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hedghost · 1 year

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alessia russo | make you my problem

sick of her family's endless questions about her dating life, alessia invents a fake girlfriend to get them off her back. unfortunately, now she has to deal with the consequences, which means dealing with you.

(fake dating fic inspired by business by catfish and the bottlemen)

word count: 13.5k

alessia stared down at the card in her hand. her eyes flicked over the perfectly printed calligraphy for the hundredth time that day. it was the first time she'd got it out since it had been delivered three months ago, when she'd promptly piled it beneath a stack of bills on the countertop, and tried to ignore it. unfortunately, the solution hadn't magically appeared as she'd hoped it would, and the wedding was fast approaching.

she read the words again, her expression burning lasers into the paper.

formally invited... et cetera et cetera... the wedding of luca russo... so on and so forth... invites alessia russo... and there was the kicker... plus one.

to really rub salt in the wound, her brother luca had scribbled a sharpie winky face next to the last bit, obscuring the ornate lettering with a scruffy, mocking squiggle.

let it be clear, alessia enjoyed her life the way it was. she enjoyed not being tied down by the constraints of someone else, she enjoyed her own space, her independence. she'd curated her own little routines, her own little preferences, and now she was free to bask in the luxuries of single life. but still, her heart tugged a little at the card - and its implications.

when luca had asked if she'd wanted a plus one to the wedding, months ago, she'd been tempted to answer truthfully, and decline. it was the look on his face however, that teasing smirk that was always so prevalent between siblings, that changed her mind. if she said no, she'd be subject to the usual smug commentary from her brothers, both of whom were happily partnered off, and the unbearably not-so-subtle questions from her parents about her dating life. and so she did her best impression of nonchalance, waved him off with a non-committal smile, and said yes.

she had braced herself for the comments, let it wash off her back when her mum asked her if she had 'finally found someone', or when her other brother gio gave her a vastly sceptical look, like he couldn't believe she'd ever bring a date. it was fine. she was used to this.

as much as alessia loved single life, it would be a lie to say it didn't sting when she turned up to every family gathering alone, watching everyone else with their partners. it would be a lie to say the ribbing and teasing from her brothers didn't hurt a little, that it didn't play on some deep-rooted insecurity she'd tried so hard to stamp out. she told herself it was better this way, but year by year, she watched from the side-lines as all her friends seemed to find their other halves, and yet here she remained, as luca had once said; a 'lone wolf'.

so she'd said yes, when the wedding had been months away, and she had all the time in the world to find a date. now, the wedding was a week away, and here she was. glaring daggers into a wedding invite, very much dateless.

her phone vibrated against the counter, where she'd dropped it unceremoniously after coming in from her match. it was undoubtedly luca again, who had been trying to call her all day. she knew exactly why he was calling. alessia considered declining the call, but she knew her brother would be persistent.

"hey luca," she sighed into the phone, leaning her head against the cupboard.

"less, hi! great game today!"

"thanks," she murmured. her head was beginning to hurt, and she was unsure if it was from the bone-deep exhaustion she felt, or the looming threat of showing up alone to the wedding.

"hey listen, i just wanted to ask you about the-"

"-the wedding, yeah i know," alessia racked her brain for a way out of this conversation, but came up short.

"okay cool, just because you never responded to my texts about your date, and i need to know if you're actually bringing one," luca paused, a muffled noise coming from the other end of the line. alessia assumed he was talking to his fiancée. luca spoke again, voice slightly softer, but still a little harried. "if you aren't that's alright, we just need to know like, right now. if it were anyone else i'd say it's too late to change stuff but since it's you, i'll let you off,"

alessia hesitated. she could tell him the truth. she really should tell him the truth. luca had just given her an out, perfectly plated up for her.

and yet, irritation stirred inside her. luca seemed so sure, so certain that she didn't have a date. she couldn't bear the thought of proving him right. she could already hear gio's remarks, see his smug smile. her mum's overly sympathetic expression flashed in her mind, not for the first time.

alessia loved her brothers, really she did. but that's not to say that, like most siblings, they couldn't be really, fucking annoying. honestly, most things alessia did in life were to spite them. even football, which at first had been her way of joining in with her cool, older brothers, soon became a way to show them up, to prove that anything they could do, she could wipe the floor with them at. alessia made her decision.

"no, it's fine, i'm bringing someone,"

"wait, what?" luca's shock was evident in his voice. alessia gritted her teeth.

"i'm dating someone,"

"seriously?" luca now seemed to be scrambling for what to say, clearly having not expected this answer. "oh, yeah, cool, well, in that case, we need to know his name for the seating charts and stuff,"

alessia cringed. both at luca's assumption of gender, and at the trap she'd just laid for herself. this was a very stupid idea.

"her name," she corrected, on instinct.

god, what was wrong with her? why couldn't she stop talking?

"oh! right sorry- good for you less. we need her name then,"

fuck. what was she doing? alessia had dug herself into a hole of epic proportions, and she really hadn't thought this far ahead. in all honestly, she hadn't really thought at all.

she couldn't back out now though. alessia racked her brain for potential fake suitors, someone she could convince to accompany her for the evening, someone who would raise very little questions. she considered ella, but alessia's family all knew she had a boyfriend. millie, maybe? god knows millie had a thing for dating footballers, but alessia also knew she was awful at keeping her mouth shut. she could try katie, but her brothers had met her on many occasions, they wouldn't believe it for a second. no, it needed to be someone her brothers didn't know well, someone who it would be very easy to erase from her family's memory once the night was over.

alessia felt her mouth move before she had the time to process what she was even saying. the regret was instant, but the words were out before she could swallow them.

"y/n,"

"wait, from united? y/n y/l/n?"

shit. shit, this was bad. of all the players, why had she unconsciously said your name. alessia swallowed hard, closing her eyes and wincing as she nodded to herself.

"yes,"

"oh shit, i didn't even know you guys were close,"

exactly, cursed alessia to herself, we aren't.

"its pretty recent," alessia said instead. god, this was bad. this was so, so bad.

"okay, does she have any food allergies or anything?"

as if alessia had any idea. she'd had maybe five conversations with you in total, and every single one had been utterly infuriating. why she'd said your name was a mystery, and one she was majorly regretting already.

"uh, i don't think so, i'll double check tomorrow," alessia winced as she spoke, very glad this conversation was not face to face.

"well, can you text her now?"

no, alessia thought, i cannot. she didn't even have your number.

"sure," alessia needed to end the call before she said something else she'd regret, "okay luca, i have to go, i'll speak to you later okay?"

"what less no! you just dropped a bomb that you're finally seeing someone, and you're just going to hang up without telling me a thing?"

"yes, i am. goodnight luca,"

after hanging up, alessia borderline threw her phone across the room. she collapsed into a chair, dragging her hands over her face.

"what the fuck have i just done?"

---

alessia woke up the next day, feeling entirely unrefreshed, and unresolved. she'd hoped to sleep on her options after her disastrous claims to luca last night, but the stress of it all meant she barely slept full stop.

at least she had the day off from training. the thought of facing you right now was honestly sickening. not for the first time, alessia cursed herself for saying your name. why she hadn't chosen someone she was actually friends with - someone who would actually go along with her ridiculous lie - was beyond her.

it wasn't that alessia didn't like you, per se, but the two of you had just never seemed to click. since your transfer at the start of the season, you'd become fast friends with pretty much all of the girls, except alessia. honestly, it had killed her at first. alessia prided herself on being likeable, on being able to get on with most people, but for some reason, it was like there was an invisible barrier between the two of you. okay, yeah maybe alessia just didn't like you.

alessia had tried to initiate conversations, but you'd respond with a standoffish comment, or a blunt joke that just didn't seem to land with her. everyone else would laugh, but alessia would find herself awkwardly drawing a blank on what to do or say. the few times you did speak, alessia just found herself getting irritated with you, with the way you seemed to constantly be mocking or teasing her for something, the way you always left her feeling frustrated, and flustered. she assumed you had some sort of vendetta agaisnt her, although she could never quite pinpoint what, or why.

she'd never really had to try to get people to like her before, never really had to force conversation, and for once in her life she hadn't known how to interact with someone.

and so, rather than try, she'd kind of just accepted it. if you didn't like her, if you had some sort of problem with her, then she'd just leave you alone. and so she had. you interacted in a purely surface level manner, as teammates - and no one could deny you were an attacking double act to be reckoned with on the pitch - but that was about as far as it went.

her musing was interrupted by a rather heavy pounding on the door of her flat. she dragged herself out of bed, expecting the postman, but instead was greeted by a very excited ella.

"why didn't you tell me?" ella said immediately, barging past alessia into the flat with the force of a bull on steroids. her eyes widened and she began to look around frantically. "oh my god, is she here?" alessia rubbed the sleep from her eyes. she was not awake enough for whatever this was.

"el, i- what?"

"y/n? is she here?" ella turned to look at alessia, honest-to-god beaming at her. "i can't believe you didn't tell me!"

finally, alessia's brain caught up with ella's tirade. right, y/n.

"you spoke to luca," it wasn't a question. ella didn't seem to notice alessia's sour mood, instead moving to look in alessia's bedroom, as if for some damned reason you'd be in there, god forbid.

alessia weighed her options carefully. on the one hand, she couldn't lie to ella. she'd be found out almost immediately. plus, once ella was involved, that meant the whole team was. it was one thing to lie to her family for one evening, but to lie to the whole team, who she spent hours each day in close contact with, was a whole other kettle of fish. of course, this was all assuming alessia actually spoke to you, and by some miracle, convinced you to keep up the lie. this of course would never happen, since alessia was still pretty sure you hated her.

alternatively, and probably the best idea, she could tell ella the truth. ella might even be able to help her out, set her up with a date or something. it crossed her mind that you were friends with ella, and maybe she'd be able to get you to help alessia out. she dismissed that idea pretty quickly.

"ella, listen-" she began, but ella cut her off immediately.

"oh, less i'm so happy for you guys, i knew you would be so great together!"

alessia was a little taken aback. the thought that ella had seen her interact with you, and somehow come to that conclusion, was honestly baffling. in alessia's shock, ella continued on, " i never understood why you never seemed to get on with her, because you know, she's literally the best, but now it all makes sense!"

"it...does?" alessia didn't really know what to say. she absolutely hadn't expected this reaction.

"you were being shy because you had a crush!" ella exclaimed, as though she'd come to an obvious conclusion. "fuck's sake less, you should've just told me you liked her, i could have set you guys up so much sooner-" alessia barely knew how to respond, she just knew she had to stop this before ella went any further.

"no, that's not-"

"aw less, this is so cute! i can't wait to tell everyone else!" that snapped alessia back to reality.

"no! i mean, please don't,"

"why not?" ella looked at alessia, eyes questioning. she needed to confess, to tell ella the truth before it spiralled. this was already getting out of hand and alessia needed to put it to bed, right now.

"we-uh- we aren't telling people yet. its pretty recent,"

oops.

"oh right, yeah totally less," ella nodded solemnly, and gave alessia a reassuring smile. she tried to return it, but she couldn't muster much more than a grimace, "okay, well, i only stopped by to ask you about it, but i'll see you tomorrow yeah?"

alessia only nodded, watching helplessly after ella as she disappeared down the corridor. she'd really gone and fucked it now.

---

she spent the rest of the day contemplating her options, but unsurprisingly, found no easy way out. she refused point blank to admit to luca it was a lie, espescially now that ella was involved, which meant only one thing. she had to ask for your help. alessia felt honestly ill at just the thought of speaking to you, but she resigned herself to it - it was the only option. it was one night, a single wedding. all she had to do was get on her knees and beg, put up with one night of your infuriating company, then endure a lifetime of embarassment from you. super easy.

ella's earlier words remained in the forefront of her mind. alessia knew that it would only be a matter of time before the whole team discovered the 'news', which meant she had to get to you before they did. she considered messaging you on instagram, but her finger hovered over the button, unable to move.

no, she thought, after opening your profile for the hundredth time. this was the kind of conversation you had face-to-face. although not that alessia had ever had to have this ridiculous conversation before. besides, surely it was best to leave no paper trail.

----

alessia had virtually no sleep for the second night in a row, sleeping though her alarm and therefore ensuing on a mad rush to get to the training ground in time. by the time she arrived, she was practically vibrating; a combination of nervous energy and the coffee she'd downed as she ran out her door.

alessia arrived at the ground in time for the morning meeting, which she listened to approximately none of, hyper-aware of your presence on the other side of the room. finally marc finished speaking, and she stood to try and catch you.

"y/n?" she called, voice borderline desperate. you turned to look at her, as did ona and aoife, who you'd been mid-conversation with. you didn't say anything, just looked into alessia's eyes expectantly. realising she had the attention of a quarter of the room, it occurred to her that now was not the best time to do this. alessia's voice trailed off, and she took a step back.

"uh, nothing," alessia mumbled, and you smirked a little. she gritted her teeth in annoyance, and walked in the opposite direction, just desperate to be anywhere but here, caught like a deer in your headlights. she decided to give it an hour, then catch you alone.

alessia lasted all of 15 minutes before the anxiety got too much, and she took off in search of you. she was so preoccupied that she didn't even see ella coming the other way. she barely even registered the collision, just questioning her on your whereabouts immediately.

"hey, have you seen y/n?"

ella raised her eyebrow, a shit-eating grin plastered onto her face within seconds. alessia rolled her eyes impatiently, knowing exactly where ella's mind had gone. god this was unbearable.

"not for that, i need to speak to her," alessia was getting anxious now, just desperate for this whole thing to be over, and ella's suggestive looks weren't helping in the least. ella seemed to notice when her breath picked up.

"you good, less?"

"can you please just tell me where y/n is?"

"i think she went towards the gym," ella calmed down, sensing alessia was in some distress. alessia took off without a second glance, trying her best to calm her shaking hands. this was fine. she just had to kindly explain, and then beg for you to help. maybe even offer you a hefty bribe or something, and just pray you didn't bite her head off.

alessia was so lost in her head as she marched towards the gym that she didn't notice you waiting for her in the corridor. she wasn't proud of the surprised yelp she let out when you grabbed her hand and pulled her, rather unceremoniously, into a storage cupboard.

"why have i just had someone tell me we're dating?"

fuck, thought alessia. this was not how this conversation was meant to go. she tried to speak, to explain, but, as usual when she was around you, she couldn't seem to get the words out. she blushed, stuttering around excuses.

"hello?" you smirked, clearly amused at alessia's panic. she looked up, meeting those dark eyes to find a hint of laughter. alessia blinked, her breath catching. the amusement in your eyes seemed to fade a little, and if alessia didn't know better, she might have recognised the faint concern laced underneath. "you good?"

"fuck, its my fault - i, i'm so sorry, i-"

"woah, alright, calm down," you reached out a lithe hand, hesitantly placing it on her shoulder.

alessia felt her face heating up, wishing desperately the ground would swallow her whole. it was now or never. she could feel your eyes boring into her, waiting for an explanation. she steeled herself, and let everything fall out in one mortified breath.

"i told my brother i had a girlfriend so he'd get off my back about my date to his wedding, only then he started asking questions so i panicked and said your name," the explanation is rushed, and you have to lean in to decipher exactly what alessia is muttering. she pauses, humiliation halting the next part.

"and then he told ella, who told everyone, so now the whole team thinks we're together, and also my family are expecting me to bring you to the wedding on sunday," her voice trails off.

you let out a laugh, a little taken aback by the comedy of the whole situation. alessia looked down at her feet, playing with the fingers nervously. you could feel the embarrassment practically radiating form her in waves. you felt a little bad. alessia stood in front of you, clearly stressed about this wedding for some reason, so much so she's caught herself up in a lie. a lie involving you, no less, who she seemed to hate, for some reason unbeknownst to you.

fuck it, you thought. you shrugged a little.

"alright," you said simply. alessia snapped her head up so fast you were surprised she didn't get whiplash.

"what?"

"alright. i'll help you out,"

"you- you'll what?"

"i'll help," you shrugged again, keeping your replies deliberately blasé, just to make alessia squirm a little. she was surprisingly easy to stress out, and it was fairly entertaining. "i don't have plans on sunday anyway,"

"you'll come to the wedding?" you nodded, "as my date?" you nodded again. alessia sounded confused, and a little sceptical. she was wary, you realised, expecting a trap, or some sort of condition. "seriously? i'll do anything you want,"

you smirked a little at the tail end of her statement. you were telling the truth; you were free on sunday, and honestly you'd been looking for a chance to break through to alessia for a while now, since she seemed to want absolutely nothing to do with you. you honestly would've done it just to be nice, but her words gave you an idea.

"anything i want?" you could tell alessia instantly regretted saying that. you'd caught her in a very desperate position. she nodded hesitantly. "okay, two conditions," alessia's eyes snapped back to yours, immediately on edge, "one, you give me some shooting practice," alessia interrupted you.

"what?"

"you heard me." you said simply, shrugging again, "i need to work on my shooting, you're our best striker. i want you to help me,"

it was true. you'd admired alessia as a player for a while now, and had hoped that coming to manchester would allow you to learn from her. you were an excellent midfielder, known for your creative play and chance creation, but despite all your ball control and technical skills, you had only scored a handful of times in your career.

despite your hopes however, alessia had never really let you in. while you made fast friends with everyone else, she had clammed up whenever you tried to talk to her. a few times she'd initiated conversation, and as soon as you'd give her a trademark witty comment back, she'd end the interaction, leaving you wondering what the hell you'd done to offend her. it'd been a disappointment, but you'd gotten over it, settling in with the rest of the team and ignoring alessia's subtle glares in your direction. now however, it was you in a position of leverage. maybe you could get something out of this too.

"okay, sure," she nodded, "what's the second thing?"

"stop acting so weird around me,"

alessia spluttered. her earlier embarrassment paved way for only pure indignation.

"i act weird? the fuck does that mean? you're the one who's always either brushing me off, or being a dick whenever i try and speak to you!"

"when have i ever brushed you off? i try to talk to you and you just forget how to speak or something, and then you walk off with a stick up your arse," you smirked, watching as alessia got increasingly frustrated.

"yeah, because you say stuff that doesn't make any sense, like how am i meant to respond to half the shit you say? or you say stuff just to piss me off! that's a pretty clear sign that someone doesn't like you, y/n!"

"i've never once acted like i didn't like you - it's called making a joke, alessia," you said, purposefully emphasising her name, "no one else has a problem with it, i'm just trying to make conversation with you,"

"why do you have to be so frustrating? it's like you have to win every conversation!" alessia cried indignantly. you took a small step forward, meeting her eyes with yours. alessia unconsciously stepped back, but she was already pressed up against the shelves of the small storage cupboard.

"maybe you're just very easy to frustrate, alessia," you said softly, lowering your voice, "maybe you should work on that,"

alessia had no response, only clenching her jaw and rolling her eyes. you stepped back, noticing how her shoulders dropped ever so slightly. you placed a hand on the handle to leave, but before you opened it, you turned back to alessia, meeting her eyes with a smirk.

"send me your address - i'm coming over later," when alessia opened her mouth to protest, you cut her off, "unless you don't want my help after all?" you raised a single eyebrow and alessia sighed.

