#their moments are so romantic and intimate that it feels like i am spying on them

[orchid3a]

YOU DIDN'T TEACH ME HOW TO FORGET YOU. ( childe x reader, part two )

╰┈➤ you never thought your lover was hiding something so cruel from you.

pairings — childe / tartaglia x fem!reader.

warnings — reader is a ragnvindr (not specified whether adopted or not, so it's up to you), reader have an anemo vision, reader and childe are 20, kaeya is older than diluc (personal headcanon of mine lmao), lumine is the traveler, HEAVY ANGST with some small amounts of fluff, yandereish behavior, possessiveness, a battle, injuries and scar mentions, violence, suggestiveness and smut descriptions.

word count — 8.5k

notes — phew, this was a long ride!!! don't worry, there will be a part three coming soon to your dash and more genshin fics from me too !!!!

find part one here.

if anybody told you what would transpire when you agreed to go to liyue with the traveler and paimon, you would’ve laughed on their faces without a second thought. 

seeing ajax again had always been a fever dream — sometimes you thought he was a fever dream, but the lost pair of your mother’s earring was the reminder that he existed in your past. in your memories, once, but now he was here, and you were with him. you could feel his warmth beneath your palms, feel his breath in your neck whenever his arms held you while you prepared breakfast, you could look at his eyes and memorize every shade of blue present on his orbs to never forget again. you could hear his voice whispering soothing words in your ear every night before sleep, hear his melodic and boyish laugh and be infected by it, following in with your own happy sounds. 

but, just like his vision, he was just water reflecting your own face — it didn’t matter how much you tried to reach, you never could reach him. the ajax you met when you were only eight, the little boy who helped you find your family. you understand that boy had already been killed by life just like the little girl you were once was when crepus ragnvindr died in your brother’s arms, but you still saw that boy when ajax was ajax. 

it was fitting for someone with two names to be two different persons. 

childe and ajax were two different persons, even though they were the same. childe was charming and arrogant, reckless and confident in his abilities. you liked that version of him, with his confident smile and smooth words — it made him look like the knight in shining armor of the stories your mother used to read for you, and childe always managed to make you flustered and sigh like a young girl in love. but you preferred ajax, the side of him that only came out when you two were in the confines of his house, skin to skin, breathless whispers of declarations of love and desperate kisses. he was there when your head was on his chest, listening to his heartbeat while his hands were drawing circles on your skin, lips open to tell you about what happened in the years you two were away from each other. 

you learned how childe was born in a night like that, when ajax told you what happened when he was fourteen. 

your heart hurt and bled for him, hearing him tell how he fell into the abyss and was rescued and trained by a swordswoman named skirk, while his hands played with your hair while the moonlight hit the both of you — he didn’t tell you much about what happened in the three months he spent there, but you could imagine how tourtours it was for a fourteen-year-old child. it was the same age when your brother rose to be a captain in the knights of favonius, and you remembered how much he changed after that. it wasn’t the best comparison, but it was what you could relate to. he also told you how his father wanted him to join the fatui, as a way to tame his actions, but ajax wanted to conquer the world by himself, without the help of any organization. 

but the fatui recruited him, nonetheless, making him work at their bank as some kind of mercenary, always ready to attack those with unpaid debts. he didn’t mind, he told you, as he loved the thrill of battles and that was an excuse to train to become stronger and stronger and achieved his dream of conquering the world and be an adventurer — but you could feel that something was wrong, but you couldn’t pinpoint what, and didn’t want to bring more sad memories of his to surface. ajax was glad you weren’t looking at his eyes, because he knew you would be able to see the guilty reflection of them, see the outline of the lies leaving his lips. but he needed you at his side, even though for a short amount of time. he was ready for the day when his lies would be discovered, his heart already healed of the heartbreaking he would go through when you started hating him. 

it was what he deserved. 

that night, too, he heard about how you gained your vision. 

it hurt to see how open and sincere you were with him while he built lies above little truths, but his heart felt even more heavy knowing how much his peers affected your life. you told him how you left your home, worried about the lateness of your father and brother, only to find your father nowhere to be seen, while both of your brothers were fighting, ice against fire and your heart shattering for your family. you tried to scream and stop the fight, but nothing seemed to work — only when the wind in all mondstadt stopped and it seemed to be commanded by you. you only wanted to make them stop, but your wind was also what broke them apart and took kaeya away from home, and what took diluc on his mission to uncover his and yours father’s death. 

it was a delusion what killed him, you told ajax, even though he knew everything about crepus ragnvindr’s death — he didn’t mean to pry in dottore’s papers, but what he could do when he saw your father’s name there? he still couldn’t understand why killing him was important, but his heart broke when he read number two’s reports. your name was there, signaling your relationship with the target and your new vision and, when your brother’s name became a discussed matter between his harbingers colleagues, he tried to stay away from it as much as he could. 

you finished your story with your arms tightening around him, afraid that he could disappear just like your father once did — and he brought your face closer to his, kissing the tears away and whispering sweet words of comfort. it was all that he could do, already knowing that someday you would need such a comfort again but because of his actions. but he didn’t want you between another man’s arms. you were his and would always be, even if it was just an illusion, even if it was just the ghost of a memory like you always had been. 

what would he do when you finally discovered the truth? 

— 

you almost did, once, and he was sure you knew by the second time. 

the first time was when you and zhongli met. 

childe wasn’t happy to take you to meet another man. not that he didn’t believe in your love for him, but he knew how beautiful and charming you were — and zhongli was handsome and charming too, and maybe he was insecure and afraid that, for some perverse reasons, you would see that the older man was a better match for you. he was so lost in his own thoughts and scenarios, that he never thought about warning zhongli to not say a word about his involvement with the fatui. however, they still need to meet, and ajax couldn’t leave you alone at his house. 

he didn’t know when you were going to leave him, and he needed to make his time with you as best as possible. 

but he couldn’t help and feel a sense of pride when strolling with you through liyue harbor’s streets, all the eyes, from the elderly to the youth, eyeing you two. of course, you made a beautiful couple — both you and ajax were young and strong, and in love. everyone could see the feeling intertwined with every single one of your actions. from the side eyes, to the touches and to the words, love surrounded you and childe like a shield. 

however, he wasn’t sure if he liked the look on zhongli’s face. 

he couldn’t decipher it and, while you introduced yourself to his acquaintance, he tried to not dwell much on it. “y/n ragnvindr, it’s a pleasure to meet you, mr. zhongli. childe speaks highly of you.” sometimes zhongli appeared in the anecdotes he told while your head was resting on his chest and his hands playing with your hair, just like the night you both shared your biggest secrets. he tried not to get into details that could speed up the inevitable end of your relationship, but the giggles and curious sounds that escaped your lips whenever he told you about his day always made him tell more than he was intended to. 

“ragnvindr?” the curious tone on zhongli’s voice made your eyebrows raise and your head to tilt slightly to the side, which made childe’s chest to rumble with a chuckle. “you are, perhaps, the heiress of the dawn winery?” 

you giggled, and ajax needed to fight the ugly green monster of jealousy. though, your giggles for him were more sweet and genuine, sounds that could rival columbina’s singing. “i’m, indeed! my older brother, diluc, is the current head of your family and i’m his heir.” you answered, exciting shining in your eyes. even though he was jealous, childe loved seeing you like that, too — talking and interacting with others. “have you ever drank dandelion wine, mr. zhongli?” it was a question you always asked when meeting new people, ajax came to learn. it was cute and endearing, how you cared that much for your family’s legacy. 

he, on the other hand, couldn’t ask people if they ever had fished on ice. 

“of course. i have some acquaintances back in mondstadt, lady ragnvindr.” 

the chat progressed to your hometown, a place where young ajax always dreamed to conquer first, just to see you again. though, as much as zhongli was entertaining you, business were always business, and his attention slowly changed to childe — he tried to explain as much a he could the transactions without giving this true identity away, but zhongli almost spilled about his position as the eleventh harbinger. 

“i hope your harbingers colleagues will find this business as formidable as i did, childe.”

he bid farewell to you two, and childe noticed that you were a bit more distant in the way back home, his eyes widening for a fraction of seconds when realization hit him of how you interpreted zhongli’s words. 

“y/n, my beloved.” he made you both stop under the moonlight, placing your hand over his heart. “why aren’t you smiling at me? are you having doubts about my words because of what zhongli said?” you should. you really should have, because ajax was nothing but a liar. he watched as you averted your eyes to his chest, your cheeks rosy and lips forming a pout. 

“no… i just… i would never forgive you if you lied to me, ajax.” 

too bad, wasn’t it? your words resonated inside him while he kissed you and held you against his chest, soothing and reassuring words leaving his lips as if his heart wasn’t being eaten inside out by guilt. 

— 

the second time was even more dangerous. 

it was on a warm night, when lumine and paimon were already back from their journey to search for the adepti to prove their innocence, now helping zhongli to the rite of parting. you tried to be of help, too, but both lumine and zhongli said they were fine without help, so your hopes of having a daily adventure were crushed by gentle hands. you resorted to your normal life in liyue, helping citizens and exploring nearby areas — sometimes, now, with paimon and the traveler as your companions — and then waited for ajax at home, wondering what he had planned for you two. 

however, he was late. later than he ever was, the stars already in the sky and your heart hurting from worrying about him. 

whenever he knew he was going to be late, he always sent a messenger to meet you, normally one of the kids playing near the sea, to inform you of what was happening in his job and what were his plans. but no child approached you during the day, and you now found yourself at the familiarity of his house, a place that you grew to be comfortable with, that now had the same sense of home the hard walls of dawn winery had. you were restless, of course, and when the moon started to shine on the bed you shared with your lover, you knew you had to do something. 

your feet led you to the northland bank, yet your heart beat with both fear and excitement with the thought of entering a fatui lair. 

it was a place you knew that you were never supposed to go in, but you remembered it. your father always climbed up the red stairs that led to the bank, even though, at the time, neither you nor your brothers knew what it was. your father only told you three he had business with the men inside the place, and never in your wildest dreams you would think it was a fatui bank — and you couldn’t understand why your father needed them. the winery and the tavern were enough to make your family rich, as you knew from helping diluc with some paperwork.

maybe it was power he wanted. you couldn’t blame your father for it, as a man without a vision in teyvat needed other ways to assert dominance over his peers, and maybe the fatui were the ones who could give him what he wanted. but the same power he wanted was the power that took his life, according to diluc’s and kaeya’s testimony. a device that pretended to be a vision was what your father used to kill a deadly monster to save your brother, even though diluc was one of the most skillful swordsmen you ever knew. 

fathers would always be fathers, it seemed. 

just like snezhnaya, the northland bank was cold, and you could feel it from the outside, even though liyue was hotter than mondstadt, a fact that you enjoyed pretty much. however, the goosebumps weren’t because of the chilly air — you were nervous. it was dead in the night and nobody was in the street, probably inside their homes enjoying a warm meal with their family. the fatui guard eyed you from head to toe and, even though your heart was imitating a drum’s beat from how quickly it beat, all the etiquette’s lessons you had in your childhood were playing their part. you knew how to hold your head high, high enough that no question was asked before the guard opened the door, just a nod that made your earring tingle in your ear. 

maybe he recognized it. only one person in teyvat had the other pair. 

you stood in the middle of the room, eyes scanning the architecture of it. you weren’t well versed in snezhnayan culture — maybe for the lack of it in the books of your home, due to the closeness of the region, or because your father was too afraid his children to know his obscure business — but the inside of the northland bank was mesmerizing. though you couldn’t appreciate much of it before someone was clearing their throat in front of you, a smile too sweet adorned a woman’s face. she wore a fatui uniform, her eyes hidden due to her mask, and you assumed her to be the bank’s receptionist. 

“may i help you, ma’am?” you smiled back, all the years of etiquette lessons making you polite even to your enemies. 

“yes, of course.” you answered in a neutral voice, your eyes fixed on her form — too fixed on her to notice another figure approaching you two. “i’m looking for childe. we live together, you see, and he hasn’t returned yet.” you didn’t try to say the word worried, but you were sure the receptionist understood your motives. the smile on her face became even sweeter, which made your gut to shrink. 

“oh, master childe just returned from a mi—” 

“is this tartaglia’s little pet?” if you found the receptionist's sweet smile to be unpleasant, just that feminine voice brought despair to your bones. the woman before you seemed to freeze to, and you turned your head siglithy to the side, being met by a vision of a fatui woman — and, by the way she walked and talked, and judging by the receptionist reaction, she was probably a harbinger, or someone with a high rank. you tried to smile at her, maintaining the façade of lady ragnvindr for a little while.

“i wouldn’t say pet, ma’am.” you tried to reason, turning your body towards her. “lover should be more appropriate for what we are.” 

her eyes were as icy as her voice, and, if you were not mistaken, she had the same characteristics as the woman who attacked lumine and venti a while ago back in mondstadt — she was, indeed, a fatui. probably la signora, if you weren’t mistaken. however, you were there to retrieve childe to yours and his home, even though the name she called him brought more questions to your heart than it should have. 

“a pet from mondstadt, on top of that.” you had to slightly lift your neck to be able to meet her eyes due to her new proximity, noticing that the receptionist was nowhere to be seen now, hopefully going to notice childe of your arrival. the smirk on her face was a bit frightening, blood-curdling even, but she was just a woman — like yourself. she could be more powerful than you were, of course, but you still had some chances with your vision and sword training from your youth. “tell me, how is that bard faring?” at the mention of venti, you gritted your teeth, hand ready to summon your polearm, wind tickling in your fingers, the power that celestia granted you burning through your veins. you didn’t understand what were the motives of the fatui to attack him, but he was special and a target for them. “don’t even try it, foolish girl. i wonder what he’ll do if i kill you, hm?” 

before you could react, she had your jaw between her cold hands, pointy nails digging holes in the soft flesh of your cheeks, blade pressed to your neck and warm blood coming from a small scratch — only superficial, but a warning. however, as soon as she started to press her blade deep in your flesh, you heard his voice. 

“let her go, signora.” ajax was there, bloodied and injured, the receptionist trailing behind him. she gave you a worried look while your lover walked to where you were, his voice imposing and commanding, a tone you never heard coming from his mouth before. it made you wonder if he was only just a civilian working in the bank, but you were fearing more for your life now than for the questions in your heart — though you hoped signora couldn’t see the fear you were feeling reflecting in your eyes, but instead the stupid bravery every ragnvindr possessed in their hearts. 

she scoffed. “what are you going to do, childe?” even though she was complaining, she took the blade from your neck, her pure strength making you fall to the ground when she let you go from her hold — maybe it was the position you were always supposed to be in. you weren’t diluc and would never be. what was in your head to think you were able to go against a fatui harbinger? 

you put a hand over your chest, feeling it rising and falling with your breaths, tears glossing your vision — you needed to calm yourself, because you were alive. ajax would never let anything happen to you, you knew that, of course you did. but what if he hadn’t arrived in time? you would die without the proper goodbyes to your family, without seeing him once more, just like your father. 

too focused in trying to calm your erratic heart, you failed to notice the interaction between the two fatui in front of you.

signora had a hand on tartaglia’s shoulder, her lips a few inches away from his ear, as if she was telling a secret to your lover. but anybody in the room could hear her words. “end the ragnvindr pet, tartaglia. do with her what dottore did with her father, and what pierro should’ve ordered one of us to do with her brother.” 

ajax didn’t even wait for her to end her words before he was rushing towards your form, his strong arms and warmth enveloping you, his hand bringing your head to rest on his chest. you were alive, alive and well, and he couldn’t ask for anything more. when he saw rosalyne with her blade on your neck he feared the worst, and he was ready to kill her if she did anything to you. “i’m going to kill her, i’m going to kill her for you, don’t worry. she’ll never touch you again.” he whispered in your hair, his lips pressing kisses and murmuring words of comfort until you stopped shaking between his arms. 

you took one of his hands to rest on your chest and he felt tears glossing his vision when he felt your heartbeat between his fingertips, your forehead now resting against his and your warm breath tickling his cheeks. “i’m alright, ajax. i’m alright.” 

you both knew it was a lie. 

—

you didn’t remember how you arrived at home. 

you were doing everything on automatic, allowing him to guide through the harbor’s streets, his big coat over your shoulders to hide your injury, the now cold air of the lowest hours of the night still making your nose and cheeks cold. you couldn’t think of anything else but what happened, of how foolish you were — maybe diluc was right. maybe you weren’t supposed to ever leave dawn winery, the world outside of it too dangerous for you to survive alone. but you weren’t alone and, for the second time, ajax was the one who saved you. 

when your consciousness returned to you, you were sitting at your and his bed, ajax towering over you with a wet cloth cleaning your neck. signora hadn’t injured you that badly, just a superficial cut on your skin, the bleeding had already stopped, but it had stained your skin and ajax couldn’t support seeing you like that. you were hurt because of him, because he didn’t remember to fetch some of the kids to send you a small note, or even go himself to where you were to tell you he was going to arrive late. his own injuries were now numb, and he couldn’t care about his wellbeing. 

as soon as he was finished, he sat at your side, his hand enveloping your own, his thumb feeling your pulse — an indication that you were alive. “i’m sorry.” you blurted out, voice small as if you were a little child again, asking forgiveness for your father after you had cut diluc’s hair with a pair of scissors after he had screamed at you. 

“you’re alive, my beloved, and that’s what matters to me.” he kissed your knuckles, the words tickling your skin as if they were small needles made especially to hurt you. you knew, now, that ajax was part of the fatui and a harbinger, too. but it was an elephant in the room that you didn’t want to talk about, that loomed over the two of you, doomed to end the beautiful relationship you two had.

but not now. 

you started to unbutton his shirt, frowning at the winces leaving his lips due to the pain of his own cuts and hematomas. how could you have been so blind? all the scars he wore like a champion, all the training he did, all the prestige he had at the bank — it was obvious that your ajax wasn’t just a civilian who hunted down debtors, and you should’ve known that. but love was blind, and you were sure the love archon especially blinded your eyes to all the signs of his lies and the non liveliness of his blue orbs. 

after all, he was one of her most loyal subjects. 

you took the damp cloth from where he left it and started to clean his skin, fingers tracing amorously the white lines over his pale skin, feeling the skin tighten with the soft ministrations of your fingertips, kissing the freckles of his shoulders. his back was now facing you, his chest already cleaned of any dry blood, but a new scar adorned his back — big and now as the same color of the wine produced in your family’s winery, another scar to his collection. “i’m going to kill whoever did this to you.” you murmured against the skin of his neck, your hands around his shoulders and face hide on the crook of his neck. his whole body vibrated with a chuckle, a sound that was both mocking you and encouraging you. 

how could you kill something that managed to hurt a harbinger when you couldn’t even defeat one? 

and you didn’t even know who you would kill. the one who gave him the new scar or the one who made his eyes so lifeless, so different from the ones you remembered from your childhood? 

you kissed his neck before getting up to get bandages to his injuries, watching his face. would that be the last time you ever saw him, now that you knew the truth? not everything he was hiding from you, but the most crucial parts. would tartaglia let you live now, or would you meet your end in the hands of the one you loved the most? you were sure you were now an enemy of the fatui, just like your brother was — however, would any connection your father once had with them be able to save you of whatever insult you committed against signora? 

the questions in your mind made your hand work slower, but ajax couldn’t care. he knew the time with you was now limited, and he would make sure that you left liyue as soon as you could — he couldn’t bear the idea of you dying by his sword, or any sword, and, if saving you meant becoming an enemy of one of his colleagues, he would gladly accepted what fate had estoraged for him. you finished tending to his wounds and he sighed, his strong arms bring you closer to his chest. you nuzzled at his bare skin like a kitten, and he tightened his hold around you, afraid that you could disappear in the air just with the first sound of his voice. 

but he needed to try. 

“i love you.” he felt like the same ajax he was before he fell into the abyss, the same ajax his father was afraid was too weak for the world outside the family’s cottage. his voice was small and quiet, so unlike him but, at the same time, so endearing too. he waited for your protests, harsh words and screams — but all he received was kisses and tender words, and he couldn’t believe how unfair he was to you. he should’ve told you the truth as soon as you told him about your father, but the fear of losing you clouded his better judgment and mind. now, he would lose the best part of himself by his own fault.

“i love you, too.” you whispered against his lips, your hands holding his face while his were placed on your waist, both of your bodies so close to each other as if you were just one. 

that night, you never felt ajax so desperate. 

he had always been feverish for your touch and your body, ever since you gave yourself fully to him. he always enjoyed having his face buried between your thighs or between your breasts, especially when he seemed to have a hard day at work — before, you thought he had to collect the debts from either dangerous or vulnerable people, but know you knew it was the work of a harbinger the culprit of his feelings. or was the guilt consuming him? you didn’t care then and you couldn’t even care now, not when he drew moan after moan from you, when he made you feel so full of his seed that you never wanted to be separated from him ever again. 

that night, too, he held you tighter than usual, afraid that you would leave him in the middle of the night. his kiss, something you were so used to before bed, now was suffocating, as if you were under a column of hydro vision, just like his own. 

even though you wanted nothing more than to return to your home in the winery, the air inside his house was too suffocating because it smelled like him, you couldn’t. your love for him was what kept you caged between his arms, like the deadliest curse the tsaritsa herself picked especially for you. 

