#yes but the US will be on the wrong side of history

[songmingisthighs]

Maudit

introduction pt. i | pt. ii | pt. iii

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ch. xiv - demerit

cursed!jongho × reader

genre : mythology!au, smau

rating : mature; crude jokes and filthy language

wc : 1.7 k

a/n : sorry that this is a bit late, i'm having some crisis irl ✌️

buy me coffee ?

so long i've been here, so long are the stories i've written. of what i gathered and lost, loneliness becomes me and pain refuse to depart from me. i've embraced that which ate me away so when you came along, i had no part of me left to give.

You always thought that Jongho was an interesting man. Since the moment you saw him at the supermarket, struggling in the self check out counter and then struggling with using his credit card, you knew he didn't belong.

Initially, you had assumed he was probably from the countryside. Or even Amish, that's why he seemed mildly perturbed with technology. It wasn't until you saw what you initially thought was a tattoo just a teeny bit lower on his neck that you realized that he was someone who had been cursed. Having been a history major, you got severely intrigued which was why you followed him out of the supermarket and eventually wore him down to the point of getting him to employ you by simply pointing out how much he needed you to survive the modern world. Being near someone who had been around during and through historical events, often hearing snippets of how it was in the past. It was worth all of the headache of managing his estate and personal affairs. To a certain extent of course, he still wouldn't let you in too deep, especially about the reason for his curse.

So seeing him wandering about in front of your campus, trying to peek in was almost equally intriguing.

"You don't seem like you belong."

Jongho snapped his head when he heard your voice and without him realizing, his shoulders relaxed and his chest felt less heavy.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, arms crossing in front of your chest to shield you from the evening breeze which Jongho mistook as you trying to seem tough. "I came to see you," he said, shoving his hands into his pocket, as if what he said was the most normal thing he could say. You nodded slowly in acknowledgment, "I can see that. You have been asking around for me to random people? Why?"

At your question, Jongho's fingers felt slightly tingly. He had prepared to say what he wanted to say after his talk with Hongjoong and he knew he needed to, it was just rather hard, to say the least. Jongho didn't know if it was pride, shame, or a sense of ridiculousness, but any or all of it made him slightly lightheaded and so he took a seat on a nearby bench.

Seeing this, you slowly sat next to him and waited.

"I... I don't think I'm human anymore," Jongho started, idly looking anywhere but you.

"What, do you think you're a vampire or something?" you joked, causing Jongho to give you a deadpanned look before he sighed, "No, nothing like that, it's just..." he paused for a moment, thinking of a way to share his point. "I've been living far longer than humans meant to live, I've seen more things than any other person has, and trust me when I say that it was mostly bad and I can't get out of this state. Trust me, I've tried. I'm human but I live as if I'm not and it still boggles me to this day so at some point, I decided to just... Not be. I decided, that the thing that made me human was emotion and attachment and they were the things that made it hard for me to move on, go forth with the long sentence I have to endure so I let it go. I let the human side of me go and it didn't occur to me until you came along that it was wrong of me to let that happen. However long I have lived, I'm still human after all, nevermind the company I keep. So... (y/n), I'm sorry for the way I have treated you. You were so patient and so understanding with me, not to mention very helpful and yes, while I reward you with a fair wage, I did not reward your proactive kindness whatsoever so please, please come back to me so I can prove to you I'm not a complete monster and that I can make it up to you."

To say that you were surprised was an understatement. You were flabbergasted because you wouldn't expect to receive such confession from Jongho. Out of all the things you imagined, this scenario would not even make it to the brainstorming session.

You shifted in your seat before opening your mouth, "Jongho, what... What made you say this?" you asked, genuinely asking and your voice conveyed pure curiosity, no hint of mockery or suspicion which Jongho didn't fail to recognize. "Not seeing you after leaving just like that made me uneasy. I hated the thought of me subconsciously hurting you and forcing you away and even pushing you to quit working for me because I was just... A big idiot," he stated, looking away from you so he could maintain his composure and not say anything stupid to preserve his... dignity?

"So... You thought that I wasn't gonna come back and the thought was so bad that you actually come here to hunt me down even if you don't know if I was gonna be here?" you couldn't help but crack a grin at the notion. Jongho sighed exasperatedly but there was a slight redness dusting his cheeks that was conveniently hidden by the dark. "Well, it wasn't like I didn't have any plan. You kind of announced your whereabouts on social media and I just... I had to try," his voice got lower and quieter nearing the end but you caught everything perfectly thanks to the quiet surroundings. "Uhuh, but you still came out here JUST to look for me, right?" Jongho seemed to be even more embarrassed and when he turned to look at you, you had to admit that his annoyed face was adorable, like a sulking bear cub. "If you're just gonna mock me, I'm just gonna let you be and find another history enthusiast to help me survive or something. Or maybe I'll just suck it up and ask Yeosang hyung or something because believe me when I say that it took courage and preparation to come here, you hear me? I didn't even-"

You knew that Jongho rambles when he's embarrassed and he tends to not stop until someone stops him so you had to take action. You grabbed his arm which effectively stopped his rambles. "Jongho, I never planned on quitting work. I left a note on your desk to let you know that I had to take some time off because I have finals. I initially thought about sending you a text or something but after our last interaction, I was feeling petty so I decided to just leave a simple note. I swear it's there, you must've not seen it," you pointed out. Slowly, Jongho's face changed to confusion and you could almost hear the wheels in his brain turning before he answered, "B-b-but I didn't see any note, at all! I checked my desk and hell, not just my desk, I checked everywhere because Wooyoung hyung went to Seonghwa hyung's library and I had to make sure in case he-"

The look on both of your faces was priceless as the possibility dawned on you two. For a moment you both could only stare at each other before you broke into a fit of chuckles as Jongho face-palmed himself. "I'm gonna kill him," Jongho muttered to himself, dragging his hand down before he stopped grumbling to look at you. It was odd, he was usually annoyed with your antics but this time, after he bore himself to you, he realized how much he liked the sound of your laughter. Even after your laughter died down, your smile seem to make him feel lighter.

"So... You were always planning to come back?" Jongho asked, this time seemingly less... Animated. You nodded at his question, "Yeah, of course." "So... I was worried for nothing?" he mumbled, cheeks feeling warm again. Luckily for him, you giggled and shook your head immediately, "Hey, it wasn't for nothing, Jongho. Had you not worried, you wouldn't be here right? You wouldn't have made the realization, conclusion, and determination, and we wouldn't have this talk which I'm so glad for. I've always wanted to be closer to you not just because you're an interesting person, Jongho. I also wanted to do it because I don't just consider you as someone I work for, I want to be on a more personal basis, you know? So I'm super glad this happened," you grinned, giving him assurance.

Hearing your response made Jongho glad and with the same determination, he nodded to himself, "I'm glad this happened too I guess. But, I promise, once you're back, I will try to be more open with you. I can't promise anything instant, but I can promise to try. Does that... Does that sound okay?" It came as no surprise that you enthusiastically nodded but the reassurance that you were okay for him to try with you felt really nice.

Remembering reality, Jongho cleared his throat and stood up, shoving his hands into the pocket of his pants, "W-well, I should let you get back to... The inside?" he glanced at the building. Realizing that you still had to go back to studying for your test, you let out a huff but nodded and stood up, "Yeah, I guess I have to go back now." Jongho nodded and motioned for you to go in. You nodded at him and waved as you walked backward to the entrance, "Bye Jongho, thank you for coming. If you have anything to say, you can text me and I'll make sure to answer you." Jongho didn't even notice that he was smiling when he nodded at your offer, "Sounds good. Good luck on your test, (y/n), I know you'll do great," he waved.

Truly, having the talk with Jongho made you feel giddy. So as you turned and jogged back inside the study hall, you felt even more ready to tackle your test. Maybe because you wanted to do well, but maybe because you wanted to get it over with so you could go back to work. Either way, you had Jongho to thank.

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@roronoas-wife

[casurlaub]

Cw: mentions of antisemitism/racism/fascism/Nazi mindset/violence phantasies...heavy topics in general

Well, Lindner (the finance minister, member of the FDP, neo-liberal party) tried to blackmail the government including Scholz. He (Lindner) and his party have been acting incredibly selfish for three years now, blocking laws and talking ill about the other two parties involved in the government, just pushing their own interests instead of doing politics that favour the people.

There's a lot wrong with Scholz and his SPD (labour party) and there's a lot to criticize about the Green Party which is also part of the government at the moment but from my point of view this is not on them.

And honestly, I'm afraid of the new elections. There have been elections in a few states in Eastern Germany recently and in every one of them the far right wing AfD got the most votes or second to most votes (and in surveys the AfD gets the second most votes in many more states, including Bavaria). Parts of the AfD have been declared extremely right wing by the German Verfassungsschutz (= intelligence service to protect the constitution?), the whole party is at least under observation. High-ranking AfD politicians have been known to take part in Neo-Nazi marches in the past, are using the same speech the SA used to (btw the guy I'm referring to is a former history teacher, so he knows what he is doing). They're talking about a Jewish World Conspiracy, deportation of millions of people (this happened where the original Wannsee conference had been held?), of letting foreigners in because it will aid the AfD and 'we can still kill them later' (paraphrased). It's dismissed because the leading figures of the the AfD on a federal level aren't so stupid to say things this awful this bluntly (although the things that have been said should be enough of a deal breaker) but there's connections to various people known for their far right/antisemitic/racist positions such as Phillip Stein, Götz Kubitschek, Jürgen Elsässer, really the list goes on? A few years ago some journalists uncovered that a third of the representants of the AfD in the Bundestag employ people who have been organised in far right organisations/forbidden organisations etc. it's not just one black sheep in a 'comservative party'. Yes, Björn Höcke (the SA speech guy/former history teacher) may be in Thüringen and not operate on a federal level, but guess what, he is close to Stephan Brandner who is very much part of the Bundestag and one of the party's spokespersons. Christian Lüth was one one of the party's spokespersons, and he was the one suggesting to gas immigrants to death after letting them in to push the AfD (in what he thought was a private conversation). He was fired (but he's back, working for an AfD representant!)...

What really scares me though is that the resistance from the other side is crumbling.

The established democratic parties still say they won't form a government with the AfD but Saxony's head of government just met up with the head of the AfD. Friedrich Merz (CDU, conservative party) who might become our new chancellor (I hope not!) used to say he and his party would form a Brandmauer (firewall) against the AfD. Now he claims to have never said such a thing. All of the established parties are drifting to the right (yes, also the labour party and the Green Party although not as much as the conservative party) and instead of addressing the real danger (but Germany has never had an issue with far right parties, right?) the CDU/CSU (conservative party) and the FDP (liberal party) have declared the Green Party the enemy (as have parts of the media). Funny thing, when, before this government took over it's been the CDU who has been in charge for sixteen years. We'll see how it plays out in the new elections.

The AfD is horrible but what is even more so is that the democratic parties don't stand together but are ruining each other just to try to save themselves (it doesn't work btw.. moving to the right doesn't gain you any new votes, people tend to vote for the 'original'). There's lies told about other parties (I mean... People tend to get things wrong, that just happens, it's part of the human experience, but that's not what I'm talking about).

What is left if we can not even agree to play by the basic rules? There's been talk about banning the AfD, so it would cease to exist, but it's not pushed... Who knows whether it would succeed, seeing as the two attempts of banning the far right NPD did not succeed, but at this point... Have we ever heard of the paradox of tolerance?

Oh I could go on, but I'll stop it right here, I've rambled for long enough. But yes, this is a shit show and my guess would be that both the SPD and the Green Party will pay for this.