"yeah, okay. fine,"

"bye," you turned and stalked out the cupboard, stopping at the door once more to look alessia dead in the eye, shit-eating grin plastered on your face, "babe,"

----

"so what exactly was your plan if i didn't say yes?"

"well technically i never asked for your help," alessia grumbled.

"you would've. i was just putting you out of your misery by offering first,"

"you don't know that. anyway, my plan was to maybe run away to mexico,"

"maybe you'd meet a date there,"

alessia huffed from her position on her sofa. god you were infuriating. it had only been a few hours of this charade, and you were already getting under her skin. alessia was starting to think that public humiliation courtesy of her brothers would have been the better option.

"at least then i wouldn't have to deal with you," alessia mumbled.

"oh but you were just starting to like me! look, you're using full sentences when you speak to me and everything!"

"get fucked," alessia said. you were right; at least now she was capable of holding a conversation with you. unfortunately, this graduation meant alessia now had to deal with a lot more of your infuriating personality.

you'd shown up at her flat almost immediately after training, leaving alessia to scramble to try and make the place presentable. now here you were, reclining lazily in her living room, an invasive species taking root in her safe space, and giving very unhelpful suggestions about how to fake a relationship.

"i'm thinking we say you fell madly in love with me at first sight and then-"

"we don't need to say anything!"

"no one is going to believe we're together if we don't even have a backstory, alessia!" you were enjoying this far too much, she could tell. "that might work for your uncles or something, but if you think the girls won't want every juicy detail you are sorely mistaken,"

alessia buried her face in her hands, not for the first time that evening. she felt the familiar rising of panic in her chest, tried to drown out your constant talking, and calm down. this was becoming way too much.

"what the fuck am i doing?" she muttered, squeezing her eyes shut. you paused, and alessia braced herself for another round of teasing from you.

instead, she jumped when she felt your hand on her shoulder. your touch was firm, but grounding, and not at all what alessia had been expecting.

"you alright?"

alessia shook her head, trying to control her breathing and prevent the oncoming spiral. she felt you move to sit next to her, jolting a little as she felt the brush of your thigh against hers. it suddenly occurred to her that she hadn't been this close to, well, anyone, in a very long time. she didn't dare look up.

"this was so stupid, i never should have gotten you involved," her voice was small, embarrassed, "i'm sorry, you don't have to stay,"

"can i ask you something?," you said, and alessia nodded hesitantly.

"why do you care so much? why lie at all?"

alessia sighed. normally, she would have her guard straight back up, but she'd done an awful lot of lying recently, and she was getting very tired.

"i just- i like being single, i honestly do, but, i'm just sick of people going on about it. every single time, its all 'when are you getting a boyfriend, alessia' or 'less, let me set you up with my friend'. it's my mum giving me these pitying looks when my brothers are with their girlfriends and i'm on my own, again,"

she was rambling now, gesticulating wildly as everything that had been building up inside her came out in a rant of emotion. you placed your hand gently on her thigh, and alessia jumped, but continued on, "it's my brothers constantly taking the piss, like they can't believe i could ever find someone. you should have heard how shocked luca was when i said i was seeing someone! and i'm fine on my own, really i am, but when i hear that, it just pisses me off and so i just said it to prove him wrong. even though he isn't wrong, at all,"

alessia stopped, breathing a little hard. she felt a tear prick at the corner of her eye, and willed herself to calm down. she'd already said far too much to you, didn't want to give you any more ammunition than she already had. she winced in anticipation of your teasing remarks, but none came.

"that makes sense. that would get to me too," you didn't move your hand. alessia shook her head.

"i'm sorry for dragging you into this, we should just forget this ever happened,"

"if you really want me to go, i will," you said, "but i want to help,"

"i can't ask you to do this, it's so dumb,"

"you didn't ask remember? i offered," you nudged her shoulder, and she let out a choked laugh despite herself.

"come on," you nudged her again, "i'm not really that bad, am i?,"

alessia shook her head, her gaze fixed on where your hand still rested on her thigh, your fingers absentmindedly stroking her leg. begrudgingly, she had to agree. maybe she'd underestimated you.

"okay," she nodded, finally looking up at you, "let's fake date,"

you smiled, and moved away slightly. alessia felt an unfamiliar twinge at the loss of contact.

"by the way, you're going to have to stop blushing every time i touch you,"

alessia almost choked, her face heating up even more, "i'm not!"

you just shrugged, that familiar teasing smirk returning.

"whatever you say, babygirl,"

alessia just rolled her eyes.

"okay, so what's the plan?" you said, making your way over to the kitchen. you began to root through alessia's cupboards, "why have you not got any real food in here?"

"i have real food-"

"no, this is just like, oats and stuff,"

"it's ingredients. stop going through my cupboards,"

"fine, i'll order food. what do you want?"

alessia just stared at you, utterly baffled. why you were acting as though this was a perfectly normal occurrence, for you to be stood in her kitchen as though it was your own, for you to be ordering her dinner, she had no clue. you stared back, clearly waiting for an answer.

"um, whatever you like," alessia gave in, still looking at you incredulously. you just hummed, and reached in her cupboard for a glass. alessia could only wonder how you even knew where the glasses were.

---

you'd agreed that the best course of action would be to take it slow, ease people into the idea of your relationship. admittedly, no one had ever seen you interact at training, so they were unlikely to believe a sudden 180 in behaviour. the both of you were fairly private people, so it wasn't like the others would be expecting you to launch out the pda immediately. a few gentle touches here and there, a couple whispered conversations, that was all you needed.

alessia didn't walk out to training with you, but the two of you made sure to stand next to each other where possible. you placed a hand on the small of her back when you saw ella eyeing the two of you suspiciously, only removing it when you saw her start whispering to millie. job done.

while you seemed to be playing your part with ease, alessia thrummed with nerves. she flinched when she felt you touch her back, and she swallowed at the spike of electricity it sent down her spine. alessia waited for you to remove it, but you only let it rest there. she breathed into the touch, relaxing enough to remember the plan. she gave you a performative smile, trying to school her features into those of a loving girlfriend, and you grinned.

“try it without looking like you’re in pain next time,” you whispered with a smirk, before running off to receive the ball. alessia stared after you, clenching her jaw in annoyance. this was going to be a long few days.

alessia turned her attention back to the drill, managing a successful twenty minutes without any you-shaped irritation. then the coaches called for you to partner up, and her luck ran out. she sighed as you came bounding over to her, grinning ear to ear like a love-sick puppy.

the two of you queued up, listening intently to the instructions. or rather, you listened. alessia could only focus on your hand, which had snaked its way around her waist and was tracing light shapes into her hipbone.

she was brought back to earth by the shout of her name. you laughed and nudged her,

“it’s your turn,” you smirked. alessia swallowed, realising she had no clue what she was meant to be doing.

“alessia! were you not paying attention?” the coach yelled from the sidelines. ella chose that moment to chime in.

“she was paying attention to someone else coach!”

millie wolf-whistled in response. alessia buried her head in her hands, feeling her face heat up. sensing her panic, you quickly pointed out what she was meant to be doing. alessia muttered a quick apology, running to take her turn.

she rounded on you as soon as training finished.

“what the fuck was that?”

“i should be asking you that!” you laughed. “careful alessia, anyone would think you were actually into me,”

the icy glare she sent your way could’ve frozen fire, but you just smirked.

“it’s not funny, you fucked up my whole training session,”

“i’m sorry! i didn’t realise little old me would distract you so much,”

“just don’t pull that shit tomorrow, alright?” alessia borderline spat, before turning on her heel and stalking away. you chased her down with a shout.

“hey, where are you going? you said you’d help with the shooting!”

fuck, you’d had alessia so riled up, she had entirely forgotten. she knew she needed to keep her promise, or risk losing your help, but the thought of spending another moment in your vicinity drove her insane. she needed to go home and calm down.

“after that stunt you pulled? we'll see about it tomorrow, alright?”

you thought about arguing, but seeing how hot and bothered alessia was, you decided not to risk annoying her anymore. you honestly didn’t know what her problem was - she’d asked for your help, hadn’t she? you nodded begrudgingly, watching after her as she walked to her car.

clearly, alessia was stressed, whether about the wedding or something deeper, you weren’t sure. as much as you enjoyed teasing her, you felt a little guilty about her reaction. you really hadn’t intended to distract her, but you’d seen how some of the girls were shooting sceptical glances at the two of you, and knew you needed to keep alessia’s cover. you resolved to be a little nicer tomorrow, hoping it might make alessia warm up to you somewhat.

back in her flat, alessia stared down at the invitation once again. there was no way all this was worth it, and she ran a hand raggedly down her face.

there was something about you, that was just so infuriating. the more you two were speaking, alessia just found herself increasingly frustrated. she’d previously pinned the emotion down to annoyance and irritation, but the longer it went on, she was starting to feel more flustered than anything. you always seemed to have the upper hand, and alessia was left stuttering to keep up. it was as if her brain just stopped functioning every time you so much as looked at her, or brushed her arm. it was extremely annoying.

alessia allowed herself a few moments to air her grievances, before dragging herself into the shower. she turned the temperature to cool, and tried to forget the sensation of your hand around her waist.

—-

the next day, training ran without a hitch. you made sure to fasten yourself to alessia’s side occasionally, but kept the touches and teasing to a minimum.

expecting a repeat of your antics from the previous day, alessia had showed up to training on edge. it seemed, however, that you were intent on keeping your word. it was an adjustment, getting used to your constant presence, but alessia found that without the constant teasing, she didn't mind too much. eventually, she relaxed into the familiarity of usual training, feeling more herself than she had all week.

without alessia to annoy, you'd turned your attention to light-hearted jokes at the other girls' expense. now that she was out from your spotlight, alessia found herself laughing along with the team. begrudgingly, she could see the funny side. maybe she was starting to see why everyone else liked you.

training finished, and alessia made her way over to where you stood chatting to the others. gaining a bolt of confidence, she snaked her arm around your waist. you jolted a bit at the unexpected contact. ever quick to recover, you flashed her a winning smile. she pressed herself deeper into your side.

"ready to go babe?" you asked, slinging a lazy arm around her shoulders. you didn't want to annoy alessia, not after you'd kept yourself in her good books all day, but you were increasingly aware of everyone else's eyes fastened on the two of you. alessia turned to look at you, all big blue eyes and smiling dimples. you wondered if she'd taken acting lessons since yesterday.

"i thought we could stay for some shooting practice?" she said sweetly. your eyes widened a little, pleasantly surprised she was going to hold up her end of the deal after all. you nodded, losing your words for a second. it was a little hard to think when she was looking at you like that.

"oh, uh, yeah- sounds good,"

alessia waved bye to the others, before she practically sauntered over to the goal. you watched, a little dumbfounded. clearly she was pleased with herself for having caught you off guard. after a beat, you said your goodbyes and jogged to catch her up, chuckling a little.

"so where do we start?"

"well, why don't we just run a few shots and we'll see where we go from there?"

you nodded and turned to grab a ball from the ball bag. it wasn't not unusual for players to stay after training, so most of the equipment had been left out. you glanced up to say something, but found alessia had disappeared.

"wh-?" you cut yourself off with a laugh when you spotted her grappling with a training mannequin on the far side of the field. as you watched her try to drag it over, she somehow managed to rather ungracefully trip over her own feet.

alessia swore, but looked up when she heard your bright laugh.

"oh shut up! just help me put this in the goal," she grumbled. you hoped you hadn't mistaken the hint of a smile in her voice.

"how are you so fucking clumsy?" you teased, lifting up the mannequin with ease. alessia followed as you walked to the goal, choosing not to answer. you placed it down. "here okay?"

alessia stepped back to judge the positioning. you couldn't deny she looked a little cute; hands on hips, head tilted, nose scrunched up in thought. you were broken from your musing as she stepped forward, dragging the mannequin a little to the left.

"hmm, a little more this way,"

"don't fall over it this time,"

"oh fuck off. so annoying," she mumbled, although the smile that appeared on her face betrayed her lack of annoyance. small wins, you thought.

the two of you began taking shots, alessia feeding them in as you whacked them into the net from distance. although you could often find the back of the net, your accuracy wasn't the best. you groaned after you failed to hit the top right for the third time.

"right, okay, i think i know what you're doing wrong," alessia said, as she fished the balls out the net. "you just need to position your body a little differently. here watch me,"

you fed a perfect pass into her - at least you had no problem with assists - and she struck the ball perfectly into the top corner.

"like this?" you said, trying to mimic the way she leant over the ball. alessia frowned.

"hmm, no, like-" she paused, clearly hesitating on her next move. the pause didn't last long though, as she planted her hands on your waist and physically manoeuvred you.

"so you want to move away from the defender like this," she swivelled your hips slightly, "and then, when you hit the ball, you want to sort of do this," she kept one hand on your waist, moving the other to your torso and guiding you through the motion. you tried to take in her words, but you could only focus on her body as it pressed up against yours. you nodded, suddenly a little flustered, but alessia didn't take her hands away.

alessia wasn't really thinking when she decided to touch you, but as she positioned your body, her thoughts drifted. your torso was firm underneath her hand, she noted, and her fingers slotted so neatly into the curve of your waist. her words trailed off, hands lingering a second too long.

alessia jolted as she realised where she was. she let go quickly, a little flustered. god, what was going on with her.

"um, yeah, try that," she said, taking another step back. she felt her face flush, but thankfully, you didn't turn to look at her.

trying to ignore alessia's lingering touch, and its subsequent quick departure, you geared up to take the shot. you tried to mimic what she'd done, and you grinned as the ball found its target.

"yes! that was it!" called alessia from where she stood, "now, let's run about a hundred more,"

when you finally walked off the training pitch together, you were pleasantly surprised by your progress. alessia was a good coach, now that she was actually acknowledging you. you looked over at her as she walked beside you.

the sun was setting by now, casting alessia in a warm orange glow. a piece of her hair had come loose from her braid. you wanted to thank her, but found you didn't want to break the comfortable silence engulfing the two of you.

alessia kept step beside you, contemplating her own sudden change of heart. now that she knew you a little better, the teasing remarks no longer spun her off kilter, and she found she was more amused than annoyed.

"i was thinking maybe i could come over tomorrow after training? to sort out plans for sunday and that?" she asked, turning to look at you.

"yeah sure, what time?" you said absentmindedly, lifting your shirt a little to wipe your face. despite the cool summer evening air, you'd managed to work up a sweat. alessia couldn't help the way her eyes drifted down to your exposed torso. she swallowed.

"alessia?" you prompted, turning to look at her when she didn't answer. she averted her eyes back to your face, before quickly looking away again when she made eye contact.

"oh, um, 7?"

"sounds good, i can make dinner?"

"should i be worried?" alessia smirked, recovering herself a little. jesus, she was all over the place lately. she tried to reassure herself it was just the stress of the impending wedding, pushing down the voice at the back of her head.

"fuck you, i'm a great cook,"

"i'll be the judge of that,"

---

alessia rocked band and forth on her heels as she waited outside your building. she contemplated checking the address yet again, but settled on messaging a simple i'm outside. luckily, it turned out you lived pretty close to her, so she had walked, the weather only a light summer drizzle.

training had run smoothly once again, with the two of you settling into the act comfortably. the nature of your job meant you were at liberty to keep it lowkey and professional, only having to share the occasional sly touch or whispered comment to maintain the facade. some of the others had finally given in to temptation and pressed you both for details. alessia had momentarily faltered, but was saved by you stepping in to proudly regale your concocted story. all she'd had to do was nod and smile in all the right places, content to sit back and eat her lunch while you took the reins. after everyone had left, you'd flashed her a smirk, and whispered "hook, line and sinker". then you'd ruined the moment by mocking her outfit, but she could forgive you for that.

alessia's careful musing on the day was interrupted by you bounding down the staircase. you threw the door open and beckoned her in.

"lift's broken so we have to take the stairs," you said, already making your way up, "try not to fall down them,"

"i'm not that clumsy,"

"could've fooled me," you shrugged.

thankfully alessia managed to keep her footing on all four flights, only nearly dropping her keys once. she hoped you didn't see that.

"okay, so i was thinking, for the wedding, we ne-"

"jesus, straight to the point, huh?"

"well, i was just-"

"you've literally just come through the door, we'll talk about it over tea,"

"stop interrupting me," alessia huffed, placing her bag down on the coffee table, "but fine,"

you made your way back to the kitchen area, and alessia took the chance to take in your open-plan flat. it was nice, she conceded, spacious but homely, decorated eclectically but well. she wasn't sure why she was shocked, as though she'd been expecting you to live in a cave or something.

she turned to join you in the kitchen, where you seemed to be plating up dinner already. alessia offered to help, but you waved her off, telling her to sit down.

"i didn't know you could cook," alessia said as the two of you ate. you hummed, shrugging slightly.

"you don't really know anything about me," you replied simply. for the first time, alessia felt a pang of guilt at not giving you a chance sooner. it was true - she could tell you any number of facts about the rest of the team, but she wouldn't even know where to start with you.

"well no but, i can learn," she said. you looked a little shocked by her words. alessia felt another stab of guilt.

"so, the wedding?" you prompted, eager to change the subject, "what's the plan?"

alessia began to run you through the itinerary, rambling a little. in her stress over the whole thing, she had managed to commit every little detail to memory. she wanted the day to run pefect for luca and his fiancee of course, but she also now had to contemplate bringing you into the midst.

"to be honest, you don't have to come to the ceremony if you don't want to," she added, noticing your wide eyes as you tried to take it all in.

"well, are your family expecting me to be there?"

"um, well yeah, but-" alessia trailed off. her earlier guilt at not being close to you had now morphed into an all encompassing guilt for dragging you into this whole thing.

"do you want me to be there?"

alessia faltered. despite all her planning, she hadn't really considered that. if you'd asked her at the start of the week, it would have been a resounding no, but as she mulled it over, she found that, actually, just maybe, she potentially did.

"um, yeah, i think i do actually,"

"cool, then i'll be there," you shrugged, and alessia nodded.

"so, i'm meant to be getting ready with my mum, but then we can pick you up on the way to the church?"

"i can meet you there if that's easier? less hassle for you guys, plus it might save us any awkward questions from your mum?"

"i mean, its a good idea, but to be honest i think you'll get questions no matter what. it's not a problem - you're on our way anyway," alessia said, and you nodded.

it was a nice change, seeing you like this. the way you seemed genuinely eager to help, making thoughtful suggestions rather than immature ones. the two of you sat at the table long after you'd finished eating, discussing the plan and making sure your story was airtight.

"personally i still think we should tell everyone you pined after me for months," just like that, your teasing suggestions were back, but alessia no longer found herself bothered by them.

"we're absolutely not saying that,"

"oh come on, you know you're obsessed with me,"

"so obsessed it hurts," alessia mimed an arrow to the chest, and you grinned. she felt a small sense of pride at making you laugh. it was a little unnerving. she turned her attention to more pressing matters.

"you do have something to wear right? i can lend you a dress,"

"a dress? absolutely not," you smirked, "don't worry, i've got it covered - what colour is yours?"

"why?"

"so we don't clash, duh,"

"oh," alessia still felt wary, "its like a navy blue, here i'll show you," she pulled out her phone to find the dress. you gave an appreciative look.