— 

ajax drowned himself in his work, and you couldn’t blame him. 

he was too kind to ask you to go away, you thought. or he loved you too much, or he enjoyed the way you still spoiled him. he always had a package of lunch waiting for him when he left before the sun rose, and he had a plate of dinner waiting for him whenever he arrived when the moon was high in the sky. sometimes, you would wake up to ajax fingers caressing your skin, his arms loose around your form. you would always scoot closer to him, trying to enjoy the warmth you were being denied by the circumstances of your situation on a daily basis. 

you wrote to diluc, once, telling him about your journeys and the fact that you would return home sooner than expected. you said nothing about what happened, because it was clear that your brother would know something happened as soon as he looked in your eyes when you returned. 

your only solace was your newfound friendship with zhongli, and lumine’s and paimon’s presence during the day.

they all knew something had happened you and childe, denounced by paimon’s question as soon as you appeared in front of them without the familiar glint of happiness your eyes had and the smile adorning your lips — but zhongli, being the gentleman you discovered him to be, changed the subject as soon as your eyes started to shine with tears. he knew, of course he knew. even the traveler and her flying companion knew about childe’s involvement with the fatui, and you wondered how blind you were. 

but zhongli always managed to take your mind out of it whenever you started to dwell in your thoughts, always asking about mondstadt — you came to know, in one of your strolls in the harbor with him, that he and a well-known bard in your brother’s tavern were acquaintances, and he managed to coax a laugh out of your lips in the expanse of venti, the sound now strange and bitter in your mouth. 

however, not even the bit of normalcy and happiness that zhongli gave you was enough to keep you glued to liyue, and you wished to leave it as soon as possible. lumine and paimon were aware of your decision and, even though they were sad to see you go and the thought of traveling the continent together was crushed, they still understood. 

“paimon will make him feel the wrath… the wrath of the paimon, y/n! don’t worry!” it was the last words you heard from her, lumine at her side with a sorrowful expression on her face — though her eyes were understanding. you were sure you would meet them again, or even send letters whenever you could. they were your friends, after all. 

but it seemed that fate wanted to play with you, as the day you chose to return home was the day an ancient god was unleashed over the harbor. 

you sighed, watching the once clear skies now a dark shade of gray, the faint sound of crashing waves now much closer than normal — childe’s house was closer to the bank, in the more lively part of the city — but that wouldn’t stop you. you needed to leave before ajax arrived and saw your leaving form, a letter being what would explain to him what was in your mind. you knew that, at the first pleading that could leave his mouth, your resolve would break and you would stay. 

and you couldn’t. 

you looked back once more, watching the door of the house that you called home for almost two months. it was strange, how quickly things could change, and how much something could affect you. the fact that ajax was a fatui, let alone a harbinger, wasn’t even a problem anymore — by the calculations you did in your head, he wasn’t in the organization when your father was killed by them, and, if he was, he didn’t have anything to do with it — but the lie was. you kind understood where he was coming from, but what else he was hiding from you? what else would he hide from you if you decided to forgive him? 

you needed some time to think, and that time won’t be fruitful if you were in his presence.  

a small smile formed in your lips and you turned around once more, eyes down and itching with tears glossing your vision. the pain in your chest was worse than any other heartbreak you ever experienced in your life — death was always sad, yes, especially unexpected ones, but it was easier to come to terms with such a situation than the one you were going through now. grieving a dead loved one was far easier than mourning one that was well and alive, with their heart beating and chest rising and failing with each breath they took.

ajax would always be a part of you, but now, perhaps, a part of you that would never be yours again. 

“y/n? where… where are you going?” 

you closed your eyes, fighting the urge to look back at him. if you did, you knew you would run straight to his arms. 

“home.” that was what you could muster to answer him. “i left a letter for you explaining my—”

“your home is here.” he cut you, a coldness in his voice that you were sure could rival the snowstorms of his homeland. “your home is here, with me.” it was, once. but now you weren’t so sure if it had been, or if it would be again. 

“my brothers need me.” you need them, too. you needed to feel the safety and the comfort the company of kaeya and diluc brought you, the warmth of diluc’s arms holding you safely between them and the easy laughter that kaeya always managed to coax from you since your father welcomed him in the family. you needed to be in a place where you knew who the people walking besides you were, and not to think everyone was an enemy. 

“and what about me, y/n?” 

nothing could ever prepare you for the hurt that laced his voice, though it felt more like a whip in your bare flesh, wounding it to the point of no return. you took a deep breath, turning your body to look at him — he deserved a proper goodbye. his eyes looked even more lifeless now, the small glint of shine it used to have on it whenever you were around was long gone now. “ajax…” you didn’t know what to say, only wanting to leave liyue harbor as soon as you could. 

but, taking another glance at his appearance, you couldn’t help but worry about him. it seemed that he was freshly out of a battle — though you didn’t have a good feeling about who he was fighting — and you suspect he wanted to arrive home and find your waiting arms to soothe him. “don’t go. don’t leave me, please.” he wasn’t one to beg, but he didn’t know what to do to keep you at his side anymore. childe took an hesitant step towards you, heart clenching when he watched you taking another one back. 

that wouldn’t end well. the remnants of the foul legacy were still running through his blood, making him angry at you for reacting that way. ajax was protecting you from your own foolishness — as soon as rosalyne knew you were not within his protection anymore, she’d lay her claws over you and take your life. and he couldn’t lose you, he couldn’t. why weren't you seeing that? why you wanted to leave him, like you did all these years ago, running straight to your father’s arms without looking back at him?

was he not enough for you? would he ever be enough for you? 

before he could think better, his dual blades were already being summoned, the scared look on your face only fueling his anger. it was an ugly feeling, boiling and burning inside his chest. however, on the outside, all you could see was your beloved ajax with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, his brows furrowed and his blades on his hands. 

you weren’t a fool. you had angered him, and even though fighting with him was a foolish decision — he was a harbinger of the tsaritsa, after all — you wouldn’t be able to escape such a fate. dropping your bags to the ground and deep a deep breath, you soon felt the weight of your polearm in your hand, the weapon that diluc gifted you after you received your vision and physical training was required. jean was the one who trained you all those years ago, and you couldn’t be more grateful for her now. 

“i love you.” you whispered before indulging in his desires, anemo and hydro vision shining on your bodies. 

“i love you, too.”

— 

the sound of polearm against sword wasn’t a strange thing for you, but anybody could see how less experienced than your opponent was. childe was used to dueling with his enemies more than you, a girl who was sheltered her whole life by both father and brother, who only received training because of a vision earned when she saw herself faced with more despair than she ever felt. his experience was shown in the way he moved gracefully, how his swords seemed to be at home between his fingers — unlike your polearm, that still felt strange whenever you wield it. 

you tried not to think too much, focusing on the teachings jean passed down to you. 

keep your head clear, just trust your body and everything will be fine. 

however, those words weren’t helping you. you couldn’t help and not feel the gut-wrenching feeling of sadness that had installed in your chest when you noticed he would never let you go alive, your thoughts clouding your best judgment. you couldn’t hurt him, the idea of being the one to give him another scar to his collection making you sick — though, it didn’t seem like ajax shared your thoughts. you already had a cut on your cheek that you knew it would scar, and more wounds all over your body that you were sure none of your brothers ever had received being knights. him, on the other hand, just had a bit of blood coming down from the side of his face, and you didn’t know if it was the consequences of his other battle or caused by you. 

you cried when you felt one of his swords cutting your flesh, anemo elemental energy throwing him away from you. “ajax, please, stop.” you tried to plead, hand traveling down to press on your thigh to try to apply pressure to your new wound.

but the adrenaline of the battle was still running on his blood, and his hand was in your neck in no time, pushing your body until it hit the nearest wall, your feet some centimeters away from the ground. 

you start to trash around in his touch, hands unsuccessfully trying to get yourself free from his hold. was he really going to choke you until death? you couldn’t understand what prompted him to hate you that much — was that all a plan to attack your brother, due to his status as an enemy of the fatui. did he really love you? or did the fatui explored his connection with you in the past to bring their vengeance to life? 

however, the sadness shining in his eyes told you otherwise. 

“please.” you tried to say with the last breath that you had, black points already appearing in your vision and his face blurred by the tears in your eyes. 

you could see the outline of a sad smile on his lips. “i’m sorry, my beloved.” you felt a pair of lips on your forehead, the hand that wasn’t on your neck caressing your now scarred cheek. “i will always love you.” you couldn’t see the tears dripping down his lifeless eyes, a feeling that ajax hadn’t felt in years. when it was the last time he cried? when he thought he was going to die when he fell down in the abyss? he couldn’t remember. 

now, however, seeing the life leaving your body was enough to make his frozen heart to melt and break. rosalyne’s words resonated in his head — it was better to die by his hands, a slow and painless death, than to hers. tartaglia knew she would let all of her rage fall upon you, and he couldn’t bear to see what was going to happen if you became her victim. 

“what is happening here, childe?” 

a deep voice startled him, his hand leaving your neck to welcome one his swords again. you body fell limp to the ground, though ajax still could see a faint rise and fall of your chest. you were still alive — your body wouldn’t be another one on his count. 

when he turned around to meet the owner of the familiar voice, ajax was met with zhongli’s startled face, his eyes widened, rage dancing on them like a foreign dancer presenting their talents, and brows furrowed. and it seemed like his senses came back to him, no trace of foul legacy inside him anymore, and he noticed what he had done. his tears were now falling freely from his eyes, his heart break and twisting and making breathing more difficult. 

he was sure the archons sent zhongli to meet you both. because now you could live. 

he took your body between his arms, trying to enjoy the last time he would hold you as close as that, walking towards the older man. “take her, please. i beg you, zhongli, take her and send her back to her mondstadt.” he pleaded, holding your body close to his chest. “i’ve committed the highest sin, and i can’t let the destiny that was bestowed upon her become a reality.” 

it seemed as if zhongli understood what he was saying, though not entirely if his slightly furrowed brows had something to say, his arms ready to welcome you. ajax, albeit reluctantly, passed your body to zhongli’s waiting arms, your blood now a dark spot on his shirt and jacket, staining his hands and fingers — he always had enjoyed the sight of blood adorning his skin, especially those from his enemies, but your blood was like a venom corroding his skin until it was only bones. the smell was nauseating, and he felt like throwing up. “please, go. you will understand when the time comes, zhongli.” he couldn’t bear to see the state that he, himself, had put you in. hadn’t he promised to protect you until the end of time? that was his protection? 

the other man only nodded, in a loss of words, walking away from childe, hurriedly, with your body between his arms. he knew childe could be quite bloodthirsty and feral, but never with you. his dead eyes even gained a spark whenever he was around you, and the smiles that adorned his face in your presence were the most real ones zhongli ever saw on the younger man's face. in all his almost four thousand years, morax had never witnessed a lover almost killing another — though he suspected childe’s work as a fatui had something to do with his sudden change in behavior. 

you only started to give signs of being awake a few meters away from the harbinger’s house, though you didn’t try to trash around or get away from his hold. you seemed defeated, as if you had already accepted death. “... where…?” your voice was hoarse, probably from the choking childe had put you on, the mark of his hands still visible on your skin. 

“it’s zhongli, my dear. i will take you to a safe place. you are safe now.” 

—

it took you some hours to regain consciousness again, your mind a mix between remembering what happened and dreaming that your lover was still with you, holding your body close to his and whispering loving words in your ear. 

however, when you finally broke free from the state you were in, the unfamiliar mattress under you and the coldness of the blankets over your body were a cruel reminder that your dreams were only that — feverish dreams of a time that you weren’t sure were true from ajax’s side. because your feelings for him were, the most truthful sentiments you ever felt in your entire life, and now they were providing you the most sorrowful emotions a human being could feel. your heart wasn’t broken, as it was crushed. crushed to the point that it was just dust now, and even if you wished you could mend it, you knew you wouldn’t be able to. 

“here, have some tea.” zhongli’s voice took you from your thoughts, and you only nodded, not knowing if he had said anything before it. “are you feeling better? i am not the best healer, as you can see. i am afraid some of your injuries might form a scar.” 

“it’s alright” you answered, not sure about what to say. you could feel the bandages all over your body, the pain all over it, but you tried to drink the tea, nonetheless. zhongli was being kind enough to take care of you, and you would never make little of his efforts. “a scar is the sign that i fought back.” you remembered your father once telling diluc that, on his first years of sword training — but it was a completely different circumstance, and you weren’t sure he would approve of his only daughter now having an imperfection on her face.

“i am sure it will not affect your beauty.” those words managed to bring a faint smile to your face, though not as bright and big as it used to be. zhongli missed the sight of your smiles, but he was happy he was able to bring the ghost of it to your face once more. he was well versed in the ways of having a broken heart, and a true smile would take some time to adorn your lips again. 

he watched as you drank the tea, taking the cup from your hands gently, while you adjusted yourself once more on his bed. he was already in contact with lumine, who was probably in contact with your brother, to find a way to bring you back to your hometown safely and quickly. zhongli was intrigued by childe’s last words — what sin had the younger man committed, and what fate was bestowed upon you? the archon couldn’t think about anything that could make the harbinger to try to kill you, but your fate seemed to be worse than death on childe’s eyes. 

he thought his last contract was with the tsaritsa, but it seemed that one of her followers managed to steal such a place in the god of contract’s existence. 

“zhongli?” 

your voice was small, as if it was the song of a caged bird. he turned his golden eyes to your form, impressed by how young you truly were — in many nights he was kept awake, eyes facing the same ceiling you were now, thinking about how much you remind him of her. of how your smile was the same as hers, how the wind in your hair made the same movement it used to do with hers. but you were young, and you didn’t have the same wisdom and knowledge as her, but you had enchanted him the same way. 

he wasn’t sure if reincarnations really existed, but, if it did, you and guizhong shared the same soul. 

“yes, my dear?” he tried not to touch your face like he used to do with her, but he got up from the chair he was in and sat on the end, his hands a few inches away from your resting body. 

“have you ever had your heart broken?” zhongli understood why you were asking that. you were away from your family, away from your friends in a foreign nation, and you needed guidance. and he was beyond happiness to be the one to help you — if he could, he’d share with himself the pain you were feeling so you could feel better. 

you watched as he nodded. “i did, once.” 

“and how did you heal from it?” it was a personal question and you knew it, but you didn’t know who to ask. diluc and kaeya never had a great love that ended in sour feelings as far as you knew, so they weren’t options. maybe lisa? you didn’t know much about her past as a student in sumeru, but you would be too ashamed to ask her something like that. 

zhongli stayed silent for a while, and you almost lost hope that he would answer you, before he started. “i do not think i ever healed from that. but time proved to be an efficient helper.” though the curiosity to know what happened with him numbed your pain a bit, you wouldn’t be able to ask. it must have been something really horrible if he still wasn’t able to get over it. “and my friends and family, too. the key is to not be alone at those times when you can’t think about anything else but them.” but her, he wanted to say, her that is so much like you that it pains my heart to see you suffering like that. “love can only be cured with love, y/n.”

you nodded, pinky finger intertwining with zhongli’s one, as a way to comfort him for the pain you made he remember. he chuckled, and it seemed like the sound reverberated through the whole earth, a sound that could make mountains turn to dust and flowers to grow. 

but home was calling you, and you couldn’t ignore the song of freedom calling you back, nor the wind almost dragging you back to a place you knew nobody could ever hurt you.

a big kiss to @ajaxstar

[freaksnvans]

The wonderful dream I had last night.

Good morning, everyone! Last night, I had a wonderfully romantic experience. I mean, it was not real, I had a dream, but it felt despicably real. I cannot believe that the sands of such a beautiful vision could slip right through my fingers as if it were never there. You may be able to guess that it is about Medic, but it was also profoundly eye-opening and made me realize that I actually love Spy as well. I feel as if it was a prophecy foretelling what would happen when I awoke. If that makes sense. Anyways, do be warned that this story of the dream I had last night involves pregnancy. And birth. I haven't had kids in real life, so this was a very strange experience for me.

I had a dream that I was some sort of medical assistant serving Medic. Like a Nurse but not really, I could not call myself a nurse because I have never gone to medical school (I instead have a degree in philosophy) and thus calling myself a nurse or any other medical title would be impersonation and illegal, I believe. Anyways, he needed to test the pregnancy pen on me. It was wildly graphic. I don't even want to explain anything that happened in this dream here because that's personal information and I don't need little snot-nosed freaks in my asks making fun of me for my personal and intimate experience in this dream, but it was grotesque in a mildly enjoyable way.

Anyways, the dream time-skipped to nine months later, as I was pregnant, of course. I was giving birth to the Medic's daughter, I believe, it could have been a son. Or the child could grow up to be a they, I would not know. I am just trying to be inclusive. Please don't make fun of me. I will turn off my asks if I receive even one message regarding the gender of me and Medic's child. Anyways, I was giving birth and Medic was beside me holding my hand and it was extremely strenuous, as having a child would be, I imagine. Spy is beside me, holding my other hand and I look at him and he really trusts me! I could tell from his eyes that he really hopes I deliver this child safely!

He was beautiful. I successfully gave birth to Medic's child and it was such a beautiful moment, besides the part when Spy blew out his foul cigarette smoke on the baby. I hate him for that. But he does have a beautiful face, I must admit. Goodness. Please don't let me fall for a man who comes from Europe, and from France, no less. I don't like the French; if you know me, you know I don't like the French. So this is nothing short of disastrous. I would like to imagine that after the dream happened, me, Medic and Spy raised the child together. I will not include Sniper to satisfyingly make all of the support classes the fathers of my child because I don't like Sniper.

I should end this post here. I hope you enjoyed reading my experience. It was deeply personal and moving for me. I wish you all beautiful and wonderful dreams such as this. Even if they're about Medic. I am willing to share. Remember: Don't ever lie.

[the-bi-space-ace]

Tell me everything about spicy Echo/Quin please I need it like air

I am excited for this one! I chose a fairly tame snippet from the fic but the rest of it... the rest of it is much more detailed.

--

“Patience is my specialty.” Quinlan got his breath under control then gripped Echo’s scomp in his hand, bringing it up to kiss gently at the appendage. Before he really had time to feel bashful about the affection Quinlan tightened his legs around Echo’s waist and flipped them. His smirk pressed Echo further into the mattress, not to mention how pinned he felt under the beautiful toned body that Quinlan had from years of training with a lightsaber. 

The force did beautiful things to a person, covering them in light. Quinlan was certainly no stranger to power and control and the way he slid down Echo’s body made every fiber feel safe and supported.

--

I wanted to try something spicier than I usually do so I decided to write the scene in the hotel from the moment in The Spy Who Shagged Me that I didn't include in that fic. I wanted to keep that fic rated T for people who aren't interested in reading smut so I cut the scene short right before they got intimate with each other. I was still really interested in exploring what that moment would look like between Echo and Quinlan so I decided to start writing it and really challenge myself to be more descriptive and detailed.

So far I am pretty proud of myself! It's the most detailed smut I've ever written and it's fairly romantic as well which is honestly what I am most interested in. They have a lot of fun and they're so sweet. It will be Extremely NSFW and I will be posting it... soonish!

[doloresdraws]

I am slowly filling this OC question meme with all my WoD characters and it is a lot of fun, but also very exhausting.

Here is your chance to get to know more about Stanley, my sewer goblin Nosferatu boy ❤ ❤ ❤

❤ There is also a video process of this painting on my Youtube channel ❤

1) Stanley rarely gets angry, when he is supposed to be angry he instead get anxious and either starts to talk nonsense or stays silent.

2) He finds the idea lovely, but he knows that he will never meet anyone he could call a soulmate

3) More than being a pet peeve it just really makes him uncomfortable: when people are loudly shouting at him or at someone else.

4) He often thinks about his early childhood before he was seprated from his baby sister.

5) Probably the time he spent in the hospital before he found out about the Nosferatu and became their ghoul. Before that incident, he was feeling safe, taken care of and loved having a routine, knowing the place well and always looked forward to visits from his sister.

6) When he was separated from his sister and put into different foster homes.

7) He wouldn’t even go to a bar, too many people and too loud for his taste.

8) He was pretty badly beaten up when he was  living on the street, but nothing was ever broken. After the Embrace he made Maks (his Sire) pretty unhappy a few times which resulted in him getting a few broken ribs. He tries to stay away from danger, but sometimes it doesn’t work out.

9) He would like to forget finding a dead woman’s body in the sewers.

10) His happiest memory is playing peek-a-boo with his sister in the driveway, he was oblivious about the world and his future. Life was good at that moment.

11) No, he doesn’t. His type is everyone who would treat him nice and made him feel safe :) He currently has a woman he got kinda attached to, only because she was nice to him when he accidentally bumped into her on the street. He had a hoodie over his face and it was dark. She thought he was a homeless kid. She helped him gather all of the small trinkets he dropped in the collision and he was captivated by her kindness, so he followed her home XD

12) Many – he has a collection of various random things he found in the sewers, he collects everything that catches his attention – mainly some personal things like rings, bracelettes, scrunchies, he even found a photo album. He remembers the exact place he found each of his possessions and he likes to imagine stories for each item. He keeps bracelet of the dead woman in case he would one day found out her identity and could return it to her family.

13+14) He has no tattoos or piercings, only way too many fangs in his small mouth that pierce his lips and cheeks XD

15) His dream house would be somewhere where he would be frozen in time as a happy child together with his sister.

16) You would not expect to find out that he is actually not a child, but a grown man, his small and frail stature is deceiving.

17) He has always good intentions with gifts, but he is not the best at choosing gifts XD  He misjudges other people’s interest in smelly, sewer treasures XD

18) He knows he has a great memory, but because it has brought him so much trouble, both internal and external, he isn’t really proud or even happy he has an eidetic memory.

19) A stranger would describe him as a weird, smelly kid who talks too fast XD

20) Someone who spent more time around him and got to know him more (Mateusz) would describe him as a scared, smol man who might look like he can’t even count to ten but is actually very clever, but let others walk all over him because he is afraid of conflict.

21) He, himself is a walking insecurity :) But his biggest one is to not be understood when talking as he normally talks pretty fast, but when he is nervous and considering how many fangs he has it is sometimes hard for him to make sense and then he gets even more agitated as he is worried he will convey the message in a wrong way.