Let's pause the conversation about the US elections for a sec and jump real quick to Germany.... what's going on with u lot? Why did Olaf Scholz decide to fire the finance minister right now?? Why would he do something that led to the collapse of the coalition (at least acc to the news), was there some major event that triggered this? Will trump winning influence your elections? Is there an actual chance for the AfD to come to power ??(u wouldn't think tht, given tht millions of ppl protested on the streets after they heard about the deportation plans, but idk)

[cantquitu]

.

[gilbirda]

hot take but we as a society need to be more comfortable about discussing "icky" parts of history, and even telling the side of the "bad guys"

hear me out

history is written by the victors, and will be heavily biased. The defeated will be painted as evil, deviants and/or like they have always been "the bad guys".

Reducing people to "the bad guys" does a huge disservice to the opportunity of learning from the past, because it creates a distance between the modern reader and the actual events, it creates the comfortable position of "I'm not like the bad guys, so i will never make their mistakes"

I think is important we understand how and why people believed in something, and where did things turn a certain way. Yes. Even "the wrong side". Even the nazis. Even those people you are thinking about, whoever they are.

Because you are not immune to propaganda and it's so so so so important to understand what happened and how did we get to those points before we fall to the same techniques again and again.

"Learning from the past" isn't deleting the ugly parts or cringing when someone brings up war. Thinking otherwise is a huge mistake and precisely what someone who wants to make the same mistakes wants you to think.

[milfyspamton]

do u guys think theyll come a time when people will stop making fun of -core descriptors and start using them again

[starlooove]

Uhm not to be a conspiracy theorist but a lot of this black ppl tryna reclaim democracy and the American flags and what it means to be a good ol murcian feels like a set up to manufacture consent for the shit they’re allowing Israel to get away with and the shit they’ll continue to back as tensions rise

[spacelazarwolf]

apparently a bunch of ppl on social media are trying to call for a boycott of rick riordan because of this statement in a blog post:

Becky and I are just back from a busy weekend with events at the Boston Book Festival and New York Comic-Con.

Before I get into that, however, some words to acknowledge the ongoing horrors in Israel and Gaza. As many of you may know, I am no longer on social media. My accounts post only updates on my books and related projects. I do not read posts, reply to posts, or share my thoughts about world events on those forums. That doesn’t mean I don’t have strong feelings and reactions. It means I am offline as completely as possible, except for the occasional blog post like this one.

I will say this: Over the last eighteen years, I have received many fan letters from young readers, both Israeli and Palestinian, who often told me that my books helped them escape the fear, grief and anxiety they were dealing with at the time. Some had lost family members to violence. Some were writing while in the distance they could hear explosions, gunfire, and the launching of rockets. They used my books as a way to escape into another world, where the monsters were fictional, and where demigods usually saved the day. While I am always glad that my books can help young readers find joy during difficult times, my heart breaks every time I hear about the things they have to deal with. I am grief-stricken by the horrific events now unfolding, especially because I know that they are part of a long historic pattern that has been robbing too many children of their childhood and perpetuating hatred for far too long.

I am also quite aware that when anyone, myself included, tries to speak about this issue, the reader is waiting to pounce, thinking, “Yes, but whose side are you on?” That is exactly the wrong question. If there are two sides to this issue, those sides are not Palestinian/Israeli or Muslim/Jewish. The two sides are humanitarian and dehumanizing. Dehumanizing has a long evil history. It is appealing and easy to buy into, because humans are tribal animals. We are hardwired to think in terms of ‘us’ versus ‘them.’ We are the real humans, the good guys, the ones with God on our side. Those other people are evil monsters who don’t deserve empathy. Hate mongers have thrived on dehumanizing for as long as there have been humans. It provides them with a purpose, a way to rally support, power, and scapegoats. It is easy to point to atrocities committed by our enemies, while justifying or minimizing the atrocities committed by ourselves or our allies.

Humanitarianism is a much harder sell. It requires us to empathize, to see other groups of people as equally deserving of dignity and quality of life. It requires not always putting ourselves and our needs first. But in the long run, humanitarianism is our only hope. If violence could end violence, if we could put an end to “those other people” once and for all, human history would read very differently than it does.

So yes, I am appalled by the Hamas attacks on Israeli civilians. I am appalled by the suffering of Palestinian civilians in Gaza. Both things can be true. Both things must be true. My thoughts are with all the people who have died, who have lost loved ones, who have had their worlds and their lives shattered, especially the children. More death and violence will not break this cycle, which has been going on for generations. There is no military solution. Even since I first wrote the post, only twenty-four hours ago, the Israeli government’s brutal retaliation against the entire population of Gaza has reached genocidal proportions. This is not only an atrocity. It is folly. Answering misery with misery only creates more fertile ground for extremism, dehumanizing the “other side,” letting hate mongers thrive, stay in power, and reduce us all to our most monstrous impulses. The only real solution is treating each other like equally worthy human beings, and negotiating a peace that allows all parties a chance to live in security and dignity, with hopes for a future that does not include bombs and rockets and gunfire. This means security and support for Israel, yes. It also means a secure Palestine which is allowed to get the international aid and recognition it needs to build a viable state.

Do I think that will happen? Unfortunately, no. Humans are simply too selfish, too ready to blame “the other” for all their problems, too ready to dehumanize, though I also believe, perhaps paradoxically, that most people just want to live their lives in peace and have a chance for their children to have a brighter future. The problem is when we don’t allow other people to have those same hopes and dreams — when it becomes a false choice of us versus them.

What can I do? I will continue to write books that I hope will give young readers some joy. I will resist the urge to demonize entire groups of people. I will call for less violence, not more violence. And when asked whose side I am on, I will tell you I am on the side of humanitarianism.

So with that said, I return to the world of books . . .

honestly, if you have a problem with this statement, it’s probably because he’s talking about you. this is exactly what legitimate activists (as in not just random westerners who share social media posts but on-the-ground activists who are doing real work) have been saying for decades. and i think all this really speaks to just how disconnected a lot of westerners who claim to be pro palestinian are from those activists.

if you can’t read a statement that says “i am on the side of humanitarianism and less violence” without immediately jumping to cancel them, you are the problem being discussed in the above statement.

[brokenmenswhore]

potions | regulus black

pairing: regulus black x fem!reader

summary: regulus invites his potions partner over to his family home to “help her practice”

warnings: DUBCON (MDNI 18+), choking, smut, rough sex

────── ☾ ──────

When Regulus invited you into his home to use his in-house potions lab, you were suspicious. Regulus always had a darkness to him, and as your potions partner, he was never cruel to you, but he wasn’t the type to make such a kind gesture.

You accepted, knowing you could really use the extra practice. Regulus was talented at potions, and you felt bad that you were barely any help in class. As strange as it may be, you figured some extra time would benefit you, and Regulus could teach you and thing or two, if he felt kind enough to do so.

“Come on in,” he said, gesturing you through the door.

You smiled as you followed him through the house, the lighting almost as dark as his all-black outfit.

“I keep my potions stuff in here,” he said, pushing open the door to his bedroom.

“In your bedroom?”

“Mhm,” he responded, completely nonchalant about the fact you were in his personal space, while you felt it was a little strange. You didn’t know him too well, though you were attracted to him, and now you were only a few feet away from his bed.

He walked over to the table. “You coming?”

You swallowed and approached him, looking at the large collection of jars and ingredients spread out on the table.

“Should we maybe let your parents know I’m here? That there’s someone else in the house?”

Regulus chuckled. “The only other person here is my brother.”

“Sirius is here?”

Regulus shot you a look. You and Sirius had a weird past- you hooked up a few times at parties, you caught feelings and he didn’t, and you never spoke again. It was all ancient history, but you still tried to avoid being around him at all costs.

“Why does it matter?” Regulus asked.

“It doesn’t,” you spoke in a small voice, drifting your attention to the table, “so? What first?”

“Figured we could maybe just make sure you’re set on ingredients,” Regulus said. Everything he said was so dry, low, and monotone, and it sometimes made conversation hard.

“I think I’m comfortable with the ingredients side of things,” you told him.

“You’re not.”

You furrowed your brow and looked at him. “Yes, I am.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes I am!” you fought, “I know my own skill levels, Regulus.”

“I don’t think you do.”

He was so nonchalant about everything, reorganizing ingredients and setting up potion recipes as he spoke, as if anything he said didn’t matter.

You sighed and gave up fighting it, letting him take control and decide where to go from here. There was no point in going back and forth on the same thing over and over again.

“How about we just start with Shrinking Solution?” Regulus asked.

“Fine by me,” you answered.

Regulus backed away from the table, watching you do nothing. You looked back at him. Did he expect you to just do it?

“Well?” he said, “make the potion.”

You sighed. Sometimes he was so annoying and condescending. You looked at the unlabeled recipe and removed 7 red rose petals from a case of singular petals.

You began to drop them one-by-one in the boiling water. You looked at Regulus, who nodded at you to keep going. “How difficult,” you said sarcastically.

Remus folded his arms in front of his chest, watching you carefully.

You added five drops of essence of violet, stirring counterclockwise exactly twelve times.

“I don’t remember shrinking solution having essence of violet,” you told Regulus.

“Are you claiming my recipes are wrong?”

“No, I’m just saying.” You sighed and continued with the recipe, counting out 4 cloves and prepping canary flight feathers.

He didn’t say a word, just watching you make the potion, until you had completed the instructions.

“I also don’t remember it being pink,” you pouted, looking confused at the pot.

“I could have sworn this potion had daisy roots somewhere-“

“Would you relax?” Regulus questioned.

“Something just feels off about it,” you said, inspecting the liquid.

“Does it smell right?” he asked.

You leaned in and sniffed. The potion smelt like lavender, vanilla, freshly cut grass, and all your favorite smells.

The smell maintained throughout the smoke that you breathed in, overtaking your senses and filling your lungs. “Fuck that smells good,” you giggled.

Regulus crept behind you as silently as he could. When you stood up, he was directly behind you, your back almost banging into his torso.

You spun around to meet his gaze. “Can I help you with something?” you asked.

“I don’t know, can you?”

Your eyes locked for a moment, and you were suddenly overtaken with adoration.

“I think I probably can,” you said, all logic going out the window as the potion took over your emotions, your focus completely on Regulus.

“Atta girl,” he tsked, gripping your waist as he looked down at you. “How you feelin’, pretty girl?”

You were overcome with intense emotion, but you fought to remain grounded in reality. “You motherfucker,” you said, letting Regulus know that you were aware he had you make the wrong potion. This was not Shrinking Solution, this was Amortentia.

“No idea what you’re referring to,” he said.

“You know,” you started, twirling his already wavy hair in your fingers, “you could have just asked if you wanted me.”

“Now could I?” he asked, intrigued and eager to hear you continue talking.

“Mhm.”

“I thought I wasn’t your type.”

“Why?”

“You slept with my brother, did you not?”

Your eyes widened a bit. “And you know that how?”

“He’s my brother,” he said, holding you closer to him, his tone finally lifting to a bit lighter of a place, “and I’ve been keeping tabs on you.”

You giggled. “Have not.”

“I have been,” he admitted, “had to make sure you weren’t fucking anyone who didn’t deserve you.”

“I haven’t been fucking anyone,” you told him honestly.

“I know.”

“You wanna know why?”

His gaze darkened.

You sighed, “the only person I’ve wanted to fuck is standing right in front of me.”

Regulus growled, gripping your waist even harder and pulling you even closer. “Then what did I do all this work for? Getting you over here, the Amortentia, you’re telling me I worked for it for nothing?”