"yeah, i've got a suit that will go well with that,"

"i feel like you're going to show up in something stupid - should i be worried? i am worried,"

you stood up to clear the plates, whacking her shoulder playfully.

"do you need to be going?" you asked over your shoulder as you washed up, "i know it's a late kick off tomorrow, but don't feel obliged to stay if you want to get home,"

in all honesty, alessia didn't want to go just yet. she wasn't too worried about the match, it being an evening home game they were tipped to win, and she still wanted to iron out a few more things for sunday. besides, it was nice to not spend yet another evening alone in her flat.

"i don't, unless you want me to go?" the hesitance that crept into her tone was unbidden.

"nah i'm good. stay," you walked to the fridge and pulled it open, searching for something, "normally i'd offer you wine, but maybe not the best idea before a match," you held out a can of pepsi triumphantly, before collapsing onto the sofa beside alessia.

"only the best for my fake girlfriend,"

alessia took it gratefully, then realised she didn't quite know what to do with herself with you sat in such close proximity. she adjusted her position awkwardly, but it was only a small sofa.

"so, tell me about your family," you said as you switched the tv on, "any weird uncles i need to avoid?"

alessia laughed and began to give you a rundown on all the people you would need to know. she found herself relaxing as she spoke, her earlier awkwardness dissipating. you listened intently. your eyes didn't leave her face as she talked, but alessia didn't notice.

the topic soon moved with ease towards your own family, then you in general, and alessia sank into the comfortable flow of conversation. the two of you chatted for hours before alessia realised the time.

"oh shit, it's pretty late, i should probably be going,"

you yawned and nodded, "oh damn yeah, who knew you could talk so much?" alessia blushed, and began to mutter an apology, but you cut her off, "its cool, makes a nice change," you winked, "you could stay, if you like? it's chucking it down out there, plus it's dark, and you shouldn't walk back alone,"

alessia could get an uber - she had planned to get an uber. logically she should go home, make sure she got a good night's sleep before the game. despite this, she hesistated.

"is that alright?" she asked. you nodded.

"yeah of course, as long as you don't mind sharing the bed. i can drive you back in the morning before the match," you walked off, going to get her some clothes to sleep in, and alessia followed.

you fell asleep pretty much straight away, but alessia found herself unable to do the same. she stared at the ceiling, listening to your even breaths and trying to ignore the way your legs brushed up against hers.

she wasn't sure why she agreed to stay, to sleep in a bed with you no less, but, alessia realised, something had changed this week. she enjoyed your company, enjoyed you. she'd even maybe go as far as calling you a friend. for the first time, alessia found herself wondering what would happen after the wedding. she'd been so focused on keeping up the lie, she hadn't even considered it. the two of you had planned to keep up the lie a little longer, then stage a mutual and unexplosive breakup, but now, alessia wondered if you'd even remain close. what if your actions towards her were simply another part of the act, and once you got your shooting practice in return, would it go back to the way it was? alessia realised, with a very strong conviction, that she didn't want that at all.

---

alessia woke before you the next morning. the rain had cleared up, and the sun cast soft rays through your thin curtains. at some point in the night the two of you had shifted to face each other. alessia realised her arm was hanging loosely over your waist, and she pulled it back quickly.

she wasn't sure how long she'd laid there last night, thoughts racing as sleep evaded her. she lay there now, remarking on how much softer your features looked in sleep. your hair hung loosely over your eyes, and alessia had a sudden urge to brush it aside.

the thought registered with a jolt, and alessia extricated herself from the bed as quickly as possible. she tried to push down the feeling in her chest, point-blank refusing to acknowledge it.

this was bad - what was she doing? she couldn't be thinking like this. she needed to go. getting dressed quickly, alessia collected her things and slipped out of your building without a second thought. it was only when she was halfway down the street that the guilt settled in- she should have left a note or something. alessia settled for a text.

left to get ready for the game - thanks so much for letting me stay, see you later x

---

alessia was already there when you showed up at the stadium for the game. you gave her a wave, then moved to sit by your things. waking up alone had stung a little, and you wondered if you'd done something wrong. you'd thought the two of you had maybe crossed a bridge this week - that maybe you were actual friends now, rather than just accomplices caught up in the same lie. maybe you'd been wrong.

it shouldn't have surprised you. you knew alessia hadn't liked you before, although you were still clueless as to why, and maybe it was naïve to think that could've changed.

of course, the text she'd sent hadn't indicated any problem, it was an entirely reasonable thing to do, and she'd seemed perfectly comfortable in your company last night, but still, a girl leaving your bed at the crack of dawn was never a good sign. you knew with some certainty that, after all this was done, you didn't want to go back to how things were, but you had no clue if alessia felt the same. this could have just been all part of the lie for her.

that didn't matter now though, you had to focus on the game.

---

the first half was electric. alessia played well, if she did say so herself, and in all honesty, it was down to you. while before you'd had great link-up play as an attacking duo, now, the two of you were dynamite. you each ran circles around the defence, anticipating the other's moves with ease. so naturally, when alessia volleyed the ball into the back of the net, it was from a cross you'd rocketed into the box.

she ran to hug you, and you did the same, jumping into her arms and wrapping your legs around her waist. alessia had been wondering if she'd upset you by leaving early, and trying very hard not to think about certain other things, but that was long forgotten. she simply let herself breathe you in, holding you tight as she spun you around.

the game continued much in a similar way, the two of you cleaving through defenders like water. you were 3-0 up at 80 minutes, and still you pressed for more.

alessia took on a defender with ease, pressing into space. she could've attempted the shot herself, but she saw your run into the box. she passed the ball to you, and watched as you put into practice exactly what she'd showed you.

it was a perfect strike. you pumped your fists and made a beeline for alessia, squeezing her tight.

"fuck yes! that was all you lessi, all you," you yelled into her ear. alessia's eyes shone with pride, but the warm feeling that engulfed her was far, far more than that. suddenly, alessia couldn't breathe, her heart beating far more erratically than it should've been. she buried her face in your neck and held you tight. oh this was bad. this was so, so bad. if alessia thought the situation was complicated before, she'd definitely made it a whole lot worse now.

she let go, clapping you on the shoulder as she beamed, choking down the pounding in her chest.

"no y/n, all you,"

---

you were still riding the high of the win, and the goal, as you got yourself ready for the wedding the next day. you'd gone home feeling much better than you had before; alessia's reactions on the pitch seemed to confirm to you that there was no bad blood between the two of you. your heart fluttered slightly at the memory of how she'd looked at you - all beaming smiles and bright eyes.

a knock on your door shook you out of your reverie, and you tried to forget the memory. you couldn't be thinking like that. she was a friend - and just barely. you smoothed down your suit and pulled the door open.

"hey- oh. wow, you look-" alessia stumbled over her words as she took you in.

"told you i had it covered," you grinned, posing a little, "you scrub up alright yourself," you couldn't deny she looked absolutely stunning - it was taking every ounce of your effort not to stare, to keep your breathing relatively normal as you took her in.

"right- um yeah- are you ready to go?"

you nodded and followed her out, steeling your nerves to meet alessia's mum. you ran over the story once again in your mind, and from alessia's expression, you imagined she was doing the same. you reached out to grab her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"calm down, you're breathing like you've just ran a marathon," you muttered as you approached the taxi.

"ah, wow, thats such a helpful thing to say, thank you," alessia's voice dripped with sarcasm, and she didn't even look at you.

"we've got this okay? i'm great at lying," she nodded, but you could still see the tension practically radiating off her shoulders.

"i'm not," she mumbled.

"hey, it'll be fine, i promise. just let me know if you need anything - i just want you to enjoy your brother's wedding, alright?"

alessia nodded again, before you reached the car. you waved through the window at her mum, before sliding into the back of the taxi with alessia.

"mum, this is y/n, my girlfriend," alessia spoke confidently, but you'd spent enough time with her this week to hear the faint waver in her voice. you put on your best meet-the-parents voice as you chimed in - you had promised alessia you'd be on your best behaviour today.

"hi, it's so great to finally meet you! alessia's told me so much about you,"

"you too, sweetheart! we're so glad she's finally found someone to look after her," her mum replied, turning from the passenger seat to smile at you. you could see where alessia got it from.

"well, i do my best," you smile back, "she deserves it,"

alessia groaned next to you, face a little flushed.

"mum..."

"well it's true, honey! you know we worry about you getting lonely up here on your own," you were tempted to slide alessia a teasing smirk at that, but thought better of it. god knows she didn't need you adding to the stress.

"yeah, alright, alright," alessia mumbled, still firmly averting her eyes from yours, "how's luca doing?"

"he's doing well, he's with gio and your dad at the church now,"

alessia nodded and smiled, taking a deep breath in. in a brief moment of daring, you reached for her hand and squeezed. she squeezed back with a small smile. the car fell into a comfortable silence, and you turned to look at the window, watching the cars pass by, and trying to ignore the fluttering in your chest.

with alessia being the sister of the groom, she was swept up into wedding business as soon as you entered the church. you'd agreed it would be best to save the introductions for the reception, so you slid into a pew a few rows behind and watched on as alessia greeted her family. you smirked a little as you watched alessia's mum point you out to her brothers, who clapped alessia on the back in apparent congratulations. you sent them a little wave, then for good measure, blew alessia a kiss. she sent you a death glare in return.

the ceremony was beautiful, even as a total stranger. your eyes kept drifitng back to alessia, watching as she beamed with pride, tears shining in her eyes. it warmed your heart to see her like this; you knew she was close with her family, but it was nice to witness it in full. she caught your eye in the crowd, soft smile growing when you grinned back at her.

alessia beckoned you over to her side as the crowd gathered to watch luca and his wife leave the church in the wedding car. you slung an arm around her shoulders and she leaned into you.

"happy?"

"very," she nodded, "thank you for coming,"

"anytime,"

you were interrupted by gio clapping both of you on the back.

"not going to introduce me less?" he grinned. alessia rolled her eyes.

"gio this is y/n. y/n, gio," you stuck out a hand, and he shook it before pulling you in for a hug.

"pleasure to meet you, y/n," he grinned, before turning to alessia, "where've you been hiding this one, lessi? took you long enough,"

"fuck off gio,"

"i'm joking, i'm really happy for you," he turned back to you, face suddenly serious, "if you hurt my baby sister i will kill you, understood?"

"loud and clear," you grinned, and he laughed.

"yeah, i like her less, good job," gio walked off, presumably to greet someone else, and you turned to alessia.

"that went well,"

"shut up please,"

alessia was dragged off for photos pretty soon after, so you spent your time milling around the reception area, and taking advantage of cocktail hour. you had a few run-ins with some cousins and family friends, word apparently having travelled fast, but you put on your best loved-up smile, and spent about an hour gushing about alessia. you tried not to think about how easy it was.

alessia returned after a while, making a beeline for you. or rather, for the drink you held in your hand, which she took without a word and downed rather hastily.

"having fun?"

"all anyone wants to talk to me about is you," she muttered, "even luca! you'd think it was our fucking wedding, not his! i need another drink,"

"on it," you said, walking to the bar with a small laugh. you returned with two cocktails, placing one into alessia's hand. she smiled in thanks.

"just one evening, less, you got this," she nodded, already halfway through her cocktail.

"oh there she is- alessia!" alessia groaned as she heard her mum's voice.

"god, here we go," she grumbled, before plastering a smile to her face and turning around. you waved as her parents approached, swiftly followed by luca and his wife.

"this is y/n," alessia said. you shook her dad's hand, greeting him with a smile.

"it's great to meet you," you turned to luca, "and congratulations! its a beautiful wedding, thank you so much for having me here,"

"yeah thank you," he beamed, clearly caught up in wedding ecstasy, "and of course! you're part of the family too now," you nodded, a small pang of guilt at your lies hitting you squarely in the chest, "plus, as if we were going to let less get away with not bringing you,"

"luca-" alessia attempted, but he waved her off.

"she never brings anyone to anything, honestly i don't even know if she's ever dated anyone seriously, we were all so relieved when she said she was finally bringing a date,"

you didn't miss the way alessia's fingers tightened around her glass, or the way her jaw muscles clenched.

"i mean, seriously, we were starting to get like, worried, you know? like we get you're busy with football less, but come on!"

you were concerned alessia was going to break the glass if she gripped it any tighter. you snaked an arm around her waist, rubbing your thumb slightly over her hipbone.

"well, nothing to worry about anymore," you joked good-naturedly, "i'm just lucky she got there in the end," you flashed her a smile, and her eyes betrayed her thanks. she relaxed into you a little, nodding.

"i'm glad, treat her right, yeah?" luca said, and you nodded. you were getting used to these shovel talks by now, "anyway, you guys should probably get in your seats- speeches soon!" he turned with a wave.

being alessia's date, you of course found yourself on the family table, nestled between your fake girlfriend and her brother. luckily, the attention of the group had finally switched back to the wedding at hand, and you gave yourself a moment to relax. all this lying, this play-acting at being alessia's girl, hadn't felt too difficult in the moment, but now that you weren't under the scrutiny of prying eyes, you realised how much it had taken out of you. you tried to focus on the speeches, taking the moment to collect yourself.

try as you might though, your attention never drifted too far from alessia. you snuck a sideways glance at her, watching as she listened intently. her eyes shone with tears as her dad spoke, and so, emboldened by the copious amount of champagne, you placed a hand gently on her thigh. her eyes never moved from her dad, but her hand moved to rest on top of yours. you felt a little giddy at the intimacy of it all, her fingers tracing a pattern against yours. you told yourself it was just the alcohol making you feel this way, but this small private gesture implied otherwise. it wasn't like anyone could see - there was no one to keep up the pretence for.

gio swept you up into conversation pretty quickly once the speeches ended and the food arrived, seeming genuinely interested in you and your life. his plus one, his girlfriend of a few years, joined in, and you spent most of the meal chatting to the two of them. alessia was uncharacteristically quiet, sharing only the occasional exchange with her parents. you longed to know what was going through her mind, but despite the charade, you knew it wasn't the time to ask. it probably wasn't even for you to ask at all. all you could do was watch as she subdued herself, only moving to refill her champagne yet again.

by the time the first dance was done, and the party began in full, you were already feeling the effects of the alcohol. from her more relaxed manner, you guessed alessia was too. the two of you had been left alone at your table, and you took the opportunity to check in with her.

"you good?" there was nobody in your close vicinity, with everyone dispersing onto the dance floor, but you kept your voice low regardless.

alessia nodded and hummed, closing her eyes a little.

"are you pissed?" you laughed. she snapped her eyes open at that, looking at you indignantly.

"no, are you?" you chose to ignore her defensive tone, instead slipping into a wide laugh.

"yep, hammered,"

that got a laugh out of alessia, and she smirked.

"yeah, me too- let's go dance,"

you nodded and let her pull you towards the throng of people. the two of you danced for a while, just enjoying the atmosphere. alessia's parents soon materialised, the two of them grinning from ear to ear. you laughed as alessia's dad brought out the full set of dance moves, glad that alessia seemed to have eased up as well. it didn't last long however, as the four of you soon sank into chairs and began to chat.

"we're thrilled you're here y/n," alessia's dad began, his wife tucked under his arm. you could see why alessia had high standards for relationships. "lessi's always so busy, we never get to see her relaxed like this,"

you almost choked on your drink. you were pretty sure alessia had never been less relaxed in her life.

"i'm sure you'll look after her, we've been waiting for her to find someone who makes her this happy," alessia sipped at her own drink, not even looking up.

"all our children finally growing up and starting their own families, it makes us so happy," her mum nodded, chiming in. at the mention of a family, alessia finished her glass, and turned to you. it only took one look to see the frustration in her eyes. you went to say something, but were cut off by the arrival of a group of people you hadn't met.

"oh my god, hi! you're alessia's girlfriend right? i'm her cousin, everyone's been talking about how she finally brought a date, we had to come meet you! took her long enough!"

you nodded and introduced yourself, shifting your chair a fraction closer to alessia. before you could say anymore, however, alessia cut you off.

"y/n, could you go get me another drink?" you hesitated - the last thing you wanted to do was leave alessia alone in the lion's den. the desperate glint in her eye, the slight quiver in her lip, told you exactly how you she was feeling though, so you nodded and stood, waving a quick goodbye to what now seemed to be the entire russo family.

standing at the bar, you kept your gaze on alessia, who now appeared to be being bombarded by questions. you tapped your fingers impatiently on the counter, eager to get back to her and mitigate the damage. it was becoming increasingly apparent that, although she may have avoided the questions of why she was alone, your presence here had just opened up a whole new can of worms. lost in your thoughts, you didn't notice the girl who sidled up next to you until she spoke.

"bride or groom?"

you turned to her, a little taken aback. your identity as alessia's girlfriend had mostly preceded introductions up until now.

"oh, uh, groom,"

"that explains why i didn't recognise you - i'm the bride's sister,"

"oh cool," you smiled politely. the girl's suggestive tone gave you a clear indication of her intentions. normally, you would have flirted back- you couldn't deny she was attractive - but you only wanted to get back to alessia. you glanced back over to the table, but her chair was now empty.

the bartender placed your drinks in front of you, and you took them quickly.

"uh, sorry, i should get back, but nice to meet you," you muttered, before practically jogging back.

"where did less go?" you said, putting the drinks down, and turning to her mum with a smile that you hoped didn't betray your concern.

"oh just to the bathroom love," she replied. you nodded. it was probably nothing, but you had a strong urge to go and check on her.

"oh, i might go as well, could you watch our drinks?" you barely gave her time to answer before you dodged your way through the crowd.

"alessia? you in here?" there was no reply. a quick check determined all the cubicles were empty, save for one very drunk bridesmaid who you had to practically extract yourself from.

you came back out, racking your brain for where she could have gone. catching sight of a door slightly ajar, you stepped outside.

"hey," you began hesitantly. alessia sat with her head in her hands, her breathing shallow. she didn't look up. "you okay?"

you contemplated sitting down on the bench next to her, but the moment felt suddenly very private. it was quite possible that you were the last person she wanted to be around.

alessia mumbled something, but her voice was too muffled to understand. you stepped a little closer.

"what was that?" you kept your voice low and your movements cautious, as though she were an animal you didn't want to spook. she looked up, and your heart broke a little as you took in her red eyes and tear-tracked cheeks.

"why do you care? you're not actually my girlfriend," her voice was tired, resigned almost.

you couldn't deny it stung a little, but you weren't going to let that deter you. you weren't leaving her like this.

"well no, but i'm your friend," at your own words you faltered a little -were you? you knew how your position on the matter had switched from before, but you still held some doubt that she had ever changed her mind about you. your voice was hesitant as you spoke again, "are we not friends, alessia?"

"we are but," she sniffled and shook her head "it's none of your business,"

"i respect that, and if you want me to go i will, but you're upset, and i care about you, and i want to help. i want it to be my business less,"

she looked up at you, properly this time, before burying her head in her hands again.

"it's just- too much," she whispered, a small sob escaping her. you rushed to sit next to her, placing an arm around her shoulders immediately.

"what is?"