22) Physical: dexterity, non-physical: wits

23) Depends on the nature of the lie, most likely he would just nod and tried to understand the reason why he was lied to.

24) He has fond memories of the summer as when he was on the street, summer nights were warm and he didn’t have to worry about freezing to death. Aside this he is indifferent to the weather.

25) From romantic point of view he never had anyone he could say these words to, in general terms he only said I love you to his sister. He wouldn’t have a problem saying it first, but as a Nossie he knows that chances of him finding someone who would even want to spend time with him are almost none, so he will probably never say it to anyone else.

26) His only issue with openly sharing his worries is his fear of not being believed or worse be punished, so it depends on the person. If he knows that the person won’t get angry at him, he will share his worries.

27) No, he never saw anyone die. But the dead woman in the sewers was the first dead body he saw and he can’t erase the empty look on her face, it haunts him every night. He feels sad for her, being left there nameless, alone, dumped like trash. She surely had family somewhere and maybe they are still looking for her to this day…just like his sister is looking for him…

28) He totally is ticklish, he is very sensitive to touch, mainly because he is not used to be touched at the first place.

29) Very low pain tolerance, he hates being in physical pain and he knows that he now can heal pretty much everything, but it doesn’t take away the fact that he would much rather avoid getting hurt in the first place.

30) He wishes he would have been brave enough to say no to some of the things he is asked to do.

31) He isn’t a particularly messy eater, he mainly feeds on rats, not because of the guilt, but because he thinks that feeding from mortals is very stressful and scary ordeal.

32) Most unloved: when he got stuck obfuscated in the same room as the woman he followed home and unfortunately had to watch her and her date being intimate with each other. Not only he felt innapropriate, but it made him feel so lonely and sad that he never in his life felt so safe with someone to share such closeness and now he never will.

33) When he was reunited with his sister after years apart. Despite her being the younger sibling she   basically took care for him and did everything she could to get his mental health problems under control.

34) He would most likely hate to lose touch as he likes to touch things XD On the other hand he would gladly lost hearing, so he could no longer spy on people :D

35) He likes small talk, because it feels relaxing and he doesn’t have to worry about saying too much.

36) He would have asked Maks if he ever cared about him as a person or if he just considered him a tool, a good asset to have because of his memory skills.

37) To the past, to his early childhood to spend more time as a naive child with the person he cares the most in the world.

38) positive: his sister – she made him feel loved and made him feel like he mattered, the staff and other patients in the hospital – they made him feel safe, cared for and not alone, negative: various people he met while he was on the street, his foster families, and to an extent his biological parents though he didn’t meet with them after.

39) Depends, in the hospital he liked being surrounded by people because they were nice and he felt safe with them, as a Nossie he prefers to be alone because the other Kindred most often than not scare him. He likes to spend time with Jamie (the ghoul that is living in the sewers with them) because of her child-like personality, she seems harmless and he likes that.

40) The scary thing that he had seen in one part of the tunnels one night, nobody believes him but he is pretty sure there is something terriyfing livin there. Aside this probably his Sire Maks, but he had heard that he met Final death.. apparently by Mateusz’s hands of all people…

Stanley © me/doloresdraws

[wandaswigglywoes]

Junksen - Aubrey takes care of lil werewolf Emily

Don't know if Aubrey is also a were

This took me some time to figure out what I was doing. Thank you for prompting me!!! :3 I hope you enjoy!! I’m going to try and let this be sort of ambiguous— let the reader decide if they wish to ship them romantically. (If my muse will let me. We’ll see where the girls decide to take it lmao) Haha, just kidding-- this has been sitting in my drafts for 84 years. basically ignore that above, i can't do ambiguous apparently. bye

“Why me?!” Emily winces at the shrill voice on the other side of the door, but only for the fact that it’s loud and causes the sharp pain behind her right eye to pulsate. “Why do I have to take care of her? I should be out in the trenches!” The voice continues, outraged. Emily thinks under normal circumstances, she would feel hurt, and guilty that this woman would rather be out fighting then to have to deal with her, but the only kind of emotion that Emily can muster is a sort of throbbing numbness.

“Aubrey!” A warning growl. “Her entire pack was brutally murdered before her eyes, and she was taken captive only to be tortured. Have a bit of sympathy!” Something sharp digs through the numbness and suddenly, as if she’s being submerged into an icy fjord, it all hits her at once. She has nothing— no one left.

There is silence on the other side of the door, but Emily’s exceptional hearing picks up heavy breathing. “I— I’m not saying that what happened isn’t terrible and despicable,” The shrill voice from before is much softer now, remorse evident in her tone. “I’m saying that perhaps I’m not cut out to be the one to take care of her. Someone like Chloe could—“

“Chloe is unavailable, and you know that, Aubrey. She is dealing with our spy that brought Emily in.”

“But daddy, I—“

There is a low growl and the hairs on the back of Emily’s neck stand on end. “Are you challenging me, Aubrey? I know I am your father, but I am also your alpha, so are you challenging my authority?”

“No. Of course not.” This time the voice is tight and controlled.

“Good, then you will do as I say.” The sound of someone retreating is followed, leaving no more room for argument.

Emily stares down at her bruised and raw wrists, waiting for the door to open, but it doesn’t. Not right away at least, but she knows that someone is still standing on the other side of the door.

Finally, the door creaks open, sounding so much louder in the quiet bedroom. Emily keeps her gaze downcast, wishing for all the world that she could disappear. There’s a sharp intake of breath that Emily knows has to be about her appearance. She hasn’t been able to bathe in— well, she isn’t really sure. Maybe a week? Her wrists and ankles are raw and bloody from where they had kept her shackled in pure silver, and there were fang marks at her neck where they had fed from her.

Werewolf blood was said to be warm and intoxicating to vampires, and not only that, but they lasted a lot longer than normal humans. "How are you feeling?" The voice sounds much softer now, though Emily can still hear the strain underneath.

Anger burns the back of her throat. "You don't have to be here if you don't want to," Emily says darkly, still unwilling to look up.

There is a sharp inhale through flared nostrils before it's exhaled shakily. "You heard that..." Emily chuckles derisively, but says nothing. "Right, of course. Look, I'm sorry. I'm just-- I'm not good with--" The voice trails off and Emily finally brings her gaze up to put a face to the voice.

It's a mistake. The woman is beautiful, blonde hair pulled into a tight bun with wisps of it framing her pretty, delicate features. Her eyes are a piercing green with flecks of gold, and behind them is remorse. Emily feels all the anger melt from her body in that moment. The woman's hands are clasped together tightly in front of her, as if to keep them from fidgeting. She's wearing a pair of form fitting jeans and a maroon colored Henley shirt, the whole outfit making her look effortlessly beautiful.

Emily clears her throat. "It's fine." She finally murmurs, eyes dropping back to her bloodied wrists, feeling as if she's been staring for too long.

"I'm Aubrey," The woman says gently, slowly approaching the edge of the bed where Emily sits rigidly.

"Emily," She mumbles, a shaking hand coming up to push a few greasy strands of hair out of her face.

She looks up to see Aubrey smile gently and Emily feels her insides clench. She has a nice smile. "Emily, is there--- is there anything I can help you with? We should probably clean up your wounds so that the healing process doesn't take more time than it's already going to."

Emily feels herself blush, realizing she's going to have to ask Aubrey to help her with bathing. "I--I'd really like to wash up, but-- I don't think I can stay standing long enough."

Aubrey nods. "Of course, and then we'll tend to those wounds." She approaches slowly and then holds out her arms for Emily.

Emily slowly reaches out, gripping both of Aubrey's forearms and allows herself to be pulled into a standing position. Her body screams in protest at the movement, but Emily manages to keep from crying out in pain.

//

Emily sits in the warm bath, knees pulled up to her chest and head tipped back slightly as Aubrey carefully pours water onto Emily's hair. Some of the tension leaves Emily's broken body as Aubrey's fingers massage shampoo into her scalp. The last time someone else washed her hair, Emily was a small child and it had been her mother.

This is-- it's different. The air feels charged, the action too intimate for two strangers.

Aubrey had respectfully kept her eyes averted while Emily struggled to undress, using Aubrey's outstretched hands to keep herself upright. They hadn't spoke since Aubrey had agreed to help her, the silence somehow louder than anything Emily had ever heard.

"Are you okay?" Aubrey finally asks, voice quiet, as if afraid to break the previous silence.

Emily swallows the dryness from her throat. "Yes, thank you."

"Close your eyes, I'm going to rinse your hair." So Emily does, barely suppressing a shiver as Aubrey's fingers comb through her hair.

//

After Aubrey had helped Emily get dressed (Some borrowed sleep clothes of Aubrey's), she lead Emily back into the bedroom at had her sit at the edge of the bed once more.

Aubrey is very gentle as she wraps her ankles and wrists, before looking her over for any other wounds. They still hadn't said very much to each other, which is fine with Emily. She doesn't have the energy to try and make conversation, too emotionally numb to think.

It isn't until Aubrey's fingers gently trace the fang marks on her neck that Emily's mind buzzes to life quite suddenly, pain shooting down her neck. Emily jumps and in turn, so does Aubrey. "S-sorry, is it painful?"

Emily blinks, suddenly realizing how close Aubrey's face is to her own. "I--a little," She squeaks, a soft blush coloring her cheeks.

Aubrey's fingers are still on her neck as she stares into Emily's eyes. "I'm sorry, the ointment should numb it." She finally says, and Emily realizes that Aubrey's fingers are coated in something thick and that the pain is slowly receding.

"T-thanks," Emily says, eyes quickly finding somewhere else to look other than Aubrey's probing gaze. "For everything, for doing this even though you didn't want to."

"I'm sorry you heard that," Aubrey looks ashamed as she finally pulls her hand back, wiping it on a towel. "It had nothing to do with you, I hope you know. I'm just-- not very good at any of this."

Emily smiles for what seems like the first time in a while. It doesn't quite reach her eyes, but it's gentle and earnest. She reaches out and takes one of Aubrey's hands in her own, ignoring the way her heart picks up speed as she does. "You've done a pretty good job so far."

She isn't sure if it's a trick of the light or not, but Emily thinks Aubrey blushes at the compliment, eyes falling to their joined hands. "Thank you, Emily."

//

Emily wakes up screaming, her neck burning and her ankles and wrists aching painfully, and the haunting screams of her family echoing in her mind. For a moment, Emily isn't sure where she is, chest heaving as she chokes on her own tears.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," Hands are on her shoulders, stilling her thrashing, and when that doesn't work, arms wrap around her. "It's just a dream, Emily, you're safe."

"A-Aubrey?" Emily sobs, her world slowly coming into focus, nose picking up Aubrey's scent.

"Yes, it's me. I have you." Fingers comb through her sweaty hair.

Emily's body sags into Aubrey, nose burying into a slender neck and allowing the now familiar scent to push away the image of her family being murdered in front of her. "They're all dead," Emily hiccups, her arms wrapping around herself. "I'm-- I'm alone."

Aubrey pulls Emily practically into her lap, fingers trailing up and down her spine. "I'm so sorry they're gone, Emily," Aubrey murmurs, her voice thick with emotion. "But you aren't alone, I promise."

"Y-You don't even kn--know me," Even as she says it, her fingers grip the edge of Aubrey's sleep shirt as if she might disappear.

Aubrey sighs softly. "It doesn't matter. I have good instincts, and I can tell you're a good person. So, I mean it when I tell you that you aren't alone."

"Will you-- will you stay with me?" Emily doesn't think she can be alone again. True, Aubrey had made it into Emily's room in record time, but the thought of laying in this big bed alone with her thoughts scares her.

Aubrey doesn't hesitate. "Of course I will."

//

Emily sits with her back against a large tree, basking in the sun. It had been months since she was rescued and the war was getting closer to ending, and though Emily's heart still ached for her family, she had adjusted relatively well in this new pack.

A shadow crosses over her face and Emily frowns, opening her eyes to find Beca staring down at her-- the one who had rescued her. "Hey." She offers Emily a crooked grin before settling beside her.

"Hey, what's up?"

Beca lulls her head to the side to look at Emily. "Just checking in on my favorite little wolf."

Emily chuckles, nudging Beca with her shoulder. "Are you sure that title doesn't belong to someone else?"

Beca flushes slightly. "Shut up."

Emily's grin grows wider. "Pretty blue eyes, red hair--" Beca shoves her playfully and Emily laughs.

"If you're going to tease me about Chloe, then I can tease you about Aubrey."

Emily's smile drops. "Aubrey and I are friends." She says mechanically.

"Why don't you just tell her?" Beca asks gently.

"Why don't you tell Chloe?" Emily counters, annoyance evident in her voice.

Beca sighs resignedly. "I plan to... Later today. So you've got no reason not to to tell Aubrey."

Emily whips around to stare at Beca in shock, before something dawns on her. "You're going on another mission, aren't you?"

Beca inhales slowly, seeming to hold the air in her chest for a moment before exhaling. "Yeah, and life's too short to keep this shit bottled up."

Emily swallows the sudden burn of tears in her throat and nods jerkily before dropping her head to Beca's shoulder. "You better be careful, or else." She murmurs.

"I always am." Beca lets her own head drop onto Emily's.

//

Emily smells her before she sees her, the scent of lavender and earth growing stronger the closer she gets.

Aubrey stands outside her room on her balcony, leaning against the railing and staring up at the moon. "Hello, Emily." She says without turning around, probably having both scented and heard Emily.

Emily steps up beside her, heart in her throat. "Hi," She replies quietly, leaning against the railing next to her. Their arms brush against each others, and Emily allows it to calm her racing heart. "I uhm-- I wanted to talk to you."

Aubrey turns slightly to look at Emily. "Oh? Is everything okay?"

Emily visibly swallows as she brings her own gaze to meet Aubrey's. "Yes-- I mean, I think so." She can feel her cheeks heating up beneath Aubrey's concerned eyes and hopes it's just dark enough that Aubrey doesn't notice. "It's just-- I was talking to Beca earlier, and she said-- well, she said something to me that made me realize that I should tell you how-- how I really feel about you."

Aubrey's eyebrows draw together in confusion. She turns fully to face Emily. "How you--"

"Life's too short to keep these feelings bottled up, and I should know that better than anyone. So even if you don't feel the same, I wanted to tell you that I-- that I have feelings for you."

"You have feelings for me?" Aubrey stares at Emily in shock.

"Yes. Well, technically, I'm like-- a little bit in love with you. Which--- I don't want you to feel pressured to love me back, or feel guilty if you don't. I'm perfectly content to be your friend, I just-- I felt like you should know. So don't--"

"Emily," Aubrey's fingers press against Emily's lips.

"Hmm?"

Aubrey grins, eyes watery. "I'm a little bit in love with you, too." And before Emily can try to say anything else, Aubrey kisses her.

[wandasallerdyce]

NSFW Alphabet - Cassian Andor

Fandom: Star Wars

Pairing: Cassian Andor x Male! Reader

Requested: yes/no

Warning(s): Smut (duh), pure filth, some Spanish, some fluff, excessive use of fuck and cum

Notes: I wrote this listening to Twilight Time, a soft song. BYE-. But n e ways, here i am, feeding the gays once more. Hope you guys like this, please like and reblog if you do! Love y’all! (p.s. ugh, Diego looks so cute in this gif 😩)

(GIF not mine)

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Cassian will make sure that your okay and will run a warm bath for you. After, he’ll dress you in one of his shirts and cuddle with you in bed whispering how he loves you so much.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Cassian really loves your legs. He doesn’t understand why, but he finds them really attractive. Especially when they hold him in a headlock while he’s sucking you off.

There’s something attractive about his arms. You love holding them while he pounds into you at a brutal pace. There’ll be times where you’ll be running your hands up and down them while laying in bed.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Cassian LOVES cumming in your ass. Something about seeing it slide down your thighs turns him on even more and he goes for a second round. He also enjoys making you swallow his cum when he’s face fucking you.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Cassian loves when you give him nicknames during sex. A simple ‘C-Cas…’ or ‘sian!’ will instantly make him fuck you harder, wanting to give you the pleasure you deserve.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Cassian isn’t that experienced in the sex experience. He saw no use in one night stands and whatnot as he was always doing rebel work. So when he gets to fuck you for the first time, expect this boi to be nervous at first. He’ll be more open after a few fucks.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

This goes without saying, but he loves fucking you doggy style. Seeing your ass take his cock at that angle sends him over the edge and he’ll be shooting ropes of cum into your ass in no time.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Cassian will be serious at first, but after a few sessions, he’ll make a joke from here to there. His go to joke is about sucking him him in the cockpit of the ship cause, yknow, “cock”pit…

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Cassian has some light hair on his chest. Other than that, he’ll have a neat trail that leads to the goods. As for the… ahem, drapes down there, it’ll always be neatly trimmed.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Cassian is very intimate when it comes to fucking you. He’ll pepper your back with kisses, pull your hair so he can reach your lips, and praise you quietly in your ear

‘You’re taking my cock like a good boy, mi principe.’

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Cassian doesn’t have time to Jack off. He’s always busy with carrying out missions for the rebels. Yet, when you’re gone on a mission for too long and he’s frustrated, he’ll rub one out to images of your guys’ past fucks.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

This man LOVES spanking, don’t even get me started. You don’t pay attention to him that much today? He’ll bend you over his lap and spank you until your ass is red with his handprint. Disobeyed his orders? Count to 20 as he spanks you. Basically, anything that has to do with spanking, he’s up for.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Being the classy man that he is, he prefers to fuck you in his quarters. That way, you can be as loud as you want as he’s ramming into you from behind.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

If you really want Cassian to fuck you instantly, wear pants that are super tight. He loves seeing the shape of your legs. He’ll be right behind you in no time pressing his hardened cock against your ass.

‘Trying to turn me on, hermoso? Well, it’s working.’

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Cassian would never try choking. He hates seeing his hands wrapped around your neck. He feels as if he’s hurting you in a way. He wants to make sure your as comfortable as you can be.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Cassian loves receiving. He loves it when you run your tongue over the veins on his cock. When you hollow your cheeks to suck him even harder, he feels like he dies and goes to wherever the good people go. Sometimes he’ll give you a blowjob if you’ve had a stressful day. Other than that, he’s the one always reviving.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Cassian is usually fast and rough while he’s fucking you. He loves having you moaning his name as he pounds into you at such a brutal pace and seeing your eyes roll to the back of your head. On some days, he’ll be more romantic and go at an even pace and kiss you a whole lot.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

At first, he was reluctant to have a quickie. That was until you dragged him into a storage closet and sucked him off so fast, he felt as if you were going at light speed. Ever since then, he’s fucked you in corridors and anywhere he could find that was secluded. He especially loves fucking you on his ship when no ones around. They don’t call it a cockpit for nothing (alright I’ll stop).

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

As stated before, he’s hesitant at first. But, eventually he opens up more. If you guys are on a mission in the forest, expect to be holding onto a tree as he drives his cock into you. If you guys are spying from a canyon, expect your back to meet rock.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Cassian can go for 4 rounds at least. All his pent up anger will be released on you. And he’ll cum huge loads all four rounds you’ll feel so full.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Cassian doesn’t see the point of toys. He thinks their useless.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

If he’s in a kinky mood, he’ll be teasing you a fair amount. He’ll finger your ass and pull out as quick as he can, having you beg for his cock. Other times, he’ll have you craving his cum. He’ll pull out of your mouth right before he has to cum and have you pouting for his cum that you so desperately want to swallow.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Cassian isn’t really loud as he prefers to hear your moans of pleasure and ecstasy. But, if you tighten around his Vick just enough, he’ll be moaning loudly.

‘Fuck, principe, you really know how to get a guy going.’

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Cassian loves it when you compliment him on how good he’s fucking you. He loves making you feel good and making sure your having fun with him

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Cassian has a nice, thick, 7.5 inch cock down there. He has some veins that decorate his cock that you love to lick.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Cassian doesn’t have that much of a sex drive as he’s always busy with plans for the rebels. But if he’s alone with you and on vacation, throw all that out the window.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Cassian will stay up until you fall asleep which isn’t that long, but even then, he’ll stay awake for a few more minutes and wonder how he’s the luckiest guy in the galaxy for being with you

FIN

[heloisedaphnebrightmore]

Warmness [Ron Weasley x Reader] - Heloise’s Christmas Calendar - Challenge

December 2 – Warmness [Ron Weasley x Reader]

Title: Warmness Pairing: Ron Weasley x Reader Word count: 1.7k Published: 2 December, 2020 Author: Heloise Daphne Brightmore Summary: On a dull, rainy winter day, the only thing you need is your boyfriend, Ron Weasley and a cup of hot chocolate. Challenge: [x] [x] Notes: It’s part of Heloise’s Christmas Calendar where I post something each day from 1 - 25 December. I have also written this piece for @jamilelucato​ and @whack-ed‘s A Very Harry Potter Christmas Challenge with Day 2′s prompt 

Warming up with a hot chocolate. 

Heloise’s Christmas Calendar Masterlist

Harry Potter Characters Masterlist | Masterlists

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It’s been quite rainy and dull in London recently. Everything seemed grey, dark clouds taking over the sky, bright colours long gone from the horizon, no sun to warm up the coldness, to dry off the wet grounds.

In the winter, people expected snow and colourful lights hung around the city. Roads covered in white silk, trees holding the heavy white substance, fairy lights decorating the houses, shops covered in all the Christmas ornaments.

But instead it was grey, dark and dull. You didn’t start decorating, nor did you start preparing for Christmas. It was too early for you and the weather didn’t give you the usual Christmas joy just yet.

