#<- just want to get ahead of anything people might want to say

[sunarinscat]

Nsfw below the cut!!

Thinking about Kaminari who is so, so good for you.

When you come home frustrated from work or school, and you don't even have to say anything, you simply exchange a look. He knows.

You drop your bag to the floor and saunter across the room, taking a seat on the couch. You cross your legs and sink into the cushions. The exhaustion of the day pulls you deeper into the couch as you mull over the shitty people you've had to put up with. As you huff and sigh Kaminari slinks over, sugary sweet. You think you could get drunk off of the way he looks at you when you're like this. When he knows what's coming.

"How was your day baby?" He murmurs as he drops to all fours.

He all but crawls over to you, sliding his nimble fingers between your legs and prying your thighs apart. Your fingers find their way to his hair as you mumble something unintelligible in response. He looks up at you from between your legs, batting his long lashes, begging for something unspoken.

"That bad? Need me to make it all better?"

You nod. You can feel his little breaths on your thigh. It sends a delicious tingle up your spine. You can see how worked up he's getting, the way his pants have become tight, and his cheeks flushed.

"Tell me mama. Tell me I can make you feel better. Jus' wanna make you feel better. Please."

You'd trained him never to act without permission and you almost wanted to deny him right then and there. To force him to sit there and watch while you helped yourself feel better, with his hands behind his back. Unable to do anything but writhe while his cock strained against his pants, twisting with desire to touch you. But really, how could you say no to those puppy eyes? He was excellent at begging.

"M'kay. Make me feel better baby."

He's all over you in an instant. His hands pulling down your tights and lips pressing little kisses against the plush flesh of your tummy and thighs. He nips at your inner thigh, and you gasp, shooting him a look. He grins sheepishly and kisses over the spot. His fingers move to rub gentle, painfully slow circles against your clit through your panties and you whine. He keeps his eyes on yours the whole time as he continues with the torturously slow pace, and you hold his gaze.

"Need to taste you.."

You nod and open your legs a little further.

"Go right ahead sweetheart."

He takes this as an invite to replace his fingers with his mouth. Your panties are already soaked, and he languidly sucks on the fabric. Your hands pull at his hair as your head falls back against the couch cushions. The feeling of his hot mouth and the texture of the fabric against your pussy has you reeling. The sensation building in your tummy and the way that he looks up at you from his place between your things has you losing your shit. Your hands tug at his hair, his cheeks are flushed and his eyes dewy. He moans into your pussy, and you cry out.

"Fuck Kami' so good for me. Such a good fucking boy. Oh, my goddd."

You don't even have the time of day to be embarrassed about the sounds coming out of your mouth. Kaminari knows exactly what the fuck he's doing, and he's doing it well. His tongue swirls against your clit, drawing figure eights into your folds. He sucks, hard and everything spins. he releases your clit with a wet pop, and you whine at the loss of contact. He shoots you a small smile.

"Don't worry. Gon' make you feel even better. I got you."

He pulls your panties off of your legs, relishing how fucking wet they are before he's back at your cunt. Lapping at you like a dog. He brings his fingers to your entrance and circles it a few times before sticking two in. His fingers are so deliciously long. Maybe it's something to do with his gaming addiction but he knows how to curve them just right.

"Taste so good mama.. Fuck. Can't get enough of you."

His voice vibrates through your cunt. His mouth is on your clit and he's fucking you on his fingers so good you think you might cry. It's too much, you can feel it coming, that pressure rising in your tummy. You rip him away from your cunt.

"C'mere baby. Up on the couch. Need you to fill me up. You can do that for me right baby?"

You all but drag him onto the couch and straddle him. Your wet pussy rubs against the fabric of his jeans and you moan. You grind yourself against him a few times, pushing his shoulders into the cushions as you kiss him roughly. His hand travel under your shirt as he kisses you right back, hips lifting to meet yours. You break the kiss and hurriedly unbutton his pants and rip off his boxers. You salivate at the sight of his dick, flushed and leaking with precum. You wipe the leaking tip with your thumb and bring it to your mouth. Kaminari lets out a groan as your tongue swirls around you finger. You smirk and resume kissing him as one hand goes to line his dick up with your entrance.

Slamming down on him, you cry out in satisfaction. This is exactly what you needed after today. Kaminari fiddles with your shirt and you brush the hair out of his face as you help him get your top off. You unclip your bra as you roll your hips against his. You allow him to suck harsh kisses into your neck and across your chest as you pound your hips down again and again. His mouth, his skin, his warmth feels ethereal. You grasp one of his hands in your own as you continue to work yourself on his dick.

"Love you so much baby. Such a good boy fer' me."

You're drunk off the way he feels. The way he acts. So pliant for you, so obedient, so good. Making you feel so good. The way he sits there and takes it as you spend yourself on him. He shifts to get better access to your neck and angles his hips, hitting a spot inside you that has you seeing stars for the nth time. You begin to shake and grip at his shoulders as you struggle to keep the pace. "Kami you feel so good ohmygod fuck. Please, please, please." You whine.

But the fatigue of the day is catching up to you. You hadn't realized just how exhausted you were. You groan in frustration, arms shaking as you try to reach your high. Kaminari is panting as your hips stutter. He reaches and arm behind your head and brings your forehead to his.

"Let me help you. Jus' wanna make you cum. Promise I'll be so good. Let me do it I got *haah* I got you."

Through tears of frustration you nod, leaning into his touch.

"Make me cum baby."

With that he flips you onto your back, caging you in his arms and fucking into you so hard your seeing start with every thrust. One hand reaches down to rub circles into your clit as he kisses your tears away.

"Cum for me mama I got you. I'm right here. Your good boy. Jus' wan you to feel better. Cream on my cock." He moans.

His fingers on your clit and his dick hitting that spot repeatedly send you over the edge and you pull him close as your body spasms and twitches. The cord snaps and you let something nasty come out your mouth as your toes curl. He thrusts a few more times before pulling out and covering your tummy in cum.

You close your eyes and rest for a minute, breathing hard.

"See, don't you feel better?"

You laugh hoarsely.

"Much. Always know how to make me feel better Kami."

You place a peck on his lips as he gathers you up in his arms and hauls you over to the bathroom to draw a warm bath.

[elfwreck]

I can't promise you'll be okay, or your friends will be okay.

I can promise: We have been through worse.

We have survived in eras where it people were literally legally allowed to kill us on sight with no repercussions. We have survived through eras where we could be tortured by cops and they couldn't even be charged or sued later because nobody would take the case, even if their actions weren't legal. We have survived through eras where the hint that someone might be queer was not only considered a valid reason to fire them, evict them (even if they were a child), remove their children, steal their possessions, and physically assault them in horrible ways - but speaking out against that could get someone else the same treatment.

We have gained a lot of civil rights since then. We have recently lost some - but not all of them. And there are people who want to change that.

It's going to get ugly.

Part of why it's going to get ugly, is that they are not winning. They are outnumbered; most people do not care who someone loves, how someone dresses, what gender someone else is. They want to go about their day and do not care what strangers do to be happy.

The conservatives are using a whole lot of hot-button buzzwords to whip up anger and fear because most people do not care. And will not care, once nobody is pushing the Rage-and-Terror agenda.

And eventually, the boomers will mostly die off and be replaced by millennials (...I'm GenX; we're going to continue to be mostly ignored) and the millennials will be setting policies and trying to figure out why anyone ever cared about this stuff.

It won't be quick, and there will be a lot of holdouts and several setbacks.

Loving v Virginia was 1967, establishing that states could not deny marriages based on race. In 2009, Keith Bardwell in Louisiana was still denying mixed-race couples marriage licenses - 42 years later. But most of the country was absolutely baffled and appalled by his actions, and it's going to be that way for queer rights.

Eventually.

I can't say soon. Sorry. We have a rough 4 years ahead of us followed by a long recovery.

Find your friends, your allies, and your community, and support them and rely on them. Watch out for toxicity - and especially watch out for external propaganda designed to turn us against each other. Don't let them convince you that there is a "good" way to be queer and a "bad" way - they want us all gone. They just want us to hunt down each other first, as much as they can arrange that.

Remember that the true resistance is finding your people and building a community with them. It's not in buying or not-buying anything; it's not in reading specific books or watching specific movies; it's not in supporting this or that economic policy. It's certainly not in denouncing the people you don't want in your community.

Find the people who make you say "I wanna be like that when I grow up." Become a person who makes others say that about you. Build a haven with them, even if it's only online, even if none of you know each other's legal names.

No matter what happens, queer people and communities will continue to exist. The more we can find each other and trust each other, the closer we will be to thriving instead of just surviving.

i hope this isn't too weird but im really feeling like I need an older queer to tell me straight up: am I going to be ok? im a queer teen in the u.s. and with *gestures vaguely* all this...is it gonna be ok? are me and my queer friends gonna be ok?

I wish I could tell you for sure that you're gonna be okay. I can't guarantee that. I can't guarantee that for anybody. It's gonna get scary. Some of your friends are not gonna be okay. You might not be okay from time to time, or for a while. I don't know. I know that it's gonna be hard. There will be beauty in there to be found, and you're gonna need to get good at finding it, and you will if that's part of what you focus on.

One of the things that my family tries to do as a matter of course is to look for reasons to say shehechyanu. If you're not familiar, it's a bracha/prayer that Jews say every time they do something for the first time each Jewish year. So the first time you light the Shabbat candles, the first time you cross the border into another state, the first time you sit down for lunch with a particular friend, whatever it is. This is true of negative experiences, of course, and I find myself saying shehechyanu when I'm ... I dunno, at the ER for the first time each year, too, because the poem translates to:

Blessed are You, Adonai our God, Sovereign of the world, who has kept us alive, sustained us, and brought us to this season.

So whatever I'm going through, I am trusting that I've been sustained to this point for a reason, and that I'll be sustained to the next thing for a reason, too. But it's not a passive thing -- it's not like, 'well, it's all in HaShem's hands, He'll make that choice.' By saying shehechyanu, I'm choosing to sustain myself. I'm choosing to say that I got here and I'll get to the next thing, too. Me and my people, we got here, and we'll get to the next thing, too.

You're gonna have to find your way to do that, and I trust that you will. I trust that you're up to the challenge of what these years are gonna be, because you reached out when you were afraid, and you asked someone for help. I'm sorry it took me a while to answer this, but like. You've got the instincts and the skills to get through this, starting with "I asked for someone to help me."

Asking for help from each other is the first thing an infant does: we cry. We say, I'm scared, this is new and terrifying, please help me. So find the people you can help, and the people you can ask for help. That's how we get through.

[yourgirljasmiin]

Joel Miller

Dating Jackson era!Joel Miller

Divider by @cafekitsune

— Joel thrives on routine. It’s something that makes him feel grounded in a world that’s unpredictable and dangerous. Whether it’s breakfast at the same time every day or always making sure the two of you have a quiet moment before bed, there’s comfort in his consistency. If you’re dating him, you’d get used to the little rhythms of your life together—nothing extravagant, but everything solid. There’s security in knowing exactly where you stand with him, even when the world around you is falling apart.

— Joel’s fiercely independent, to a fault. If something’s bothering him, he’ll usually keep it to himself, working through it alone. It can be frustrating because he’s so used to handling things on his own, but part of dating him is learning when to gently nudge him to open up. He doesn’t ask for help easily, but when he does, it’s a big deal. Being there for him when he needs it is an honor, though, and he’ll remember it.

— There’s something about the way Joel just is—you know he’s there, even when he’s not saying anything. He’s the kind of partner who can just sit with you in silence, and somehow, that silence is full. You don’t always need to fill the space with words; sometimes, just being in the same room as him feels like everything is okay. That calm presence is one of the ways he tells you he cares without actually saying it.

— Joel’s protective nature means he has a certain level of jealousy, but it’s not over-the-top or controlling. It’s more like a quiet awareness that someone might be getting too close to you, and he won’t let it slide. You’ll notice the way his jaw tightens or how his eyes narrow in those moments, but he won’t start a confrontation. Instead, he’ll just subtly pull you closer, keeping you near him. He doesn’t need to say anything—it’s just the way he is.

— On the surface, Joel is all rough edges and hard lines. But when you two are alone, you’ll see the side of him that only a few people get to know. It’s in the quiet moments, when he lets his guard down and relaxes in your presence. He’s not quick to laugh, but when he does, it’s warm and genuine, and it makes those little moments feel like treasures. The soft side of him is there, but it takes time to reach—and that makes it all the more special when you get to see it.

— Joel’s protective nature often means he’s thinking a few steps ahead. If you’re out on a walk, he’s already checking your surroundings, making sure you’re safe. It might seem overbearing at times, but he’s not doing it because he doesn’t trust you—he’s doing it because he’s lost people before, and he won’t lose you. It’s not the most romantic trait, but it’s part of how he shows he cares: by making sure you’re always one step ahead of danger.

— Joel’s not one for big gestures or flashy surprises. His version of romance is more about the small things that speak volumes. Maybe he’ll make sure your favorite snacks are around, or he’ll give you a blanket because he noticed you were cold. These little acts of care don’t come with fanfare, but they mean the world to him.

— Joel has a protective instinct that runs deep, and it can sometimes come across as him wanting to shield you from the world entirely. But he knows that you’re capable of handling things on your own, and while he’ll always be there when you need him, he also respects your independence. It’s a delicate balance for him, one that he struggles with at times. He might offer to do things for you, but he’ll also quietly step back, letting you make your own decisions. He just wants to make sure you’re never alone in the hardest moments.