"all of it," she exhaled, finally letting the dam break and her words spill out, "i thought you being here would help, that they would finally get off my back, but now they've all just made it even more clear that they were just waiting for me to find someone, yet they're all so shocked that i finally have, like, did they all just think i was fucking lonely and desperate this whole time?"

she paused to take a shaky breath.

"and i was happy on my own, i really was, but they say shit like that and suddenly i'm an insecure teenager all over again- like if my own family expect me to be alone then surely i'm not good enough for anyone to want me, and i didn't know what to say, or do, and i just feel really, really shitty, you know?"

you nodded, stroking her back as encouragement to continue.

"and they all just started bombarding me, and i didn't know what to say without you there, and i just-" she swiped furiously at her face. "and then i wanted to go find you, but that girl was flirting with you, and then i just felt so guilty for dragging you here when you could be out with other girls who aren't a fucking mess like i am, and now you're being so nice and tolerating me when i'm drunk and crying, when i'm literally not your problem and i just-"

"less, you don't get it - i want to be here. i want to tolerate drunk you. i want you to be my problem,"

alessia shook her head frantically, tears still flowing as she continued her rant.

"i'm just so sorry - i've been so stressed all day, everyone has been all over me and i should've been thinking about the wedding, but all i can think about is you, because i know you were faking it today but i just couldn't stop wishing you weren't, and i-"

she stopped suddenly, realising what she'd confessed. you tried to look at her, but she kept her eyes glued to the floor. your heart pounded as you deciphered her words, unsure if you'd mistaken their meaning. you bit your lip, wanting so desperately to say the words that, you realised with some certainty, had been begging to be let out for a while. fuck it.

"i haven't been able to keep my eyes off you all day, alessia," you murmured. she risked a hesitant look up at you. nothing in her expression told you to stop, so you kept talking.

"i know you're happy on your own. i know you don't need anyone to 'complete you' or any of that other cliché crap. and i don't either. but i've got to see the complete you this week, and she's amazing. i haven't faked a second of today. and if i'm barking up the wrong tree here you can tell me to fuck off - you can go back to hating me like before and i won't say another word, but alessia, i don't want to just be your fake girlfriend anymore, i want the real thing,"

alessia smiled, and your breath caught at the sight. your hands shook as you awaited her reaction.

alessia leaned forward, inching closer to press her forehead against yours. her hand found your cheek, her touch as soft as satin. her breath ghosted against your lips as she spoke.

"so do i,"

you closed the gap. her lips were softer than you could've anticipated. they pressed into yours, slowly at first, then with a deep urgency. the kiss was messy; tear-stained and drunken, but the feel was electric. the dam broke on all the tension that had built between the two of you, and every ounce flooded out as pure desire. you wanted her, needed her, with a desperation you hadn't realised you could possess. your bodies curved into each other; the aftermath of every faked smile, every pretend touch, culminating in the most real feeling you'd ever had.

you broke away at some point, hazy and grinning. alessia's breathing was heavy, her eyes shining.

"we should go back. you probably shouldn't miss your brother's wedding,"

"right, yeah, of course," she smiled, wiping at her cheeks to try and fix the tear-stains as she stood. you reached out to help, then pulled back to take her in. you smirked.

"were you jealous of that girl?" she smacked your shoulder, but there was no bite in it. she leant in for another kiss.

"so fucking annoying," she muttered, smiling widely against your lips.

me saying i'm writing a short fic then posting the shittiest fucking slowburn you've ever read.

anyway, hope you enjoyed! love, hedge xx

#alessia russo #alessia russo x reader #engwnt #alessia russo imagine #muwfc x reader #woso #woso x reader #lionesses

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endless-ineffabilities · 2 years

Text

Anti-Hero

Daemon Targaryen x f!Reader

It's me, Hi, I'm the problem, it's me

At teatime, everybody agrees

I'll stare directly at the sun, but never in the mirror

It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero

An imagine loosely based on the song Anti-Hero of off Midnights by Taylor Swift ▪︎ read more Daemon & Aemond midnights imagines here: masterlist

themes: reader is Rhaenyra's younger sister (aged 18+), Daemon is not married, incest, fluff

Growing up, attention has never been directed to you, but rather, to your older sister, Rhaenyra. Beautiful, intelligent, the heir to the Iron Throne. The Realm's Delight.

Whereas you... well, you tried.

Years ago, Rhaenyra's betrothal was a serious matter, for it befell upon her find the most beneficial match for the sake of House Targaryen. And she indeed found it, in your dear cousin, Laenor Velaryon.

You knew of Laenor's specific proclivities, and you were thankful everyone let him be, including Rhaenyra. He deserved his happiness, after all, despite being saddled with the duty of arranged marriage.

As for you, as much as you thought of yourself lucky that your father, Viserys, wasn't forcing anyone's hand on you, sometimes you wanted him to at least care.

You are a Targaryen in the end, albeit not the heir, so you thought of yourself valuable in forging an alliance with a great house in Westeros. But the subject was only mentioned in passing. Granted, you didn't favour any of the prospects your father presented.

Nevertheless, you wanted to be seen as someone of value.

You sit in your quarters, staring at your reflection in the mirror. Was your silver hair not as radiant as Rhaenyra's? Perhaps, if you were prettier, you would be more noticeable. Wasn't there a saying about Targaryens? Whenever one is born, the gods toss a coin, and it determines whether the path is to greatness or madness?

Well, Rhaenyra was surely set for greatness, whereas you felt you belonged in the grey area, in the middle. The area for those who don't belong in the stories, who don't get songs written about them.

Simply there.

A knock resounds from your door.

"Come in," not bothering to turn around.

You wait for whoever it is to speak. Was it the handmaiden, the kingsguard? Rhaenyra?

"Hello, dear niece."

You freeze, then run quickly to hug the visitor, "Daemon!"

He chuckles lowly, the sound reverberating from where you have your ear pressed to his chest.

"I had no idea you were returning today."

"I wanted to surprise my dearest girl," he says, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear, "Have you grown taller? Last I saw you, you were this high." He hovers his hand at around waist-height, in jest.

"That's not true," you punch him lightly in the chest, "you saw me just several months ago."

He laughs, "All the same, I wanted to come see you. Your father tells me you've barely left your quarters as of late. Is something the matter?"

"No," you sigh, and plaster on your best neutral smile, but he sees right through it. He knows you like the back of his hand, by heart.

He simply stares at you, and raises his fair eyebrows.

You relent, taking a seat, with him settling close beside you.

"I suppose I haven't been feeling well recently."

"Are you ill?" Daemon worries, pressing his palm to your forehead.

"No, no," you shake his hand away, feeling silly now. Maybe you shouldn't even mention it.

"I just don't feel like I'm enough, and I feel like it's all my doing," the words rush out of you, barely coherent, but Daemon had been listening intently, concerned for you.

"What nonsense is this?" he moves closer, his arm resting behind you.

But then you stand, pacing in front of him, letting everything out, "I just... I will never be as important as Rhaenyra, I will never be the eldest daughter, I will never be the heir."

"None of that matters, and you know it," Daemon leans forward, trying to catch your eye.

"Maybe I just don't try hard enough. Rhaenyra diligently attended her lessons with the Septa, whereas I prefer to play swords in the courtyard like a savage little boy. Rhaenyra is very well-trained, suited for the atmosphere of court and nobility, whereas I am more brash, careless with my words. I'm more likely to trip on my feet, rather than twirl like a princess. I can no longer count the instances where father chastised me for saying something unbecoming of a princess."

Daemon smiles, slight as first, then it widens greatly.

"It's not funny, uncle."

"Well," he shrugs, clearly pleased about something.

"You think me childish. Silly."

"No, no, I don't," he stands in front you. You turn away, but he pulls you back, taking your hands firmly.

You look down at them, joined together, perfectly. You immediately feel calmer, much to your surprise.

"You and I are much alike. The second child, more rogue and rebellious, never quite fitting in. And I do find it strange how someone as radiant, as unique, and as clever as you, could ever think so little of herself."

"Daemon," you get flustered, and you want to tell him that he doesn't need to comfort you.

"Listen to me," he tilts your head upward, "all those things you said are true, yes. You are brazen, outspoken, different. But that is precisely what I love about you."

You finally meet his eyes, as he draws closer, holding your face with both hands now, "You are as splendent as dragonfire, if not more."

You stand there, letting his words sink in, and they work their magic, breaking apart any doubt that had settled within you.

A thought passes, one that may be trivial, but it makes you smile all the same. As much as Rhaenyra may have tried to get Daemon's attention, especially in the past, it was only ever fixated on you.

He was the person you felt closest to. The one in whose arms who feel at home in.

Daemon looks tormented, as if noticing the admiration in your eyes, unsure of how to proceed. The dragon in him acts, claiming what he wants. He runs his thumb over your lips, and leans down slowly.

He kisses you. Warm, and... and like home.

He pulls away, and he looks taken aback by his actions. His eyes meet yours questioningly, studying you. Were you okay with this?

Your lips gently lift in a soft smile, and his heart soars at the sight. You keep your hand on the back of his neck, holding on for dear life.

In line with your outspoken, sly nature, you say, "Us Targaryens do have some queer customs, don't we?"

He laughs heartily, before he nods, and draws you even closer, arms wrapping around you, "That may be true, but to hell with it."

And he captures your lips in his once more.

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Daemon taglist: @sirlovel @paprikabadger @goawayimreadingbeach @moonmaiden1996 @caspianobsessed @sebastian025 @iilsenewman @padfootsvixen @naelys-the-aster @dreaming-for-an-escape @avalyaaa @loveandlewis

I've missed writing for Daemon! (Not me torn for a deranged uncle and his equally deranged one-eyed nephew)

The midnights imagines continues! I've already thought of specific lyrics from the songs, but feel free to make suggestions!

Taglists for Daemon and/or Aemond works is open!

#daemon x reader #daemon targaryen x y/n #daemon targaryen x reader #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #daemon targaryen imagine #daemon targaryen #midnights #anti hero

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thelastdawn-if · 7 months

Text

You're an exchange student at Seoul University.

In a world overrun by a mysterious virus that turns people into flesh-eating zombies you're separated from your brother, Elijah, who is stationed in the army. He is one of the first to hear of the outbreak and attempts to warn you, but all communication is cut off before he can provide any details.

You and a group of friends and strangers are left to fend for yourselves in the midst of the chaos. You all quickly realize that they must band together and navigate through the treacherous landscape filled with the undead if you guys are to survive.

1. Elijah (Brother): In the harsh world of the zombie apocalypse, Elijah stands out as a beacon of strength and resilience. As a soldier, his tall and muscular frame reflects his years of military training. Elijah's chiseled jawline is adorned with a prominent scar, earned during his first tour of duty, serving as a constant reminder of the sacrifices made in this unforgiving world. Beneath his rugged exterior, he possesses a deeply compassionate nature and a strong sense of loyalty, especially towards his fellow survivors. Elijah's discipline and duty-driven approach to life are always apparent, but he's a man of few words, preferring to let his actions speak for him. His journey is one of redemption and hope, as he and his group fight to survive while seeking to reunite with you in the chaos of the undead.

2. Han Ji-Hye (Seoul University Student): Han Ji-Hye, a student at Seoul University, epitomizes the essence of a diligent and compassionate scholar. She's a petite and intelligent young woman who's always ready to help and engage with others, despite the intense workload of her studies. With her striking dark hair, expressive eyes, and engaging personality, she quickly becomes an approachable and cherished friend among her peers. Ji-Hye's commitment to her academic pursuits and her love of learning are evident in her remarkable performance in a wide range of subjects, from mathematics to the humanities. Her active engagement in volunteer work and her involvement in student-led social justice initiatives reflect her deep empathy and her resolve to make a difference in the world. Ji-Hye stands as a beacon of hope, resilience, and unwavering kindness, embodying the spirit of a dedicated Seoul University student.

3. Valeria Monila (Seoul University Student with Mixed Heritage): Valeria Monila, hailing from Peru and bearing a mixed heritage of Haitian and Peruvian roots, is a captivating presence at Seoul University. Her unique blend of cultural backgrounds is evident in her striking and diverse appearance. Valeria possesses a warm and outgoing personality, exemplifying a natural charisma that resonates with those around her. She's driven and highly motivated, excelling in her studies while immersing herself in the rich cultural scene of Seoul. Despite the challenges of studying abroad, she remains resilient and compassionate, actively contributing to social justice initiatives both in Seoul and on a global scale. Valeria's vibrant character reflects the beauty of cultural diversity, and her passionate commitment to making the world a better place is an inspiration to those who know her.

4. Micheal Reid (Seoul University Student with Mixed Heritage, Reserved Demeanor): Micheal Reid's mixed heritage of Australian, Japanese, and Costa Rican ancestry has shaped his unique presence at Seoul University. While he appears friendly and outgoing, Micheal's reserved demeanor often keeps others at arm's length. His aloof and introspective nature can make it challenging for people to connect with him on a personal level. Nevertheless, his intelligence and perceptive mind set him apart academically, excelling in his studies and problem-solving. His introspective and self-aware character drives him to constantly seek self-improvement. Micheal's complex and enigmatic personality, combined with his diverse cultural background, makes him a thought-provoking figure in the academic and social circles of Seoul University.

(These are not the only characters)

Inspired by All of Us are Dead and Duty After School

ASK WELCOME

#the last dawn-if #interactive fiction #interactive novel #interactive game #itch.io #zombie #twine wip #twine interactive fiction #twine if #twine game #if wip #if game #if

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the-guilty-writer · 1 year

Text

No Matter What

Request (from anon): hiii if its not too much trouble could you do Reid x daughter reader where she had BPD and she has a anger breakdown??

Spencer Reid x daughter!reader

Summary: Spencer helps his daughter with BPD through an anger breakdown.

A/N: Huge thank you to @huffufflejoy for beta/sensitivity reading and advising me on this work. Your help is greatly appreciated! Now for my usual disclaimer before my pieces that heavily involve any neurodivergent topic: I try my best to potray mental illness in the most accurate yet sensitive way possible. Please let me know if you have concerns or issues with my work. It's important to note that everyone experiences mental illness in different ways and this may not be indicative of the experience of everyone with BPD.

CW: Reader has BPD, anger breakdown, talks of schizophrenia, self-loathing, small amount of physical violence, reader is shorter than Spencer

---

Spencer had learned long before you were born that understanding from knowledge and understanding from experiencing were two different things.

No matter how much he had read about schizophrenia, he could never truly understand what his mom was experiencing. No matter how much he'd read about being a dad, it did not prepare him for actually being one. And no matter how many people he talked to, articles he read, or data he went through, he would never truly understand what it was like for you to live with BPD.

At first, his research led him to believe that he might be able to understand some of the experience. After his dad leaving him at such a young age, Elle's resignation, Gideon leaving with nothing but a letter to say goodbye, and Emily's fake death, Spencer always had an underlying concern that the people in his life were going to leave.

But to him it was just that- an underlying concern. Like how he prefered paper over computers, but wasn't paranoid about it like his mother had been during an episode in which she threw the TV out of the house. Or how he might tell someone "My daughter is my whole world", but if he didn't hear from you for a day his whole world didn't seem to fall apart.

Nothing about your experience would ever be comparable to his. All he could do was try to understand.

Spencer had just woken up when he heard the shattering. He got out of bed, trying not to get his limbs tangled in the sheets, but still moving faster than he usually did at 7 AM. When he threw his bedroom door open, he took in the sight before him. His genius brain tryed it's best to calculate what move to make next.

You were standing in the small kitchen, surrounded by pieces of porcelain. White knuckles were threaded through your hair, threatening to pull the strands out by the root. A look of distress was plastered on your face as your chest heaved. Spencer only hoped that he'd gotten here before the anger turned into a blackout.

"(Y/N), Sweetie," Spencer cooed. He walked toward you, careful to avoid the broken bowl. "Are you okay?"

"No, I'm not okay!" Your voice was shrill in your exasperatedly irritable state. "I- I dropped the bowl and it broke, and now I can't make cupcakes for Henry, and I broke the bowl- I'm so sorry-"

Spencer tried to change the subject in an effort to calm you. "You were going to hang out with Henry today?"

"No, of course no. Why else would I be trying to make him cupcakes?" You snarled at your dad with degrading sarcasm. "All my other friends hate me and now he probably will now too and- and the bowl!"

It wasn't an unusual thing for you to say. Keeping surface-level friendships alive could be difficult with BPD. People didn't understand where the swing of emotions came from, and how you couldn't control the things you said when the mental bomb went off. They didn't understand why you would share a hobby with them, and then a week later, drop it completely. Even when you explained BPD, used your coping skills, and tried your hardest, it was difficult just to exist in society.

Henry made it easier. The two of you had been friends since you were small children. He took his time to understand you. He could calm your nerves, help you cope, give you reassurance, set healthy boundaries.

Still, your dad was you favorite person; your safe place. Spencer made you feel secure in a way that no one else could. It didn't matter how high you flew or how hard you fell, he was the constant presence in your life that you needed. That's why the underlying fear of losing him could make you spiral.

"It's broken! It's broken and I'm broken!" The sarcasm slipped away behind your anger.

"You're not broken," Spencer cooed.

"Yes I am!" You screamed at him. Tears of fury streamed down your face. The look in your eyes was enough to tell your dad that you were close to a breakdown, and he couldn't help but look nervously at the shards still littered on the ground.

Spencer took a risk, walking forward. He got to you in three carefully calculated strides.

"Come here," he whispered, though you were only inches apart and his arms were almost all the way around you.

"No, no-" you muttered. Your eyes were shut tight, arms pulled to your chest as if they were a shield over your heart.

Spencer wrapped you in a hug against your wishes, only pulling you tigher when your fists came towards his chest. Your muttering and sobbing and squirming continued as he held you as tightly as he could.

"I love you."

"I'm telling the truth."

"I'm not leaving you."

"You're worthy."

"I will always be here."

Spencer didn't know if the words actually helped, but he liked to think they did. As the pendulum of emotion began to fall and you stopped fighting in his arms, the only sound in the kitchen became the mantras he whispered and your heavy breathing.

"I-I'm sorry, dad," your words were barely desipherable between dry sobs. "I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry. I didn't mean- I'm so sorry. Please-"

"It's okay." Spencer kept his voice calm, soothing, reassuring. "It's only a bowl."

"I broke it and I got so-" you choked out the words as if saying them was physically painful.

Spencer had to remind himself that it was. Just like the way a panic attack could make someone's heart race or their palms sweat, the humiliation of being unable to control your emotions made your throat close. He wished it didn't.

"It's all my fault- I'm sorry."

Spencer looked down at your puffy face. Your lip trembled with anxiety. Salt stained cheeks rested in his palms. In the glassy look of your eyes he could see his own reflection, his own expression. It matched exactly how he felt; concern for you that came from pure love. He only wished you'd see that there was nothing in this world that could make him leave you willfully. There was nothing in this world that could take that love.

"I promise it's okay," he kept his voice quiet. "Can we clean it up together?"

You nodded.

"I'll be here so you're safe," he reassured you. But it was also for himself.

You nodded again.

"Okay." He gently let go of your face. "Let's clean up."