It was freezing outside and so was inside. The heating was barely working, and it didn’t seem to want to budge even when you used magic against it. You wrapped yourself up in two layers of your boyfriend’s sweaters and a burgundy blanket that usually laid across the end of your bed. You cupped the hot chocolate in your hands, enjoying the warmness it sent through your nerves, its steam heating up your face as you took a sip of the hot beverage.

You sat on the window-seat in your room, listening to the heavy rain outside, the raindrops furiously attacking your window-seal. You held onto a cup of hot chocolate, warming yourself up from the spreading cold weather.

You liked rain, it made you feel melancholic, it made you think, it made you remember all your stupid little decisions, all your happy moments and what would come in the future. For some reason the rainy season always offered you a dull, but calming time in your life, where you just sat down and reflected on the decisions you have made, the feelings you have harboured, the happy memories you have experienced.

Although it was dark and colourless, it relaxed you, it gave you a silent comfort, which you gladly accepted as busy thoughts were swirling around in your head.

You weren’t particularly sad or lonely, you weren’t happy or enthusiastic either. You were just lost in your thoughts and it seemed to be the right thing to do.

You didn’t realise another presence in the room, nor did you hear him clear his throat. The only time his presence seemed obvious to you was when his arms wrapped around your torso and he hinted a small kiss on your temple.

You smiled at the feeling of his hair tickling your cheek, his lips gently touching your skin, his arms tightly wrapped around your body, his natural scent finding its way into your nostrils, making your body relax against his naked chest. In contrast to the cold you felt, shooting through your bones, his body was warm, almost too hot for such cold weather.

“Are you alright, love?” He asked, his voice hoarse from waking up late. Indeed, it was a lazy day. It was dark and least productive. You didn’t have work, nor did Ron, both of you looking forward to a day of doing nothing, which was long awaited.

“Of course, just thinking.” You replied with a sweet smile as you turned back to meet his curious blue eyes and messy ginger hair.

You loved his hair when he woke up, his locks reminding you of a bird’s nest. It was comical, but somehow it also meant home to you. Each time you saw his messy morning hair, his subtle stubble, his wrinkled pyjama bottoms and the way he rubbed his tired eyes, made you feel home. His mere presence made you feel as if you have had everything in one person. A friend, family, love, partner and home. He didn’t even know, but he was your everything.  

“About what?” He asked as he moved around you and held your hand to help you off the window, taking your hot chocolate and placing it on the side of the window-seal.

“Just memories, feelings. I guess I’m just thinking about everything.” You chuckled, scratching the back of your head awkwardly. “I am making no sense at all, am I?” Ron chuckled at you as he lifted your head with his index finger, his sweet smile making your lips curl involuntarily.

“Nope. Not at all. But if it makes you feel better just keep on thinking about whatever you want.” He chuckled as his arms sneaked around your waist, his face hidden in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent as you placed your hands on his naked chest. “Can you just come back to bed and keep thinking there?” He asked, his voice muffled by your skin.

“Don’t you want to do something more productive?” You asked and he lifted his head, looking out the window, his face turning into a grimace.

“I’m not leaving this house today.” He shook his head, his face still deformed.

“We don’t have to leave, but we could do something, we could come up with something.” You tried to convince him, but he didn’t seem to want to agree.

“The only productivity I plan on doing is holding you in my arms. Love, I understand you want to do something, but it’s been weeks since we have had the same day off. Can we just lay in bed all day and-“ you waited for him to continue, but the boy froze. You frowned at his unexpected behaviour, even more so as a large grin started appearing across his face. “Love, just stay here.” He instructed you and quickly let go of you, grabbing his bathrobe from the hook on the door and running down the stairs of your house.

You stood in your room, looking around, complete confusion taking over you. You walked to the bed, sitting down on the edge, your foot slowly tapping on the ground, waiting for Ron. The minutes seemed to pass rather slowly, your boredom making you groan. You let yourself fall on to the bed, your hands laying across the silky cover, your eyes fixed on the ceiling.

What Ron was planning seemed to be getting to you and you just wanted to investigate. You stood up from the bed, wrapped your bathrobe around you and started tiptoeing over to the door, the wooden floorboards creaking under your weight. The door was loud as you tried to slowly open it, avoiding being caught by the ginger boy.

You pushed your head out of the little crack between the door and its frame, hoping to hear or see something, but instead a loud squeaky sound left your lungs as you found yourself face to face with Ron.

“I knew you would be spying, love.” He chuckled as he got hold of your hand and started gently pulling you after himself.

“What were you up to?” You asked, but the boy just shook his head and chuckled at your curiosity.

“That’s for you to find out.” He snickered as he led you towards the living room. You frowned at the secrecy, knowing Ron wasn’t keen on keeping secrets. You let him guide you, waiting in anticipation of what made him so abruptly disappear, but you didn’t have to wait for long to find out.

He stepped aside as he walked into the living room, leaving you with a clear view of the place. Your eyes widened in surprise, your lips parting involuntarily.

The room was originally warm, it’s colours mainly consisting of red, burgundy, orange and gold. But this time, it was more than that. Ron placed tiny candles around the room, lighting up the place in a warm yellow and orange colour, reminding you of the sun. The fireplace was heating up the room, the wooden logs crackling in the fire. A yellow and red plaid blanket covered the carpet in front of the burgundy couch, two cups of hot chocolate and little sandwiches placed on the tiny table beside the blanket.  

It was warm and romantic, something you didn’t know you needed, but now that it was right in front of you, it made you break into a happy smile as a tiny teardrop left your watering eyes.

“Are you okay?” Ron asked worriedly as he saw the tears appear in your eyes. You nodded furiously and pulled him flush against you, kissing him lovingly, enjoying the feel of his lips on yours and his arms around your body. It was an intimate moment each time you kissed him, but the warmness surrounding you made it even more cosy.

“I’m just very happy, Ron. This is beautiful.” You smiled again as you looked around, your cheek laying against Ron’s chest.

“I hoped you’d like it.” He spoke. “I even prepared some muggle board games.” He pointed at a little box on the table, making you chuckle. You remembered the muggle toys as you played with your family on a similarly dull day. “Both lazy and productive.” He grinned happily as he kissed the top of your head.

“I love it, Ron. I really do love it.” You lifted your head from his chest and stood up on your tiptoes to kiss him again, trying to convey how much it all meant to you, how proud you were of him and how much you loved him.

You walked over to the blanket and waited for Ron to sit down, before you got comfortable between his legs, your head laying on his chest. He offered you one of the cups of hot chocolate and you immediately took it from him, enjoying the hot beverage sliding down your throat. You didn’t feel the coldness anymore.

Ron reached for your hand, interlocking your fingers as he placed a tiny kiss on your temple. You turned back around, looking into his loving eyes, before you closed the gap between you, enjoying the feel of his lips on yours.

“Thank you so much.” You whispered against his lips as you turned back to watch the fire battling with the wooden logs, swallowing them gracefully.

“Anytime, love.” He replied as he hinted a small kiss on your cheek, making you smile.

The moment was just perfect, and you were happy to add another beautiful memory to your collection for another dull and rainy day.

Harry Potter general taglist: @inkhearthes​ @hufflefluff-writer​ @fific7​ @haphazardhufflepuff​ @kalimagik​ @accio-rogers​ @queendcnn​ @harrypotter289​ @nebulablakemurphy​ @iliveiloveiwrite​ @mytreec​ @chaoticgirl04​ @idont-knowrn​ @mayaaa-l​ @imboredandneedalife​ @pregnant-piggy​ @prongsies​ @holdupwhat​ @ravenclea​ @kashishwrites​ @izzytheninja​ @timogtrrz​ @wassup-peoples​ @levylovegood​ @msmimimerton​ @bbeauttyybbx​ @kiwi-sloan​ @moatsnow​ @pandaxnienke​

Christmas Calendar taglist: @a-classic-eye​

Harry Potter - Golden trio era taglist: @nhcwdw​ 

Notes: If you enjoyed reading this little piece, please don’t forget to leave a like, comment and/or reblog. Thank you ^^

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[jobilt]

Cinema Bunz 5-10

I've watched 150 "significant" movies (and probably another 50 others) since the last time I did a write-up.  So here are 20 of my favorites, in no particular order:

-Funeral Parade of Roses (1969)  A window into the proto-Trans community in Tokyo.  Flawed but stylish and fascinating.  See also: The Queen, Portrait of Jason.

-M (1931) A landmark film that doesn't need my endorsement.  But it stands out even among landmarks.  See also: The Third Man

-Black Narcissus (1947) The Archers were Masters of Sweep.  This one is absolutely sopping with color, spectacle and emotion.  

-Night of the Hunter (1955) In contrast, this one's intimate and impressionistic, a child's nightmare with one of the greatest villains in film.  See also: Eraserhead.

-Tower (2016) Rotoscoped animation can feel like a novelty, but there's a genuine marriage here of medium and message.  It's a mastic that fills in gaps between sources and memories, a hyperreality between the actual and the reenacted.  See also: Peace Officer.

-Edward II (1991) Another example of stylization used to draw parallels.  The point where New Queer Cinema meets Elizabethan drama.  Baz Luhrmann for adults.

-Play Time (1967) Must-watch for architects.  Physical humor enacted by buildings and the frustrated people trying to navigate them.

-The Bridge on the River Kwai (1957) Another towering epic.  I war story with very little combat, addressing pride and honor from a completely different angle.

-The Exterminating Angel (1962) Magical realism + comedy of manners is a combination that still feels novel.  What if the party you didn't want to end became a party you couldn't escape?

-Chico & Rita (2010) Just a flat-out gorgeous animated romance for adults.  

-The Wages of Fear/Sorcerer (1953/1977).  Separate adaptations of the same novel.  The former lean and stark; the latter, shaggy and lush.  Both masters of psychology and tension. 

-The Eyes of Laura Mars (1978).  Glossy 80's supernatural melodrama. So. Much. Fun.  See also: Blow-up (1966).

-Jules & Jim (1962).  It's refreshing to see sexual mores questioned so frankly this early.  Triads and polyamory still haven't had their moment in contemporary film, and the relationships flow naturally from well-drawn characters.  See also: Design for Living (1933).

-Black Lizard (1968).  A mod Japanese spy romp starring a trans woman.  Does something have to be more than the sum of its parts, if it's executed at the highest level? I say no.  See also: A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night (2014).

-Grand Hotel (1932).  Ensemble comedy that throws you in the deep end and doesn't care if you keep up.  So saturated with charm I want to date it.

-Strange Days (1995).  The best of the 90's near-future films, that's mostly just a well-crafted crime flick?  The philosophy has mostly held up but the racial politics are depressingly current.

-It Happened One Night (1934).  My favorite of the Capra I've watched.  Certainly a genre-defining romantic comedy, with a Clark Gable performance that washed Rhett Butler out of my hair

-The Conformist (1970).  Production designed to the GODS, Mama!  The plot is twisty and the performances are strong, but I'm here for the sets.

-Raise the Red Lantern (1991).  The plight of a third concubine in 1920's China.  Gorgeous, subtle, wrenching. 

-A Separation (2011).  I am a sucker for spectacle, abstraction and melodrama.  Reality is hard!  But this one is a chunk of concrete executed flawlessly.

[hawksmagnolia]

Promise in her eyes

My first ever prompt for the @the-ce-horniest-book-club​ submitted by @this-kitten-is-smitten​

Who: Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff

Words: 2,476

Warnings: Smut ahoy!

A/N: This is a rework of one of my favorite AO3 fics. Hope y’all like it as much as I loved writing it. -xo- Allie

“She's so smooth

Smooth and cool

She got a secret you don't know

And she's never letting go

It's amazing

She ain't changing

She got a fire in her mind

And a promise in her eyes”

      “Lost” (Acoustic Version) - The Goo Goo Dolls

“Nat?” Steve pushed open yet another door on his search for the elusive Black Widow.

Fingers flew across a keyboard, nails creating a staccato of sound that echoed in the empty lab.

Steve’s footsteps drowned out that echo. Natasha was leaned over a sleek black laptop, headphones obscuring any sound he made. She was dressed simply in black leggings and what appeared to be one of his white button up shirts. She may mock his ‘dad style’ but she was prone to stealing them when she felt lonely. The blonde was finally growing out, a fact that made him privately happy. He had hated it, it made her a stranger to him. 

Theirs was a strange friendship. The soldier and the spy, the Russian agent and the American sweetheart. It hadn’t always been a friendship. It had started as an uneasy truce at the Battle of New York and merged into…something else when the Winter Soldier had attacked. But before they’d had a chance to explore what they had the Accords had gone so horribly wrong they found themselves running together, along with Sam, never staying long in one place. 

And then Thanos. Wakanda. The Snap. 

And now….this.

Steve couldn’t help but feel like he was partially responsible for this. Rationally he knew this was far beyond his control but he was used to being the hero. Everyone had scattered after battle at Wakanda.

Everyone but him and Nat. They’d clung together like survivors on a life raft. Each one of them unused to being alone anymore. 

They’d both lost their other halves. Not romantic ones, but the other parts of their soul. Him Bucky, her Clint. It was almost worse for her, Clint was still alive but no one could find him. Reports of him trickled in but they were mostly rumors. She couldn’t find anything concrete beyond his mangled ankle monitor on the farm and his truck missing. 

His bow had been left behind. Now is hung behind her desk at the Compound, he’d catch her staring at it occasionally and she would run her fingers over it each time she stood or sat down as if it was a lucky talisman.

Steve had been convinced there had been something between Nat and Clint….until he met Clint’s wife and kids. Nat had taken her goddaughter’s disappearance almost as hard as Clint’s. Steve had been forced to carry her back to the Quinjet, she’d been inconsolable. 

Now they lived in the compound, mostly passing by each other like ships in the night. He had thrown himself into his work, helping others grieve and move on despite the fact he was firmly stuck in the past. She was the one coordinating everyone left. She spent her days attempting to answer questions that had none and her nights she spent in the cover of darkness, hiding from her nightmares and doing whatever she did in this deserted lab. Steve suspected she was searching for Clint. 

He crossed the floor and stood in front of her. She glanced up at him, her eyes lit from the blue of her screen. She looked pale, her cheekbones sunken in, dark rings under her eyes. She pressed a button on the side of headphones and slid them off. 

“Why Captain America. Fancy seeing you here.” Her words were familiar but her voice sounded hollow. She leaned her chin in her hand. Even with the world falling apart around them he managed to look pulled together though the beard was back. She wasn’t complaining. She had secretly loved it when they’d been running. 

“Come on.” He reached his hand to her and slid his fingers around hers.

“I’m…”

“Coming with me. When did you eat last?”

She reluctantly allowed him to pull her to her feet. She swayed a little, lightheaded from lack of sleep, too much caffeine and not enough food. “I ate…” she glanced back at the the desk and saw nothing but a long cold cup of coffee. “What time is it?”

Steve reached down and swung Nat into his arms. “Almost 2 am.”

She punched half heartedly at his chest. “Put me down, I’m not a virgin bride on her wedding night.��

Steve snorted. “You are many things, but a virgin isn’t one of them.”

“We are not discussing my sex life at 2 am. We can discuss yours though.”

He looked down at her through his lashes as he booted a door open. She blinked at the bright lights. “Ha. Very funny Natasha.”

He gently set her on a couch and then vanished behind it. She could hear things rattling in the kitchen, the clink of silverware and the beep of a microwave. She knew these were his quarters despite only being in them a few times. A pair of weights rested against the tv stand. A sketch pad lay on the coffee table. She picked it up and idly leafed through it, stopping in shock when she came across a portrait of herself. Did she always look so…heartsick?

“It’s not polite to rummage through people’s things.” Steve’s voice jarred her from her contemplation and he plucked the sketch pad from her fingertips and handed her a mug of something hot and delicious smelling. She wrapped her cold fingers around the mug and let the steam trickle across her face. He sat down on the opposite end, tossing the sketch pad back onto the coffee table, a mug in his own hands. She studied him as he stared into the mug as if it held the answers they desperately needed. She shivered in the air conditioning, he kept his room far cooler than she did her own. Steve noticed and pulled her to him, tucking her small frame under his arm. She marveled in the heat pouring off his body as she sipped.

“Since when does Captain America cook?”

Steve shot her a dirty look. “Captain America isn’t here Natasha. Hard to be a hero when there is no one to save. But Steve learned to cook because he hated how fast food tasted. This is actually one of the only things I remember from…before.”

Green eyes found blue. “Before?”

“Before the…before I became Captain America. First my ma and then Bucky would make it. He’d make me drink it to try and help me put on weight. To give my immune system a chance to fight off whatever I was sick with at the time.”

“Are you trying to fatten me up?”

Steve laughed and it sounded rusty, unused. “You could use the calories Nat.” He grazed her cheek with his fingertips, calluses catching on smooth skin. 

She gulped a large mouthful of the soup, knowing the heat in her belly was from something far more primal. She leaned her head against his chest, both of their heartbeats echoing in her ears. He set his own now empty mug down and slid his fingers through her hair. She sighed involuntarily as she snuggled in next to him. 

Natasha was not used to this kind of physical contact. There was something deeply intimate about it. She finished the soup off and leaned up to put it on the table. She went to stand and Steve caught her hand. She glanced back at him.

“Nat.” Steve’s eyes were focused on her in a way that made her feel stripped to the core, naked except emotions. “Say my name. Not Cap. My name."

“Steve?”

“Stay.”

“Stay?”

“Stay. Here. With me. Please.”

She paused but nodded once. Twice. Allowed him to pull her back into his arms. Settled not next to him, but in his lap, his strong arms around her waist. She found herself tucked against his chest, his chin in her hair. She reached up and gently stroked the bare skin at his throat where his beard ended. 

Steve let out a ragged breath, tensing under the feeling of her fingertips. She slid them down the sides of his neck, felt the pulse hammering under his hot flesh, matching in tempo to her own.

“Nat…” 

Before she could think better of it, she moved from in his lap to straddling him. Her thighs slid on either side of his hips, her hands up his chest to cradle his face as she slanted her mouth down over his. After a fraction of a second, Steve’s hands encircled her waist to slide down to grip her hips. He groaned into her mouth as she broke the kiss only long enough to breathe. 

“Steve..” Her lips barely apart from his. Her nerve endings felt like they were on fire, for the first time since that moment when everything fell apart she felt like she was breathing again. 

His blue eyes stared into her green ones, searching her face. He ran his broad hand over her cheek before fisting it in her hair. He pulled her back down to him, this time his mouth capturing hers. 

Time passed. Minutes, hours, neither of them were sure. All they knew was each other.

“I like you in my shirt.” Steve breathed, his pupils blown so wide with lust that he almost lost all the blue. 

Nat’s bottom lip was kiss and bite swollen and her cheeks flushed as she laughed. Her nimble fingers made quick work of his shirt and she shoved it off his shoulders and groped for the bottom of his under tank. “I like you better out of yours.”

He arched a blonde brow as he obliged her, allowing her to strip him to the waist. “Been spying on me?”

She admired him before she leaned to bite at the tender skin where his neck met his shoulder and then licked it when he hissed. “I’ll never tell my secrets.”

He grinned boyishly at her before yanking at her shirt, popping it open and sending buttons clicking across the floor. “Hot damn Nat…” he openly stared at her lush breasts barely held back with red silk and lace. “You’re beautiful.”

She silenced him with another kiss but squealed when he moved and flipped her onto her back and under him. He kissed his way down her neck and over the top of her breasts, watching her pale flesh respond to his touch. She arched her back, trying to press closer to him. He slid his hand behind her back and slid the hooks free and pulled the bra from her. 

“Jesus Christ Nat.” 

“Steve. Language.”

He shot her a dirty look before taking his revenge by slowly tracing her nipple with his fingertips and then his tongue.

Natasha swore, first in Russian and then in English as her body screamed for more. She grasped for his jeans, his belt. 

“Not here…” he panted. He staggered to his feet and pulled her back into his arms. Cradled against his bare chest, Nat found herself carried into his bedroom and the two of them collapsed on the bed in a tangle of limbs. Steve kicked off his boots as Nat went to work on his belt and then he stripped off his jeans. Nat leaned back to admire him. He was literal perfection from the hard planes of his chest muscles to the slick curves of his biceps to the sharp v that his hips made. Steve gave her a wicked grin as her eyes lingered on the already hard length at the apex of his thighs. He pushed her back onto her back and made quick work of sliding her leggings off and tossing them to the side.He knelt at the edge of the bed and cupped her heels before tracing a slow path up the insides of her legs with his rough fingertips. He slid next to her, his tongue sliding over her lips until she opened her mouth to him as he pressed a finger into her hot, wet heat and his thumb on her clit. She moaned his name as he added a second finger and scissored them apart before dragging back back out. Her hand wrapped tight around him, barely able to touch fingers. 

“Natasha…You keep that up and I’m not going to last.”

“It’s the end of the world Steve. We’ve got nothing but time.”

“That’s not all we have.” Before she could ask what he meant he moved again, positioning himself above her. The blunt head of his cock pressed right against her. She squirmed, attempting to rush him into her. Instead he slowly sank into her, drawing out every single sensation. Nat actually felt the burn as her body worked to acclimate him. The stretch, the sting was a welcome change to the dulled emotions of recent days. Finally he bottomed out in her and she let out a slow, shaky breath.

“You ok?” He nuzzled her neck.

“You have no idea.”

“I think I have some idea.” He began to slowly roll his hips, pumping his body and sliding deeper and faster as she moaned. The feeling of him pressing against her insides, when he shifted enough to rub his thumb over her clit as it built up inside her. Her body clenched down hard on him, sweat slicking both of their bodies.

“Let go Nat. I’ll catch you.” He rasped.

So she did. And she took him with her.