“Maybe,” you giggled, amused at how much thought and planning went into getting you here. You weren’t obvious about your attraction to him, but it couldn’t be that hard to notice.

“I feel drunk on you,” you admitted.

Regulus smiled. You had never ever seen him smile before. You didn’t even know he was capable.

“You’re so pretty when you smile,” you said genuinely, a hand moving upward so you could run a thumb over his cheek.

He couldn’t help himself anymore, he crashed his lips onto yours. Your hand found it’s way to the back of his head, holding him closer. You whimpered into the kiss, desperation overtaking your body. You couldn’t help it, the scent of the potion was still filling the room, and you were consumed in Regulus.

“I want you,” you said in between kisses, eager to finally get what you wanted.

Regulus didn’t break the kiss or loosen his grip on your waist, but instead inched you closer and closer to the bed. You felt the back of your knees hit the mattress, and you jumped up, attempting to land on the mattress, but Regulus caught you, forcing you to wrap your legs around his waist.

He leaned over you, your back touching the mattress as you kept your legs around Regulus. He remained standing, the small of your back at the edge of the side of the bed.

Regulus finally broke the kiss, running his hands all over your body and inspecting every single inch of you. “I’m gonna make you scream so loud that Sirius will realize what he’s missing.”

You couldn’t help it, you started laughing. Your heightened emotions won, and the more you tried to stay quiet, the more hysterical your laugh became.

Regulus slapped your thigh. “What the fuck is so funny?”

“You.”

“Shut up,” Regulus demanded, kissing you to distract you from the hysterics in your brain. You melted back into him, forgetting why you were even laughing in the first place.

You were still having too much fun to let him win so easy, and you liked watching him work for it. “Make me.”

Regulus cocked his head to the side. “What did you just say?”

A giggle threatened to leave your lips. “I said make me.”

A hand suddenly squeezed around your throat, not completely cutting off your breath, but stopping your giggling.

Regulus flashed you a wicked smile. “That seemed to work, didn’t it?”

“Y-yes,” you squeaked out.

Regulus moved a hand in between your bodies, cupping your heat from on top of your underwear. You inhaled sharply, desperate for any sort of friction.

Regulus tucked his fingers into the band of your underwear, collecting your wetness with his middle finger as he traced it in between your folds. A sigh of pleasure escapes your lips, and Regulus watched your face intently.

You thought he was going to continue on like this, slowly working you up until you were ready for him, but Regulus had other ideas. Without warning, he shoved two long fingers inside of you, his palm resting on your clit and circling, as his fingers pumped in and out of you.

Your body responded, back arching off the bed, a hand still around your throat. You squirmed a bit, unable to stay still from the sensation.

Regulus watched your chest rise and fall as your back arched and fell, his cock hardening as he watched what he did to you.

He curled his fingers, hitting that gummy sweet spot within you, causing your walls to convulse around his fingers. “That’s it, pretty girl,” he cooed, “come for me.”

His words undid you, the coil of tension within you breaking as you came on his fingers, whines and whimpers constantly filling the room as you calmed down from your high. He pulled his fingers out of you, never breaking eye contact as he sucked your juices off of them.

Once his fingers were licked clean, he unwrapped your legs from his waist, removing his hand from your throat.

“Stay,” he commanded as he untied his pants, pushing them, along with his underwear, down enough to free his hard and swollen cock.

You let out an audible gasp at the size.

“What? Too much for you?”

“How-“ you didn’t even know what to say, “how is that gonna fit in me?”

“I think you’ll be fine, pretty girl.”

Regulus held his palm in front of your mouth. “Spit.”

You did as he said, and he used your spit to wet his cock, lining up his tip with your entrance.

“You want this?” he asked.

“Yes, Reg,” you replied.

Regulus almost showed you mercy when he heard the nickname, it just sounded so pretty coming from you, but he still didn’t. “Beg for it.”

You nodded your head no in protest.

A hand grabbed your face, pushing your lips out and positioning your head so that you had no choice but to look him in the eye. “Beg. For. It.”

“P-please, Regulus I n-“

Regulus slapped your cheek, hard. You gasped at the pain, almost stunned that he did such a thing.

“Use that pretty little nickname you called me.”

“Please, Reg, I need it, p-please-“

Regulus shoved his length into you, a moan of his name leaving your lips.

“Fuck, Y/N,” Regulus growled, setting a steady pace as he pumped in and out of you. He tugged at the bottom of your dress. “Off.”

You did your best to pull your dress off without interrupting his pace, struggling for a minute but eventually succeeding. Regulus leaned in and bit at your bra strap, snapping it back onto your body. He kisses the top of your breasts, shoving your nipples out of the cups, his tongue immediately sucking on one of them.

“Fuck!” you cried out, the pleasure of his mouth on your breasts and his cock splitting you open, and the scent of the potion still filled your nose, almost feeling like too much.

“Louder,” he demanded, serious when he said he would make you scream so loud that Sirius could hear you.

“Fuck, Reg!” you screamed at the top of your lungs, his pace quickening as you did so.

“Good girl,” he praised.

He sucked a sweet spot on your neck, your head rolling to the side to give him even more access.

He was slamming into you, the bed squeaking as your body rocked back and forth. Your legs were weak as they fell off the side of the bed, but Regulus didn’t want the position to change. He grabbed both of your legs, positioning them over his shoulders and fucking into you even deeper.

You squeaked and whined, not even capable of any genuine moans anymore.

“You gonna come again, huh? All over my cock?” Regulus gasped out.

“Mhm.”

“Words, pretty girl.”

“Y- yes!” you squealed, your high hitting you again as you squeezed his cock, a groan leaving Regulus’s mouth as he fucked you while you came, pace never faltering as you attempted to come down from your high.

Regulus was still chasing his own, his lips enveloping yours in a heated kiss as he snapped his hips as fast as he could until he came inside of you, erratic breaths and sighs spilling into the kiss.

“Fuck,” he said, running his fingers through his hair that was sweat slicked and falling in front of his face.

“God, I needed that,” you said, attempting to catch your breath as Regulus laid down next to you.

Regulus didn’t respond, he just stared at the ceiling, calming himself down.

“Reg?” you asked.

“Mhm?”

“You didn’t bring me here just to fuck me and piss your brother off, right?” you asked.

Regulus turned to you. “Do you think that low of me?”

“No. I’m just curious,” you explained.

“No, I didn’t bring you here to piss my brother off,” he answered, “it’s just a massive, massive plus.” He rolled over the placed a kiss on your lips.

[prokopetz]

Honestly it's weird that roleplaying as we know it evolved from historical wargaming.

Like for example DBA rules contain some suggestions for running campaigns with narrative and "propaganda" so I wouldn't say that it's something incompatible, and 0E looks way more like wargames than say PbtA games do, but storytelling games were a feature of artistic salons for way longer and they appear much closer to roleplaying than rulesets for reenacting ancient battles on tabletop.

Salon games didn't have skill checks but neither did wargames and it's strange that nobody came up with simplistic skill checks to add uncertainty and realism to the game

I think the line is a lot clearer when the role of dice and rules in tabletop roleplaying games is correctly understood.

"Uncertainty" and "realism" are, at best, secondary to what the dice are actually doing. Even most tabletop RPGs get it wrong when they try to explain themselves – they'll talk about the rules as something to fall back on to prevent schoolyard arguments (i.e., "yes I did!/no you didn't!") from derailing the story, when in fact it's the exact opposite.

If we look at freeform roleplaying as an illustrative parallel, we see that, while newly formed groups may in fact fall to bickering when a consensus can't be reached about what ought to happen next, mature and well-established groups tend instead to fall prey to excessive consensus-seeking: the impulse to always find an outcome that isn't necessarily one which everybody at the table can be happy with, but at the very least one which everybody at the table can agree is reasonable – and that's a lot more constraining than one might think.

In this sense, the role of picking up the dice isn't to build consensus, but to break it – to allow for the possibility of outcomes which nobody at the table wanted or expected. It's the "well, this is happening now" factor that prevents the table's dynamic from ossifying into endless consensus-seeking about what reasonably ought to happen next.

Looking to the history of wargames, this is precisely the innovation they bring to the table. Early historical wargames tended to be diceless affairs which decided outcomes by deferring to the judgment of a referee or other subject matter expert, but the use of randomisers increasingly came to be favoured because referees would tend to favour the most reasonable course, precluding upsets and rendering the outcomes of entire battles a foregone conclusion. This goes all the way back to the roots of tabletop wargaming – people were literally having "rules versus rulings" arguments two hundred years ago!

(This isn't the only facet of tabletop roleplaying culture which has its roots in wargaming culure, of course. For example, you can draw a direct line from the preoccupation of early tabletop RPGs with punishing the use of out-of-character knowledge to historical wargaming's gentleperson's agreement to refrain from making decisions based on information that one's side's commanders couldn't possibly have possessed when re-creating historical battles.)

To be clear, I don't necessarily disagree that salon games could have yielded something like modern tabletop RPGs. However, first they'd have had to arrive at the paired insights that a. excessive consensus-seeking is poison to building an interesting narrative; and b. randomisers can be used to force the breaking of consensus, and historical wargames had a substantial head start because they'd figured all that out a century earlier.

[zyafics]

HIII!!! I love ur writing sm <3 If you're taking requests, I was wondering if you could do one about a reporter reader who used to date Rafe but they broke up and now she has to interview him??? Set in college if possible! Thank you so much! I hope you're having a good day 🥰

hi baby! yes, i do take requests and i absolutely love this one 🥰 i made reader work for a network company but she's still in college and he plays basketball! (but fair warning, i know absolutely nothing about basketball so if i got the terminologies wrong, look away!!) i hope you enjoy <3 this is angsty as fuck

ALL FOR THE GAME | Rafe Cameron

MASTERLIST (Oneshot) | College Basketball Player x Ex!Reporter!Female Reader .ᐟ

Content — college au, athlete/reporter, prior breakup, heavy angst, hurt/no comfort

Word Count — 4.2K

You couldn't believe it.

It's considered lucky. For someone in your position—having received this entry-level job a couple of weeks ago—to have the opportunity to interview an athlete. In fact, many people would call it a great honor.

And it is. Under normal circumstances, you would be more than happy to oblige—elated, even—because people at this stage in your career rarely get such an opening. Especially since you're in college, fully prepared for this internship to be nothing more than grunt work.

Yet, this? This would allow you to advance your career at an expedited rate only offered to nepotism. You should be thrilled, overcome with joy, jumping at your feet and thanking whatever deity you believed in for such a chance.

But you don't.

Because the person to interview is Rafe.

Rafe Cameron, the top prospect of the NBA draft picks.

Rafe Cameron, your ex-boyfriend.

Your boss waits for an answer. He proposed the question a few moments ago, about covering the press conference for the last game of the season. Because of a sick reporter who called out at the last minute, your objective is to build a profile on Rafe Cameron. Since he's the leading prospect, with scouts all over the country looking at him, many people want to know more about the rising all-star who's done nothing but dominate the court.

This proposal, however, was done more out of common courtesy. No one would be stupid enough to say no, and when your boss raises a brow, signifying his manifesting annoyance from your silence and lack of celebratory cheers—you stammer.

"Um, um," you say.

"Um, what?" He prompts. "Will you be doing it or not?"

You shouldn't. There are many reasons why you shouldn't attend Rafe's basketball games. There's resentment because when you step back into that arena, back onto that court, you're reminded of how Rafe picked it over you. There's lingering sadness, residing heavily against the back of your heart, dulled from the passage of time, but not completely forgotten. And lastly, there's anger, because sometimes, all you want to do is scream, cry, and yell at the man who shattered your heart into a billion different pieces.