Together, the two of you carefully swept up the pieces of procelain. It took no more than two minutes to do, but Spencer couldn't help but spew a few interesting facts. They made you feel better, more relaxed.

"In Japan they use a technique called kintsugi to repair pottery," he explained. "Craftsmen take the broken bits and mend them together with gold."

The both of you rose to your feet, you with a broom and Spencer with the dustpan. "It actually makes the object stronger and more beautiful." He disposed of the broken bowl in the trash.

"Is this your way of telling me that every time I break I get stronger and more beuatiful?" you asked. It wasn't snarky or sarcastic- it was exhausted. "Because I don't feel that way."

Your dad took the broom from you, putting it back in the small storage closet. "Not quite," he said, then turned. "Because a lot of people believe the practice rose from the philosophy of wabi-sabi, which encourages people to look for and appreciate imperfection."

You blinked at him. "I'm confused."

He wrapped you in a hug. "It's my way of telling you that I'm not going anywhere. It doesn't matter to me how strong you are or how beautiful you are- how perfect or imperfect. I'm always going to be here, and I'm always going to love you, no matter what."

#criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x daughter!reader #spencer reid x child!reader #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x y/n #criminal minds x teen!reader #criminal minds x daughter!reader #criminal minds x child!reader

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little-miss-dilf-lover · 7 months

Note

Pietro nsfw headcanons?? Pretty please😓

your wish is my command😔

—

NSFW HC’S (3)

pietro maximoff x female reader

word count. 490

warnings. 18+ only!! random horny brainrot. mdni

✧.┊ MASTERLIST

loves soapy titty pics !! if it's your kinda thing, you send them randomly to him. you love to do it at inappropriate times, just to see him try to hide a reaction. watch him inhale deeply, rub the bridge of his nose or send a scowl your way

on the subject of sending. pietro sends pics, and I mean he sends them- he knows what he's doing, and the kinda thing you want to see. pics of his veiny forearms !!! neck and jaw !1! HANDS !! dick resting on his lower stomach with his abs on display!! HIS FIST WRAPPED TIGHT AROUND THE BASE OF HIS COCK (😩) he knows you don't want to see his semi resting on his thigh at an unflattering, overhead angle, so he gives you what you want to see :((

sends small recordings of his grunting and moaning and then a pic of him after he came. his cum leaking from his head, dripping down his thumb. telling you that he thought of you the whole time 🫠

he has CRAZY stamina !! could go round after round after round. he is a big ball of energy and could give it to you long and hard (if that's what you want)

he's a horny mf! not in the way that borders on sex pest, but he's hornier than the average person?? gets real frustrated, all hot and bothered. desperate and whiney. sighs and huffs a lot, buries his face in his hands kinda thing

soft dom, needy sub !! that's him tied in a pretty bow

he's always going fast, so he prefers slow sex with you. making love if you will

eye contact during it!?!?!😖

loves holding your hand while he’s pumping into you nice and slow

kisses parts of you that you're insecure about and rubs over them lovingly💔 kisses your chin. JAW. CHEEK. FOREHEAD. TIP OF NOSE! ! holds your face, and cups your cheeks :((

squeezes your thighs when he's eating you out. grabs your tits and tummy while he's winding into you. holds your throat lightly. grips a lock of hair (at the roots) while he's ploughing into you from behind. he's very handsy and always touching you

although he may seem like it, he's not the kind to hit it and quit it. wants to make sure you feel appreciated and loved- even if it was all rough and dark (would do all the reassuring in aftercare)

talking of aftercare.. he's the best!! would shower together after (maybe another round??) then dress into something comfy. kinda imagine you playing video games after, eating snacks and laughing/ talking. just all-around wholesomeness. maybe order food in for dinner or a late-night dessert

loves to sleep between your legs- the side of his head resting on your pubic bone, face snuggled into your inner thigh. LOVES when you rub his head in this position, just dragging your fingers over his scalp??!!

— — — — — — — — — — ☆ — — — — — — — — — —

pietro taglist: @astermath @thewinterv @earth-elemental18 @lunnnix @idontknowwhattohaveasmyuser @randomawesomeperson102 @queerponcho @daenerys-supremacy @dontknownameauthor @mrsbarnesxxx @honestly-who-even-is-this @simplyreflected @apxtowiris

#request #pietro maximoff #pietro maximoff smut #pietro maximoff x reader #pietro maximoff imagine #pietro x reader #pietro smut #pietro marvel

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wmarximoff · 1 year

Text

𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 | 𝐰. 𝐦𝐚𝐱𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐟𝐟

summary: no one needs to know that the president of the most admired sorority on campus has a crush on you.

warnings (18+): a brief smut, Wanda cussing like a mean girl, R being a little shit, slight corruption if you squint. MINORS DNI.

pairing: sorority!Wanda x dirtbag!reader

word count: 3k

A/N: this is definitely not my best work by far, but I'm testing the tone of sorority!Wanda until I can write her in a way I like, so whoever reads this will be my test subjects lol

masterlist|

༺ᱬ༻

A pale and motley patch of white sunbeams smearing the glass of a nearby window was what captured your attention for a few bits of seconds that, together, would complete more than the whole of a minute. The window opened to the blue sky outside, to the large green trees rooted there near the building in a healthy lawn, with brownish and thick trunks spaced by stripes of daylight that sent a forest air to that specific region of the campus, which used to be well ventilated.

A deep yawn was stifled by a mouth just behind your head, both your elbows raised across the face of the hard plastic table. In the middle of that spring semester, the white-painted walls of the tapering classroom, which inclined down in steps from student seats that sloped toward Professor Harkness's rectangular desk, into a lesser concavity when pitted against the chairs of the students, they looked chubbier and sunnier than usual, which is why you had to wear light clothing with few layers to make it through that class until the end of the term without sweating to the point of dehydration.

“Shit...” was the tiniest curse uttered under your breath.

The friction caused by the tip of your pen across the paper ended up writing an inexact word in your fast informal handwriting, which you, annoyed, tried to cover up with an eager flick of the wrist towards the right. A wide thin line had slipped above the dashed letters in dark blue ink – because you saw yourself viscerally unhappy about your succinct spelling error (since it is written “economy”, and never “econonomy”). Several other students eagerly tapped their fingers on laptop keyboards (clatter of keys pounding across the classroom), but something nostalgic in you preferred to stick with good old paper and ink.

After scribbling such inaccuracy into your handwritten notes, you resumed your transcripts of what was taught by your teacher, trying to record the minimum necessary. You chewed gum with a cinnamon-synthesized flavor, a customary practice. A pen rolled and clattered to the floor, and then someone reached down to pick it up.

Your committed gaze, therefore, migrated from the articulated writings in your notebook to the professor's figure in front of the rest of the room, leaning with her hip against her long and low table, facing a certain handful of vivacious and diligent students. Agatha Harkness kind of reminded you of the Wicked Witch of the West from the Wizard of Oz – maybe it was her long, thin nose, or the exotic mannerism of her hands.

“So, ladies and gentlemen, to fully understand Austen's novels it’s first important to understand the finer points about economics and mid-nineteenth-century class relations that are portrayed in the relationships between characters in several of her works.”

Blustered Miss Harkness with her thick chestnut locks, her cashmere waistcoat looking more violet than usual on this hot sunny day, her arms clasped close to her ribcage, her cream-colored button-up shirt with the sleeves perched up to her elbows.

“It's not just about dating and marriage or strong female characters that this work is about, however that is what some uninformed people out there might assume. Of course, female empowerment is a crucial part of these novels, but it’s actually important for us to recognize the irrefutable fact that Austen has always dealt with social classes in her works, and because of this she is full of important economic themes that can be pointed out by the reader. Does anyone know what I'm talking about, people? Somebody? Anybody?”

You kind of chortled to yourself, reaching into your chair for a more comfortable position than had ever been found. You could well respond to such an inquiry, so much so that you could presage the formulation of the words that climbed your throat and lodged at the tip of your tongue, prepared to be pronounced in front of the rest of the class. But you just knew there was someone else who would be frothing to answer that question.

The right hand raised in the air, greedy for the intellectual realms of the demanded explanation, had not been yours at all. And silently, just an unimportant listener, you waited for the well-known answer to come, never exposing yourself any further than was necessary like a withdrawn, flowing animal of self-preservation and self-doubt, a silly little smile forming the outline of your lips.

“Yes, Miss Maximoff ?” Agatha pointed with her chin at a few tables behind yours, two steps up from where you were. Her neck craned back, and air seized her lungs in anticipation.

Wanda Maximoff, self-absorbed and with a shrewd, focused countenance, could be found just a tiny amount of meters uphill from where you were located. She was liked, adored and revered, a name passed around campus with airs of admiration, high in the social hierarchy of sororities and fraternities around the university. She had kind green eyes, but the kind of kindness that shouldn't be confused with naivete, something Wanda didn't have at all.

She was a president, the most prudent of them all, appealing even to the eyes of the university who were excluding or not adept at the Greek way of life, known for leading the chapter where some of the girls who turned heads around resided. She was a necessity, a public figure among other young people her age. And, in front of her, you smiled small. She was the most beautiful girl you would ever meet in your life.

Among your many other classmates scattered throughout the classroom, she was the only one wearing high black stockings under a pleated skirt checked in a gray fabric, highlighting the soft skin of her legs so strictly stunning and painstaking.

The long, dark locks were thus partially held back from covering her stunning face, tucked behind the shells of her ears. Fingers with polished black enamel nails, pale extensions adorned with silver rings of the most variegated shapes and sizes, parked the digits over a keyboard of a small portable computer placed right in front of her.

Her wardrobe always looked like a venustic mix of Cher Horowitz clothes and Nancy Downs accessories, choosing to constantly alternate between the two extremes of preppy and dark, usually finding herself somewhere in the middle of the two.

“Most of Austen's characters can be classified as belonging to the middle class of society, and she has never had a problem portraying the inequality between them and members of other social classes, both lower and higher,” irises jadish seethed in a well-educated glow, since it came as no surprise to anyone just how enthusiast of Jane Austen literature Wanda Maximoff could be.

“In fact, Austen's novels portray various socio-economic factors in 19th century Britain, specifically in matters of wealth and poverty and the values of coins at the time, as well as how much capital these people could have even at that time. It was never just about love and marriage.”

Wanda finished off in superb mastery by flashing an exultant little smile, scrunching a patch of skin from her nose like a fluffy little bunny, exuding airs of quite self-satisfaction. When her emerald gaze engaged yours across that sea of heads, you offered her a funny wink with your right eye, to which Wanda only chuckled and shook her head provocatively.

“You are absolutely correct, Miss Maximoff,” Professor Harkness greeted the student proudly from the front of the students as she stood, “I couldn't have said it myself in better words than that.”

You just rolled your eyes in their sockets playfully, resting your chin in the palm of your right hand whose elbow was supplanted by the face of the table. Someday Agatha would still end up adopting Wanda if she could.

ᗢ

“Oh fuck , Y/n!” The lascivious voice growled, reverberating, like a breath of apex, through the walls of the second-floor women's restroom of the university's Languages and Literature building.

“Just like that baby, oh–!” Wanda trapped her bottom lip with her own incisors, confining a moan to the deepest core of her being, her two inner thighs constricting her ears almost deafeningly.

Even that same morning after the classroom, with the emptiness there, a faucet dripping, only the linoleum floor could hear the hums uttered by a breathless Wanda, with her mouth tightened and her face burning in red embers like a peach in her sharp cheekbones, feeling just as satisfied as you prolonged her peak smearing your entire face in erratic movements of her taut hips.

You rubbed her swollen clit against your upper lip, that little knot of nerves squirming blindly in search of prolonging that sensation of pleasure that seeped into her bones, the plaid skirt sharply bunched below her navel. The two of you were squeezed into a bathroom stall, you on your knees and she sprawled all over the sides of that tight little space.

“Fuck,” Wanda gasped in a blink of slow eyelids, very sparingly holding your head against her pussy with the open palm of her right hand, “Fuck, baby…”

Ring-wrapped fingers found themselves fondling between the roots of your hair, the other girl's head hunched back, her lip gloss smudged. When you, as serene as you could be in the face of the beautiful sight of her orgasm, sank your teeth into a light open bite on her inner thigh just to make fun of her, Wanda moaned sensitively and increased her grip of deferred fingers against the roots of your hair.

“N-no,” she squealed in a breathless fashion, her brow creased like someone in pain, “No more, please, I can't take any more.”

“Okay, fine,” you smiled before gracing the bite mark with a slightly swashbuckling chaste kiss, a silent apology so close to her abused cunt dripping in a hangover of pleasure, “I want you to walk out of here with your own legs.”

You, kneeling down to her level, turned your face away from the gap between Wanda's opalescent crotch, still pulsing on your tongue the vigorous taste of the juice coming from her pulsing vagina – the skin down your chin and around your mouth completely burnished in a brilliant radiance from the president's overwhelming orgasm just above your head, chest heavy into her thin fabric blouse, uneven breathing and vaguely wobbly knees.

You scrambled to your feet, stretching your knees inside your baggy jeans, not much to say after accomplishing your mission but offering the sorority girl a smug crooked smile, bringing your knuckles up to sweep away the wetness out of your face. Wanda looked even prettier being panting and flushed after you wrung an orgasm out of her guts.

“My God, pretty girl,” you bit back a smile at the commission of your glossy lips by her cum in a brief tone of astonishment, “You really made a whole mess of my face, huh–”

“Shut your pretty fucking mouth, you're pissing me off.”

Before you could even entertain the idea of cleaning yourself with soap and water, however, a hand pressed the skin on the back of your neck and, in a reckless way, pulled you into a rough kiss, Wanda going forward toward your face sipping from her own orgasm built up by your mouth. And then, a tongue emerged between the pulps of her lips, dragging itself through the commission of your mouth, so much more ecstatic after an extravagant orgasm.

As you parted when oxygen was needed in your burning lungs, you blinked slightly foolishly, so that both your noses were almost touching in midair as Wanda smiled voluptuously at your lethargic blinks, her upper lip pressing lightly on her rosy, somewhat puffy lower lip.

The dark gazes screwed into an invisible line, the verdant darkness taking pleasure in your goofy silence, amused by your silliness. Wanda smiled catlike, the soft fingers of digits stroking the skin from the nape of your neck just below your hairline.

“Well,” you lisped somewhat not knowing what to say under your breath, “Maybe you don't need to walk out of here on your own two legs exactly…”

And your mischievous right hand threatened to touch her again, making your way to the center of her thighs, but as overstimulated as she was, she was firm in preventing you from squeezing her one more time before your fingers crossed the hem of her skirt.

“Don't you even dare to start,” the girl finally walked away, barely managing to unfold the skirt from her upper thighs and smooth the creased fabric with her fingertips before pushing the laminate door out, her lacy panties vaguely forgotten inside the back pocket of your jeans.

“I need to study for a test because you know, unlike you I really care about my grades. We value our good academic performance at Omega Mu Zeta and I am their president, so I–”

“You need to set a good example, yeah, I know.”

Wanda, however, just threw you a glare over her shoulder, as flippant as could be, “You're annoying.”

You rolled your eyes out of their sockets dazedly before following Wanda's sweetly woody scent out of the bathroom stall. That girl was your personal glory, but she would be your undoing at some point in the near future.

“C’mon pretty girl, my grades are pretty good, if you really wanna know,” you propped your hips low beside the pale china sink she was standing in front of, taking in your own appearance reflected in that rectangular mirror on the wall.

“Not being a teacher's pet doesn't necessarily mean I'm a bad student, y’know? That's a very bad impression you have of me, it's almost even offensive.”

“Fuck you,” she stared at her own reflection in the mirror, fixing, with the tips of her fingernails painted in dark nail polish, the cherry gloss on her lips, “I'm not a teacher's pet, I just work hard in understanding the subject. Unlike you.”

You smiled, scrutinizing the sight of the emerald-eyed girl reflected in the mirror – and how beautiful she was, Wanda Maximoff with her cherry lip gloss.

“I certainly have not the talent which some people possess, of converting easily with those I have never seen before,” you recited aloud, your gaze never letting go of hers which, by the reflection in the mirror, turned all emerald attention to her figure with arms crossed before her chest.

“I cannot catch their tone of the conversation, or appear interested in their concerns, as I often see done.”

Wanda then turned her face towards him, and one dark brow creased mockingly towards the middle of her forehead. The makeup was very little, accentuating her natural beauty by her cheekbones and jawline curved around the edges, and the dark eyeliner was always sharp, done with exquisite mastery over the almond-shaped eyelids.

“Did you just recite a line from Pride and Prejudice to me just to prove you know what you're talking about?” she smiled a little at your boldness.

“Maybe,” you shrugged smugly.

“That doesn't prove shit.”

“Proves that I’ve read the book,” you offered her a mocking brow lift.

“How old are you, you idiot, five?”

“Six actually,” you kind of chuckled in return, “But then, did it work? Did I impress you?”

Wanda looked at you for a studious half second, scrutinizing your figure with smart green eyes shimmering the color of summer grass.

“I hate you, you little shit.”

With intensity similar to the magnetic pull of a magnet, Wanda stepped forward with her white boot and took your face from the sides with both hands, merging your lips in a rhythmic kiss in harmonic cadence, which quickly made you whimper in dizzying contentment sharpened through your veins. Lovingly, you allowed yourself a smile at the corner of her pink lips, your heart pounding in the right side of your chest as her forearms laced tightly around the outline of your neck.

The kiss deepened into a need, their tongues twining until they were both panting softly, wet foreheads touching each other. You smiled mischievously against the commission of Wanda's swollen lips.

“My room on Friday after school?” you breathed in front of her face, “Darcy is going out with someone, so... I'll have the room all to myself.”

“Y/n,” Wanda whistled your name, her frown creasing slightly at your not-so-innocent suggestion, “I really have to study for that test, you know Mr. Pym is a real dictator in his classes–”

“And who says we are going to do anything other than study?” you smiled complacently, “Geez, Wanda, that perverted mind of yours goes everywhere, doesn't it? And here I thought you were a good girl, who knew you had that in you?”

“Stupid,” she twirled with her eyes comical, bent wrists resting above your shoulders, “Seriously, I need to keep my grades up—”

But the phrase died in her throat when voices could be heard in loud laughter pouring through the bathroom's main entrance, away from the secluded area of prying eyes where you belonged together. And at that notion something shriveled and deflated inside your chest. You actually looked forward as little as you could to those moments out of situations where you could rob her of the rest of the outside world, because that meant the fantasy was coming to an end.

Wanda was the respected president of Omega Mu Zeta, she was a social figure, she was anything she could be, except being yours. She was nobody's, indeed, but that also said she wasn't yours. But when she threatened to draw her body heat away from your torso, you kept your solemn grip firm on her hips through the fabric of her gray skirt, pinning her in place.

“Y/n,” she tried, hands squeezing your shoulders, a warning that reality was piercing sharply into that little bubble that encompassed you and her.

"Friday night? C'mon pretty girl, please? We'll just study, I promise. Girl Scout word.”

A brief shadow of conflict seemed to glide through the swirls of emerald irises, deepening that clear hue of her eyes, before Wanda tipped her chin back over her left shoulder covered by a blazer with a matching print and skirt, searching for an onlooker who wasn't there, only then to turn to your face and, in such a way, sigh a lame sigh before your expectant gaze. You always brought down all the resistance she seemed to want to lift.

