to wait a few seconds before you begin to hear him scream out muffled profanities. He continues this little screaming fest for a few minutes as you wander about the kitchen, making sure that none of the food he has been cooking burns. 

It's not cruel, it's necessary. If Osamu is going to finish this shift in one piece, he needs a moment to himself to just cool off and collect his thoughts.

Suddenly, the canary is no longer singing. 

Cautiously, you open the door and see a slightly chilly-looking Osamu staring back at you. His gray eyes are filled with warmth as he steps out of the freezer and wraps his arms around you. You squirm from the sensation, and he smirks, his good humor still intact.

"Feeling better?" you ask, shivering as his cold hands send goosebumps up your spine.

"Much better," he breathes, pressing his cold lips to your much warmer ones. "I really needed that."

Tagging: @sleepyyshroom, @isaacdaknight @qardasngan

[sparrowssally]

Okay I lied that last rant wasn’t over

YET ANOTHER THING: I’ve seen a LOT of the blogs on here who ship David and Michael romantically talk about how David is “secretly” queer and how they’re going to be “safe spaces” for him when he’s ready to come out publicly.

Y’all. There is so, so much wrong with this for so many reasons. First of all, aside from a few rumors to the contrary that I’ve never seen any basis for, David has always been straight-presenting. He’s only dated women and is currently married to a woman, with whom he has several children. Yes, one of his kids is non-binary and he is an ardent supporter of them and an ally for the LGBTQ+ community as whole. This is GREAT. It shows he’s an engaged parent and a wonderful ally to the community. However, there is nothing pointing to the fact that that David is queer himself. Him wearing pride pins and wearing the “queer is here” sweatshirt is zero indication of his own sexuality. For all we know, he’s just supporting his kid. Also, all the “better halves” and “work wives” jokes made between the Tennant and Sheen families are clearly that: jokes. They’re all clearly in on the gag and think it’s funny, so they keep using it. There’s been no real life basis for them actually all being in love with each other and in some kind of swingers situation.

Second, labeling David as “queer” when he hasn’t specifically said he is himself is just plain wrong. There’s nothing “safe space” about that. Y’all just want to label him that because you want to fit him into your special little mold, so that your ship of Michael/David can set sail IRL, or so you can feel better represented. If it’s the latter, I encourage you to look at how David is an outspoken ally for the LBGTQ+ community. He’s made his voice known for years about how passionate he is about that community’s rights, and is a great high-profile ally to have. He doesn’t NEED to be queer himself if that’s not truly who he is.

Point is: Don’t label someone with a sexuality they’ve never publicly used themselves just because you want to see them that way.

If for some reason David wants to come out in the future, that’s great and I’ll support him wholeheartedly if it ever happens. But…there is NOTHING WRONG with letting him be in a happy, straight-presenting marriage with his wife. Both of them seem very happy, and both of them continue to be strong advocates for the LBGTQ+ community. Let them live their lives.

[tigsbitties]

Please talk about the blue line between mingus & randy on the shipping chart. i have to know

okay i’ll bite.

so in the yaoi hivemind dialtown thread we have come up with a hypothetical referred to simply as “the curse”. the curse, in simple terms, is a phenomenon in which the out of universe life ruining cuteness aggression that affects a larger percentage of Dialtowns player base upon seeing Randy starts affecting people in universe.

The curse is largely reliant on Randy’s already existing character growth making her a happier, more confident person who can assert herself better— as seen in chapter 3 and also the DTF youtube shorts where she’s still Randy but is doing a lot better and thus is able to endear herself to the public more— combined with the beautiful power of estrogen induced will to live. The moe levels are off the charts here.

A large percentage of Dialtown’s population will develop a crush on Randy at some point. You’ll never know when, you’ll never know for how long, but if your phone universe sexuality grants you the ability to freak it with a nonbinary any pronouns cellphone woman then you are at VERY HIGH RISK.

this is where Mingus comes in. She is not safe from the curse, a fact she is deeply unhappy about. Randy, up until now, has occupied the same amount of space in mingus’s brain as couch cushion crumbs or perhaps a weird snail she saw back in the summer of ‘08– unremarkable, if slightly unpleasant. But it creeps up on her. I think a part of her wants to have control over something more visibly pathetic than her. during the dialtown reconstruction effort she saw randy trip and fall and go “kyaaaaa!” with toast in her weird eating slot and that was the beginning of the end. her deeply repressed psyche just can’t handle the closest thing Wisconsin has to a real life anime girl.

I cannot stress how much nothing is going to come of this. Mingus is never going to admit her attraction to anyone let alone RANDY . you could not waterboard that out of her. and Randy, who crucially is not aware of the existence of the curse, is scared shitless of her. As she should be. Mingus has zero interest in her in a romantic sense and instead wants to keep her in a jar forever like a pet leech. whose to say if she’ll ever escape her demons.

I also think they go to the same therapist (or they WOULD if you could drag mingus to therapy). In life having an over bearing father who will never be proud of you either turns you into a mingus or a randy. they don’t know this about each other and thus has very little to do with my point but i think if Mingus realized she found any aspect of Randy “relatable” she might kill herself or others

[girlactionfigure]

Leah Goldstein seemed like a natural fit to be the keynote speaker at an International Women’s Day event in Ontario, Canada, next month. A Canadian cyclist, she made history as the first woman to win a grueling 3,000-mile bike race across the United States.⁠ ⁠ But in January, five months after accepting the invitation, Goldstein was told she was no longer invited to speak.⁠ ⁠ The cause, the event organizers said, was “a small but growing and extremely vocal group” that took issue with Goldstein’s service three decades ago in the Israeli army.⁠ ⁠ “Our focus at INSPIRE has been and will always be to create safe spaces to honour, share, and celebrate the remarkable stories of women and non-binary individuals,” the women’s empowerment group said in a statement. “In recognition of the current situation and the sensitivity of the conflict in the Middle East, the Board of INSPIRE will be changing our keynote speaker.”⁠ ⁠ The revoked invitation comes amid widespread turmoil over the Israel-Hamas war, including in local communities far from the Middle East.⁠ ⁠ Goldstein, 54, was born in Vancouver to Israeli parents and lived in Israel as a child and served in its military, as is required for most citizens. She first broke onto the international sports scene as a kickboxer, winning the 1989 World Bantamweight Kickboxing Championship. As a cyclist, Goldstein overcame a potentially career-ending crash in 2005 and shifted to ultra-endurance racing.⁠ ⁠ In 2011, she won the women’s solo category in the Race Across America. She finished second in the women’s group and fifth overall in 2019, and in 2021 made history by winning the overall solo division. Goldstein completed the 3,000-mile race in 11 days, three hours and three minutes.⁠ ⁠ Goldstein told JTA that she had planned to stick with her usual message for the March 8 event.⁠ ⁠ “I am zero political when I speak,” she said by phone from her home in Vernon, British Columbia. “Honestly, there is nothing political about my presentation. I just talk about the crap that I went through and the crap that most women go through, and they still do, and how I handled it.”⁠ ⁠

jtanews

[ladysomething]

I know that writing is not a simple matter, but I didn't expect to consider so much. Thank you and SaiyanWitcher for creating such a wonderful fic.

I think this has gone beyond the ordinary fic, since you have created a character like wygig Charles. This is more like a serious thing.

I really hope Charles can win WDC.

I'm still a little worried about whether the contract will strike out in the follow-up content.

God, I can't imagine what a nightmare it would be for Charles to reauction. And what Max would definitely do to protect his beloved Omega.

thank you for your kind words. there is an extensive amount of work that goes into a fic like wygig, and both @saiyanwitcher and I really appreciate it whenever people mention it. it makes us feel warm and gooey haha.

also because you have specifically mentioned Charles, I do feel like I want to ramble about him a little bit, particularly in light of the US election yesterday.

I always knew that wygig, and Charles in particular, were a vehicle for telling a deep and complex story about gender, a woman's place in the world, and the complexity of being in love with somebody who fits into all the traditional moulds of upholding societal values.

partly this is because of my own interest in gender and gender politics - as I mentioned a few days ago, I've studied it in the past.

partly this is because when SaiyanWitcher told me that she would like for me to write an omegaverse fic, I knew the only way I would want to do it was if I had something to say. reading essays on omegaverse and whether they are subversive or uphold traditional gender dynamics was how I realised that I wanted to fit into a bit of both: be subversive by making commentary on our system through omegaverse.

however, the longer I've been writing this (January will mark a year since I wrote the first chapter), it's become more and more a Point for me. wygig is not just a romance with a side of commentary, the entire point of it is to critique gender roles and gender politics.

the biggest and most obvious example on this is obviously Charles avoiding all of the things that mark a traditional omega (nesting, scenting, even having heats), but also in his journey with wanting kids.

obviously he rejected everything in the past, but that's not really a way for him to live. he was effectively denying himself his wants and needs, just because he hated his second gender and what it meant for him.

ultimately his journey is about reconciling the two halves of himself: his hopes and dreams, with his wants and needs.

max, of course, makes up a huge part of that. Max has, for the majority of the story so far, been a huge obstacle in Charles' path of self realisation and acceptance, because he has been the picture of a traditional alpha, and of somebody trying to oppress Charles (yes, of course that wasn't his intention, but he still did it - also its own point).