But that doesn't matter, does it?

Romance has no place in a reporter's life because you're nothing more but a projection for the audience, a vessel for the readers to learn about something else. You don't have feelings; you're a prop. And, certainly, it doesn't matter to your boss, who's only asking you because you're the last choice.

"Well?"

Seconds away from retracting the offer, something in your chest tightens. Logically, you know the choice to make. But your heart doesn't agree. It still hurts, aches, and burns at all of the past memories. It wants nothing more than to bury itself in a hole and pretend that such a critical part of your history does not exist.

But you can't. Life only moves forward. So, all you do is move with it.

"I'll do it."

By the time you arrive at the stadium, all you want to do is run. Anxiety pricks at your spine and your palms grow clammy by your side. Everything inside you is blaring like a warning, cautioning that this is a mistake, that you aren't ready, and that you should turn back.

Despite the badge dangling around your neck, you almost listen. Put your career on hold for a man who hasn't given a single thought about you since the breakup. You can't let him win, and with that reminder, you move with the mob, flocking to their seats.

The atmosphere is charged with exhilaration, and you're reminded of everything before. It's automatic. How easy it is for you to return to old patterns, to follow them, and to find yourself trickling down the steps and towards the courtside seats reserved for family and friends of the team.

Until a hand is placed on your lower back, and a security guard guides you to the press box instead.

It's quieter. The enclosure of the room dulls the energy of the crowd, with a thick sheet of glass separating you from the rest of the people, and reminding you of your purpose.

You take a seat on a cushioned chair, reserved for your network, and look around the place. You're among the most seasoned reporters in their field, chatting with one another, familiarity engulfing the air that somewhat alienates you. They pay you little mind—saved for a curious-yet-judgmental glance at how you wore a jersey compared to their formal suits and pencil skirts. When you follow their line of vision, you realize it wasn't an ordinary merch of the UNC team but Rafe's.

"Fuck," you mumble. You hadn't realized you picked out his jersey; it was left in the back of your closet and you couldn't see yourself attending your college's game without a visual form of support. This probably appears to the rest of the journalists that you're nothing more than a superfan who managed to weasel their way into their network.

It makes your stomach flips with nausea. You want to separate Rafe from you as much as possible, and with a quick run to the bathroom, you change out of the merch and throw it over your tote, straightening out your blouse underneath. When you return, the players are slowly filling out to court.

The visitors' team enters first; UNC follows. You count each player that exits the locker room, watching their expressions as they grin and absorb the energy of their home stadium, as they walk down the length of the bench, as they talk among themselves and share playful jests and banter. You didn't even know you were holding your breath until Rafe stepped out last, to the loudest cheer of the crowd, with a solemn look on his face.

You watch as Rafe searches the stands. Not in the same manner as his teammates, where they're acknowledging fans, or sending flirtatious winks to pretty girls sitting front row. It's different— with purpose. He's searching for something—someone—and your heart clenches in your chest at the thought of Rafe having found your replacement.

But it's been months, hasn't it? It should be more than fair game for him to date whatever he wants. You can still act professionally with this developing news, but it's striking down at your armor.

However, whoever he's looking for, he doesn't find. Rafe goes to huddle with the rest of his team as their Coach gives a final motivational speech before releasing them.

The game starts with a tip-off, and once the referee throws the ball in the air, Rafe takes it into his possession.

He sprints across the court, slicing through the opponent players, and scoring points on the board. Rafe is powerful, knowing exactly when to exchange his hands and pass to his teammates, where exactly to cut through, and when to commit to a play. Commentary heard from the built-in speakers can attest to it, as their primary focus is on how Rafe is taking the last game of the season by storm.

But, while everyone's eyes are glued to the game, as much as you try not to, you can't do anything but stare at Rafe.

He's just as incredible as he was when you were dating him; if not, more. In some way, it makes your heart tighten, knowing that this validates his reason for the breakup. You just wish he felt some semblance of the pain you feel. But as much as you hate it, you're also proud. Rafe has come so far, and trained so hard, to make it to where he is. If he secures a win for the last game, it will be nothing but a guaranteed track to the NBA and luxuries and fame ahead.

All without you.

By the time the game ended, Rafe scored the last shot in a close game, delivering the end of the conference with a secured UNC victory. Everyone in the press box stands from their seats, heading to the media room where they'll be meeting a panel of UNC athletes for questions.

Yet, you linger. You step up to the glass, watching as the erupted cheers of the audience surround the entire stadium, much to the glee of the UNC team, while Rafe stands in the middle of the court for a few seconds, soaking everything in. His eyes pan across the bleachers again, in search for something, before his expression falls and he retreats to the locker room.

When you enter the room of journalists, you slip into a seat. It'll be a while before the players come shuffling in, and you take each second to rehearse and calm your nerves. In one hand, is a tape recorder, while the other is a notepad of the written questions you plan to ask.

UNC's Publicist steps out first to provide an official statement and give a brief overview of the conduct of this press conference. She'll be the moderator, giving everyone enough time to ask all of their questions, and she'll be selecting the networks to her own accord. After everyone comes to the general consensus, the door opens and the Coach steps out with his players.

You watch with bated breath as Rafe is the last to enter, freshly showered and changed into grey sweatpants with a matching UNC zip-up jacket. His headphones dangles around his neck, while his expression exudes nothing but boredom and reluctance. Rafe has always hated interviews, especially post-games, during your relationship. At least that's the one thing that hasn't changed.

You drop your gaze to your lap, swallowing hard as you calm your racing heartbeat. It's been months, yet you still feel the same emotions coursing through you as if no time has passed—longing, hurt, sadness. You whisper positive affirmations, reminding yourself that it's just a job, and that'll be short and simple. You won't even have to speak to Rafe, because your boss may have said to find out more about Rafe Cameron for your profile, nowhere did he say you have to ask him specifically.

When Rafe sits on his chair, he lazily scans the room, a habit of his to pass the time, before he spots you among the crowd. In the third row, second seat; your favorite choice to sit. You don't see it, but a corner smile lifts to his face, demeanor changing, and he straightens up in his seat.

Throughout the conference, the publicist hands the microphone off to whoever she selects. They often direct their questions at Rafe, to which he gives monosyllabic and deadpanned answers. Then, when they try to seek more clarification, Rafe gives them nothing, much to their grimness.

You keep your head low, writing down notes, and drawing doodles on the edge of your notepad. Anything to avoid making accidental eye contact with Rafe. But, regardless, you feel him. The heat of his stare remains on you the entire time, especially when the publicist approach you and hands you the microphone.

It’s time.

With trembling hands, you stand from your seat. You turn your attention to the front of the panel, introducing yourself, your network, and your job. Smiles spread across Rafe's teammates as they recognize you, and you offer a polite one of your own.

Beginning at the furthest player at the end of the table, you ask, "How would you describe Mr. Cameron as a teammate?"

He grins as if he was prepared for this. "Rafe's an incredible teammate and captain. He's a capable leader, who's strong on the court, but also strong on having his teammates' back. You saw it back there—" That earns a small laugh from the reporters. "But, yeah. Rafe's one of my favorite teammates, if I'm being honest."

You tilt your head at that conclusion, because, if you remember correctly, in freshman year, he often rivaled with Rafe and got into fights over minor things. Regardless, you nod, thanking him for his response, and moving on to the next player with the next question.

"What do you think about Mr. Cameron's plays throughout the season?"

"Is that all you got for me, Mrs?" The second player teases playfully, causing heat to warm your cheeks. "Whatever, I got this. Well, let me think. Rafe's always had solid stats. He's one of the hardest-working players on and off the court, and he always keeps his head focused. Even when he had a bit of a bump a couple of months back, he adjusted his plays and bounced back. That’s his resilience."

Your breath hitches at the implication. You try your hardest not to sneak a glance at Rafe, but you can't help yourself. Turning to your side, you discover Rafe watching you, his expression grimacing at the confession of his teammate.

Months ago. The only thing that changed was your breakup. Does this mean he was as affected as you were?

You try not to think too much about that. Thanking the player again, you move to the next, asking more about Rafe's character—his prospects for the NBA, and his experience managing a student-athlete. You didn't ask just about Rafe, you asked about the games and conferences too, but most of the players always return their answers to Rafe. Positively. As if they had this unspoken agreement behind the scenes to hype Rafe up to his ex-girlfriend.

Time goes on, and you start to immerse yourself in the role. It wasn't as difficult as you expected, especially because you're entertaining a team who've known you all throughout their collegiate career. They answered the questions with enthusiasm and a playfulness that can only be recognized by years of familiarity. You can feel the energy from the reporters shift, stewed with envy, because of how the players are showing favoritism to a novice reporter who barely has her foot in the door.

Rafe watches you the entire time. How truly riveting you are in your role. How you command the room with your questions, how you captivate the players, and how you grow more comfortable as you talk to your teammates. He waits patiently as you make your way down the table, for his chance to talk to you.

But just as he's about to be next, you return the microphone to the moderator. You were going to leave him hanging. Before you can fully hand off the mic, a voice commands the room.

"What about me?"

It was Rafe. You lift your head to find him leaning against his own microphone propped on the table, his blue eyes pinned on you, his expression full of want. Your lips part, but no words fall through. The publicist doesn't take back the microphone.

You stammer. "What about you?"

"Don't you have any questions for me?" He questions, as the crowd murmurs with surprise. On any other day, Rafe would've gladly taken the lack of questions aimed at his face. You've done your research; you've seen his previous interviews.

"I..." You can't seem to answer him. All eyes—from the Coach, to the players (who are smiling their head off), to the reporters—turn to you. "I've asked all my questions."

"I'm sure you can think of one more," he declares, his eyes not once straying from your face. As if he's taking the time to memorize all of your features, to absorb any changes. "Come on, hit me."

Everyone waits. Eagerly. With jealousy. The media room stills with a palpable silence, and you can't do anything but retract your arm, holding the microphone back up to your lips.

You blink, racking your brain for any questions. You truly did ask all of them, and there's nothing appropriate enough to ask in front of a room full of people who are recording and monitoring your moves. So, you settle on something safe.

"How did you feel scoring that winning shot?"

Rafe takes a deliberate moment to consider his answer. His silence tells it all. Before he leans down against the mic, his lips centimeters from the pop filter, and he says, "Empty."

Flashes of the camera go off, and hushed whispers are heard throughout the room. But none of that matters to you. Your eyes remain on Rafe, your heart skipping beats from his confession, and you tame enough of your voice before asking a follow-up. "Can you explain why?"

He nods. "Basketball is great and all, and I'm grateful for everything that has happened, and all I have accomplished. Hell, I'm even grateful for this team right here that's been such a hardass on me since day one," he gestures to his teammates on the panel, and they all grin and laugh. One even blows him a kiss. "But, at the end of the day, it's just a game. Without the people you love by your side, it's meaningless."

You truly feel like all the air has been sucked out of your lungs and tears crowd your waterline. When his words finally deliver through, it's almost a straight shot to your chest. This was the admission you'd been waiting for, but it didn't feel satisfactory whatsoever. It's painful, all of the old wounds opening by their stitches, and grief comes crawling up your throat, demanding to be felt.

You don't answer him. You can't. Rafe watches you carefully, trying to gauge your reaction, trying to see if his words had any impact, but you hide them well. For now. With tears stinging your vision, and seconds from unraveling at the seams, you drop the microphone onto the chair and leave the room in a rush.

That's when he realizes he fucked up.

Rafe stands from his seat, ready to follow after you, but his Coach commands him to sit down. His gaze remains on you until you exit the room, but with direct orders, he can do nothing but slump back into his chair.