[sixlane]

lane???? bartylily nun fic please 💳💳

hi laylaaaa i’m twirling my hair…. im a little nervous to talk about this one so um… freaks and weirdos only ig

this is my catholic guilt corruption fic where lily is a young nun who works at a private catholic boarding school. she probably teaches english and she feels really passionate about shaping young minds in the image of god or whatever. she is extremely pious to a detrimental degree. she has locked down all of her human desires, she’s a virgin and plans to stay that way until she dies. [self harm tw upcoming] i imagine she partakes in self-flagellation in probably smaller secret ways when she experiences arousal or has “impure thoughts” or acts in what she deems as an ungodly way. she is pretty brainwashed and she hates herself and loves god but also kinda hates god because of this relationship she has with him. and then there’s barty who was sent to this school by his father (who is probably a big shot politician) for being generally terrible. he’s cut off from the outside world. no phone and only monitored internet usage so he can’t ruin his father’s image further. so yeah he needs something to do to keep himself entertained. and his english teacher is fucking hot. and so he kinda starts playing this game where he tries to get under her skin. which he is extremely successful at because he’s awful. and she probably thinks she should take him under her wing in the beginning. and “save him.” but there is no saving barty crouch jr. as they develop more of a relationship he grows bolder. and he’s making dirty innuendos and then calling her out for her dirty mind when she reprimands him for it. and deep in lily’s mind she is terribly attracted to him and she hates herself for it of course. but sometimes she lets herself indulge with the promise that she’ll punish herself for it later. he’s getting off on how flustered he can make her and eventually she’s letting him touch her… and it completely devolves from there. it’s an interesting power dynamic to explore i think. because barty is truly initiating everything and lily is so hesitant and disgusted by the whole thing until she isn’t. but she is also his teacher. and by participating in a sexual relationship with her student she immediately has some type of upper hand. which i think she would use at some point to punish him for the things he makes her feel. not that he cares really or stops what he’s doing because of it. but it’s a power struggle (more between barty and god if we’re being honest) and it’s mutual corruption really.

so that’s them! this is so fucking long so um. sorry about that but i have many things to say about them… and would be happy to talk more about them if people were interested

[dirty-bear-rick-sanchez]

I know this is probably a rhetorical question but I wanted to break down every interaction they've had in the show so I'm going to take this as an excuse to do it xD

Although I've rewatched and analysed these scenes for this, I haven't done a complete rewatch with this in mind so I can't guarantee that I won't have missed stuff. If anyone notices anything I've missed please feel free to add it!

Their first direct interaction is Morty saying he’ll forgive her for abandoning them if she lets him fly her ship (to which she agrees saying that she was just going to give him space cigarettes) in Star Mort Rickturn of the Jerri. This reminds me of the way Morty sometimes manipulates Rick to get things (e.g. to take Jerry on an adventure, to let him pick the adventure, to make him the video game style place saving device, to get Rick to buy him the sex robot), which makes sense since Space Beth 'cosplay[s] as [her] shitty father in his 30s'. Morty tends to be more honest/direct with Home Beth, even when he's upset with her (e.g. in A Rickconvenient Mort). It's also interesting that he went straight for the abandonment thing since he knows that had such a big impact on Beth. I wonder if he does have some negative feelings towards her for leaving? After all, he did witness Home Beth telling Rick that she relates to her family and not to Space Beth since Space Beth abandoned them all. He might be angry on Home Beth's behalf the same way he was in The Wedding Squanchers.

This one is more about Rick and Space Beth but Morty does join in on the argument about her trying to talk to them/use a good line in Solaricks. I can't think of an equivalent time he's done this with Home Beth, but he has similar reactions to Xenon Bloom, Jerry, and Rick when they make jokes in times of crisis. Also, I never noticed his thumbs down before but it's killing me lmao. It's one of those subtle moments of Morty's intelligence - he knows that Space Beth can't hear them so gives her an obvious visual signal, whereas Rick continues to try and speak. Of course, they both attempt to speak to her afterwards, but they are both dumbasses after all (affectionate). Can't win 'em all.

Interestingly, both Beths say Morty’s name and hug him when he and Rick return from the Prime dimension - there’s no real difference between their reactions. Home Beth seems more... surprised? Sheepish? Maybe because of her jealousy surrounding Summer's admiration of Space Beth she wasn't expecting Morty to hug her as well? I'm not sure exactly what emotion Space Beth's face means here. Maybe she's proud of him? Either way, she obviously does still love him and was worried about him.

In Bethic Twinstinct, Space Beth tells Morty ‘back off, little man’ when he says that she and Home Beth need to tell Jerry about their relationship. He's the only one who tells them directly what to do (Rick tells them to go ahead but that everyone knows and Summer just says that Jerry is oblivious), so that could be why, but I still find it interesting that she targets him specifically. Space Beth hasn't had a lot of the development Home Beth has with Morty but the most prominent example that comes to mind is A Rickconvenient Mort. That episode was not only a big moment for Home Beth trying to protect Morty and actually being there for him at the end, but it also showed her that Morty does know more than she gives him credit for about how people perceive him specifically. Morty's other outburst to Beth in The Whirly Dirly Conspiracy is about how Beth's actions affect Summer and we do see a marked difference in how Space Beth treats Summer and Morty. Space Beth realised that Summer's feelings matter and that she's not just a hormonal/irrational teenager, but she never had that moment with Morty, which makes sense with her patronising tone with him here. Since Beth blamed Diane for driving Rick away and got pregnant as a teenager, I can see why she would view teenagers as irrational/their feelings not really mattering. After all, she comes to understand both Diane and Rick's actions/choices a lot more in the series, and becoming a parent so young has been very hard on her. However, Home Beth has not only chosen the kids and Jerry, but is going to therapy, so she has a different view on this to Space Beth, who can just blame her teenage mistakes on her past self rather than her current self.

Space Beth is present in the Time and Tide montage in Fear No Mort but she’s more enthusiastic about Summer’s wedding and more restrained with him going to college (whereas Home Beth hugs him). I find it interesting that Space Beth and Jerry are grouped together in the graduation scene - they're both standing to the side while Home Beth and Summer hug Morty and join him in the photo. This does make sense when you consider that Jerry and pre-S4 Beth were most responsible for letting Rick hurt Morty, whereas Home Beth is putting in more effort now. Morty is also very protective of Summer and Beth in S1-S3 in particular so I wonder if they appreciate this and feel closer to him than Jerry and Space Beth do? I can't think of a time where Morty has been protective of Jerry specifically, and Space Beth is not only a lot more assertive but probably hasn't considered/realised how much Morty cares for his family and therefore doesn't appreciate it in the way that Summer and Home Beth do. This one is interesting since it's inside Morty's mind so it gives us a good idea of how Morty expects his parents to act. He knows that Jerry and Space Beth would be there physically, but lack an emotional connection.

I know we didn't see them interact onscreen but Space Beth did get Morty the Pooplickian Gamepod. It could've been a gift for both him and Summer, but it’s only Morty who’s present as he’s setting it up in the intro. Also, while Summer does join Rick and Morty while they're playing it before she starts using it as an escape, she's much more critical and disinterested. Even if it was intended as a joint present, it's definitely more up Morty's street and Space Beth would've known that.

Space Beth is also the one who says ‘bored of your toy already?’ when Morty and Rickbot return to the living room after they left with the light sabre. She is being patronising again, but it does show her understanding of Morty's interests - she's surprised that he would spend so little time with his new light sabre.

This isn't an interaction, but I find it interesting that Morty specifies that he and Summer have 'two badass moms now'. Even after everything, he still loves his mom - no matter which version of her. This reminds me of him telling Ethan that Beth is a good mom in The Whirly Dirly Conspiracy. He really does look up to Beth.

There's not a great deal to analyse about this line but it is a direct interaction between the two of them so I thought I should include it. Again, we have the framing of Jerry and Space Beth together and Summer, Morty and Home Beth together. In this scene, it matches their attitudes - while Space Beth and Jerry take an interest in the events, they're much more detached emotionally from the situation. Everyone else is standing while they remain sitting, showing a lack if care or urgency.

In conclusion, Morty loves Space Beth and thinks she's cool, but she still views him as a child and is emotionally distant, and he's aware of this. She also has a much more obvious favourite child, as we saw in Morty's Mindblowers, whereas Home Beth doesn't show as much favouritism. In many ways, Space Beth is S1-S3 Beth, whereas Home Beth is S4-present. However, that's not true, they're both S1-S3 Beth, and I wonder if Morty would find that fact hard to reconcile? With Rick, it's much more obvious that he is both the good and the bad moments/parts of himself since it's just him. With the two Beths, you can almost convince yourself that they couldn't have become the other. I wonder if it would hurt Morty to spend more time with Space Beth and be reminded of how his mom used to be, how she still is sometimes. Would he appreciate Home Beth's efforts more? Would he begin to resent Space Beth for not doing the same?

I would love a Space Beth and Morty episode. I think Home Beth is generally still very oblivious to what Morty goes through (look how shocked she is in The Jerrick Trap that Morty is selling drugs). However, Space Beth has spent enough time out in the galaxy that she must have a better grasp on the sorts of adventures Rick is taking Morty on. I also feel like she has a lot more resentment towards Rick, or at least is a lot more guarded towards him than Home Beth is, so it would be an interesting way to explore Morty’s feelings towards Rick to have them both angry at him - especially if Morty does run away. We’d also get to see more of Space Beth’s development and feelings towards Morty, which I think would be something cool to explore.

We could even have a conflict between the Beths where Home Beth is angry at Space Beth for taking Morty somewhere dangerous or letting him do something inappropriate but Space Beth points out that he does it (and much worse) all the time with Rick.

Honestly though, I mainly just want to see Morty and Space Beth having a cool adventure.

[spikeyjo]

also uh im kind of not thinking about it much because its insane. but if everything goes right (and i mean a considerable amount of things that probably wont go as planned) but if they DO... i will have a major surgery in like two weeks

[eclarinet]

same soup... different day

[atenceladusiaawfytbwb]

🗣🗣🗣🗣🗣🗣🗣Unflowologing a lot of creators that turned out, I despised them, and or slightly inconvenience me, but mostly that, you know omg🗣🗣🗣🗣🗣🗣🗣 🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🔈🔊🔉🔉🔉🔉🔉🔊🔊🔊🔊And I share this because I'm currently hot angry,

and right, ironically and as joke sure, but also seriously, heartfully, I'll share what I think

I myself create a little, somewhere else, and is small, tiny, but I do like what I do and treasure it. Still can't imagine the level of disgust some get to feel against those who don't experience/enjoy/interact a certain way with it. Maybe I've just havent done something myself that I love so much, and put so much work into, that I turn into "ugh you don't have the right - block me if you don't like it not my problem- if you like but don't reblog you are literal thrash - some of you are so entitled to my work - didnt ask for you opinionnsonyou can go f urself and i may have reacted completely different to other interactions like yours positively with the only diference that what was told appealed to my very own perspective but that has nothing to do with the way im being mean and smug to you because the problem is that what you just said is objectively dumb and I cant believe you hadnt guessef id react negatively and that doubles my disgust towards you and i better never hear you enjoy anything made by me because I, a pixel on the web, condemn thy, another pixel on the web to never have acsses to my works publiced here, publicly and freely, on the internet. And you better do as I say, or what? Are that much more of a disgusting person-" Que finding other unrelated stuff (truk6 unrelated like wtf) to add on to why this one (person b/anon/fan/anyone) is very wrong and therefore this other one (person a/creator/anyone) is right, superior even, Que too that if public other people (unrelated too) have to show that much despise towards B or they are disgusting enablers supporters idk

And it is quite specific, I know, but it has happened enough times with different people/situations to be a thing.

Like an anon hey could I (something. Not mean or entitled (no, not related to ai use at all (obviously?))) And oh boy the answer. Oh boy, like: oh so you think that you can (a bunch of awful stuff the one asked got out of their ass bc was nowhere on the ask/comment) the audacity, omg wtf, the nerve- and the revlogs are of other people tagging stuff like ph yeah I can't believe it like the mental problems this annon must have'

I have a decent social understanding, I think? No, there wasn't condescending undertones or something to read between lines, unless you want to, because then you can do that about anything. Giiiirl like ioiiffffffoooofff I got ooooofff wtf fuck is so wrong with them bitch just called them stupid or dumb and move on? A paragraph on why bdjshdhdhdhfhd I can't write anymore idk fucking fuck fuck FUCHCFUCKFU K SGU K SHIT BITCH FUCK

[river-taxbird]

AI hasn't improved in 18 months. It's likely that this is it. There is currently no evidence the capabilities of ChatGPT will ever improve. It's time for AI companies to put up or shut up.

I'm just re-iterating this excellent post from Ed Zitron, but it's not left my head since I read it and I want to share it. I'm also taking some talking points from Ed's other posts. So basically:

We keep hearing AI is going to get better and better, but these promises seem to be coming from a mix of companies engaging in wild speculation and lying.

Chatgpt, the industry leading large language model, has not materially improved in 18 months. For something that claims to be getting exponentially better, it sure is the same shit.

Hallucinations appear to be an inherent aspect of the technology. Since it's based on statistics and ai doesn't know anything, it can never know what is true. How could I possibly trust it to get any real work done if I can't rely on it's output? If I have to fact check everything it says I might as well do the work myself.

For "real" ai that does know what is true to exist, it would require us to discover new concepts in psychology, math, and computing, which open ai is not working on, and seemingly no other ai companies are either.

Open ai has already seemingly slurped up all the data from the open web already. Chatgpt 5 would take 5x more training data than chatgpt 4 to train. Where is this data coming from, exactly?

Since improvement appears to have ground to a halt, what if this is it? What if Chatgpt 4 is as good as LLMs can ever be? What use is it?

As Jim Covello, a leading semiconductor analyst at Goldman Sachs said (on page 10, and that's big finance so you know they only care about money): if tech companies are spending a trillion dollars to build up the infrastructure to support ai, what trillion dollar problem is it meant to solve? AI companies have a unique talent for burning venture capital and it's unclear if Open AI will be able to survive more than a few years unless everyone suddenly adopts it all at once. (Hey, didn't crypto and the metaverse also require spontaneous mass adoption to make sense?)