But Max's part in Charles' journey is to uplift him. To give a voice to him, and his needs, and to make him feel safe. His role in Charles' gender journey is protect him by allowing him the space to be who he is. His role is to do for Charles the things he simply can't for himself because of his gender: to be publicly equal to Charles, to give him the tools he needs to amplify his voice, and to meet Charles half way with love and support and zero self interest.

anyway. I know that probably makes wygig a little too real for people, and I have been told multiple times in the past that it's difficult to read/triggering, because of how deeply it explores these topics. of course I understand that - it was designed to be difficult to read.

but I'm so happy that so many of you are along for the journey, and love and appreciate what I'm trying to do with this beast.

[dadsbongos]

not to be crazy in ur inbox but soldier boy w that one woman he gets mad at for being like. not into him at the military base and he calls her a lesbo

there's no way he isnt into. the idea of """fixing""" someone right. (down bad) (need him)

i feel like i've said this before but what's the harm in saying it again

soldier boy 1000% thinks he can """fix""" people. it isn't even a fantasy, he'll say it to your face

uh...mm... uhm... hint of like. hint of fauxcest maybe? idk soldier boy says some weird shit idk idk idk

with the most unimpressed, level face ever he would downright say that you're just confused because you didn't have a good upbringing. the world is a scary place, especially since he hasn't been around to keep it safe. he'll call you ever demeaning nickname in the book while demanding a pretty little smile

nobody else in the group is really amazed by soldier boy either, nobody praises him the way he probably thinks they should. but he doesn't care about that -- he cares that you don't care.

"you're lucky you're not mine," he says randomly, continuing on when you merely raise a brow, "if i was your old man, you wouldn't be walking around like that. you'd look proper, and you'd know how to address a man."

"back in my day, the only time i'd watch your mouth open was to suck my cock."

"you'd better stay back this meeting, just look pretty for me."

he says the weirdest shit. and follows it up with a worse hand on your body.

squeezing your hip when he passes by, even if he isn't hard-pressed for room. he'll yank your top open to peer down your chest and 'tsk' like a chiding parent if he sees a binder or bra he doesn't approve of. sliding a hand onto your thigh whenever you're sat next to each other, rubbing and massaging just to watch you press your legs together. one time he even went the extra mile and fully groped your crotch, sneering that you felt hot, wet - so you can't complain when i touch you, if you like it, huh?

he has zero concern for personal space

it's like you aren't a person in his head (you aren't - not until he can make you a "better" one)

[whatcouldpossiblyhappen]

I work in a customer facing job, lots of folks coming through. It was my absolute joy yesterday to see a butch woman walk into the store in the morning, then later...a butch/femme couple, probably early fifties. The couple seemed reticent at first, and they warmed up after I offered some queer indicators in conversation. They all left smiling and relaxed. Y'all, it has made me smile the whole next day after. I saw people out in the wild!

I had my hair cut *short* a little while ago...faded on the sides, a lil curly up top. I need to wear zero rainbows now, because this hair does all the flagging for me. The next day I had an elderly woman come in and start up a conversation about her grandson using different pronouns and how she could figure out how to do that, zero prompting from me. That grandma's world was changing...she just needed a safe place to talk about it. I've had multiple conversations like that since and as long as they're polite, I'm here for it. It makes me so happy to have my job-space be a tiny part of people feeling safe out in the world.

[mariacallous]

There have been twice as many homicides in New York’s transit system so far this year as during the same time period in 2023 – even though overall violence in the system is slightly down, according to police data.

The figures have come into focus in the wake of a particularly grisly killing over the weekend — when authorities said a man set a sleeping woman on fire on an F train at Brooklyn’s Coney Island station, burning her to death. Police charged 33-year-old Sebastian Zapeta with murder and arson in that attack.

Immigration officials said Zapeta is an immigrant from Guatemala in the United States without authorization, having re-entered the country after being deported in 2018. But that incident was one of several violent acts on the subway over the weekend — including a stabbing death, a shooting and two punching attacks on elderly riders.

Including the latest homicides, 11 people have been killed in the city’s mass transit system so far this year, compared to five within the same period last year, according to police data. For some of the 4 million people who ride the subway every day, the weekend’s incidents have aggravated a persistent public anxiety.

“There's no way you can really feel safe. There's no way,” commuter Dashauna Jackson said after getting off the C train at Spring Street on Monday. “It really has gotten really bad over the last few years.”

Jackson and other subway riders who spoke to Gothamist said they’ve noticed an uptick in people acting erratically, fights and general disruption on the subways within the past few years.

Their comments come amid a continuing debate about public safety on the transit system, which crescendoed earlier this month when Daniel Penny, who was accused of causing the death of Jordan Neely when he held him in a chokehold on an uptown F train last year, was acquitted of manslaughter charges. Passengers on the train had said Neely was yelling threats when Penny grabbed him.

Paul Reeping, head of research at the nonprofit Vital City, said a broad uptick in incidents is not just a perception.

”If people are noticing that, it's because partially it is true,” he said, adding that an increase in subway crime during the pandemic mirrored the increase in crime elsewhere in the city and has yet to get back down to pre-pandemic levels.

Though homicides doubled in transit this year, they’re still exceedingly rare, he stressed. He said two murders occurring in the subway system on the same day is “huge” because it’s so uncommon.

“We think that the subways are maybe even safer than walking on the streets, just in terms of the amount of time spent and the amount of crime that happens,” he said.

Still, he said, the increase should be taken seriously.

“I think the way that most people feel about the subway, just because it feels like an intimate space, is that it must be like a plane – there shouldn't be any murders there,” he said. “The number should be zero.”

Politicians have taken note of the public concern. Gov. Kathy Hochul last week said she was deploying an additional 250 National Guard troops into the subway system, in addition to 750 troops the state sent into the subways in March after a string of high-profile subway crimes. On Sunday, she touted the installation of cameras in every subway car, a $5.5 million project.

Surveillance in the subway system – along with body camera footage and a viral bystander video – helped police swiftly take a person of interest into custody in the case of the burning woman. But that surveillance didn’t as quickly lead to arrests in four other incidents, including the other killing, that happened in subways across the city over the weekend.

On Friday morning, just after 6 a.m., an 83-year-old man riding a southbound 5 train near Manhattan’s Fulton Street station was punched in the face several times by a stranger after a verbal dispute, police said. He sustained lacerations to the face and head and was taken to Kings County Hospital Center for treatment.

Around 3 p.m. Saturday, a 21-year-old man and an 18-year-old man were shot by two unidentified individuals as they got off a southbound Q train at the Avenue U subway station in Sheepshead Bay, Brooklyn, officials said. They were both taken to local hospitals in stable condition.

On Sunday at 12:30 a.m., a 37-year-old man was stabbed to death on a southbound 7 train at the 61st Street-Woodside Station in Queens. A 26-year-old man was also slashed multiple times and taken to Elmhurst Hospital in stable condition.

And on Sunday around 2:30 p.m., a 76-year-old woman was punched in the head by a stranger and knocked to the ground on the southbound 6 train platform at Manhattan’s 51st Street subway station, police said. She was taken to NY Presbyterian Hospital in stable condition.

In each of those cases except for the fatal stabbing, police sent out clear photos of the alleged assailants – just as they did in the case of the woman burned on the F train.

According to the NYPD’s CompStat database, crime in the transit system overall is down by 135 incidents, or 6%, in comparison to this time last year – with 2,095 incidents reported through Dec. 15 this year.

Grand larceny makes up a majority of those reported crimes, with more than 1,000 incidents both years. But felony assaults – the kinds of attacks that can leave victims with permanent injuries – are the next highest category. The police data shows 548 felony assaults have been reported in transit this year, compared to 557 in the same time frame last year.

Danny Pearlstein, policy director for the Riders Alliance, an organization that helps commuters advocate for better transit systems, said the answer to the problem is not necessarily more “scare tactics” that can further heighten anxieties for riders.

“We need our leaders to double down on housing solutions to housing problems, on health care solutions to health care problems,” he said. “To the extent we want to see a police presence on the subway, we need that to be on platforms and trains, even though we know that police can’t solve every problem in transit.”