When Rafe finishes the rest of his interviews, with more reluctance than he had before, he wants nothing more than to go back to campus to search for you. But he doesn't know if that's such a good idea. Clearing out, Rafe steps out of the doors.

To where you were waiting.

"You had no right," you snap, as Rafe heads to the exit of the stadium. He whips around at the sound of your voice, finding you leaning against the wall. As much as he knows he fucked up, he can't explain the happiness he feels at seeing you still here.

"For what?" Rafe prompts with an easygoing smile, "Talking? I'm pretty sure that's what the press conference is about."

But you don't take it so easy.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about," you huff, "You used my words against me."

During the breakup, Rafe had said something along the lines of focusing on his basketball career. You had rebutted that basketball can't be the one thing in his life. At the time, he disagreed, prompting the necessity of the breakup further. It had hurt to hear your words twisted and used against you.

"It was friendly," he reassures. "Just like the rest of my teammates. Talking like we're friends."

"We're not friends and you know that."

He frowns. "We said we would be."

"No, you said that," you hiss, clenching your hands by your side, memories slapping you and prickling your skin. "To rid yourself of the guilt, or to make it seem like permanent. I don't know. But it doesn't work that way with me, Rafe. We aren't friends."

His brows pinch together, and agitation flares through his hard features. "So, that's what it's gonna be like? You come to my games and you interview my entire team but you ignore me because we broke up? That's unprofessional."

You falter. "That's not fair."

"It isn't?" He challenges, stepping closer into your space. "How do you think I felt when you were interviewing every single one of my teammates about me, but refusing to talk to me? To look at me? What does that suggest?"

"That I got everything I needed from your teammates."

"You could've gotten it directly from the source."

"I didn't need to,"

"You could've,"

"Why are you so adamant about me talking to you?"

"Because you're acting like a vindictive bitch."

You stagger back as if he struck you, and Rafe instantly regretted the words that left his mouth. But he can't take them back. Your lips part, and you stare at him in disbelief, but you come up with nothing to defend yourself.

With the hardest glare you can muster, you proclaim, "Fuck you, Rafe."

And you turn to leave.

Rafe quickly follows after you. "Wait—that's not—I didn't mean that."

"I don't want to talk to you anymore."

"Just like you didn't want to talk to me in the conference room?"

"You broke up with me!" You snap, stopping in your tracks with such abruptness, that Rafe almost ran into you. Turning back around to face him, you say, "You were the love of my life, and you left me, and you expect me to keep it professional?"

Rafe says nothing.

"I'm trying," you croak, tears crowding your vision again, and you hate how vulnerable and pathetic you feel in his presence. Like it was back to that night in the car, where Rafe said it was over. "I'm trying to do this right."

Rafe watches your face with anguish, but he can't say anything. You're trying hard to keep your composure, and regain some semblance of stability, you say with a even voice, "I'm glad everything is working out the way you want it to. I'm glad you get this bigshot career and you're about to make it in the NBA, and I'm glad you found it so easy to move on but that's not how it worked with me." Your voice cracks. "I loved you. I can't just forget about it like it's nothing."

His voice is small when he answers. "I didn't."

"You didn't?" You repeat with disbelief. "Rafe, you're thriving. You barely look like our breakup had any impact on you. You're about to secure one of the biggest deals in NBA history. What else could you possibly be missing?"

"You."

His dark eyes connect with yours in utmost vulnerability and it cripples you. All your aggression and anger, all your pent-up frustration—it makes you upset that Rafe manage to disarm you with one word.

"No," you step back, shaking your head, "You can't do that."

"It's the truth."

"It's too late."

Rafe looks pained at your declaration. "Don't say that."

"Don't say what?" You sniffle, your vision blurring with hot tears. "My truth? Did you expect me to wait around for you to come to your senses? To beg for you to take me back?"

"I didn't..." Rafe stammers, searching your face for any indication that it isn't too late. That he still had a chance. But he doesn't find any. "I was honest back there. Any win without you feels empty."

"Stop,"

"I made a mistake."

"Rafe—" You shake your head again, sucking in a deep breath, and needing him to listen and step back. "I'm not here to talk about that. I don't want to talk about that."

"But I do,"

"But I don't," you declare firmly. "I just... I need you to understand. You can't do that. I'm trying to move on with my life. And I understand that we're going to be seeing each other, no matter how I don't want to. But I'll get used to it. I'll numb that pain. But you can't do that. Here; back there. It wasn't fair to me."

Your words sound too permanent. Too real. Rafe can't stand it.

With desperation, he pleads, "Can we talk?"

"We're already talking."

"No, I'm talking about us," Rafe says, taking a step forward. Only for you to take one back. "Please."

"There's nothing to talk about it."

"There's so much to say."

"Name one."

"I miss you."

"Rafe," you cry, tears streaming down your face that you can no longer contain. He hates seeing you cry. He hates it more to be the reason. All he wants is to pull you into his arms and apologize, over and over, to soothe the pain, but it looks as if it would hurt worse if he tried to touch you. "Please stop. You're breaking my heart again."

He made a mistake. There are so many times he can say that. When he saw you in the media room, for the first time in months, it came rushing back to what he's missing. How much he's losing you. He wanted to ask you so much—about how you're doing, to learn how you got the job, to uncover more about how close you are to achieving your dreams.

But he was barricaded. By responsibilities, obligations, and duties. He couldn't ask you in a room full of people. He couldn't help you when his father pressured him to break up with you for his career. He couldn't do anything, then. But he wants to do better now.

He says your name, so defeated, in a last-ditch effort. But you shake your head.

You need to leave this place with whatever is left of your pride and dignity. So, you straighten your spine, take out his jersey from your tote, and hand him the last remnant of your relationship. "Congratulations on your win, Mr. Cameron. I wish you the best in your career."

And when you turn to leave this time, he doesn't stop you.

IMPORTANT: if you want to follow my fics and updates, follow @zyafics-library and turn on notifications!

[ariascoven]

⟡ COZY & SPOOKY | A. HARKNESS

PAIRING :: agatha harkness x reader

CONTENT / WARNINGS :: established relationship, agatha is reader’s wife. domestic & fluff. soft agatha. gender neutral reader. petnames (dear, honey, love & cinnamon). agatha is weird and doesn't like hocus pocus — movie of the century 🤷‍♀️

WORD COUNT :: 2k

A/N :: happy halloween, witches <3 just a bit of soft wife agatha for the soul. also, i never meant for it to be this long, jesus christ. sorry? or you're welcome. i don't really like this, i dunno

MY MASTERLIST

The soft rain poured outside and you watched as the raindrops raced their way down the kitchen window’s glass. You could hear the sound of your wife and son playing and laughing together in the next room, a soft smile playing on your lips as you finished making hot chocolate for your Halloween movie night, adding cream to Nichola’s cup and cinnamon to Agatha’s, just the way they liked it. “Honey, could you come help me carry the food?” You call out, your head poking out of the kitchen door. You watch as your wife nods, planting a quick kiss on your child’s forehead and ascending from the couch. She gives you a quick peck on the lips as she slips into the kitchen, grabbing the popcorn and the chips. “You're not going to make me watch that ridiculous excuse of a witch movie, are you, dear?” She raises an eyebrow at you, her tone a mixture of annoyance and affection.

Your hands move to your hips, mouth hanging open in the purest form of offense. “If you're talking about Hocus Pocus, yes, I will. And it is not ridiculous! It's a Halloween classic that made history. Be more respectful.” She laughs with amusement at your words, shaking her head. You're pouting, bottom lip sticking out in a childish manner. She uses it to her advantage, tugging it between her teeth playfully and making you gasp. “I’ve never seen you defend your own wife the way you defend that movie. But fine, just because Nicky likes it. But just so you know-!” You sigh, carrying the hot chocolate and marshmallows to the living room and ignoring your witchy wife blabbering about how Hocus Pocus is a terrible stereotype of witches and that they do not use brooms — even though you know she used to, centuries ago. You give Nicholas a hug as you sit down, pulling him onto your lap and ruffling his hair. “Ready for movie night, baby?” You ask softly. He nods enthusiastically and you smile at his happiness.

“Hey, that's my spot!” Agatha’s voice invades the room as she walks in, offense etched into her features as she refers to your lap. Nicholas laughs and his tongue sticks out of his mouth as he hugs you tightly in order to make Agatha jealous. “Oh, young man, you don't want to see me mad!” She says playfully, organizing the food on the small table in front of the TV and dragging it closer to the couch so Nicholas could reach it with more ease. The two of you spent the entire morning decorating the whole house while Nicholas was asleep; fairy lights everywhere, paper bats glued onto the walls, a few skeletons around the rooms and small witch hats here and there — definitely your idea, Agatha hated them. Your wife would never reveal the upsetting truth about the disappearance of maybe two or three of the miniature hats; she got rid of them, muttering something about ‘ridiculous stereotypes’ before throwing them in the trash and covering it with an empty package of whatever snack she found.

Agatha plops down onto the couch next to you with a contented sigh, her arm snaking around your shoulders as she gives you a sweet kiss on the forehead, then on Nicky‘s. She rubs your arm covered by your pumpkin sweater and nuzzles your neck, inhaling your scent before pulling back, snatching the remote from the armrest and turning on the TV. “I’m assuming we're watching Pocus Hocus.” She nagged, her voice dripping with sarcasm and disdain, saying the wrong movie title on purpose to piss you off. It works, she notices, when she whips her head to the side and finds you with narrowed eyes. You hear your child giggle on your lap, shaking his head exaggeratedly. “No, mama! It's Hocus Pocus! Not Pocus Hocus!”

With a smile, you watch your wife feigning offense and confusion, a hand flying to her chest dramatically. “What? Are you playing tricks on me, young man? It's obviously Pocus Hocus!” You blink in surprise at how quickly Agatha snatched little Nicholas from your lap, laying him down on the couch and tickling his most sensitive spots, causing the child to kick and wave his arms around in a failed attempt to stop his mother’s actions. The sound of laughter fills the room, your heart swelling with love towards your little family. You take the opportunity to press play on the movie and adjust the volume, your own legs bouncing with excitement — even though you watch this movie every October 31st. You hear an excited gasp escape Nicholas’ lips as he hears the movie starting, breaking free from the witch’s cruel torture. He rests his head on your lap, his legs comfortably resting on top of Agatha’s. A smile tugs at the corner of your wife’s mouth as she reaches over to caress your son’s wild curls, pooling around his head like a halo. “Little angel.” She mutters, not loud enough for him to hear, curious eyes glued onto the image on the television.

Without a word, your head falls to the side, resting on Agatha’s shoulder, soft hair grazing against her cheek. The three of you spend the entirety of the movie in the same position, occasionally reaching over to grab something from the snack table that you prepared with much love. Nicholas laughs as he throws a popcorn inside of Agatha’s mouth, cheering when she catches it with perfection, pretending to wave and blow kisses towards the non-existing audience. You feel lucky. Lucky that you found the woman of your dreams, terribly lucky that she chose you. In a world where she could choose to build a family with a powerful witch like her, she chose you instead; the awkward neighbor next door with big, curious eyes that kept stealing adoring glances towards her. The only person who never judged her after discovering she was a witch or the things she has done in the past. The person that made her feel at home.