There is no problem that current ai is a solution to. Consumer tech is basically solved, normal people don't need more tech than a laptop and a smartphone. Big tech have run out of innovations, and they are desperately looking for the next thing to sell. It happened with the metaverse and it's happening again.

In summary:

Ai hasn't materially improved since the launch of Chatgpt4, which wasn't that big of an upgrade to 3.

There is currently no technological roadmap for ai to become better than it is. (As Jim Covello said on the Goldman Sachs report, the evolution of smartphones was openly planned years ahead of time.) The current problems are inherent to the current technology and nobody has indicated there is any way to solve them in the pipeline. We have likely reached the limits of what LLMs can do, and they still can't do much.

Don't believe AI companies when they say things are going to improve from where they are now before they provide evidence. It's time for the AI shills to put up, or shut up.

[itsrlymine]

Ignoring Reality Makes No Sense When You Are Reality

Pay attention to the 3d because what you say about it tells you where you are in consciousness. If you know the outer world is based on your inner world, you don’t need to ignore it. If anything you should laugh bc Mrs. 3D really thought she was doing something like girl bye. 

This notion that you need to "ignore reality" in order to get what you want is wack asf and it pisses me off honestly. Why would you ignore reality when you are reality itself? When somebody calls you by your favorite nickname, are you gonna ignore them because you like that name or will you answer since it’s your name???? 

The 3d is a reflection of old and present thoughts and your state of awareness. How you respond internally is what determines what is happening externally. Change the meaning to what you “see” with your physical eyes and see with your mind’s eye that which you are now choosing to experience. Are you gonna ignore your sp, new money, house or car now bc they are in your 3d???

Your reality/3d only becomes real when you are getting what you want? Are you serious? Who told you that? You need to stop listening to that person. The 3d is you. So if reality isn't real, that means you aren't either boo. How can you be reading this post right now if the 3d isn't real?? Are you dreaming right now or something? Don't take people's advice just because they might be popular or get a lot of attention. Listen to what they say and actually see if it makes sense. Most of the times it doesn't. If you want to ignore reality, go ahead and ignore yourself for a week and see how that goes.

There were times people would tell me I couldn’t have something or do something because it’s too expensive or whatever and every time I’d respond back in my mind like “no wtf. It’s cheap asf actually.” I used this to lower my rent (somebody pays it for me now) and medications costs and ofc flights. Literally anything I want because I have come to understand that it’s just me. 

Similarly, it’s just you in your reality. The 3d is you and you shouldn’t fear it. Let it remind you of who you now are— the creator that has everything they want. Giving her power and trying to act like she isn’t there makes zero sense. Now that you have all your desires, are you gonna act like they are not real because you can “see” them in the 3d? No. That would be stupid and nonsensical.

[itneverendshere]

LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - NINE

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: mentions of leukemia; death; pregnancy; abortion.

💌MASTERLIST

Rafe had been through a ton of traumatic bullshit by the age of fourteen. 

His mom had been battling leukemia since he was ten, it started off as an infection—but it turned into one of those long, drawn-out wars that tricks you into thinking there’s hope when there isn’t.

It would go away for a bit, just enough to make everyone think the fight was over, and then it’d come slamming back worse every time.

When he was fourteen, it finally took her for good, when he’d been silly enough to believe she might pull through. 

To be fair, he was only a little kid waiting on a miracle, praying she’d wake up one day magically cured.

Now, when he looked back on it, he hated himself for being so naive. The signs had been there all along, the nurses whispering in the hallways, Ward turning into this void of a human, who looked at him like he didn’t know how to fix it anymore. The talks his mom would have with him about how “no matter what happens, you’ll be okay.”

That phrase haunted him for years.

Her death didn’t wreck him; it tore him apart and left him in tiny pieces that didn’t fit together the same way. He wasn’t the same kid afterward, not even close.

He got angrier, distant. 

He didn’t recognize who he’d been before it all—some kid who really believed in happy endings.

He didn’t believe in much after she died, people let you down, life ripped everything good out of your hands. Why bother holding on to anything at all?

It wasn’t just the grief; it was the guilt.

He’d get mad at her, sometimes, for being sick. He’d slam his door and cry into his pillow because he just wanted a normal life, a mom who wasn’t always tired or in pain or hooked up to some machine.

He hated himself for that. 

The day of her funeral, he remembered everything, even though he wished he didn’t. The church smelled like old wood and lilies, that smell that never left you once it sank in.

People kept coming up to him, patting his shoulder, saying things like, “She’s in a better place now,” or “Stay strong, buddy.” 

He wanted to yell at them, shake them, make them shut up. She wasn’t in a better place. A better place would’ve been here, alive, laughing at his dumb jokes, or rolling her eyes at him for leaving his shoes in the hallway. It wouldn’t be six feet under, locked in a box, shoved into a hole in the ground like she never existed.

He didn’t cry, not when they opened the casket for everyone to say their final goodbyes, not when his dad stood up and choked through some half-assed speech that was mostly apologies and memories, not when they lowered her into the ground, the ropes creaking as her casket disappeared into the earth. 

He just stood there, hands in his pockets, staring straight ahead, as if he wasn’t even present. Inside, though?

His his chest was on fire. 

He refused to let even a single tear fall, it felt pointless, it wasn’t going to bring her back. It wasn’t going to fix anything. And deep down, he thought he didn’t deserve to cry, if he’d been stronger if he’d prayed harder, or been a better son, she’d still be alive.

The sound he remembered the most was the thud of dirt hitting the coffin after the service. It was final, loud, the earth itself mocking him. People around him sniffled, hugged each other, wiped at their eyes, but Rafe just stood there, staring down into the hole, fists buried in his pockets until his nails dug into his palms. 

He kept thinking about how wrong this all was, this wasn’t where she was supposed to end up, and none of this was fair.

She should’ve been there.

She should’ve been standing next to him, arm around his shoulder, telling him to stop slouching, whispering something to make him laugh in the middle of all this sadness. Instead, she was in there, soon the dirt would cover it up, and that’d be it. 

Gone. Just like that.

After the service, Rafe didn’t try to stick around for the house gathering, he wasn’t going to survive that. All those people crowding the living room, balancing paper plates of casserole, acting like they gave a fuck about his mom. It was fake, all of it. 

They’d forget about her in a week.

He slipped out when no one was paying attention, cutting through the side yard and heading to the only place that felt halfway normal—the old skate park behind the rec center. It was run-down as fuck, but he and his friends used to hang out there all the time, sitting on the busted ramps, talking trash, or just doing nothing.

When he got there, it was empty, which was exactly what he wanted. He climbed up on the old half-pipe, sitting cross-legged with his elbows on his knees, staring at the cracked pavement below. 

He couldn’t stop replaying the day in his head, the casket, the dirt, the stupid better place comments. His chest felt like it was breaking in a million tiny pieces, but he still couldn’t cry, his body just wouldn’t let him. 

Instead, he just sat there, wishing the world would leave him alone for five minutes.

That’s when he heard footsteps behind him.

He thought about running—didn’t need anyone seeing him like this, especially not now. But then you spoke.

“Figured I’d find you here.”

He didn’t look at you right away, just exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah? Well, congrats. You win the prize.” 

He wasn’t in the mood to be nice, even to you.

But you didn’t flinch, you never did. That’s one of the things he liked about you—you didn’t get scared off when he got like this. You just climbed up next to him and sat down. 

You didn’t try to say all that comforting bullshit people had been feeding him all day, and he was grateful for that.

“You okay?” you asked eventually.

He snorted. “Do I look okay?”

"Sorry, stupid question."

He sighed, hating that he was being asshole to his best friend, "It's fine."

When he finally glanced at you, you were watching him, trying to figure out what to say. It made him nervous, the way you looked at him. You always did that—you cared about what was going on in his head, you saw more than what he let people see.

“I’m not gonna sit here and pretend I know what you’re feeling,” you said finally. “But you don’t have to do this alone, Rafe. You know that, right?”

If only you knew what you would be going through just three short years later.

He wanted to snap at you, tell you to leave, he was fine, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he just stared down at the pavement again, “Feels like I do.”

You didn’t say anything, just moved closer, close enough that your arm brushed against his. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make him feel…something, less alone.

Rafe didn’t know how long you both sat there, could’ve been ten minutes, could’ve been an hour. Time didn’t feel real anymore, you didn’t push him to talk, which he appreciated more than he’d ever admit, you didn’t throw out any of those awkward “it’ll get better” lines. You just sat with him. 

“You can talk to me, you know.” 

He shook his head without looking at you. “There’s nothing to say.” His voice was rough, flat. “She’s gone. That’s it.”

“You don’t have to pretend like it doesn’t suck."

He clenched his jaw, staring at the pavement like if he looked at you, everything would break.

“What’s the point?” he muttered. “Crying’s not gonna change anything. It’s not gonna—” His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard, trying to force it back.

“Rafe.” You sighed, and this time “You don’t have to hold it together for anyone, okay? It’s me.”

That broke him, actually broke him. His chest felt tight, suddenly he couldn’t keep it in.

His breath hitched, his shoulders shook, and before he knew it, tears were sliding down his face. He tried to stop it, to hide it, scrubbing his hands over his face, but it was no use.

“Shit,” he choked out, his voice cracking once more.

“Hey, hey,” you said quickly, and before he could pull away or do something stupid like tell you to leave, you scooted over.

He froze for a second, unsure what to do, but then he remembered the funeral, the whispers, the dirt hitting the casket, all the things he couldn’t stop thinking about—he just let it all out.

The first sob ripped out of him so suddenly it startled him, he hunched over, elbows on his knees, hands gripping his hair, as if he could physically stop himself from breaking. But it didn’t work.

Another sob followed, and then another, and soon they were pouring out of him—loud, messy, completely out of his control. He couldn’t stop it, and he hated it.

He leaned into you, his forehead pressing against your shoulder, and just cried. When he felt your arms instantly wrap around him, pulling him into a hug as if you’d been waiting for his permission, he shattered completely.

“She’s—” His voice caught in his throat, and he had to stop, gasping for air as the tears kept coming. “She’s gone. She’s gone, and I—” He broke off.

It was ugly and loud and nothing like how he’d pictured himself breaking down, but he didn’t care. You didn’t tell him it’d be okay or try to make him stop, just held him, your arms tight around him. 

“I miss her,” he whispered, his voice so small it barely sounded like him. “I miss her so much, and I—I don’t know what to do.”

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried like this, and part of him hated how exposed it made him feel. He hated crying in front of people—anyone. But right now, with you, he didn’t feel embarrassed. 

“I know,” you nodded, your hand moving in small circles on his back. “I know. I’m so sorry.”

“I—” he choked out, his voice breaking. “I can’t—this isn’t—it’s not fair.”

“It’s not,” you didn’t want to scare away the fragile pieces of him that were finally surfacing. “It’s not fair. None of it is.”

He couldn’t stop shaking or gasping for breaths that hitched in his chest. The more he tried to push it all backdown, the harder it fought to claw its way out. For years, he’d kept it buried—buried so deep he thought he’d never have to deal with it.

“I hate it,” he managed, the words tumbling out in a jagged mess. “I hate that she’s gone. I hate that I didn’t—” He stopped, gripping his hair harder. “I didn’t do enough. I should’ve been better, done something—anything.”

“Stop. You can’t do that to yourself.”

He shook his head violently, “But I did. I gave up on her. I stopped believing she’d get better, I—I got mad at her for being sick. What kind of son does that? I didn’t even say goodbye the way I should’ve. I just—I left the hospital because I couldn’t take it anymore, and then she—” His voice cracked again, and his hands dropped from his hair to his lap, clenched into fists “She’s gone, and I left. I wasn’t there when she—” His breath hitched, and he buried his face in his hands.

“You’re a kid. It’s not your fault, okay? None of this is.”

“But it feels like it is,” he shot back, “I should’ve done something, anything. I just feel so—” He stopped, letting out a shaky exhale. “Empty. Like nothing I do matters anymore.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

The way you said it, so certain—He didn’t know why, but it cut through the noise in his head just enough to let him breathe again.

“I don’t know how to keep going,” he admitted, “I don’t know how t-to live without her.”

Growing up, Rafe had always been a momma’s boy. 

She was his safe place—the one person who didn’t make him feel like he had to be someone else. With her, he didn’t have to try so damn hard to be tough, or perfect, or whatever the hell his dad wanted him to be. 

Ward wasn’t the kind of dad who let his kids cry on his shoulder or told them he loved them every day. No, Ward was the kind of dad who believed in rules.

Men didn’t cry. Men didn’t show weakness. Men didn’t mess up—or, if they did, they sure as hell didn’t admit it.

He expected Rafe to follow those rules like they were gospel.

The worst part? His rules about what it meant to be a man stuck with Rafe, even when he didn’t want them to. When his mom got sick, he found himself choking back tears in the hospital bathroom, staring at his reflection and hearing Ward’s voice in his head: “Crying doesn’t solve anything. You’ve gotta be strong, for her, for your sisters.”

He had this idea in his head of what Rafe was supposed to be—strong, dependable, successful. He didn’t yell or lose his temper like some dads back then, he just made him feel like shit in this fucked up way.

Rafe tried, shit, he’d tried, but it felt impossible.

Every time he looked at his mom, pale and tired but still managing to smile at him like he was her whole world, he felt like he was dying too, then he’d feel guilty—for being so weak, for wanting to break down when she was the one fighting for her life.

It didn’t help that Ward had always had a soft spot for Sarah. Everyone could see it, even Rafe. She was the golden child, the one who could do no wrong, the one Ward went out of his way to protect. 