John McCarthy, chief of policy and external relations at the MTA, said the transit agency has been employing the three-pronged “Cops, Cameras and Care” approach to bring down subway crime and make riders feel safer.

He said the agency has been working with the State and the NYPD to put more uniformed officers in the system, has met its goal of installing cameras in every subway car, and has established the SCOUT program, where outreach teams work together to get help for people who are homeless and struggling with mental illness.

McCarthy said the MTA has been looking into the context behind each homicide to see what circumstances caused the deaths and what could have possibly prevented them.

“There’s still work to be done,” he said. “We remain focused on driving that number down.”

[anjelicawrites]

One step from you

Paring: modern!prosecutor!Aemond Targaryen x commissioner!reader

Synopsis: a surprise dinner invitation, forces closed off prosecutor Aemond Targaryen to start rethink his life.

Warnings: Aemond's social anxiety, dumbass to (maybe) lovers, reader's overbearing family.

What brings Aemond to dinner with your whole family is the botulinum outbreak in the county.

He means no disrespect, when he elects to interrogate your mum you, obviously, can’t; he would have never expected the woman in front of him to explain him, lengthy and with extreme precision, how to prepare: marinated vegetables, tomato puree and many complicated, traditional dishes.

After he was done with her, he had felt full, not unlike after a wedding feast and he had only had one espresso for breakfast!

You found him still at the precinct late that same night, you obviously working on other cases, him drinking that terrible, horrible, no good coffee from the vending machines in the corridor.

You’ve been meaning to talk to him, to say how sorry you were that your mother had dumped centuries of culinary history on him, while not answering the questions, but you were on the cusp of discovering the heads of a big drug ring, and had managed to come back to your office just half and hour ago.

Despite having worked with him countless times, you find prosecutor Aemond Targaryen to be aloof and difficult to talk to, even when it concerned work matters; not that he’s ever been rude with you, just that you find yourself unconsciously checking your posture and don’t really know how friendly you can be with him, even after years of working together. It doesn’t help that you have a crush on the man that forces you to act more distant with him, that you’d be with anyone else: you can’t risk rumors to spread.

Surprisingly enough, it’s him who starts the conversation.

“Commissioner, I thought I was alone with the night shift.”

“I’ve just returned, sir.” You stared at the vending machine for a second. “I’m sorry about my mother, she told me you interrogated her”

“She was more offended that I believed her a bad cook, than the botulinum outbreak accusations.”

“Sir, my mother is the best chef in the county.”

“I haven’t disputed that”

“By implying that her food might be contaminated, you basically did, sir.”

The way he stared at you made a smile break on your face. It’s safe, no one is around to see it.

“I’ve never said that. We have no idea where the botulinum comes from, let alone which hotel is the, metaphorical, patient zero” he said, stiff

“My mother has her own set of priorities, sir. She might not know much about accounting and how to run that side of the business, but in the kitchen? She’d be able to run the place blindfolded and with her right hand behind her back” you couldn’t stop smiling.

Despite how at odds you and your mother are, sometimes, you are proud of her and of the way she had carved her space in a male dominated world.

“I am merely doing my job” he answered, his face set

“I know sir” you tried to school your expression, but the smile didn’t want to go away (danger! Danger!). “And I will tell her how hard you are working to clean everyone’s name”.

After that the conversation abated, you tried not to gag while drinking your coffee, he stared at you, puzzled as to why you find what he’s just told you so funny.

Despite what Aegon tells him, Aemond is keenly aware of the complicated dance of social interactions, he just finds himself with two left feet, in a world where everyone else is a mix between Rudol'f Nureev and Carla Fracci. Take this moment with you: you two were chatting, you are being friendly and he couldn’t respond in tune, even if he wanted to because he had no idea how joke about your mother info dumping on him, who barely knows how to fry an egg.

“Oh, Gods be good!” You said. “I need some shut eye before we start interrogating the detainees.”

Someone else, anyone else, would have found a witty way to ask you how the investigation was going, what escaped his lips was a dry

“Do you think you will close it soon?”

“I hope so, sir,” the smile on your face less prominent. “We all want to see the results.” You answered feeling the easiness of your conversation abating

“Then good luck”

“Thank you sir,” You answered. “Good luck to you too.”

You bid him goodnight and left him to stare at your retracting back, telling himself what an idiot he’s been in being so awkward with you.

You don’t really see him, too overwhelmed with your drug ring case to go look for him and ask how the botulinum outbreak is going; you know that the people at the hospital are getting better, it’s the rest of the story that you are missing. You make a point of not asking your mother, whenever she calls you, not even when she mentions Aemond: it’s a slippery slope to mix work and family life together.

You stumble upon Aemond, again, late at night. You had foregone the celebrations with your team, after closing the drug ring investigation, to spend some time alone in your office to relax, since both your brain and body are still running high on adrenaline, and you’d rather not crash where your subordinates might see you.

The police station is eerily quiet, the echo of the steps of the night shift barely reaches your floor and the sky is dark outside, the moon hidden by a thick blanket of clouds: it might finally rain.

You jump out of your skin the second Aemond calls you from the shadows, you are positive your heart will explode with fear and adrenaline.

“Sir!” You shout, one hand going to your chest

“Commissioner.” He says, eyeing you

“What are you doing here? It’s late!” Comes out with too much emphasis and he winces inwardly

“I could ask you the same question.” He answers, tone clipped as usual

“Jesus weep!”.

Aemond feels sorry at having scared you so. He knows he is light on his feet, but he thought you’d be able to hear him coming: you’re a cop, after all!

In his heart Aemond knows he should leave before the silence becomes too awkward, he might have a handful of seconds before your breathing goes back to normal and he is forced to perform, badly, some sort of small talk.

Sometimes he hates this divide between him and the rest of the world.

He is getting ready to retreat, when you surprise him

“Have you already eaten dinner?”

He doesn’t know what to respond and why do you care?

“I have some food mother sent me and I don’t feel like eating alone.” You say with a brilliant smile on your face.

Aemond hesitates. You mother’s hotel has been cleared of any responsibility, still he has investigated her: it’s not proper to eat the food of a former suspect, he should politely say no and go home.

The idea of returning to the hotel room he occupies, even since he had to relocate for his first assignment, dampens his volition: the room service has already closed and he doesn’t have any food in the small fridge; on top of that, the idea of eating take out again depresses him when he knows homemade food is within his reach.

Before he can’t stop himself he accepts your invitation. You’re glad he’s answered immediately, or you would have lost courage yourself.

The walk towards your office is short.

Aemond misses the old location of the precinct: a Renaissance building, dusty and a bit moldy, but with character and beautiful frescoes on the ceilings. The new place is depressingly anonymous, all metal and white walls.

He appreciates what you’ve tried to do with you office: the plants and the frames on your desk give the room a spark of personality, whilst maintaining a professional atmosphere; the couch near the window looks comfy and, he suspects with a twinge of tenderness, that you might have taken more than one nap there.

There’s an exaggerated number of Tupperwares and jars on the desk you use for the meetings with your men, all the containers neatly wrapped, the contents written on the paper with a flowery handwriting.

“I told you, sir. Mother exaggerated, as usual.” You tell him with mirth in your voice. “Do you mind moving everything on my desk? I need to set the table.”

With that you head towards one the filing cabinets, open one of the drawers and extract a colorful tablecloth, plastic plates and cutlery, to his immense surprise. Gently you put everything on the top of the cabinet, in order to rummage so more, to produce a tube of plastic glasses.

Again, the divide he feels stops him from saying anything funny when you turn towards him with your arms full and stare quizzically at him. He elects to keep silent as he moves everything on your desk, while you set the table for two.

You two work in silence to unwrap everything and he marvels again at the sheer amount of food that’s on the table: various preserved vegetables, bread, savory pies and desserts.

He sits after you and waits until you’ve served yourself, before trying a bit of everything.

He suppresses a moan of appreciation at the way the flavors explode in his mouth; the food he buys doesn’t taste this good, even what the cook at home used to prepare can’t compare, the various ingredients and textures meld perfectly on his tongue.

“Do you like it?” You ask, after a while, to break the silence.

“It’s excellent” he answers.

“Do you understand why mother was so pissed that you thought she isn’t a good chef?”

Aemond stares at you, eye fixed into yours.

“I’ve never said that. Even the best professional might make a mistake which results in people developing food poisoning.”

“Not mother, sir. I’ve been raised by her side, in the kitchen. I know how precise she is with every preparation, the conserves mostly. She knows the dangers of food going bad. She’d rather throw everything out, than risk hurting someone. She’s so strict, that she only uses the food that she grows in the garden; everything she serves, she knows the origin. Even the juices are home pressed”

“You know how to prepare all of this?”.