After a quick bathroom break, you start up a second Halloween movie. You would be lying if you said you paid attention to the name or even to whatever was happening in the story, head tipping forward as you fought against the sleep that threatened to wash over you. It seems you lost the battle, being awakened by Agatha’s voice against your ear, her hands gently shaking you. “Honey, Nicky fell asleep. I’ll get him to bed, you stay right here, alright?” She mumbles quietly getting up from the couch. You feel the weight being lifted from your lap as she picks up your son’s sleeping form, cradling him lovingly in her arms. You rub your tired eyes with the back of your hand as a yawn leaves your lips while you wait for her to come back, legs being lazily thrown over the couch’s armrest. Your eyes flutter close once more, feeling yourself falling asleep again. Until you feel something poking your cheek, turning your head to glance at Agatha standing over you. She smiles and pinches your cheek. “Sleeping Beauty #1 is tucked in. Now, come here, it's time for Sleeping Beauty #2.”

You let out a whine as you feel yourself being lifted from the couch by her strong arms, your own wrapping around her neck as you nuzzle against it and shower the warm skin with kisses. She chuckles, making her way upstairs carrying you like it's nothing. She kicks the bedroom door open and slips inside, repeating the gesture to shut it closed. You whine when you notice she ignores the existence of your cozy, perfect bed, going towards the bathroom instead. “Nuh uh, no complaining. Let's get you a bath, okay? Then you can sleep.” An annoyed grunt leaves your mouth, but you don't say anything, allowing her to sit you down on top of the toilet seat. With heavy eyes, you watch as she gets the water started, humming a song that you're sure she just made up. Like a child, you put your arms up, delicate hands slipping your sweater off. She tugs at the waistband of your pants and you lift your hips, a pout lingering on your lips at how carefully she undresses you. She keeps a hand on your lower back as you get into the bathtub filled with bubbles to ensure you don't slip.

The water splashes as you kick your feet like a child would, a sigh escaping your lips. Agatha sits down on the edge of the bathtub, hands massaging your shoulders. You groan, feeling your body relax under your lover’s skilled touch. “If I wasn't so tired, I'd ask you to wash my hair. Your hands are so damn good.” You breathed out, eyes narrowing at the teasing chuckle that immediately leaves Agatha’s lips. “Pervert.” “I didn't say a thing.” She quickly responds to your insult, putting her hands up defensively. A comfortable silence washes over the bathroom as she keeps massaging your shoulders and neck. As you yawn exaggeratedly, she dips a finger into the water, noting the temperature is turning cold. “We should get you to bed now, love.” No matter how long you've been together, whenever she spoke in that soft tone of hers you simply melted. And she melted too, a soft smile playing on her lips as she notices your adoring gaze.

Quickly getting you out of the tub, she sits you down onto the toilet seat once more to dry you with her purple towel. “Is this gonna make me smell like you?” You question cheekily with a raised brow. She chuckles lightly, planting a kiss on your cheek. “It might. Is that good or bad?” Instructing you to put your arms up, she dresses you with care; in her clothes, of course. You look down at yourself, your body now protected from the cold air by Agatha’s long, black pajamas. “Good.” You mutter as you wiggle your feet after she finishes putting on the pair of white socks. “You know I have my own clothes, right?” You tease. Your yelp is loud as she throws you over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes, your hands clumsily reaching to grip the back of her shirt. She throws you onto the bed, making you frown playfully. “But you look so much better in mine.”

You turn on your side, curling up. Agatha throws the covers on top of you, kissing your nose. You hear the brunette walking into the bathroom, assuming she's changing into more comfortable clothes. Eyebrows furrow when you notice she's brushing her teeth. Reluctantly slipping out of the warm bed, you sauntered to the bathroom, standing next to your wife and grabbing your own toothbrush. She watches with a raised brow. “Need to brush my teeth too, or else they are gonna get all gross and you won't love me anymore.” She looks amused at your words, an arm wrapping around you as you brush your teeth together. “You could have stayed in bed, dear. I’d just wake you up by shoving toothpaste and a brush in your face first thing in the morning.” She whines when you nudge her with your elbow painfully.

When you're done, you leave Agatha behind and rush to the comfort of your bed, jumping on it like a child and giggling. “Be careful.” You hear her say, glancing back to find her leaning against the doorframe while drying her hands. Turning your back to her with a huff, you miss the way she shakes her head in amusement and throws the hand towel on top of the sink — which would definitely earn her a scolding in the morning. She shuffles into bed behind you, hugging you and kissing your neck a few times. You hum in contentment, pushing back against her. “Goodnight, cinnamon. I love you.” She speaks against your ear, making you shiver. Cinnamon. That's a new one, you think. You barely have time to mutter a response before drifting off to sleep, melting into her arms.

[seresinhangmanjake]

To add on to my last ask about the celebrating the holiday for the sake of Feyds new wife:

LIKE SHE MAKES FEYD A FLOWER CROWN AND HE WEARS IT

Like from the “friendship bracelet” dialogue from bobs burgers

Wife: :)I made you a flower crown!:)

Feyd: *thinly veiled annoyance and disapproval*

Wife: :( you don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to :(

Feyd: No, I’m gonna wear it. Forever. Back off.

Anniversary

Feyd-Rautha x wife!reader

Summary: Giedi Prime is different than your home planet. They don’t celebrate the things you used to. So, you show your husband one of your traditions to mark the first year of your marriage. 

Notes/Warnings: none, i think. It's just a cute fluffy thing.

Words: 1050

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag List

You once would’ve bet everything you had that you would never fall in love with him; from every coin to your family’s name, to every extravagant gown you owned, to every jewel that adorned your neck. When you walked down the aisle, you saw something vile waiting for you at the other end, not the husband you would come to have. You saw a snake to match the name of Harkonnen, and the prospect of a future together made your stomach turn. Until you became his wife. 

What you expected in the form of threatening words and a knife to the throat on your wedding night didn’t come. He left you alone when you told him that was what you wanted. In fact, he left you alone in every aspect of your relationship until you were ready to come to him. 

That moment came three months later. For those three months, he made sure you were comfortable, as happy as you could be, well-taken care of, and he didn’t once force his presence upon you. From that, you opened yourself to him and, in a quick decision one night, dressed yourself up, went to his room, and let him take you. 

You’ve been inseparable ever since, unwilling to leave his side and vice versa, even when he’s needed elsewhere. He takes you with him to his meetings, his executions, Arrakis. You’re his wife, in all senses of the title. And as more time has passed, you’ve adjusted to being a Harkonnen wife; everything it means, down to the things you gain and the losses you face. 

The most difficult of losses have been the traditions you grew up with. You don’t see your family anymore—as enemies of Giedi Prime, they aren’t exactly welcome on the planet—and so the values your House believes and partakes in have disappeared from your life. Holidays celebrated on your home planet do not exist on Giedi Prime. Religion is not the same. Your people bow to a Goddess. Harkonnens bow to Harkonnens. Your people bask in the changes of the seasons. Giedi Prime doesn’t experience those same seasons due to the lack of rotation around their sun. Celebrations do not exist for anything other than war victories and birthdays. But most painful are the anniversaries that go entirely unacknowledged. 

At home, anniversaries are one of the grandest events. Another year of love, of shared life. Each year, you watched your parents grow giddy as their anniversary neared, and you witnessed the people of your planet rejoice for them as if it were their own milestone of marriage. 

Giedi Prime—the Harkonnens—do not care for that. Something to do with wives not lasting very long in their House. History states you’re one of few who has made it to a year of marriage with a Harkonnen, as most women, unless pregnant with an heir, have offended their spouse in some manner and so have received that dreaded knife to the throat. 

You’re lucky there, you suppose, but it doesn’t make you miss the things you can no longer have any less. And Feyd has noticed.

“Tell me what is wrong,” he says to you as he sits beside you on your bed. 

You hesitate, fearing laughter and jokes about how ridiculous your upbringing was—it wouldn’t be the first time—but when you explain further, he’s much more receptive than you imagined.

“A celebration of love?” he asks. His brow raises, but he doesn’t scoff. 

“Yes,” you say. “Back home, couples do not have to stay together. If they are unhappy, they separate–” His head jerks and he makes a displeased face. “Staying together, continuing to be in love with each year that goes by, is considered an achievement. Something worthy of praise and pride.”

“And you want this…praise?” He doesn’t understand. Praise is harder earned in his world. Praise comes when pain is inflicted. “How do you receive praise for love?”

“People have parties–”

“We cannot have a party for this.”

You take his hand in your lap. “No, I know,” you say. “But there’s also gifts.”

He shakes his head. “No one will–”

“Between us,” you stop him. “We give each other a present as a symbol of the strength of our love.”

He thinks on your words for a few moments, slightly staring off into space, until he says, “Like what?”

“Well…” Taking your hand back, you reach into your nightstand drawer and pull out a small box. “Something like this.” You peel back the lid of the box to reveal a black band with a ring of silver running through the middle. “I had this made.”

“A ring?”

As you nod, you set the small box down between you. “It’s a wedding ring. I know you don’t exchange those on your wedding day here, but back home, when you say vows, each person puts their ring on the other’s finger. This one right here,” you say, tapping the correct finger on your hand. “It’s a kind of ownership that you show to the world. You’re telling everyone that you’re taken by someone who loves you.”

Feyd swallows, his eyes flicking back and forth between yours and the ring. “People know you belong to someone else if you wear this on your planet?”

“Yes. And seeing as you belong to me, I thought…” you pause, realizing he might hate the idea. What if it bothers him? What if the light weight throws off his knife skills? What if it gets in the way of his armor? You didn’t think about these problems until now when he’s blankly staring at the damn thing. 

Feyd plucks the ring from the box and puts it up to the light. “They all look like this?”

“They’re all different,” you tell him. “If you don’t want to wear it–”

He slips it onto the correct finger. “I’m never taking it off.”

“Wh–” Your eyes blow wide. “Really?”

“Never,” he says, still staring at the onyx circle around his finger. “Even my enemies will know I’m taken.” You sigh. A chuckle of relief leaves your throat, and he turns his gaze to you. “I’ll make one for you.”

“Oh! But you don’t have to just because I did.”

His features twist in disapproval. “You belong to me as much as I belong to you, do you not?”

“Yes.”

“Then you will wear one as well. Silver,” he says. His hand raises to cup your cheek. His thumb brushes over your cheekbone. The ring is cold against your skin. “With black diamonds.”

“You want to match?”

“Yes.”

[iamred-iamyellow]

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ The Last Great American Dynasty

♥ masterlist | request rules | based on this request

♥ pairing: logan sargeant x fem!driver!reader

♥ synopsis: logan gets replaced at williams mid season by you, his girlfriend. luckily his racing career and f1 story is not over yet.

♥ smau - fc: women on pinterest - as always none of the pictures are mine <3

♥ warnings: swearing, hate comments, and james vowels slander !!!

♥ a/n: logan gets the happy ending he deserves (by taking james' job lol).

-August 26, 2024-

liked by logansargeant, oscarpiastri, susie_wolff, and 3,592,602 more

williamsracing Y/n L/n to race for the remainder of the 2024 season

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logansargeant proud of you ❤️

yourusername thank you logie. I can't wait to see where racing takes us both. I love you ❤️

user6 the fact that he's still so supportive of her... I love them your honor 🥺

alex_albon You gave it your all brother and it’s been a pleasure being teammates with you. I know whatever you do next, you’ll be awesome. I can't wait to race along side you as well @/yourusername. Lets make history.

user9 HOW ARE WE FEELING LOLEX NATION 😭

user1 the tears that are coming out of my eyes right now

user2 😧

user7 I felt my heart break in real time

user4 ... james I am in your fucking walls

user5 I am so proud of y/n but damn.

user21 can someone explain please??

user7 logan, the driver y/n is replacing is her boyfriend

user9 I cried.

user60 imagine taking your own BOYFRIENDS job. he deserves so much better

user51 poor logan 💔

user10 lets not let the sad news about logan leaving impact our support for y/n. shes the first woman to race in f1 in a VERY long time and that's an incredible achievement

user3 say it louder for the people in the back

user12 this !!!

user4 James vowels is the common enemy

user8 @/user4 TRUE

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

-Logan's Insta Story-

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

liked by logansargeant, susie_wolff, lilymhe, and 609,427 more

yourusername oh look i’m winning

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user1 yes you are queen

user2 you don’t have to brag 😔

user5 POINTS

landonorris @/logansargeant maybe you should get her a dog

pierregasly 💀

user1 landooo 😭

user8 how is she so gorgeous

user9 oh to be y/n

user6 prove the haters wrong !!!