When their brains kicked back online, he was half collapsed on her. She threaded her fingers through his damp hair and kissed each of his eyelids. He opened them and found her watching him.

“Hi.” She smiled at him.

“Hi yourself.” He smiled and closed his eyes again.

“How long?”

He opened his eyes again and blinked to focus. “What?”

“How long have you wanted that…this?”

He didn’t answer for a moment. “The mall.”

Now it was her time to blink. “What?”

He shifted to move off of her and when she whined, he slid to his side and pulled her into him. He wrapped his arm around her waist, his fingers idly sliding over her lower back. “The mall. When you kissed me on the escalator.”

“All that time?”

“Yes.”

“What about…?” She trailed off.

“I thought you were untouchable. Unattainable. So I tried to distract myself. To hope the feelings would pass.”

“Did they?”

Steve smirked. “I’m here with you now aren’t I?” 

“When you said…we had more than just time…”

He cut her off with a kiss. “We have us Nat. You’re not alone. You never were.”

She smiled into his kiss, forgetting for the moment that the odds were against them and chose to focus on them.

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

@nano--raptor @cchellacat @eurynome827 @jobean12-blog @book-dragon-13 @aesthetical-bucky @marvelgirl7 @sallycanwait68 @buckys-broody-muffin @softpeachbarnes @godofplumsandthunder @azurika-writes @ikaris-whore  @randomfandompenguin @bugsbucky​ @littleredstarfish​ @emilylyoness​ @hailmary-yramliah @daughterofsteven @angrythingstarlight​ @nomadicpixel​ @theycallmebecca​

[devinetheory-2]

I found this unnervingly accurate and fascinating.

Things Narcissists Do When They Think No One Is Looking ..

1 – Go through your personal things

2 – Create numerous dating profiles

3 – Try to get in touch with their exes on social media

4 – Visit websites of very dubious merit. KIK Skype etc.

5 – Try to turn your family and friends against you

6 – Plant spyware on your devices or install hidden cameras etc.

7 – Sabotage your finances

8 – Spy on you

9 – Flirt with your best friend (or even your adult children)

10 – Plan secret rendezvous with their side-supply

11 – Hoover old sources of supply (a.k.a., their exes)

12 – Pave the way for their next relationship

If you’ve been in a relationship with someone you suspect is a narcissist, there has likely come a time when you developed a burning desire to know the things narcissists do when they’re by themselves.

If we’re to be sophisticated about it, we must consider that like other citizens of society, they engage in activities that are conducive to maintaining a certain level of livelihood.  Things like going to work, having their cars serviced, and going to doctor’s appointments.

But apart from those harmless undertakings, things turn rather bleak.

Narcissists rarely ever admit to it, but all your worst fears regarding your relationship are playing out just underneath the radar of your awareness.

You know that ever-present, vague sense of dread you have in the pit of your stomach, wondering if they’re lying or telling the truth?  That’s your intuition, which can cause physical sensations in the body.

Our “gut feelings” are called that for a reason — research suggests that emotion and intuition are very much rooted in the “second brain” in the gut.  In fact, Michael Gershon, professor and chair of pathology and cell biology at Columbia, says, “The gut can work independently of any control by the brain in your head—it’s functioning as a second brain.  It’s another independent center of integrative neural activity”.

But don’t take my word for it.  You can read all about it on Psychology Today in an article titled, Your Backup Brain.

My job here is to give you a breakdown of what the narcissist in your life – employing very specific techniques of psychological depravity – does when they think no one is looking. Hidden secrets that would literally bring you to your knees…

Here, I map out thirteen of the most common things narcissists do when they think no one is looking.  The possibilities on this topic are endless, but the following is a sampling of the ones I’m most familiar with, some of which I personally experienced. 

Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Things Narcissists Do When They Think No One Is Looking ..

1 – Go through your personal things

Narcissists are constantly doing things that they will eventually be confronted with.  Therefore, they spend inordinate amounts of time trying to dig up the most minuscule piece of incriminating evidence against you so that they will have ammunition when they are finally caught.

Many times, what they find “incriminating” is just a figment of their imagination or something entirely fabricated.  For example, I used to work in the banking industry for years before I left to become a teacher and, later, to create this space for narcissistic abuse recovery.

As a bank employee, I wore suits which required me to wear pantyhose.  One day, I accidentally tore a hole in a pair of them and discarded them in the trash.  My ex, during his regular “dirt diving” practice, found them and confronted me with them, accusing me of having been unfaithful.

Of course, he was entirely wrong, but you can probably imagine how it turned out.

Long story short, narcissists engage in sneaky, underhanded behaviors every day. In many cases, they think other people are like them, but just better at hiding it.  In others, they simply want to have something to throw in your face when you discover they’re still doing ‘that thing’ they promised you they would stop doing.

A general exception to this shady practice is the cerebral narcissist, who uses their intelligence to lord over others.  They think most people are simpletons who don’t have anything interesting going on in their lives, except, of course, other academics and scholars whom the cerebral narcissist is insanely jealous of.

2 – Create numerous dating profiles

Not all narcissists cheat, but most of them do.  The ones who don’t tend to be of the “cerebral” ilk and simply do not enjoy having intimate relations with other people.

But if the narcissist you know is attractive, extroverted, and likes being the center of attention, it is very likely they are doing things you would be horrified to learn about.

To the narcissist, seducing people is another tool for manipulation, control, exploitation, and destroying the self-esteem of their partner(s).  In most cases, there’s serial cheating, withholding affection, degrading requests, verbal assaults, and addiction to off-color websites.

Or, on the opposite end of the spectrum, they’re so skilled in the bedroom that their partners often stay in the abusive relationship because they’ve never had it so good, which creates a twisted dynamic leading to self-loathing, guilt, and shame.

At any rate, narcissists have a track record of being serial cheaters.  This explains why they generally have their cell phones on lockdown, leave the room when certain calls come in, and are oddly obsessed with a text exchange as you’re sitting down to dinner during your anniversary.

If you’ve caught them doing this, don’t be fooled by their seeming attempt to earn back your trust.  It doesn’t matter if they let you go through their phone if they’ve secured a secret line behind your back.

If it feels weird, you’re probably onto something.  Don’t ignore your gut on this one.

3 – Try to get in touch with their exes on social media

Imagine this scenario.  You’re sitting at your work desk and decide to call your partner (whom you suspect is a narcissist) to check in and get a feel for how things are going.  They seem fairly friendly and the two of you make plans for dinner and a movie that night.  You hang up feeling relieved and begin to think your recent arguments were probably just normal relationship issues.  You feel slightly elated thinking about how the evening will unfold.

The narcissist, however, hangs up and goes back to liking their ex’s Facebook and Instagram photos.  The two of you have been arguing a lot lately (due to their relationship crimes), so they have to line up another source or two of narcissistic supply to have as a backup for when you finally come to your senses and give them the much-needed boot.

Moral of the story?  Never trust that the narcissist will be a decent person.  Ever.

4 – Visit websites of very dubious merit.

Webcam sites, porn, KiK, Snapchat, Tubmblr etc.

Since the media powers-that-be are now filtering and blocking certain terms and phrases, I am unable to express the exact terminology I’d like to use here, but, suffice it to say that many narcissists, when alone, spend hours on various websites of very dubious merit.

Sites that would break your heart and devastate you for weeks on end if you’re in a romantic relationship with them.

If you have discovered your narcissistic partner has been visiting such sites, you can bet with 99% certainty that he or she also has online dating profiles and is probably hooking up with other people behind your back.  At the very least, they are likely engaging in things via the internet with people they’ve met online that would make you feel unwell.

5 – Try to turn your family and friends against you

Contrary to popular belief, the narcissist’s smear campaign doesn’t begin just after your breakup.  In many cases, it’s been alive and well for some time.  You just weren’t aware of it.

The reason everyone now runs in the opposite direction from you or, at the very least, looks at you with a raised eyebrow, is that the narcissist has been smearing your reputation since before the relationship even ended.  The two main reasons for this are:

All relationships are doomed in the narcissist’s mind and they want to get a running start on assassinating your character.

They assume you will vent to people in your shared social circle and want to ensure they cut you off at the pass so you will look unstable when you muster the courage to start talking about your experiences.

These actions are to preserve the false image they’ve portrayed all along.  Unfortunately, they’re often very successful at doing this.  If your friends or family have suddenly started pulling back or questioning your judgement, the narcissist has likely planted the seeds of doubt in their minds.  If they openly side with the narcissist when you begin sharing your relationship struggles, it’s time to start whittling down your inner circle.

6 – Plant spyware on your devices or install hidden cameras in your shared residence

This can happen a few different ways.

If you’re dealing with a narcissist, don’t assume they aren’t smart enough to track you using your devices.  I’ve seen this assumption come crashing down around people’s ankles more times than I’d like to admit.

One common method that abusers use to legally track you is by using the geolocation services built into all smartphones; if you know, or can guess, the password to someone’s cloud account, you can follow their movements via the software designed to find lost or stolen phones that comes installed on many devices.   Many times, the abuser sets up a cloud account for the person they want to track, giving them full access to their target’s location at any moment.

If you suspect you’re dealing with a narcissist, don’t accept a phone from them that they’ve set up for you using their cellular account.  If you do, you can assume they’ve set it up to track you.

Another way abusers can keep tabs on you is by installing spyware on your electronic devices.  Some of these spyware can be installed remotely.  It’s somewhat more difficult to install spyware this way than it used to be, but it still happens.

Most spyware is designed to track not only your location but also monitor your calls, voicemails, texts, and emails – and even watch you using the camera on your device.

7 – Sabotage your finances

I’ve lost count of the number of people I’ve worked with in my coaching practice who’ve been financially devastated because they gave in to the narcissist’s seemingly genuine requests to give them access to their accounts.make you feel unwell.

They may have loaned you money or paid for a big-ticket item at some point to make you believe they are generous, but it was only to instill in you a sense of obligation in preparation for the debilitating shaft you’d get from them later.

Another scheme that falls into this category is their asking for your support while they are unemployed. These schemes are all designed to “break the seal” in the area of financial matters so they can take shocking liberties later, such as:

Getting loans in your name

Taking out a second mortgage on your home without your knowledge

Not paying IRS taxes, resulting in your possible confinement in jail

Expecting you to pay for everything while they save their own money for themselves

Forcing you to get all the utilities and insurances in your name so you’ll have to pay for them all

…and so on and so forth.

If you’ve been having problems in your relationship and believe your partner is a narcissist, it would be in your best interest to avoid mingling your finances in any way.  If you already have, start a secret account and begin adding money to it whenever you can.  Have your statements delivered to a family member’s address.

Prevent narcissistic financial abuse early by stashing away money when you can and refusing to put your name on any legal documents with them.

8 – Spy on you

We already covered spyware and tracking apps that narcissistic abusers can use to keep tabs on your whereabouts in #6.

However, many narcissists will literally stalk you so they can see what you do when they’re not with you.

While legal definitions of stalking vary from one jurisdiction to another, a good working definition of stalking is unwanted or obsessive attention by an individual toward another person through the carrying out of behaviors intended to frighten, distress the victim, and/or instill a sense of guilt and hopelessness in the victim (which often leads to learned helplessness).  Stalking behaviors are related to harassment and intimidation and usually include following the victim (in person) and monitoring them.

According to Lamber Royakkers, author of The Dutch Approach to Stalking Laws (California Criminal Law Review 3, October 2000):

“Stalking is a form of mental assault, in which the perpetrator repeatedly, unwantedly, and disruptively breaks into the life-world of the victim, with whom they have a current relationship or a recent one. Moreover, the separated acts that make up the intrusion cannot by themselves cause the mental abuse, but do taken together (cumulative effect).”

Disruptions in daily life that are necessary to escape a stalker can include changes in employment, residence, and phone numbers.   Many targets of stalking have had to move to another country and basically go into hiding.

Many of my coaching clients have been stalked by their narcissistic partners.  Stalking behaviors carried out by narcissists can include:

Constant texts, emails, and phone calls

Frequent, unwanted deliveries of gifts, cards, and flowers

Constantly driving by your home

Showing up at your place of employment or favorite hangout

Spreading rumors or publishing personal information about you on social media

Cyberstalking

Using social media to follow and friend your social media followers and friends in order to keep an eye on you

Installing spyware on your computer or cell phone

Finding out about you by using public records or online search services, hiring investigators, going through your garbage, or contacting friends, family, neighbors, or co-workers

Using technology, like hidden cameras or global positioning systems (GPS), to track where you go

Threatening to hurt you, your family, friends, or pets

Stalking is often mistaken as hoovering in that once a source of supply expresses a desire to end the relationship, the narcissist refuses to give up their power by forcing themselves into the victim’s world through harassing, following, and monitoring.

Stalking is a common behavior of narcissists when a source of supply tries to initiate No Contact.  When stalking begins, the victim typically has a clearer picture of what kind of person the narcissist is…which is why they want to go No Contact in the first place.

If you believe you are being stalked, you should avoid downplaying the issue as it will only get worse over time.  You may have to take protective measures to secure your sense of peace, privacy, and security.

9 – Flirt with your best friend (or even your adult children)

When it comes to narcissistic cheaters, no one is off-limits.  In fact, narcissists often derive a twisted sense of accomplishment if they can get your loved one interested in them, like your best friend or adult child.

So, imagine you’re at work and it’s the narcissist’s day off.  You think everything is relatively calm and feel a spark of emotional safety.  Then, you get a call from your best friend and they give you the very unsettling news that the narcissist has made a pass at them.

If you’re best friend is truly loyal, they will tell you about this the moment it happens.

But in some cases, the flirting continues while remaining a secret.  Maybe your friend has experienced a string of failed relationships.  Or they’ve recently gone through a difficult divorce.  Vulnerability makes a person a prime target in the narcissist’s mind and this may well include your best friend.

My best advice?  Never trust the narcissist alone with your friends or family members.

10 – Plan secret rendezvous with their side-supply

Speaking in very general terms, when a narcissist has an out-of-town trip planned, whether for work or for their third cousin’s wedding, there is a strong likelihood that they will meet their side supply there or even take him or her with them.

Narcissists are creatures of economy and rarely pass up an opportunity to groom supply.  In fact, the narcissist could well be dubbed The Constant Gardner because they are perpetually trolling for and grooming new targets, even though they always have a main source of narcissistic supply.  Furthermore, they are continuously ending relationships for various reasons, especially with those who require a lot of “maintenance” (i.e. normal human interactions) or have stopped giving them money or other fringe benefits.  Therefore, they must fill in the gaps left by those they’ve discarded by securing new supply sources.

Those work trips the narcissist always goes on?  They could very well be genuine, but don’t be surprised when the new supply calls you, asking who you are and what you’re doing calling the narcissist!

11 – Hoover old sources of supply (a.k.a., their exes)

Narcissists typically don’t let go of their exes completely (unless their exes completely let go of them).  They’ve been known to contact old flames out of the blue, sometimes as long as ten years post-breakup!

Not all narcissists do this, but most do.  When a person has passed the litmus test for being “good supply”, narcissists literally can’t help themselves and will often reach out in an attempt to resurrect old relationships (albeit, one-sided ones).

This explains why you may have noticed how the narcissist in your life likes to remain “friends” with their exes or wants you to be friends after your relationship has ended.

It gives them an ‘in’ if they ever need to cycle back around.

12 – Pave the way for their next relationship

You’ve probably read a hundred times how narcissists leave relationships and then swan dive right into a new one.

Maybe this happened in the aftermath of your own relationship with a narcissist.

The main reason this happens is because narcissists don’t bond with people.  Not romantically, not traumatically (at least, not for them), nor matrimonially.  We from these bonds with narcissists, but they are not able to form emotional bonds with us due to their true lack of empathy and inability to attach to others.

Another reason narcissists are able to form relationships so quickly is that, any many cases, the relationship isn’t so new.  If you’ll remember from earlier, narcissists are always combing for fresh sources of narcissistic supply.  Because of this, most narcissists are perpetually in various stages of relationship with other people, from the shiny, newbie supply to those who are enduring varying levels of the narcissistic abuse cycle.

Therefore, when they showcase the new supply on their social media accounts, it’s usually not someone they’ve just met, though narcissists are often very skilled in making it appear so.

13 – Emotional abuse of partners and spouses

If you’ve ended a romantic relationship with a narcissist, you probably saw them out and about, loving up on the new partner and seemingly having the best time of their life.  You see them flashing an engagement ring on social media and sending out ‘save the date’ notifications, broadcasting how silly in love they are and giggling about how they feel like a couple of teenagers.

Your first reaction might be to (stunningly) wonder what this new person has that you don’t.  Just maybe, the narcissist had been right about you all along.  Perhaps you really ARE the reason your relationship with them didn’t work out.

Then, you feel completely disabled by the seeming about-face the narcissist has made with the new supply, sending you into a depression so deep you can barely get through the day.

This is just another phase of the narcissistic abuse cycle and applies to you the same as it does everyone else.  The narcissist you know is no different from the others.  As personal and unique as it all may feel, it’s just another blueprint narcissistic manipulation.

When you see this happening, it’s crucial not to take it personally.  This is one of the narcissist’s favorite times, when they are love-bombing new supply while simultaneously making you feel like discarded trash.  The narcissist can’t help but gloat over how they’re able to make you feel emotionally destroyed, left to pick up the pieces while they’re off living their life as though your history together means nothing.

What you’re not thinking about is how the new supply will be subject to the same emotional abuse that you’ve endured.  There are no exceptions to this.  Don’t listen to the new trend of so-called professional advice which states that narcissists are only abusive towards YOU because your personality is incompatible with theirs, which is on my list of ‘Stupid Sh*t Therapists Say’.

Narcissists are abusive towards everyone.  Regardless of status, ethnicity, intelligence, religious beliefs, or how tiny their waist is.  The new supply simply won’t be spared, unfortunately.

Dealing with a narcissist

Healing From the Trauma of Narcissistic Abuse

It’s absolutely crucial to come to terms with the unsettling things narcissists do when they think no one is looking so you can make educated decisions for your future and your wellbeing.

Don’t let yourself fall into a false sense of security because the narcissist knows what to say to soften your defenses and make you doubt your judgement.  Pay attention to patterns because patterns don’t lie.

With the right support, you’ll be shocked how amazing it feels when you can flourish on the other side of abuse and heal your life in ways you never

[blitheringmcgonagall]

I'm not sure did you get this ask from me already but I just read your headcanon of Sirius developing psychotic and the links to trauma and i wondered could you explain.but is it actually true? seems genius for canon if yes

Hi anon, I’m so happy to answer this and sorry if it’s taken me a while! In We Can Be Heroes  (SPOILERS IF YOU ARE READING IT!) my canon marauders fic, I headcanon Sirius as developing some psychotic symptoms towards the end of the First Wizarding War. I am going to answer this in detail because it is important, in case anyone finds themselves with any of these symptoms.

The answer to your question is yes! Multiple cognitive and biological models have been proposed to explain the relationship of childhood trauma to psychosis.

To explain this:

Psychotic symptoms like hearing voices, are relatively common and don’t necessarily mean you are mentally unwell. Auditory hallucinations (hearing things when nothing is there) are common in teenagers i.e. 7-12%. But as you get older, they are more likely to be associated with a mental illness. 

A  psychotic episode is much less common, and causes you to completely lose touch with reality. If you are psychotic you generally (not always) experience symptoms in 3 areas:

Hallucinations - i.e. someone sees, hears, smells, tastes or feels things that do not exist outside their mind.

Delusions - where a person has an unshakeable belief in something untrue, e.g. a person with persecutory delusions may believe an individual or organisation is making plans to hurt or kill them.

Difficulties thinking - e.g. cannot concentrate, unable to think clearly, other people may not understand what they are trying to say.

Having a history of early trauma almost triples the risk for psychotic experiences:

 The role of interpersonal trauma, specifically, may be to predispose to a "paranoid" world view. The experience of early trauma can lead to negative beliefs about the self, world, and others such as "I am vulnerable," "Others can't be trusted," and "the world is dangerous." These kinds of beliefs have been shown to be associated with psychosis.

Early chronic stress associated with childhood trauma such as neglect or abuse also causes chronic exposure in the developing brain to stress hormones which causes changes in the expression of certain proteins in your genes (called epigenetic changes) and specifically affect dopamine and glutamate (brain chemicals) nerve pathways in the brain, which are associated with the development of psychosis.

Attachment is the emotional bond that forms between infant and parent/caregiver, which then becomes the basis of future social, emotional, and cognitive development. Disorganized attachment, which is the most unhealthy attachment style, occurs when an attachment figure offers inconsistent emotional support and/or abuse. The small child learns that the attachment figure (who they love and who is responsible for their safety) is also someone to be feared. They are in a horrible situation.

Later, especially in romantic relationships, people with this style of attachment often feel fear and anxiety when forming intimate relationships and suffer from a very low self esteem and extremely damaging self-talk. They pull away, see signs of rejection where none exists. They act in ways that protect themselves from rejection and pain. Their often erratic behavior — like being overly trusting then suddenly suspicious, or being happily responsive then withdrawing at a moment's notice - can be very hard on a partner, and may cause them to walk away. 

There is some research on the types of voices heard by people with a history of early trauma - the voices sound malevolent, all-powerful etc (makes total sense)

Exposure to war is also a risk factor for psychosis (makes perfect sense). 

So, to come back to Sirius - he has the history of childhood trauma, you don’t run away forever from a loving family (in my and many people’s headcanons, emotional abuse and physical abuse), he is at war, he starts to develop some psychotic symptoms. He is starting to believe Remus is the spy (paranoid delusions) but doesn’t fully believe it. He is at high risk of developing a full-blown psychotic illness. 