He hopes his incredulity doesn’t seep in his words. You don’t look like the kind of person who would slave in a garden and in a kitchen to prepare traditional meals.

“I do, sir, and I would make my own food, if only I weren’t always here. It takes time and energy to organize your work and then prepare everything. Have you ever participated in making tomato sauce? You need a lot of people, time and space, it takes days!”.

Aemond focuses on your face: he’s never seen you this animated. When you are with him you are always serious and controlled, now there’s a spark in your eyes he’s never seen, the air around you vibrates with an energy he’s never experienced when you relate him the results of your inquest. You look alive in ways, he thinks, no one has ever seen here.

“I can’t say I have.” He answers, putting the fork neatly beside the plate. “My family doesn’t hold these kind of traditions”.

He grimaces inwardly, like every time he shares tidbits of himself with the outside world, waiting for his interlocutor to use the information against him.

“It’s fun, sir. You are absolutely destroyed afterwards, but seeing the fruits of your labor on the shelves, makes for it.”

You say with a smile that covers for no judgment, he realizes. You are merely chatting with him and he can’t detect any ill intention on your part; he’s not used at doing this, talking with people with the only intent to pass the time and get to know them.

“Will you tell your mother that I have appreciated everything she’s prepared?”

“I will, sir. Be mindful, though, she might start sending you food as well.”

“Why would she do such a thing? She doesn’t know me.” He is honestly surprised.

“Because she’s a feeder. She’s told me at least trice that you look too thin and she fears you are living off supermarket food. Unfortunately she comes from a generation where stating opinions on someone’s body is the norm, but she means well.”

“You can assure your mother I am eating healthy food. Not homemade, because I don’t have a garden, yet it’s not frozen meals.” he finds himself saying with a smile.

It’s not a lie, not the complete truth either, he hopes the cook at the hotel chooses the best ingredients, but he doesn’t have that kind of back knowledge to know.

“I’ll try my best, sir. Despite you having to investigate her and her hotel, she likes you. She’s told me what a gentleman you have been throughout the questioning, calling her ‘Mrs’ and listening attentively. She’s added something I shouldn’t say out loud, though.” You say, evading his eye.

“Commissioner, I don’t think anything your mother said about me warrants you keeping the secret. I don’t think she insulted me.”

He is intrigued now, and this is better than asking himself why he feels so at ease with you.

You play with the food on your plate, trying to find the right words.

“She said you reminded her of her grandfather. He was a farmer, but he had studied in a seminary, until his own dad had passed away and he was forced to quit to help feeding his mum and siblings. He was known to be well mannered, even when plowing the land, and well spoken. People noticed how lord like he was, they didn’t see the mud on his boots.” You take a sip of water. “I have never met him, of course, but all the tales about him focus on his bright intelligence and gentleness. He was wasted potential, but back in those times his family couldn’t do anything about it. All his neighbors used to come to him to solve their problems with borders, cattle and the like, because he was always capable of finding a solution that was good for all parties.”

Your eyes bore into his lonely one, your hands pick at the bread on the table with nervousness.

“I’m sorry if I have offended you, sir.”

“You haven’t.” He answers. “He sounds like the kind of man anyone should aspire to be. It is a great compliment to be compared to him.”

“Oh thank God!” You say, the breath you’ve been holding escapes your lips in a huff.

You didn’t know how he would have taken being compared to a simple farmer, when you know well enough how old and important his family is.

“Is there anything else your mother said?”

“No, that’s it”.

It’s not entirely the truth. She’s repeated you how handsome Aemond is and that you should find out if he has someone in his life, because he looks like the kind of man who is just perfect for you. He doesn’t need to know that and how much you agree with you mother.

“Would it be awfully impolite if we don’t finish everything?”

“Oh no sir! Those are my rations for at least a week. It is physically impossible to eat all!”

“You shouldn’t have shared it with me, if it was supposed to last you for so long!”

“Nonsense, sir. I offered because I was happy for you to have a meal with me. And I have other food at home, not homemade, but you will not tell mother, right?” The smile is bright on your lips.

He stares at you fondly. This is the first time in a long while, that he’s felt not so detached from the world around him, almost at ease with you.

“On my honor, commissioner” he smiles, without even realizing it.

He helps you put the food in the containers and throw out the trash.

You two argue on your way to the exit, because he wants to carry everything for you, it looks heavy and he is gentleman, after all, to which you answer that you are used to carry and lift more than this bag.

Outside, the first summer storm is raging, fat drops of water falling almost horizontally on the pavement.

“Is your car nearby, commissioner?” He asks, voice raised to make himself heard.

“It’s that one!” You answer, pointing at the beaten out Cinquecento parked on the corner of the street.

“Are you sure it will withstand the storm?” He has to ask, the thing looks ancient.

“It will. It’s more patches than everything else, but it still runs strong!”

With a huff you don your raincoat and fit the hood on your head.

“How are you going home, sir?”

“With that.” He answers, pointing to a car that costs like your annual wage. “Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you home?”

“I’ll be fine. I’ve driven that through worse conditions.” You stop for a second, unsure of how you should say goodbye. “Well, goodnight sir.”

“Good night commissioner.” He answers.

He stays on the door until you are safely in your car and the thing, miraculously, starts.

Few days pass; he has so much work he might drown in it, yet he has the time to focus on you every single time you two pass the halls of the precinct and of the courthouse. He doesn’t realize what he’s doing, at first, you’re there and he greets you, because his mother has taught him good manners, it’s when he is consciously looking for you, that he realizes what he’s been doing.

It’s strange for him to look out for someone who is not his immediate family: keeping and eye on his siblings has always been a sort of second nature, even though he’s not the first born, because they are his blood and he’s supposed to. You are a nobody, a subordinate, yet he realizes, as he’s pouring over some documents, that his subconscious has been focusing on you for a very long time, the change now being, that he wishes to see more of that spark you showed him during your improvised dinner, at least when you stumble upon him.

For your part, you try not to think about the dinner too much. It had been lovely to see a more human side to your colleague, the downside being that whatever interest you had been developing for him, now has more energy to grow. Your mother is of no help either, she keeps asking about Aemond, as if you were in any position to know any personal information and no, you don’t want to know if he’s single or not, it’s not like you have any chance with him, who has shown zero interest towards you, beside work.

You should have known better.

You mother has a tradition: Friday night family dinner, when she gives the reins of the hotel kitchen to her second in command so she can cook for her family only, and spend time with you all.

She’s been particularly pressing this week, you simply thought she wanted you relax with the people who love you, after the grueling months spent chasing the drug ring. You were wrong.

The first bell should have rang when the space in front of the family home is full of cars. The second when you spotted a car that looked suspiciously similar to Aemond’s posh one. The third the second your mother bear hugged you and then dragged you to the kitchen, chatting like a car salesman to stop your questioning.

“Mom, what the hell?”

You finally manage to interrupt her when you see your colleagues, and their families, helping setting the tables in the back garden.

“What?” She stares at you with fake innocence in her eyes.

“Why is my team here?”

“Oh dear. Didn’t I tell you? I wanted to celebrate your hard work!”

Your mum is many things, a good actress she’s not.

“No, you didn’t.” You say exasperated. “And you called me constantly the past week!”

“Oh, I am getting old and forgetful. I’m sorry dearest.”

You know she isn’t and you are certain she hasn’t forgotten about telling you. You almost start grilling her with questions, when she chirps amiably.

“Oh, look who’s managed to come!”

With horror you see Aemond with a casserole in his hand, your older sister directing him on where to put the thing.

“Mom!”

You think you are going to have a heart attack. You are positive it’s going to happen now, because your heart is beating too fast and you feel like fainting with embarrassment. If you die you don’t have to talk to him, to justify your family probably berating him.

If you’re fast enough you can run to your car before Aemond spots you.

You haven’t considered your mother’s grip on your arm, and your nephews’ sudden influx of love towards you, the three little monster screaming your name and hugging your legs: you are positively struck where you are.

If only the ground were to swallow you.

“Mom, do you have the slightest idea of the family he comes from?”

“Yes, of course I do. They all look dashing, but him? Absolutely breathtaking”.

God please take me now, you think, anything but this!

But God is nowhere to be found and is deafer than ever to your prayers when you see your sister talking to Aemond, who then turns and spots you.

You can’t run away now. Maybe a stray thunderbolt might hit you?

“Good evening commissioner”

“Good evening sir”.

You try to look dignified, pretty difficult when there’s a gaggle of children holding on to your legs and you want to die.

“Children, will you please let me go?” You ask.

“Are you going to run away?” Says nephew number one.

“Mum said to get you, so you would stay!” Adds nephew number two.