If Rafe screwed up, it was a lecture or a punishment, but if Sarah did? Ward would just shake his head and say, “She’s still young. She’ll learn.”

It used to piss him off more than he wanted to admit. It wasn’t that he hated her—she was his sister, and he loved her. But how could he not resent her? He felt invisible when she got all the attention and the understanding, while he was expected to man up and deal with it.

After her funeral, things changed.

Rafe became quicker to snap, to walk away from anything that felt too hard. He was only himself around you, behind closed doors, never for preying eyes. Sarah grew colder, retreating into her own world where everything was controlled and distant.

Every time they spoke, it ended in shouting matches, slamming doors, or long stretches of silence that neither of them attempted to solve.

Except when you were there.

Ward got even colder, the grief had frozen whatever part of him used to care. He threw himself into work, making sure Sarah was okay, and barely even looked at his son. When he did, it was usually to tell him to pull it together, or to stop being so “moody.”

Rafe started to wonder if he even cared that he was falling apart, if he ever noticed the nights Rafe stayed out too late or came home smelling like booze. If he saw the way he avoided talking to him, how he flinched whenever Ward brought up his mom. But if his dad noticed, he never said anything. 

He thought it was just Rafe being Rafe—angry, unpredictable, a disappointment.

Fast forward to the present, and he hadn’t felt this helpless since that day at the funeral, not even when Ward’s died four months ago. 

You weren’t in his life anymore���hadn’t been for a while and you were possibly pregnant. 

He wasn’t a hundred percent sure, but it made sense, everything lined up with that possibility. He thought back to everything you’d been through together, the times you’d been there for him when no one else was, how you’d seen the pieces of him no one else cared to.

Now, you were having his kid—and he was hearing about it from Topper?

Rafe spent the first hour after Topper dropped the news pacing his bedroom like a caged animal, his heart wouldn’t stop racing and he felt like a ticking time bomb. 

The Rafe—the one who flew off the handle, yelled, broke things, and pushed people away—was begging to get out. But Topper’s voice kept replaying in his head, he had to act right, be calm, for your sake. To prove himself.

The problem was, that staying calm wasn’t his strong suit. 

He’d spent years burying every emotion he couldn’t control under layers of anger, and now he was supposed to sit with the hurricane in his chest and figure out how to make things right. 

For the first time in a long time, he realized he didn’t even know where to start.

That night, he locked himself in his room, ignoring his phone, his friends, everyone. None of it mattered anymore, the only thing he could think about was you—and the baby. 

He spent hours pacing, running his hands through his hair, trying to think of what the fuck he was going to say.

What was he gonna say after everything he’d put you through? After the fight, the distance, the way he’d shut you out when you’d been nothing but good to him until that point?

He sat down on the edge of his bed, head still in his hands, and let himself feel everything he’d been avoiding. The fear, the regret, the anger at himself. He thought about you—how you used to look at him like he wasn’t just a mess of a person, you’d stuck by him even when he’d given you every reason to leave.

You weren’t here anymore.

He’d pushed you so far away you hadn’t even told him about the situation yourself. Why would you anyway? He ghosted you and the next time you saw him he was with someone else. He could still see the look on your face when you saw him that night—arms slung casually around Sofia, while you sat in your car, eyes wild, you hadn’t tried to step outside, hadn’t yelled or made a scene, you simply drove off. 

It wasn’t until an hour later and terrible text message to you, that drunk and pissed at himself, he realized just how badly he’d screwed up. But by then, the damage was done, and he’d been too much of a coward to fix it. What followed was a sea of bad decisions and nights he couldn’t remember, trying to drown out the ache of losing you. 

He’d been drinking for Ward’s death until that point, now he did it for you.

Everything was catching up to him—the way he let his dad’s voice in his head drown out his own, making him let you slip through his fingers.

He didn’t deserve you—he knew that.

By sunrise, Rafe was still wide awake, sitting on the floor of his room surrounded by half-crumpled pieces of paper. He’d been trying to write down what he wanted to say to you, but everything sounded wrong. He’d never been good with words, not the kind that mattered.

He wasn’t a dad, wasn’t even close to being the kind of guy who could be a dad. 

What the fuck did he know about raising a kid? Changing diapers? Teaching someone right from wrong? Being patient? But the thought of you—of you carrying his kid—hit him differently.

At first, it had been pure panic. You hated him, what if you didn’t want him involved? What if he was just like Ward—cold, distant, always expecting too much? What if he screwed the kid up the same way he felt like he’d been screwed up? 

He pictured it without meaning to: you holding a tiny bundle in your arms, your face soft in a way he hadn’t seen in so long. A kid with your smile, your laugh—but his eyes. Or his messy hair. It scared the shit out of him.

What if she doesn’t even want to keep it?

Rafe hadn’t let himself go there at first, it was a lot to wrap his head around, the idea that there might not even be a child to fight for. 

The thought of you going through this, struggling to make a choice that he couldn’t help with, made him feel useless. 

Frustrated, he grabbed his keys and headed out, needing to clear his head. The island was silent this early, the kind of calm that used to make him feel trapped, but now, though, it was a relief. He drove aimlessly for a while, the salty air whipping through the open windows, until he found himself parked at the beach.

He didn’t know why he’d come here—well, you’d always bring him here when he spiraled. He sat there, watching the waves crash against the shore, feeling a weird sort of clarity that he hadn’t felt in months. 

Perhaps it was the silence, or the way the ocean didn’t care about all the fucking mess in his head, but something about it made him stop spiraling for a second.

He started to think about what Topper had said—not just about staying calm, but about proving to you that he still cared. That wasn’t something he could do with words alone, not after everything. He’d have to show you, he’d have to be the version of himself you used to believe in, the one who wasn’t ruled by his worst impulses.

Rafe knew the first step before he could even think about talking to you: he had to end things with Sofia. They weren’t official, but they might as well have been. 

People talked, made assumptions, and sure, he’d let them. It was easier that way—less explaining, less having to deal with the uncomfortable truth that he’d only been with her to fill the empty space you left behind. It was cruel, but at the time, he hadn’t cared. 

Sofia wasn’t you, but she was there, and more importantly, she didn’t expect anything from him. Keeping things going with her wasn’t just a bad idea; it was disrespectful. To you, to her, to himself. He couldn’t pretend he cared about her like that—not when his heart had never really left your orbit.

When he showed up at her place that morning before work, she didn’t seem surprised—not even a little. She’d seen the writing on the wall for weeks now, but tonight, seeing him standing there, just confirmed what she already knew.

She watched him like she was waiting for him to get to the point, but not impatiently—just resigned, she already knew what he was about to say.

“Can I come in?” 

She let him in without a word, she wasn’t mad, not really. If anything, she felt sad—mostly for him, a little for herself. How the fuck was he supposed to explain this without sounding like the worst person alive?

“You okay?” she asked quietly, she wasn’t being polite—she was trying to read him, figure out where this was going.

Rafe didn’t sit, didn’t take off his jacket. He stayed standing, hands shoved deep in his pockets, trying to find the words that wouldn’t make this worse. “I—” He cleared his throat. “I need to talk to you about something. 

She raised an eyebrow, her lips pressing together in a tight line. “Be honest.”

“This...this isn’t fair to you,” he started, his words tumbling out fast, “I should’ve been real with you from the start, but I wasn't," He swallowed hard, “You deserve better than me using you to forget someone else.”

Sofia didn’t say anything at first, just crossed her arms loosely, not making it easy for him, but she wasn’t making it harder, either.

“I shouldn’t have dragged you into this,” he continued, forcing himself to look at her. “It feels wrong and it’s not because of you. You’re great. You’ve been...you’ve been more patient with me than I deserve.”

Her lips curved into a small, almost imperceptible smile, one that wasn’t quite happy but wasn’t cruel either. “But you’re still in love with her.”

He didn’t know why it shocked him—Sofia had always been perceptive—but hearing her say it out loud made it real in a way it hadn’t been before.

“I—” He hesitated, but there was no point in denying it. “Yeah.”

“I knew,” She nodded like she’d been waiting for that confirmation. “I figured. I told myself it didn’t matter because—because I thought maybe you’d move on. Maybe I could help you move on. But you didn’t, and I—” She pressed her lips together, shaking her head as her arms tightened around herself.

Rafe’s brows furrowed. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

She shrugged, the movement almost casual. 

“Because I really like you,” she admitted, “I knew. The party? When you got blackout drunk after seeing her leave? Or the country club, when you nearly started a fight defending her? I know you drove her to the hospital too. I kept hoping—God, I kept hoping you’d see me, that you’d let me be enough.”

He’d known she cared—he wasn’t blind—but hearing her saying like that made him realize just how he fucked up. She wasn’t wrong. He had been trying to numb himself, to drown out the reality of losing you, and she had been the collateral damage.

He looked away, guilt twisting in his chest. “I didn’t mean to drag you into this. That wasn’t fair to you.”

“No,” she agreed, her tone firm but not unkind. “It wasn’t, but I don’t think you meant to hurt me either, you were trying to hurt yourself. It's still stupid of me to try, knowing you need to figure your shit out, but you don’t have to end things. I know what I signed up for, Rafe. I’m not asking you to choose me over her—I’m just asking you to try."

There was no anger in her voice, no bitterness—just exhaustion. It made him feel like a piece of shit because she deserved to feel angry, to lash out at him. But instead, she was still trying to give him a way out, a way to make this easier on himself.

“I’ll take whatever part of you I can get.”

It wasn’t desperate or pleading—it was resigned. She already knew the answer, but she couldn’t help saying it out loud.

Rafe shook his head, his jaw tightening as he fought to keep his composure. “No,” he said, his voice firm. “You deserve someone who can give you everything. That’s not me.”

“Why not?” she pressed, her tone insistent.

“Because all of me already belongs to her,” Rafe admitted, his voice breaking at the end. “It always has, it always will.”

Sofia blinked, her lips parting slightly in surprise, but she didn’t look hurt—just...sad. She nodded slowly, her shoulders dropping in defeat.

“I hope she knows what she has, and I pray you show her," She stood up and motioning toward the door. “We both deserve better than a guy who drinks himself to death after seeing her at a party. So do you.”

Rafe didn’t move right away, unsure if he should say something more, apologize again, explain himself better. 

“Thank you,” he said finally, his voice quieter than he meant it to be.

“Don’t thank me,” she replied, “Just do better.”

“I shouldn’t have let it go on this long,” he confessed, “I just—I didn’t know how to stop.”

Her expression softened just enough to show the tiniest sliver of empathy. “For what is worth, I think she still loves you too, even if she hates you more right now.” She paused, her hand resting on the doorknob, but she didn’t turn around, “Next time, please don’t do this to someone else, and don’t do it to her again, either.”

She still loves you too, even if she hates you more right now. He wanted to believe it, needed to believe it. The faint possibility, that you might still love him, it meant he had a chance but it also meant he could screw them up even worse.

He stood slowly, “Thank you,” he repeated,“For...everything.”

She didn’t look at him, but she nodded, opening the door and holding it for him. “Take care of yourself,” she said, and it wasn’t cold or angry—just sad.

By the time he got back to his car, he knew she wasn’t wrong, about any of it. 

She hadn’t screamed or cried or made him feel like the asshole he knew he was, that made it worse. If his mom was here, she would’ve smacked him across he head for hurting two amazing women at the same time. 

He hadn’t been ready to deal with his feelings for you—not when he started whatever the fuck it was with Sofia, not when he ran into you at that party, not when he defended you at the country club.

He’d been running, hiding, trying to bury everything under distractions that only made him feel emptier.

He leaned back against the headrest, closing his eyes, and for a moment, it was like he was fourteen again, sitting on the edge of his mom’s hospital bed while his mom teased him.

“Come on, sweetheart” she’d said, her voice playful, even through the weariness. “You’ve been talking about her birthday for weeks. I think you like her more than you’re letting on.”

Rafe’s head shot up, and his ears burned red. “Mooomm,” he groaned, dragging out the word, “it’s not like that, she’s my best friend.”

“She’s your pretty best friend,” she’d corrected, smiling at him in that knowing way only she could. “You’re gonna pick out something nice for her, right?”

“I already did,” he mumbled, pulling a small velvet box from his pocket and holding it out like it was some great secret. Inside was a delicate bracelet he’d saved up for, something special, something he thought you’d like.

His mom’s smile had softened, the teasing fading into something more tender. 

“She’s lucky to have you,” she’d said, reaching out to ruffle his hair. “Even if you are a little knucklehead sometimes.”

He’d ducked away, embarrassed but secretly pleased, tucking the box back into his pocket.

“M’m not a knucklehead,” he complained, but she just laughed, and it was one of the last times he remembered hearing her laugh like that—free, unburdened, just his mom.

“She’s a good one. You’ve got good taste.” Her smile softened, and the teasing faded into something gentler. “I hope I’m still around when you get married. I’d love to see you happy like that.”

The words were a punch he hadn’t expected. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. What could he even say to that? He wanted to argue, to tell her she would be, but the look in her eyes stopped him.

She knew. She always knew.

He just nodded, biting the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste blood. “Me too.”

She squeezed his hand. “Promise me something?”

“Anything,” he said without thinking because he meant it.

“When you find that person—really find them—don’t let them go. Not for anything.”

He nodded again.

Years later, standing in a stupid fucking car alone, those words haunted him. He’d found that person, he’d had her and he’d let her go.

“God,” he muttered, the self-loathing reaching a new high, “I’m so sorry, mom.”

As terrifying as it was to think about being a dad, to think about raising a kid when he was still trying to figure out his own life… the idea of losing this chance—of losing you, or the baby, or both, for good —scared him even more.