PS both cannabis use in teenage years and childhood trauma are significantly associated with risk of psychosis. However, the presence of both childhood trauma and early cannabis use significantly increased the risk for psychotic symptoms beyond the risk posed by either risk factor alone, so please be extra careful if you have a history of early trauma and want to use cannabis!!!

And btw, people with disorganised attachment are at much, much higher risk of developing Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD). Personally I also headcanon Sirius as having features of BPD. I also headcanon Remus as having similar difficulties (emotionally) to children who live with chronic, painful illnesses.

If anyone is interested, I can do a spiel about these too?

(Poor anon, WTF...)

[thepaperpanda]

Naughty Sister || Alfie Solomons x Shelby!reader

Summary: You're a younger sister to Shelbys and you happen to be in love with Alfie. How it's going to end when your brothers catch you during intimate moments with Solomons?

Warnings: slight smut

Words: 2262

Request by: @shelby-maybe

Authors: Cass & Rouge

This was another family meeting, Tommy knew you hated them but there was no way out. You were part of the family so you had to be there.

"... I hope everything will go just as I planned, John. If not, Arthur will do something about it," Tommy muttered, looking at his brother, then his eyes traveled to Polly and you.

You were sitting right next to your aunt, looking curiously at the empty wall on your left. It was obvious that your mind was far beyond the walls of Shelby's house.

"I just hope Y/N here remember what I told her!," Tommy said loudly, hitting the table with his hand to get your attention.

"I guess Y/N took her mind on the vacations, Tommy," John said with a soft laugh, Arthur joined him soon.

"I can see that," Tommy said with a frown. "Mind to tell me what's so fucking interesting in this empty wall, sister?"

You blinked few times trying to bring your thoughts back. "Sorry, brother, I got a little distracted. I don't feel too well today as well," you rubbed bridge of your nose avoiding his glance. "Would you let me go back to the bedroom, I think that a little nap would help me get on tracks again," you asked politely.

Polly raised her hand up. "No, Y/N, it's not a time for napping. Focus on what your brother's saying, it's important," woman snorted and poked your knee.

"Listen to your aunt, girl. This isn't another tea party with your friends," Tommy said pointing at you.

"Exactly, those are bloody important things and you are away or suddenly don't feel well. It ain't the first time, and don't worry it'll over soon, you will be fine," Arthur added and Tommy nodded.

"Maybe she's gonna be on her period, eh," John joked openly and you showed him your middle finger. "Fuck you," you snorted at him and crossed legs nicely. "Go on then. Let's end this as soon as possible."

"Or maybe she is pregnant!," Arthur said and laughed.

"Naaah! Our little sister is too good for boys," John giggled, teasing you.

Tommy smiled softly and shook his head. "Okay, let's finish it so our princess can get her beauty sleep," he said before continuing the meeting. There wasn't much to talk about, you had to stay low when everyone else had their stuff to do.

After the meeting, Arthur looked at you as you were leaving the house. "I thought you said you don't feel well and now you are running off?," He asked in disbelief.

You looked at him above your shoulder and smiled. "It passed, I feel better now" you shrugged and looked at your reflection in a mirror hanging on the wall. You put lipstick on and checked if you looked nice. "Dont wait at me, I'll be long."

Arthur blinked and shrugged, looking at his younger brother.

"She left as soon as the meeting ended, suddenly she feels well? I don't like it," Tommy muttered, lighting his cigarette up. "If such a situation will ever happen again, I am afraid we will have to follow her."

"I can gladly follow Y/N. I bet our little sister is hiding something," John added slipping head to the room and looking at Tommy. "I can spy on her."

"For now we will observe her. Let's just hope our little sister didn't put herself in any trouble. I will inform boys, maybe they will notice something," Tommy said, looking at his brothers.

John pecked his lips nodding eagerly. "Good idea, Thomas."

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

You were bending over the wooden desk, playing with lock of your hair.

"I couldn't stop thinking of you today, even my brothers noticed something ain't right."

"Don't you think it's kinda risky to come here after something like this?," Alfie asked, looking at you. "You brothers are fuckin' crazy, they are going to rip my balls off as soon as they see you with me," he muttered. "This was fuckin' stupid, pet, but I am glad you are here."

You sat on the desk and looked at him. "Alfie Solomons are afraid of my brothers, something new," you teased him a little. "Come here," you reached hand out to him.

"My balls are fuckin' important to me, love. So don't be surprised I am kinda worried about fuckin' Shelbys," Solomons said and grabbed your hand, pulling you on his laps. "I am the one that gives orders here."

"Yeah, you are until I'm sucking your cock," you reminded him kissing his jaw. "And ya know, I like playing with fire," you reached to his belt and unbuckled it. "And well, your balls are also important to me."

"Oh, are they now, pet? Well, we will see how talkative you will be with my cock shoved down your fuckin' throat, little Shelby," Alfie said with a smile on his lips, pushing you down on your knees.

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

The whole situation with you kept repeating few times, you were excusing yourself or boldly sneaking out of the house on a daily bases. It was annoying everyone but especially Tommy, he never could reach you when you were needed because you were gone.

Finally, he had enough of your ridiculous behavior. "We are going to follow her, I am so fuckin' done with her sneaking out. Every fuckin' day," Tommy muttered, looking at Arthur.

Older Shelby nodded slowly. "I think it would be the best thing to do, if we truly want to find out where our little sister is sneaking out," he said.

Tommy nodded grabbing his coat. "Oi! John, you commin'?," He asked, putting on the coat.

Younger brother yawned. "Me? Of course I go! I wouldn't want to miss the drama!"

"Let's hope it won't be a fuckin' drama," Arthur said and followed his brothers.

Men followed you carefully, making sure to not alert you of their presence what so ever.

"Oh, you are fuckin' kiddin' me?," Tommy growled, seeing you entering Solomons' place.

You looked around before stepping into bakery. "Alfie!," You called happily. "Where are you, darling?"

As soon as you vanished into the building, John crossed arms over his chest. "Well, well, that's something unexpected, at least to me, guys," younger Shelby said openly rubbing back of his head. "What are we going to do now, eh?"

"Well, what do you think, eh?," Tommy said frowning. "We are goin' inside."

Arthur nodded. "I will rip this jew's head off if he ever touched her."

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

"The same place as always, lady," one of the workers poked you, pretty annoyed. Everyone was used to you being here every day. "In his office."

You thanked politely and sent man a grin. Grabbing hems of your dress in hands you ran towards Solomons' office and stepped in without knocking. "Good day, mate," you whispered.

Alfie looked from some papers he had on his desk and smiled at you. "Good day to you as well, pet. Is everything okay, you got here earlier than usual?," He said, getting comfortable in his chair. "Missed me?"

You walked to hip with a certain swing in your hips only to take a seat on his lap. "Well," you looked at the ceiling, pretending to be thinking. "Yes. I missed my man so fucking much that I skipped my violin classes to meet him, innit romantic, my love?"

Alfie laughed nodding. "Oh, so fuckin' bad, girl. What happened to this little innocent girl I once met?," He joked, looking at you.

You stroked his cheek with your thumb. "You spoiled me, Alfie," you said as your impatient hands started to unbuckle his leather belt.

"Well, then I think I will have to teach you a fuckin' lesson, you brat," Alfie said watching your hands. "Eager as always, go on, little one."

You got off his lap only to kneel between his legs.

Meantime John and his brothers came to the bakery.

"Where the fuck is she!?," Arthur growled, grabbing one of the working men.

"The office…," Man answered quickly and Tommy nodded. "Let's go, pay Alfie a visit. Shall we, boys?"

"With a fuckin' pleasure, Tom," the oldest Shelby said and went to the office as first, with Tommy and John right behind him.

John was already red on his face. "I sense the drama, Thomas!," He whispered shivering.

Meantime you shoved Alfie's cock deep down your throat humming around the shaft.

Alfie only hummed happily as his hand held your hair tightly, it took him a bit to realize that your brothers actually stood in the same room. "Oh fuckin' shit... The hell you fuckin' idiots do here!?"

"YOU ARE FUCKIN' KIDDING ME!," Tommy yelled while Arthur simply turned on his hill and left the room, probably to not murder you or Alfie on the spot.

You gagged a little and quickly slipped Alfie's out of your mouth. "Tommy.... John...," You whispered with eyes wide opened.

"Yes! Fuckin' us! What the fuck you are doin', sucking off this motherfucker?!," Tommy growled.

"Hey, calm the fuck down, mate," Alfie said.

"No, you fucking shut up, mate, before I decide to decorate walls of your fuckin' office with your own brain. You," Tommy pointed at you. "Get the fuck out of here. Go to Arthur."

You wiped your lips from Alfie's precum and slowly got up on your feet, shaking head like you'd have been saying "no". "I won't go anywhere. I stay here."

Tommy rolled his eyes. "John, please."

John simply nodded and walked to you. He was taller and stronger than you so he easily picked you up, John threw you over his shoulder and walked out with you.

"Now you…," Was all you could hear Tommy saying.

John walked out of the bakery and joined Arthur. "Are you out of your fuckin' mind kid, eh? What the fuck was that?!," Arthur asked.

You struggled with your older brother. "Put me down, coward! Put me fucking down and I'll rip your heart off!," You were screaming.

People who were passing by glared at the sudden situation and chaos.

"I want go back to my man! Put me down, John! I love Alfie! You won't be deciding by me!"

John put you down. "Arthur asked you a question, girl and yes we will. You are Shelby, you won't be meeting someone like this."

"He is right, Tommy will sooner kill him than let you met with him again," Arthur muttered, looking around. "What are you all looking at! Not your fuckin' business," he yelled at people.

"Arthur, brother," you grasped his elbow and looked up at him. "I bet once you were in love, just like me now. Please, don't punish me for listening to my heart. I fell for him and nothing will change it. Listen to me, and if you love me, like your little sister, let me live my life the hell I want."

Arthur looked at you. "Tommy will decide what to do with you, sister," he told you bluntly.

John only laughed quietly. "You fucked up."

After a few minutes, Tommy joined you all. "Fine, ready to go?," He asked simply.

"I ain't going anywhere. I want to go back to Alfie," you stated firmly. "What the hell have you done, brother?"

"Arthur," Tommy muttered.

"Sorry, sis," the oldest Shelby said and picked you up the same way that John did few minutes before.

While you walked, Tommy looked at you. "For now you will sit home, we'll think what to do with your great Jewish love," he muttered. "I guess I will have to talk with aunt about this," he said pulling out the cigarette.

"With Polly? There's nothing to be talked about with her, Thomas!," You growled. "I want to go back to my love."

All three men ignored your whining until you all got home.

Tommy ordered to close you in your room and make sure you won't run away. In the meantime, he went to talk with Polly about the whole situation. Tommy didn't like it even a little but he also couldn't completely close you off.

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

After an hour, Tommy walked into your room.

You were sitting on the floor under the window, knees pulled beneath the chin. Quiet sobs were escaping your mouth.

"You can stop that now, Y/N," Tommy said walking up to you. "I talked with aunt Polly," he informed you.

"And? What? You'll lock me here like a princess in a tower and Arthur is going to play a dragon in this stupid spectacle?!"

"I think you are a bit too old for such metaphors," he chuckled darkly and ruffled your hair. "Better fix this ruined make up and run to your jewish knight."

You blinked. You felt how your blood turned cold within second. "What did you say, Tommy?," You asked frowning.

"Go run to your love," Tommy said with a shrug. "As I said, I talked with Polly. We came to the conclusion that you can be in love and we can benefit."

You grinned and quickly got up from the floor, you rushed to the wardrobe to look for a fresh dress. "I’d say it's awful from your side but I won't complain as long as I can be meeting him. And Tommy. I really love him. He's a good man to me."

"I ain't sure if Arthur would say that. I won't say that eather," Tommy said walking past you.

You shook your head and started getting ready.

It was the very first moment when you felt the sparkle of hope for better tomorrow.

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[killingeveperspectives]

Perspective: Killing Eve Season 3 Retcon – Can a show Retcon itself into a different genre?

Recently, I learned about the term ‘Retroactive Continuity’ and I am pretty proud of it because now it sounds like I know what I’m talking about. Retroactive Continuity, or retcon for the intimate like me, is the addition of new information that changes or reinterprets events/narratives previously established, therefore opening new possibilities for the future. It can correct inconsistencies, change world/character limitations, or allow for a dramatic plot twist. For example, a character previously established as an incurable psychopath goes on an emotional growth journey. Killing Eve got fundamentally retconned season 3 and it changes everything. And I need to talk about it. (Look, it’s been a while I wrote this and re-addressed some points here :) )

Villanelle is not a psychopath anymore, I guess

Villanelle was written explicitly as a primary psychopath meaning she was mainly born this way®. Which is different from a Secondary psychopath, whose emotional developmental arrest is caused by disturbingly severe neglect and abuse in early infancy. The impairments in their brains and psychological development prevents them from thinking and, most importantly, feeling like a regular person do. They have a different subjective experience. Psychopathy is incurable in adults, which sets limitations to character development.

Villanelle can’t empathize, perceives people as objects and is very utilitarian. She doesn’t know how to show people she likes them, and her idea of love is possession. Endearing as she is, this is the character the writers wrote. And this is the character portrayed to us in the show. Villanelle is unapologetically a psychopath. She is remorseless, amoral, derives pleasure from killing, all the better to get paid for it. She is basically a self-indulgent goddess. This is enunciated repeatedly in Season 1. Of course, we are not just told, we are shown. Her face glimmers in every kill with enjoyment and cruelty. She is able to conjure any emotion to manipulate – depicted more terrifyingly with Nadia. She emulates emotions from others to connect with people like depicted in the opening scene. My favorite chilling moment is when she gives the “what it is like to die” monologue to Frank, just to terrify him before killing him. Or this face:

Season 2 dives deeper into her psyche where she tells us how she feels, or better yet, doesn’t. We establish she feels this overbearing boredom and seeks to feel anything, so she collects things (or people, no difference) that make her feel something and these things she cherishes by possessing them. The poverty of emotion is reiterated. Again, we are shown, not only told, time and again. The writers are quite clearly asking us to just accept Villanelle for what she is: a psychopath. Like Jodie Comer said herself during that season: “I think some people are bad and that’s what they are, and I don’t think she should be redeemed.” It felt impossible to make it more established within the narrative and the world building. She is, like all adult psychopaths, incurable. These are the character’s limitations, in a purely storytelling sense.

Then, Season 3 happened. In season 3 Villanelle’s character’s development is irreconcilable with the previous seasons. Much of the character’s limitations were simply erased to give her room to “grow”, starting early with one of my favorite scenes of the entire season:

It was marvelously shot and so symbolic. This time around she is gifting Eve something intimate and safe: a teddy bear. Then we have Villanelle by herself and vulnerable, stripping the layers of her feelings towards Eve, the mask of anger cracking as she tries to convince herself she wanted Eve dead, to finally giving in to longing. Her own words are repeated back at her in a loop in a little booth. It was an admission. The booth, the privacy, the lighting, the acting: It was a confession. More than that: it was a love confession. As if falling in love was something she could now do? I don’t want to entertain the actual nature of her feeling, but this is a level of emotional complexity she is just prohibited of displaying by the character’s limitations. And yet, it happened. And I will argue, all the elements of this scene deliberately lead the audience to believe these were romantic feelings.

But this is foreshadowing, and the major shift in perspective happens in her bottle episode. In this episode we see Villanelle display genuine empathy and care for her brothers, not only by sparing them but by giving them more than enough money to go see Elton John. A bonna fide display of correctly conveyed affection and consideration. Which, again, is prohibited by the characters limitations. Then the episode builds the narrative that her “psychopathy” was the result of her abusive upbringing, especially in the confrontation with her mother, when we are clearly asked to side with Villanelle.

Here is where the show subtly retcons Villanelle’s character. It cleverly never denies she is a psychopath. It retcons her ability to emotionally grow, by shifting the emphasis to childhood trauma. Nevertheless, for Villanelle as a character, the emotional growth is still prohibited – despite of trauma. The sleight of hand is passable because audiences (actually, any empathic human being) find it incredibly hard to grasp that trauma cannot be overcome. That’s why it feels plausible she has a very complex, deeply transforming emotional response to killing her mother, despite still being a psychopath. Because that is a response that feels plausible to us, the audience, despite being inconsistent with what is plausible for the character’s the inner experience of reality.

This shift not only changes all the interpretation of her character that was previously established but also changes all future interactions. Here is where we see Villanelle getting conflicted about killing, not in a utilitarian sense of it being impractical or boring, but in an emotional struggle. She starts to worry about how others perceive her, and specially that she is perceived only as a “monster”, pointing to a development of a moral compass, deeper self-awareness, self-evaluation and ability to feel remorse. This is all not only incredibly far-fetched: it was prohibited. This is a clear break in continuity from the character of previous seasons. However, after S3E05 it feels plausible.

Villanelle is a carefully crafted monster

We are, then, asked to believe that Villanelle was made into a ruthless killer, which logically follow can be unmade. Hence, her past needs to be explored so it can also be somewhat resolved, symbolizing the undoing of her atrocious (but delightfull?) persona “Villanelle” (the distinction between Oksana and Villanelle was useless before and should still be. But now it feels like it makes sense). Initially, it was established that her mother died, and she had an abusive drunk father who abandoned her in an orphanage. While I believe there was potential in creating a convincing traumatic abusive background from the established narrative, it may have seemed too unsettling to have a man mistreat an infant, which might explain the writers choice for such through retcon. Transferring the source of the neglect to the mother, might heighten the stakes, since daughters are expected to develop a strong bond and mirror their mothers. Thus, adding depth to their face-off and making her murder more symbolic. Addicionally, a full house – with her mother, stepfather and brothers –would allow Villanelle to flesh out her relationship to family and explore the conflict more thoroughly before confrontation. Despite the symbolic tension, in the end we have no definitive answer to the nature x nurture question, nor to what happened in Villanelle’s infancy, except that the metaphorical darkness may have been passed on from her mother.

Villanelle’s joy in cruelty is the most alienating aspect of her character – also the most gripping – and thus, in order for her arc to be more digestible and relatable, it also needs explicit retconning, which is mostly explored through her relationship with killing. Therefore, her cruelty is also displaced to her abusive upbringing. Most specifically, displaced to another character: Dasha. She is the source of the cruelty transmitted into Villanelle through severe trauma during her teenagerhood, ingeniously avoiding the gravity of discussing infant abuse (Dasha brings a downpour of plot inconsistencies). This is unmistakably conveyed in this scene:

Villanelle was something soft and whole that got broken and reshaped into steel, into a stone cold killer, by external forces. Thus, Dasha is an estranged mother figure from the past who tortured Villanelle into a killer, mirroring the dynamic between Villanelle and her mother. Since there is no clear narrative surrounding her early infancy, and her mother needed to be killed to spark the transformation, Dasha becomes the surrogate through which the conflict of Villanelle’s transformation can be explored. The story doubles its efforts to get the audiences to not only believe Villanelle can change, but also that she deserves to change. And here is where we enter dangerous territory.

 Killing Eve is not a spy-drama anymore, it is a rescue romance

I stand with the writers, Killing Eve was not a romance. Not until Season 3. The topic of how audiences, especially queer fans, perceive the show as a romance is worth a whole essay on its own. However, in Season 3, audiences are treated with a romantic atmosphere (remember the teddy bear scene?). Everything is toned down; the pace is slower and the investigation is put to the side. The cat-and-cat game is replaced with this reinforced sense of destiny, of fate, where characters seamlessly come together, as if all their actions were just leading them up to that moment. Their approach carries no sense of danger, their obsession is replaced with anticipation. Characters stop thinking about each other neurotically, that scrumptious voyeurism is gone. Character’s don’t need to be reminded of each other. There is no need for it anymore, it has been written for them. They will meet each other, no need to pursue.

Gone is also Eve’s curiosity and intrigue about Villanelle, along most of her character’s motivations, with one simple retcon: Eve wants to rescue Villanelle.

To which Eve replies: I don’t think so. Meaning “I believe there is more to Villanelle than killing and I will cling to that” (Why, we don’t know. But that’s for another time)

Previously, despite the irresistible attraction Eve felt for Villanelle, the story never portrayed Eve as trying to redeem her. It was precisely the fact that they are polar opposites that brings them together, each trying to quench a deep hunger through the other, in all the wrong ways. Eve pursues in Villanelle much of her unfulfilled impulses and is challenged to embody them herself. Eve’s never been attracted to what Villanelle might have of redeemable, she was drawn to what Villanelle had of profanely feral. On the other hand, Villanelle longs for the safety and intimacy she sees in Eve but has no way of even comprehending what it means.

This honesty to the character’s true desires and realities is what has allowed the show to explore an enticingly destructive dynamic while avoiding romanticizing it, which would downgrade the show to a disservice. However, ultimately, there is a writer trying to sell a story. And in this case, they are setting up a redemption arc within a romance, despite character desires and realities not aligning with that. But in season 3, Villanelle’s psychopathy got retconned to make her crush on Eve without it being too problematic and Eve’s past season character development got simply blissfully ignored so her crush on Villanelle could flourish without it being too problematic, and in the end, their attraction got stripped away from all it’s complexity and danger so they could bring characters together without it being too problematic. These characters got rewritten to give us the tease of a romance we have seen iterated one million times elsewhere.

The premise of the show was to explore the dangerous temptation to bite the proverbial apple. Still, at some point the tension needs to be resolved, and the writers decided to shift it to a rescue romance. A very slippery slope. A slippery slope to romanticizing disturbingly destructive relationships, to perpetrating the cliché that “Love redeems all”, even psychopaths can change if they have someone who believes in them – not only dangerously dishonest but painfully dull.  As if somehow having your life and your sense of self ruined for a person is some sort of martyrdom to match the person’s redemption itself. What a beautiful pair they would make, cozy in heaven. But damned be the day Killing Eve becomes cozy. While writing the redemption of the serpent and the power of female love despite the obliteration of Eden; they forgot the most delicious part of the story was the apple.