“She said you’d try to bolt!” The third one nails the last nail on your coffin.

If you longed for death before, now you wish to burst into flames.

“Why would you leave, commissioner?” Aemond looks sincerely curious.

“I will not. Children, please!”.

The three little monster seem to be happy with the damage they have caused and run away, to play.

“You know how kids are, sir. Minds full of wonder. God only knows what they’ve heard!”

“I think we can use our first names tonight, we are not at work, after all.”

Engrossed as you are in your embarrassment, you don’t hear the insecurity in Aemond’s voice

“Yes sir.” You catch yourself .“Aemond. I hope my family wasn’t too berating.”

“They aren’t. A bit loud, but it calls for the occasion.”

Inwardly he lets go of the breath he was holding. He knows it’s stupid but, like every time he takes a step out of his comfort zone, he feels himself preparing for the worse, for his little attempt to be crushed by the outside world.

“Are you two going to stand there and look pretty, or are you going to help?” Screams your brother in law from where he’s minding the barbecue.

“You do your thing.” You shout back. “And I’ll do mine!”

“He is right. I think there’s more that needs to be set on the table.”

You agree and desperately try not to notice how good Aemond looks.

At work he wears conservative suits, tonight his slacks look comfy and soft, the neckline of his white shirt deeper than the ones you are used to see him wear. His gorgeous hair is in a complicated braid that enhance his beautiful face.

Yes, you need to busy yourself.

Your mum has overdone herself. For the usual Friday dinner, she just sets the table, tonight the whole area is illuminated by strings of light and there’s flowers and plants everywhere. The tablecloths are the finest she owns, the ones she uses only for important occasions. You are moved by the hard work you see here, knowing full well how demanding the hotel is, yet you are pissed that both your mother and sister have ambushed you so; you wouldn’t have refused to come, if you’d known that Aemond would be here!

“What were you two thinking?”

You have managed to snag your sister and drag her in a hidden corner of the garden.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about”

“I am going to throttle you”

“You are worse at lying than mom is! You have any idea of who Aemond is?”

“I perfectly know who he is. He’s the man who’s making me regret I am married and loyal. He’s so dreamy.”

“What for? You work with him!”

“It’s not the same. We don’t have that kind of relationship!”

“But you’ve eaten with him.”

“How do you know that?”

Whatever high ground you thought you had, disappears from under your feet.

“He thanked mum for the food and complimented her, when she called him to invite him tonight.” Your sister says nonchalantly

“How, in the name of God, does she have his phone number?”

At this point you are beyond flabbergasted

“You should ask her! Now come, it’s time to eat!”

Your sister grabs your arm and your nephews appear out of nowhere to help her drag you to your chair which is, lo and behold, next to Aemond��s.

“I’m going to kill you!” You manage to whisper in your sister’s ear

“Enjoy your dinner!” She says with so much saccharine in her voice, you are afraid her teeth will fall off.

Aemond had to prepare himself for tonight, telling himself that being social for one night would be fine, even fun. He knows your men, his consideration of them is almost positive, considering they are cops. Compared to most of their colleagues, they are bearable and not corrupt, which is a first. On top of that, he has already had dinner with you and the experience had been lovely, you were lovely and he couldn’t say no to a mum, his own mother would kill him, but his heart had beaten a tad too fast while he was driving here, the idea of having to deal with so many people, in an unknown context, scared him.

At the courthouse or the precinct, he has a script in his head he can follow, here? He’s left to his own devices and that rarely ends well.

Surprisingly enough, for him, the welcome he received from you family was warm and made him feel like he had always known all of them. Even being, gently, bossed around by your older sister, felt right, not like she was overstepping.

But he can still feel the glass divide between himself and the rest of the world.

It is a strange feeling, to be somewhere, with nice people, and knowing that there’s this distance he can’t overcome. That he can talk with people, break bread with them and yet know that he’s seeing the whole scene from the outside, instead of being part of it, as if he’s the spectator to a play.

Even you, sitting by his side, chatting and laughing, the delicate scent of your perfume in his nostrils, barely manage to breach the gap that had always distanced him from the rest of the world.

Your mum, for her part, tries to make him participate in the conversation, as if she’s aware of the way he’s feeling. But she can’t know, he tells himself, no one has ever been able to, why could she?

And she seems to be intent to feed him like a pig. Aemond can’t say no to her, not when she puts food on his plate and tells him to try this dish, which she had made especially for him; Alicent would kill him if she’d ever knew he had caused grief to a fellow mother, who has worked hard just for him.

“Do you want to get a breath of fresh air?” You ask him during a lull between courses.

“I wouldn’t mind it.” He answers, hoping the relief is not too noticeable.

You hope no one notices you two slipping away to go to the roof of the house. On your way there, you stop in front of an ancient daguerreotype.

“That’s him.” You say.

Aemond behind you hums, his eye admiring the old face staring back at him.

The man looks nothing like him, the huge mustaches occupy his face, giving him a serious look, but that’s not why he understands your mother’s reasoning: it’s the aura he can feel exuding from the daguerreotype, the power that only knowledge gives you, the one Aemond had always felt during his studies, what truly made him feel strong and capable, against a world he rarely understood.

“Thank you for showing me his picture.” Aemond says, meaning it from the bottom of his heart: our family, our roots, it’s all we have, when everything is said and done.

“And this one is my granddad, his son. He’s the one who started the hotel, from his literal home”.

The photo he looks at is yellow with age, a man staring at something just over Aemond’s shoulder, the typical pose for pictures of that time; you look a lot like him, he realizes, in the shape of your eyes and mouth.

“Let’s go, before my sister sends her minions from hell!” You laugh, making your way up the staircase.

The night is warm but a gentle breeze moves your hair, as soon as you and Aemond arrive on the roof.

Like many houses in this region, it is flat and had been used for centuries to store rain water and hang the drying clothes; Aemond notices your family has comfortable garden furniture here and a closed beach umbrella.

Ignoring everything, you head for the edge of the roof, where you can feel the breeze more; Aemond follows you, taking the time to observe you.

You look like summer in your pretty dress and wedge heels, your hair styled and not up in the conservative bun you wear at work. Yes, you are pretty, not that you aren't in your usual clothing, it's just that these illuminate you, make you look happier and livelier. He understands your fashion choices at work. He once heard another female police officer saying that she would have dressed more feminine, but then, where keep her gun? And the field is still so male dominated that showing any other kind of traits, would immediately mean becoming laughing stock.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” A tinge of anxiety marks your voice

“I am. It is different than my usual Friday night, but a good change”

“I’m glad. My family can be hard to handle, even for me.” You say, shielding your face with your hair

“They are a peculiar bunch indeed, but nice and welcoming.”

Silence falls between you two again, broken only by the music coming from downstairs; it’s not heavy, though, Aemond muses, he doesn’t feel the need to either leave or try to awkwardly fill it with words, before the other person decides it has been weird enough. In his life, he only felt like this with his beloved sister Helaena: she never minded sitting by his side, just quietly enjoying life.

“This is my family’s ancestral home. It had been expanded and changed, but my family has been living here since centuries. My grandfather used to rent out all the rooms he could, that’s how the hotel started.”

“It must have been hard.”

“Yes. Many sacrifices were made, but he didn’t want his daughter to slave in the fields all her life.”

“She still decided on physical labor, instead of a managerial position, though.”

“The key is that it was her choice. She wakes up every morning and still wants to do it. It is a luck not everyone has.”

“Do you still have it?”

Aemond doesn’t know where the question comes from, he’s usually mindful of someone else privacy, but with you that invisible, glass divide with the world, seems to become thinner and thinner and he deludes himself with thinking he might truly reach through it and touch you.

“I do, and I don’t sometimes.” You admit, eyes not meeting his. “I love my team and what we do, I just miss how exciting my life was undercover, and after, at the internal affairs.”

“Do you want to go back to that?”

You don’t answer immediately, you let the wind blow through your hair and the lights from downstairs dance in your eyes.

“No, I don’t think I want to. It’s just that this job sucks the life out of you, sometimes. All the violence and the filth and having to shield the people I love from that makes me feel. I think I miss more the person I was, the way I used to look at this work, like a source of a better change for this world. Now that I am older and wiser, I realize that, at best, we try to empty the ocean with a spoon, at worse, we are protecting those who have reduced the world into what it is.”

If he were another person, Aemond would have reached for your hand, to give you comfort, but he is who he is and doesn’t know what to do.

He doesn’t expect your question.

“What about you, Aemond? Do you still wake up with the same drive you used to have?”

“I do.” He is surprised by how fast he answers, but this had been a surprising night, it’s OK. “I see all of it and it makes me what to double down on my work. But I understand: you are supposed to protect, but whom, truly? The poor person who steals out of hunger, or the company they steal from?”