For the first time in a long time, Rafe Cameron felt something close to hope, but it was tainted in so much fear and uncertainty, that he wasn’t sure what to do with it.

The rest of the day, he forced himself to slow down. 

He went back home, cleaned up the disaster of a room he’d been holed up in, and tried to think like a normal guy instead of a walking disaster. He even let Topper come over, though his patience for his relentless commentary wore thin fast.

“You’ve got one shot at this, dude,” Topper said, perched on Rafe’s desk like he owned the place. “If you go in there guns blazing, she’s just gonna think you’re the same old Rafe. And honestly? You can’t blame her.”

Rafe rolled his eyes, but he didn’t argue, Topper was right, as annoying as it was to admit.

He spent the evening coming up with a plan—just enough to make sure he didn’t go in blind. He practiced what he’d say in his head, pacing the kitchen while the sun sank below the horizon. Every time he started to panic, he forced himself to breathe, to remember why he was doing this.

By the time 24 hours had passed, he didn’t feel ready, but he knew he couldn’t wait any longer. The thought of you sitting somewhere, thinking he really didn’t care or that he wouldn’t step up?

That was worse than any fear he had about facing you. So he grabbed his keys, and headed out, this time, he wasn’t running away.

Rafe stood by your door, he’d gotten in the property using the gate’s code, one he’d hoped you had changed to keep him out, but you hadn’t.

He’d never been good at patience, never needed to be—not when he could push his way into anything. But this was different, you were different, always had been.

The wood under his hand was cool, in a way that pissed him off because it reminded him that there was a barrier between you and him, again, always.

He wanted to scream, kick the fucking thing down like the old Rafe would’ve, or instead use the keys you’d given him years ago. Instead, he stood there, swallowing his pride because you were worth it, even if it was tearing himself in half.

His knuckles dragged down the frame, fist clenching as if the pressure would ground him, keep him from losing his shit. He wasn’t here to fight, wasn’t here to make your life harder, no matter how much you thought he was. 

The door rattled slightly when he pressed his forehead against it, eyes squeezing shut. “Five minutes. Please.”

Nothing.

His jaw worked, teeth grinding against the words he wanted to say but couldn’t, not if he wanted you to open the door. He couldn’t do this anymore—the back-and-forth, the lies. He wasn’t sure what broke first—your resolve or the knot in his throat. 

When you didn’t answer again, he sank to sit on the porch, back against the door like he could still feel you on the other side. You were there—close enough to touch if there wasn’t this fucking door between you.

That was his fault.

He used to be the guy you’d let in without thinking twice, shit, there was a time when he didn’t need to knock.

He was in, part of your life, part of you.

Now, you were holed up, scared of him. Yeah, that ate him alive. He’d earned that fear—every cold shoulder, the slammed door, he deserved it.

He should’ve been different, been better, been someone you didn’t have to lock out. You were scared, and it killed him because it wasn’t just fear, it was him. He was the reason you didn’t feel safe enough to let the secret out, the reason your voice cracked when you told him to leave.

He had put that look in your eyes, the one he couldn’t unsee, no matter how hard he tried.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

He could almost hear you breathing, shakily, like you were preparing yourself to outlast him.

He wanted to push. Fuck, he wanted to shove the door open, make you look at him, make you tell him everything—but that was the old Rafe, he took what he wanted, and bulldozed through whatever stood in his way.

Where had that ever gotten him? Nowhere but here: on the wrong side of a door, the wrong side of you.

He exhaled, long and slow, hand falling limp to his side.

What the hell was he doing? Forcing his way in, forcing answers—that wasn’t going to fix this. It never did. You’d push harder, build the walls higher, and he couldn’t stomach the idea of you hating him more than you already did.

“Okay,” he said quietly, his voice strained. “I get it.”

He didn’t know if you could still hear him, perhaps you were blocking him out completely. Maybe you were curled up with your hands over your ears. He hoped you weren’t crying, though the thought twisted and turned something deep in him.

“I’m not gonna push you,” he said, hating how defeated he sounded. “You don’t owe me anything.”

He ran a hand down his face, swallowing hard, trying to keep it together.

“I just... I just want you to be okay.” He hesitated, then pressed his palm flat against the door, wishing he could reach you somehow, without scaring you, “Baby or not.”

He waited, hoping for something—a sound, a movement, anything, but the silence was absolute.

His heart clenched as he pushed off the door and took a step back, his shoes scraping against the porch. He didn’t want to leave, he never wanted to leave, but this wasn’t about what he wanted. Not anymore.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, almost to himself, "I'm so sorry. I’m sorry it took me this long, okay?”

He stopped halfway, looking back, hoping—praying—for some sign. A light flicking on, the sound of the door creaking open, your voice calling his name, anything.

But the house stayed still, it had already moved on from him. 

He didn’t remember deciding to drive to Poguelandia; he felt it in his gut, in the pit of his chest, this pounding certainty that Sarah knew something he didn’t. You wouldn’t tell him—but Sarah? You’d chosen her to drive you home from the hospital just a few days ago.

She was the only person that could lie to his face properly, he couldn’t fucking figure her out, she was always deflecting shit wherever they talked.

By the time he pulled up to the pogues’ little hideaway, the sky had darkened, the place lit only by the glow of string lights and the hum of voices inside. He sat in the truck for a second, staring at the house, willing himself to calm down.

Barging in—loud, pissed, impulsive—wasn’t going to get him what he needed. But fuck, it was hard not to.

He climbed out, slamming the door behind him with just enough force to feel better for half a second. The screen door creaked as he stepped up to the porch, and he could already hear them inside—Sarah’s laugh, JJ cracking some dumbass joke, the rest of them chiming in like they didn’t have a care in the world.

He hated this, hated how they all looked at him, as if he was some ticking time bomb ready to explode. They weren’t wrong.

Rafe knocked, hard and sharp, the laughter inside cut off instantly. Footsteps approached the door, hesitant. A second later, it swung open, and there she was, his sister, looking at him like he was the last person she wanted to see.

“Rafe,” she said, one hand still gripping the door. “What are you doing here?”

He didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “We need to talk.”

Her brows pulled together, suspicion creeping into her expression. “Now? Seriously?”

“Yeah, now,” he snapped, stepping closer, his voice low enough to keep from drawing the others’ attention. “Don’t make me say it in front of them.”

She hesitated, glancing over her shoulder toward the voices in the living room. “Rafe, I don’t think—”

“Don’t,” he cut her off, his tone sharper than he meant. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to soften, to keep it together. “I need you to tell me the truth.”

She glanced back again, then sighed, stepping out onto the porch and closing the door behind her. He was already pacing, hands twitching at his sides, hardly able to contain the energy inside him. 

The way she looked at him—wary, guarded—only made it worse.

“What the hell is your problem?” she asked, crossing her arms, like she was already bracing for a fight.

“My problem?” he barked out a laugh, sharp. “You really wanna play dumb right now? You’ve been keeping something from me, Sarah. I know you have.”

Her brows knit together, feigning confusion, “Dude. What’s this about? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bullshit,” he hissed, stepping closer, “Don’t lie to me. I already know, okay? I know about the baby.”

She didn’t say a word, didn’t confirm a thing, just stared at him like he was some wild animal.

“Where did you get the idea that she’s pregnant?”

His mouth opened, then closed. It felt wrong to snitch on Topper when he’d been one making him pry a little more.

“Well?” she pressed, “Answer me. How did you come up with that?”

Saying it out loud felt like admitting he’d been just as reckless and intrusive as everyone expected him to be. His hand ran over his face, trying to stall.

“I didn’t just make it up.”

Sarah’s eyes narrowed, her patience waning. “No shit. So where, Rafe?”

He glanced away, then back, his voice defensive. “Topper said something, okay? He heard—he thought—” Rafe stopped, knowing how weak it sounded.

 “Topper? You’re taking life advice from Topper now?”

“He didn’t mean anything by it!” Rafe was quick to defend him, “He just... he mentioned some things, and it got me thinking. That’s all.”

“That’s all?” Sarah repeated, “You barged over there because Topper mentioned ‘some things’ ? Jesus Christ.”

His hands flew up in frustration. “What was I supposed to do? Pretend I didn’t hear it? Ignore it and hope it went away? I needed to know!”

“No, you didn’t,” Sarah shot back. “You wanted to know. There’s a difference, and it’s the difference that keeps getting you into this shit.”

“Don’t look at me like that,” Rafe pointed a finger in his direction, “Like I’m crazy or something. I’m not stupid.”

"You’re just not worth the energy right now."

Instead of crying like he wanted to, he let out a dry laugh, pacing back and forth in front of her.

"Right. Sure. I can see it all over you, just say it."

She shook her head, her lips pressing into a thin line. "You don’t know what you’re talking about. Neither does Topper.”

“Stop lying!” His voice rose, loud enough to echo into the dark yard. “Just stop. You know something.”

Sarah’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, Rafe thought he’d finally cracked her. Except instead of giving him what he wanted, she just let out a slow breath, meeting his eyes with a steadiness that made him feel like a child fighting for his favorite toy.

“You want to know the truth?” 

“Yes,” he bit out, his chest heaving.

She stepped forward so they were only inches apart. “The truth is, you don’t deserve to know. Not yet.”

Everyone kept telling him the same thing, couldn’t they see he was already trying?

He staggered back a step. "What the fuck does that mean?"

"It means, that whatever you’re looking for, whatever answers you think you deserve, they’re not yours to take. Not until you can handle them without breaking everything you touch."

He flinched, her words striking something inside him, “You don’t get to decide that for me,” he said, almost desperate.

“I’m not deciding anything,” she replied, her eyes never leaving his. “You’ve spent these last few months making everything about you. Your pain, your anger, your needs.”

He glanced away, “So, what? You don’t trust me?”

Her silence was louder than anything she could have said.

“You don’t,” he murmured, the realization bitter in his mouth.

"I don’t," she agreed, “You’re still not the person she needs you to be, and until you can prove you can do that—without me, without anyone holding your hand—you’re better off not knowing.”

“I’m trying. I swear to fucking God, I’m trying. I don’t know how to fix it.”

“She’s scared you’re going to hurt her again—whether you mean to or not. You’re dating someone else, for god’s sake.”

“I ended it. This morning.”

Sarah’s eyebrows lifted slightly, “Doesn’t change the past, Rafe. And it sure as hell doesn’t make everything better overnight.”

Rafe flinched, the words sinking into him like stones. "Why the fuck do you think I’m here? I don’t want to hurt her—I can’t do anything if she won’t even talk to me."

Topper still had that number. 

You hadn’t hidden it well enough, he hadn’t done anything with it, but it was tempting. All he had to do was call, just to confirm, he told himself. Not to pry, simply to know for sure.

“Whatever you’re thinking, don’t. This isn’t something you can force your way into. She would never forgive you, please be smart.”

His first instinct was to lash out, fire back some venom-laced retort that would sting as much as her tone. He nodded, swallowing hard.

“Okay,” He dragged a hand through his head, “I know that, I know. But I can’t just sit here, doing nothing. I need to... I need to show her I can do better. That I am better.”

“You need to crawl through hell to understand a fraction of what she’s going through; you need to stop thinking about what you want and start thinking about her.”

His hands fell to his sides, limp, the fight suck out of him. She was right—he hated that she was. This wasn’t about him anymore; it never had been.

 “What can I do?”

Her expression softened, not with forgiveness but something sadder—she wanted to believe he could. “You start by fixing yourself, then you wait. Until she’s ready, if she’s ready. You’ve got to mean that, Rafe, you screw this up again..."

"I won’t," he said firmly, cutting her off. "I can’t."

“Okay.”

“What if she’s not ready?”

He had no right to demand more.

“You keep going, keep trying. Not for her, not for anyone else—just for you.”

By the time he got back in his truck, the hurt in his body hadn’t lifted. His mom’s words echoed in his mind one more, “When you find that person, don’t let them go. Not for anything.”

Maybe that started with learning to be the person who deserved to hold on.

TAGLIST: @maybankslover @october-baby25 @haruvalentine4321 @hopelesslydevoted2paige

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[sunderwight]

AU where there's no system (or a decidedly less restrictive one) and Shen Yuan transmigrates into an OC rogue cultivator before the start of the novel, and decides he's gonna steal the protagonist before Luo Binghe even gets to Cang Qiong.

The logic is sound -- he'll keep Luo Binghe from experiencing neglect and abuse at Shen Qingqiu's hands, raise him away from the pressure of the sects and the likelihood that anyone else might find out about his heritage and try to harm him over it, keep him fully away from the Immortal Alliance Conference, and then Luo Binghe's course will change trajectory because he'll have no reason to want revenge against the world and no access to Xin Mo. Shen Yuan will be able to spare Luo Binghe some suffering and possibly survive in a world less subject to the harrowing whims of a half-mad tyrannical overlord. Win-win!

However, the tricky bit is that he's not sure exactly how far ahead of the novel he is, and also Airplane didn't specify where Luo Binghe grew up. This means that Luo Binghe could be any age younger than twelve and in any number of places along or near to the Luo river.

Shen Yuan decides he's going to approach this by pretending he is looking for the long-lost son of his sister, traveling through the likeliest areas, asking after abandoned children who might fit the protagonist's description. It's a long shot, he knows, and he's mostly relying on the existence of Narrative Destiny. But eventually he is directed by several people towards a particular city, which is not as close to the river as he'd have expected Luo Binghe to grow up, but then again he only knows that was where baby Binghe was found, not where the washerwoman who took him in ultimately lived.

It becomes clear to him, though, that he's been sent to the wrong target. But also why he's been sent astray is apparent in nearly the same breath, because among the slave children living in this area is a little boy who could be his much younger clone.

Seriously, this kid looks just like him! Or, well, close enough. He looks a lot like Shen Yuan's actual nieces and nephews from his past life. It's uncanny.