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

liked by yourusername, patriciooward, Indycar, and 984,582 more

logansargeant back in blue

tagged; @/andrettiindy

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yourusername 🩵

logansargeant 🩵

patriciooward good to see you again

user7 SHUT THE FUCK UP NOT ANDRETTI SIGNING HIM FOR 2025

user9 HAHAHA

user3 the personal beef andretti has with f1 is inspiring 😩

user8 WHAT THE FUCK IS A KILOMETER 🦅🇺🇸

user5 lets go logan

user1 oh we are SO back.

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

liked by yourusername, oscarpiastri, andrettiindy, and 2,459,302 more

logansargeant today I got the privilege of marrying the most talented, beautiful, and kind woman I have ever met. you have stood by me since the beginning of my career and I am honored that you chose me to support you throughout the future of yours. I love you so much

comments are limited

f1 our favorite paddock couple

indycar double it and give it to the next motorsport

alex_albon congratulations to the both of you!

lilyzneimer thank you for making me your maid of honor 🥹 you looked absolutely stunning today

yourusername lilyyyy 😭🫶

williamsracing so who caught the boquet? 👀

yourusername lily mhe 🤭

lilymhe we might be needing those brides maid dresses again soon

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

-December 2035-

It has just been announced that former F1 driver Logan Sargeant and his wife, Y/n L/n will be the new team principal and CEO of Williams Racing.

The F1 American Dynasty

If you're unfamiliar with the story of Sargeant you may not understand the significance of this change for Williams. He had a spot on the grid during 2023-2024 before being dropped mid-season and replaced by his now wife Y/n L/n. He then went on to drive for Andretti, an American Indycar team and Y/n won four championships during her time in F1. The two of them have continued to carry on the legacy of American drivers in Formula 1, encouraged by the Andretti family.

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

liked by andrettiindy, susie_wolff, oscarpiastri, and 1,362,503 more

yourusername CEO life

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lilymhe GORGEOUS

yourusername no YOU <33

williamsracing glad to have you back @/logansargeant

user2 even admin is a logan fan

user4 oh FUUUCK YEA

user7 stop the middle picture-

user9 I want what they have 😭

user1 their ULTIMATE revenge

user12 fuck james vowels

user3 all my homies hate james vowels

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

end notes: thank you so much for reading! even though logan isn't on the grid I'll still have a few fics coming out for him soon <3

[lenaellsi]

“Crowley is still an angel deep down” “Crowley is more of an angel than any of the archangels” “Crowley was only cast out because he needed to play his part in Armageddon, he's not a real demon” “Aziraphale wants to rebuild Heaven to be more like Crowley because he’s what an angel should be” no. Stop it. This is exactly where Aziraphale went wrong.

Crowley is 100% a demon. He's not actually a bit of an angel, and he's not cosmically better than any of the other demons we see in the series. He's much less vicious than most of them, yeah, but he's also much less vicious than most of the angels, because how “nice” a celestial being is has nothing to do with which side they're technically on. Crowley's kindness comes from him doing his best to help people despite the hurt he's suffered himself, not any sort of inherent residual or earned holiness. He was cast out just like the rest of the demons, and that's an important part of his history that shouldn't be minimized, excused, or, critically, 'corrected.'

Being angelic is not a positive or negative trait in the Good Omens universe. It's a species descriptor. Saying that Crowley is still an angel deep down because he helps people is an in-character thing for Aziraphale to think, certainly--Job and the final fifteen showed that in the worst possible way--but it's not something Crowley would ever react well to, and it's the main source of conflict in the entire "appoint you to be an angel" fiasco.

We know that Aziraphale thinks Crowley's fall was an injustice, but why? Well, because Crowley is actually Good, which means his fall was a mistake, or a test, or a regrettable error in judgment, or…something. Ineffable. Etc. The point is, he’s special, much better than those other demons, and if they can fix him and make him an angel again, everything will be fine! (So once Job's trials are over, everything will be restored to him? Praise be!) Aziraphale has to believe that Crowley's better traits come from traces of the angel he used to know and not the demon he's known for 6,000 years, because that’s how he can rationalize his incorrect view of Heaven as The Source Of Truth And Light And Good with his complicated feelings about Crowley's fall.

But Crowley's fall was not an injustice because he's actually a Good Person who didn't deserve it. Crowley's fall was an injustice because the entire system of dividing people into Good (obedient) and Bad (rebellious) is bullshit. Crowley is not an unfortunate exception to God's benevolence, he is a particularly sympathetic example of God's cruelty.

And really, Crowley doesn't behave at all like an angel, especially when he's at his best. All of the things that he's done that we as the audience consider Good are things that Heaven has directly opposed. (See: saving the goats and children in defiance of God in S2E2, convincing Aziraphale to give money to Elspeth despite Heaven's views on the "virtues of poverty" in S2E3, speaking out against the flood and the crucifixion in S1E3, tempting Aziraphale to enjoy earthly pleasures because he thinks they'll make him happy, stopping Armageddon.)

Heaven as an institution has never been about helping humanity. And that's not an issue of leadership, as Aziraphale seems to think--it's by design. Aziraphale's first official act as an angel toward humanity was to literally throw them to the lions. Giving them the sword wasn't him acting like an angel, it was just him being himself. Heaven doesn't care about humans. It's not supposed to. It's supposed to win the war against Hell, with humans as chess pieces at best and collateral damage at worst.

Yes, it's easier to think that there are forces that are supposed to be fundamentally good. It's easier to think that Aziraphale is going to show those mean archangels and the Metatron what’s coming to them and reform Heaven into what it "should" be, and that God is actually super chill and watching all of this while shipping ineffable husbands and cheering for them the whole way. And of course it's easier to take Crowley, who Aziraphale (and the audience) adores, and say that he deserves to be on the Good team much more than all those angels and demons that we don’t like. But that's not how it works. People are more complicated than that, even celestial beings.

Crowley is a demon, and the tragedy of his character is not that he's secretly a good guy who is being forced to be evil; the tragedy is that he's lived his whole life stuck between two institutional forces that are both equally hostile to the love he feels for the universe and the beings in it. There are no good and bad guys. There are no "right people." Every angel, demon, and human is capable of hurting or helping others based on their choices. That is, in fact, the entire fucking point.

[punkpandapatrixk]

🏖Your Own Standards of Beauty ♦︎ Timeless Pick A Card

I’ve seen one too many times East Asian YouTubers, when talking about EA’s ‘rigid standards of beauty’ giving this sense of defensiveness or helplessness—because it’s culture, right? With every fibre of my mixed ancestry I loathed that particular brand of apologist behaviour.

‘Nature is busy creating absolutely unique individuals, whereas culture has invented a single mold to which all must conform. It is grotesque.’ – U.G. Krishnamurti

Up until fairly recently, I was still struggling with comprehending the thought process behind this ‘invention’ of a grotesquely small and narrow mould of beauty and conduct to which ALL East Asians must abide lest you’re a total disharmonious failure. After some long and hard rumination, frustration, accompanied by occasional bouts of repugnance, I think I finally get ‘why’.

Almost ALL people in East Asia ALL LOOK THE SAME!!! By nature!!! LMAO LMAO People can ONLY have black hair and black eyes LMAO Ahahahohohhahah I think these Asians were never ‘socialised’ to appreciate variety. Hahhh that’s so pathetic. If this really is the reason, man, it’s pathetic as fuck. Ionno tho. You think I’ve figured it out.

All I know is that East Asians must repent for all the sins they’ve committed against childhood, individuality, creativity, aaand society and Humanity itself. Yes, Humanity. Standing on the side of all genetically diverse peoples of Asia, such as the Ainus, Mongols, Uyghurs, to some extent the Zainichis, and sooo many other ‘anomalies’ who, in recent history, have been cast aside and treated poorly only because they don’t ‘fit in’ to the ideals and cultures of the main races of some purebred fucks.

For all I care, the part of East Asian culture that has birthed this infamous ‘rigid standards of beauty, and, conduct’ can go to fucking hell. If you’re the type of person who’s even the slightest bit proud—or defensive—of this you can go and fuck yourself. No one should be proud of that kind of a racist, fascist, repulsive, little bitch mindset. Are you a little bitch? I ain’t one.

I am a Supreme Bitch! Imma be myself and do whatever the fuck I want and look however I want. And if my society can’t take that? Those types of people—Asian or no Asian—can die on the wrong side of history! I. AM. MY OWN. PROTOTYPE.

perspective: Why BUSHIDO Is The Root of All Social Problems in Japan by Let’s ask Shogo

documentary: WE ARE X on YouTube (watch before it’s taken down LOL)

‘X challenged a conservative Japanese society and showed us a new way to be. They started a revolution, honestly.’

‘Be proud!! Be proud of yourself! We are!! X!!!’

deck-bottom: X(!?!) The Wheel of Fortune, Priestess of Ambition, Gold Magus (Johannes Faustus)

[PAC Masterlist] [Part 1] [Part 2]

[Patreon] [Paid Readings]

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Pile 1 – A Light of Innocence in this Insanely Debased World

playlist: silly playlist for silly people with rare songs!! by Rita wild

the TYPA beauty you are – Page of Cups

You are someone who’s known for being quite childlike. It could be that you do look young, but it’s mostly your mannerism. Technically speaking, it’s just YOU being the happy pill that you are. Listen, some of you tuning into this Pile could be dark and sombre on the inside—especially if you have a significant Scorpio/Pluto about you or if you’ve had a very unhappy childhood—but the way you’re perceived on the outside is totally bright, beautifully soft and pleasant, and dang, people really be liking your aenergy when you’re in a room.

You’re the type of beauty that exudes ‘purity’ in the most innocent way, no matter how you look or dress. You could be perceived as ethereal or unreal. otherworldly in a sense that you don’t seem to fit in this dimension. Are you an alien? Are you a goddess? Are you a fairy, elf, or an anime character? People may not have the exact words to describe you but you’re INTERDIMENSIONAL is what’s going on.

It isn’t just your physical beauty or the attractive way that you smile. People may not realise this themselves either but what’s truly beautiful about you is this VIBE or AURA that you generate from having a vastly pure heart. No, no, not pure in the sense that you never think sexy thoughts, what? Pure in the sense that you really operate from your Higher Heart and has very little ego driving your ambitions in Life~^_☆-v

effects on the world around you – Ace of Cups Rx

Basically, you just love beautiful things. You always look for beautiful things. And you make an effort to surround yourself with things you find beautiful in your own standards. And in a way, you’re also the kind of person who sees beauty in everything and everybody. You’re the type of person who sees Light even in a narc’s darkest corners of their blackened heart (if they had one), which is really such a beautiful thing but could also prove DANGEROUS!