“You’re lucky then.” You say with a sad smile on your lips

“I probably am.” What you don’t know, it’s that it’s the glass divide he sometimes despises, that helps him keep a distance between himself and the ugly parts of his job.

“I feel like my mind is always there. I cook and clean, play with my nephews and chat with my mum, and a part of me is always pouring over the files. It’s never ending.”

“I have a bike.” He blurts out “We can go on a trip, take you away from your routine.”

He truly doesn’t know where the invitation comes from. Not that he wouldn’t like to go on a spin with you, but when did his brain decide to unlock like this?

“You don’t look like the kind of person who owns a bike.” You are so surprised that you’ve forgotten the sadness of the conversation.

“It belonged to my family for years. It even has a name: Vhagar.”

And I lost my eye for it, he thinks, but doesn’t say.

“I very much would like to.” Your mouth says before the silly embarrassment caused by your crush can stop you.

“It is lovely plan, then!”

Your sister’s voice makes you and Aemond jump in surprise. How long was she listening? You suspect long enough, judging by the way she puts her arm over your shoulder to hug you sideways.

“I hope you have space for the desserts!” She says, dragging you towards the stairs.

“Desserts?” Comes, a bit strangled, from Aemond

“Oh, mum has overdone herself tonight!” She gleefully answers.

By the time the food is finished, Aemond feels like he could easily roll home: he is full like he had never been before. He jumps up and offers his help, when it’s time to clear the table, maybe a bit of exercise might help him and clear his head as on why it’s so easy to reach to you, of all the people in the world.

Aemond finds himself with a carton of food, near the trunk of his car. He had tried to, politely, refuse, but your mother simply ignored him and put even more food in it.

Aemond is closing the trunk, when your mum arrives with a bag of conserves and trusts it in his hands.

“I cannot accept. It is too much!” He says.

“Oh, nonsense.” She answers. “I am happy to give these to you.”

“But you’ll need those for the hotel.”

“I have more than enough stored in the kitchen there. These are the ones I use at home.”

“I can’t!”

“Yes you can.” She gently puts her hands over his. “I know how hard it is, accept a stranger’s kindness and reach out of what comforts you. But it’s worth trying.”

Aemond doesn’t believe in coincidences, but you appear in his line of sight and make a beeline for him.

“Mum? You are needed. I’ll help here.”

Your mother bids Aemond goodbye, who answers with a strange expression on his face that makes the alarm bells explode in your head.

"Aemond?" It is so strange to use his given name so freely. "Is everything all right? Or were we too much?"

His eye focuses on you, he doesn't look like a deer caught in the headlights anymore, yet his face is more animated than what you're used to see.

"Everything is fine." He says, your name follows, his voice pensive. "Your mother possesses far more insight than I thought."

You don't really understand what he's implying, it feels like he's talking more to himself than to you.

"She is an extraordinary woman."

And she truly is, to see him, for who he is, without making him feel naked and defenseless.

"Yeah-." You answer without really understanding the topic.

In silence you help him put the food in the trunk of the car, making sure nothing will be broken.

The air feel pregnant, of what you don't know, but you feel like he's going to say something and he's looking for the right words.

"About that little trip." He finally says.

"Yeah?"

"Do you still want to go?"

You don't know it, but his heart is beating so fast he's afraid it might explode.

"I can't wait. I've never ridden a bike in my entire life."

Another man would have probably said something crass about first times, he simply closes the hood of the car.

"It is the closest thing to flying you'll ever experience. You'll have fun, I promise."

"Good." There's a smile on your face. "I love fun!"

Aemond is driving home. He feels emptied by all the social interactions, yet happy, like he's not going to need to recharge, and it's a first.

His mind drifts off to Helaena and the cryptic words she's told him when he moved here, about strange twists and turns that lend to where one least expects it.

Was she talking about you? Only time will tell and, this uncertainty, doesn't scare him, for the first time in his life.

Everythig taglist: @hightowhxre

Aemond taglist: @phantoms-main-blog @fan-goddess

[vintageseawitch]

HEY CHECK IT OUT

what the fuck.

if you're out of the loop, there's been a TON of activity in political tiktok, specifically in the leftist space. an obvious talkie has been attempting to spread the lie that they were paid $15,000 by the DNC (which turns out to be a lie; it was $10,000 from a third party group called Vocal so the content creator can make content about Project 2025) & then made the claim that any content creator speaking well about Democrats were all getting paid to do so, which was also a lie & even if it wasn't, who cares? people put in a ton of work & don't often get paid enough.

the next big issue: this tankie, who is a white woman that lives in California, made an outrageous claim that Angela Davis wasn't a true member of the Black Panthers & now the explosive & entirely valid conversations about racism & white supremacy exist even in leftist spaces are taking that area by storm.

black women have been talking about it quite a bit & by now they're annoyed because it sounds like they're defending Kamala Harris even though they may not like her or her policies even if they may be voting for her anyways or not.

the input & knowledge from black women is important & we all need to listen. the fact is that as white people exist, we're living in a system founded on & upheld by white supremacy & what's worse is in leftist spaces, because people believe they're the ultimate ally, they don't need to put in anymore work.

but then things get sticky. things get uncomfortable. they have to be white saviors & once again, black & indigenous folks living here will pay the price.

certain leftists can claim they're anti-genocide as much as they wish but they're only partially against a specific one going on. i don't blame them for caring because everyone should give a damn about people going through something so horrific. that said, whatever horrors have been going on to our fellow man here don't seem to bother them as much. there may be some compassion here & there but nowhere near the level of devotion to people across an ocean from us.

then you get the shit in the above screenshot. a chaos agent. a putin puppet, who is stanned by the likes of Kshama Sawant, an accelerstionist as far as i can tell as well as Hassan Abdel Salam, both of whom have admitted they know they can't win but they want Harris to lose ignoring the fact that trump wants to deport them & others like them no matter how long they may have lived here. you get jill stein, someone who can immediately call netanyahu & Biden war criminals but when pressed about her precious putin suddenly she has a problem with "name calling" (the KGB should have trained her better). she's received money from Republicans for her campaign. she's getting help from trump lawyers. trump personally thanked her by name in a speech earlier this year because even he knows she's another tool for him.

it's wild how green party voters call those voting for Harris "blue maga" but they themselves are behaving more like original maga than they will care to admit let alone see. i'm not saying that there aren't those who think Harris is perfect, but i hardly see such blind devotion the way i see people have for trump & stein. both are cult leaders. they say things their followers want to hear.

stein's response?

oh no you don't. this was from 2016:

she's full of it. a KKK leader felt safe enough to endorse her & i'm now seeing her cult followers defending her, such as believing that he was paid by Democrats to do this & that we're apparently celebrating Dick Cheney's endorsement (i saw one comment saying people think Cheney is "brat" lmao) even though there had been zero celebrating & mostly trepidation & astonishment. he's clearly not voting for Harris because he has a change of heart; even if it's for selfish reasons, he & a bunch of other old Republicans see the danger that trump possesses. they're not agreeing with policies from Harris because she's "far right" (a bullshit claim anyways); they're agreeing that any extremist takeover is NOT GOOD. leftists refuse to see this perspective.

so like i mentioned earlier, it's white supremacy. jill stein has taken a once noble party & bastardized it to the point that white supremacists & antisemites feel safe in her space (i'm not saying that being pro-Palestine means you're an antisemite. i'm pointing out that Duke is also an antisemite). it's disgusting & disturbing. she's a wealthy white woman who won't be harmed by Project 2025. she wants trump to win & she & her rabid followers are working to make that happen.

third party voters, you aren't safe. you are accelerstionists to me now regardless of reason. your voting this way or not voting at all isn't brave or impressive, it's selfish, a surrender, cowardly. you don't want to get your hands dirty but when things go to shit you will refuse to take any responsibility for your part in it. the revolution you want so badly is nothing more than your version of the Rapture & the only revolution that will be happening is a fascist one because Republicans know how to play a long game to get real results unlike you leftists. they love that your tunnel vision self-righteousness makes you stupid & willing to throw your fellow vulnerable Americans under the bus so you get to feel morally superior.

you're monstrous. i'm not bothering to try to beg or play nice with you lot since you're no better than trump's maga. a former KKK leader endorsed your precious savior & nothing you say will change that. to make excuses is to make your space safe for white supremacy. you're unsafe.

[glasskey]

Serena's Playlist

I’ve got to hand it to Yvonne Strahovski, watching her play the duplicitous and vicious Serena is like receiving a master class in how to be a perfect villain. I loathe and love Serena, I’m absolutely transfixed by her and with that in mind I’m rolling out my all time favorite Serena moments to date, in seasonal order.