Also, because of his search, the slave kids get wind of what he's looking for (his long-lost nephew) pretty quick. The boy with the obvious resemblance to him greets Shen Yuan's own assessment with wary cynicism, but he's just a little boy. So it's not difficult to notice the way he's also practically vibrating with hopefulness, half-hiding behind a protective older kid and looking at Shen Yuan with big dark eyes like he expects to be rescued or destroyed with whatever he has to say next.

Shen Yuan has a big problem now. He just knows that if he says something like "actually no this boy is too old to be my nephew" or whatever other excuse, no one will believe him, and also this poor kid is going to be permanently scarred by it. He's going to think Shen Yuan is lying just so that he can reject him. On top of that, he's not in a good situation here. None of these children are even remotely well cared-for.

Shen Yuan's rogue cultivator self isn't rich on the level of being like a wealthy sect leader or anything, but he's made some money since transmigrating by doing random cultivator jobs and quests along the way here. He uses it all to purchase two little slave boys (Do Not Separate), then takes another job and uses that coin to acquire a somewhat rundown manor which used to belong to the local gentry. The Qiu family (rings some bells but that's not exactly an uncommon name) kept it up for a while in case a branch family sprung up in need of a residence, but they've been in decline and the place is downright decrepit, so they had been looking to sell it instead. It's too big for a wandering bachelor like SY to ever need on his own account, but that's sort of the idea. He makes more money taking on cultivator work, at first taking his boys along with him for lack of any alternative. Nerve-wrackingly dangerous! Eventually he hires workers to start restoring the manor, particularly setting up a yard to be a school area, and then starts taking on any freelance jobs he can get in order to steadily buy out the contracts on all the other kids. He gets it nice enough to house and care for as many orphans as he can acquire.

Not because he's a big old softie though!

His story of looking for his nephew is a bust now, since he's apparently "found" the kid. So he's got to change tactics! If he can't find baby Binghe and the washerwoman, the next best approach is to create an opportunity for them to come to him. So once he's got his new household established, he starts offering free lessons to all the local kids. Not just the ones he's taken in, but also any who come by and want to learn some things. It's a tempting setup for anyone who wants their child to get education but can't afford a tutor, and Luo Binghe's mother had been entirely the sort of person who would have packed up and left her situation if there had been an opportunity for it.

On that note, SY also starts hiring single mothers to help look after his new gaggle of children and do the work he doesn't know how to do in these times, like keeping house, laundry, cooking, actually raising kids, etc.

His "little school" is not universally popular. A few groups try and ruin him, because the poverty in the region provides a basis of business for them. The ringleaders of the human traffickers in the area don't want their trade to dry up, even if it means selling all of their merchandise for this round, so when they find out that their underlings let Shen Yuan buy off all the kids they try and intimidate him into returning them (it doesn't go well for them). The Qiu family also isn't thrilled after it becomes clear what he's doing, and get him investigated by the local authorities (read: use their bribed officials and local goons to try and interfere.)

When that doesn't work either the sects get involved, because the Qiu go crying to Huan Hua Palace that Shen Yuan is sketchy and is trying to establish his own sect. So Shen Yuan talks his way around the matter, and frankly the Qiu are small fish even if they're the biggest ones in the local pond, so HHP doesn't care to pursue things much further. (Read: SY could mop the floor with the disciples they sent to investigate him, and it's not worth it to piss off someone this mysterious and powerful just to bully some impoverished children.)

Shen Yuan is appalled by all this bullshit though. Trust the world of PIDW to make it so hard just for a guy to teach some poor kids how to read and do math!

It makes him dig in his heels about it, because he is at heart a stubborn bastard. The fires that once fueled a thousand angry screeds on zhongdian literature site is now aimed at the local magistrate. One of the women he's hired on has some dirt on the Qiu family, which leads SY to dig up some more until he eventually has enough to turn the tables on them. Local officials won't investigate because they've all been bought, but that in and of itself is of some interest to their superiors closer to the palace, and so SY arranges an investigation of his own that goes way further than he thought? Turns out there are some ugly skeletons in the Qiu closets, and the imperial investigator comes down on them hard.

Well, he can't say they didn't have it coming? Though he does feel bad for the children in the family, especially the oldest son, who gets hauled off to jail along with his father. At least the girl is sent to live with relatives. Maybe he should have done more to shield the minors in the situation...?

His kids tell him not to worry about it, though, that apparently young master Qiu was known to run people down in the streets and beat his servants and do other cartoonishly awful things. SY's not sure how much of it is true and how much of it is his little flock of fluffy sheep trying to ease his conscience, though they do all seem to take a lot of vindictive delight in the whole affair. Especially Nephew, who clings to his sleeves and loudly declares that the investigator should have publicly flogged the discredited nobles so that everyone could go watch, and then begs him for sweets as if that wasn't a creepy thing to hear come out of an eight-year-old's mouth. SY just sighs and tells him he can have something good when he finishes his calligraphy practice.

Of course, it's not exactly easy running what is basically an orphanage-slash-school (and maybe a budding sect...?), especially when pretty much all of the kids have been traumatized and faced stuff like rampant dehumanization, food insecurity, abuse, and neglect. Hiring single mothers soon becomes not only a plan to try and lure in Luo Binghe's mom, but an absolute godsend of an idea because SY has no clue WHAT he would do on his own about the discipline issues or emotional breakdowns or acting out that some of the kids get up to once it registers that they're in a safe enough place to unpack their baggage.

Apart from Nephew, SY's favorite kid is the one who came with him, the oldest of the flock of former slave children. He's the big brother of the group, the one who tries his best to look after the others and to not make any trouble himself. But even poor Little Yue is still just a kid who has been through too much, and he also eventually starts having some meltdowns and struggles with processing everything that has happened to him as a vulnerable child in an unkind world.

SY really didn't mean to start a trauma center for mistreated children!

Though, that's still not necessarily a bad thing for Luo Binghe to one day come across, provided he ever actually shows up...

Eventually, Shen Yuan does figure out that he must be ahead even of Luo Binghe's birth, though he still doesn't put together that he's interfered in the scum villain's backstory. Probably something even more amusingly obscure, like the creation year of some random artifact Luo Binghe used in some wife plot or other, tips him off and he mentally throws his hands up in the air. He's got to wait DECADES? Maybe he ought to try and find Luo Binghe's biological parents and just follow them around at this point!

Not that he can, now, though, because he has to make sure no negative IQ villains (who will probably just be cannon fodder for a subplot one day) decide to send goons to literally burn down his orphanage. Also if he's gone for too long his kids get upset. Probably because no one else is as weak to their puppy dog eyes and pleas for treats and toys as he is.

At least it gives him time to shore up his position, and train Nephew and Little Yue more extensively in cultivation. Despite his initial assurances to HHP that he was but a humble orphan wrangler who was only incidentally a cultivator, Shen Yuan does also teach the other kids some basic cultivation exercises. There are a few reasons for that.

One is just the principle of the thing. No, these kids don't all have the potential to become great immortals or anything, but they can still learn some of it and it's good for their health if they do. The only trouble is if they try and push too hard or attempt things beyond their range, and that's a risk with everyone who cultivates. Or even just exercises!

Another reason is that it helps stave off the jealousy that some of the kids have towards those with more cultivation potential. Teaching a lot of the basics all around makes it into just another topic at school. Some kids might not be as good at it as others, but those kids might also be better at math, or memorization, or board games, and while cultivation can open more doors to people as adults, for the children this is generally enough to satisfy their sense of fairness. Or at least reduce outbursts and fights.

Finally, the impression that any of SY's kids might be a cultivator also makes wicked people more reluctant to try and abduct or interfere with them. Cultivators are revered and nearly mythological figures in the public consciousness. It isn't difficult to see why, if even a rogue cultivator NPC like SY* can mop the floor with most random muggers (*Shen Yuan is not a normal rogue cultivator). Not many people want to risk bringing SY's ire down on them, but of those who might chance it if he wasn't around to immediately react, even fewer want to risk that the kids themselves could kick their asses.

Not knowing that only two of the orphans probably could in fact mop the floor with them helps keep all the rest safer, and is more believable when all of them can conduct themselves enough like disciples to fool anyone who doesn't know what to really look for.

Developments that surprise Shen Yuan but wouldn't surprise anyone else who is paying attention:

People start leaving unwanted babies and younger children on his doorstep. Not all the time, but more than once has he had to frantically find wet nurses and worry that he's changed things enough that some fishermen might just randomly drop the protagonist outside his gate, and he wouldn't even know because Binghe would be a literal infant??

Nephew (SJ) and Little Yue (Yue Qi -- only Shen Yuan calls him "Little", especially when he gets taller than SY by the time he's sixteen) are prodigies who get really good at cultivation, really fast, and between that and Shen Yuan's OP skills they completely warp Shen Yuan's ideas for what normal cultivation potential looks like. This would probably cause more problems if he wasn't teaching all the kids how to cultivate anyway, but means his students actually do kinda run the usual range of skills for a small sect.

SJ and YQ swiftly reach the point where they need more advanced equipment than just SY's teaching can provide, if they're going to keep building their skills. Gaining access to certain tools, aids, and materials (like spiritual swords) is a real hurdle though, and usually is for rogue cultivators (one of the major disadvantages of no sect affiliation.) Shen Yuan is hesitant to use stuff from the plot, since it's For Binghe, but he eventually caves and starts going after some things that he doesn't think the future protagonist will miss much. He also ends up buying stuff from HHP, since they're willing to sell things like spiritual tools and weapons if the price is right, whereas most other sects like Cang Qiong reserve them for members only.

They get an invitation to the Immortal Alliance Conference. Not the one where the Abyss opens up, obviously, the one where (originally) Shen Jiu reunited with Yue Qi and killed Wu Yanzi. Shen Yuan debates on going but the boys really want to, and things have calmed down enough that no one's trying to burn down the school whenever he leaves these days, so eventually he figures it'll be interesting to see some of the Cang Qiong characters and should be safe enough if he keeps his disciples close.

They don't run into young Yue Qingyuan or Shen Qingqiu on the trip, but Wu Yanzi does show up and get killed, and SY only hears about it and assumes they just missed all that action. (WYZ just got caught by some senior cultivators who recognized him and killed him to avenge some disciples he murdered.) Nephew and Little Yue do meet young Liu Qingge, Shang Qinghua, Mu Qingfang, and Su Xiyan though! Which gives Shen Yuan the opportunity to tell them all (mostly Su Xiyan) that if they're ever in trouble near his school, they can come to him for help. Hint hint.

This open invitation ends up being accepted broadly by a lot of traveling cultivators after the conference, who from then on treat Shen Yuan's school like a free motel whenever they're passing through. Plenty aren't even people SY met, but it seems his statement was taken as a general one to fellow righteous cultivators all around! Luckily, this has some advantages. Shen Yuan has no qualms running off anyone who tries to take unfair advantage of him or especially his kids or staff, and no shame in conscripting anyone who is decent enough to help teach his students, even if it's nothing to do with cultivating, and somehow word gets around and people start bringing school supplies, medicine, food, or other useful things along with them as gifts to help repay the hospitality. Young Liu Qingge comes by a lot on his way to and from various quests, or even seems to just turn up randomly sometimes (he comes to challenge YQ and SJ to fights), and SY's just like "I guess this is happening now" and teaches him to recognize the early signs of qi deviation and advises strongly against meditating in caves.

At one point a young Shang Qinghua turns up in one of the spare rooms, very obviously hiding an ice demon. Shen Yuan again is just like "I guess this is happening now" and shelters them until Mobei Jun has recovered, and sends a message to Cang Qiong that one of their An Ding caravans was attacked and their disciple is recovering under his roof but isn't well enough to travel yet. Much less stressful situation for Airplane (who is desperately trying to figure out what he did to manifest SJ's benevolent uncle from somewhere???)

Su Xiyan seems like the only person they met at the Immortal Alliance Conference who doesn't turn up at their door in a state of emergency at some point.

A few years later, there is a big scandal involving her and the demon emperor. Su Xiyan disappears, Huan Hua Palace accuses Tianlang Jun of plotting against the righteous sects, and Shen Yuan is even invited to the meeting where they try and rally everyone to go kill Binghe's dad. Naturally, he declines to participate in the witch hunt, but the major sects agree to it. By luck (or narrative fortune) Shen Yuan comes across Zhuzhi Lang on his trip back home, and mentions the ambush and his distaste for it (not knowing who ZZL is). ZZL warns Tianlang Jun and the confrontation goes very differently, especially since there's no Yue Qingyuan wielding Xuan Su.

It doesn't go well for the sects involved. Huan Hua Palace gets decimated. The Old Palace Master gets killed. Shen Yuan is like uhhhh that's... whoops? Didn't Luo Binghe need that in the future?? Fuck.

But the sect isn't wiped out completely, they just take a massive beating. Some of their younger disciples end up leaving and turning up on Shen Yuan's doorstep, for some reason. The manor house is becoming too small to account for all of these foundlings! They have to expand. Though the expansions would be a stretch to term a "palace" they end up occupying a much larger chunk of territory, and even investing in farmland and some storehouses to help support the sect. That's still not really a sect, of course. Even if a lot of the business that would have normally gone to Huan Hua Palace starts coming to them instead. Once HHP is back on its feet the stream will probably dry out. Probably?

Zhuzhi Lang starts hanging around. He's actually looking for Su Xiyan or their baby, dead or alive and per Tianlang Jun's instructions, but he uses Shen Yuan's school as base camp for his kind of hopeless efforts to find any traces of them, while also looking for ways to try and repay Shen Yuan. All the kids are just like "oh great, another weird man has fallen in love with Shizun -- someone go run interference" about it.