“Okay,” Wanda relented, her shoulders slumping into the plaid blazer, “Okay, Friday after school. But as long as it's for us to actually study, you hear me? And I mean it.”

“Sure,” you muttered in jovial good humor, “We'll study, trust me.”

“Seriously, Y/n, no jokes,” a pair of glossy velvety lips pressed against the contour of your jawbone, right next to your pierced earlobe, “Or you're going to regret this,” Wanda it whispered on a warm breath, before there it plunged a painful bite into your epidermis.

A tiny squeak of pain piped out of your throat, shrugging your shoulder closer to your jaw and away from the other girl's half-open mouth, “Ouch Wanda, what the hell, what did you do that for?!”

“For you to remember to behave yourself,” she smiled with a darkly mischievous gleam, “Now I really have to go, baby. I text you on Friday.”

And then Wanda walked away, and with her went the enticing aroma of woody perfume mixed with strawberry dry shampoo, a fragrance that couldn't be described in any other way than just scarlet, closed, imposing and absolutely sexy in the right dosage. But the next person who squealed in pain was the president herself, whereupon you playfully raised your right forearm to deliver a slap of stiff, splayed fingers against the smooth skin of her panty-less ass beneath her pleated skirt, rocking the fabric of the short garment.

When Wanda tipped her chin back to curse you under her breath “Asshole,” the tops of both her cheeks gleaming in a caustic blush, you just grinned mischievously with your tongue sticking out between your teeth. And so, you knew that on that Friday, she would pay a visit to your room. After all, you didn't need more than that.

976 notes · View notes

crucipuzzled · 1 year

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About Loid Forger's therapy in SxF manga chapter 77 (Spoilers ahead)

There's a Freudian text for everything. Today's all about The Question of Lay Analysis (1926), also known as Wild Analysis.

Endo did what I have been planning to do for a comic of my own: depict Loid actually working as a Psychiatrist. While I'm glad he took this path, sadly I can't say he did a good job on it.

As some of you know, I'm a therapist grounded in Psychoanalitic Theory. Yes, I like Freud and Lacan, and no, Oedipus Complex is not what you heard it is. I did a brief analysis of Psychiatry stuff in SxF in the past, and today I feel compelled to repeat that exercise.

Let's go in order.

1. The importance of being a third party

What's the reason for which people ask a therapist for help, and not their families or friends? What do we have that they don't?

The answer is pretty simple: neutrality. We don't have a side other than rationality and ethics. A good therapist should be able to listen to his patient without losing objectivity.

When you and your patient have a shared, unique shared experience, it's preferable, even ethical, to refer him to another therapist, in order to preserve the higher interest of the patient. The more neutrality you can muster, the better for the curing process. Otherwise, it's really hard to listen to someone else without being constantly reminded of yourself. It turns into a blind spot.

Now, there are exceptions to this rule, but you must handle them carefully, and always putting the patient at the center. Loid openly talking here about how close he is to the hijacking incident doesn't help much.

In short, you have to ensure that your position in the therapeutic process remains an impartial, neutral Other, and avoid becoming a fellow. It's good to create trust, but not too much, just enough to work.

2. Chronic condition (?)

The biggest difference between a Psychiatrist and a Psychologist is that the first went to Med School. Hence, chronicity is a term that applies mostly for organic conditions, but it's rare in the field of subjectivity.

In my short experience, I've met cases labeled as "chronic depression" being cured. I, myself, cured a case of "compulsive suicide attempts since 15 years old, chronic depression, started hearing evil voices 2 weeks ago". You might think that I'm a great therapist, but it's not the case; it's just that, in order to tackle subjective problems, you ought to go to the root of the symptoms and deal with the subjectivity you find there. Psychoanalitic therapy has proven to be wonderful to treat many conditions that didn't get a cure in other types of psychotherapy.

Of course, it's not a panacea. There are things that we can't figure out yet. But bear in mind that chronicity, in the field of the mind, is more complex than just the passage of time and only a bunch of mental conditions truly admit it.

Jacques Lacan, the most important psychoanalist after Freud, said that the unconscious's track of time is not chronological, but logical. You don't just jump out of adolescence because you turned 18; other things need to happen for you to finally feel like an adult. It's a logical progression. The same can be said about some "chronic" conditions.

3. Explicit Reason of Consultation vs Latent Reason of Consultation

A.K.A Everybody lies.

Psychotherapy is a really weird thing to learn and master. In Psychology School they teach you that you must trust what your patient tells you, but at the same time, distrust him enough. How to conceal both things?

Well, everything is easier when you take Dr. House's words to heart.

Everyone states a reason for consultation, but that first reason is never the real reason, no matter how reasonable it might sound. The trick to discern what the latent, real reason for consultation is, is to determine what the subjective conflict hiding in plain sight is. Sometimes there isn't any and therefore, a full psychotherapy is not necessary (maybe just assisting someone with some things, being there just in case, etc), but most cases are built upon a conflict.

I'm glad that Loid here decided to act like a good Psychiatrist and took a mental note on the oddities.

WELL SAID MY BOY, I'M PROUD OF YOU

I want to remark this, because it's discouraging how many therapists oversee this to simplify their job to an extreme. Believe it or not, there are therapists out there that act upon what their patients tell them first. "Hi doc. I came here today because I got an accident and I think I have PTSD". "Ok, I'll have you practice these mindfulness excercises and you should be ok within a month, see ya". DUDE.

4. The place of truth in the context of Psychotherapy

Ah, the classic temptation of knowing the 'real' truth. Is this patient in front of me bullshitting his way out? Is he in a delirium? Is she telling the truth, or just embellishing her story to make it more believable?

You don't have this struggle once you are certain of your role as a psychotherapist. And your role is to help your patients to deal with their subjective struggles.

In short: Psychoterapy deals with the patient's truth, not with the 'real' truth.

You know who deals with 'real' truth in the field of Mental Health? Social Workers.

We psychotherapists don't need to ascertain our patient's claims. Confronting them with reality usually proves to be fruitless, just like Loid did here ("But you're a respected educator!"). It's way more useful to open the topic by asking more questions such as "How did you reach that conclussion?" "What made you think that way?", or giving a specular answer ("You speak like someone else said that about you", "You're too hard with yourself. Where does that come from?", "It sounds like you're belittling your fear for what your wife could say", etc etc etc).

Whenever you're with a neurotic patient, their own personal truth is the only truth you need to work with. Leave the 'real' truth for people who actually needs it, like Social Workers, Doctors or Judges. Your role with a patient is to make sure that his personal truth can turn into something less painful. No need to talk with their friends and family for info, unless your patient is a child or a teenager; just ask him and stick to what he says word by word.

There's a huge topic about the place of reality in therapy, specially in the field of Psychoanalysis, but if I start this train of thought I'm afraid I'll go down to Hell. If you're interested, I've reblogged some Lacanian pills on this Tumblr, check them out by searching the tag #lacan.

PS: NO LOID, DON'T DO THAT. DON'T BREAK THE TRUST YOU ACHIEVED WITH MR AUSTIN! CONFIDENTIALITY IS A MUST!!

5. Counceling = Psychotherapy?

Loid is a (fake) Psychiatrist, not a psychotherapist, so I can't be too hard on him. Also I stan this man. I'm painfully well aware that councelling and coaching is an alternative to psychotherapy in other parts of the world, mostly in the US. But let's not forget one thing:

Psychotherapists DON'T GIVE ADVICES.

At least, not the ones that take this job seriously.

Everyone can give advices. Do you want an advice? Ask your family or friends, or post something in social media, or ask a complete stranger in the street what to do. You'll get plenty of answers and advices. Maybe a bunch of them will be really useful. Good!

The thing with advices is that: -They act like a universal recipe for a problem -There's no universal recipe to sort a problem -They don't tackle the subjective root of a problem -They assume that the problem can be solved by something you can do upon your surroundings, when the real struggle stems from subjective problems Some advices do help with real struggles, but when you have a subjective conflict, they barely help; hell, sometimes they make everything worse.

Like Loid here.

Remember when I mentioned that the unconscious mind's track of time is not chronological, but logical? This is a great example. Mr Austin won't be able to properly talk with his wife just because Loid adviced him to; he must solve other issues before that.

I'm glad we're on the same page on this one

6. Your therapist is not your friend

Sad but true.

If your therapist is good enough, you won't know many things about his private life. You won't know about his lover, his hobbies, where does he live, what does he fear.

Why the secretism? Because it's useless for the patient. Also because disclosing personal information has the effect of becoming a model for the patient, who would start to imitate you. And finally, because you need to mantain a semblance of neutrality and not getting emotionally close with the patient more than necessary.

PS: It's kinda cute how aware Loid is about Yor's every movement. Kinda. KISS HER ALREADY, GODDAMNIT

7. Talking cure and (how not to use) the divan

I talked a bit about divans here.

There, I mentioned that you should NEVER PUT A PSYCHOTIC PATIENT IN A DIVAN. NOPENOPENOPENOPENOPENOPE. Well, we can amplify this rule a bit and say that you should avoid the divan with any patient that has a risk of getting seriously upset, like in severe trauma.

The divan is not the only thing that could play against you if badly used. There are cases in Psychiatric Hospitals of patients getting upset because their therapists used the same clothes and hairstyle every single day for months. The point here is that, with psychotic patients and fragile psychic structures (like what happens in traumatized people), you can't use methods that require too much projection.

Also, Lottie here is not performing a Talking Cure.

The divan has been used since Freud to facilitate transference through the Free Association Method. You lay down on it and your therapist ask for whatever crosses your mind first. You don't put a content there beforehand.

(On the same line, if you're a therapist, please refrain from decorating your consultation room with motivational phrases. You're putting words in your patient's mouth before he even starts to speak)

So, it's useless to make Mr Austin lay down on a divan, only to ask him to remember a specific memory. I'd advice (Ha! The irony!) against using the divan here.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------- To finish my Two Cents, I'd like to point some positive aspects of this chapter. It's nice that a troubled person decides to seek for help. There's still a huge stigma about men requiring mental health help, and it's a nice example to settle to portray one actually going to a Psychiatrist. Men usually struggle with their problems alone and they have it rough.

It's also nice that, in the end, Loid could help his patient. I wonder how (How?!), but it probably means that, at some point of the process, he changed his methods for the better.

And yes. Sometimes, helping one single person can change many lives. I'm honored to be able to attest to that :D

As everyone, I'd expect the logical sucession of events that could follow this chapter: Loid realizing he's got a heck of a wife compared to other marriages, appreciating Yor more, and giving us heavy smut cute TwiYor moments. But Endo has proven to be an author that doesn't like to follow logic. So, let's brace for whatever will come in two weeks.

Thank you for reading!

#spy x family #loid forger #psychiatry #psychoanalysis #sigmund freud #jacques lacan #psychotherapy #spy x family manga #sxf

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cool-fancier · 4 months

Text

Academic Duels

Synopsis: In the halls of Daewon High School, you academic rivalry, born of contrasting styles, laid the groundwork for an unexpected connection. A tale of competition, shared recognition, and evolving relationship.

A/n: Academic Rivalry,some playful banter,Bada being kind,is a bit rushed

Word Count:3.9k

The story of the academic rivalry between you and Bada could be traced back to the halls of Daewon High School, a prestigious institution in the bustling heart of Seoul. Both of you were prodigies in your own right, emerging as academic stars in a sea of bright minds. The competitive spirit that simmered beneath the surface of your scholarly pursuits had its roots in the early days of your high school journey.

As freshmen, you and Bada were already making waves with your exceptional performances. The teachers couldn't help but marvel at the intellectual prowess displayed by two students who seemed destined for greatness.

Your backstory was one of humble beginnings. Born into a middle-class family, you had always viewed education as the key to transcending societal limitations. The determination to succeed and prove your worth had been instilled in you by your parents, who worked tirelessly to provide you with the opportunities they never had.

Bada, on the other hand, hailed from a family with a long lineage of scholars and intellectuals. The pressure to uphold the family legacy weighed heavily on her shoulders. Her parents, both accomplished academics, had set a high bar for success, and Bada was determined to not only meet but exceed those expectations.

The first encounter that set the stage for your academic rivalry occurred in the freshman year English class. The teacher, recognizing the exceptional talent in both of you, assigned a collaborative project that would serve as a precursor to the competition that would unfold over the years.

As fate would have it, you and Bada were paired together for the project. Initially, it seemed like a harmonious partnership, with the shared goal of producing a stellar presentation. However, as the days progressed, the differences in your approaches became apparent.

You, driven by a passion for the subject and a desire to delve deep into the material, took a creative and holistic approach to the project. Bada, with her meticulous and analytical mindset, preferred a structured and methodical strategy. The clash of these contrasting methodologies resulted in a project that was neither a seamless fusion of ideas nor a harmonious collaboration.

When the teacher evaluated the project, the feedback was mixed. The creativity and depth of your insights were praised, but the lack of structure and organization drew criticism. Bada, on the other hand, received commendation for the precision and clarity of her contributions but was urged to consider incorporating a more creative element.

The experience left both of you with a sense of dissatisfaction. For you, it was the first taste of a less-than-perfect performance, while for Bada, it was an unaccustomed brush with constructive criticism. The dynamic had shifted, and an unspoken challenge lingered in the air.

The following years witnessed an escalation of the rivalry. Each exam, project, or presentation became a battleground where you and Bada sought not just to excel but to outshine each other. The competition fueled an unrelenting pursuit of excellence that saw both of you consistently topping the class.

In the crucible of academic fervor, the rivalry extended beyond the classroom. Extracurricular activities, leadership positions, and even accolades from teachers became markers of success to be fiercely contested. The once-harmonious atmosphere of Daewon High School now crackled with the electric energy of a rivalry that had transcended the ordinary.

The competitive spirit, while driving you and Bada to extraordinary heights, also exacted a toll on your personal lives. Friendships were strained as the pursuit of academic superiority overshadowed other aspects of high school life. The unspoken tension in the hallways, the pointed glances exchanged during class discussions, and the occasional clashes in student council meetings became defining features of your high school experience.

The teachers, observing the intensity of the rivalry, attempted to channel it into positive avenues. You and Bada were often chosen to represent the school in academic competitions, debates, and quiz bowls. While these opportunities provided a platform to showcase your talents on a broader stage, they also heightened the stakes of the rivalry.

Despite the competitive undercurrent, there were moments of shared recognition. The mutual acknowledgment of each other's brilliance, even if begrudgingly given, fostered a strange camaraderie. You both knew that the rivalry, while fierce, was also a source of mutual growth and intellectual stimulation.

"You did well in the debate today," you acknowledged, unable to completely conceal the admiration in your voice.

Bada responded with a slight nod. "Your points were impressive too. It's always a challenge keeping up with your unpredictability."

The recognition, however, did little to assuage the burning desire for supremacy. The rivalry continued to drive both of you to push the boundaries of academic achievement.

The banter and debates during those high school years had a different flavor. In the classrooms of Daewon High School, where the echoes of spirited discussions reverberated, the story of you and Bada unfolded amidst playful taunts and competitive banter.

"Looks like you narrowly escaped defeat in today's quiz," Bada teased, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

You shot back, "Narrowly? I call it strategic brilliance. Keeps you on your toes, doesn't it?"

The teachers, familiar with the dynamics between you two, often found themselves caught in the crossfire of banter.

"Ah, the intellectual sparring continues. I'm beginning to think I should assign you both to opposing debate teams," Mr. Kang, your history teacher, remarked with a chuckle.

Bada replied, "We'd welcome the challenge, wouldn't we? It might make things more interesting."

The banter extended beyond the academic realm. During student council meetings, where both of you held prominent positions, the discussions often took on a competitive edge.

"I propose we implement a mentorship program," you suggested, eyeing Bada with a challenge in your gaze.

Bada responded, "While mentorship is valuable, let's not forget the importance of independent learning. We don't want to coddle our fellow students."

The debates, while spirited, were always underlined by a mutual respect. The rivalry, though palpable, was a driving force that propelled both of you to strive for excellence.

Amidst the playful banter, there were moments of genuine collaboration. The fusion of your creative approach and Bada's analytical mindset occasionally resulted in projects that showcased the power of your combined intellects.

One such project, where you both collaborated on a research paper exploring the intersection of literature and science, garnered praise from your professors. The recognition, albeit shared, did little to quell the ongoing rivalry.

— — — — —

The hallways of Seoul National University echoed with the hurried footsteps of students rushing to their next classes. Among them were you and Bada, academic rivals whose competitive spirits fueled a perpetual race for excellence.

In the realm of academics, you and Bada were often neck-and-neck. Your prowess in the sciences matched her linguistic finesse, and each test became a battleground where victory was never guaranteed. The atmosphere between you two was always charged with unspoken competition, and your grades were the scoreboard that determined the winner.

Today was no different. The air buzzed with anticipation as the university prepared to release the results of the latest round of exams. The stakes were high, and both of you knew that this could be the moment that tilted the scales in one direction.

The backstory of this rivalry traced back to your first year at the university. Both you and Bada were standout students in your respective high schools, used to being at the top of your class. When you found yourselves in the same university, it was inevitable that your paths would cross.

The competition began innocently enough, with friendly banter and subtle attempts to outshine each other. However, as the semesters progressed, the rivalry intensified. Your accomplishments became the measuring stick for Bada, and vice versa. The stakes were not just about grades; they were about asserting dominance and proving who was truly the best.

As you entered the lecture hall where the test results were to be announced, a knot of nerves twisted in your stomach. The room was abuzz with whispers, and the tension was palpable. Bada, with her customary stoic expression, sat a few seats away from you. The unspoken challenge hung in the air like an electric current.

The professor walked in, holding a stack of graded papers. The room fell into a hushed silence as he prepared to distribute the tests. The moment of truth had arrived.

One by one, the professor called out names and handed back the exams. The tension in the room escalated with each passing moment. As your name was called, you reached out to grab your test, trying to hide the tremble in your hands. You quickly scanned the pages, relief washing over you as you saw the coveted "100%" at the top.

A triumphant smile crept across your face as you turned to glance at Bada. "What did you get?" you asked curiously, a mix of excitement and anticipation in your voice.

Bada's expression remained impassive as she received her test. She glanced at the pages and replied, "99%," her tone cold and unaffected.

A surge of exhilaration coursed through your veins. For the first time, it seemed victory was firmly in your grasp. "Well, looks like I finally got the upper hand this time," you said, unable to conceal the wide grin that spread across your face.

Bada met your gaze with a steady look, her poker face betraying no emotion. "Congratulations," she replied simply, her voice devoid of any hint of rivalry.

You couldn't resist the urge to boast. "I guess I've broken the cycle. Maybe this is the beginning of a winning streak," you declared, reveling in the momentary triumph.

As the news of your perfect score spread through the lecture hall, whispers of congratulations and admiration filled the air. Friends patted you on the back, and the sense of accomplishment lifted your spirits.