Do you understand me?

Yes Serena. Yes I understand. Strahovski is breathtaking in this display of utter viciousness, going from zero to a hundred in the space of less than 10 seconds. One moment she’s gushing over June as the living embodiment of motherhood and the next her face deteriorates into a picture of utter rage. As a totally reasonable and completely logical punishment for not successfully getting knocked up, our protagonist is indefinitely locked up. Yes, because there’s nothing quite like isolation, depression, lack of vitamin D and fresh air to encourage fertility. Even Nick is stunned at Serena's cruelty when she puts the partition up between them in the car…..too little too late sweetie.

It isn’t yours

Imbued with the happy spirit of being a new pseudo momma, Serena performs a spectacular mic drop on Fred when she announces their happy homes new addition, followed by an icy “It isn’t yours”. Serena then delivers a blistering speech about how God would never let him father a child because he’s so incredibly weak. Its a verbal kick to the nuts of epic proportions and after Fred’s patronizing and dismissive “go to your room”, it is absolutely delicious to watch her crush him so entirely.

As long as my baby is safe, so is yours.

If you ever thought redemption might be on the table for Serena, this single sequence will convince you otherwise. Serena taking June to see Hannah, without letting her actually speak to her, is by far the cruelest shit I have ever seen done to a mother. The ensuing verbal bloodbath in the car is a spectacular display of Moss's acting abilities that's not to be missed. Up until this point June had been quite polite and addressed Serena as “Mrs Waterford”, but as the litany of insults June unleashes suggests, that shit was all over now. The whole “as long as my child is safe, so is yours” line that Serena lays on June, is beautifully referenced after June is recaptured in S2 and Serena nearly throttles her. June has effectively denied Serena experiencing the first 3 months of the pregnancy and she’s fucking livid. The veil is down and these two are officially mortal enemies. Let the games begin.

He looks handsome doesn’t he?

Oh no she didn’t! Here Serena takes her most powerful swing at Nick and June’s relationship to date. Nick’s a bit more heart than head here, he just can’t help himself when he see’s the woman he loves starting to lose it, and unwisely steps up to Serena. As a consequence he unintentionally earns himself a shiny new child bride and later finds his girlfriend broken and bloody in the garden bed. It’s a mistake of colossal proportions on Serena’s part and it’s a perfect example of what happens when she gets just a wee bit too greedy and gloaty for her own good. It’s also a beautiful example of how the Waterfords like to dress their revenge as reward.

You’ve left me with nothing

This one kind of breaks my heart a little, it’s not often that you get to see a vulnerable Serena, and to witness her being reduced to smoking rubble was almost more than I could bear. Seeing Serena weep with such anguish and helplessness was absolutely revelatory to her characters dimension. Serena assisted the construction of an entire dictatorship just so she could get a bub and even that had failed her. It’s the first time we get a glimpse of an utterly defeated Serena and it’s not pretty, even a rage filled June can’t pull the trigger. It’s right here that you also realize Serena will never truly love Fred ever again….like ever.

You will never be free of me

I can’t go past the notorious Serena and June “break up scene”, its a rare piece of television, the likes of which we won’t see for many years to come. The entire DC episode is spectacular and this sequence is utterly breathtaking. Serena mistakenly thinks she can hit and run with her little Nick / Sons of Jacob spiel without incurring a scratch, and she honestly believes that all she needs to do is retrieve Nicole and she can wash her hands of June forever. June is incredulous, how could Serena be so naive? Far from being a quick and clean divorce, June intends to make this the single most excruciating experience of Serena's life.

Never touch my daughter again

This was just straight up stupid of Serena. June had JUST torn her husband apart and here Serena was parading Hannah and Nick in front of her in all her devastating glory, reminding June they were both still well within her talons reach. Unfortunately Serena was given the heave ho by Gilead, and came home to a seething June who attached herself to Serena's car like a hissing rabid bat. Seriously If you can’t bring it, don’t step to our girl. It won’t end well.

Next time I see you I’m gonna fucking kill you myself

Luke really walked into this one. From the very beginning Luke underestimated exactly how capable an adversary Serena was and here he gets a nice big juicy dose of reality. This honestly was like watching a cat play with its food, Serena doesn’t even break a sweat, stopping just short of calling him a coward and twisting the knife about Nick's involvement with June. Luke’s fucking wounded, his eyes fill with tears, his hands tremble with rage and he chokes out the words “Next time I see you I’m gonna fucking kill you myself”. Serena’s not even remotely scared, she is LOVING it, gloating from the protective throne of a mother who’s a gazillion weeks preggers. I’ve noticed that If Serena wants to hurt June, she makes a bee line for Nick or Hannah, interestingly she never seems to bother much with Luke. Comparatively Luke’s a poor adversary and here she lets him know it, when she crushes him completely without the slightest bit of effort or care. Next time Luke, don’t underestimate Serena, it’s bad for your health.

[universe-4162]

Notable Characters in Vigilante Squad AU (right to left) (out of order of importance):

“Abby”

After Kirby’s disappearance, she wore black most of the Armageddon known as “The Calamity.” She’s the closest she’s ever been with Queen Ripple, being her right hand woman. Whenever the Queen of the Fey was busy, she’d be the person to talk to. Ribbon made the idea to use the Crystal Shard as a shield of protection against Dark Matter, making it one the safest place in the universe during the apocalypse.

Ribbon

An astral (she/her) who primarily uses the “Doctor” ability. She’s been a nurse in the residence of Ripple Star, but decided to travel to distant galaxies for people who needed it more than those in Ripple Star. Her home-planet is unknown, but rumors say she’s from planet popstar.

Queen Ripple

She owns the one of the safest havens in the universe. After recovering from trauma with zero, she was well prepared for another attack. With assistance, Ripple was able to act fast, making her a worthy Queen.

Princess Gaiakon

Gaiakon originally was a regular leafan, however due to the events of Robobot, she ended up becoming something of a princess-like form. During the apocalypse, she was originally supposed to be a figure head in Floralia, a princess unrelated to “King Taranza,” however, someone else had greater plans for her, causing her to become the most fearful member of the Vigilante Squad without even realizing what power she was given by Dark Taranza.

“Hunter”

Hunter is a Magolor who didn’t open up a storefront in the Dream Kingdom, and instead traveled across the multiverse, hunting down clones of himself who has permanently fallen from the crown. He became the Soul Hero, without thinking twice once an opportunity arose for countering the “Calamity.”

Majaway

There are 2 characters who don’t originally come from Universe 4162, and this is one of them. She was originally from Universe 3361. Majaway is a rich Viscountress and self-proclaimed “Most Powerful Wizardess” she’s known for being an actual Halcandran unlike Magolor who only dressed and acted like one. In her timeline, Halcandra isn’t in ruin. During the Calamity, she crashed into a now snowy dead planet called “Popstar” and was saved by Hunter, but ultimately arrested due to crimes she didn’t commit under Taranza’s rule. After proving her innocence, taking time to know Hunter and Taranza, and getting saved by Daranza, she became the “Heart Hero” someone vital against the Calamity.

“Jambastian Majaway”

This is a Majaway who was originally from 4162: a Viscountress. Unlike the “Good Majaway,” Jambastian Majaway was from a broken version of the planet “Halcandra” after drifting through space and time, due to her amazing power of ESP, Hyness found her and made her a General of Magic. She was vital for starting the Calamity by talking to Void on how to set it free rather than just breaking the containment.

Taranza

Taranza is a king in this AU. After Sectonia’s passing, Floralia decided since he was Sectonia’s right hand man that he was rightful to rule. He took the role as Dream Hero due to his strong yearning of wishing for her back and being exposed to the Amazing Mirror for too long.

“Daranza”

Daranza aka “Dark Taranza” is the founder of the Vigilante Squad using faustian bargains to save the universe. His reason is for it is if the Calamity is gone, and people learn that he’s responsible for it being gone, he’d easily rule without anyone fighting back. While he gave the heroes options, he forced Gaiakon to become the Dark Hero rather than just suggesting it by tricking her into wearing a Tiara. He’s currently Married to Princess Gaiakon, and their marriage is less than ideal.

Susie Haltmann

Not much has changed about her. She also has a pretty safe location against the Calamity due to how much resources she has. She funds weapons, sustenance, and supplies to anyone she thinks has a chance to survive the onslaught. Most of her funding goes to Ripple Star, but ever since “The Vigilante Squad” was underway she funded Floralia as well.