Some years later, an older woman and her young son turn up. Shen Yuan's off on a quest at the time, so SJ receives them. As is standard procedure he gives the woman a job and places the boy in classes, after giving him the aptitude tests. The kid is cute and precocious, so SJ uses him to distract YQ while he himself sneaks out to go join LQG on a monster hunt (and claim the valuable parts of the beast's remains for himself), and neither SY nor ZZL notice anything until SY's going over the paperwork for stuff he missed while he was gone. Since he procrastinated, it takes him like a week to find out that Luo Binghe is finally under his roof. He's going over the admission form right when SJ arrives with The New Adorable Child to try and distract SY enough that SY will let him go on a solo hunt -- as far as being distracted goes, it is way more effective than even SJ anticipated.

Then he has to figure out how to let ZZL know, so that ZZL can let Tianlang Jun know, so that Luo Binghe will have more family than just his mom and more resources than just a shabby little not-sect! But even once he figures it out and sets up the dramatic reveal, TLJ is just like "great! so can he just stay with you? he's probably fine there" which... irritates SY.

SJ fully conscripts Luo Binghe as a minion in his many cons. He never lost his street kid conman tactics, although he now uses them less as a ruthless survival tool or weapon and more to just get things to go his own way. LBH has the face and disposition of a little angel, which SJ no longer can pull off as a full grown adult, so he fills a gap. LBH also knows full well what's going, especially since a lot of SJ's tactics involve throwing LBH at SY like a smoke bomb.

Luo Binghe inevitably still develops a big fat crush on SY, so this is fine by him. Especially when he gets older, he starts bringing SY tea and making him breakfast and running his errands until even SJ is like "wait a minute, this little brat's stealing my job!" and by then it's too late. Luo Binghe is SY's personal assistant, the disciple at conman puppydog eyes has surpassed the master! While SJ was busy being like "I'm going to trick this idiot into doing my chores" LBH was going "I'm going to trick this idiot into giving me his job".

SY takes too long to officially name his school so everyone calls it the Shen Sect, much to his embarrassment.

[readwritealldayallnight]

Yours, Mine, Ours

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Reader

wc: 1.5k words

warnings/tags: fluff

“So did the other two actually say no or did you just never invite them?”

“‘Course I invited them, you asked me to, so I did.” Simon replies with ease, keeping his eyes fixed on the road ahead of him. “They’re smart lads, lovie, they knew to say no all by themselves.”

You shake your head at him in disbelief but the smile that’s been plastered across your face ever since the two of you pulled out of your flat’s parking doesn’t budge. Simon’s been driving for a few hours now, and as stressful of an experience as that is alone, you’re too excited to mind the long journey in the car.

Simon is on leave for the next two weeks, something about Price having to attend a funeral following a death in the family, and deciding that everyone on the force was due for a bit of time off. Seeing as the Captain was going to be preoccupied during his time off duty, he had asked if Simon wouldn’t mind checking in on his house for him, making sure things were alright. He’d even offered for the two of you to stay in the guest room for the duration of their leave.

Simon had explained how Price knew that the two of you were living in a small flat in London, and apparently his home was in a beautiful, forested, isolated area which meant he had essentially no neighbours, something he also knew would appeal to Simon. He offered for the two of you to stretch your legs out there at enjoy the property, including the privacy that came with it.

Wanting to be polite, you’d told Simon he should extend the invitation to Soap and Gaz, thinking they might enjoy a nice, quiet stay-cation as well at their Captain’s place away from it all. It would appear your lover had different ideas in mind however. Though you couldn’t blame him entirely, the thought of having the cozy cabin all to yourselves was certainly more appealing.

Every which way you look outside the car, your vision is filled by endless blurry trees as you zoom by, the colours of the leaves having finally changed into the warmer, more vibrant colour palette that came along with the autumn chill. If the drive up to his property was any indication of how beautiful the area really was, then you were in for quite the treat.

Entranced by the beauty of the landscape in comparison to the city lights you’ve grown so used to, you fail to notice the glances Simon keeps sneaking your way, the smallest of satisfied smiles seemingly permanently etched upon his face beneath his balaclava. He was grateful that after explaining the situation and Price’s generous offer to you, you had been too excited to ask many questions, instead getting a jump start on packing a duffel bag or two.

You were one of the most intelligent, clever, curious people he’d ever known, and it was normally quite difficult to get anything by you. He was therefore feeling rightfully proud of himself as he drove you nearer and nearer to the home you believed belonged to his Captain. In actuality, there was no funeral for Price to attend, the sergeants had certainly not been invited along on your getaway, and the home you’d be staying in wasn’t Price’s.

It was yours.

Yours, and Simon’s.

The two of you had been living in that shoebox of a flat he’d considered as ‘satisfactory’ when he was only staying there as a bachelor, for far too long. As ideal as the location might have been, there simply just wasn’t enough space for two people to live together, even considering Simon’s absences for work and that fact that when he was home, you two were essentially always on top of one another anyways.

You’d both been searching for a new flat for what felt like ages now, none of the places you visited feeling like the right fit. Simon would be weary about a certain neighborhood, you’d be concerned with the lack of any balcony or outdoor space, he’d ignore the price tag that felt your eyes bulging, and you’d shake your head as you walked through doorways that had him needing to duck down.

Little did you know, Simon had been doing his own house hunting, outside of the city. You had told Simon you were fine with staying in London, understanding that it’s convenient to have everything near by. But Simon didn’t want to give you just ‘fine’. He wanted to give you a home. The home he intends to spend the rest of his life with you in, plans on carrying you over the threshold in your wedding dress, hopes to carry sleeping newborns in their car seats through the door.

For months now, Simon has subtlety been learning more about what that home looked like to you. He’d look over your shoulder as you scrolled through Pinterest, casually asking if you could show him your boards, you know just for fun, and paid very close attention when you showed him the one named ‘future house’. On his phone, he had a list a mile long in his notes app, from secretly writing down every comment you made while watching your home reno shows. He’ll casually ask you what you think of the houses you drive by, jotting down your answers in his mind, remembering likes and dislikes.

He believes that like you, it’s the people filling the home that matter more than the structure itself, as proven by the way you continue to put up with his minuscule flat. He knows you mean it when you say you’re alright with another flat. But he has the money goddammit, he has the means to do this for you, and when the listing came up for a home in what you’d revealed as being your ideal area to settle down in one day, the house resembling the amalgamation of everything he believed you’d described as being your perfect place, he knew he had to put an offer in.

And if there ever was anything about the house you didn’t like or wanted to change, he’d gladly do it for you, no questions asked. You want to paint the bedroom? Just tell him what colour you want. You want to change the railing on the wrap around porch? He’s on his way to the hardware store already. You need him to dig a stump out of the backyard to make room for your garden? Sit back and enjoy the show lovie, he’s on it. And when the time comes to build a crib? Well he may as well baby proof the whole house while he’s at it too.

He’s pictured your reaction a thousand times over in his mind. He imagines you’ll maybe give a small gasp when he turns the corner of the long driveway and you first see the cozy, two-storey home, surrounded by never-ending foliage of red, orange, and yellow leaves, the time of year perfect for appreciating autumn in the UK, as well as the privacy the tall trees grant you. He thinks the first thing you’ll comment on will likely be the windows, an item high on your priority list he knew to adhere to.

He imagines you kicking off your boots as you step through the door, pace quickening to explore every room, spinning in the kitchen as you joke about how jealous you are of Price. He pictures you groaning with envy when you spot your dream master bathroom, insisting to Simon that since you’d been tasked with checking in on the home you may as well see every room, right? He plans to explain away the obvious sparseness of the home as the Captain not having lived here long, as being very non-materialistic after all his years in service.

He’ll continue to play along for as long as he can, part of him knowing that you know him well enough that you’re likely to catch onto his deception at some point. However he hopes that before you start rummaging through kitchen cabinets and find them empty, too empty even for an absentee captain of a homeowner, that you’ll mention something along the lines of wishing you could stay here longer. That’s when he plans to slip a key into the palm of your hand, revealing that you might be able to stay longer than you believe.

The small piece of metal that’ll unlock the rest of your lives together, sits heavy in his pocket, in contrast to the light feeling in his heart when his hand reaches across the dashboard to grab a hold of yours, knowing that the content, lovesick smile you offer him is likely stretched across his face as well, staring right back at you.

Though you’re unaware that Simon is currently driving towards your home, and not away from it, you’re gently stroking the scarred skin across his hand, feeling as though your home is sitting right next to you, holding your hand and your heart at the same time.

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

@whump-a-saurus I’ve started writing a series called Oasis which is based on the cult beliefs I was raised with as a Jehovah’s Witness. It’s in my blog description.

Also if you want to write RAMCOA (which I did not experience); please defer to those who actually have experienced it. It exists and those cult survivors seem to get talked over a lot. So accurately portraying it in fiction is a must.

i feel like i never see enough cult whump on tumblr, even though it’s like so perfect for ruining ocs lives

like,

1. multiple whumpee’s, which means more trauma (sharing is caring). some people don’t like to write multiple whumpee’s and that’s ok, but think about it this way, the more whumpee’s you make, the more characters you have to kill off

2. have you ever READ the things that cults do to their victims?? it’s SO fucked up. the brainwashing, the shaming, the guilt.

3. potential religion theming. and god, do i LOVE writing religious trauma. i love the “obsession and devotion even though it’s destroying them” shit so much.

4. who doesn’t love a good charismatic whumper?? who’s gaslighting and manipulating every single person they talk too. they got everyone wrapped around their finger.

i would write this myself but i’m actually really bad at writing so i’m not going too, but if i inspired anyone please tag me. i’m desperate.

[malfoys-demigod]

Hiiii. I LOVE ur underrated softie fic ❤️ I was wondering if u could do one kinda similar but it’s friends to lovers and he’s overprotective over little things? U don’t have to use this but I was thinking things like he doesn’t want u to burn ur hand on the stove or like u sneeze and he’s fretting over u and worried ur sick? And everyone can see he’s in love but reader is oblivious lol. Thank uuuu

Little Miss Oblivious

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Logan Howlett x Reader

A/N: I hope you enjoy this!! I hope you find the fluff quite cute!

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

It was a privilege for some to have Logan Howlett as a friend. 

Inside his inner circle, he had quite the humor, he assured you he’d have your back, and among many other things, he always had the best things to say when you needed it. 

Some may call it more than a loyal friendship, but all you could see at the moment was that you and Logan were the closest of friends. Nothing more, nothing less. 

Of course you were oblivious to the fact that everyone knew he was truly, deeply, madly, in love with you and all you thought was that he was an annoying, overbearing best friend, who constantly treated you like a little child who can’t do things for herself. 

At first, there were the little things that you thought would slide, you know? But the more he did these little things constantly, the bigger they made you feel unqualified to even do anything at all for yourself!

Like two weeks ago. 

It was a Saturday morning. Well, almost the end of the morning. You overslept for the first time in a while as it was almost lunch time. You spent all Friday night till late, checking your students papers and preparing class discussions and topics for the rest of the next week ahead to give way to a restful weekend. 

Because you slept late, you were most likely to wake up late. Like really late. But as soon as 12:00 pm hit, Logan, who was around the whole X Mansion, knew you weren’t around yet. 

Had you eaten yet? Showered? Exercised? Anything at all? These were basic questions that Logan took seriously that one Saturday and wanted to make sure you weren’t, as silly as it sounded, dead or kidnapped! 

As you were heavily sleeping and unaware of how it was lunch time now, Logan now stood by your door, gently knocking it and calling your name. 

No response. 

“Y/N?” He asked again, putting an ear to the door. He listened to shallow snores, relieved to hear you were just sleeping. 

He slowly turned the doorknob around, quietly opening the door with another gentle knock to make his presence known. 

“Darling,” he said, “Did you eat this morning and fall back asleep?”

Upon hearing his voice, you, still with eyes closed, muttered a small no, which earned a huff of disappointment from Logan. 

“Come on, doll,” he said, now sitting by your bed, “I wanna make you some scrambled eggs and orange juice.” 

“M’kay” you groaned, sitting up and rubbing your eyes. You felt Logan’s hands on your wrists, trying to pull your hands away from your face. 

“Stop rubbing your eyes, you know you’re gonna get wrinkles the more you do that.”

”Shut up, Logan,” you groaned, “I just woke up. Please.”

Logan just laughed, and pulled you out of bed to get you on your feet. 

While you were heading towards the door, Logan moved in front of you, opening the door for you as you continued rubbing your eyes from the instant light of the hallway outside. 

Logan’s arm was hung around your shoulder as you slumped towards the kitchen out of sleepiness. You knew you were getting some stares from other students who passed by, seeing Logan cling onto you. Oblivious to the fact that they were thinking about how Logan was being boyfriend material again for the thousandth time, you assumed they thought you were wasted somehow, needing stability support from Logan. 

“You don’t need to walk so close to me, people might think I was drunk or something last night.” 

“Nah, nobody’s ever gonna think that of you, Y/N,” he replied, “Everyone knows you were being a goodie two shoes and probably checking your students��� papers.” He replied, still hanging his arm over you. 

When the both of you arrived at the kitchen, your hand was about to reach over for the stool until Logan quickly pulled it out for you already to sit down. 

You didn’t know if it was the ‘just woke up’ morning feelings you still had or the typical annoyance you had for when Logan treated you like a baby, but you looked at him with a deadpan look. 

“I had that one covered, Lo.”

Logan, already whisking the eggs in a bowl displayed a small smile on his face, “Yeah, me too.”

”Hey, lovebirds!” Storm announced her presence briefly. 

You shook your head in disapproval of that nickname, knowing very well that you and Logan were only best friends. It was a clear fact, right?!

Storm, just pouring herself a cup of coffee, checked up on what Logan was making and smiled at him with a pleased look on her face. “Wanna save some for me or these all for your girl over here?”