However little did you know the true nature of Bada's response. While she maintained her cool facade, there was a subtle glint of satisfaction in her eyes. What you didn't realize was that she had intentionally missed one question, not out of negligence, but as a calculated move. Bada had liked you for a long time, and this small act was her way of creating a moment of joy for you.

As you continued to bask in the glory of your achievement, Bada sat there, seemingly indifferent to the numbers on her paper. In reality, her heart carried a secret that she had guarded for far too long. The satisfaction in her eyes was not just about letting you win this round; it was about creating a moment that would make you smile, blissfully unaware of her feelings.

The rivalry between you and Bada had always been more than academics. Beneath the competitive banter and shared challenges, a connection had quietly blossomed. Bada had admired you for your dedication, your passion, and the genuine kindness that you extended to everyone around you. It wasn't just about being the best academically; it was about being the kind of person that made her heart skip a beat.

The backstory to this unexpected gesture traced back to a moment of vulnerability. Bada, with her sharp intellect and disciplined approach to academics, had always been perceived as an unyielding force. However, beneath the exterior of stoicism lay a desire for connection and understanding.

One day, as you were preparing for a particularly challenging exam, Bada caught a glimpse of the stress that clouded your usually confident demeanor. Instead of seizing the opportunity to press her advantage, she recognized the humanity in your struggle. It was then that she made a silent pact with herself – to occasionally let you taste the sweetness of victory, even if it meant deliberately missing a question.

In the weeks that followed, as you continued to revel in your newfound success, Bada observed from the sidelines. She saw how your confidence blossomed, how the taste of victory spurred you to even greater heights. And in those moments, she found a peculiar satisfaction – the satisfaction of seeing you smile, even if it was at the cost of a single percentage point.

The days turned into weeks, and the routine of academic rivalry persisted. However, an unspoken understanding had developed between you and Bada. She continued to be the formidable competitor, pushing you to excel, but every now and then, a subtle gesture hinted at a connection that transcended grades and competition.

In the midst of this dynamic, a friendship, unacknowledged and yet quietly thriving, began to take root. The rivalry that had once been fueled by a desire for supremacy now carried the weight of shared victories and unspoken gestures of camaraderie.

As the semester progressed, the academic challenges continued, but the relationship between you and Bada took on a new dimension. The hallways that were once silent witnesses to whispered rivalries now echoed with the occasional laughter and shared insights.

The library, with its hushed whispers and the scent of old books, became an unlikely setting for the next chapter in your evolving connection with Bada. As you both immersed yourselves in your studies, the atmosphere was charged with an unspoken camaraderie that had gradually replaced the intense rivalry of your earlier encounters.

One day, as you were engrossed in your textbooks and notes, Bada looked up from her own stack of books. "Do you want to grab a coffee after this?" she asked, her tone casual but carrying a warmth that transcended the usual competitiveness.

The invitation caught you by surprise, but the genuine sincerity in her eyes made it impossible to decline. "Sure, I'd love that," you replied, offering a genuine smile and a light blush. The idea of sharing a coffee, something that had started as a casual outing, had now become a symbol of the connection you were building.

As you both ventured into the campus café, the familiar aroma of coffee beans enveloped you. The atmosphere was light, free from the usual undercurrents of rivalry that had defined your interactions. The conversation flowed effortlessly, weaving through topics beyond the confines of academia.

"I never knew you were into literature," you remarked, genuinely intrigued by this new side of Bada.

She chuckled, her eyes lighting up with enthusiasm. "Yeah, I've always loved getting lost in a good book. There's something magical about the way words can transport you to different worlds."

The exchange of personal interests continued, revealing shared passions for travel and a mutual appreciation for the intricacies of the Korean language. The coffee outings became a regular occurrence, each one peeling away another layer of the barriers that had once defined your relationship.

As weeks turned into months, the initial wariness between you and Bada melted away, paving the way for a genuine connection. The unspoken pact, where occasional victories were traded for moments of acknowledgment, remained intact.

One afternoon, as you sat in your usual corner of the café, sipping coffee and sharing laughs, Bada seemed a bit more reserved than usual. The air carried a subtle tension, and you couldn't help but notice the thoughtful glances she occasionally directed your way.

"You seem a bit quiet today," you observed, your tone gentle. "Everything okay?"

Bada took a deep breath, as if gathering her courage. "Yeah, everything's fine. Actually, there's something I've been wanting to talk to you about."

The shift in her demeanor caught your attention. "Sure, go ahead. We're friends, right?"

A hint of relief but quick sadness flickered in Bada's eyes. "Yeah, friends," she affirmed, her gaze meeting yours. "I wanted to say... I that I really love our time together, and I don't want to mess it up, but I need to be honest with you."

Curiosity tinged with a touch of concern filled your expression. "Of course, Bada. You can be honest with me."

Taking another deep breath, she confessed, "I've liked you for a long time now. More than just as a study partner or a friend. I wasn't sure if I should say anything, but I didn't want to keep it from you."

Surprise registered on your face as you absorbed her words. Bada, the once stoic academic rival, had just revealed a vulnerability that spoke volumes. The café, with its low hum of background chatter, seemed to quiet down as you processed her confession.

The pause lingered for a moment, tension hanging in the air. Then, unexpectedly, you found yourself smiling. "Bada, I appreciate your honesty. I didn't see this coming, but I have to admit, I've liked you too."

Her eyes widened in genuine surprise. "You do?"

"Yeah," you chuckled, the weight of the unspoken tension lifting. "I guess our connection goes beyond just acing exams and grabbing coffee. I like you, Bada, more than I thought."

Relief washed over her, and a genuine smile graced her lips. "I was worried I might mess things up between us."

You reached across the table, gently taking her hand. "Bada, our connection is stronger than that. I'm glad you told me. Let's see where this takes us, without the pressures of academic rivalry."

From that moment, the dynamics of your relationship with Bada shifted once again. The coffee outings, once symbols of friendly competition, now became a canvas for the blossoming romance. The barriers had crumbled, revealing a connection that transcended the expectations of academia.

As the days turned into nights, you and Bada navigated this new chapter with a shared understanding. The unspoken pact, built on the foundation of occasional victories and heartfelt acknowledgments, had paved the way for a love story that had quietly unfolded beneath the surface of academic competition.

— — — — — —

The test results, once a source of tension, became a mere formality in the journey of your academic and personal growth. The rivalry that had once defined your interactions now stood as a testament to the transformative power of unexpected connections.

One day, as you and Bada sat in the same lecture hall where the initial rivalry had taken root, the professor announced another round of test results. The atmosphere, once thick with tension, now held an air of camaraderie.

As the professor called out names and distributed the exams, you and Bada exchanged knowing glances. The competitive spirit remained, but it was no longer fueled by a desire for supremacy. It was a shared journey of growth, each victory and defeat a stepping stone in the evolution of your friendship.

When you received your test, you scanned the pages, your heart pounding with anticipation. The familiar "100%" greeted you, and you couldn't help but smile. Turning to Bada, you asked, "What did you get?" Curiosity and genuine interest colored your words.

Bada, maintaining her composed demeanor, replied, "99%," with a hint of a smile playing on her lips.

The realization hit you – this was not a defeat but a continuation of the unspoken pact. You smiled widely, not as a display of triumph, but as an acknowledgment of the shared journey you and Bada had undertaken.

"I guess we're maintaining the balance," you said, your voice filled with a newfound understanding.

Bada nodded, the glint of satisfaction in her eyes mirroring your own. The professor, unaware of the intricacies of your connection, continued with the announcements, and the hall filled with a sense of collective achievement.

As you and Bada walked out of the lecture hall, the sun casting a warm glow over the campus, the unspoken pact between you two lingered in the air. The rivalry had evolved into a friendship, a connection that defied the expectations of competitiveness.

In the heart of Seoul National University, where the halls echoed with the pursuit of knowledge, the story of you and Bada became a testament to the transformative power of unexpected connections. The rivalry that once fueled the academic landscape now stood as a symbol of growth, shared victories, and the enduring bonds that emerged from the unlikeliest of beginnings.

Now, with the acknowledgment of your mutual feelings, the dynamics between you and Bada shifted once again. The coffee outings, once symbols of friendly competition, now became a canvas for the blossoming romance. The barriers had crumbled, revealing a connection that transcended the expectations of academia.

The exchange of glances had become laden with unspoken meanings, and every shared moment held a layer of intimacy that went beyond friendship. The sunsets over the campus felt warmer, and the laughter shared in the cafés echoed with the resonance of newfound affection.

One evening, as you both strolled through the campus, Bada couldn't resist a playful jab at your once intense rivalry. "Remember when you used to boast about being the smartest one in class?" she teased, nudging you lightly.

You chuckled, playing along. "Ah, those were the days when I had to remind you who the real brainiac was."

Bada raised an eyebrow, her eyes glinting with mischief. "Brainiac? Please, I seem to recall someone struggling to keep up with my brilliance."

You feigned offense, a playful glint in your eyes. "Oh, please. Your brilliance couldn't even match my wit."

The banter continued, each remark carrying the weight of shared history and a newfound camaraderie. As you both reached a quiet spot under a tree, the playfulness took a surprising turn. Bada, with a mischievous glint in her eyes, suddenly lunged at you, causing you to stumble backward.

Laughter echoed through the campus as Bada pinned you down playfully, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of challenge and affection. "Who's the brainiac now?" she teased, a playful grin on her face.

You couldn't help but grin back, the rush of the unexpected moment adding a layer of excitement to the playful banter. "Alright, you got me this time. But let's see who emerges victorious in our next academic duel."

Bada leaned in, her breath mingling with yours. "Oh, I'm looking forward to it. But for now, let's enjoy this little victory, shall we?"

As the playful banter lingered under the shade of the tree, Bada's eyes held a warmth that transcended the teasing. The laughter, the shared history, and the unexpected twists in your connection had brought you both to this moment.

Bada, still playfully pinning you down, leaned in with a gentle smile. "You know," she whispered, "sometimes the best victories are the ones we least expect."

A grin played on your lips as you replied, "I couldn't agree more."

In that suspended moment, the air between you and Bada crackled with anticipation. The playful rivalry had seamlessly transformed into a shared understanding, and the lines between competition and connection had blurred.

Without another word, Bada closed the distance, and your lips met in a tender kiss. The world around you seemed to fade, leaving only the soft rustle of leaves and the warmth of the embrace. The kiss, a culmination of unspoken feelings and the journey from rivals to something more, spoke volumes.

When you finally pulled away, a shared smile lingered between you. The playful banter, the academic duels, and the unexpected connection had led you to this moment, where the heartbeats echoed a new chapter in your evolving story.

In the heart of Seoul National University, where academic excellence met the uncharted territories of playful romance, the story of you and Bada continued to unfold. The once fierce academic rivals had discovered a bond that went beyond the confines of competition, and every banter-filled moment added a layer to the narrative of your evolving connection.

#bada lee x reader #swf2 #swf2 x reader #bada lee #street woman fighter 2 #bebe #bada lee fanfic #bada lee x oc #bada lee x y/n #bada x reader #bada lee imagine #lee bada #academic rivals

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silvervinewine · 1 year

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WARM TYPE OF LOVE... AFFECTION (W/ DOTTORE)

affection, or love in general was a feeling IL DOTTORE was not familiar with. chased out of his hometown due to his passion for discovery, called a monster by his own people. called a monster by the sumeru scholars after they discovered his rather, eccentric studies.

from an early age, IL DOTTORE or ZANDIK knew he could trust no one but himself.

the idea of devoting one self to another individual, was simply irrational. letting one's feelings guide them through a tightly wound maze, the mere idea or having someone else to share his livelihood, his dreams was, oddly strange.

yet the more he thought about it, thought about you. the more the idea lost its stigma.

(more below ↲)

being his new designated lab assistant, you helped him out with his experiments. albeit rather indirectly, working with his segments instead of with him directly. he saw how most of his many clones seemed to respect you, and not only that, he could notice how they yearned for your presence.

his segments, isolated parts of his consciousness. they represented him, they were him in a way. he promised to himself to only remain loyal to himself, which he thought extended to his segments, yet his clones remained ever so loyal to you. what made you so special? he couldn't understand, that was until he met you in person. he always used his segments to make a public appearance, yet you were a valuable enough resource or person to introduce himself privately to. after all you were sure an admirable mind, with a precision within experiments that can match only himself.

while he knew you were bound to be a worthy assistant, he was surprised on how you managed the projects at hand. as you not only took great interest in the experiments you both worked on, but as well taking an interest in himself, doting on him curiously.

"hey doc, want some of my food?" your voice ringed out curiously throughout the laboratory. it was your self appointed, lunch break. a time where you did nothing but eat, you started giggling as soon as he froze, you always did.

not once taking his eyes off his notes he muttered, softly "i find no need for sustenance, i have no need for... 'snacks'."

he heard you get off your seat, pacing through the room. he stiffened once he felt warm arms snaking through his waist, enveloping him in a back hug. you were exceptionally fond of physical touch, something he did not mind. at all.

especially when he was subjected to... unwanted reactions to the strange stimuli.

"c'mon doc." you burried your face in his neck, which made him feel a certain way, "doc, dot, dottie!"

"what."

"say ahhh-"

he had no reason not to comply, after all you always wished the best for him. opening up his mouth, he clearly saw you sneaking in a small treat. closing his mouth, he savoured the sweet taste despite the plastic-like texture of the treat.

"bubblegum," he gruffed on, "would have much more preferred one of your chocolates."

he could feel your breath on his skin, a tingling feeling that came and went.

"yeah, i know you like the chocolates. but i ate them all.", you grinned, giggling. your signature smile, the root cause of many feeling from within him. the little action that made him fall to his knees every time he saw it.

he shot a nasty look at you. he was not angry at you, he could never truly be.

not after you promised to be his partner in crime for ever and ever. not after you became a constant part of his life, a nice reminder that he was not alone.

not after you took his heart, stole it away, not willing to ever give it back again.

#silver writes!#il dottore #dottore #dottore x reader #il dottore x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact fluff #genshin impact drabbles

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pleasecallmealsip · 6 days

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without the Jacobinical "excess", there would be no "normal" pluralist democracy.

Žižek frev commentary compilation

title from For They Know Not What They Do: Enjoyment as a Political Factor (1991).

We must start at the beginning, in The Sublime Object of Ideology (1989). Here, apart from closely examining Walter Benjamin's late (in every sense of the word) writing, Theses on the Philosophy of History, Žižek also quoted Robespierre and Saint-Just directly. (all pink emphases mine.)

Rosa Luxemburg ... her argument against Eduard Bernstein, against his revisionist fear of seizing power 'too soon', 'prematurely', before the so-called 'objective conditions' had ripened ... Rosa Luxemburg's answer is that the first seizures of power are necessarily 'premature'... The opposition to the 'premature' seizure of power is thus revealed as opposition to the seizure of power as such, in general : to repeat Robespierre's famous phrase, the revisionists want a 'revolution without revolution'.

"From Symptom to Sinthome", in Chapter 1, "The Symptom", in The Sublime Object of Ideology, Verso, London and New York, 1989

Žižek's perspective still feels refreshing, not simply because he presented the French Revolution in positive terms, but because he avoided the cliché of a Leninist or Stalinist reading of the French Revolution. Instead, Žižek had a Jacobin reading of various 20th-century revolutions.

The transubstantiated body of the classical Master is an effect of the performative mechanism already described by La Boétie, Pascal and Marx: we, the subjects, think that we treat the king as a king because he is in himself a king, but in reality a king is a king because we treat him like one. ... The formula of the totalitarian misrecognition of the performative dimension would then be as follows: the Party thinks that it is the Party because it represents the People's real interests, because it is rooted in the People, expressing their will; but in reality the People are the People because ― or more precisely, in so far as ― they are embodied in the Party. ...Because the People cannot immediately govern themselves, the place of Power must always remain an empty place; any person occupying it can do so only temporarily, as a kind of surrogate, a substitute for the real-impossible sovereign ― 'nobody can rule innocently', as Saint-Just puts it. And in totalitarianism, the Party becomes again the very subject who, being the immediate embodiment of the People, can rule innocently.

"You Only Die Twice", in Chapter 2, "Lack in the Other", in The Sublime Object of Ideology, Verso, London and New York, 1989

In his second book, For They Know Not What They Do: Enjoyment as a Political Factor (1991), Žižek expanded on how the Jacobins were not a Party (keep in mind, Žižek uses the word "Jacobin" as more-or-less synonymous with "Robespierrist") :

Within the post-revolutionary "totalitarian" order, we have witnessed a re-emergence of the sublime political body in the shape of Leader and/or Party. The tragic greatness of the Jacobins consists precisely in the fact that they refused to accomplish this step: they preferred to lose their head physically, rather than to take upon themselves the passage to personal dictatorship . ... The Jacobins lacked the absolute certainty that they were nothing but an instrument fulfilling the Will of the big Other (God, Virtue, Reason, Cause). They were always tormented by the possibility that behind the façade of the executor of the Terror on behalf of revolutionary Virtue, some "pathological" private interest might be hiding. ... As such they were, so to speak, ontologically guilty, and it was only a matter of time before the guillotine would cut off their heads. It is precisely for this reason, however, that their Terror was democratic, not yet "totalitarian", in contrast to post-democratic totalitarianism, in which the revolutionaries fully assume the role of an instrument of the big Other, whereby their very body again redoubles itself and assumes sublime quality.

"Much Ado about a Thing", in For They Know Not What They Do, Verso, London and New York, 1991

The pessimism here is twofold. The Jacobin project must take place, and the Jacobins themselves must meet unfair and cruel ends for all the good they have done. This pessimism permeates every book that Žižek has written, but all this is in no way a denial of the revolutionary becoming. For example, the quote before the cut, from Chapter 2 of the Sublime Object, might have made you wonder, "did Žižek say that the People in real-socialist countries are similar to the kings of the ancien régime? " In which case, let's see what Žižek thinks of even the royals whose function was (or is) that of figureheads:

A distinction between king as a symbolic function and its empirical bearer misses a paradox that we could designate by the term "chiasmic exchange of properties" introduced by Andrzej Warminski. ... As soon as a certain person functions as "king", his everyday, ordinary properties undergo a kind of "transubstantiation" and become an object of fascination. ... The more we represent the king as an ordinary man, caught in the same passions, victim of the same pettinesses as we ― that is, the more we accentuate his "pathological" features (in the Kantian meaning of the term) ― the more he remains "king". Because of this paradoxical exchange of properties, we cannot deprive the king of his charisma simply by treating him as our equal. At the very moment of his greatest abasement, he arouses absolute compassion and fascination ― witness the trial of "citizen Louis Capet".

"Much Ado about a Thing", in For They Know Not What They Do, Verso, London and New York, 1991

So much for the tired and depressed and often missing Louis Capet. And therefore:

The paradox of the Hegelian monarch is thus that, in a sense, he is the point of madness of the social fabric; his social position is determined immediately by his lineage, by his biology; he is the only one among individuals who already by his "nature" is what he (socially) is ― all others must "invent" themselves, elaborate the content of their being by their activity. As always, Saint-Just was right when, in his accusation against the king, he demanded his execution not because of any specific deeds but simply because he was king. From a radically republican point of view, the supreme crime consists in the very fact of being the king, not in what one does as a king.