“GateKeeper”

GateKeeper is a Magolor from 2101, and one of Hunter’s only victims who survived his assault. 1 of 2. He hung on by a thread for years, barely keeping himself alive until he was founded by Jambastian Majaway. Gatekeeper is a body guard and protects the General, but also gives emotional and mental support, making GateKeeper her only close relationship. He daydreams about him and his “Little Stardust” running away to a safer universe, and is constantly angry with the Jambastian Cult.

[checkoutmybookshelf]

Rosethorn, Briar, and Evvy Desperately Need Hugs

So the Circle Reforged books in general tend to be heavier than the Circle of Magic and Circle Opens books, and of those two series, Briar-focused books tend to be heavier than the others. That pattern sticks with Battle Magic, but oh my goodness I love this book with my whole freakin' chest. So let's dispense with the preamble and talk Battle Magic.

*Content Warning: This book focuses on war and soldiers, and there is also torture depicted, so take care of you first, and if this is not something that you can/want to engage with, we will see you another day for another topic with zero judgement.*

*Spoiler Warning: Spoilers for the Circle of Magic and Circle Opens quartets*

We know Briar, Rosethorn, and Evvy really well at this point, but the amazing thing about this book is that those relationship dynamics and character needs and wants are challenged in a way that we really have not seen up to this point. There has been combat in other books, and there has been danger, but there is a difference between a pirate raid or a plague or a forest fire or even a murderous Takameri and an empire going to war to conquer another country that happens to house the first Living Circle Temple and there is a sense that the empire would destroy it.

For Rosethorn, there is a massive conflict between duty and desire. Rosethorn just wants to go home, she misses Lark, she misses her girls, and she wants nothing more than to keep her boy and Evvy safe and away from the horrors of war. But her duty is to warn the First Temple, and then Dokyi leverages her duties as a Dedicate to send her off on a mission that has a FANTASTIC chance of more or less eating Rosethorn alive.

We get more time in Rosethorn's head in this than any other book, and it is honestly a fascinating new perspective on my favorite Winding Circle dedicate. Seeing her experience of her body after dying in Briar's Book and being at altitudes and in situations where it is just physically harder for her to exist and still be absolutely ROSETHORN about it. I would never describe Dedicate Rosethorn as having a soft, squishy center, but I'll be damned if compassion isn't woven into every spike and sharp edge the woman has.

I also appreciate Rosethorn's bi representation in the form of her relationship with Parahan. I also appreciate the little bit of perspective we get from Briar about the nature of Rosethorn and Lark's relationship, the fact that it works for them, and that it's not any of Briar's business. That was very deftly handled and very well done.

Now for Briar, the main conflict in this book is him being pulled three ways: His protective streaks for Rosethorn and Evvy and his desire to get involved and be a war mage for the Living Circle to defend the temple and the people the temple protects as well as for Gyongxe. Briar is not new to combat, from his earliest days in a Hajran gang to the pirate raids on Winding Circle and the gang war in Street Magic. What's different is that Briar is considered an adult by every society involved in the Circle Universe, and he is learning that being an adult means balancing oft-contradictory impulses. He cannot shield Rosethorn from thin air, from her duties as a Living Circle dedicate, or from the fact that she can be equally as effective a war mage as she is a green mage. He also cannot protect Evvy from the Empire, as much as he might want to.

This is a rough space to truly learn what it is to be an adult in, and holy cow we see the toll it takes on Briar. It's a really interesting contrast from the gang warfare in his past, and where Tris, Sandry, and Daja were his peers and sisters, Briar's relationships with Rosethorn and Evvy are different and put significantly different pressures on him in this environment. One particularly poignant moment is when he notices that Evvy--who has been using communal baths her entire life--is suddenly absolutely terrified and vulnerable in them because Jia Jui tortured her. That moment really hammered home for Briar that there are consequences for people even if he is pulling unequivocal heroics out of his back pocket every five minutes. Rosethorn knew this going in; Briar needed it driven home.

Another really interesting facet of this book for both Briar and Rosethorn was the fact that a war is a marathon, not a sprint, and where both mages have been able to divide their attention between combat and healing magics, that is not the case in this situation. The consequences of choosing to be either a war mage or a healer mage on any given day make that a complex choice, but it's one that has to be made.

Now, where Rosethorn and Briar are grown-ass adults making adult choices in a terrifying and deeply unfair situation, Evumeimei Dingzai is a literal child and student who ends up being yanked around by circumstance. Tamora Pierce does not shy away from highlighting that in these situations, the people who are often most vulnerable and who have the least agency are the kids, and they--as Evvy does--end up in some truly hideous situations. Evvy survives and heals, but it isn't fast, and it isn't complete at the end of this book, and that I think is critical. One does not just "get over" living through a war in a week. And it's not only the soldiers and people who are actively fighting that live with those consequences.

This books is heartbreakingly even-handed about highlighting that nobody escapes a war truly unscathed. Walking through it with three of my favorite Circle Universe characters was heavy, but so worth it.

[jerzwriter]

You are so fucking disgusting Elsa. Using your bland ass straight white bitch MC to be the MC of the Month for Pride Month.

You’ve gone really low

Good morning, Nonny.

I'd like to say hope you're having a good day, but clearly, you're not.

I was 50/50 on putting this in my "delete because Nonny is a bitter troll who doesn't deserve the attention/exposure they desperately crave" file. But this anon goes beyond the usual "I'm a pathetic human who hates someone on the internet who has zero impact on my life so much because of (insert stupid/insane reason here), so I'm going to be a vile bully and send them anonymous hate because - IDK - I can't find a good therapist? I'm off my meds? I'm just a vile piece of shit?" See, I no longer waste my time or energy on those.

But I decided to answer this because a) you're wrong, and b) you're engaging in bi-erasure - something that happens in the fandom and in real life every day, and I'm not going to pass up a chance to educate your ignorance and address your bigotry.

Casey was picked at random - the same way all MCOTMs and WOTMs are. I grappled with the decision to highlight her bisexuality... because of people like you. In the end, I decided to be true to the character. I've been dealing with people like you my entire life - in my personal life - never mind fandom. So let's educate.

Bisexuality is real - people.

Your ignorance in understanding it doesn't make it any less real. I am proudly bi, but trust me, it feels like a pretty shitty thing to be at times. You're never queer enough for many in the queer community, but you're too queer for those who aren't. There is no real safe space outside of a precious few who get it. And I mean few.

Your straight friends talk shit about you "doing this" to be "cool/get attention" or whatever... and they're "relieved" when you're in a hetero-presenting relationship. Your queer friends are happiest when you're with a same-sex partner, and if you're not, they accuse you of lying about who you are or "hiding." It's awesome. You know, instead of just having friends that are fucking happy if you're happy. People CAN BE and ARE attracted to more than one gender and the feelings/love we have toward both are real, valid and do not have to be explained to anyone.

Anyone who follows my MC (and I don't believe Nonny has) knows that Casey has been presented as bisexual from the day I entered this fandom. If some choose to ignore that, that's on them, not me. The fact that she is half of a pairing that is hetero-presenting does not make her any less bisexual. How ignorant are you?

Her profile clearly states she's bi. I've written about her being an activist for LGBTQ rights and about her reluctance about coming out to her parents (because she doesn't believe she should have to "come out," why is straight the default?). I've introduced her ex-girlfriend, Jessica, in fics and text fics, and discussed Casey's identity at length in numerous asks over the years.

So, yes, her current partner is a man, and he ends up being the love of her life. GUESS WHAT! THAT HAPPENS TO BI PEOPLE! And, TRUST, we know the privilege that comes with being in a hetero-presenting relationship. I've never once had someone throw something at me or hurl slurs when I've held a male partner's hand in public, but I've had it happen when my partner is a woman. But no one bi is "suddenly straight" because of it! And asking us to parade as hetero just because we're with an opposite-sex partner is pushing us into a closet - and I'm sorry, but fuck you - because no one belongs there.

Last June, I deliberately avoided all pride-related events in the fandom (NOT in real life). I did so because I was coping with the guilt that is tantamount to being bisexual. The "Should I put it out there. I mean, there are others who are more queer, right? I have no right to do this? Their characters are more important than mine, right?" And yeah, I've felt that way in real life, too. THIS is what it's like being bi. I'm out for decades, I'm comfortable and proud of who I am, I counsel younger people in the community that they are valid - and I'm sitting here with tears in my eyes right now because with all of that, THIS SHIT STILL CREEPS IN - largely because of s-bags like this Nonny.

So you know what, I'm not grappling with it anymore. It's pride month, and in real life, I'm celebrating to the fucking max. And you know what - I'm doing it in the fandom too. Casey is going to be as out and fucking proud as I want her to be, and if it makes your ass uncomfortable, well, that's not my fucking problem.

Re-read your ask, Nonny. The only disgusting person in this exchange is you. Do fucking better.