[sodone-withlife]

glass is fragile

Criminal Minds Fic Part Two

| PART 1 | PART 2 |

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings: implied character death

Notes: cross-posted on Ao3. this is the result of a random idea I had because while I love Hotchniss, I love the idea of the two meeting in college and keeping in contact with Hotch being an overprotective brother

fortuna vitrea est; tum cum splendet frangitur  (fortune is glass; just when it gleams brightest it shatters) - Publilius Syrus

“I’ve got five names on the bottom of the list Prentiss gave us,” Morgan said, walking towards the case board. “Luke Renault, Lawrence Riley, Lyla Rafferty, Lyle Rogers, Landon Raines.”

“All with the initials L.R.” Seaver pointed out.

“The CIA uses cryptograms like that to assign non-official cover agents working the same case,” Hotch remarked.

“So do other foreign countries,” Morgan added. “These last five names are covers—spies,” he said, pointing at the document.

“Wait,” Garcia said, taking the document. “No, this isn’t right,” she said, pointing at the page. “Do you see this space? That shouldn’t be here.”

“Could it be a formatting error?” Reid asked.

“No, this is a spreadsheet template,” Garcia answered. “Formatting doesn’t allow for this, there’s a missing name on here.”

“It’s another spy whose cover is L.R.” Hotch said quietly, looking to the elevator and mentally preparing to give the looming long-winded explanation.

“‘Lauren Reynolds is dead,’” Reid said aloud behind him.

“What?” Hotch turned around in shock, having not heard that name spoken aloud in years.

“‘Lauren Reynolds is dead,’” Reid repeated, “Prentiss said that on a phone call seventeen days ago, but her intonation wasn’t surprise or grief, it was like a mantra, like she was reminding herself.”

As Reid continued talking, Hotch pulled out his phone and dialed her number, hoping like hell his hunch about what she's doing is just that—a hunch.

“If Prentiss is the last name on that list, she’s on Doyle’s list, too,” Seaver said.

Hotch followed the sound of a ringtone to Emily’s desk and opened the first drawer. “Guys,” he cut into the team’s discussion, holding the gun and badge she’d left behind out for them to see.

“She left her badge and gun? Why would she do that?” Morgan asked, confused. Hotch placed them back down and grabbed his other phone, pulling up his messages.

<< It’s T, isn’t it.

>>He’s going after us, he’s threatened the others.

<<Blackbird.

<<Where are you?

<<What are you doing?

>>I’m sorry.

“That doesn’t make sense,” Reid turned back to the others, uncomprehending. “Why run? We’re her family, we can help.”

“Doyle’s killing families,” Rossi pointed out in realization. “She’s not married, not close to relatives—”

“Last night, Doyle verbally threatened to kill us,” Hotch said, looking up as his worry for Emily’s safety returned in full force.

“How do you know that?” Morgan asked suspiciously. In response, Hotch held out his phone and played the recording Emily had sent over last night.

“Aaron, Doyle mentioned all of us except you. Why?” Rossi asked, noting the distinct lack of any threat directed at the unit chief. Hotch didn’t answer, looking out through the glass doors towards the elevators. The others followed his line of sight.

“JJ?” Garcia stood up and dashed over to the long-missed blonde, who was standing in the doorway.

“I’ve called the State Department for permission to have someone come over and shed light on Emily’s past. Officially, I can’t tell you anything,” Hotch told the profilers who were staring in shock, “but JJ can.”

~~~

“Okay, so I talked to a friend from Langley, he couldn’t give me Emily’s full CIA history, but he could give me this,” JJ said, turning to the TV screen. “She assumed the identity of Lauren Reynolds as part of a special task force called JTF-12.”

“I heard about them,” Rossi remarked, “They were profiling terrorists, weren’t they?”

“Yeah,” JJ answered. “Assembled after 9/11, CIA and Western agencies contributed their ‘best and brightest’.”

“But serial killers and terrorists have different personality traits,” Seaver pointed out.

“How does Doyle fit in?” Reid asked.

“He was their last case,” JJ said, “and now the JTF is on his hit list.”

“Jeremy Wolff was victim number one, from Germany’s BND,” she began, focusing on the pictures on the screen. “Sean McAlister at Interpol was the second and was the one who brought the JTF in on Doyle. He was murdered last week in Brussels with his wife and daughter,” JJ said softly, flicking a brief look at Hotch, who had squashed down his reaction.

“Tsia Mosely of France’s DCRI—she got engaged to Jeremy earlier this year and fled here when he died,” JJ continued and sent another look at Hotch, who took a breath and steeled himself for the barrage of accusations and questions he was sure to get.

His picture appeared on the screen.

“Hotch?” They turned to look at him in confused shock.

“It wasn’t my prerogative to tell you,” he moved around the table and took the remote from JJ, looking at the other profilers. “None of you had the clearance for this, and there wasn’t time between the numerous phone calls I had to make in order to get JJ back here.”

“I understand you have questions, but we need to focus on Emily,” he said firmly, turning to the screen. “Clyde Easter of the British SIS was the leader. I’ve talked to him over the phone twice and he was in DC last I heard, but I haven’t been able to get a hold of him since Tsia’s murder.”

“You were involved in the Doyle case?” Rossi asked. Are you safe? went unasked but was heard by everyone.

“I’m well aware of the danger I am in,” Hotch said, “but if I’m right, he’s going to be too fixated on Emily to care much about me, though I’ve had precautions in place since we first found out he escaped.”

“Did you ever make any arrests? Maybe that’s why he’s after you?”

“No, the host countries always took care of that and we just moved onto the next case. Given the shadowy nature of terrorist cells, we were mostly involved in infiltration.”

“Who was undercover on Doyle?” Reid asked.

“Emily,” JJ answered.“She posed as another weapons dealer and met him in Boston to get intel on Valhalla.” JJ paused, looking at Hotch apprehensively.

He took over, knowing what she was hung up on. “The recon we did on Doyle included a background on all of his previous romantic relationships, and… ” he trailed off, hesitating, “she’s exactly his type.”

~~~

“Prissy, where the hell are you?”

“Oh, is that worry that I hear, Iceman?”

“Blackbird’s in Boston, isn’t she.”

“Is that a question?”

~~~

“Emily walked into a trap,” Garcia said shakily, pointing at the screen. “It looks like Doyle got into the SUV, but from this angle, you can see that he didn’t, which I wish Boston PD would have told me before I started watching it.” She looked at the others apologetically. “Sorry again for the screaming.”

“She threw a flash-bang grenade into a car,” Morgan said incredulously. “She’s lucky the three people inside didn’t die. Is anybody else bothered by that?”

“Well, three bad guys,” Rossi pointed out.

“Illegal as it is, when you’re dealing with the likes of Doyle, who has nothing to lose,” Hotch said softly, staring into space, “you have to be as ruthless as he is and act the same way.”

“So how did Doyle know she was waiting for him?” Rossi asked.

“Well, the mole must have told him, right?” JJ suggested. “The same guy who’s been feeding Doyle the contractors and agents?”

“And our best suspect was just arrested with a suitcase full of cash,” Seaver said.

“Let me take care of Prissy—Clyde,” Hotch amended when the nickname garnered him strange looks. “The rest of you focus on Doyle’s location.”

“I hate to be the one to ask this,” Garcia hesitantly spoke up, looking to Hotch. “But how long does Emily have?”

He remained silent for a moment. “Doyle saved her for last because she is his stressor—she had an intimate connection with him,” Hotch blew out a breath and focused his gaze on the analyst. “He’ll take his time.”

A horrified silence fell over the group. He stood up, unable to bear the heavy tension and fear, and walked into the jet’s bathroom. He leaned on the counter for support and took a few deep breaths, trying not to spiral into a panic.

“How long have you known Emily?” Rossi asked quietly, having followed behind him.

“Fall of ‘89,” he answered, feeling faint amusement at the older man’s surprise. “Yale; I was an ambitious law school student while she was a goth sophomore student. We saw each other again when I did some work for the Ambassador, then again when JTF was formed. Clyde always referred to me as the overprotective big brother even though she’s a year older than me.”

“Did you know about Emily and…?” Rossi trailed off, unsure as to how he should phrase the question.

“I had my suspicions,” Hotch admitted. “I wasn’t there to see her after she was extracted, but I talked to her afterward, and something was definitely different.”

~~~

“October 2006. ‘In closing, I have never worked with a finer agent than Emily Prentiss. Her skill at analyzing and predicting terrorist behavior is unparalleled.’ Signed, name redacted,” Hotch looked up at the Englishman. “I knew something was off when I read her personnel file those years ago. Buzz words, the like—you sold her to the bureau just like you sold Doyle to the North Koreans.”

Clyde remained silent as Hotch continued to stare at him. “It takes a skilled sociopath to betray his team and the cause he held dear for self-preservation.”

He leaned forward, expression dark. “If anything happens to Emily, I swear I will destroy you, our past history be damned.”

Finally shifting in his spot, Clyde sent an appraising look over Hotch. “You were the best,” he said, “but you’re slipping. I’m disappointed.”

Hotch looked at him dispassionately. “My team and I will get Doyle with or without you. Pack lightly—Guantanamo gets humid.”

He turned away as Clyde chuckled behind him. “Nice try,” the Englishman said, “but I’m curious. If I’m the sociopath, then I should feel no empathy, correct?”

“Oh, you’re not the sociopath,” Hotch corrected him, turning around at the doorway. “Doyle is.”

He carefully looked Clyde up and down. “Weren’t you a better profiler?”

~~~

“Did you know Jeremy sold the list to Doyle?” Hotch asked, sitting across from Clyde.

“I had my suspicions,” Clyde admitted casually.

“So when you got to DC, you couldn’t trust Tsia, either. Emily and I read your doubt as duplicity,” Hotch said, leaning forward. “Emily is in trouble, and you need to help me brief the team on the original profile so we can combine that with who he is now as a serial killer.”

“Aaron, you know that Doyle is going to escape from one of your American prisons as easily as he did in North Korea,” Clyde retorted. “There is no catching that man, you have to put a bullet in his brain yourself.” He looked at Hotch seriously. “You, as an FBI agent, took an oath to protect the laws of your country. Can you break your oath, Agent Hotchner?”

Hotch shook his head, understanding his intent and opting for a different answer.

“I can take one.”

There was a knock on the door, which opened to show JJ. “The British consul’s here,” she told the men.

“Could you tell him I’ll be right out?” Clyde requested, not looking away from Hotch. “I’m consulting with the BAU on a case.”

~~~

The profilers stood around quickly set up table and case boards in the Boston field office, Clyde and Hotch at the head of the table.

“Ian Doyle is a power-assertive psychopath. Highly controlling and very explosive when something doesn’t go as planned,” Clyde informed them.

“Okay, so how does this fit in with who he is as a family annihilator?” Seaver asked.

“And Prentiss’ role in it,” Rossi added.

“Annihilators have a romanticized view of who their family is,” Reid suggested.

“Actually,” Hotch interrupted, “he was an orphan.”

“Well, they think of family as their possession until some law shatters that and starts them killing,” Morgan offered.

“Doyle was never married,” Clyde said.

“Children?” Rossi asked.

“No.”

“You run your profile that he carried out his murders with surgical-like precision,” Reid interjected, holding out a photo of the dead child.

“Yeah.”

“With no collateral damage,” Morgan continued, which Clyde and Hotch confirmed.

Rossi looked up, an idea coming to him. “Perhaps this child was a surrogate for one he had.”

“Say Doyle had a child and you didn’t know about it,” Seaver suggested hypothetically, turning to Clyde. “Is it possible that Prentiss did?”

“Then why would she keep it from me?” Clyde asked as if the idea was inconceivable. Hotch raised an eyebrow and let out a scoff, earning himself a look from the Englishman.

“First name Declan,” Hotch told Garcia, ignoring Clyde. “Adoptive guardian Louise Jones, Doyle’s housekeeper. Emily moved them here to Boston eight years ago and she told me she made sure they’re safe. Anything beyond that, a last name, I don’t know.”

“Declan and his mother went missing seven years ago,” Garcia said, typing rapidly. “Bodies were never found… wait, what’s this?” Multiple pictures popped up on her screen. “God, someone took pictures of them being shot,” she said, horrified.

“Is there an address?” Hotch demanded.

“That looks like a warehouse,” Garcia said as she entered in the specifiers. “It’s gotta be big enough to house a small army. That’s weapons, supplies, let’s see, which means it has its own perimeter…” she trailed off, hitting enter. “1518 Adams Street,” she read from her screen.

“Hold on, look at the photos,” Reid interjected, taking a closer look at the screen.

“It’s black clothing and a hand, Reid,” Morgan said, confused.

“No, look at the fingernails,” he corrected, pointing to the screen.

Garcia let out a gasp as she realized what Reid was talking about. “Oh my god.”

~~~

“Agent Prentiss is the only friendly in the building,” Hotch briefed the listening agents, ballistics vest on. “Rescuing her is our primary objective.”

“Our only advantage here is stealth,” Morgan said. “Once they know we’re on site, there’s nothing to stop them from killing her, so we keep it quiet until we get to her… ”

~~~

“Cut the power.”

~~~

“I got her!”

~~~

“Come on, stay with me!”

~~~

“She never made it off the table.”

~~~

“You really didn’t have to do this.”

“She’s my friend, and so are you. I want to protect her and make sure you don’t fall under this weight.”

~~~

<< Stay safe

>>You too

~~~

“Prissy, where are you hiding out right now?”

“Good to hear from you too, Iceman. The Golden City. oh, and I know she’s alive.”

“Glad to hear your habits haven’t changed a bit.”

~~~

“How are you doing?”

“The others aren’t as mad as I expected.”

“Red tape, writing up report after report for bureaucrat after bureaucrat, they’re more perceptive than you give them credit for. However, I don’t believe I asked about them, I believe I asked after you.”

“I think cleaning up this mess while trying to go about life with an international criminal potentially out for my blood is a fitting punishment for my failings.”

~~~

“I get it. We’re a family, and it’s important that families talk, and holding it in will just make this sick, sad feeling of awfulness more awful,” Garcia said, “right?”

Hotch allowed himself a brief upturn of his lips at her rambling before sobering up. “Internalizing does make it worse,” he agreed.

“I’ll talk, but I don’t want to talk about her being gone,” Garcia said softly. “Can I talk about how she made me smile?”

A pang shot through Hotch’s heart at her hopeful question as he thought back on the close relationship the women had with each other.

“Of course.”

~~~

“The last time I was on a couch like this was when my father left,” Reid mused quietly. “They all thought I needed to talk, but developmentally I wasn’t guided by conscience—I could only reveal what my mother and my teachers told me was acceptable.”

“You told them exactly what they wanted to hear,” Hotch summed up, not showing just how much that hit home. “You don’t have to do that here. Yell, curse at me, whatever you need to do.”

The genius swallowed. “It’s just unfair that she’s gone,” he said, barely holding back tears. “It’s like if we can’t keep each other safe, then why are we even doing any of this?”

Hotch remained silent as Reid continued. “It’s… sometimes I think maybe—maybe Gideon was right, you know. Maybe…” he trailed off, staring into space. “Maybe it’s just not worth it.”

~~~

Morgan sighed, leaning back on the couch. “So I came in here to do what? Talk about losing Emily?” He shook his head when he received no answer. “Strauss put you up to this?”

“The assessment’s routine,” Hotch finally said. “I asked her to let me do it rather than bring in somebody from the outside. Thought it might be preferred, even with my role in this mess.”

“So let me guess—it’s about the five stages of grief,” Morgan let out a breath. “You want to figure out where we all are.”

Hotch looked at him expectantly, remaining silent, much to Morgan’s annoyance.

“All right,” Morgan said, leaning forward and placing his elbows on his knees. “Denial. I’m fine, this can’t be happening to me—well it didn’t happen to me, did it?” he started. “So that rules that out. What else is there—bargaining. Depression. Acceptance. Well, obviously, I haven’t accepted it, otherwise I wouldn’t be in here,” he looked at Hotch. “So where does that leave me?”

“Angry.”

“Angry,” he repeated. “Yeah. Yeah, sometimes I feel like I want to quit my job and spend my time chasing down the son of a bitch who killed Emily. You’re damn right I’m angry,” he declared, anger pouring out of every word before he deflated.

“Sixty seconds,” Morgan breathed out, shaking his head in self-recrimination. “If I had gotten there sixty seconds earlier, Emily might still be with us.”

“Derek, you know that you did everything you could—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I did everything I could. We all did. I know,” he snapped. “What, that’s supposed to make me feel better?”

“You protected each other for years, don’t expect this to go away anytime soon,” Hotch told him.

“This what? This—this guilt?”

“Just because you were the last one there doesn’t mean that you could affect the outcome,” Hotch said. “We all wish we had that kind of control.”

“So what do we do, we just chalk it up to fate?” Morgan looked at Hotch incredulously. “What, I can’t blame anybody? What, this is the will of God? No. I do blame somebody, I blame Doyle.”

At a loss, Hotch remained silent, hiding the guilt that threatened to swallow him in the face of Morgan’s grief.

“Hotch, what am I supposed to do?” Morgan finally asked, voice breaking. “I lost my friend right in front of me, and I’m supposed to go on like nothing happened?” He shook his head, taking in a shuddering breath. “You know, we—we come in here, and we talk to you,” he turned to Hotch and asked, “Where do you go?”

Hotch glanced down as Morgan continued, “Where are you with all this?”

“Same place as you,” the unit chief looked back up, a mutual understanding passing between them. “Wishing she was here.”

~~~

“There are benefits to meeting after hours,” Rossi commented, raising his glass of scotch and taking a drink.

Hotch looked down at his own glass. “You know everybody’s feeling it, and nobody wants to talk about it.”

“It’s too soon, Aaron. You know that better than anyone,” the older profiler sent him a look. “And, uh, doesn’t Strauss usually run these assessments?”

“There was no way that was going to happen,” Hotch said firmly to Rossi’s brief chuckle.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so,” he said, as Hotch took a long drink out of his own glass. “And I also know that you grieve privately. But,” Rossi paused, looking at him solemnly, “you’ve been through more than any of us in a very short time. How are you holding up?”

“I’m all right,” Hotch repeated three words that had become a mantra, briefly glancing at Rossi. “I think it’s an ongoing process,” he said, thinking about the mess he was buried under after the events of the past year.

“This is not my assessment,” he looked at Rossi in reproach, “I’m supposed to be asking how you’re doing.”

A corner of Rossi’s lips briefly tilted up before he looked back down as he thought about what to say. “I’ve always had trouble letting people in,” he began slowly and shook his head. “But this is different. I guess I’ve come to realize… I’m more married to this team than I ever was to three ex-wives.” They shared a brief moment of amusement as his quip.

“It’s been a hard year,” Hotch finally said quietly. “We’ll get through it.”

“Yeah, we will,” Rossi agreed, lifting his glass in a toast. “Emily and Haley.”

Hotch raised his own, the two lapsing into heavy silence.

~~~

I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I’m sorry I’m sorrysorrysorry—

He threw the blanket off himself and got up from where he was laying on the couch to walk over to his desk, glancing out into the dark bullpen as he went. He sat down and started going through the stack of unfinished reports in an attempt to ward off the thoughts that have plagued him since that painful day two months ago.

I’ve failed you, Blackbird.

I hope you’re safe out there.

~~~

“Believe me, everyone who tried to save him that day isn’t going to forget. It’s the day they failed. They’ll ask themselves what they could have done—could they have gotten there sooner? They’ll heal, but it’s going to take time. They’ll move on, but they won’t forget.”

~~~

“Over the next few weeks, each of you is going to be asked if you’d like to stay with the unit,” Hotch informed them.

“Why wouldn’t we?” Reid asked, confused.

“There are other options for you out there,” Hotch answered. “And while I want the unit to stay together, I understand completely if you want to see what the alternatives are. Morgan, there’s renewed interest in you from the New York office.”

Morgan looked surprised. “Nobody’s called me.”

“They will.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m going to go,” he said slowly.

“Oh, I know,” Hotch said evenly.

“Are you staying here?” Seaver asked Hotch.

“It’s my intention to,” but we’ll have to see what happens with Doyle. He felt Rossi’s eyes land on him, knowing that the man would have caught his careful word choice.

Either way, there’s a high chance I’m going to be overseas soon.

~~~

“Has he ever left before us?”

“He technically isn’t leaving—he’s still in danger and doesn’t have the luxury of going into hiding, so he’s been rotating through the Academy dorms.”

“Jack?”

“He’s been staying with the Brooks family. Hotch implemented as many security measures as he could and has been visiting as often as he can.”

~~~

“Hotchner.”

“Hey, it’s me,” Morgan’s voice came over the phone. “How’s it going out there?”

“Got to Pakistan a few days ago, so far long days, some territorial issues to work out, nothing surprising,” Hotch answered, straining to hear Morgan over the helicopters whirring overhead. “How’s everything there?”

“Hotch, we found Declan Doyle.”

“What?”

“Listen, I knew finding the kid was the only way I could find Doyle,” Hotch was silent, mind immediately straying to the potential ramifications. “I know what you’re thinking, man.”

“Is Declan safe?” he finally settled on asking.

“Yeah, he is for now. I’ve had surveillance at his house and his school for a few weeks.”

“Morgan, I didn’t authorize this—”

“I know you didn’t, Hotch, but listen to me. I think Doyle may have found Declan, too.”

Hotch shook his head. “All right, I’m coming back.”