"The Wanton Identity", in For They Know Not What They Do, Verso, London and New York, 1991

This logic extends to the crime of being a hero, and not what one might do that abuses the status as a hero. Danton's crimes of accepting of bribes, association with the embezzling Fabre d'Églantine, encouraging Desmoulins to do journalism of questionable quality, etc, were condemning enough, but the crime of accepting the lauding of the Parisian poor was the last straw. The director Wajda was therefore unintentionally justifying Danton's death by starting the film with the poor and unfed running to stop the carriage that Gérard Depardieu as Danton was sitting in, and vying to shake his hand like he was a 20th century celebrity. Danton seemed unaware that the people who surrounded him had neither time nor economic stability to celebrate in.

Robespierre's argument against Danton does not consist in any positive evidence of his guilt. It is enough to recall the obvious, purely formal fact that Danton is a revolutionary hero and as such elevated above the mass of ordinary citizens ― that is, claiming a special status for himself. In the Jacobinical universe, the hero of the Revolution is separated from its traitor by a thin, often indefinable line. The very form of hero can turn into a traitor one who, as to deeds, is a revolutionary hero; this form raises him over ordinary citizens and so exposes him to the danger and lure of tyranny. Robespierre himself was quite aware of this paradox, and his tragic greatness expresses itself in his stoic acceptance of the prospect of being decapitated in the service of the Revolution.

"Much Ado about a Thing", in For They Know Not What They Do, Verso, London and New York, 1991

Despite not commenting directly on what impacts the French Revolution had on sexuality (legalisation of divorce, decriminalisation of sodomy, advent of the capitalist notion of the love-couple, etc), Žižek shows that he would extra-doubt those whose only progressiveness lie in their attitude towards sexuality:

Casanova is Don Giovanni's exact opposite: a merry swindler and impostor, an epicure who irradiates simple pleasure and leaves behind no bitter taste of revenge, and whose libertinage presents no serious threat to the environs. He is a kind of correlate to the eighteenth-century freethinkers from the bourgeois salon: full of irony and wit, calling into question every established view; yet his trespassing of what is socially acceptable never assumes the shape of a firm position which would pose a serious threat to the existing order. His libertinage lacks the fanatic-methodical note, his spirit is that of permissiveness, not of purges; it is "freedom for all", not yet "no freedom for the enemies of freedom". Casanova remains a parasite feeding on the decaying body of his enemy and as such deeply attached to it: no wonder he condemned the "horrors" of the French Revolution, since it swept away the only universe in which he could prosper.

"Hegelian Llanguage", in For They Know Not What They Do, Verso, London and New York, 1991

We might be aware that praising Robespierre was not (and is not) an exclusively leftist position; Joseph de Maistre, known as the other dad of modern conservatism along with Edmund Burke, and literal enemy of the republic on the frontline, was in awe with how Robespierre made close to no tactic error in matters political, economical, and military alike, notably without having much knowledge in the latter.

What we do know about (non-royalist) conservatives, however, is that they tend to praise Bonaparte as a leader worthy of his position. Žižek's labelling of Bonaparte cannot be more different:

The usual critique of patriarchy fatally neglects the fact that there are two fathers. On the one hand there is the oedipal father: the symbolic-dead father, Name-of-the-Father, the father of Law who does not enjoy, who ignores the dimension of enjoyment; on the other hand there is the 'primordial' father, the obscene, superego anal figure that is real-alive, the 'Master of Enjoyment'. At the political level, this opposition coincides with that between the traditional Master and the modern ('totalitarian') Leader. In all emblematic revolutions, from the French to the Russian, the overthrow of the impotent old regime of the symbolic Master (French King, Tsar) ended in the rule of a far more 'repressive' figure of the 'anal' father-Leader (Napoleon, Stalin). The order of succession described by Freud in Totem and Taboo (the murdered primordial Father-Enjoyment returns in the guise of the symbolic authority of the Name) is thus reversed: the deposed symbolic Master returns as the obscene-real Leader. In short, here Freud was the victim of a kind of perspective illusion: 'primordial father' is a later, eminently modern, post-revolutionary phenomenon, the result of the dissolution of traditional symbolic authority.

"From Patriarchy to Cynicism", in The Metastases of Enjoyment, Verso, London and New York, 1994

Žižek's later famous "coffee without caffeine" "cream without fat" "beer without alcohol" pet phrases seemed to have stemmed from Robespierre's "a revolution without a revolution". One would be mistaken to think of Žižek as solely complaining about food products; the "coffee without caffeine" served as metaphor for liberal-conservative attempts at avoiding the their own disintegration: e.g. multiculturalism that focuses on the exotic veneer of the Other without confronting the immanent contradictions in every way of life, and therefore introduces "the Other without Otherness", while decolonisation necessarily involves the abolishing of the western way of life. Liberal multiculturalism therefore constitutes what Saint-Just would call "revolutions done in halves" -- digging one's own grave.

An Act always involves a radical risk, what Derrida, following Kierkegaard, called the madness of a decision: it is a step into the open, with no guarantee about the final outcome – why? Because an Act retroactively changes the very co-ordinates into which it intervenes. This lack of guarantee is what the critics cannot tolerate: they want an Act without risk – not without empirical risks, but without the much more radical 'transcendental risk' that the Act will not only simply fail, but radically misfire. In short, to paraphrase Robespierre, those who oppose the 'absolute Act' effectively oppose the Act as such, they want an Act without the Act.

"Conclusion: The Smell of Love", in Welcome to the Desert of the Real, Verso, London and New York, 2002

Žižek would always admit that any revolution had innocent victims, and even more keenly aware how these victims can be misrepresented and abused yet again by reactionary forces. Significant was the difference between the violence that was visible, had a clear perpetrator, and easy to be the subject of outcry, and the violence that constitutes our daily interactions, our conforming to irrational standards, our objectification and alienation.

When the US media reproached the public in foreign countries for not displaying enough sympathy for the victims of the 9/11 attacks, one was tempted to answer them in the words Robespierre addressed to those who complained about the innocent victims of revolutionary terror: 'Stop shaking the tyrant's bloody robe in my face, or I will believe that you wish to put Rome in chains.'

"Introduction: The Tyrant's Bloody Robe", in Violence, Profile Books Ltd, London, 2008

Apropos Benjamin's Divine Violence, the French Revolution provided good positive examples for what it is.

Divine violence is not the repressed illegal origin of the legal order – the Jacobin revolutionary Terror is not the 'dark origin' of the bourgeois order, in the sense of the heroic-criminal state-founding violence celebrated by Heidegger. ... This is why, as was clear to Robespierre, without the 'faith' in (a purely axiomatic pre-supposition of ) the eternal idea of freedom which persists through all defeats, a revolution 'is just a noisy crime that destroys another crime'. ... Or, to paraphrase Kant and Robespierre yet again: love without cruelty is powerless; cruelty without love is blind, a short-lived passion which loses its persistent edge. The underlying paradox is that what makes love angelic, what elevates it over mere unstable and pathetic sentimentality, is its cruelty itself, its link with violence – it is this link which raises it ‘over and beyond the natural limitations of man’ and thus transforms it into an unconditional drive.

"... And, Finally, What It Is!", in Violence, Profile Books Ltd, London, 2008

Hegel, to whom Žižek awards the status of an extra-terrestrial creature, constantly disturbing all other philosophers dead or alive, often thought of by the general public in turn as both incomprehensible and somehow embodying the conservative-essentialist false concept of German essence (which often abhors revolutionary excess), was to Žižek not a counterrevolutionary at all, nor an unconditional singer of the Jacobins' praises, but a pessimistic confirmer of the necessity of the Terror.

Shut up, Barère, the truly radical Anacreon of the guillotine was 3 years younger than Saint-Just.

Let us take Hegel’s critique of the Jacobin Revolutionary Terror, understood as an exercise in the abstract negativity of absolute freedom which, unable to stabilize itself in a concrete social order, has to end in a fury of self-destruction. ... In other words, the point of Hegel’s analysis of the Revolutionary Terror is not the rather obvious insight into how the revolutionary project involved the unilateral assertion of abstract Universal Reason and was as such doomed to perish in self-destructive fury, being unable to transpose its revolutionary energy into a stable social order; Hegel’s point is rather to highlight the enigma of why, in spite of the fact that Revolutionary Terror was a historical deadlock, we have to pass through it in order to arrive at the modern rational State.

from "In Praise of Understanding", in Chapter 5, "Parataxis: Figures of the Dialectical Process", in Less than Nothing, Verso, London and New York, 2012

In 2012, the same year as he wrote the preface to Sophie Wahnich's La Liberté ou la mort — Essai sur la Terreur et le terrorisme, Žižek also attacked the "1789 without 1793" formula of liberal reactionaries.

It has been said that the French revolution resulted from philosophy, and it is not without reason that philosophy has been called Weltweisheit [world wisdom]; for it is not only truth in and for itself, as the pure essence of things, but also truth in its living form as exhibited in the affairs of the world. ... one should never forget that Hegel’s critique is immanent, accepting the basic principle of the French Revolution (and its key supplement, the Haitian Revolution). One should be very clear here: Hegel in no way subscribes to the standard liberal critique of the French Revolution which locates the wrong turn in 1792–3, whose ideal is 1789 without 1793, the liberal phase without the Jacobin radicalization―for him 1793–4 is a necessary immanent consequence of 1789; by 1792, there was no possibility of taking a more “moderate” path without undoing the Revolution itself. Only the “abstract” Terror of the French Revolution creates the conditions for post-revolutionary “concrete freedom.” If one wants to put it in terms of choice, then Hegel here follows a paradoxical axiom which concerns logical temporality: the first choice has to be the wrong choice. Only the wrong choice creates the conditions for the right choice. Therein resides the temporality of a dialectical process: there is a choice, but in two stages. The first choice is between the “good old” organic order and the violent rupture with that order ― and here, one should take the risk of opting for “the worse.” This first choice clears the way for the new beginning and creates the condition for its own overcoming, for only after the radical negativity, the “terror,” of abstract universality has done its work can one choose between this abstract universality and concrete universality. There is no way to obliterate the temporal gap and present the choice as threefold, as the choice between the old organic substantial order, its abstract negation, and a new concrete universality.

from "The Differend", in Chapter 5, "Parataxis: Figures of the Dialectical Process", in Less than Nothing, Verso, London and New York, 2012

Another problem with the ideal of shaking off the old regime, then immediately achieving fully-automated luxury gay space communism is that universality can peek into a liberal democracy in many ways, some more sinister than others.

for Hegel, modern bourgeois society could only have arisen through the mediation of Revolutionary Terror (exemplified by Jacobins); furthermore, Hegel is also aware that, in order to prevent its own death by habituation (immersion in the life of particular interests), every bourgeois society needs to be shattered from time to time by war. ... In war, universality reasserts its right over and against the concrete-organic appeasement in prosaic social life. ... This necessity of war should be linked to its opposite: the necessity of a rebellion which shakes the power edifice from its complacency, making it aware of both its dependence on popular support and of its a priori tendency to "alienate" itself from its roots. ... The beauty of the Jacobins is that, in their terror, they brought these two opposed dimensions together: the Terror was simultaneously the terror of the state against individuals and the terror of the people against particular state institutions or functionaries who excessively identified with their institutional positions (the objection to Danton was simply that he wanted to rise above others).

from "Interlude 3: King, Rabble, War … and Sex", in Less than Nothing, Verso, London and New York, 2012

Marat warned of the state spending more on formalities and ceremonies than on meeting the economic needs of the peasants and the urban poor. His advice was not heeded by the National Convention, and his funeral, organised by Jacques-Louis David as a member of the Committee of General Security, was grand and expensive. The Friend of the People was elevated to a status he neither wanted for himself nor posited that anybody deserved. While David was known (and notorious) for taking artistic liberty when it came to his subjects, his subjective view of Marat's "sublime body" was libertied in such a way that betrayed David's own unease between individualism and collectivism:

When the sovereignty of the State shifts from King to People, the problem becomes that of the people’s Body, of how to incarnate the People, and the most radical solution is to treat the Leader as the People incarnated. In between these two extremes, there are many other possibilities―consider the uniqueness of Jacques-Louis David’s The Death of Marat, “the first modernist painting,” according to T. J. Clark. The oddity of the painting’s overall structure is seldom noted: its upper half is almost totally black. (This is not a realistic detail: the room in which Marat actually died had lively wallpaper.) What does this black void stand for? The opaque body of the People, the impossibility of representing the People? It is as if the opaque background of the painting (the People) invades it, occupying its entire upper half. ... Is this not also the logic of the Jacobin Terror―individuals must be annihilated in order to make the People visible; the People’s Will can be made visible only through the terrorist destruction of the individual’s body? Therein resides the uniqueness of The Death of Marat: it concedes that one cannot blur the individual in order to represent the People directly―all one can do to come as close as possible to an image of the People is to show the individual at the point of his disappearance―his tortured, mutilated dead body against the background of the blur that “is” the People. ... It is quite impressive that this uneasy and disturbing painting was adored by the revolutionary crowds in Paris―proof that Jacobinism was not yet “totalitarian,” that it did not yet rely on the fantasmatic logic of a Leader who is the People. Under Stalin, such a painting would have been unimaginable, the upper part would have had to have been filled in―with, say, the dream of the dying Marat, depicting the happy life of a free people dancing and celebrating their freedom. The greatness of the Jacobins lay in their attempt to keep the screen empty, to resist filling it in with ideological projections.

from "Presence", in Chapter 10, "Objects, Objects Everywhere", in Less than Nothing, Verso, London and New York, 2012

The "keeping the screen empty" was tragic also in the verbal sense:

Louis Althusser once came up with a typology of revolutionary leaders worthy of Kierkegaard's classification of humans into officers, housemaids, and chimney sweeps: those who quote proverbs, those who do not quote proverbs, those who invent (new) proverbs. The first are scoundrels (Althusser thought of Stalin); the second are great revolutionaries who are doomed to fail (Robespierre); only the third understand the true nature of a revolution and succeed (Lenin, Mao). ... Radical revolutionaries like Robespierre fail because they just enact a break with the past without succeeding in their effort to enforce a new set of customs (recall the utter failure of Robespierre's idea to replace religion with the new cult of a Supreme Being).

"Venezuela and the Need for New Clichés", in A Left that Dares to Speak Its Name, Polity Press, Cambridge, Cambridgeshire, 2020

In a continuation of the refute of "1789 without 1793", Žižek pointed to the proper sequel of the French Revolution as a sequel of 1793, albeit with a twist.

The continuity between the French Revolution and the Commune is at another level. The reception among the enlightened public of the first phase of the French Revolution was enthusiastic, and this enthusiasm turned into horror when the Jacobins took over: 1789 yes, 1793 no. At the level of political dynamic, the Commune was the reappearance of 1793 – but not a precise one. Something happened with the Commune that did not happen in 1793.

"Paris Commune at 150", in Heaven in Disorder, OR Books, New York, 2021.

Despite Robespierre's cult of the Supreme Being being viewed as "utter failure", Robespierre's non-atheist stance was in line with republicanism-as-theology.

Why are so many essays entitled "politico-theological treatise"? The answer is that a theory becomes theology when it is part of a full subjective political engagement. As Kierkegaard pointed out, I do not acquire faith in Christ after comparing different religions and deciding the best reasons speak for Christianity ― there are reasons to choose Christianity but these reasons only appear after I've already chosen it, i.e., to see the reasons for belief one already has to believe. And the same holds for Marxism: it is not that, after objectively analysing history, I became a Marxist ― my decision to be a Marxist (the experience of a proletarian position) makes me see the reasons for it, i.e., Marxism is the paradox of an objective "true" knowledge accessible only through a subjective partial position. This is why Robespierre was right when he distrusted materialism as the philosophy of decadent-hedonist and corrupted nobility, and tried to impose a new religion of the supreme Being of Reason (the main target of his hatred was Joseph Fouche, a radical atheist and an opportunist plotter). The old reproach to Marxism that its commitment to a bright future is a secularization of religious salvation should be proudly assumed.

"Why Politics is Immanently Theological", in Christian Atheism, Bloomsbury Publishing, 2024

Interestingly, Terry Eagleton's attitude of "secularization of religious salvation" in Chapter 3 of Why Marx Was Right (2011) was a much more ambiguous one. Eagleton is also firmly Marxist, but what he is not as firm about is whether this salvation, once achieved, could justify all the sufferings that capitalism, prolonged for two hundred years in its own rotting, has already done to each of us.

In short, the true aim of Robespierre's last two speeches in the Convention was not to further strengthen the Terror but to diminish it, to slowly bring it to an end. As is well-known, he threatened in his last speech that the Convention should be purged of a group of corrupted traitors, and, when repeatedly called to name them, he refused to do it — as we know now, not to spread fear and guilt among the members (each of them afraid that he is on the list), but because the names he targeted were in large majority from his own group of Montagnards. Robespierre's aim was not to spread fear among the enemies but to constrain the need for enemies which led the Jacobins to Terror — in short, he wanted to restrain Terror in order to focus on the ultimate social antagonism in France at that moment: how to save the people's republic from the threat of a military dictator (a threat clearly predicted by him and Saint-Just, and realized with the rise to power of Napoleon). The complications give us a hint of how Communism will eventually enter the stage: not through a simple parliamentary electoral process but through a state of emergency enforced on us by an apocalyptic threat.

"Why Politics is Immanently Theological", in Christian Atheism, Bloomsbury Publishing, 2024

We can try to answer Eagleton's question, try to imagine what to make of the presence when we arrive at Communism. But what makes Eagleton's question compelling, what makes it an unavoidable question to be pondered upon in the first place, is that divine violence, as supposed to founding violence, is more unskippable than an unskippable ad: some people can block or refuse to experience it some of the time, but never can all people block and refuse to experience it all of the time; yet unlike an ad as the command of the big Other, divine violence has no guarantee from either the Supreme Being or the godess of Liberty, neither Virtue nor Reason nor historical inevitability can confirm that divine violence is truly divine. The risk-taking cannot but be done by the revolutionaries themselves.

The Benjaminian ‘divine violence’ should be thus conceived as divine in the precise sense of the old Latin motto vox populi, vox dei: not in the perverse sense of ‘we are doing it as mere instruments of the People’s Will’, but as the heroic assumption of the solitude of a sovereign decision. It is a decision (to kill, to risk or lose one’s own life) made in absolute solitude, not covered by the big Other. If it is extra-moral, it is not ‘immoral’, it does not give the agent the licence to kill mindlessly with some kind of angelic innocence. The motto of divine violence is fiat iustitia, pereat mundus: it is justice, the point of non-distinction between justice and vengeance, in which the ‘people’ (the anonymous part of no-part) imposes its terror and makes other parts pay the price – the Judgement Day for the long history of oppression, exploitation, suffering.

"Introduction", in Maximilien Robespierre, Virtue and Terror, tr. John Howe, Verso, London and New York, 2007

Happy Birthday, Maximilien.

I would like to thank all my mutuals. I am really enjoying my research and translations more because of your emotional labour (of putting up with my monomania), and this is why Die Partei hat immer recht.

#frev #french revolution #robespierre #saint-just #marat

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