”Oh, Ororo, it’s cool, you can have some-“

”These last few eggs from the egg carton are for this child right here,” Logan interrupted you, “She didn’t have anything to eat yet.”

”Oookay,” Storm chuckled to herself. She wasn’t hungry anyways, just in the mood for some light bantering. “I’ve gotta meet Scott now anyways. Bye you two!”

You waved her goodbye as she made her way out. Leaving you and Logan back alone again. 

There was already a carton of orange juice and a glass in front of you, as if Logan had already prepared some stuff before waking you up. So you poured yourself a glass of your favorite breakfast drink and watched Logan cook your eggs. 

You knew your best friend was pretty good at cooking the simple stuff like scrambled eggs, he always made them for you. But you wanted to at least contribute to your own breakfast somehow. Sometimes it just didn’t feel right for Logan to do everything for you no matter how much he insisted. 

“Can I help cook?” You said, tip-toeing from the stool to see Logan’s progress. 

“Just stay there. Let me handle this.”

You pouted, still watching him from your tip-toe position, which he definitely caught without even having to look up from his cooking. “And sit down properly. You’re gonna make a fool outta yourself when you fall, bub.”

You scoffed, feeling like an absolute child. “Fuck off, Logan. I’m not a child.” 

“You sure look like one,” he replied now looking at you with a grin, “An adorable one.” 

Before you could even reply to what you thought was a friendly yet teasing comment from your best friend, he served you a plate of his best scrambled eggs. 

Just by the smell of it, you instantly felt so hungry, getting a spoon and fork and just going at it. 

“So delicious,” you murmured, indulging in lunch, or very late breakfast. 

Logan sat by the stool beside you, “Hey look over here,” he said in focus of your face. 

You turned to him with a confused look as he scanned your mouth. You weren’t sure what he was planning to do until he placed a finger over the corner of your mouth, softly dusting crumbs from there to your cheek while you were still chewing. 

“There we go,” he said, getting a raise of an eyebrow from you. 

“Seriously?” You said, being interrupted from eating. “I could’ve done that later on when I’m done eating.”

Your serious look changed with a surprised chuckle when Logan, who you’ve never seen in a million years do, just stuck his tongue out of ridicule. “Whatever, darl,” he replied, “If the professor sees you ravaging an entire plate of eggs like you’ve never eaten before, I’m not saving you from embarrassment.”

“Please, as if you can’t help yourself from saving me from something somehow.” You teased, making Logan look away from you to cover the pink spots that were growing on his cheeks. 

Now fast forward to today. 

You were invited to a girls night out with Jean and Ororo. But they already went ahead, or actually, on time since you stayed back for an hour or two, catching up with your work and checking your students’ papers. 

Logan had already disliked the idea of you catching up with the girls at a later time. He already offered to check the papers for you, despite not knowing anything about the topic you taught. He just hated to see you call a cab on your own. 

“You’re not really thinking about going out alone, are you?” He already asked you earlier. 

“Do you want me to come with you?” He prompted this time, with you shaking your head and assuming he’d follow you inside the bar like a lap dog and drop you off there. “I can at least drive you and I wouldn’t even have to step outta the car!” 

You looked up at the ceiling, expressing defeat, muttering, “Fine!” This of course made Logan happy and relieved, turning around to get, or in other words, steal one of Scott’s cars. 

The ride to the club was merely quiet as you were doing final touches with your makeup. Logan from time to time, would take glances at you, knowing how beautiful you were with and without the use of makeup. 

Once you arrived at the club, Logan took a good look at you and reminded you to call him if you needed a ride home so he could come back as soon as possible, and of course to be careful. 

Over the first hour at the club, you and the girls were starting it steady and still with easy going cocktails, talking about anything and everything. 

Storm, being like the older sister of the group, was hard to be persuaded into drinking a lot later on with you and Jean. But you told her that Logan was gonna pick you up and might as well be picking the two of them up with you as well, she caved in… with the idea of teasing you about you and your watchdog of a friend later on. 

“So when is Logan ever gonna call you his girlfriend!” Storm asked bluntly, after taking one cocktail in. She was definitely a lightweight with all her years of being a designated driver or sister/mom of the group. 

“What?” you replied with a question that carried a silly undertone. “Girlfriend? What the heck are you talking about?”

“Oh come on, Y/N. What can you say about all the little things he does for you? He’s practically babying you like you’re his world!” Jean explained, taking another sip from her drink. 

“I get that he does that, but it’s only a friendly and annoying thing he does to me. That’s it.. Right?” you trailed as you saw the smirks coming out of both Jean and Storm. 

“Oh honey,” Storm giggles, “He’s smitten for you! And you should reciprocate! You both would be the cutest couple in school, aside from Jean and Scott of course.”

You grinned to yourself as you took another sip of your favorite cocktail, pondering about the possibility of being more than friends with Logan. I mean, let’s be honest. He is ridiculously good looking, he tells the best jokes, and he’s never given you as much focus and affection towards you than anyone else. 

Before you could ponder further, Storm and Jean pulled you out from your seats, heading to the dance floor with shots for the three of you to take. Time flew fast as you were dancing the night away with the girls, taking a couple of more shots from time to time, giggling and twirling around like girls who never had the chance to party this hard. 

Unbeknown to you, Logan had been calling your phone a couple of times, making buzzing noises and vibrations on your phone, which you didn’t feel since it was inside your bag. You were busy going back to the bar to get a plate of more shots.

Once there was a plate of shots on your hand, you waved over to your girl friends who waved back in excitement. 

You were holding the plate with a good grip, walking towards the center of the dance floor where your friends were dancing. It was that final step toward your friends that instantly altered the course of your entire night. 

It all happened so fast when you took a slip onto the floor, banging your head. Somehow the shots didn’t fall on you, but that didn’t matter. Your head was throbbing with instant pain and your friends quickly asking you questions like if you were okay started sounding like mumbles. 

You slowly sat up, placing a hand on the back of your head, wincing at the pain. This time, you were able to feel a buzz coming from your bag and as you stood up with the help of your friends, you took the call. 

“Hello?” you murmured, “Who’s calling?”

“Me, idiot!” It was Logan. “I’ve been trying to reach you three times, why haven’t you been answering?” 

You rubbed your head, trying to ease the pain as there was another pain coming from the end of your phone, “Ugh, not now Logan, I think I’m about to have a migraine.”

There was a short pause on Logan’s end. If you were able to see him right about now, you could see his face turn into a look of deep distress. 

“What happened?” He said the question in the form of what it sounded to be a command. “Who’s ass do I have to kill?”

“Um, nobody?!” You said in discontent. Logan was becoming, or already was in overprotective mode. “I just took a bad fall right before you called and my head hurts and-”

“Are you drunk?” 

“God, no, Logan! Seriously? I wasn’t even finished yet-”

“I’m picking you all up now.” Logan said, sounding in a rush from the sound of the background. It sounded as if he already closed the door and was on his feet.

The phone call ended and the girls rushed you to sit down, with an ice pack on hand already, requested immediately while you were taking the call. 

It felt like only a few minutes of icing your head up when Logan bursted through the doors of the club, appearing in front of you. 

Once he got the story after asking how you were and how bad the fall was, Logan started calming down, turning back to his over caring mode. 

"I told you to be careful! See, this is why I don't want you going out without me!”

Jean and Storm shared understanding smiles as they witnessed Logan go all soft on you. 

“Oh shut up Logan, I just wanna go home,” was all you wanted to say for now. There wasn’t any place like home right now, just being in your pajamas and resting up in your bed. 

“Alright, bub,” he replied, getting a hold of you and clinging your arm around him. 

The ride back to the X Mansion was as quiet as it was going to the club earlier. You were resting your eyes and about to doze off in the front seat while Storm and Jean were looking out of their respective car windows in the back. Logan was just thinking about how he was gonna take care of you tonight and tomorrow while driving back home. 

He felt so guilty and awful for not being around you this evening and wished he was there to save you from that fall. Though at the same time, he was starting to grow tired of doing all these acts of love without you knowing he loved you. He always knew you saw him as a best friend and he was scared you’d only see him as that. 

While Jean and Storm went back to their respective bedrooms, Logan brought you over to yours and you were just ready to jump into bed until he scanned your head, holding you gently by the shoulders. 

“Does your head still hurt?”

“I’ll be okay,” you promised, rubbing the back of your head. 

“That isn’t what I asked, Y/N.”

You crossed your arms, getting a little annoyed with the mini interrogation. “It doesn’t hurt anymore, okay? It was just a slip, okay? It wasn’t like I fell off a cliff and somehow survived! Jesus, Logan, it’s like you’ve been treating me like a baby lately and I really can’t understand why! I’m a grown woman!”

“I was just trying to protect you!” he defended himself, placing his hands on your crossed arms. 

“Who gave you that right?!” 

Logan’s hands fell from your arms and found themselves in the pockets of his leather jacket. He shot you a fast heartsick look and started looking at the floor when he started confessing:

“I’ve learned that when you love someone, you protect them with your entire life at stake, and right now, my guts tell me to do the same.” 

“Somehow I thought that if I did all of this, it would finally click for you one day,” he continued, “But God, how blind can you be? I’m in love with you, Y/N.” 

Logan was met with your silence, still being able to process his raw confession, and thinking about what Storm and Jean had mentioned briefly at the bar, tying all of this together into reality. How oblivious and clueless were you really? You felt so ashamed of your snaps and unappreciated gestures now when it came to everything Logan did for you. 

Logan turned sideways, ready to face the door heading out of your bedroom, “Look,” he said, “Why don’t you freshen up and sleep tight, okay? Come back to me tomorrow when you figure things out.”

Logan turned around, facing your door, but out of a whirlwind, you swiftly grabbed him by the wrist to turn him around. His eyes widened in surprise, but before he could utter a word, you pulled him closer, your breath mingling with his. Without a moment's hesitation, you closed the gap, pressing your lips to his with an urgency that had been building for what felt like forever.

Logan's initial surprise melted away as he responded, his hands finding their way to your waist, pulling you even closer. The world outside disappeared, leaving just the two of you in that electric moment. His lips moved against yours with a mix of tenderness and fervor, as if every emotion he had kept bottled up was pouring out through that kiss.

Time seemed to slow, the intensity of the kiss deepening as you both let go of any reservations. His hands moved to cradle your face, his touch sending shivers down your spine. You could feel his heart racing against your chest, matching the frantic beat of your own.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, you both stayed close, foreheads touching as you caught your breath. His eyes searched yours, filled with the same longing and passion that had fueled the kiss, and you knew that everything had changed in that single, perfect moment.

"You can't just kiss me and expect everything to be okay." Logan teased with his worst lie ever. 

“Oh yeah? How about another then?” you proposed, wrapping your arms around him again. “I think you deserve it anyways.”

“Prove it, darling.”

[qqueenofhades]

I just feel like even if we all vote and Biden wins, Trump won't accept the loss, and eventually they'll just put him in anyway. And then there won't be another real election. Even if Biden wins and somehow is actually confirmed (which again, I think is unlikely) we're going to have to do this for 30 more years because of the SC, and that isn't at all sustainable.

All this isn't to say I won't vote but I just think people are being way too optimistic about what happens if Biden wins. I don't think him winning will keep Trump out or the horrible fascist future at bay.

Look, I get the fear. I do, I do... but this is also one of the times when you have to ask if it's actually telling you something true, or if it's just preying on that generalized feeling of doom to make everything seem hopeless even if we win again. And that is... there is absolutely no actual mechanism for Trump to be installed as president if Biden wins the Electoral College (since as we have repeatedly seen, the popular vote is immaterial). SCOTUS is horrible and evil and are trying to interfere as much ahead of time for Trump as they can, but part of that is because they can't simply issue an order for Biden to be removed and Trump to become God King By Fiat. That is not how it works. If Biden wins in November, he will be president until his term ends, he steps down, Kamala takes over, or anything else.

Trump tried a coup with all the entire overwhelming might of the US government as the sitting president last time; fortunately, it failed. Reforms to the Electoral Count Act have been made to prevent another January 6. The Department of Defense and the military are still under (and would be on another January 6) Biden's command, not Trump's. That's not to say that Trump won't try some shit with his insane cult followers, but he is just a late 70s conman from Queens out on bail and under sentence for a criminal trial, who is already the biggest and most disgraced loser and asshole in American political history. He is so desperate to cheat his way back into power because in a real sense, this IS the last-chance saloon for him. He can't put off the legal proceedings, however long they take, for another four years. He's losing his marbles at a rapid rate. I'm just saying: we don't know what or when, but there will be (and already have been) real consequences for him. That is why he is scrabbling so hard.

"Even if we vote, nothing matters and Trump will win anyway" is another of those insidious lies that works to make you feel as if the battle is endless and pointless and none of its victories matter. Of course it will not all be magically fixed forever if Biden wins. We will still have to figure some godforsaken fucking way to expand SCOTUS or kick Alito and Thomas off it. But we will have bought ourselves, our democracy, our country, and the world time to do that, and put another nail in Trump's coffin. That matters. It matters a lot.

Fascism wants to present itself as overwhelming, irresistible, inevitable, and ready to happen no matter what you do, and that's what your brain wants you to buy in now. But that's not the case, Trump is not inevitable or some all-powerful monolith (in fact, another of the debate takeaways seemed to be that Biden looked bad but people still hate Trump too much for it to really shift anything). He is a loser, a fraud, a conman, a liar, and a crook, and he WANTS you to fear him like an almighty god. Don't give him or the MAGAGOP the satisfaction.

Frankly, having to endure another four months of this might kill us all, and I know that we are tired and scared (me too). But IT IS NOT INEVITABLE THAT WE ARE DOOMED. Not at all. Let's hang onto that and tell that anxiety doom voice to shove it.

Hugs.