“You want me to wait?” Morgan asked incredulously.

“Morgan, fixated on his son as he may be, Doyle is still incredibly smart and meticulous,” Hotch reminded. “You make sure you have eyes on Doyle from all angles. If you take him alive, keep him under constant surveillance and limit his contact with other people, even if they’re our own.”

~~~

“Prissy, Doyle’s in custody and under constant watch. You can come out of whatever hole you’ve crawled into.”

“Dare I ask how you got to him?”

“I’m still in Pakistan, I didn’t do anything. The team took care of it.”

~~~

<<Time to come back, Blackbird.

>>You got V?

<<Looking for his K.

>>I just got a call from K’s caretaker. What happened?

>>Iceman.

<<K disappeared

~~~

“Welcome back, sir.”

“Thank you,” Hotch turned around to see the brightly-dressed analyst hurrying towards him with a folder under her arm. “What have you got?”

“A top-ten list of Doyle’s enemies.”

“Anybody recently in the States?” he looked through, recognizing the names.

“Richard Gerace’s been here a few weeks,” she answered. “He’s a low-level gun-runner who angrily crossed paths with Doyle. I caught an image of him on the surveillance camera at Declan’s house and confirmed it was him through a scar on his neck. Have you come across him before?” Garcia asked, referring to his time with JTF.

“I don’t think so,” Hotch shook his head. “Get me everything you can on Gerace.”

“Yeah,” Garcia hesitated, “what I just told you is everything I’ve got.” Hotch nodded and briskly walked around her out of the conference room.

He made his way to where they were holding Doyle and walked up to the window next to Rossi.

“Well, that’s a good look,” Rossi commented on his beard. Hotch allowed a brief smile to appear on his face while he texted Morgan, who was inside with Doyle. “How was the desert?”

“Hot,” Hotch replied shortly, still able to feel sand in his combat boots and the sun beating down on his back.

“Doyle’s here, so have you seen Jack yet?”

“No, Jessica took him on a road trip, they’re at Hershey Park right now,” Hotch said, still occupied with his messaging.

“Well, he’ll love that beard,” Rossi looked over at him.

“Yeah, we skyped every day,” Hotch said dryly, looking back at the older man. “He’s not a fan.”

~~~

>>C just called to check in. On the way right now.

<<See you in a bit

>>If I survive the others

<<Blackbird, I made this decision, I am responsible for this. It’s my burden to bear, but I’d do it all over again if it means having you alive.

<<Oh, and J came back fourteen weeks ago. As a profiler, now.

>>What? And you’re just telling me this now?

<<Didn’t find out until I got somewhere with secure service, and that was a week ago.

<<We’ve really missed you.

~~~

“Welcome back,” Morgan greeted Hotch.

“Thanks,” Hotch said, steeling himself. “Everybody, have a seat.”

The profilers looked at him strangely. “Why?” Morgan asked. “What’s going on? Everything all right?”

“Seven months ago, I made a decision that affected this team,” Hotch crossed his arms. “As you all know, Emily had lost a lot of blood after her fight with Doyle, but the doctors were able to stabilize her and she was airlifted from Boston to Bethesda under a covert exfiltration.”

He continued on, watching as different emotions appeared on the teams’ faces as they realized what he was saying. “I called Clyde and we met with the brass while she was being flown over, and it was decided that her identity was strictly need-to-know, and she stayed there until she was well enough to travel. Given the danger Doyle posed, she was reassigned to Paris, where she was given several identities, none of which we had access to for her security.”

“She’s alive?” Garcia asked, hopeful shock clear in her voice. Hotch’s silence spoke volumes.

“But we buried her,” Reid said, uncomprehending.

Hotch looked directly at Morgan. “As I said, I take full responsibility for the decision, and if anyone has any issues, they should be directed towards me.”

“Any issues?” Morgan repeated in angry incredulity. “Yeah, I got issues,” he trailed off when he noticed the others looking behind him.

“Oh my god,” Garcia breathed, tears rolling down her face at the sight of Emily Prentiss in the doorway. She stood up and rushed over, enveloping the woman in a careful hug, as if she were going to disappear.

“I am so sorry,” Emily said, as the analyst let go of her so Reid could take her place. “I really am. Not a day went by that I didn’t want to…” she trailed off, catching sight of Morgan’s expression. “Really, I—” she approached him, hoping he’ll understand, “you didn’t deserve that, and I’m so sorry.”

She leaned in, hugging him tightly as Morgan slowly returned the hug through his shock. They stayed like that for a few moments before she backed away and turned to the others. “There’s so much I want to tell you guys, and I will, I promise, but right now I really need to know what’s going on with Declan,” she said, walking to stand next to Hotch and JJ.

“Emily, was there a man living at the house?” Reid pushed forward to ask.

“Yes, my friend Tom Koehler, he was raising Declan as his own.”

“Where is he?” JJ asked from the side.

“I never saw him go in or out of that house,” Garcia told her.

“He was on assignment overseas,” Emily said.

“But he’s all right?” JJ checked.

“Yes,” Emily confirmed, “He’s on his way back now. He got a call from Declan, he called me, and Hotch texted me just moments later telling me you had Doyle in custody.”

“And because of Tom’s line of work, that’s why you enrolled Declan in a boarding school,” Hotch said.

“I made sure that he, Louise, and I were the only ones allowed to take him off campus.”

“Louise took him home last night because he was sick,” Reid told her.

“Food poisoning,” Hotch interjected.

“Yeah, a few of the kids had it, apparently, so whoever did this got to him on campus. They knew they only had one chance.”

“Current suspect is Richard Gerace,” JJ said, “he’s the most recent arrival into the states. We’ve been tracking his progress through the city, but we came up empty.”

“We know it’s him because he has the scar,” Garcia added.

“That doesn’t make sense, Gerace gave up on Doyle a long time ago,” Emily stated.

Rossi spoke up, “He said you were the only one who knew Gerace.”

“Which is why I’m pretty sure he doesn’t have the balls to pull this off,” she said. “There was no forced entry at the house?”

“I had two agents working security,” Morgan said.

“We think Gerace and his partner pose as the next shift, and one of the agents was a woman,” Reid told her.

Emily’s response came quick. “She’s the alpha.”

“So we’re looking for a woman who’s getting back at Doyle,” JJ summarized.

“Well, our suspect list just got a whole lot longer,” Hotch remarked, exchanging a sardonic look with Emily, who nodded in agreement.

~~~

“Is Strauss still there?” Hotch asked over the phone, striding outside towards the parked SUVs.

“She is.”

“We need full support.”

“Doyle said McDermott’s family imported weapons to a private airfield in Maryland,” Emily said.

“Close?”

“Largo.”

“All right, send me the coordinates. Oh, and Emily?” Hotch added.

“Yeah?”

“It’s good to have you back, Blackbird.”

~~~

“Hotch, are we really going to do this?” Morgan’s voice came over his earpiece.

“No one leaves here,” Hotch said firmly into his mic, keeping a careful eye on the proceedings.

~~~

“Iceman.”

“Blackbird,” Hotch returned as Emily approached him at the side of the conference room, having escaped the others’ excitement at her return. He looked her up and down, taking in the welcome sight before pulling her into a tight hug. The others fell silent, watching them clutch to each other like a lifeline in an embrace that spoke of a deep familiarity.

“You did all that you could,” she told him quietly, as their grip on each other loosened slightly, “thank you.”

A few traitorous tears slipped out of his eyes, which he had squeezed shut. Hotch kept his head at the crook of her neck, taking in the familiar warmth that reassured him of her presence.

“It’s so good to see you.”

[thetriggeredhappy]

hello! do you take sniperspy requests? if it's okay with you can i ask for something soft between them? not romantic or sexual but i mean Soft™ and intimate moment maybe some kind of inside joke they only understand idk. thank you!

me, speaking into the mic, my mouth exactly zero millimeters away from it: what if spy and sniper..... were best friends

my girlfriend from the back of the auditorium: (absolutely apeshit bananas applause)

-

Spy sauntered out the door and into the shade of the base, pointedly moving to stand more comfortably even as he kept an amount of distance between himself and the wall for the sake of his far-too-expensive suit. He took a cigarette from his case without needing to look, lit it in one smooth motion, took a puff, and exhaled. Then, and only then, did he turn his head to acknowledge Sniper, lounging against the wall a few feet away.

“Your fifth smoke break of the day, mon ami,” he observed neutrally. “I can’t help but wonder if something might be bothering you.”

Sniper didn’t reply verbally, but there was a muscle in his shoulders that went lax when Spy finally spoke. He took a drag of his own cigarette.

It was something that the team had commented on, once or twice. The fact that Sniper’s greatest enemy on the battlefield was the other team’s Spy, and Spy’s the other team’s Sniper, and yet with the counterpart on their own team, there was no great tension or rivalry to speak of. Instead, their relationship was entirely professional, even somewhat warm. And they took care to have the team think they were merely professional, as strictly speaking, friendship was looked down upon in their line of work, but also because with the aforementioned rivalry, their being good and well-trusted friends was something that would surely be questioned and prodded at and neither of them cared for such theatrics.

Well, Spy did ever-so-slightly, but he knew that Sniper loathed such attention, and so took care to be discreet.

“Am I being that obvious?” Sniper asked after a brief silence between them, voice a deliberate kind of calm and easygoing and level.

“Non, I’m simply being observant,” Spy replied easily, and took another drag before he elaborated. “Usually you only smoke this much when your scores are down or we’re on a losing streak, but you’ve been performing in an entirely standard and average way all week. You seem to be coping with a stress that simply doesn’t seem to be there. And so, something is bothering you.”

“Social mathematician, you are,” Sniper huffed, rolling his eyes.

“I might not have noticed, if not for the fact that you forgot your cigarettes at work and had to ask me for one three separate times and didn’t seem to remember it,” Spy admitted.

Sniper nodded at that, eyes drifting to look back out at the landscape stretching before them again.

“So?” Spy prompted, voice a bit quieter. “What is bothering you?”

Sniper reached up to knead at the bridge of his own nose, eyes falling shut, needing to push his glasses up out of the way to do so. “Not sure I’d like to talk about it, t’be honest,” he said, tone falling in parallel.

Spy shifted on his feet, looking into the distance as well for a moment. After a second or two, he spoke again, changing tactics. “Perhaps some long-lost love, or the glory days of youth?” Spy asked, intentionally melodramatic. “Pondering what all was, or perhaps what once could have been? Have you been assigned a quest by some supernatural or religious force that will surely involve mortal perils?”

“Bugger off, Spook,” Sniper deadpanned, but there was an undeniable twitch at the corner of his mouth as he fought the urge to smile at the theatrics.

“I’m only this curious because more often than not, I’m the one being dramatic and glaring at the horizon line, mon ami. Melancholy is a new look on you,” Spy admitted, dropping the joke.

“It’s... hard to explain,” Sniper finally said, and the hint of a laugh was gone.

“You’ll find I’m patient,” Spy replied easily.

Sniper was quiet for another few moments. He looked at the stub of a cigarette he had left and gave up on it, crushing it out against the wall and then grinding it into the sand beneath his heel. “It’s not... it’s not your joke about the ‘long lost love’ buggery,” he said, doing halfhearted air quotes. “It’s more... in general, the idea of...”

Spy didn’t interrupt or make any jokes, simply waiting patiently for Sniper to decide on a sentence to finish.

“...I’m just, I’ve never done any of this right,” Sniper finally said, sighing hard at himself. “Grew up too scrawny, too clever and cared too much about books when I was young and then wasn’t clever enough when I started getting older, learnt to shoot rather than fistfight, ended up a mercenary rather than a... a scientist or a rancher or any other respectable thing. And I never... never went out, never got along with anyone, and, after a while you can’t help but wonder if you’re just not meant for people. If maybe it means something that dating never once appealed to you beyond being some big strange idea of a thing that eventually you’re meant to get around to, or...” He hung his head, dragging a hand down over his face. “...I don’t know. It’s... I had it for a moment.”

Spy hesitated for a few moments, looking at him. Considered his words. Stepped over to clap a gentle hand to Sniper’s shoulder, exhaled when that made Sniper relax in some small way. “If it’s any consolation, I can assure you that you are not the only person in the world who feels that way, and perhaps even not the only man on this base who feels that way,” Spy said finally. “It takes a particular kind of person to willingly go live in a cramped, terrible experimental military base in the deserts of New Mexico being killed practically on the daily. I’m sure that is a sentiment you will find in great supply among the other men here, should you ask. And for what it’s worth, even if you are not meant for regular people, you are well liked and very much respected by your coworkers and by me.”

Sniper nodded in a way that meant he heard and understood what Spy was saying, even if he couldn’t quite formulate a verbal response to it, which was such a specific thing to read into a nod that for a minute it caught Spy by surprise and he lost track of what he’d been planning on saying next. He took a moment to try and remember it.

“What I think might help, more than expediting your inevitable lung cancer and getting a replacement set from the Docteur,” he said, gesturing pointedly with his own cigarette, “is taking one of those... what do you call them, hunting trips?”

“Just camping, usually, more than hunting,” Sniper corrected lightly.

“Oui, that. You haven’t taken a break in quite some time, and it’s terrible for morale. You were talking about the, the Rocky Mountains being the place you were hoping to see next, since last time you went to the Appilachia?”

“Appalachian Mountains, yeah,” Sniper nodded. “You’d know that if you, er, ever bloody well agreed to go with one of these times.”

“I simply do not see the appeal of camping,” Spy said airily. “It is not to my tastes. There is value in quiet cabins and inns in countryside or less populated places, but camping itself simply does not appeal to me.”

“What, never been?” Sniper asked lightly, mouth quirking up on one side.

Spy scoffed, well and truly offended. “I take back absolutely everything I said about you being respected,” he said firmly.

Sniper started to snicker outright. “Oh, go on, why’s that?” he prodded.

“You do not get to use ‘never been’ for camping. That is not allowed,” Spy said firmly.

“You’ve used ‘never been’ for bloody wine tastings, you absolute cheat!” Sniper pointed out.

“Less so the wine tasting and more the region itself,” Spy huffed, posture straight, head held high. “But you do not get to use ‘never been’ for camping.”

‘Never been’ was one of their pettier jokes, to be fair. It had started when Sniper had challenged Spy’s claim to being the most well-travelled individual on the team, and when Spy had asked where exactly Sniper had travelled to, he’d begun bringing up locations outside of largely English- and French-speaking regions, and ended off his list with a rather cocky “What’s the matter, have you never been?” It had kicked off them each naming place after place in stories when around the team, saying the place in passing then lightheartedly saying “never been?” in an entirely and increasingly ridiculous and elaborate manner for more and more specific locations.

As they ran out of stories and places, they began to argue semantics more and it became clear that the joke wasn’t even truly them trying to make fun of each other so much as them bonding over the concept of traveling in their own way, and they found it coming up more in conversation in the wake of the joke.

“Fine, can I at least use it for the mountains?” Sniper laughed.

“No, because I have been, thank you very much,” Spy huffed, turning up his nose at the very thought.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“No, you’re just ridiculous.”

“Are you going to go camping or not?” Spy challenged.

Sniper rolled his eyes, even if his mood had visibly improved, his posture straightening out, less tension in his brow. “Not scheduled to have a break for a long while.”

“We do have vacation days, however,” Spy pointed out.

“I don’t do that,” Sniper said without hesitation. “I’m not leaving you blokes alone to deal with the other Sniper so I can go build a bonfire near some trees, awright?”

“Would it not be convenient, though, if something were to mysteriously happen to him and he just so happened to miss work for the exact number of days that you were gone?” Spy asked lightly, examining his cigarette case with too much interest.

“Do you want him to hate you more, Spook?” Sniper asked dryly. “You can’t just sabotage the man so I can go see slightly more bloody birds than usual.”

“I’m not saying I would sabotage the man! I’m just saying it would be a funny coincidence that would be entirely unrelated to me and nobody would ever be able to prove otherwise,” Spy said, just as lightly as before.

A pause. “...What kind of mysterious something would happen to him, just out of curiosity?” Sniper asked, tone flat.

“Oh, how on earth would I know such a thing, mon ami? I have no idea. But if I were to venture a guess I would simply say that he would be hired on a contract to protect some random citizen in a faraway city who is in absolutely no danger in the first place by some mysterious but concerned source,” Spy shrugged airily.

“...And you’re sure you don’t want to go camping too?” Sniper asked, tone back to normal and vaguely conversational. “Really, it’s not all that bad. You might enjoy it.”

“I am more than fine,” Spy assured, dropping the joke for a moment and shaking his head. “But thank you for the offer.”

Sniper nodded vaguely, considering it. “...Might just take off next Thursday and Friday, make a four-day weekend, two days to camp and a day’s travel and packing on either end,” he mused aloud. Paused. “...Thanks. For... you know.”

“I do,” Spy agreed easily. “And it is of no issue, mon ami, I can assure you.”

“Right.” Sniper stood there for a moment, lost in his own thoughts again. Paused. “Well, bugger off now, Spook. Go... drink wine, or, or whatever the hell else you do.”

“But of course,” Spy laughed, and crushed his own cigarette into the sand. “Bonne nuit, Bushman.”

“See ya, Spook,” Sniper said easily, even as Spy cloaked and walked away, his eyes still locked on the horizon line.

[sometimesrosy]

Anonymous said:Well you can as well act symphathetic towards Echo now that you know Bellarke isn't in the cards but you can't backtrack and accept you are wrong. I'd do that too. Bellamy has been in a relationship with Echo for so long and he has no intention of ending it, smart Bellarkes are threatened by the ship, as they should be. And then... There's you. With no evidence of your ship existing. Check. With no evidence of B/E not being strong. Check. Being annoying and all with no proof AT ALL. Check.

+++

So here are the rules of my inbox: 

Here is my blog statement in my heading:

You’re just breaking all my rules. You can’t accept someone shipping something that you don’t. You can’t accept someone liking something you don’t. You can’t accept someone THINKING something that you don’t. 

This is MY blog, and I get to have whatever thoughts I want on it, as long as I don’t harm anyone else in doing so. I have attempted to not do so. Sometimes people are hurt because they feel my ship or identity or theories threaten their own. This is an instance when people need to learn to protect themselves by staying away from people and ideas that they find personally objectionable, rather than trying to force someone else into silence by bullying, sending nasty anons.

Simply shipping Bellarke is not wrong. LIKING The 100 is not wrong. Liking JR as a storyteller is not wrong. Having theories about this show that you don’t share is not wrong. Being a sci fi and lit geek is not wrong. Acting like myself and getting all english teachery is not wrong. 

Here’s one you may struggle with: BEING WRONG IS NOT WRONG.

I am allowed to be wrong. I don’t think I am, but if I am, it’s not a crime. If I’m wrong, I’ll be perfectly fine with it. I often backtrack to find out where I went wrong and then readjust my theories. If you were really a reader you’d know that. But you’re not. You’re an anti. 

I don’t have much respect for antis.

Mainly because sending people nasty anons IS wrong. Attacking people for not having your headcanons is wrong. Setting up shipwars and going after the “other side” is wrong. Harassing the creators is wrong. Being a bitch makes you bitchy. And I don’t like you. And I don’t need you to like me. You aren’t a part of my internet bubble.

I’m just over here enjoying my favorite show and my OTP. I don’t NEED evidence to do so.

But I’ve got it.

That’s what it means when you stick to the text and collect details from the show we see on screen and write analysis defending your theories with those bits of text as evidence.

That is LITERALLY evidence for Bellarke as the central relationship of the show, Bellarke as soulmates, and Clarke as the hero and main character, with Bellamy, the heart to her head, as the secondary hero and dual protagonist. There is also evidence of Bellarke as a love story. Kissing and having sex is not the only way to show love, in fact, if you need to kiss and have sex to show two characters are in love with each other then your romance is a failure.

On a side note, nothing about B/E is romantic outside of the moments when they are kissing, cuddling, and having sex, or otherwise being VISIBLY in a couple. They NEED the kissing in order to prove that they are in a relationship because otherwise, Mr Blake saves all his passion for his non-romantic partner, and that’s what the story is pointing towards. B/E is not very romantic. The way they interact with each other is not romantic. Or I suppose it’s a *little* romantic so if that’s good enough evidence for you to think b/e is more romantic than Bellamy abandoning his people (including Echo) for the desperate long shot of saving Clarke’s life then spending a day with the villain inside Clarke’s body nagging him about how much he cares about and loves Clarke and how she’s more important than anyone and that’s going to mean he’s sacrificing everyone for her, and then that last, heartrending moment when Bellamy can’t let her die because he needs her, and how from then on they are so tender and intimate and honest and connected with each other while Echo gets a freaking PAT ON THE BACK.

Hey. You do you. Enjoy your ship. I’m sure you’ll have lots of fun with that. 

I enjoy my ship more than that ship. Plus the love triangle gives it spice. I don’t mind Echo. I’ve NEVER minded Echo. I like her actually, and it’s not backtracking to say so. I’ve never hated her and have gotten nasty anons for NOT hating her and saying even that B/E was okay, not toxic, just not soulmates or endgame. 

I am looking forward to season 7 where Echo gets to get reacquainted with Ash and gets to shed her king/spy role and be her own person, who was taken away from her as a child. Which, kind of requires that she stops worshipping her current king aka Bellamy, so that means their relationship is doomed. And I look forward to Bellamy and Clarke finally recognizing that the thing that makes them happy and makes all the struggle worth while is being together, is love, is each other.

If you dont’ want to follow the signs in the show for these developments, that’s your choice. Not mine.

If you want to be annoyed by me minding my own business and happily shipping my OTP, that’s got nothing to do with me. It’s a reflection on you, and your immaturity. IDGAF.