It’s wonderful to have childlike wonder but it ain’t cool whatsoever to be childish enough not to acknowledge the presence of evil fucks. Bad people exist, OK? Very predatory and murderous people exist, OK? And it’s a spectrum. And you’ve been such an easy target for those on the milder spectrum of psychopathy! Babe! OMG You’re often drained of good aenergy after catering to the stupid whims of very narcissistic, histrionic, pathetic, selfish and whiney fucks.

STOP THAT. Of all the Piles, you’re the type of soft beauty who’s often underestimated and taken for granted just because you’re always so positive. If not ‘positive’ per se, you’re perceived as ‘strong’, so those types of people don’t even feel shame for constantly taking and demanding your aenergy. Keep allowing that long enough and your physical beauty could be drained out of you by the time your First Saturn Return jaywalks along and smacks you in the head.

keep being you, Glorious One – 6 of Swords Rx

Truly, you’re a silly angel who holds the power to absorb other people’s pain and gloomy feelings. But if this is your main pile, thing is, you might not have learnt how to release or transmute the negativity you’ve absorbed from your surroundings. It is paramount that you learn to call upon divine protection so that you’re shielded from the Evil Eye of those who are envious of your beauty and feel silly in your purity. Your Spirit Guides aren’t saying that you should stop being innocent, right?

A Soul like you is very rare in this perverted world. Some people might say, ‘They don’t make people like you anymore…’ WRONG. You’re the catalyst, if anything. By your example, there’s gonna be MORE people who are gonna be comfortable in their purity. Knowing that there’s nothing wrong with them for being this way. Fully comprehending that it is this world that’s gone too insane, and DEBASED. And this world has been this way for far longer than people realise. I mean, I’m sure you’re aware of how inhumane most people were in the medieval times LOL

Keep being the innocent and pure you, Glorious One. What you’re being advised to do is learn to set healthy boundaries from which you can still shine your Light safely. I’m being told that many of you choosing this Pile, due to your heightened sense of aesthetic, might want to have a social media presence or any kind of public platform where you’re free to share bits and pieces of your beautiful Life as a form of your Lightwork. Some kind of a lifestyle influencer?

I’m thinking of channels and blogs that typically share aesthetic daily vlogs and stuff like that—like nemui atelier on YouTube. You know what I mean; I don’t know what I mean XD

YOUR BEAUTY KILLS🔻💙

story of your evolution – Priestess of Prosperity

a legacy of authenticity – Red Astronomer (Johannes Kepler)

Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 2 – An Unexpectedly Romantic Dreamer of Luxury

playlist: songs like 𝑚𝑦 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑒 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑒 (MITSKI) by song with love

the TYPA beauty you are – 2 of Cups

Ah~! You are such a dreamy and romantic beauty! You’re soft, elegant, sweet and lovely, with a kicking spice for those who would get on your bad side LMAO You’re actually a lot tougher than appearances give but most people don’t always get this until they’ve gotten to know you. For the most part, at first glance, at first encounter, you’re a sweet goddess, who probably gets projected on a lot.

You really have an unassuming quality about you. So then, people think there’s not much going on within and think it’s easy to typecast you into something, with some simplistic label. People think it’s easy to figure you out and classify you into some kind of a dream girl who’s always going to be nice, warm and friendly with everybody. You’re not. You’re a totally self-respecting babe. Actually, you really hate it when people act like they know you.

When people act like they’re close, buddy-buddy with you, it’s super annoying and depending on your mood that day, you could sometimes feel this urge to break people’s faces. But you don’t do that; you’re too nice. And you’ve got a plethora of coping mechanisms to deal with how annoyed you are with your surrounding XD Good for you!

effects on the world around you – 5 of Swords Rx

First of all, I think many of you tapping into this Pile love shopping. Retail is definitely your therapy. Is this good? Is this bad? Depends, I guess. You tend to spend money gregariously or consume a lot of food, or buy a lot of aesthetic knickknacks, or buy a lot of arts and craft as a means of therapy. Deep down, you’re somebody who has a lot of anger or a general sense of dissatisfaction with the world you’re a part of and this rage, almost, needs to be channelled creatively.

There’s a perpetual sense of disgust inside of you. You’re keen to observe and notice how much Humanity is failing. Everything that is ugly about society and people in general disgusts you. That’s why it’s important for you to live in beauty or indulge in creativity. That’s why it is paramount that your immediate surrounding, that your own Life, within what you’re able to control, is beautified to the max. You could be quite desperate in this pursuit because this is some kind of an overcompensation for the beauty and creativity that you feel is lacking in the world.

Your aenergy is kinda reminding me of this quote by the iconic Edie Sedgwick when describing why she dressed up the way she did:

‘When I was girl of the year and superstar and all that crap, everything I did was really…motivated by psychological disturbance. But I’d make a mask out of my face because I didn’t realize I was quite beautiful…I had to wear heavy black eyelashes like bat wings and dark lines under my eyes. Cut all of my hair off and strip it silver and blond. All these little manoeuvres I did out of things that were happening in my life that upset me. I’d freak out in a very physical way, and…it was all taken in a fashion trend.’

In fact, I think all of her famous words here could resonate with you. You are what trend-setters and superstars are made of, that much of your effect on the world is certain~

keep being you, Glorious One – Queen of Pentacles

Really, that’s all dandy as long as you can make a living out of your pursuit of beauty and creativity. This about you is really something that you can utilise as a means of therapy, self-care and self-improvement because you really are an artist, one way or another. It would be wonderful if you could monetise your beauty and creativity in some trendy way.

If you feel that you’re not particularly good at any kind of ‘real’ art, then you can ‘serve face’ to help other people sell their shit. You don’t think this is smart enough? Muses are often people who don’t do art—rather they inspire Art in the minds and hearts of other artists. Truly, you are an artist; but those of you tuning into this Pile who feel like you’re not one…you are potentially someone’s Muse.

Luxury is yours for the taking. But a lot of people in this world pursue luxury and some form of fame for vapid reasons and that often makes people very unhappy. Your Spirit Guides are saying that you do have a talent for balancing modern money-making and self-care. I think what they mean to say is that, you can be the prototype for how people can be completely and uniquely offbeat whilst still maintaining a good work-life balance.

After all, you do remember how much people like to project on you, right? Well, use them to make Life a lot easier! XD After all, it’s not like their projection and labelling would be useful any other way LOL🐙

YOUR BEAUTY KILLS🔻💜

story of your evolution – Priestess of Luxury

a legacy of authenticity – Green Historian (Herodotus)

Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 3 – A Ghostly Bitch Witch Who’s Quite Literally a Fucken Sigma

playlist: Everything Is Still Under Control by Mabisyo

the TYPA beauty you are – Queen of Wands Rx

You, are, by nature, magical. You’re incredibly magnetic and this ain’t even something you’ve needed to work on; it all comes naturally. If anything, it seems you’ve needed to learn the very hard way how to shield yourself from aenergy vampires. You’ve needed to work on your boundary. This is because it took you such a long time to realise most everybody around you was nothing but anklebiters. These were people who just wanted to be seen orbiting you because doing so would elevate their status or image.

Whether or not you’re aware of it, you’re quite literally thee IT girl. You’re also THAT girl, because a lot of what you do and just who you are is very aspirational. Well of course aspirational to the motivated ones; to the weak, lame-ass ones? Almost everything about you is irritating. And most people are really lame, don’t we all agree on this? So you may have felt like you’re really quite an unlikeable character. WRONG. Dead wrong. It’s not you; it’s your lame-ass environment.

You’re a Queen of Passion who’s been living in peasant quarters, figuratively speaking. You’ve been surrounded by misers who don’t even understand why it’s deeply important for them to raise their own standards of authenticity. Thing is, they can’t afford to be authentic. It’s probably not entirely their fault—after all, peasants are highly dependent on thee System. Not you. You’re the menacingly magnetic bitch witch of a system buster!

effects on the world around you – 8 of Cups

As much as you make an effort to be left alone, you magnetise admirers to no end. This is reminiscent of Greta Garbo’s famous quote, ‘I never said, "I want to be alone". I only said, "I want to be left alone". There is a whole world of difference.’ It’s true with you as well. You’re not necessarily an antisocial bitch who hates people; you just want to be left alone by gluttonous gossipers and silly simpers. You find it hard to grasp why people behave unreasonably in society, all, the, time.

You yearn for a more intellectual world where people behave honourably, which is quite paradoxical considering you’re often perceived as quite scandalous in your behaviour and lifestyle choices as well. For example, you could be gay or queer? You could desire to defy social norms such as ‘having to marry by a certain age’? You either reject social norms or you live completely opposite to what’s expected of your gender, nationality or age. You don’t like being told how to live your Life as if you couldn’t work it out yourself. It's YOUR Life, right?

It’s MY Life! My Story! Is what you say.

You’re the kind of super bad bitch that gives no one permission to decide how you should sail your ship. You’re at the wheel so you’re gonna sail the world however best you know. You’re gonna learn a ton because you’re not afraid of detours or delays or whatever—you could meet accidents, hopefully not fatal ones, but you’re going to learn. That’s what growing up well is all about for you. And if you meet the right kind of audience, your whole AURA is going to empower them to do just the same for themselves~

keep being you, Glorious One – 4 of Cups Rx

You are destined for an exciting Life. In fact, you’re meant to have an audience, have some kind of impact on the world, you’re meant to become some kind of a famous person. Could be a celeb, yeah, but in this social media era, literally everybody can have their own unique kind of celebrity, right? You’re meant to be seen, heard, listened to, watched, analysed (LOL), and learn from.

You’re somebody who’s rare and your perspectives are deeply needed by this world. This world that’s often blindsided by optical illusions. Of all people, you’re the only one who’s not getting sucked into the mirage of mass media and deceitful politicians. You’re the one who’s noticing where the lies are all at. And you need to point that shit out, spell it out for other people to see what’s truly going on in this world.

You could gain enemies, lots of them, in fact; but you are definitely gaining a massive following far greater than that if you remain authentic and courageous. Stay spooky. Stay scandalous. Stay gloriously YOU~ You’ve no idea just how much that Light of yours is needed in this world of long shadows. Keep your Third Eye open and keep your divine protection. Most people have yet to catch on to the one thing that makes YOU superfluously attractive: a courageous Heart that seeks to liberate others from the chains of their own cowardice.

YOUR BEAUTY KILLS🔻🧡

story of your evolution – Priestess of Luck

a legacy of authenticity – Green Magus (John Dee)

Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

[PAC Masterlist] [Part 1] [Part 2]

[Patreon] [Paid Readings]

[saveyoursunshine]

i love when artists explicitly write/draw eddie and steve with very noticeable, maybe even deforming scars. i love when they dont fail to mention the repercussions the things they've been through have left on their bodies. because yes, we talk a lot about ptsd and horrible nightmares and all the psychoemotional issues, but we should totally talk more about the physical side of it.

eddie with a scar on his jaw that tugs when he smiles and aches after a long effusive rant. having to use mobility aides like a crutch or a walking stick because the muscles on his leg never fully recovered and the scars on his abdomen hurt if he tries to tighten his core too hard.

steve with awful migranes and early onset hearing loss and complex vision problems and slight trouble breathing because his head/face got fucked up one too many times. the scars on his back that got infected because no one gave them notice, that are now scars that twinge when he moves his arms and hurt after a day of running around with the kids. the scars on his abdomen that restrict his range of motion. that raspiness in his voice that never went away after a bat tried to crush his windpipe.

i don't know where i'm going with this i just... we constantly recognize their heroic deeds, but i think it's also important to remember that they are not heroes. they are just teenagers who were in the wrong place at the wrong time. they were doomed by the narrative, literally cannon fodder, and their bodies tell the history of that, and of how they're still here despite it all.